Message-ID: <1086eli$9706021401@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1086>
Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail
X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Labors of Love part 9 of 10 (NND)
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LABORS OF LOVE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Nine
It was time for Chip to go to work. In the distance, through a
window, he saw the sun setting in the west. It was the land he’d come
from and the land he hoped he could take a good, long vacation from.
Chip mused over the sign they’d hung on Al’s shop. “CLOSED,”
it read. Nice, big letters that left no doubt. And, underneath, an
explanation. “Gone Fishin’” Who could argue with that? But he knew
there’d be questions.
‘What ever happened to good ol’ Al?” people would murmer.
Well, Al was fishing. He and Ginger had been honest about
that. He was, of course, fishing from the inside of a plastic bag, at
the bottom of the river, and being very generous with his bait, but why
go into the particulars?
There was a cough.
Chip looked at the man on the table next to him. He was a bit
of a fly in Chip’s ointment, Chip thought. He’d shown up one day, like
Chip, and he apparently had some sort of legal problem, like Chip did.
Chip didn’t know if the guy was a murderer, but whatever he’d done he
preferred to stay out of sight at Kimber’s bordello. Out of sight, that
is, to all but the paying customers.
Chip figured he shouldn’t complain. Ever since Chip had begun
working nights at the bordello as a Gigolo, wearing a mask and calling
himself ‘Zorro’ to hide his identity, the place had become increasingly
popular with the ladies. Women were coming from as far away as Japan
and New Zealand to see the wonderful man their friends had described to
them. So this new felon, this new convict and escapee from the law, or
whatever he was, served to cut Chip’s workload in half. But still, Chip
mused, gazing at the man, he’d liked this place better when it was just
himself, for Ginger now had two young men on her hands instead of just
one.
There was a sound of voices. Suddenly Kimber swept into the
room and behind her, Ginger. Kimber was lean and tall and she had a
long, beautiful mane of hair that kept getting into her eyes that she
perpetually was sweeping back. She advanced on Rick and stopped before
his table and gazed down at the young man. Rick was lying on a massage
table, a white sheet under his nude body. Kimber’s long hair became
entangled around the stiff erection he sported.
Ginger stopped beside Kimber, gazed down at the man with warm
eyes. Chip felt a spasm of jealousy shoot through him. Rick was lean
and tanned and had a hardened look about him, as if he’d perhaps been in
a prison before coming here. He had dark hair and he wore a goatee on
his chin that made him look sinister, although he was in fact easy
enough to get along with. Yet Chip felt his muscles tense inside
himself. They were both equal, that was the problem. Chip lay on his
table and tried to relax. Of course, ‘relax’ was a relative, word, for
it was time to go to work. The thought of a night of fucking still
excited him, and his excitement displayed itself in a fine erection. It
rose up sturdy and strong from his loins, eager for attention.
“Well, you’ve got a big job tonight,” Kimber laughed to
Ginger. “I just finished installing that nude oil wrestling pit in my
new master bedroom. I’ll be renting the room out to some ladies tonight
from Japan. First there will be a traditional Japanese tea ceremony,
with Chip and Rick serving the ladies. Then both of them will hop in
the pit and wrestle each other. It should be quite fun!
Ginger smiled. She had long flowing brown hair. She didn’t
wear it in pigtails anymore. She was tanned golden brown, like Chip and
Rick were, from lying in the sun with them. She kept her bosoms
carefully covered to protect them from the sun and now, wearing just a
teensy bedroom bra, Chip could see the white areas of her bosoms where
her swimsuit bra normally covered them but her playful bedroom bra
didn’t. He studied the twin cones of flesh. They were much larger than
when he’d first met her. They had a fullness to them now, a heft and a
weight that made his mouth water. He let his eyes follow the cups of
her little bra. It was much too small for her, deliberately so, and it
held back and contained little more than her nipples, leaving all the
rest of her breast flesh to wobble tentatively in naked allure. Chip
gazed at the tiny, thread-like string that ran between her breasts,
connecting the two tiny cups. He wondered if it might snap, and leave
her suddenly exposed.
All at once Rick lifted up a hand and touched it to Ginger’s
bra, to the string that connected her cups. She grinned down at him,
the tints in her sun-lightened hair looking gorgeous, her face round and
sweet and small. She had a fresh coat of glossy lipstick on her lips
and just a touch of eyeshadow around her eyes. She reached up a hand
but it wasn’t to bat him away, as she most certainly would have done
with Chip just a few weeks earlier, when she was still little more than
a 12-year-old brat. Instead, Ginger simply brushed some hair back from
her face, letting Rick finger her bra as much as he wished.
Rick pulled on the string. The bra lifted, strained. Chip
found himself holding his breath, watching. Ginger looked down at
herself. She made no move to stop him. Slowly, with ever more cruel
delight in his eyes, Rick drew harder on the little string. All at once
it popped. Ginger shrieked. Kimber laughed. Chip felt a rage course
through him, right up to the tip of his hard erect penis.
Ginger’s breasts popped out of her ruined bra. The little
cups, separated, detached from each other, hung uselessly by the sides
of her glorious bosoms. Ginger’s nipples were stiff and pointy, ready
for action. Her bosoms were white cones of luscious vanilla flesh,
looking like ice cream waiting to cool the mouth of a sun-bronzed man.
Rick placed a finger on one of Ginger’s nipples and flicked it. Then he
squeezed and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Ginger gave a
gasp but did nothing to stop him.
“You’ve got to oil both these big men down for their nude
wrestling match,” Kimber said to Ginger. “And I want both you guys to
behave, too, okay?” she added. “If necessary I’ll handcuff both of
you. We’re under some time pressure here. The ladies will be arriving
shortly and I don’t want to find you three having some kind of personal
celebration back here. I need both you men to be all hard and ready for
the women and I don’t want any sperm wasted on little Ginger here.”
Kimber looked at Ginger. She put a hand on the Girl’s long flowing hair
and brushed it back from her eyes and her childish cheeks. “Ginger, be
good, okay? Get both these hunks oiled up. I need them completely
greased, like nude bronze warriors. Everything, especially their cocks
and balls, so they don’t grab each other’s equipment when they’re
wrestling and angry and hurt each other. But do them from head to toe,
okay?”
“Okay,” Ginger said softly. Kimber bent and kissed her cheek
and then left the room.
Ginger fetched a big vat of grease from a nearby table. This
was the massage room, and there were bottles of baby oil and different
varieties of salves, some of them impregnated with special scents, all
of them for rubbing into the body. Chip watched her move as she walked
and he saw with tense delight that she was naked except for a miniscule
pair of white bedroom panties that were meant for sleeping in but that
she’d chosen instead to wear while she oiled up both of the men. The
panties were cottony-soft. They slipped in between the cheeks of her
bottom as she moved, and Ginger had to reach back and pull them out.
