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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Chambers of Love part 15 of 18 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CHAMBERS OF LOVE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Fifteen
I was taken via carriage. The trip was long. Three times they
let me out of the coach to go to the bathroom by the side of the road.
I crouched, hearing the clip-clop of nervous horses' hooves, knowing a
footman and the driver were standing nearby. I peed into a little
bowl. Graciously the footman retrieved it from me each time,
afterward. He said they were saving my urine.
When the coach finally stopped, the footman saying we were
there, I had no idea where I was. It was cold out, snowflakes touched
my skin. I shivered, stark naked save for a few "essentials," as Jane
called them. A black hood covered my head. Cold air wafted in through
small vents along its sides. A gag, patterned with tiny air holes,
stretched tight between my lips. Long black sheath-like gloves
stretched nearly all the way up my arms. They were fingerless. My
bosoms were bare. They juddered freely. The raw wind nipped at them.
Around my throat was tied a mink cape. It trailed down the curve of my
back, under the mane of my flowing golden hair, stopped thoughtfully
just before reaching my bare white ass. My golden muff collected the
occasional snowflake for a covering. Long boots, though, encased my
legs, from my toes almost to the tops of my thighs. My wrists were
handcuffed behind me. My ankles were hobbled by a short length of chain
strung between them.
The driver and footman led me through ankle-deep snow to a
door. It opened. Inside warmth, a promise of comfort. I was seated in
a chair next to a blazing hearth. The chair was velour and felt soft
against my chilled bottom.
"Welcome to Chateau Havenhurst," a Swedish woman's voice said
quietly to me. She surprised me. I had not known she was there. A
smile was in her tone. As if she had once been in my place, had long
since accepted her existence here. "Your master will be with you
shortly. Your training will begin at once. Do you need to relieve
yourself?" I shook my head yes. "Good. He will take care of that for
you. You may rely on him to supervise all of your bodily functions from
now on. When you eat, when you sleep, and yes when you go to the
bathroom. You will do nothing without his permission. You will do
everything on his command. Please enjoy your stay." She undid my cape
and took it away. I heard a closet door open, shut.
I shivered, and not from cold. Another fine mess I'd gotten
myself into. Still, I wondered who my master would be. Was he
handsome, ugly? A gentleman? A sadist? (Not that the two necessarily
came in separate, discreet packages.) Would he be harsh with me or
gentle? Was he married?
"I'll be leaving now," the female voice said. "The main
chateau is down the road. Your master is coming now." She slipped
away. I tried to listen for her departure but could not follow it. I
listened for the driver, the footman, heard nothing. I was alone. My
master was coming. Someone I'd never met before. A stranger. And I
was handcuffed, naked, wearing a shroud over my head.
The front door creaked open, letting in an icy shaft of wind.
It banged shut. A heavy tread. Man's boots. A large man's large
boots. The sound of a winter coat being removed, hung in a closet.
Smoke. A cigar had been lit.
The approach of footsteps on a plush carpet, barely audible.
They stop nearby. The sound of a tawse being snapped, bent double, to
test its resilience. A swift sharp slapping, on a nearby chair.
Again. Again. I jumped at each thwacking sound of it. The poor chair
sounds like it's having the stuffing beaten out of it.
Silence. Only the sound of his breathing, the smell of his
cigar. Then, softly, almost inaudibly, a slithering sound like a snake
uncoiling. Then a cracking in the air. Again. A whip has been tried.
I shiver, try to control myself. I do not want to face this man as a
quivering little girl.
Other sounds. A martinet? A cane? A rattan cane? A riding
crop? Always they are beaten against something, or used to slash the
air.
Silence. Cigar smoke.
Footsteps come right up to my chair. Wordlessly rough hands
settle on my bare shoulders. They seem to feel out the frailty of the
bones. They stroke the flawless skin lovingly a moment. Then I am
hefted to my feet by my gloved upper arms. He sits in my chair, admires
me a long moment, then urges me back down. I think to sit in his lap
but he wants me draped over his knees, bottom up. My bare tits dangle
down like lost fruit, underneath me. He rubs my ass, the lily-white
flesh upon which I felt snowflakes fall outside. Would those hurt me,
an hour from now, if they touched me there? I don't suppose we're here
together to discuss Shakespeare, though it would be nice.
