Message-ID: <1115eli$9706021807@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1115>
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: Lusts Lair part 1 of 2 (NND)
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LUST’S LAIR
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
Deep in the mountains of Bosnia, there is a refuge from the
modern world. A castle looms amidst the rocks there, often so shrouded
by mist that it cannot be seen. Dense forest blocks all but a single
road to the castle. For the last 30 miles it is a dirt road. Here,
like a lost island, the rules and codes of the 20th century fall away.
Few know about the castle. For the peasants, living in the
hamlets scattered beyond the forest’s deepest parts, the castle is a
dangerously mysterious place. In Europe, and in America, and
increasingly in Russia, the castle is known as a daunting sexual
retreat. A few bold couples choose to go there, despite the expense,
despite the rumors of things gone wrong. This is the story of one of
them.
They arrived looking like the perfect tourists. The man was
from Connecticut, 25, dressed in a slick Armani suit for the occasion.
The woman, just a girl really, for she was only 17, wore a pretty
brimmed hat with a daisy in it. When she spoke her voice had an artless
Southern drawl to it. Not deep, just the light, civilized drawl of a
Southern girl brought up in a proper middle class home. A black mesh
veil of fine silk covered her eyes. She wore a white blazer that
matched her hat and elegant high heeled booties. She had white gloves
on her hands. Her skirt was the only clue she might be daring, it
hugged her bottom like a glove and stopped just below it.
Angela’s servant met them at the door and brought them to her.
She greeted them where she greeted all her guests, in the parlor, amidst
the eighteenth century photo albums of relatives long-dead and the
much-fingered King James Bible. It was a small room, with tall windows
that looked out on the forest, giving a spectacular view, but the
drapes, on this day, as on most days, were drawn shut.
“Please go upstairs and undress,” were the first words Angela
spoke to her guests. She was drinking tea, but she did not even turn
her head to acknowledge the young couple standing in the entrance to the
parlor. She did not care to waste her time with the uncommitted.
The man began to speak. Angela put her teacup down. She
looked the man straight in the eye. “Perhaps you’ve come to the wrong
address,” she smiled sweetly. But her eyes held a look of contempt.
“Please go upstairs and undress.” She saw them fidget. A small
concession was required here, if she were to keep them, she realized.
And, since they were both as beautiful as their pictures had indicated,
the girl with long flowing blonde hair and the man dark and rugged, she
decided to make it. “There are swimsuits on the guest bed,” she
explained. She saw a wave of relief wash over the guests’ faces.
Always they clung to this little straw, she said to herself. This last
little straw that helped them lie to themselves. About themselves.
She looked the girl over with increasing interest. She was
petite, and a minor to boot, but with luscious round breasts and a
narrow waist with svelte hourglass hips. Her legs, sticking out from
her short, glove-like skirt, were breathtaking in their length. Angela
liked the girl’s choice of clothes. It was a pity that she got to see
so little of this aspect of a girl, but it couldn’t be helped. Gazing
at the girl’s bust, she said to her, “Do not put on the bikini bra the
servant laid out for you.” The girl, following Angela’s eyes, glanced
self-consciously down at her chest. “Just the panties will be fine,”
Angela told her.
The girl blushed. Jill was her name. She looked at her
boyfriend, Dave. For help, for approval. But he gave none. “Well, it
is Europe, after all,” Jill finally said. Only then did her boyfriend
notice her and her misgivings. Tearing his eyes away from Angela, he
nodded in agreement with her.
Yes, the small concession had been worth it for this one,
Angela told herself. She gazed admiringly at the young man and did not
try to conceal it. Some boyfriends, or husbands, were not much to look
at. But this one was a true Adonis. She would have to keep his
girlfriend occupied so she could enjoy him.
The servant led the young couple upstairs. Angela permitted
them this small moment of privacy, but she could easily guess their
movements, their hushed words. She painted a picture of it in her mind
and knew it was correct.
The guest bedroom was large and spacious. The couple was
surprised. They had come seeking strangeness, instead found luxurious
convention. A stately bed bore embroidered covers, sewn by the women in
the village, patterns of baroque trees and flowers and, hidden within
the trees, a shy fawn. The bed’s frame, right up to its pillar-like
bedposts, was sturdy. Pillows lay plumped against the headboard like
conspiring lovers.
The maid closed the bedroom door to give them privacy. But she
listened, her ear against the door. It interested her to hear what was
spoken. Her friends in the village would enjoy the fresh gossip. They
would give her fresh loaves of bread in exchange for it.
Within, the intimate conversation of the couple.
‘Should we?’ the girl asks her lover.
‘We must. We have come already,’ he replies gruffly. He does
not wish to be asked to reconsider their decision. He is too hard up
now to reconsider it. Too drawn in by Angela’s eyes and her awesome
figure.
The girl beside him figets. She holds her purse like a
talisman, as if it will protect her from her decision. Taking off his
shirt, seeing her hesitancy, her lover comes over to her and
unceremoniously unzips the back of her skirt.
The girl drops her purse and claps her hands to her unzipped
skirt. It is half-fallen already, showing her bottom. He puts his hand
to the back of her panties. He yanks down their seat, showing himself
her white cheeks that he longs for. The girl utters a screamy gasp.
The maid outside must put her hand to her mouth quickly to avoid giving
herself away in laughter.
A gruff command inside the bedroom. Then, silence, as the two
of them undress themselves. A peace renews itself between them as their
clothes fall away and they find themselves both naked. The girl asks
her lover again if they can leave. She approaches him, seeks intimacy,
compassion. Lightly her fingers graze his stemming cock. She feels she
is stroking a lion.
“She is the best,” he tells her. The girl looks up at his
face, wide-eyed, still running her fingers over his erection.
“At what?” she asks. He pulls away and motions to the swimsuit
laid out for her on the bed. He walks to the side of the bed where his
own suit lays waiting.
“At what?” she asks him again. She looks forlorn. The man
picks up the trunks the maid has laid out for him. He looks them over
with a quick, manly interest. They are Speedoes. A mistake has been
made. They are a size too small. He considers requesting a larger size
for himself but decides to make do with what he has been given. He
struggles into the suit. It cups his balls hard and he has to work to
get his erection somehow within it. He considers stroking himself off
but knows, somehow, that Angela would not approve of this method of
accomodating himself to the suit.
The girl holds the miniscule panties assigned to her in her
hands. It is a small, white bikini bottom, looking quite pure but at
the same time so unsubstantial as to obviously not be for swimming. A
vee of fabric in front promises to cover at least part of her bush.
But, despite this small token of privacy, it quickly repents. The part
of the panties designed to run between her legs has no gusset. Instead
there is only a string-like strip of cloth. She knows it will wedge
itself into her and rub her spot the minute she puts it on.
She checks the back. A mere demi-seat, barely able to cup the
center of her fanny, forms the panty’s rear. She looks at her lover
again in hopes that he might repent and take her away, clothed again in
her pretty Sunday clothes, with the specially-short dress that he bought
her to show her off in, but he merely adjusts himself in his swimsuit
and looks at her expectantly.
In a little while, the couple returned. Angela glanced up at
them as they came to the parlor door. The servant led them. They
halted at the door, afraid, perhaps, to enter. Like a referee before a
race Angela looked over their bodies.