She placed a vat of grease on the table next to Rick.
“Hi, Chip. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she smiled across
the nude figure of Rick at Chip. Rick’s penis was sticking up and it
stood between her and Chip’s view of her, but Chip smiled, nodded. He
wanted to kill Rick like he’d killed Al and he wanted to put Ginger over
his knee and rip off her panties and have his way with her, and a wicked
revengeful way it was too, but instead he just swallowed hard and
controlled himself and smiled.
Lightly, like hands of an Egyptian slave-maiden, Ginger’s
fingers dipped into the big vat of grease and began to play over the
Samson-like body of Rick. Chip saw the man relax and settle back for
the treatment. She began with his belly, then moved up to his chest.
She complained about how the hair on his chest made it harder for her to
get him properly greased. But when he mentioned that some weightlifters
shaved their chests, and he could if she wished, she promptly rejected
that thought.
“No, I like you just as you are,” Ginger smiled down at him.
It was a warm, loving smile, and Chip knew she intended it to be nothing
more than the simple appreciation of a stable maiden, a slave girl, for
her big important beast that she was responsible for, but still he felt
angry at her. And at Rick, for otherwise he’d have enjoyed her
complete, undivided attention.
Rick smiled. His black goatee moved with his smile and his
dark convict-like eyes watched Ginger as she worked. Then, for it was a
big job, his head gradually eased back again and he stared at the
ceiling. Ginger finished his chest and did both his arms. Then she
moved down to his thighs. She continued to grease him, moving her hands
softly and delicately over his stone-hard form. Suddenly Rick
trembled. He lifted his head again. Ginger smiled at him. Her hands
were greasing his cock. Rick smiled back, watched a moment. Chip saw
the man shiver as her lovely childlike hands played over his huge
erection. She worked him frankly, yet there was a warm loving touch in
her fingers, and she began stroking his balls, teasingly, not even
greasing them but just teasing him, perhaps to see if she could provoke
him into spilling his load.
Rick coughed. Ginger gazed at him with mischeivous eyes.
“Well, it would make you nice and greasy but I guess you’d be
sticky too, hmmm?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Rick replied. Ginger pouted. She stopped her play and
re-greased her fingers in the vat and proceeded to coat his balls
completely. Chip rather wished she’d left them as they were, so he
could grab them as they wrestled and relieve the damn man of them once
and for all.
“Now turn over,” Ginger said at last. Rick lifted himself up.
His huge stiff prick wobbled out in front of him as he turned, facing
Chip, giving him a quick smile, and then plopped down on his belly.
Rick groaned as his engorged cock became flattened and trapped
underneath him. Ginger smiled at his predicament. She slapped his bare
ass. It was white, kept clear of the sun despite their hours by the
pool because both men were required by Kimber to wear swimsuits.
“Nothing,” Kimber told them, “pleased a woman more than to see a man’s
ass all white, like a bunny’s tail.” And since Kimber was able to earn
extra money by hiring the men’s bottoms out to be whipped, it was very
important that the women have a nice white pair of buns to work with.
Ginger bent and kissed Rick’s bare ass. She knew that both men
would have their seats whipped again tonight, and return to her in the
morning with sore, whip-marked bottoms. Gently she kneaded the soft
athletic flesh of Rick’s buns. She kissed them again, bit playfully at
a hair growing up from Rick’s ass that tickled her nose.
“My poor Rick, what did you do to be in a place such as this,
working your ass off every night?” Ginger inquired.
“Can’t say,” Rick replied with a grunt. “Especially since
Silent Jim there won’t say what he did,” Rick said, casting a quick
glance at Chip.
Ruefully Ginger squeezed both Rick’s buns hard in her little
hands. Then she dipped them into the grease and began working the
grease into his tush.
“I’m sure whatever bad thing Chip did is his business, isn’t
it, Chip?” Ginger smiled. For the first time Chip felt a warm sense of
shared affection flow between himself and Ginger. She knew damn well
what he’d done. She’d watched it.
“I just got tired of the priesthood, that’s all,” Chip replied
nonchalantly.
“Too many Hey Oh Mary’s, eh?” Rick asked.
“Yeah,” Chip replied. He wondered idly what a pass in football
had to do with Catholicism.
Eventually, working with a kind of warm languid gracefulness,
Ginger finished lubing up Rick’s powerful body. As a final touch she
turned him back over and squirted Baby Oil on him, especially his cock,
which throbbed delightfully as she squirted it. Next she moved to
Chip. Bodly he reached up and seized one of her breasts the minute she
came to his table. With Rick watching, Chip sucked hard at Ginger’s
right breast. The girl, who might have laughed a month ago, when they’d
been alone, now scolded him and waited for him to finish.
To show he had dominion of her, though, Chip suckled first at
one breast, then the other, all the while eyeing Rick out of the corner
of his eye. Let the man watch! See? She is mine! Chip thought to
himself, wishing he could bark it at Rick but not wanting to cause too
much trouble. Instead he took his anger out on Ginger’s 12-year-old
teats, sucking them hard, working each nipple with his tongue, as if he
were a small baby, instead of a full-grown 21-year-old man who had
stolen her from her parents.
“Oh!” Ginger gasped. She tried to endure Chip, finally batted
at his face with her hands. Chip desisted. He lay back and gazed at
her tits, now wet with the saliva from his mouth. Ginger frowned at
him, as if he might have hurt her, sucking at her so hard. Then she
dipped her fingers in the grease and began to rub him down.
Somehow, Chip thought, his rubdown was more perfunctory than
Rick’s had been. Ginger’s hands worked less sensuously. They’d been
lovers for some time now and she knew every inch of his hard muscled
body. She worked knowingly, not exploringly as she had with Rick. When
Chip moved, or grunted approval or distress, she already expected his
response. She oiled him thoroughly, however, and spared not an inch of
him from her prying, delving fingers, even sticking a fingertip into his
asshole.
“There! You’re all done,” Ginger said at last. She picked up
her vat and left Chip, walked back to the table and replaced the vat
there. Chip watched her bottom, her alluring little white cotton
panties. She wiped her hands with a big moist rag, dried them on a hand
towel, and then reached behind herself and tugged her panties out of her
bottomcrack.
“Well, are you men ready?” Kimber asked. She strode into the
room again, wearing a black spandex dress that molded itself to her
curves. She carried a riding crop. One of the brothel girls followed
her in, went to the table where the vat of grease was and took away the
used towels.
Kimber inspected the men.
“Good job, Ginger,” she declared. She smiled at Ginger and
Ginger grinned back with a big 12-year-old’s grin, as if she’d been
awarded a gold star for her homework. Kimber slashed her crop against
Rick’s thigh. Rick’s breath caught in his throat.