My bottom quivers involuntarily. I feel apprehensive. I can
feel his risen member pressing through his trousers into my tummy. He
seems to take the quiver in my ass as some sort of consent on my part to
begin. His hand comes down upon my hiney full and hard, walloping the
jiggly bare cheeks and making me kick up my heels and toss my chin
aloft. I scream, it is discreetly muffled by my gag. I am only a body
to him. I have no face. I could have a goat's head for a face for all
he knows, or the Virgin Mary's.
I am fraught with distress now. My pulse races. My heart
pounds with fear. The unknown is a little less unknown now, I think.
But more fearsome. He slaps me again, resoundingly. I lurch and
scream. Only my hands cannot respond, still tightly cuffed behind my
back, so awkward now as I lay head floorwards, feeling my dangling
boobies dance, nipples traitorously stiff.
Again the ravaging palm, the juicy splat of the calloused
palm. He means business. The session promises to be long and painful.
Three slaps and my bottom is already aflame. I can feel his sinews
rippling beneath me in his thighs. He is a powerful man, full of
vigor. He will go all night. He will rend me like a rag doll and then
root around in my stuffing.
Inside my hood I am beginning to sweat. Beads of sweat on my
forehead, though I was comfortably cool a minute ago. My hair, so
expensively done, will be drenched with sweat. My waterproof makeup
will run anyhow.
A fourth slap. "YEEEOWPHW!" I cry, writhing like an eel upon
his lap, my hind cheeks rudely part and show the inner portions of my
cleft as I splay my booted legs wide in a vain attempt to let in more
air on my burning bottom. Tears well in my eyes, run down my cheeks. I
taste their saltiness upon my lips.
My trim bottom, of which I am so proud, is bright red now. I
can feel it in the way the heat wells there, hot, raging.
A fifth slap. I buck like a bronco, lost in my screaming.
Somewhere my tushy rises and falls. I flex my juddering cheeks
repeatedly, brazenly, trying desperately to discharge the excoriating
heat. My tears run freely now.
A sound of swift unzipping. Suddenly my hood is off. Then my
gag. He grabs my hair to turn my head even as I look over my shoulder
towards him. Our eyes meet, my mouth open, tongue just lolling out with
a bead of saliva on its tip. My eyes wide, terrified. He is dark,
rugged looking, broad shoulders. Dressed like a skier. Perhaps a
professional skier.
"You are beautiful," he says, and drags my face up to his and
kisses me. My bottom rubs painfully against his woolen sweater.
"Forgive my harshness. I wanted you to know what I am capable of. Plus
I love seeing a girl walking around with a sore bottom, particularly at
Chateau Havenhurst. Now, down on the carpet, by the fire. Quickly!"
He eases me to the floor, to my knees. My wrists are still
handcuffed behind my back. With painful, awkward steps, resting upright
on my knees, boobies wobbling, I knee my way across the few yards of
carpet to where he has indicated. My rump protests heatedly at my every
movement.
I glance back over my shoulder. He is getting something from
an armoire. I feel weak and let my head keel over slowly until my
forehead rests upon the carpet. My bottom I keep high, in the cooling
air.
He sets a pole down behind me. I look back, trembling, still
recovering from my spanking. It is an I.V. pole, with an enema bag
attached. He is oiling the end of the tubing that hangs from the bag.
"Your bottom must be cooled," he says. Then he puts an oiled
finger to my anus. It is too tight for him to go inside. He marvels at
my luscious tightness. He says that must be corrected. I must not deny
any man. He says he will supervise my development in that area. I
don't know whether he's just talking or dead serious.
My puckered rosette is thoroughly greased all about its snug
circumference. Then, gently but firmly, he noses the tip of the I.V.
tubing into my clenching rectum. He tells me to relax. I say I cannot
relax, he is about to flood me with a liter of fluid. He says it is for
my own good. I ask him if he wouldn't like me to fix him a cup of
coffee first so we could talk about it. He laughs. "Women," he
remarks.