The man was naked now, except for a competition-style Speedo
swimsuit. It hugged his genitals and his butt with crude efficiency.
His penis, trapped by the nylon fabric, hung in front of him. He looked
as if a snake had been curled and then dropped in the front of his
suit. Marie could even make out the outline of his circumcised
cockhead. Arriving in the doorway, he asked Angela if they could have
towels.
Angela laughed. “Please, come sit down and share my tea,” she
replied. The couple entered the parlor. The man’s well-hung equipment
jostled within his suit with his every step. His girlfriend walked
calmly, letting her breasts bounce freely and nakedly. She blushed a
little as she walked into the parlor. Angela gazed at her bosoms with
practised interest. She watched as the girl became uncomfortable under
her gaze. Yet her nipples stuck out with promising stiffness. She did
not try to hide her breasts behind her hands and she had bravely cast
her long mane of hair behind her back so that it would not conceal her.
The servant indicated a loveseat across from Angela for them to
sit in. The two Americans sat down. The girl noticed that there was a
white doily under her, on the seat, as she sat down on it. Astutely,
she did not try to remove it. As gracefully as she could she planted
her bottom on it, causing the plushly upholstered seat to sink under
her. When she looked down between her legs she saw that the doily was
present there. A bit of its round lace edge peeped up at her between
her thighs.
“Please put a hand in your panties,” Angela said to the girl.
“What?” Jill replied.
“I have given you the option of modesty, but that’s all,”
Angela replied. “You may wear panties if you wish as we share tea, but
you must put your hand in them.”
The girl cast a quick glance at her boyfriend. He offered
little help. His swimsuit had stretched considerably in front. He
seemed almost to be grinning, just barely holding back a devilish
smile. Angela smiled at him and indicated silently with her eyes that
she approved of his eagerness.
“Do as she says,” Dave said distractedly to Jill.
Jill blushed. Hesitantly, she put her fingertips inside the
waistband of her panties.
“All the way in,” Angela said to her in a no-nonsense voice.
Her eyes were uncompromising. “Put them in and play with yourself.
Play with your cunt. Do not stop unless I tell you to.”
Jill blushed fiercely but complied. As her boyfriend watched
with eager eyes, she slid her fingers all the way into her panties.
Like her skirt and blazer and gloves had been, they were white, but they
gave her no protection. As her fingers reached the base of the vee that
covered her pussy, they popped out again. Only the string covered her
between her legs, where Angela wanted her to touch herself. Jill was
forced to lift the string from between her legs, which gave her a
moment’s relief, using her trapped fingers in her panties to do it. But
then she was obliged to stick her fingers underneath the uplifted string
and find her spot with her fingertips.
Divested of all but this tiny fragment of her former
white-clothed purity, itself a gift, her own, more substantial panties,
left upstairs, Jill began to play with herself. She tried to do it
delicately but Angela frowned and snapped at her, “Don’t just diddle
yourself. Stick your fingers into your cunt.”
Jill looked plaintively at her boyfriend but he was preoccupied
with Angela’s gaze. She looked down at herself. With her other hand
she helpfully lifted up the crotch-string that made a negligible effort
to inhibit her. Then, freed of it, holding it up from herself, with her
other hand she dove deeper still, within her nether lips, and wiggled
her fingers within her snug tightness.
The servant, a middle-aged woman, poured tea from a silver
teapot. She served Dave first. Then she poured a cup for Jill. She
handed it to Jill just as Jill’s fingers touched her sexual core.
“Oh!” Jill blurted. Her exploring fingers felt a juicing of
wetness inside her. She blushed again, but Angela merely stared
expectantly, and the maid waited to give her tea. Jill let go of her
crotch-string and accepted the tea. She glanced at her boyfriend. He
showed no interest in her. He was unconcerned with her plight. She was
making herself wet but he remained with his eyes fixed on Angela.
Their host, however, was quite attentive to Jill’s condition.
“Keep playing with yourself, Jill,” Angela ordered her as Jill
attempted to sip from her teacup. Jill pouted in disapproval but
obeyed.
So, drinking as delicately as she could from the china cup
containing her tea, the young girl brought herself to new unexpected
spasms. Small, unexpected explosions of sound escaped her throat as she
attempted to drink her tea.
Jill tried as hard as she could to ignore her rising pleasure.
Certainly her boyfriend paid no attention. The maid, waiting as if to
give her more tea but actually watching her masturbate, observed her
much more closely than he did. He was entranced with Angela. Angela
sipped tea and watched Jill as a mother does, ready to reprove mistakes.
Glancing about the curtain-shrouded room, trying not to dwell
on her feelings, Jill drank her tea. She drank with a sensitivity to
manners, despite her masturbating, for she’d been raised in a home that
prized its manners and its southern traditions. Her mother had taught
her to always hold the cup with one finger extended, and Jill did this,
though now her finger trembled a little. When she’d finished her cup of
tea, the maid took it and refilled it without Jill having to ask. She
understood that she was to drink this second cup too, and she hoped she
did not have to ask permission, when the time came, to visit the
restroom. Tea tended to go through her rather quickly.
Sitting like a dark-haired lion on the loveseat next to her,
Dave, Jill’s boyfriend, needed no encouragement to stroke his genitals.
Angela could see they were paining him and his hands ran hopefully along
his flanks, stroking even the insides of his thighs like a female
might. But she gave him no permission to pleasure himself. The male
did not need to be brought up to speed, like the female. He needed to
learn restraint. He needed to learn to hold his seed inside himself
until the female was ready for him.
It was a big change from just a few minutes ago, Angela
thought, when he’d attempted to challenge her request that they
undress. She watched his hands running along his hair-laden thighs and
when he suddenly jerked and reached for his suit in some spasm of need,
not to masturbate but to adjust himself, she felt sorry for him. She
smiled at him and told him he could play with himself if he wished.
He cleared his throat. Keeping his hand from himself, taking a
re-filled teacup from the servant, he asked, “Shall we be going
swimming, then?” His voice was manly, commanding. She saw that he was
trying hard to act his age and even to take control of the situation.
He did not want to be seen as a masturbating little boy, despite his
desperation.
“Only in the sea of love,” Angela smiled. He looked up,
startled, as he sipped his tea. His cock lengthened even more in his
suit. “This isn’t the Holiday Inn,” she added quietly.
“No,” he replied.
“Why do you wish me to do this?” the girl asked. Her nipples
were harder than ever and she shook her hair back. She was becoming
heated. Her hands worked inside her cunny, her crotch-string pushed
aside, a wetness had formed on her nether lips.
“You must not speak unless you are spoken to,” Angela replied.
She did not look at the girl. She kept her eyes fixed expectantly on
Dave’s crotch.
“But I’ll be... well I already am...” the girl said. She
looked down between her legs.
“Wet?” Angela asked. “You are swimming, then, as your
boyfriend wishes. But in your own juices.”
“Oh, I don’t--!” the girl began. Angela silenced her with a
finger to her lips and a quick glance.
“It may seem indelicate for me to inquire, but I must know her
sexual history,” Angela said to her boyfriend.
The servant brought a riding crop, a very long and slender one,
and handed it to Angela.
“Yes, thank you,” Angela said, almost distractedly. She placed
the crop across her lap. She continued to gaze with interest at Dave,
alternating her glance between his face and his swimsuit. A wet spot
was forming on it where his pee slit was, issuing forth the pre-cum of
his arousal.