“Alright, you two! I want both you big hunks to get off those
tables. Ginger here will wrap a half-sized bath towel around each of
your waists.” Kimber glanced at Ginger. “Use a safety pin, honey. I
don’t want the towels popping off prematurely.” She looked again at the
men, watched as they both rose with groans from the comfort of the
tables, anticipating a long night.
“You’ll both, I hope, have read up on how to serve Japanese tea
properly, hmmm?” Kimber asked the men. They stood and stretched. They
were completely naked, not even wearing slippers on their bare feet.
Their cocks stuck out lewdly in front of them.
“I looked at the book a little,” Rick said.
“Ginger read a little of it to me,” Chip said.
“Well, no matter, if they wanted a perfectly served Japanese
tea ceremony they’d have stayed in Japan,” Kimber said. “This will be
the Chigago Bulls version, or something similar, I suppose. But both of
you behave and do just as your told. No shenanigans! You’re both there
as servants of the ladies. They’re paying me well.” She brushed back
her hair from her face. “And you’ll each get a little cut, to give you
some savings,” she added. Then Kimber inspected both men standing up,
going around behind them, admiring their bare white seats, all healed
from their previous whipping, at the hands of some women from Burma.
She poked each man in his ass crack with her crop, then came round in
front of him and lifted his dick up, using the loop at the end of her
riding crop to hook his big head and hoist up his shaft. She glanced
underneath at his balls. “Good,” she murmured. “I see you both kept
yourselves under control while Ginger oiled you. Good. Now hang on to
that stuff, guys! No shooting while you serve the tea, or while you’re
fighting each other in the ring. It’s for the end of the party, okay?
Then you’ll both need to don condoms and fuck every woman in the room to
her heart’s content.” Kimber pushed back her hair from her eyes, a
fluid, graceful movement that caused her whole upper body to bend
briefly like a willow tree in the wind. She had a long mane of rich
brown hair and it was like a large thick rope, tumbling down over her
shoulders, down her back, spreading around her to capture her arms from
behind and spilling sometimes down her front. “Also,” she added.
“Remember that when your towels are removed by the women you’re fair
game. They’ll be armed with little whips and I’m sure they’ll want to
play them over your bare butts as you serve them their tea. Hopefully
you both read that Tea Ceremony book I gave you more than you’ve let on,
otherwise you might have very sore butts in the morning. The Japanese
Tea Ceremony is a strict ritual and any deviations in it will, if the
women desire, cost you a lash or two across your rear ends.”
Ginger laughed. She let out a big sigh. Her bosoms heaved
with her sigh and almost sprang free of the low-cut spandex dress that
she wore. “God how I wish I could just take you two off to some
Medieval castle somewhere and have you both serve ME for the rest of my
life!” she smiled. She cast a quick glance at Ginger. “And we’d
execute her little ass,” she grinned. Ginger bit her lip with surprise
and bowed her head meekly. Her brown hair swept in over the front of
her body, touched itself against her breasts.
“Now off with you two!” Kimber said. She whacked her crop
lustily against Chip’s thigh.
“Wait! Our towels!” Rick protested.
“Oh, yeah,” Kimber said. “Ginger honey, put both these men in
little towels so they aren’t showing their penises to them the minute
they walk into the room.”
“Okay,” Ginger said softly. She picked up two towels left by
the girl who’d walked in with Kimber. Beside each was a safety pin, as
if for diapering a baby. With quiet steps Ginger approached Rick first,
making Chip jealous that he wasn’t her first pick, though in fact Rick
was standing closer to her. Ginger let Kimber hold one of the towels
for a moment. Then she bent, wrapped the remaining towel she held
around Rick. His penis was stiff and throbby and she had to put up with
it, trying her best to get him properly covered despite the fact that
his big thing stuck up all bristly and uncontrollable. Ginger managed
to pin the towel around his waist, sighed, stepped back. She looked
down at the job and pouted a little. Rick’s big hard erection lifted
the towel in front of him, showing his balls.
“If he won’t stay down I can’t do any better than that!” Ginger
told Kimber.
“That’s fine, dear,” Kimber answered. To save time she herself
toweled Chip. The young man enjoyed feeling her hands pass around his
body. He liked the view her bending form offered of her bosoms. But he
felt angry, because little Ginger, his Ginger, that he’d killed a man
for, had towelled Rick. A month ago he would have been in heaven,
having both females all to himself, he alone standing nude in the
massage room, while they pampered him, but now, with another man
present, he felt depressed and angry.
The two men met the women and served them tea and later, their
asses smarting from having lost their towels and been whipped, they both
clambored into a plastic-lined pit. Kimber appeared and handcuffed both
men so that their hands were restrained behind their backs. Then she
made them touch the heads of their penises together, like boxers
touching gloves before the start of a fight. After this, the wrestling
match began. Both men were deprived of the use of their hands, due to
the leather-sheathed metal handcuffs. They had to wrestle just using
the bulk of their bodies. They sweated and their breath came hard and
they fought with vigor. Chip was angry with Rick and, knowing that
Ginger might be peeking in, or most certainly in any event would hear
about the result of their match, he wanted to show he was the worthier
suitor. Rick, on the other hand, was increasingly in love with Ginger.
He found himself wanting the girl, though he’d promised not to fuck her,
to keep the peace, since he was a newcomer, and Chip and Ginger had
already been working at the brothel when he’d arrived, seeking a place
to hide from the Law. Yet now, in the oil-smeared ring, wrestling Chip,
he very much wanted to win, or at least to avoid the humiliation of
losing. So it was that both men fought like bulls, heaving and throwing
themselves at each other, each trying to pin the other down with the
weight of his body for a ten second count. And all the while their
cocks were desperately engorged, in the way, sticking up. The women had
teased them with their fingers, and both men wanted to cum. At the same
time their cocks were vulnerable, in a way that their arms or their
thighs weren’t, being sexual organs. So it was doubly difficult for
them as they fought, wanting to spurt, to ejaculate, and yet sometimes
suffering the anxiety and pain of having their cocks be so vulnerably
displayed as they fought one another.
Finally, to Chip’s utter humiliation, he found himself pinned
down for a ten second count by Rick. He swore, he felt like biting his
teeth into Rick’s shoulder, but he didn’t, for only girls resorted to
tactics like that. He knew too, as he lay exhausted and helpless
underneath Rick’s panting form, that he’d lost his exclusive dominion of
Ginger. Despite his noble promises, Rick would have her now, one way or
another, perhaps for five minutes, perhaps for an hour. They would
fuck, for she would be unable to resist rewarding him for his victory.