The bag's spigot is open and my tight ass begins filling up.
The fluid is cool but not cold. I lay there panting, afraid, not
knowing what to do. I decide not moving is my best option. I tell him
I am full several times but he ignores me. Finally when I plead with
him to take it out he does so. Then he takes the smallest butt plug he
could find while I was filling and pushes it with determination into my
anus. This is a new toy to me. I did not imagine anyone could even
think of such awful things, let alone make them on an assembly line.
When I am sealed in back he lifts me gently by my hair to my
feet. He turns me to face him. My bare uninhibited nipples graze his
sweater. I am still handcuffed. He presses my soft white naked body to
his clothed one, kisses me. He says I can go make him a cup of coffee
now. I tell him my hands, my feet are shackled. In that case, he says,
we shall go visiting instead. They will have coffee in the other
cabins. I am horrified, mortified.
At the door to the cabin beside us a young woman answers. She
is holding a sweater over her breasts and is obviously topless. I
glance down. Jeans hug her hips but the fly in front is unbuttoned.
She wears red panties. My cape is tied over my bosom with a little pair
of strings but the cape is not long enough to cover my pubis or my
bottom. The woman suddenly notices my barewaisted condition. Smiling
she admits us.
Inside I see another woman, as young and beautiful as the
first, but I see no sign of any man. One is blonde like me, the other a
brunette. The blonde is utterly nude and lying on a bearskin rug facing
the fire. Wordlessly she turns her head when we enter and regards us
over her diminutive shoulder. The blonde's hips are resting atop the
head of the bear, on a soft pillow which the animal is wearing as a kind
of crazy hat. On the underside of her bottom I notice several rosy pink
lines. They stretch straight across the pearl-white flesh, as if
deliberately imprinted there by some object. They are at angles to each
other as if applied with no special purpose in mind as to how they would
look. As if the immediate effect of their application was more
important than the mark that might be left behind. The blonde's eyes
sparkle at us in the candlelight which bathes the room. It is then I
notice the several large candelabras scattered about. I am amazed at
how much light they give.
My new boyfriend turns me around and shows off my bottom to our
hostess. She has dropped the sweater and stands easily with her large
cherry-tipped breasts swaying. Her eyes widen when she sees my
punishment, bright red and almost glowing. I rub it yet again as she
looks and she asks if she may touch it. My boyfriend allows her to and
she flinches when she does because she says it needs salve rubbed all
over it so it can heal. Then he unceremoniously bends me over and shows
her the butt plug rammed up my ass. She gasps, says she did not know of
such things. She admits she thought I was walking rather funny. He
tells her how much fluid I have sealed behind that plug. She says it
must come out soon, for the bowels are not used to this and must be
allowed to undulate inside me. She says he has induced a sort of
constipation in me. He replies that I will not be at all constipated
when he pulls the plug. Our hostess says she will have to try such an
enjoyment with her own companion.
My boyfriend asks if we may stay awhile and enjoy their company
and our hostess says they are quite busy but we may. He unties my mink
cape and my breasts spill out to the admiring wonderment of our host.
"You have many treasures," she tells my boyfriend. "Come and share one
of mine." We pad over to where her little friend is posed
bottom-upwards over the bearskin. Poutily she regards us, as if caught
between nonchalance and indecision. I see that the lines decorate the
entire space of her bottom, though there are not many of them. Then I
see in a corner a long yellowish cane leaning upright. My boyfriend
sees it too and asks if he may inspect it. Our hostess says he must
wait. We interrupted little Amy's lessons and she must finish. Amy's
arms lie outstretched in front of her and are cuffed in soft fur-lined
handcuffs. A rope connects the handcuffs to the iron grill on the fire
about a foot away. Amy's legs drape easily off either side of the
bear's head, over his shoulders, spread in a bold vee. They are not
tied down or bound in any way. Her charming fig shows brazenly between
the tops of her creamy thighs.