To further enflame him, not waiting for him to answer her
question, Angela told him about herself.
She was almost 30, and felt every nuance of her age, though she
might have, she admitted, easily passed for someone younger, for she had
high breasts and trim hips and liked to keep her hair hanging free,
though on this afternoon it was piled up in a bun on her head to give
her a look of authority.
Angela had ‘begun early,’ as they say, and quickly tired of
conventional sex. When she came into money unexpectedly, she quit
college. She went on a tour around the globe. It had one purpose,
concealed beneath its respectable appearance. She wanted to find a
sexual hideaway where she could practise and discover the rarest and
most beautiful aspects of human sexuality.
She almost bought in Myanmar. There was a lovely run-down
Buddhist temple there that she longed to restore and make an earthly
paradise, devoted to sin. But the generals who ran Myanmar were too
harsh and unpredictable, she decided. So she settled on Bosnia.
Passing through, at the height of the war, she heard of the castle.
Against all advice, the peasants fearing the castle more than they
feared the war, afraid to even speak of it, she drove to it and entered
it. Alone. She came at dusk and unrolled her sleeping bag in the
living room. Then she undressed. Crawling into her sleeping bag
utterly nude, she dared the castle to destroy her. She felt a
heart-racing thrill as she watched the last bits of daylight disappear
from the living room. In the blackness of the night she met her match.
A man from the dead.
Angela relished the attentiveness of her listeners. Despite
his hard-on, the man listened intently, absorbed in her life and her
story. The girl, still inciting herself, though as diffidently as
possible, listened raptly.
Angela sipped her tea and continued. The peasants, she
discovered, had not been foolish in their fear. In the depths of the
night she met the castle’s spectral ruler. He was gaunt and handsome
and she could not touch him but she felt touched by him. She nearly
died of fright within his illusionary hands. He made her perform
unspeakable acts for her, all by herself with him watching, goading,
forcing her to do what she longed to do but could not do without someone
making her. She was forced to play with herself and he made her pee in
her sleeping bag. He took her outdoors and in the cold he made her cut
a birch branch for herself, with a knife he gave her, or was it one she
found in the grass? She had to bend herself over a trestle in the
castle’s cellar and whip her own bottom. As she whipped herself he made
her suck him, though another might have thought it merely a dildo she
sucked, she knew it was him, for when she was sore and tender he issued
a cold brew into her mouth.
She ran to the top of the castle stairs when she felt the need
and she pooped her dinner out of a window. There should not have been a
wagon below but somehow, despite the late hour, there was, and a funeral
procession no less, and she plopped her turds on the half-swathed dead
body that lay in the wagon, and she knew it was him, passing below her
even as he watched her within the castle tower itself.
In the wee hours of the morning he presented himself to her
anew. Stemming freely and lustily despite his untimely death, despite
the centuries that had passed since he walked on the earth and could dig
it up and hold it in his hands, he carried her swooning downstairs
again, to the cellar, and he fucked her boldly. He was relentless with
her. She screamed but his need was that of a madman and for several
hours she could not satisfy him, no matter how hard she tried. He kept
pummeling her. He fucked her like an animal fucks one of its own kind,
for she was human but her lusts, he told her, were inhuman, as he
himself now was.
When daybreak came she found a bargain struck between them:
the castle could be hers, if she used it for sex. She promised him she
would.
The girl had experimented a little. Her boyfriend described to
Angela, as Jill sat listening, still required to play with herself, how
they’d gone to an orgy. And he’d taken her to a sex dungeon in New
York. Jill figeted a little as he spoke of it, as if her bottom still
remembered it.
“And the anus?” Angela asked, still addressing Jill’s boyfriend
exclusively. “She has been fucked there too? I don’t permit virgins
here, vaginally or anally.”
“Well, um,” the young man with the very full swimsuit coughed.
“Uh, yeah, I guess...” he looked over at Angela.
Sensing she might be relieved of her duty to rub herself,
Angela piped up, “No. I’m a virgin back there. I’d never let anyone
violate my hiney.”
Angela frowned. She’d sent them a questionnaire while they
were both still in America. Jill had put herself down as an anal virgin
then, too. “I gave you explicit instructions to fuck her in all of her
holes before you brought her here,” Angela said to Dave. “You wrote
back assuring me that you would.”
“Well, I...” Dave began.
Angela flicked the riding crop on her lap.
“He just didn’t, that’s all,” Jill piped up, as if fearing she
might get in trouble for refusing him. The man was older than Jill but
perhaps he was still too sensitive, Angela mused. He must be made a
thorough-going master, not one who permits his female improper
liberties. She glanced at the girl. She was a high-schooler still, a
little more daring than her friends, perhaps, but still wilful and
disobedient like a girl, enjoying her refusals. She must be brought to
the full flower of womanhood. She must learn to accept her body and its
needs and, more importantly, the needs of the men in her life.
“Come here, both of you,” Angela said. The lovers looked at
each other and then rose up from their loveseat. Instinctively, turning
her head, Jill looked down at the doily on the seat. It was wet from
her sitting on it. She had drawn her hand from her panties and now she
walked self-consciously with her boyfriend over to Angela.
The woman sized up her new guests. She was only a few years
older than the male, but she exceeded him by vast amounts, she guessed,
in experience. His cock jutted so rudely and energetically at her face,
trapped in his swimsuit, that she dismissed all thought of sending him
away unfulfilled, despite his broken promise. She would teach him how
to handle a young woman and make her behave and do as he wished.
Angela looked directly at Jill. “This will be the roughest sex
you’ve ever had,” Angela said. She decided not to mince any words with
this virgin. She had lost her own virginity long ago and the mind games
of silly young girls were tiresome to her. “Very rough.” She gazed
intently at Jill. “You will have to give everything you’ve got, just to
survive.”
Jill, standing all but naked in her little white panties in
front of Angela, shivered and stroked her thighs with her hands. A
glance at her boyfriend was only rewarded with a passionate smile. He
gazed at her now, at her breasts, at her tummy that heaved inward under
her ribs. As instructed she had not brought any pills with her. She
realized she wanted him, not just for a boyfriend but for life, and she
knew it was a big decision and the fact that she was willing to make
such a decision scared her. Yet he looked at her now with such interest
that she could not stand the thought of leaving him or of denying him
anything.
“Will... will it hurt?” Jill managed to stammer.
Angela smiled at her. “Some days the pain will be so intense
you’ll think you’re going to die. Other days the pleasure will be so
overwhelming you’ll forget who you are,” Angela said. Jill’s hands
sleeked from the outside of her thighs to their creamy insides. She
looked as if she wished to put them into her panties again. “You must
consider this a mission, my dear,” Angela continued. “A quite
impossible mission, one you may decline, even now, if you wish. But
once you begin your journey, there will be no going back. No let up.
No escape. I will not allow it. The integrity of the experience must
be preserved.”
Angela eyed Jill expectantly. Jill looked to her boyfriend,
found he was barely inside his swimsuit anymore. His cockhead
threatened to burst from its waistband.
Her breathing shaky with excitement and fear, but too aroused
to decline, thanks to her busy fingers, Jill nodded. When she realized
she’d nodded, she froze. Then she let out a great sigh of relief that
she’d decided, only to freeze again as she realized how momentous her
decision had been.