It was well that both men still had a long night of duties to
perform. Kimber got them out of the pit and, sensing trouble, left them
both handcuffed. She put condoms on them herself. Then she told them
to get to work fucking the women. There were five women. The ladies,
delicate women from Japan, wished to have the men come in them every
possible way. They passed around among themselves little pills to
prevent themselves getting pregnant. They sipped them down with a last
cup of tea. Then, Chip glowering at Rick and Rick smirking back at him,
the two men were put to work. There was much giggling on the part of
the women. They were suddenly released from their traditional Japanese
ways. Since Chip and Rick were White, White Devils from the traditional
Japanese viewpoint, the women felt no hesitation in making lusty, if
politely phrased, demands of the men. After all, they were in America,
land of the free, and the men were stemming up freely and eagerly even,
their cocks uncontrollably hard. Kimber laughed and left the room, so
the women could feel more free still. She locked the door, leaving Chip
and Rick handcuffed.
In the morning Chip and Rick were so wiped out from their long
night of labor that they couldn’t muster a cross word between them.
Ginger awoke from a pleasant night’s sleep and attended to them. They
were placed gently back on the tables where they’d been massaged. She
got a bucket and sponge and washed both of them down, wearing just her
little white bedroom panties. She consoled them and complimented them
for working so hard and massaged their muscles and their aching loins.
Both men fell asleep under her.
As the summer deepened into fall Ginger flowered and grew. Her
body became taller. Her bosom filled out even more, forcing her to give
up the sizes she’d been used to. She put forever into a bottom drawer
in the room she shared with Chip the little training bra she’d worn when
they first arrived at the brothel. Kimber brought her new clothes, new
underwear. Ginger’s hips swelled more and for a little while Chip
feared her belly might swell too. He’d resigned himself to her love of
Rick, as well as himself. Although he still shared a room with her,
being her boyfriend, she also sometimes slipped away to Rick’s room and
slept with him. She enjoyed having two stallions at her disposal. Chip
let her have her way. But having two men, she was being constantly
impregnated by both, and Chip made Rick promise that if she got pregnant
he’d split the cost of the baby. Yet Ginger, despite being 12, somehow
successfully mangaged the little pills Kimber gave her, and did not wind
up with a swollen belly, though both men fucked her vigorously.
Sometimes, on weekends, when both men had been given time off
by Kimber, they would both spend the day fucking Ginger together.
Usually it would begin in the morning, if they’d been able to rest the
night before. Their rooms were close and both men would wake up with
penises hard as wood and little Ginger would be there, warm and soft and
inquisitive. Rick would hear Ginger and Chip kissing, or perhaps Ginger
herself would hear him walking by, to the toilet, and invite him in.
Sometimes both men would meet in the toilet and as they stood urinating
together they’d decide to fuck little Ginger. They’d return to her
bedroom together, Chip bringing Rick along, and they’d wake her up and
surprise her with their cocks. She’d spend the day being forced into
all sorts of perverted positions, but despite her cries no one would
interfere, not even Kimber, for everyone know she was happy in her
ordeal. And sometimes, when the men were feeling especially wicked and
lusty, they’d take her into the soundproofed basement dungeon. She’d
emerge welted and bruised and it would take perhaps the rest of the
weekend for the marks of their possession of her to disappear. Yet
she’d be smiling, despite the treatment, for they would have pumped her
as thoroughly as young men possibly could, giving their all to her,
emptying themselves into her tight little spaces until they themselves
ached from the effort.
One day late in the fall Ginger agreed to become a working girl
at the brothel. Christmas was approaching, and Kimber planned with her
to have her coming-out party scheduled for Christmas Eve. Chip and Rick
wanted to be present but Kimber convinced them that it must be Ginger’s
own party, something she did by herself. And Ginger agreed, feeling a
sense of maturity within her.
Ginger’s hair was done up specially on the day of the party. A
beautician was brought from town. The alarm over Ginger’s disappearance
from her home and family had long since passed away. Her parents were
consoled, or not; they suspected she’d gone away voluntarily with
someone, or not. Ginger didn’t know. She wanted to write them a card
but she knew it would backfire somehow. She tried not to think about
them and it was not too hard, having two lusty men always keeping her
company.
After her hair was done Ginger was made up, very carefully, for
she had a glowing natural beauty that didn’t need much makeup. Yet it
was the ritual of being made-up that Kimber felt was important, so she
had another woman, who was an expert in makeup, spend an hour worrying
over Ginger’s face and touching up her naked breasts and putting a
little rouge between the lips of her pussy. Ginger sat bare on a chair,
despite her lovely done-up hair, for all of her would be seen at the
party, and all of her had to be absolutely perfect.
Her nails glittering, her eyes sparkling, her lips bright,
Ginger entered the room that evening reserved for the coming out party.
She travelled on the arm of a man, a man who’d just emerged with his
wife from a sitting room. Two couples walked with them. They’d all
come to party together at the brothel. The women were in their late
20’s, early 30’s. The men ranged in age from early 30’s to early 40’s.
They were business men, working hard all year and looking forward to
letting their hair down and having some fun.
The men wore suits. The women were dressed uniquely, one in a
short party dress, a frock that stretched from her shoulders to the tops
of her legs. Another woman wore a bright-Christmas hued pair of slacks
with a matching blouse and a vest. The third wore a blouse, a small
unzipped jacket, and a short skirt. She also wore long knee-length
boots, while the other two women wore heels.
Ginger, playing hostess, being the centerpiece of their party,
had her hair pinned up and her face made up but she was topless. Her
young tender breasts bounced freely on her chest as she blushingly
accompanied one of the men into the party room. He carried her
gallantly, his arm crossed through hers, but Ginger had little doubt
that he’d prove less than entirely chivalrous once they’d gotten started
with their party. Despite being nude from the waist up, Ginger had been
permitted a pair of soft, striped pants that flared at her ankles. They
hugged her hips and she could feel her excitement rising in her dell,
moistening her, but she hadn’t been allowed any panties, and she hoped
no one noticed when she sat down if there was a small wet spot between
her thighs. She walked barefoot, and she felt the coolness of the
brothel’s tiled floor give way to a rich shag rug as the group entered
their private party room.
A Christmas tree twinkled with colored lights in the corner of
the room. There were twin candles standing on a mantlepiece above a
fireplace. The fire glowed sotftly, the room was heated and it was just
a decoration. The lighting in the room was muted and Ginger was freed
by the man who had brought her and she stepped quietly to the
mantlepiece and picked up a match and lit both of the candles. They
glowed, giving her face a soft, rich appearance as she turned back to
face the guests. The candlelight cast a highlight across her teats.
Her nipples were red, the conves of her bosoms white. The rest of her
flesh had also lightened in the winter months, as she spent less time
outdoors by the pool. Ginger smiled as the men gazed frankly at her
bare breasts. Below them her tummy was smooth and flat.
“How do you keep from carrying a child, working here at the
brothel?” one of the women asked.
“I-- this is my first night as a brothel girl,” Ginger
answered.