Our hostess fetches her cane and stands over poor Amy's exposed
hiney. Deftly she slips a hand into the unbuttoned fly of her jeans.
Then she raises the cane with her remaining hand and brings it down with
amazing swiftness upon the naked flesh of Amy's upturned tushy. The
blonde cries out lustily when it hits and rolls to and fro atop the
bear, flailing her legs and wiggling the sweet little mounds of her
bottom cheeks.
My boyfriend asks the hostess if he may pleasure himself with
such a wonderful sight and she says only if he doesn't spend himself,
that she is not wont to have to clean up after a man. My boyfriend
promises that if things get out of hand he will use my mouth as a
receptacle. I thank him for elevating me in the presence of our new
friends.
Amy shrieks and hollars beneath us as we watch. After a bit my
boyfriend asks our hostess how much longer she will be at this. Both of
them are rubbing themselves. My boyfriend's prick sticks out through
his fly. Our hostess has undone her tight jeans and peeled them down to
the mid-point of her thighs. She looks like a flower blooming from a
stem, with her rose-colored panties. Assiduously she massages herself
through her panties. I find it erotic, thrust my hips forward, watching
her. I feel a yearning to have the sting of her cane upon my bottom.
"Do you mean how much longer will we be at the caning or at
Amy's lessons?" our hostess replies. She pauses to catch her breath.
Her chest gives a lovely heave, setting her breasts a-jiggle. I am
entranced by that also, how her boobies bounce about as she whips her
little friend. I want to do that also. Swing my breasts about freely,
uninhibitedly, while performing forbidden acts. True liberation. You
are most alive, it suddenly occurs to me, when you are doing something
like this. Every moment is noticed. Every second has its own sharp
place in your mind. You long for it to be over yet know that as long as
it lasts you are fully aware, fully engaged, fully among the living.
And young and beautiful and sexy. So very sexy, like the little blonde
with her legs spread, her cunt on display, wet, with the inviting little
gap between the lips. And her bottom bravely presented.
"Both, I suppose," my boyfriend says. "I'm getting close to
spending but I don't want to do it until you're done with her
punishment." Our hostess laughs. She says in that respect they are
just getting started. She says Amy is quite the little trooper and she
will be beaten all night long, but my boyfriend can have a look at the
cane in a little while when she switches to a different implement. She
says that in the morning Amy's white, pink striped bottom will be
bruised and wealed and black and blue. She says it will take some time
for it to heal. I feel my stomach tighten. No! I cannot allow this.
She is too pretty. I should throw myself down on top of her, a voice
tells me, but I don't move.
My boyfriend asks whether her bottom will ever be then as it is
now, for it looks the very height of perfection to him now, even with
the scattering of cane-imprinted lines upon it. Our hostess replies
that she tries never to draw blood, though the birch rod might prick
here and there occasionally, with no adverse effect. And she does not
discipline a bottom that is still recovering. She says that Amy has
never gone all night before but she has had some fairly exacting
punishments at our hostess' hands. This is going to be Amy's first
all-nighter, and she will spend the rest of the weekend as a
sore-bottomed slave. They will go their separate ways sometime next
week after some sightseeing but meet again when her hiney has healed.
She says Amy is still in high school so they are limited in how much
contact they can have. Our hostess explains that she is 25, but is new
to sex because she was a virgin until just this year.
"My parents were very strict Christian fundamentalists. Yet
they sent me to an all-girls Catholic school, to keep me chaste. I
think that's where I developed my interest in other females. When I
finally went with a man this year he proved to be an absolute beast.
Fortunately, Amy and I met one day in the mall. She's not a lesbian
like me, just a kinky, sassy little brat who can't get enough of
anything that has to do with sex, hmmm, Amy?" A swift crack on the
bottom, a plaintive howl. "We came here for the privacy, but also to
possibly try some swinging, with other couples who share our interests.
I'm just an amateur domme, really, reading a few Victorian novels and
making it up as I go along."