“Very good. It’s settled then,” Angela said to Jill, but not
looking at her anymore, as if she were just a doll.
“And, uh, I guess I will too,” Dave coughed. His cockhead
peeped out of the top of his swimsuit. Just the pee slit, but enough to
show he wasn’t thinking of going anywhere at all. Angela looked at him
and laughed.
“You men have a handy instrument that makes all your decisions
for you,” she smiled.
“Do I... do I have to take off my panties now?” Jill piped up
helpfully. Perhaps she hoped to find satisfaction with her boyfriend’s
hard on, pleasing both herself and him, avoiding the scary abyss that
was lurking in Angela’s words. Perhaps she hoped all would be merely
conventional, like it had always been between them before.
“Oh my love, this is my castle you’re in now,” Angela purred to
Jill. She watched as the girl’s nervous, anxious fingers played tensely
across her panties and settled on her pantied bush. Her clit was just
below, aching. “You could mount your boyfriend in America. There’s no
need for you to come here to get what he’s already given you
elsewhere.” Angela lifted her riding crop. “Have you been whipped
before, my dear?”
“No,” Jill gasped. She stared at the wicked crop balanced
between Angela’s fingers.
“It is important at the beginning of any relationship to
establish who is in charge and who is not,” Angela said to the girl.
The words were the same she spoke to every girl who came to her castle.
She said them with disinterest, as if they were nothing, like a cab
driver giving his fare. She flicked her eyes at Ron. He was included
too, of course, but the girl had always to be dealt with first. Girls
could cause the most trouble in a castle run by a woman. The men were
easy.
“Yes,” Jill said, nodding. She bit her lip compliantly,
reassuring herself that she was making the right decision, not
permitting a contrary thought to break through.
“Please pull down your panties and turn around and show me your
bottom,” Angela told Jill. The girl flinched. She looked at her
boyfriend but he’d slyly slid a hand to his crotch. Ostensibly it was
to straighten himself but his hand lingered unnecessarily.
“I--” Jill began.
“Do you remember what I said about not speaking unless you’re
spoken to?” Angela asked. Jill reluctantly nodded.
Angela lifted her crop with a tentative air. She motioned for
Jill to turn around. The maid’s hand took Jill’s teacup from her. Jill
glanced anxiously at her boyfriend and then she turned around so that
her bottom faced Angela. It was a large, well-formed ripe pumpkin,
jutting back fulsomely behind her despite the trimness of her hips.
Angela tapped her pantied seat with her riding crop. Jill bit her lip
and squeamishly pulled her panties down in back to show Jill the bottom
that Dave had insisted on spanking with his hand when they visited the
dungeon in New York.
“Yes, nice and plump. You choose your bottoms well,” Angela
said slyly to Dave. She tapped Jill’s bare seat and the girl gave an
insecure cry of alarm, despite the lightness of the tap and Angela’s
complimentary words. For a moment she was at home in her mother’s
parlor and she blushed at how she’d never have been allowed to pull down
her panties in her mother’s parlor. Yet now here she was, in a parlor
at least as prim and conservative as her mother’s, yet despite being a
small girl wondering if she could moon the visiting pastor she was a big
girl, and knew better, but her bottom was bare.
Angela tugged lightly on the tip of her crop and then released
it. The hard length of it snapped against Jill’s ass. The girl leapt
like a fish.
“Does it excite you to feel my crop hitting your butt?” Angela
asked Jill frankly.
“N-no,” Jill protested. But her tummy felt all fluttery and
she knew no matter how much she loved Dave she would not be standing
there showing off her fanny to Angela if it didn’t thrill her a little.
The sinfulness of it made her tremble. Angela was beautiful and
eminently mature, just like Jill’s lady friends who used to play bridge
with her in the parlor. And here Jill was, showing off her proud young
bottom and daring Angela with it.
“Part your legs,” Angela said to Jill. She touched her bottom
with her fingertips. Jill, taut like a bow, opened her legs slightly.
Angela inserted the tip of her crop between Jill’s legs. Jill
drew her breath in abruptly. Angela rubbed her cunt. She threaded her
crop between Jill’s nether lips and worked the crop across Jill’s spot
like a saw.
“We will go to the barn,” Angela said to Jill. She withdrew
her crop. “Pull up your panties so the workmen don’t see your bottom.”
Angela rose behind Jill. The girl felt her commanding presence
behind her and quickly drew up her panties to hide her bottom. They did
not hide as nearly as much of her seat as she liked but she understood
that they would do. She smoothed her seat to tidy it but the minute she
took a step forward her seat wedged up into her bottom, showing even
more of her than it already did.
Outside it was cold and the sun was going down. The workmen
who had seen the two Americans arrive in their rented Porsche now saw
them step out of the house, with Angela, dressed in swimsuits as if for
European swimming, the girl topless. But the three headed for the barn
and the workmen knew there was no swimming pool in the barn.
Angela herself remained clothed, walking in her black dress
that hugged her hips and her prominent bosom, her dark hair piled high
on her head. Gold hoop earrings dangled from her ears. Jill also wore
earrings, and heels, belying her swimsuit, which was itself too small,
despite being made of nylon, for anything short of swimming in a private
pool. The workmen tipped their hat to Jill as she passed them. She
walked hand-in-hand with her boyfriend. He strode confidently across
the grass, wearing only his shoes. She walked less surely, dragged
along behind him, like a cork bobbing along in the wake of a speedboat,
tethered to it. Toadstools sprouted in the grass and although he walked
oblivious to them, kicking off their tender heads with his every
footstep, Jill tried delicately to avoid them. Angela whisked at a few
with her crop, decapitating them.
Dave flushed a little as he saw the workmen but tried to ignore
them. He was 25, young and strong, and except for his lack of clothing
he had no reason to feel unconfident before them. Certainly, pulling up
in his porsche, with a beautiful young girl beside him, he had been the
very picture of confidence. He’d spoken to them with that measured
disdain one reserves for the lower classes, workmen who toil in the
dirt, digging ditches and hauling rocks, making the world pretty for the
wealthy, brash young men who play in it with their girlfriends. They’d
directed him to the house when he’d asked them if Angela lived there.
They’d been silent, as they were now, but they did not keep their eyes
lowered now as they had before. Instead they stared at him frankly, at
his swimsuit which wouldn’t get wet, except with his pre-cum. They
looked at his penis as it joggled inside his suit, a joystick yearning
to break free. Dave did not look at them at all this time. Instead he
kept his eyes straight ahead, walking with his love across the
mushroomed grass with Angela walking beside him, swinging her crop.
A workman, breaking from the others, ran ahead to open the
barn. He lifted a heavy wooden bar from double doors. He was old and
frail, not like the others, who were middle-aged, but he still managed
to get the bar up and, heaving it onto the grass, he pulled wide the
barn doors. Angela walked past him, Dave beside her, towing Jill.
The workman pushed the doors closed. Jill found herself
standing in the hushed silence of the barn. She could smell a horse and
she heard the whisking of the horse’s tail as it flicked it across its
haunches.
It was chilly in the barn, but not excessively so. Outdoors it
had been cold but Jill’s first hint that this was much more than a barn
came as Angela bent and lit an oil lamp. Its flame sputtered to life.