“Oh,” the woman said, smiled. She looked at her husband. He
grinned. The men had been clued in beforehand to Ginger’s status, had
been carefully selected by Kimber and had paid extra for her. Kimber
knew they’d be gentle with her.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Ginger asked. She padded
into the midst of the six, three sitting facing her, three sitting
facing their friends, a space between the two couches where the guests
had arranged themselves, the fireplace to the side. There was a small
low table between the two couches and upon it was an ice bucket. It
contained champagne and red wine. Six empty glasses stood waiting
beside it.
“You can, but first come here,” a woman said to Ginger. The
girl approached the woman, stood obediently before her. The woman’s
long nails reached up. Carefully, watching as Ginger’s small flat belly
moved in and out underneath her bare ribs with her breathing, the woman
undid the snap on the front of Ginger’s pants. Then, working slowly,
she undid each of the snaps below it, opening the front of Ginger’s
pants completely. The pants were tight, they hugged her hips still, but
Ginger’s bush was revealed between the open front halves of her pants,
the little feminine fly.
“You wear no panties?” the woman asked Ginger? She traced a
finger across Ginger’s belly.
“No, ma’am,” Ginger answered. A shiver ran through her.
“Are you wet between your legs?” the woman asked. She thrust a
hand rudely between Ginger’s thighs. She felt up against the underside
of her pants, against her crotch, where her dell lay.
“A little,” Ginger admitted.
“Yes, I can feel it, just a touch of moisture, but it’s there,”
the woman said. “Are you excited about spending the evening with us,
with our husbands?”
“Yes,” Ginger admitted.
“Pour me a glass of champagne and bring it to me,” the woman
told Ginger.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ginger answered. She went again to the table,
bent over it. She could not get the cork off the bottle and she was
forced to take it to a man and he popped it off. It fizzed, the man
handed it back to Ginger and some of the fizz flowed over her small
hands as she took the big bottle from him. She replaced it on the table
and paused and wiped her hands dry on a napkin. Then she filled a glass
for the woman, took it to her.
“Thank you,” the woman said. She accepted the glass from
Ginger. Then the woman caught at Ginger’s thigh before she could turn
away. She held Ginger with Ginger standing as she had before, when
she’d been unzipped. Her flat belly moved slightly as she breathed, her
breasts, naked, rose and fell on her chest. The woman delicately pulled
open Ginger’s unzipped pants and poured the champagne glass down her
belly into her bush.
“Oh!” Ginger shrieked. The champagne was ice-cold and it hit
her warm belly like winter snow. She tried to retreat but the woman
held her, poured the champagne into her pants and over them and all down
the front of them, for the pants hugged Ginger tightly, not like a man’s
pants, and there was no place for the champagne to go except to flow all
down the front of her, and spill from between her legs to the floor.
“There, now my husband doesn’t have to look at that little wet
spot between your legs when you sit down,” the woman told Ginger. She
slapped Ginger’s thigh. “Get about serving the rest of us, girl! Then
come and sit on my lap.”
“Yes ma’am,” Ginger gulped. She turned away from the woman.
Hurriedly she filled the other glasses. The men leered at her
tightly-hugged bottom in her pants as she filled up the glasses and then
hurried around to see that everyone was served. Occasionally Ginger
would have to pause to pull up her pants as they sagged on her waist,
for despite being tight they were unzipped in front, and she wasn’t
permitted to zip them back up again.
When Ginger had served everyone she returned to the woman who
wore the small unzipped jacket and the miniskirt and the long,
knee-length boots. This time, instead of pouring champagne on Ginger’s
belly, the woman invited her onto her lap. Ginger sat. She had no
choice. She was there to serve them and to attend to their needs. The
woman made Ginger sit facing away from her and then, after taking a sip
of her champagne, she reached around in front of Ginger.
“Drink, darling, you forgot to serve yourself,” the woman said
to Ginger. Ginger could smell the woman’s perfume. It was a pleasant
fragrance, although she would have preferred to be occupying the lap of
the woman’s husband, or of one of the other men. But then those men
each had a prominent bulge sticking up in their laps, and Ginger,
considering, decided she was safer on the lap of a woman.
Ginger sipped at the glass the woman proferred. Then, just as
she was settling comfortably, and hoping for perhaps some polite
conversation, the woman tipped the glass over one of her nipples and
poured champagne upon it.
“Oh!” Ginger declared. She was forced to watch as the woman
passed the glass to her other breast and wet its nipple in turn. The
champagne was cold, despite being tasty, and it stung her nipples.
Ginger tried to smile politely at the other guests. They
stared at her, at her soft cupid-like face, at her pert young breasts.
The woman in whose lap she sat reached a hand between her legs. Roughly
she made Ginger part her thighs and she massaged Ginger’s dell through
the thin fabric of her pants. She lifted a finger and tugged at the
pussy hair that wisped out through the front of Ginger’s undone fly.
Finally she thrust a hard, sharp-nailed finger within Ginger’s pants and
sought down and between Ginger’s legs and stabbed at Ginger’s wet slit.
“Oh! Please!” Ginger yelped. Her breasts heaved nakedly on
her chest. She twisted her head round, trying to address the woman, her
hair still done up perfectly, her makeup still flawless, even as her
belly glowed wetly with champagne and her breasts stood forth like twin
suckled teats, wet by the mouth of some baby.
“Yes, my dear, and we must get these pants off you, to better
see you,” the woman said. As Ginger stared down at her lap the woman
forced her to wriggle her hips and the pants were drawn down Ginger’s
long girlishly lean thighs, over her knees, and finally down her slender
calves to ring her ankles.
“Get up. Serve me more champagne. You’ve used it all up!” the
woman told Ginger. The 12-year-old rose, attempted to kick off her
pants. “No! Leave them. Learn to walk in them that way. And step
lightly, so that they do not come off inadvertently,” the woman
ordered. She gave Ginger a slap on her bare bottom. Ginger winced, did
as she was told. Stepping gingerly, she meekly refilled the woman’s
glass at the table and brought it again to her.
The woman made Ginger hold the glass as she reached round
behind Ginger and seized her by her bottom. She forced apart Ginger’s
ass cheeks, making Ginger blush as the interior of her bottomcrack was
revealed to the guests behind her.
“Bend forward,” the woman told Ginger. “Now!” Fearfully,
almost spilling her glass of champagne on the woman, Ginger leaned
forward. She felt herself showing her puckered bottomhole to the guests
behind her and flushed a bright hue of red. “Stand still!” the woman
ordered her. She felt Ginger’s bottomcheeks, squeezing them, lifting
them with her palms. “Have you been penetrated anally?” the woman
asked.
“No,” Ginger lied. She knew it was the answer the woman wanted
to hear. And, in addition, she felt embarrassed being asked about her
experience. She was only 12. Let the woman think she was an anal
virgin.
