Message-ID: <1119eli$9706021826@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1119>
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: Dancing Diva part 1 of 1 (NND)
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
DANCING DIVA
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
Alexis roused me from sleep. I blinked my eyes. The sun
shafted into my bedroom, illuminating all. She took my hand, gently but
firmly, lifted me up to a sitting position in my bed.
“Oh, why have you woken me so early?” I asked, sleepy-eyed. I
lifted my fists to my eyes, rubbed them. Alexis drew me to the edge of
my bed and sat down beside me. Barelegged we sat, our long legs
dangling down off the edge of the high bed, toes just touching the
floor. She was naked except for little bikini panties made of felt.
They looked so delicate I feared they might fall apart if she dove in
the pool and swam laps in them.
“Early?” she asked. She eased my babydoll nightie off my
shoulders, as if to compensate for her own bare breasts by exposing my
own. “It is 3 p.m., silly, how late do you expect to sleep?”
“Until six, at least, when the sun is going down, I answered.
“So I’ll have lots of energy to dance tonight.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have enough,” she replied sweetly. She
turned my back to her and began softly brushing my long locks with a
hairbrush. It was made of ivory, from elephant tusks. “Why do you like
dancing so much? You never bring any men home with you,” she asked.
Every night since we’d decided to share an apartment, two weeks ago,
we’d gone out, just the two of us. Sometimes we came home alone, other
times Alexis found a friend, bringing him along. I would drift off to
sleep hearing their travails in the next room. Always Alexis invited me
to join, always I politely refused. The men were all mesmerizingly
strong, picked out for fucking and nothing else.
“Well, tonight I’ve been invited to a party, in a hotel suite,
rented specially for the purpose,” Alexis told me. She turned, poured
me tea, offered me a cup. I glanced at the pitcher sitting on my
nightstand, the cup. She was bribing me. She wanted me to come along.
I sipped. The tea was unaccountably delicious.
“Mmmm,” I breathed. I could not help myself.
“Chai,” she said absently.
“It tastes like spice cookies.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
Sunset found us slipping out of a cab. I walked hastily, lest
my naughtiness be discovered. There was a wind in the portico, I
clasped the hem of my dress and held it tight-pressed to my thighs. It
was still blazingly hot; Alexis had convinced me to party without my
panties on tonight. “Are you not cooler thus?” she asked. I had
admitted I was a little cooler, perhaps. “In any event, I got rid of
that pesky hunk for you last night, and you promised me a favor. So no
panties tonight, my little nun. You are going as my pretend slave, and
I simply must make you a little uncomfortable. All in good fun, of
course. You may enjoy yourself as you wish at the party.”
“I hope there’s a spare bed,” I replied. I had no intention of
joining Alexis in any of the trysts I suspected she had planned.
Alexis had smiled, said nothing. It was true, I owed her a
favor. She’d ditched a dude for me, so I reluctantly left my panties at
home. I’d begged her to put them in her purse for me, just in case, but
she’d declined. I myself wasn’t allowed a purse, being her pretend
slave for the night. That was another favor I owed her, making her do
the dishes all last week in our apartment while I played Nintendo. I’d
been smitten by the teddy bear version of PacMan, played it constantly
when we weren’t out dancing.
The wind caught the rear of my skirt, lifted it. I’d wanted a
leather skirt, Alexis had insisted on soft-woven denim. I thought I
heard Alexis emit a smirking laugh as my bottom showed. A doorman
opened the hotel’s gold-rimmed doors for us. We clattered inside, our
heels announcing our arrival to all as we stepped in. The floor was
marble, brightly polished, though carpets lay beyond. Guests and
visitors looked up, men turned their heads in amazement at our beauty,
and not a few women also. There was no wind inside, yet I faced a
second worry; I wore a dog’s collar around my throat. Alexis had
insisted upon it.
I scurried across the lobby, Alexis quietly scolding me and
making me walk a slowly as she could, trailing behind me in a gown that
stretched to her heels. She wore only a decorative ribbon around her
throat. She was calm, pleased with herself. I knew her secret,
though. Behind an artfully draped silk sash, her nipples lay bare. The
gown she wore, so elegant, sheathing her in tight black satin, rose only
high enough on her bosoms to cup them from below, leaving the top halves
bare, including the nipples. They stuck out boldly, and the excitement
of having them so lewdly, if secretly, displayed made them stiff even
now. If you looked closely at the sash hung round her neck, draping
softly down over her bosoms, you could see the little indentations where
her bare nipples poked into the fabric. Twin tents, they were, hiding
two delicate tent poles. I guessed that her legs, so smoothly encased
at the moment, might be boldly displayed later in the evening. The
dress would be gone, her breasts free, and her legs, invisible now,
would be naked and spread. She had long, firm, healthy legs, skinny
almost, wrapped in black stockings that stretched up to the tops of her
thighs. There they were held in place by garter straps, hung from a
belt round her waist. Her hair, elegantly done, piled atop her head,
gave her an air of sophisticated poise. Opera-length gloves, matching
the black of her dress, added a final touch. She wore wristlets of
pearls, five pearl-studded strands binding each of her wrists as if they
were ropes. Put her to a white wall and you’d think she was tied to it,
the pearls blended in so neatly.
As for myself, I had a boldness of my own. I wore a
smart-looking jacket. It matched my dress. Denim, but thin, stone
washed ‘til it was almost threadbare. (Though not quite, thank God!
I’d have refused it if it was see-through, favors be damned!) My arms
and chest were enclosed in the jacket, but it left my tummy bare. My
belly-button was teasingly visible, my tummy browned by lying in the
sun. Below this was my skirt, so low on my hips it looked like it might
fall off. And below the hem of my skirt, which reached just to the tops
of my thighs, was bare leg. I wore stockings, black nylons that ran up
my legs to mid-thigh, with elastic tops to keep them in place; but
between my stocking tops and the hem of my skirt there was nothing.
Just smooth, neatly tanned flesh. Leg-flesh. My flesh. So I had a
kind of exposed band of naked skin both above and below my skirt, while
the rest of me, from my leather booties right up to my collared neck,
was clothed. Alluring, to be sure, and another reason for me to hurry
across the lobby.
We reached the elevators, at last. We stepped inside. We did
not hold the doors open for the men rushing to join us. Quietly the
lift rose. I looked at Alexis, she at me. We were alone together. She
reached out, took my hand in hers, squeezed it. We exchanged smiles.
The elevator doors opened near the top floor. Alexis peeked
out, saw no one. We felt cautious suddenly, shy. Together we stepped
into the hallway. We followed a row of doors down to a number; 96.
Alexis knocked softly, her gloved hand protected from the hardness of
the wooden door. Voices. The door cracked, opened. A woman gazed
out. She was auburn-haired, dressed in a skirt and vest. It had long
sleeves but was open in front. Her bosoms shifted loosely beneath it.
There was no blouse, no tell-tale bra strap crossing between the open
halves of the vest. Yet she was covered, if she moved gracefully,
carefully. Unless a gentleman chose to lift her vest, perhaps, to
inspect the stiffness of her nipples inside, tenting the fabric in
obvious twin little points.
“Come in,” she breathed. “I’m Elizabeth, and you must be?”
“Alexis,” my partner replied. “And this is Lisa.” I smiled,
did not want to disappoint her. She smiled back. A perfect hostess,
save for her indolence in forgetting her blouse. She closed the door
behind us and slipped a chain across its edge. We were the last to
arrive, I guessed. There would be no more. Room service would have to
get special permission to enter, lest they break the chain. I
remembered now; “Do not Disturb” had been hanging on a tag from the
doorknob.
“Come in, please. Meet the others,” Elizabeth urged. She
turned to me, I thought she would put her arm round my waist. Instead
she slipped her hand up underneath my miniskirt. I jerked as I felt her
palm touch my heinie. “Ah, you have come well prepared,” she smiled at
me. Frankly she palmed me all over my tush, as if evaluating it. She
traced my cleft with her finger, dividing my cheeks herself with her
lightly-pressing digit, drawing it up my behind until she reached the
band of my dress underneath. “Very fine,” she whispered. With a swish
of her long auburn locks she turned her head to Alexis. “A fine bottom,
suitable for whipping. Demanding it, really, don’t you think?”
“It is hers to do with as she wishes,” Alexis replied, not
turning to look at our hostess. Her dress swished regally round her
ankles. I loved her for her taunting, her refusal. We teased them yet
did not agree to their terms. Perhaps she would be punished for it.
Perhaps she wanted it.
A large living room opened before us. We stepped from the
entry hall into it, gazed around. We were sheep, come to dance with
farmers at shearing-time. Handsome men and women greeted us. The men
in tuxes, the women in gowns or skirts, depending on their mood or their
age. Some wore collars, some not. The men betrayed their hopes for the
evening with significant bulges in the groins of their expensive
trousers. We were offered drinks, accepted. Quietly we mingled,
chatted, Alexis and I always staying near each other. All the faces
were strange, new. I shivered. I did not want to think about what
might lay ahead, yet it tempted me to speculate. The women looked at me
with knowing eyes, admired my jacket, my skirt. No others touched me,
though, save Elizabeth, who now was safely removed to the far side of
the room, chatting with some man she favored. Yet their eyes, their
eyes undressed me, I thought; though I myself couldn’t help but stare
sometimes at the men’s groins. Large and protruding they were, drawing
my attention. The men did not complain, seemed to treasure my glance,
hoped for it, accepted it with gentlemanly pride. Did they stand with
their hips thrust out a bit? I fancied they did, just for me, though I
could not be certain. The air seemed strangely still; moist and hot,
despite the soft purr of an air conditioner somewhere.
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> /