Shapes that had lay hidden in the dark suddenly were illuminated.
“My God!” Jill blurted. As she spoke she heard the workman
outside replace the bar in the door with a heavy thud. She thought she
could hear laughter from the grass beyond but she wasn’t sure.
Huge machines loomed around her. Some were clearly farm
equipment, intended for sowing and reaping, but others had a much more
sinister aspect. They reminded her of things she’d briefly seen in the
New York dungeon as her boyfriend hurried her to a private room to give
her a hand spanking.
Bars and trestles lay about her, and two sturdy posts stood in
the center, while yet more devices lay beyond, some with blades, as if
for shearing crops, or the appendages of humans. Around her on the
walls hung whips and chains and paddles, and rings to put on people, and
to constrict their most intimate parts with. And there were long oblong
objects, suitable for fucking, but they were brutish and insensate, not
living things, like her boyfriend’s penis. And amidst the items of
abuse, lay a clutter of oils and gels, and condoms, strewn out ready for
use on two tables in the midst of all the equipment.
“Take off your swimsuits,” Angela said to her guests.
Dave let go of Jill’s hand abruptly. As she watched in horror
he quickly untied his suit and pulled it down his legs. His cock sprang
to attention. It pulsed with its wicked need, all hard and bulging with
veins. Despite her fears at being punished herself, she felt equally
alarmed at the display of his penis. Did he not see the scythes and the
cutting blades all around them? Did he feel so overwhelmed by his
passion that he was simply willing to ingore the danger they posed? Yet
her own nipples stood stiffly on her breasts, as hard as his big cock
was.
Jill felt a hard slim object poking into the front of her
panties, pulling it down. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of
Angela’s riding crop. Angela pulled on the vee of Jill’s panties, where
they covered her in front, exposing her bush. Jill felt so scared she
did not try to resist. She watched the uncovering for a moment, looking
at her curly bush as its wisps of hair were exposed. Then, fearing she
might be punished it she didn’t help, though she surely would be
punished even if she did help, Jill stuck her hands into the waistband
of her panties and drew them quickly down her legs.
“Yes. Get them right off. You won’t be needing them here,”
Angela said to Jill. The girl drew her panties down to her feet and
then bent over nervously to pull them off her heels. She was all too
aware of Angela standing there with her crop as she offered her bottom
in getting her panties off.
As if to ensure the girl that she was, indeed, getting herself
into hot water, Angela whisked her crop lightly across Jill’s bare seat
as Jill bent to relieve her feet of her tangled panties. Jill’s nether
cheeks retracted with fright. The rubbery spheres were so bulging and
perfect and yet such a tempting target, for wicked minds, as Jill knew.
She was only 9 when she’d first noticed boys and even perverted men
gazing at them. Always they seemed to want to poke something between
them or, failing that, to swat them. Jill looked back at her boyfriend
but found to her dismay that he only watched with interest, not
interfering at all. He appeared to expect her to be hit.
“Give me your panties,” Angela said to Jill. Meekly Jill
handed them over. Angela thrust her crop into a sash round her waist
for safekeeping. She held up Jill’s panties and appeared to examine
them. Jill blushed at how wet they were, especially on the little
string that had run through her cuntlips. Suddenly, with her
long-nailed fingers, Angela began ripping the panties. Jill watched in
horror for the workmen were outside and she had nothing to put on to go
back to the house. Angela shredded the panties until they were nothing
but torn bits of fabric. Then she opened her slender hands and let the
pieces flutter to the smooth dirt floor of the barn.
“There, so much for that nonsense,” Angela said. Jill looked
down at her panties like a mother hen regarding eggs which the farmer
has taken. Eggs soon to be smashed to make someone’s breakfast.
“Give me your swimsuit,” Angela said to Dave. Willingly, if
somewhat in awe of her, Jill’s boyfriend handed over his Speedoes.
Angela sniffed the pre-cum stain on the front of his suit. Then she
ripped up his swimsuit just as lustily as she’d destroyed Jill’s.
“Alright, you two, let’s begin,” Angela said to them. She made
no attempt to remove her own clothes. Instead she brandished her crop
at them both and motioned for them to retreat before her.
Jill turned and anxiously took Dave’s hand.
“No hand holding,” Angela snapped. Dave let go of Jill and she
was made to walk beside him without the consolation of his touch. They
came to a trestle. It was made of bare wood and there were marks on it,
as if someone had struggled there, and there were gashes in the wood.
Atop the trestle was a small cushion for a seat and in front of the
cushion, right in front of it, almost attached to it, was a rude metal
blade. It was perhaps an inch in height and Jill, inspired for some
reason to touch it, felt a sharpness along its exposed surface, not
sharp enough to cut but definitely sharp enough to be quite
uncomfortable. A rope dangled down in front of the small blade, about
a foot in front of it, as if to catch at something. Stirrups hung down
from the trestle. Behind the cushion that formed the trestle’s seat,
jutting out from the beam that supported it, were two beams. They
looked like wings, as if this trestle were expected to fly.
“This is called the horse from hell,” Angela said to Dave. She
flicked her crop across his bare hairy ass. “Get on it.”
“No!” Jill shrieked. For she could suddenly see where a young
man seated on the trestle’s seat would find his balls. Across the
blade, split by them and offered up. Wickedly the blade did not promise
to split them between the eggs of his balls, but actually ran underneath
both eggs at once, shoving them up so that the front of his scrotum was
cut off from the back. “Dave, you mustn’t!” Jill begged. She grabbed
his hand but was rewarded with a warning flick of Angela’s crop across
her own bare seat.
“I can handle it,” Dave chuckled, though he sounded none too
sure. He was too young to admit his potential fallibilities. Lured by
Angela’s eyes, which yearned for him to test himself, even as she
whisked her crop menacingly over his bum, Dave mounted the horse.
“Ouch!” he cried as he attempted to settle himself on the
horse’s seat. For the minute he did, his balls made contact with the
little blade in front. It dug into his scrotum and made it bulge
painfully over its sharp edge. His cock, a big long sausage, was shoved
upward by the pushing up of the blade under his balls.
“ooooooh!” Jill said in a low, meek howl. She laid her fingers
gently upon his uplifted penis and petted the big cock as if it were
some tormented animal. Angela, meanwhile, put the dangling string to
good use. She wrapped its length around Dave’s cockhead, right behind
the flange. Then she malevolently yanked the rope up, pulling down on
its other end where it hung down from the rafters like a bell pull for a
bell.
“Ding dong,” Angela teased. Dave’s cock was yanked upright,
pushing Kate’s worried fingers aside. Underneath his balls spread upon
the too-thin blade, offered like summer squash for a harvest feast.
“Kneel down and fix his feet in the stirrups,” Angela told
Kate. The girl knelt and found she was on flat bare vinyl next to the
horse. The dirt floor had given way to more generous accomodations,
though she longed to be back in the dirt by the front door. It was
safer there.
Kate buckled her boyfriend’s feet into the horse’s stirrups.
Her fingers traced his ankles lovingly, hating to see him bound so, on
such an uncomfortable steed, his genitals offered up by it for wicked
Angela to toy with. Angela, meanwhile, drew Dave back so that his arms
rested behind him on the wings that jutted out from the trestle’s top
bar. Keeping his butt on the cushion, he was made to lean back and have
his arms strapped to the wings. When Jill stood up again she was
presented with the ungainly sight of her lover showing his cock, his
body leaning back to make his cock all the more openly available.
There was a knock at the door of the barn. Jill turned her
head quickly, expectantly. Somehow she was sure someone was coming to
save them. She was childlike in her desire for rescue. Up here in the
mountains there could be no rescue, only others like Angela, seeking
pleasure and release in pain.
“Jill, go see who’s at the door,” Angela said absently to the
girl. Jill looked at her lover but he seemed preoccupied with his
predicament, pained yet delighted to show his manhood so openly to the
lovely Angela. She stroked his staff reassuringly, but not as hard as
he wished, for he yearned to spout for her.
Jill walked to the front door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
For answer, she heard the bar lifted. Then the twin doors
opened and, to her horror, a man appeared. He was dressed in riding
gear, as if freshly returned from a ride. He had a woman beside him
and, behind them, as the doors split wide to let them enter, Jill saw
two horses, held by reins.
“Hello, what’s this? A new guest’s of Angela’s?” the man’s
voice boomed. He was big and swarthy, perhaps 30, with a barrel chest.
Despite his ride his clothes were impeccable. He wore a British
gentleman’s polo suit. Behind him the woman wore a riding cloak with a
hood. “Who are you?” the man demanded cheerfully. The woman smiled at
Jill.
“I’m Jill,” Jill answered, feeling rather like Alice in
Wonderland addressing its weird denizens. Except Alice at least had the
priviledge of wearing clothes, while Jill was forced to confront her new
friends in the nude.
“Jill I’m Rob, and this is Beth,” the man grinned. His eyes
had a possessive quality. He spent as much time admiring her bosoms as
anything, and even let his eyes drop frankly to her bush. The woman,
thought slightly more reserved, in deference perhaps to a fellow female,
did the same.
“I’ll put the horses up for you, sir,” an elderly voice
offered. Beyond Jill saw the elderly man who’d opened the barn for
herself and her lover, and Angela.
“Yes, why not?” Rob replied. He handed over the reins. As Rob
entered, his lady friend coming in behind him, the elderly servant
brought the horses in too, but quickly took them aside and around behind
the equipment to where the other horse was stabled, along a far wall of
the barn.
Jill, frightened at the new visitors, yet somehow secretly
excited to find herself so helplessly nude before this dashing stranger,
turned and walked back to where her lover sat trapped on the horse. Rob
followed, and she had little doubt, as she walked with her bare white
fanny swinging behind her, where his eyes were fastened. She flicked
back her mane of blonde hair in an attempt to show confidence. She did
not want to be thought of as only a little schoolgirl, too young to play
with men and their penises. Yet just as she began to feel confident she
remembered that she had brought none of her pills. That made her scared
again, for she did not even know this man behind her and already he had
a perfect view of her body and all it possessed. She put her hands to
her hips and tried to still the rolling motion as they walked. She must
not excite him. She did not wish to bear his children.
Rob, strolling behind Jill, got an entirely different message.
As he saw her put her hands to her hips he imagined her to be framing
her bottom with her hands, offering it to him. As a conessiour of the
whip, he imagined Jill, despite her youth, to be a lover of leather who
longed for a lashing. He glanced at his girlfriend and smiled. She
smiled knowingly back at him. She had been trained by him to love the
bite of the whip and she saw his longing for Jill. She could not deny
him, of course, but to reassure him that she would not mind she squeezed
his hand and nodded approvingly. She herself felt an admiration for
Jill’s behind. It was young and high and firm and inviting. It had the
girlish impetuousness of a schoolgirl still about it when Jill walked.
Beth knew Jill would make a fine sexual spectacle when her master
brought his many-tailed crop to her hiney.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Rob asked. “A young
stallion?”
Dave was forced to confront their new visitors. He glanced at
Rob nervously but was unable to shake his hand, for his own two arms
were bound back to the wings of the trestle. Nonetheless Rob put out
his hand, but to shake the staff of Dave’s cock.
“My, this one’s hard as a rock,” Rob gloated. “What kind of
seat do you expect to offer a woman with that thing sticking up?” he
asked Dave.
“A fine seat indeed,” Beth gushed. She blushed a little as she
spoke. Dave was completely offered, his balls shoved up by the bar, his
cock strung up, quivering stiffly in its noose.
“And how are you faring, sir?” Angela asked with a coy glance
at Rob.
“We were necking in the woods, but he wanted to bring me back
to the stable to do me,” Beth said. She looked at Rob, blushed again.
Angela nodded. She’d got Rob and Beth started a month ago, Beth a
beginner, Rob a savant, but needing more training, as all men did, at
Angela’s. They operated largely on their own now, freeing her to attend
to her newer guest’s needs.
“Do you mind if they play along with us?” Angela asked Dave.
She did not look at Jill. With his cock quivering upright, his balls
jammed up under him by the bar, Dave was hardly in a position to
refuse. But she asked anyway, and waited expectantly for an answer.
“If- if you get undressed,” Dave said to Angela. His eyes
stared longingly at her bosom.
“Yes, Dave dear, I’ll get undressed,” Angela smiled. She
winked at her guests. “Will that please you if I get undressed?”
“Yes. Take your clothes off,” Dave gasped. He shifted
uncomfortably on the seat. The blade under his balls cut
uncompromisingly into them.
“Just cum if the blade gets too uncomfortable for you,” Angela
smiled at Dave, turning to walk away.
“I-- can’t,” Dave gasped.
“Well just stop thinking naughty thoughts then,” Angela said.
She came round the horse and stood on tiptoe and kissed Rob. “Hi
sweetie,” she breathed when their kiss finally broke. Beth, meanwhile,
crept close to Jill and touched her with seeking fingers. She touched
Jill’s slim shoulder first and then, though Jill started, she did not
resist, so Beth stroked the hollow of Jill’s childish tummy, drawn in
like her bottomcheeks were, tense and unyeilding.
“Relax,” Beth said to Jill. She kissed the girl’s cheek. “I
like the whip too. And I’m always afraid of it before I get it.” Beth
passed her hand around behind Jill. The girl’s hiney was still clenched
and Beth patted it lightly to try to reassure her. “Rest your bottom on
my hand,” she said. “Pretend you’re sitting on it.” Slowly, for Beth
was kissing her face and making Jill hot, Jill relaxed her behind.
“There, that’s it. Let it settle into my palm,” Beth urged. “Sit on
it.” As Jill untensed her soft bottom Beth probed within her crevice
for her hole.
Immediately Jill’s seat tightened again.
“Oh, you’re so young and nervous,” Beth breathed. “I like
that. I’m just learning myself how to control my nerves. But I’m older
than you. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” Jill gasped. She did not know what to do, with
her well-hung boyfriend displayed so rudely beside her, and Beth drawing
her close, seeking, finding, working a finger unabashedly into her
cheeks. Beside her the soft sounds of an extended kiss between Angela
and Rob assailed her ears. It was pleasant, and warm, and she was oh so
bare, and it was so frightening to be among all these awful machines,
yet so erotic too, to think of herself this way, as just a mouth and a
hole in front and one in back, and bouncy titties and long legs.
“Shall we have our clothes off then?” Angela asked. The
question was more rhetorical than not, but Beth, hearing her, nodded,
and Jill, forgetting she was already naked, nodded too.
At first each undressed him or herself, taking off the outer
garments, while Jill stood watching, a finger in her mouth, absorbed by
her own feelings and the sight of the others. As the outer clothing
fell away Angela and Rob and Beth undid what remained on each other.
Each took pleasure in the other’s nudity, exposing breasts, bottoms, and
finally loins, Jill helping, her hands getting off Beth’s bra and
panties, and helping Angela strip off Rob’s shorts. She was glad that
Dave had taken her to an orgy, for otherwise her fingers would have
trembled too much, like they did at the orgy. Naked, the three did not
stop their caresses, but increased them, with Jill joining in. Jill and
Angela felt Rob’s fine upstanding organ while Beth bent and nuzzled
Jill’s ass, using her small petite nose to assault the girl and enquire
between her cheeks. Angela played her fingers across Rob’s ass,
slapping him a little. Rob kissed Jill’s head, for she was shorter than
him, and grasped and held her breasts and toyed with her perky nipples.
“Enough. I believe in dressing up for pleasure,” Angela sighed
at last. “At least when I have brand new guests like Jill and Dave.”
She cast an inviting glance at Beth and Rob and began walking toward the
back of the barn, taking Jill’s hand to make the girl come along with
her. Jill hoped for some clothes as she stumbled along behind Angela.
Anything would be better than being buck-naked in a place like this!
At the back of the barn there was a small dressing room. There
was no door on it for everyone dressed in the presence of everyone else,
and without hiding anything. But the room had a mirror in it for
fitting purposes, and there were hangers to hang clothes on, if needed.
In their haste Angela and Beth and Rob had simply draped their clothes
over the machines around Dave or let them fall to the floor.
Angela, as domme, chose a lace-up vest that left her arms free
while tying in front to lift and display her boobs. It was an elaborate
affair to get her front all laced up and Jill and Beth helped her,
standing naked before her as they suited her up with their darting
fingers. Rob, admiring the view from behind, donned a cape. He put on
leggings that sheathed his powerful thighs and calves but left his groin
exposed. In back, his ass in all its hairy glory stuck out of his
pants, for they had no seat. But a sturdy buckle, part of the pants,
had to be buckled around his waist. His cape, falling down his back,
broad enough to cover his shoulders, nonetheless fell just short of
hiding his ass. Bareassed he sat down on a prickly bale of hay and
pulled on a pair of knee-high black boots.
To go with her vest, Angela chose a short black skirt. It was
slit, for it was meant to flirt in. Angela adjusted the skirt so that
the slit was in back, where it flapped open to show her bare white
bottom. Some decorative lacings adorned the very apex of the slit and
Beth and Jill tied up the lacings to make Angela look pretty. Despite
taking five minutes, the lace job, when done, still left Angela’s bottom
quite exposed, and she paraded back and forth in her skirt a few times,
feeling the flapping of the short leather against her thighs.
“I think I’ll wear this next time I go out,” Angela said.
“With white panties underneath.” She laughed. She looked at Beth. “Do
you think it would be too risque?”
“I think you’d have a lot of fun doing the bump and grind,”
Beth replied. For Angela’s sake, she blushed, despite being quite naked
herself.
Angela, her tits sticking up out of her tight vest, showing her
nipples, and her skirt slit up the back, exposing her ass, next put on
boots. She chose knee high boots, so that her bare thighs could be
better admired. Her skirt, meanwhile, being just a bib, really, except
where it was slit, where it was nothing, hung out away from her every
time Angela bent over. For Angela didn’t bother to put her boots on
sitting down. She was in too much of a hurry. She merely pulled them
on, standing upright, then knelt down on the clean-swept rubber-matted
floor and tied up the laces herself.
“Get dressed,” she nodded to Beth. “I want to get started.”
“What shall I wear?” Jill piped up. She stood with a finger in
her mouth, watching Angela.
“You, my dear, get to wear a gear belt,” Beth smiled at her.
“Wait a minute and I’ll put it on you.”
Rob, not wanting such a fine young female to feel bereft,
reached out from where he still sat on a bale of hay and drew Jill over
to his lap. Unselfconsciously the girl let him put her on the smooth
leather trousers that sheathed his legs. Then, suddenly, she realized
his dick was sticking right up at her.
“What happened to your pants?” Jill squeaked. She gazed at his
boldly stemming penis. It rose from where his crotch should have been,
unrestrained, for the pants, while having legs and a belt, had no groin
area at all.
“These pants are for having sex in,” Rob said to her. “Do you
like them?”
Jill considered a moment. She pulled at her lower lip with her
finger, as if deep in thought. “Not really,” she said.
Rob roared with laughter. With his big calloused hand on her
worried tummy, Jill remembering again how’d she’d left off bringing her
pills, he laughed until his big hairy guffaws, seizing his chest, shook
her right down to her tailbone. “Well, my little lady,” he said at
last. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m at least a tad more modest than
you are.” Then he drew her closer, lest she take the hint and try to
find herself something to wear. He kissed her face as she tried to
resist him, her hands pressing against his chest. But she didn’t really
try hard to resist him, despite the stubbly day’s growth of beard on his
chin, and as he kissed her mouth, intruding his tongue into her,
seemingly all the way into her throat, she felt one of her hands fall
down and flutter over and then grip quite possessively the head of his
cock.
Jill felt Rob reach down and lift one of her legs up. Still
kissing her, he pulled her leg up and over his own so that she was
forced to face him with her thighs imprisoned outside his hips. He drew
her closer still and she felt his huge cock stab at her small quiet
bush. Instantly he deposited a big dollop of pre-cum in her pubic
thatch and she knew the wetness she felt wasn’t hers alone anymore.
Impulsively, despite her misgivings about not having her pills along,
she urged her hips forward to give him greater contact.
Suddenly a finger poked its way into her wide-spread bottom
cheeks.
“Time to get up and get dressed, little lady,” a voice said
behind Jill. Jill squeaked at the assult in her bottom and was down off
Rob’s lap before she knew it. In fact, it was Rob’s girlfriend who’d
stuck a finger into her hiney-hole. Her virgin hole, slumbering still,
despite all she’d already seen this day, and the orgy she’d been too,
and the New York dungeon where her boyfriend paddled her bottom with his
hand.
As Rob watched, Beth, who was now dressed in a no-nonsense
harness and collar adorned with spikes, fitted Jill with a gear belt.
It was a simple belt that went around Jill’s waist and buckled in
front. But it had three big brass rings hanging off it, like loose
shutters swinging before an approaching storm.
“What are these for?” Jill asked. She passed a finger through
one of the big rings.
“They’re for ropes,” Beth replied. Before Jill could protest
she finished getting her buckled into the belt and then kissed her
cheek. “Come, we must get cuffs for you,” she said. “Just in case you
decide to be a recalcitrant slave.” She smiled at Jill but Jill only
stared back at her. Rob watched her wiggly white bottom as she was led
away from him, and vowed to himself to fuck it thoroughly before their
party came to an end.
The four of them dressed, the party resumed round the horse
where Dave was so inconveniently seated. Unlike the rest he still wore
only the stirrups round his ankles, and the bonds snapped around his
arms. His penis still had a noose clinging around it.
“Now Jill, we’re going to perform a little operation on your
boyfriend,” Angela said merrily. Donning a nurse’s cap, which hardly
matched her black leather vest or skirt or boots, she nonetheless set
about ‘operating’ on Dave. Beth, whose harness had sharp spikes, handed
Angela a small Spangler’s candy cane. Angela licked its tip and then
inserted it into the pee hole of Dave’s penis.
Dave groaned. Jill shrieked but nobody paid any attention to
her. She was standing in her gear belt, with two cuffs attached to the
side of it. They looked rather like little wings sticking off the side
of her belt and they served to restrain her arms. They were fastened
just above her elbows, and she had been bent back slightly to make her
elbows fall even lower agains the side of her body. As a result,
thought standing up straight, and able to walk, Jill was imprisoned with
her arms by her sides. Yet she could not even pass her hands behind
herself, for the cuffs stuck out from her belt stiffly and held her arms
away from her hips. Behind her, still in his pants, Rob stroked Jill’s
bare bottom. There was nothing she could do to keep his hand off her
and she was forced to accept his caresses, however intimate they might
be.
Her lover, meanwhile, endured further torments at the hands of
Rob’s girlfriend and Angela. They tied a satin bow tightly around the
middle of his penis shaft in hopes of holding back his sperm. Then,
with the candy cane, they began to fuck his pee hole, moving the candy
cane in and out of it. Mericfully, they paused to dip the candy cane in
vaseline to protect it from melting and to ease the passage inside his
penis a little. All the while their fingertips played over his
throbbing shaft as if it were some erotic flute. At Angela’s
insistence, Beth fetched a penis whip. She flayed it over Dave’s
trapped balls. The whip had a knotted tip and Beth hit him gently, but
Angela told her to hit him harder. So Beth struck Dave’s family jewels
more forcefully, Jill watching, her pills back home where they could do
her no good at all, no matter how damaged his sperm might become in the
process.
Jill felt a nudge between her cheeks and a moment later it
became much more insistent. It was big and knobby and she knew who it
belonged to. She cast her eyes back behind herself, tossing her blonde
hair back as she turned her head.
“I haven’t taken any pill,” she explained quietly to Rob. She
tightened her hiney against him and squeezed her thighs tightly
together.
“What?” he asked. “Well, it’s every man for himself here, and
every girl too.” He shoved himself forward and Jill squeaked and her
knees buckled and she found herself quite involuntarily entertaining his
big thing between her thighs.
“Don’t!” she said. Her voice was a hushed whisper, as if she
didn’t want her lover to find out she had another man within her.
“You need a whip on this little bottom of yours,” Rob growled
behind her. Jill squirmed in his grasp. Her bare fanny rubbed against
the hair on his stomach. He was bending down, his knees bent, to better
find his way inside her.
“NO I don’t!” Jill protested, at both the whip and his urging
between her lips. She felt his endlessly wet penis-tip deposit pre-cum
inside her splurging lips. “Don’t fuck me! I haven’t taken my pill!”
she squawked.
“Rob, are you behaving?” Angela asked him slyly, still busily
fucking Dave with the candy cane in his penis.
“Better than you are,” Rob answered. He lifted Jill in his
arms. The girl kicked her feet but the floor was quite gone and they
dangled in mid-air. He eased his hips under her, shoving her bare
thighs apart with his own intruding hairy legs wedging between them.
Then, lowering her, gripping her waist tightly with her hands while she
twisted her head in protest and flapped her hands, duck-like, unable to
move them, he shoved his dick up into her cunt.
“OHHHHHHH! Nodon’tfuckme Ihaven’thadmyPill!” Jill screamed.
But it was useless for her arms were quite trapped and her head was just
a bobbing nuisance, facing away from him, and her legs could only kick.
His thighs kept hers wide apart and as Jill shuddered in horror she felt
his long shaft plunge deep up into her too-wet vagina, all juicy from
her masturbating and her excitement. He forced himself right up into
her womb, taking several minutes to do it, for she was very tight and
she clenched herself mercilessly.
Angela and Beth laughed at Jill’s resistance. Dave, stuck on
the horse, could only watch in horror as his quite fertile little
girlfriend was imapled on another man’s cock. His own had the indignity
of being shafted within itself by a child’s minature candy cane, one a
little girl might hold, or poke her baby brother with.
“Nooooo, don’t cum!” Jill pleaded. Rob began to lift her up
and down by her waist, ignoring her kicking feet, her gyrating hips and
her bobbing, shouting head. He stabbed her repeatedly with his cock.
Each shafting sent tremors of fear through Jill, mingled with ever
increasing, unwanted pleasure. She knew how tight she was and how big
he was and the math was not hard for her to calculate. What happens,
she found herself asking quite involunarily, when a bulging pair of
balls has a big penis set atop it that rams itself up into a girl’s
small cunny who hasn’t taken her pill? And the answer she could almost
feel in her scared hollowing tummy under her ribs that would swell with
each passing day if he came.
“Oh, I have to pee!” Jill begged. Suddenly, with him in her,
her tummy swirled and remembered the tea she’d drunk. “Let me down or
I’ll pee!” she begged. But Rob was merciless and ignored her and
assumed she was making a story up to get him out of her.
Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, even for Jill, she peed right on
him as he shafted her. Angela and Beth watched fascinated as little
Jill, still begging Rob not to cum in her, released a stream of pee on
him. It was soon too much for Rob, once he realized what was happeing,
that the little minx was wetting him, and he shot off a thunderous
canonade of sperm into her belly. Hefting her high, he rammed her up
and down on himself ever more vigorously. Jill felt like an infant
being killed by its parents as she was shaken up and down on Rob’s
fast-moving, hard-driving cock. Up and down and up and down and up and
down she was shaken, all the while he now spurting into her even as she
wetted his loins with her pee.
“Aghghgh!” a male voice shouted. But it was not Rob. To the
utter surprise of Angela and Beth, who’d momentarily forgotten him,
though Angela still reamed him lightly with the candy cane, Dave
exploded. As Angela and Beth, suddenly worried at having both men spend
themselves, tried desperately to somehow stop the spurting fountain of
Dave’s sperm, he splattered their tummies and his own with his spunk.
“Ah well, cie la vie,” Angela smiled at Beth when they both
realized their hopes were lost, or at least momentarily delayed. They
soulfully rubbed their bare tummies with their hands, trying at least to
massage a little of Dave’s sperm into their bellies. Jill, meanwhile,
was quite fully sated, much more than she wished. Rob’s sperm bubbled
from her well-shafted cunt and ran down the insides of her thighs. She
looked down beneath her feet and saw a spreading puddle of white in a
larger puddle of her pee. Gently, his pleasure done at last, Rob set
her high-heeled feet down into the puddle. Then he gave her a playful
slap on her bare-naked ass and sauntered away, leaving her bird-like
trapped in the gear belt with the winged cuffs round her elbows.
“Oh help me, I’m pregnant,” Jill sighed. Her eyes were wide
and her mouth lisped open, then hung there, with her tongue drooling a
little down her chin.
“Poor dear. I guess she’s gotten to know my husband rather
well,” Beth smiled.
“Yes, and she greedily got everything we’d been hoping for,”
Angela said. “We’ll have to stand her in the corner for that!”
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> /