“And how about your pussy?” the woman asked her.
“Yes,” Ginger answered truthfully.
“At 12?!” the woman asked.
Ginger gulped. “Yes,” she said sheepishly.
“My God, kids today! Get your bottom over my lap! What will
become of you young people?” she declared. And so Ginger, still
balancing the woman’s champagne glass in her hand, somehow managed to
get herself bottomup over the woman’s slender knees, with the smell of
her leather boots in her nose as she found her face hanging down toward
the floor.
A light set of fingers came to her bottom. “Ginger, I’m going
to have to spank you for being so careless and losing your cherry,” the
woman told her.
Ginger gulped. “Yes’m,” Ginger agreeed.
“Don’t spill the champagne,” the woman warned her.
And then, just like that, the woman slapped her bottom. Ginger
cried out and she wondered if any of the guests partying in the other
rooms could hear, could listen in as the sound of the woman’s hand
struck her bare bottom and she was forced to utter a screamy reply.
SLAP! Again the woman struck her. Ginger yelped a second
time, almost lost the champagne glass in her hand.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The woman smacked her again and again, and
Ginger felt the champagne in the glass she was clutching slosh out over
her tight-gripping fingers. She howled at the pain and yet, even as she
felt hurt in her bottom, wishing the spanking would stop, she relished
being the center of attention. It reminded her of the long days when
Chip and Rick would possess her, and for hours on end she would have no
control over herself, wouldn’t even be able to think, as they ravished
her. Now, here, under the woman’s hand, she knew she was freed of all
decisions, had only to obey. They would decide, the men and the women,
they would tell her how to behave and how to serve them and all she had
to do was listen, and perform, and all the while as she performed they
would admire her and remark to themselve on how pretty she was.
Ginger felt tears wet her cheeks and her bottom felt raw. She
could feel her moist excitement between her legs and she knew that,
between the three men, she would be given royal treatment, despite being
a slave, or rather, perhaps, because she was a slave, and like some
overworked Christmas elf she would be tasked with many duties, all in
this little room, with the twinkling Christmas tree in the corner, in
front of the glowing fire.
“Oooh! Ooooh! Ooooh!” Ginger complained.
“Oh, isn’t she lovely?” a woman sitting across from her asked
her friend. Together the two women began to slowly undress, watching as
Ginger was spanked, inspired by her sacrifice.
The woman with the boots finished spanking Ginger. She made
her get up from her lap. Ginger stood. Immediately her one free hand
flew back to her bottom and she rubbed it disconsolately.
“Oooooh, that hurt!” Ginger reported.
“Of course it dear, did. Now what happened to my champagne?
You seem to have spilled it all,” the woman told her, taking the glass
from her. It was mostly empty. The jarring smacks had spilled most of
it on the floor. The woman glanced over her knees at the rug. “You’ve
been bad,” the woman said to Ginger.
“Oh, get undressed, you’re turning into a witch,” one of the
women sitting across from her laughed. Ginger turned, looked at the
woman. She sat naked beside her husband, her nude breasts hanging free,
her hips soft and curved and sitting easily in their nakedness on the
couch. Across from her husband her friend was also nude. The men were
clothed still, enjoying the show, despite the discomfort they must have
been feeling from the erections that bulged up from their crotches.
“Bring your little bottom over here, dear,” the woman
beckoned. Ginger put a finger to her mouth, considered, decided she was
better off with any woman other than the one who’d just spanked her. As
she began to walk she almost tripped over the pants still caught around
her ankles. “Walk carefully,” the woman admonished. Ginger, her
coiffure starting to come undone, clasping her bottom protectively,
walked over to the woman.
“Here, have a cookie,” the woman said to Ginger. Her friend
had taken a plate of them from the table and she had passed them across
to her, and the woman, taking a bite first from the cookie herself, then
offered the rest to Ginger. Ginger opened her mouth and accepted,
standing before the woman. She did not reach with her hands for it for
she didn’t really want to eat a cookie the woman had already taken a
bite out of, but the woman pressed it to her lips and Ginger, keeping
her hands securely over her flaming bottom, which bulged out behind her,
ate the entire rest of the cookie.
“Very good,” the woman complimented her. “Now turn around and
let me see that little bottom of yours. Does it hurt?”
“YES!” Ginger frankly admitted. She turned about for the woman
and offered her ass to her, tentatively, worried the woman might strike
it. Instead the woman put a finger to it and lightly stroked it across
Ginger’s cheeks.
“Oooh!” Ginger protested. She didn’t like having her bottom
touched. The cheeks were red and sore after the spanking. They tensed
in protest. But the woman kept touching and stroking her, and finally,
as if asking permission, the woman leaned forward and blew lightly into
Ginger’s bottomcrack. Then she spread Ginger’s cheeks apart with her
long-nailed fingers and, having the interior of the crack now much
better displayed, she blew into it again.
“Ooooh! You’re blowing right into my HOLE!” Ginger squeaked.
She reached back to push the woman away but the woman’s hands held her
firmly and she was forced, in the end, to rub her hands uselessly
against her thighs. The woman blew into her bottomcrack again.
“Yeek! Stop that!” Ginger begged.
“You must take much more than my breath in your little hole
tonight,” the woman advised her. “Bye bye, cherry!” She blew into
Ginger’s hole again. Why, Ginger mused, was everyone so obsessed with
taking her anally? First Chip, and now this woman seemed to hold her
little shit hole as some kind of glorious prize, to be sought after and
pierced with the greatest glee, as if it might contain a million dollars
inside it. The woman leaned forward and licked around Ginger’s hole.
Ginger shrieked, stood on tiptoe.
“Quiet, girl. I must get you lubed for my husband’s penis,”
the woman told her frankly. She licked Ginger again and Ginger bounced
on her toes, her feet barefoot on the rug, her pants still banded around
her small tapered ankles.
“Noooo! Please!” Ginger begged. She felt her coiffure coming
apart, reached up, grabbed at it with her hands, even as the woman
continued to assail her bottomhole. Ginger’s naked breasts shook on her
chest and she knew it was quite useless to protest, yet she couldn’t
help it, for what would you do if some woman was sticking her tongue up
your ass? And if you knew, besides that, that there was something much
bigger going in afterward, no matter how much you might prefer that it
not?
Ginger, even as she struggled to repair her coiffure, heard the
other woman on the couch invite the men to unzip themselves. Ginger
heard a sound then of zippers being undone. Across from her, the booted
woman removed all her clothes except for her long black boots.
“Now let’s have some fun,” the woman behind Ginger announced,
removing her tongue from her butthole. Beside Ginger, the man and woman
who’d been sitting on the couch stood up. Ginger was suddenly turned by
the woman behind her and tossed down on the warm couch where the couple
had been sitting. As Ginger plopped down on her belly, the man,
standing, immediately crouched over her and held her down, his hands
pressing hard into her back.