I am amazed at how casual and matter-of-fact the conversation
is because the entire time our hostess has her hand down the front of
her panties and is rubbing herself, while my boyfriend massages his
bursting dick. I myself wish someone would caress my breasts and
nipples, as I watch Amy yelp and scream under the demands of the cane.
My pussy is hot and I yearn for it to be touched also.
My boyfriend announces that he would like to be able to treat
me to an all-nighter and our hostess replies that he should get me
started right away then, before she and Amy get too far ahead. I gasp
at this, do not know what to say other than "No," which of course
punishments such as this are specifically designed to correct.
My boyfriend says he is a novice compared even to our hostess,
and would she lend him guidance so that he does not ruin my lovely
bottom. She says she is not in business to ruin bottoms but to take
sexual ecstasy to new heights, for both slave and master. She says she
will be glad to assist him in learning how to dominate without injuring,
teaching him what little she knows. And she will help me learn the
thrill of being a slave. Of being thought of every minute, even if the
people making me the center of attention are doing horrid things to me.
My boyfriend asks why it is necessary for horrid things to be done to
someone in order for the non-slaves to be willing to make them the
center of attention and to constantly think of them and attend to them.
Our hostess considers. Then she replies that humans are by
nature sexual and take pleasure in the bodies of others, right down to
their most intimate parts, such as the asshole. She says that seeing
someone you love naked and sweating and hard at work, especially
sexually oriented work, is pleasurable. And she says certain harmless
elements of pain, such as being bonked on the head in a Laurel and Hardy
film also bring enjoyment. So seeing in real life someone moving their
very desirable bottom in exaggerated motions as a result of the
infliction of harmless, temporary pain is very appealing.
This is why bondage and discipline exists, she says. To see
highly desirable parts of the body that are normally hidden bared and
forced to move in lurid, exaggerated ways. To see normally sedate
people forced to yelp and scream and writhe even as they also become
sexually aroused. It is a form of play, with only the rules that the
participants themselves set. It is highly sexually charged and orgasms,
even multiple orgasms, are a normal result of such activity. So we have
loved ones forced to show off the most desirable parts of their bodies,
which are then manipulated by the master. He derives sexual
satisfaction from interacting with these most intimate portions of the
flesh and especially from seeing the emotional reactions of the
possessor of the sexual organs. Yet, unlike normal sex, the master
remains detached, his sexual organs not at all able to be manipulated by
the one who is his victim. So he is making his victim display all her
intimate regions and causing intense emotions in her by his own hand yet
she can in no way force him to suffer equally with her, as in normal
coitus. He certainly feels sexual pleasure at what he is doing. The
sight alone of her intimate regions is enough for that. He may pleasure
himself along with her or he may not, as he chooses, perhaps starting
and stopping whilst she is constantly at his mercy.
And that is the thrill for the slave. She is no longer in
control. Her most intimate regions have been surrendered to another.
He decides whether her intimate zones, her sexual organs, feel pleasure
or pain, or both, and when. Her most private parts are first bared, and
then she is made helpless to control their responses. She cannot even
control whether she gasps or screams or laughs or cries.
So this is the thrill for both master and slave. The master in
possessing so much, the slave in possessing so little. Of course the
whole thing is shot through continually with sexual energy. There is
hardly a moment when sex is not present in some form, including even
such mundane things as going to the bathroom or doing chores around the
house. So the whole experience from start to finish is one long sexual
delight. The pain involved merely deepens the sexual flush, so to
speak, by adding new elements of total control over another's sexual
organs, and total helplessness for the slave over her own organs.
Of course people are loth to yield the center of attention to
someone else in the conventional world and certainly spend very little
time thinking of the needs of their fellow man. But when rewarded with
the payoff of a sexual rush, controlling the sex organs of another,
observing and exploring them in intimate detail regardless of what the
possessor wishes, and most importantly controlling the emotional state
of the possessor, then people are willing to reach out and think of
someone and make them the center of attention. Hence this "horrid
things" is merely the thrill of sex, suffused with a kind of altruism.
For the master must always be thinking of his slave, if he is a good
master, even if he is only thinking of her dislikes so he can serve
those up to her. And the slave knows she is being thought of every
moment. Right down to her bottom and pussy.
Standing there, handcuffed and hobbled, I felt a strange thrill
wash over me as I listened to our hostess' words. Perhaps it was just
the sexual energy of the place, what with the two of them masturbating
and little Amy sprawled bawling and bare as a baby under the relentless
cane.
I looked over at my boyfriend. How happy he looked, and Rose
also (I named her that now, in my mind, because of her panties).
Languidly they stroked their genitals, almost not thinking about it, yet
shivering occasionally under the tremor of an impending orgasm. Neither
had come yet, there was no hurry. They savored the feeling in their
loins of continual excitation, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing
forth brightly.
"I need it too," I breathed to my boyfriend, hoping to be
stroked also. He and Rose thought I meant the cane.
"Mmm, she is so sweet," Rose said of me. Her sapphic eyes
regarded me with new relish, the savor of possession. "Let me have
first crack at her."
"I know, I know you do," my boyfriend was saying to me.
"That's why you came here." I parted my lips to speak but he gently,
quickly gagged me with a broad cloth. He put a finger beneath my
nostrils to see that I could breathe, then, at Rose's insistence he laid
me down right atop Amy.
The small blonde grunted under my weight. She was a beast of
burden now. I felt her hot tush wiggling against my mound. Master (I
thought no more of him as my equal, my boyfriend) parted my legs. He
removed the chain that had linked my ankles. Rose drew my arms out and
handcuffed them, just as Amy's were.
Why did I not resist, I have wondered since. Perhaps it was
the overwhelming romance of the snow, the cabin, the fire in the
hearth. It was the setting a young girl dreams about for lovemaking.
And my master was undeniably handsome. Young, vigorous, large in all
his aspects. And Rose, the self-taught, homemade dominatrix, was
endearing. I watched over my shoulder now as she caressingly rubbed
salve onto my bottom. She said she wanted it to stay nice and healthy,
even as she whipped it.
"There is coconut oil and other nutrients in this," she said of
the oil, looking at me as she spoke. "Your heiney will be well
nourished by it. I want you to have just as perfect a bottom when this
is all over as you do now. Of course, you'll need time to recover, but
I consider that part of the fun. It's delicious to have a sensitized
rump that can barely sit on anything. Very female, you know. It makes
you very delicate."
She rose and shook her breasts. Her lovely black hair tossed
itself back, a mane of tumbling, lustrous curls. Quickly she stripped
her jeans the rest of the way down her legs. Then she pushed down her
panties so that they clung to the tops of her thighs, leaving her pussy
unobstructed. With careful fingers, ladylike, she found her clitty and
resumed rubbing it.
"Now this is going to hurt darling," Rose said to me brightly.
"I want you to kick and scream as loud as you wish. No one can hear you
within these specially built cabins. And your gag should help, of
course. So let yourself go, cry if you wish, but keep your legs well
apart and your ass proudly presented. I don't want to have to tie your
feet. I want you to be courageous and show me how mature you are." She
promised she would wait between each stroke to let me savor it, to make
the punishment last as long as possible. And then she began.
"EEEEeee!" I keened as the cane stung into my already hot
flesh. I ground my mound against Amy's swollen cheeks, making her yelp
that I was hurting her. There was no help for that. Two more strokes
sent me gyrating shamelessly like some whore in heat upon her. Master
rubbed himself more vigorously, I saw in a well-placed mirror, obviously
ecstatic at the rare sight of a female beating two others, all of us
sweet as centerfolds.
The cane bit me again and again, sometimes harder, sometimes
softly. I tried rolling over after a particularly harsh one but
regained my composure after some soothing encouragement from Rose. I
was crying now, uncontrollably, she said it was okay. Beneath me Amy
was sobbing also.
A riding crop was tried next, briskly slapping its leather loop
upon my fanny. Rose asked which I liked better, it or the cane. I
shook my head no, no, liking neither. She told me to try it a new way,
to kneel on the carpet, resting my knees on either side of Amy's waist.
I crouched as ordered. This left Amy's bottom bare, made my cunt
display itself like some ripe fruit, waiting to be plucked from between
my obscenely spread thighs.
Bitterly the crop raked my soft, tender cheeks, so white only
an hour ago, now sore and red. Coltishly I bucked under each blow. My
breasts swung beneath me, freely, stiff nippled and excited despite my
torment. I wished for someone to grab them, milk them, suck them dry.
I gazed through my tears into the mirror at master's cock. It seemed to
aim right at my cunt. He still stroked it lovingly, occasionally
cupping his balls and squeezing them as if to hold back some sudden
onrush of semen.
Amy too received the crop now, alternately with me. She reared
up and banged my mound, that which she had so complained about touching
her earlier. She rent the air with abandon, screaming anew. Strangely,
I wished to scold her. She seemed overwrought to me, as if just yelling
for the hell of it, to make a scene, to be heard. I was glad when I
heard the crop hit her bottom. Let her feel it then, hard, if she was
going to scream so loudly. My ears hurt from it.
After a bit Rose said we must pause and refresh ourselves. Amy
and I were uncuffed but then recuffed as we remained in position upon
the carpet. Our hands were put safely behind our back, so we could not
cover the delectable view of our titties and cunts. And, of course, to
make us totally reliant on our masters.
Our bottoms chafed and abraded, our legs stiff, Amy and I were
helped to stand up, which we accomplished with difficulty. At once we
queasily made to rub our bottoms with our fingers, found little solace
in it. Then, Amy padding barefoot and I in my boots, we were led to the
kitchen. There we stood (not daring to sit) as Rose prepared coffee and
got master to slice up some cheese. Rose fed Amy bits of cheese and
washed it down with coffee. She did not want either of us drinking
wine, she said, she wanted us totally aware throughout our punishment.
Master lifted my gag and I meant to protest but felt a sudden rush of
eroticism as he fed me the first morsel of cheese. I was naked, raw,
quivering, my tongue and my pussy wet. My legs trembled, still
uncertain in their standing. I needed a bed. A big, sumptuous bed with
a man with a hard, demanding cock inside the sheets with me, forcing me,
making me do things his way, demanding new heights of performance from
me.
I did not protest. I did not complain. I sniffled and Rose
wiped my nose, even as master fed me. She was lovely, so close, her
body bewitching me with its softness, its roundnesses that jiggled so
deliciously when she walked, moved. I wanted her in bed with me too,
parting me, licking me, encouraging me. I thrust my hips forward as I
ate. Master noticed and caressed me softly through my pubic hairs with
his fingers, not touching my cunt though. His dick waggled against my
thigh, banging it. I wished I could reach out and hold it. He reached
down then and touched my clitty, stroked me there, then stroked his
penis, then me again. All the while he kept lifting bits of cheese to
my lips, then coffee.
Amy and I were taken next to the bedroom. I caught my breath
at the sight of a big brass four-poster canopy bed. The curtains at the
rear of the bed were drawn back and Amy and I were put over the
brass-poled baseboard. Heels were slipped onto Amy's feet so that she
stood beside me with her fanny perfectly elevated. I wished we could be
in the bed, instead of standing behind it, but my gag kept me from
suggesting anything at all. She and I were bent forward until our
cheeks touched the coverlet. Our heads were turned to face one
another. We were told to extend our tongues to each other, to kiss. We
obeyed as best we could, our hips bumping.
A leather belt was brought out behind us. I heard its
slithering, found I could view my destruction once again in a helpfully
positioned mirror, found to my fright I could even see the state of my
own bottom through a double reflection.
Rose drew back the strap. Her body was lithe, sexy, appealing
even in this most threatening of postures. I felt the juicy splatting
of the strap then, full across my bottom, lifting me up off my feet. I
hollered. New tears welled in my eyes.
With slow, savoring strokes Rose and master led me through the
long night, a night of unremitting punishment, of naked agony. In the
morning I was soundly fucked by both of them, then left to rest with Amy
until our time came to perform bare-bottomed chores.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
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