“Yes, lovely, get something to put on his dick. She’ll be
tight!” the woman who had orally inspected Ginger announced. She stood
up, poured herself some champagne. As she watched Ginger being held
down she wet her tongue in the glass and then wiped it on a napkin, to
remove the traces of Ginger’s anal juices from it.
The other nude woman, fetching a jar of lubricant from the
mantle between the candles, walked over to the couch where Ginger lay
trapped. As the man held her down his wife oiled up his cock for him.
Then, forcing Ginger’s legs apart, he knelt on the couch between them.
Ginger struggled underneath him. She did not want to be fucked up her
ass by some stranger, some man she didn’t even know. She was more alert
now to her bottomhole than she’d been that first night, months ago, when
she’d heedlessly given away her tight little cherry-hole in the grope
room. She knew what a small and private place it was, and how it only
opened up properly in an intimate setting, with a man she knew and loved
and cared about. Yet, in this room, she was a mere paid-for trollop,
and she realized, as the man stabbed at her tight small bottom with his
big prick, tha the night was going to be quite a challenge.
“Open to me, bitch!” the man breathed hotly into her ear. She
felt an enormous pressure against the aperature of her bottom. She
screamed. A woman’s hand came to her mouth. It balled itself into a
tight, small fist and inserted itself between her teeth.
“Ooook!” Ginger cried out. The woman’s hand in her mouth
muffled her protest. The pressure in Ginger’s ass increased. She felt
something like a wet, well-lubricated hotdog pressing into her, one of
the big knockwurst hotdogs she saw at the mall that were too big for her
to eat. Now one of them pressed at her backside, demandingly, and it
was alive, throbbing, and she knew if it could get itself up inside her
it would spurt awful goo up into her that she’d still be shitting out in
the morning.
“Eeek! Noooo!” Ginger protested with wild screams. But they
only encouraged the man. Lustily he mounted her and forced his way into
her ass. Ginger felt suddenly all the air being driven from her. Her
stiff-nippled bare teats ground into the cushions of the sofa. She
bucked at him, trying to throw him off. But he was inside her already
and her rearward shoves with her small little bottom only served to
embed him deeper inside her.
“Goook! Noooo!” Ginger yelped and pleaded, trying to breathe,
the woman’s fist in her mouth. She tossed her head wildly to and fro
and felt her coiffure come completely undone. Her lovely hair that the
beautician had worked so long to pin up so prettily fell down around her
eyes and her cheeks. The woman with the hand in Ginger’s mouth forced
her fist in deeper, pushing Ginger’s head up and back, making her neck
strain, making her whole body arch back and into the man who was fucking
her. He thrust hard, he got himself fully up in her. Ginger wailed.
He began to move in and out of her like a dog in heat. She bumped her
hips back, he stabbed forward. She wriggled, he caught at her hips with
his hands and demanded she wiggle in time with his thrusts. Together,
then, she underneath, trapped, he above, master, she began to obey him
and move with him.
“She’s quite a little exert for a virgin,” a woman mused,
watching.
“She protests like a virgin, but she how she moves now, how she
accepts him,” the other woman agreed.
“Ah, what a delight!” the man within Ginger groaned. “Imagine
me at my age, having a virgin 12-year-old!” His two female companions
looked at each other.
“A 12-year-old with the moves of an 18-year-old, I’d say,” one
woman murmured to the other, but she didn’t say it loudly, only moving
her lips, for she didn’t want her husband to hear.
Ginger, who felt absolutely full and feared the man might split
her apart, ruin her, nonetheless bravely now shoved her ass back at him,
embedding him more deeply in her, accepting his need for pleasure. He
thrust himself hard inside her, yet not so hard as to injure her, but
stiffly and demandingly enough to let her know he could hurt her if he
wished. That it was entirely in his power now, that she was his slave.
Ginger accepted, her mouth stuffed with the fist of the man’s wife, her
eyes shedding tears. Together they worked to acheive his fulfillment.
At last, crowing with the climax of his venture, he spurted hotly into
her. Their wet coupling became wet and gooey. Ginger felt his hot
sperm rush into her bowles and she knew when she returned to Chip in the
morning she’d have a remant of this man in her, and she would have to
douche herself to get herself clean and free of his seed.
But there was no time for that now. The man rose, the next
appeared. He wished to spend in Ginger’s mouth and she was promptly
rolled over the women helping, so that she lay babylike staring up at
him. Her tummy was warm and her breasts were heaving. She was briefly
free of the woman’s fist and she drew in big gulps of air. Her breasts
rolled on her chest and she felt the jism of the previous man trickle
out of her bottomhole and stain the couch underneath her. Her bottom
lay sore upon the fabric, still hurting from her spanking.
Ginger reached up, tried to block the second man as he kneed
his way onto her. He wanted her mouth. The woman who had held Ginger
before now reached for her mouth again, this time not with a fist but
with prying fingers. She split Ginger’s 12-year-old lips apart and
Ginger felt the man slide his huge cock in over her wiggling tongue.
“No! Nooooop!” She protested, but it was lost, for the man was
in her mouth. Happily he began to work his hips. Each of his thrusts
pushed him deeper into her mouth, into her throat. Ginger gagged,
coughed. He laughed. He settled his hairy ass on her bare white
breasts. They were squashed down by his weight and forced to serve as
pillows for his behind.
The man humped her. He humped her mouth, lewdly, rude with his
thing and uncaring whether Ginger could even breathe. Her eyes grew
large and she had to suck air in as best she could through her small
perky nose. The man reached down, pinched her nose with his fingers.
“Suck!” he ordered. “You are not doing your part. Do not
resist me.” Ginger, her eyes like saucers, began sucking on him like a
Tootsie-Pop. He relaxed his hold on her nose and let her breathe
again. But he kept his fingers against her nose, lingering there,
threatening her lest she fail to perform as he wished.
Ginger prayed that the man would cum. She could barely get her
mouth around his big thing but she sucked it for all she was worth. She
began to bob her head up and down, lifting it up from the couch, and the
woman who’d opened her lips helped her, catching her head in her hands
and lifting it up and drawing it down for her.
“Ahhh! Yes!” the man in Ginger’s mouth crowed. She felt his
buttocks sweating and the sweat from his ass wet her breasts. She was
just a thing to him, a creature, living and not inflated, for him to
thrust his big bad penis into and receive satisfaction from.
Suddenly a police siren sounded out on the road. Blanching,
the man yanked himself from Ginger’s lips, hurting her teeth as his big
flanged head popped out. In a panic of sexual fright and desire, he
spurted all over her face. Big generous drops splattered Ginger’s
cheeks and fell hotly into her eyes and got all over her mouth and
lips. The siren died. It passed away down the road, a faraway sound,
disappearing into the night.
“Ha! Ha! They have the wrong man tonight!” the rude man above
Ginger crowed. His wife slapped his bare ass and told him to get up off
her.
A respite ensued. Ginger was let up and she sat huddled on the
couch. They brought her wine, forced her to drink it. The women sat
down beside her and petted her and caressed her. The men bragged to
each other about her tightness, about her youthfulness and her
virginity. One more remained, his cock rock hard, yearning. The booted
woman stroked him to console him as Ginger was given a rest.
As she recovered, Ginger once again enjoyed her place as the
center of attention. She eyed the man sitting across from her and his
cock. She remained demure, tried not to think about what lay ahead.
She had no idea whether he’d be nice to her, and have her in her pussy,
or whether he’d be mean and insist on entering her sore bottom, or
playing suffocation games with her mouth. The booted woman eyed her
possessively. She knew, if left to themselves, the woman would have
happily had her over her lap again, spanking Ginger’s bottom, perhaps
with something more definite than her hand. Ginger wiggled her ass on
the couch, feeling the bare raw skin. It was a little better now, a
little less sore. Perhaps all the sperm the first man had pumped into
her ass had helped it a little, she mused. She was glad for the other
people. She wasn’t in a mood to be whipped by the booted woman.
When everyone had been refreshed by wine the party resumed. It
was a delicious sight, the women with their breasts hanging free, their
nipples stiff with desire. They were tanned like Ginger and their tan
lines contrasted with their skin, though they were not deeply tanned, as
perhaps they had been in summer, but only lightly tanned, lying out in
the Nevada sun on days when it wasn’t too cool. Their bottoms glowed
white in the light cast from the fireplace, their limbs were like smooth
gently-hued copper. The men were dark, rugged. Hair grew on their
chests and on their legs and in the cracks of their bare asses. They
sported lewdly displayed testicle sacs, hanging down between their legs,
no pants or underpants or even jock straps to hide the sight. Their
cocks slowly grew toward rigidity and the cock of the man who had yet to
enjoy an ejactulation stood erect and stiff. His balls were tight,
eager to spend.
Ginger tasted sperm in her mouth, soothed by the wine. She
knew she had it sloshing around in her belly and it was quite gooily all
up the inside of her ass, dribbling out whenever she moved or changed
her position. The women laid her back on the couch and ran their
fingers through her long brown hair, comforting her, making her ready.
They made her open her slender thighs, show them her dell. One woman,
suddenly, dipped her face down within Ginger’s opened thighs and licked
at her snatch.
“Oh!” Ginger cried. The other woman, sitting behind her head,
petted her face.
“She must wet you, dear,” she said. Ginger felt quite wet
already but it didn’t stop the woman between her thighs. Her tongue
delved into her, penis-like, stabbing, searching. When at last she rose
wet-cheeked from between Ginger’s legs Ginger reached for her, for she
was on the verge of spending. But instead the man came, the third man.
In place of the woman’s soft seeking tongue his cock now stabbed into
her. Ginger cried out, wanted the tongue instead, the man was too big!
But he thrust into her and she was made to accept him.
As the man worked himself in Ginger, and she began to respond,
bucking her hips up at him, lifting her soft well-spanked bottom from
the couch, receiving him, the woman at her head got up and drifted
around behind the chair arm. One of the men took hold of her. He
forced her to bend over the arm of the sofa and Ginger found the woman’s
lips upon her own. They kissed. Ginger accepted the woman’s tongue in
her mouth, reluctantly, then passionately, as the men in both of them
worked them to fever pitch. In the distance, for what reason Ginger
didn’t know, the booted woman put the remaining man over her legs and
gave him a loud spanking.
The bodies worked. Kisses were exchanged, loins met in fevered
anticipation of their coming crisis. Ginger felt herself used and
utterly violated, but her cunny buzzed with desire and her nipples
perked hard into the grasping hands of the man who rode her. The woman
above her mouth kissed her deeply, gasped her breath into Ginger’s face
as she was fucked by the man behind her. All about the room one could
smell the heat of the bodies. There were sounds, sucking sounds, of the
joined loins pushing and pulling together.
Although she’d professed concern for the carpet the booted
woman did not seem to mind the impending danger of the man over her
lap. His cock was wedged down between her legs. Every time her hand
splatted down across his behind he shafted between her thighs,
threatening to spill. Ginger, her face turning once in their direction,
saw his thing sticking down, wondered at it, wondered if the woman would
scold him if he came.
Ginger climaxed. The woman above her climaxed. Almost at the
same time, the man came in Ginger, hotly, wildly. Her hips shoved up at
him, straining at him even as he strained within her. Then, gradually,
the four shuddered to completion. They kissed and petted and licked at
each other. Their simmering loins gradually cooled.
All was done, complete. They told Ginger they wished to be
alone now, with each other, wives with husbands. Her job was complete.
Ginger composed herself, feeling behind herself, the rubberiness of her
spanked cheeks, the sperm dripping out of her bottom. She sipped a
final glass of wine, standing up, brushing her hair back from her eyes.
Across from her she saw the mess the man over the booted woman’s lap had
made in the carpet. She looked at it, at the man, back at it again. He
sat happily on the couch now. The booted woman sat with her legs open,
showing her dell, the man’s cum on the floor between her polished
leather bootheels. The woman said nothing, Ginger did not ask why the
man had been allowed to spill himself on the carpet.
“Bye, dear,” Ginger was told at the door, a woman escorting her
out. The woman waved. It was a small, cupped-hand wave, intimate. But
Ginger, expecting a goodbye-kiss, was not kissed. The door closed in
her face.
Aimlessly Ginger walked down the hall. She was nude, her hair
a mess. Her makeup, so carefully applied, was ruined. Her bottom hurt
and her breasts were sore. She was spermy between her legs and it
dripped out of her bottom, leaving a trail behind her on the hallway
floor tiles. Despite the wine she could still taste sperm on her lips
and in her mouth and down the inside of her throat. She was sperm
girl. She’d been spermed.
Ginger trotted down the stairs to the basement. Her breasts
bounced as she hit each new step. She slipped into the room that she
and Chip shared. She climbed wearily into their bed. She hated to
stain the sheets with other men’s sperm but she was too tired to go take
a bath. She reached across to the nightstand, picked up a lollipop.
She unwrapped it. It was cherry. She popped it in her mouth and
happily sucked at it. It felt small after the big penis that had been
in her mouth. She hoped the cherry flavor would kill the taste of the
man’s sperm. She settled back onto the pillow. Before she knew it she
was asleep.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of
my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians.
-Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net
-formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com,
roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search
under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant
bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.)
-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
-For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com
- Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age
statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 272 EMISSION
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /