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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Private Places part 3 of 7 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PRIVATE PLACES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
The next night arrived all too quickly. We looked perfect, of
course, except for our still-marred bottoms. Mine was in fact white as
snow again, while Barbi had just the lightest traces remaining of her
welts. Sara, though, had a bottom still visibly bruised, and Maria
looked almost fresh from the trestle. For clothes we wore elegant
shifts, sliced uncompromisingly right across the tops of our thighs,
leaving our legs bare. The shifts were metallic, made of the lightest
mesh of tie-dyed metal links, much as Tara had worn many nights ago with
Barbi, greeting the Russians. Barbi had always wanted to wear such a
garment. Now she could, albeit in the presence of unwanted men.
We wore beautiful pumps, glittering, expensive earrings, and
forced smiles. Mistress, wearing a business suit, a jacket plus a
skirt, greeted the men at the front door. They did not enter from the
back, walking through the forest. They were formal guests. They would
not be privileged to all mistress’ secrets as master and David and
Jeffrey were.
“Girls, these are our friends for the evening,” mistress said.
I blanched. They were computer nerds! They looked like they spent most
of their time reading sexy stories on the Internet, instead of meeting
real girls. (Not that any would have necessarily been interested.)
They had too many freckles, or too many pimples, or were a little too
wide around the middle, or too thin in the chest. One thing mistress
assured us, though: “They are well endowed where it counts, girls! I
had them stop by my office the other day and inspected them
individually.” They grinned at her. I suspected she’d had them drop
their pants, dismissed some, asked others to come back this evening.
“And they’re not too often with girls, so they will be most attentive,
if a little hasty.” I thought we were to be taken then, but such is not
mistress’ manner. “But enough of such silliness,” she continued.
“Boys, I expect you to treat these girls as if you were on a real date
with them. I realize that not all of you have actually gone on a date,
but do your best to be on your best behavior. Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I promised the girls that if they’d be a little daring, to please you,
I’d be daring too.” She actually asked their permission if she could
slip off her skirt. They nodded, dumbfounded, then watched in awe as
this Anna-Nicole Smith lookalike wriggled her dress down her long
model’s legs and finally stepped out of it. “Would one of you hang it
up for me?” she asked, pointing to a coat closet near the front door.
“I’ll worship it for you!” one of the nerds replied.
“That won’t be necessary,” mistress smiled. “Just hang it up.
I’m sure I’ll need it again sometime. Now come into the rec room,
boys. Let’s kick back and enjoy some hot dogs and play.”
With each of the males taking one of us by the arm, with two
left over, we found ourselves escorted into mistress’ game room. There
was a small indoors grill for cooking hotdogs. Mistress, incongruously
in her business jacket, with her legs sheathed in stockings and her
garters showing, set about cooking hot dogs for the boys. The girls and
I settled onto the floor for a round of stud poker. One of the boys
dealt out the cards. He became instantly absorbed in seeing that they
were properly shuffled and dealt, first counting them, to ensure that 52
cards were in fact in the deck. Such is the way with nerds. The rest,
luridly, watched Barbi, myself, Sara and Maria as we tried our best to
sit on the floor without our shifts riding up to show our nude pussies
underneath. We wore no clothing except the shifts. It was most
embarrassing to be seen by such nerdy men, whom we cared nothing for. I
tugged on the end of my hem, blushing as they watched my crotch. I
tried very hard to get the end of my shirt down over my pussy. Barbi
fidgeted with hers, Sara smiled a bit sheepishly and simply gave up.
Her shift lay swathed over her tummy, her breasts, then stopped short
just where it was needed most. She had pretty cunt lips, at least.
Maria worried more about her bottom than her pussy. It was still
painful for her to sit on it.
Mistress handed around hot dogs to the boys. She had let them
cool, and she insisted the boys eat them without any buns.
“But we’ll get grease on our fingers!” a nerd whined.
“So?” mistress smiled.
“But that will get finger-grease on the cards,” he replied.
“Yes, and then the cards might get marked, and being marked,
allow us to cheat!” a second nerd chimed in, to the general agreement of
the others.
“Boys, you will eat your hotdogs this way, and so will the
girls. Let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we? But a little at a time. I
don’t want any fratboy behavior in my house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied, sounding almost like myself and
Barbi when we were trying our best to be quiet and obey.
“This reminds me of the one time I went to the nudie bar,” a
fat boy offered, hoping to engage Barbi, whom his eyes seemed to linger
on more than the others. (I was not jealous, I can assure you.)
Mistress cleared her throat, touching her hand to it. She
swallowed.
“Boys, I’m beginning to think some of you have never been with
a young lady before,” mistress intoned, her voice pleasant but with an
undercurrent of proper Southern respectability, which would be enforced,
because she looked like a beautiful Southern belle and such beauty, in a
woman of maturity, demanded respect. Demanded it. I saw Rhett Butler
suddenly, and Ashley, and even the vicious Union troops on their march
to the sea, suddenly stopping for tea with mistress. However aggressive
they might be on the battlefield, whether they’d just finished raping
young innocent schoolgirls while getting into the gin, suddenly, in the
presence of mistress, they must behave properly. I could see her
swishing out onto the veranda in her long skirt, but with her blouse
perhaps undone, her titties showing too much, yet with that blonde hair
and those penetrating eyes set in her soft, sweet face, insisting,
wordlessly, or perhaps with just the few rightly selected words, that
they must “set themselves down” and enjoy a summer’s afternoon with her,
pleasantly sipping the first tea of the season. “Well, you have a lot
to learn,” mistress said. She plucked her hot dog from her mouth. It
was wet with her saliva, but she had not bitten into it yet. “Obviously
you boys must realize that we girls are not thinking about sex all the
time,” she said. (That was most certainly true on this evening! Yet,
suddenly realizing my master might be watching, I felt my nipples push
up into the mesh of my metal dress, where they intruded into and caught
themselves in the interconnected links. I hoped none of the boys would
pull off my dress too quickly. It looked like I’d just become caught in
it! Oh, why would he make me suffer like this, entertaining boys I
didn’t care about, getting caught in the most insufferable way with my
most tender parts, in a dress no girl should ever wear, hiding little up
top because the mesh was light enough that it could be seen through, the
metal being transparent, and so short it should have been labelled a
jacket instead of a dress, for all it did to cover my pussy.)
Mistress turned the wettened hot dog in her fingers, holding
just the end of it, letting it point up toward the ceiling freely.
“Boys, what does this remind you of?” mistress asked coyly.
The boys glanced furtively among themselves. She seemed to
have just scolded one of them for mentioning the nudie bar, yet now the
question she posed was so obviously intended for only one answer, did
they dare to give it? Finally the boldest, not wanting to displease
mistress but spurred alternately by a desire to impress us with his
knowledge, announced, “That’s simple. It reminds me of my cock. Mine
would look more like a cucumber of course, but--”
“Yes, dear, you have the cock of a donkey. Very good,”
mistress interrupted. She had no time for boys and their stories. We
girls giggled which, alas, caused our shifts to rise up, exposing our
pussies, which I and Barbi, at least, quickly repaired when we realized
what we were showing.
“And what must you do with this before you put it into a girl?”
mistress asked our Champion of Knowledge. I found out later his name
was Egbert. Apparently in the middle ages that was actually a good name
but, alas, his nerdy mother when she named him must not have realized
that the middle ages were over.
“Well, uh,” Egbert said, perhaps considering some physics
calculation in his mind, estimating the mathematical formulas that would
be inherently necessary in the conjunction of two separate bodies in
space... “I think you have to put vaseline on it or something...”
“Egbert, let’s have a little lesson here, shall we?” mistress
asked. “I’m glad I’m able to bring this up with you boys tonight. Who
knows what might have happened to you out there if I hadn’t?”
“The library would have six extra guys in it?” Barbi asked.
She seemed distracted, not really caring. I think she wanted to be with
master. She liked having me around, for company, but she wanted to be
with him, as his wife, in a husband and wife setting, in her own home,
with him talking to her, and listening. I think she’d had lots of
adventures before and was beginning to tire of them. For myself, I was
intrigued. Even though the boys were worthless, they had such
innocence, and yet such bulges where it mattered, that I couldn’t help
feeling a little giddy. Especially since master might be watching, and
the husbands of Sara and Maria. Sara seemed bashful but interested.
She exuded a motherly warmth, yet she was too young to be a mother, such
that she simply seemed caring and friendly. Maria still seemed
primarily absorbed with her bottom. I’d never been hit so hard. How
did it feel, I wondered? Often as a child I’d been threated by mom that
she’d hit me “so hard that you’ll feel it for a week!” Of course such a
thing had never happened. I’d not even been spanked, spoiled brat that
I was. Yet Maria was now clearly still feeling in her seat, her poor
bare heinie, the effects of a truly admonitory cropping. And it had
been mistress, sitting right here with us, so sweet and kind, who had
administered it. And for what? For nothing, really, when you thought
about it. Maria had done nothing whatsoever to offend mistress.
Mistress had been paid to beat her, like an executioner. No cross words
or hard feelings had been necessary. Maria’s husband had simply brought
her to Ms. Highbourne, paid the appropriate fee, and then Ms. Highbourne
had whipped Maria according to her master’s specifications. Simple as
that. Mistress really did have Southern blood in her, I thought. Her
great-granddad might well have been someone who punished slaves, for a
fee. I’d read of such a thing in a book once. There would be a man in
the town whom a master could bring his slave to, for punishment. The
slave might have done something, or nothing at all. The slave had no
voice. She (or he) was simply brought, punished, and taken home again,
sobbing and weeping. I watched as Maria tried to find a comfy way to
sit on her bottom. She didn’t seem to be succeeding too well at it.
She tugged at her hem a little, trying to hide her pussy, and failing at
that too, for she kept squirming on her injured bottom.
“Boys, you must always wear a condom,” mistress announced,
apparently to virgin ears. The boys nodded solemnly. “Egbert, please
get out your condom for me.” Egbert blushed. He gulped and bowed his
head.
“Uh, I forgot,” he apologized.
“Did any of you boys bring a condom?” mistress asked. They
glanced nervously at each other. “NONE of you?” Mistress frowned as
Barbi and I and Sara and even Maria had to work hard to suppress
laughing our heads off. Barbi let out a little giggle, clapping her
hands to her mouth. She was finally involved in the matter before us.
I let my eyes dance merrily and kept my lips tightly pressed together,
my cheeks filling with air as I just managed to stave off bursting into
giggles. Sara smiled, warm and friendly. I thought she might reach out
and take Egbert’s hand to console him. The boys were clearly
embarrassed. “Boys, how could you go to a whorehouse without taking any
condoms along?” mistress asked.
“Uh, is this a whorehouse?” a boy asked, wide-eyed.
“Do you normally see girls dressed like this in your school?”
mistress questioned.
“Noooo,” a boy replied. “It’s just that you said to be polite
and-”
“Well of course you must be POLITE, boys! Girls are different
from you. You know that. Tell me, boys, while I get up to find some
condoms for us, how are girls different from boys?” She rose, still
firmly in control of the situation, for the boys all turned their eyes
to view the offered undercurve of her bottom as she stood. Her two
silken cheeks were sheathed in fine French panties. The undies were
delicately transparent, and she stood so close, with her jacket riding
high from her sitting, that even though most of her bottom was covered
by her jacket the boys were given an enticing sight of her innermost
curves, where her anus dwelled and her pussylips began their promising
pout.
Silence reigned. None of the boys were even thinking about how
to answer her, so absorbed were they by the sight of her mature, womanly
bottom, tight and firm yet full-grown, the kind of mother’s bottom
they’d probably all fantasized about sticking their dicks into since
they were infants, watching mom drink coffee with the neighborhood
ladies from their crib.
“Oh, you boys amaze me with your ignorance!” mistress scolded.
“Think of this: aren’t my underpants different from yours?” She
reached up under her jacket and slowly pulled her panties down. As if
to tease them she stuck out her butt just a little, modestly, then
wiggled it to get her panties’ crotch to snap free of her cunt lips.
She dragged the undies down her long legs and stepped out of them. One
of the legholes caught on her spiked pump’s heel. She got it free and
tossed her panties right into Egbert’s face.
“GAAACK!” Egbert cried. We all laughed.
“There! See for yourself!” mistress announced. “Smell them
while you have them on your face. Do they smell like a boy’s
underpants?”
“No,” Egbert admitted, beginning to enjoy himself, with her
panties hanging off his pointed nose, his glasses steaming.
“All of you boys smell my panties!” mistress said. “I’ll have
no more of this ignorance amongst boys in college! What have you boys
been doing all these years?”
“Uh, well...” the fat boy offered.
“Never mind, I know what you’ve been doing!” mistress
answered. “In your case, you’ve been eating, but the rest of
you...jerking off! That’s what you’ve been doing! Why, you’ve been so
busy jerking off you don’t even know to bring condoms to a whorehouse.
Let me get some, and then we’re going to have a little training. You
boys will leave here as men tonight! And I expect you to go OUT this
Saturday night. That’s right. No more sitting at home posting “me too”
posts on alt.sex.stories. No more spending hours in the AOL chat rooms
talking to “girls” who are actually 50-year-old fags.” She walked
across the room, rummaged in a drawer, came back with a handful of
shrink-wrapped Trojans. “There!” she proclaimed, tossing the rubbers at
the boys. “Those are condoms! That is what you take when you go out on
Saturday night. You can buy those in the grocery, boys. They are
usually in the next aisle over from the computer magazines, in the
stores I’ve seen.”
Mistress sat back down. She tugged on her jacket to make it
cover her pussy as well as it could. She picked up a condom package and
tugged at it, hoping to rip it open. But her mind was elsewhere, still
on her lecture, and the differences between girls and boys.
“Did you know girls have periods?” mistress asked. “Did you
know that they get PMS once a month?” She gazed for a moment at their
blank faces. “Never mind,” she continued. “We’ll stick to the basics
tonight, as in, ‘What goes where.’ That’s all you’re interested in
anyway, isn’t it?” The boys, foolishly absorbed in her words, nodded.
“I thought so,” mistress said. Then she smiled, as if to reassure them
that they were, in fact, doing just fine. At least for 20-year-old
virgins. “Tell me, sticking to the matter at hand, how else are girls
different from boys?”
“Uh, they have nice asses, without any hair in them,” a boy
with crooked glasses volunteered, shooting up his hand to answer as if
Ms. Highbourne was his first grade teacher.
“Very good. What is your name?”
“Billie!” the boy announced, pleased that he’d been called on,
acknowledged.
“Billie, how are girl’s bottoms different, besides just looking
nice?” mistress asked. Billie, for all his eagerness, seemed stumped.
“Their buttholes are smaller,” mistress replied. “Does that
seem fair to you? Think of it, a penis must inevitably go up a girl’s
butthole at some time if her life, if she is truly to acknowledge her
husband as her master and surrender herself to him completely. Yet,
instead of having a nice big butthole, which would be practical,
considering how big your cock is, Egbert, we girls are born with wee
little assholes, which must be forced if they are to ever receive
completely. Isn’t that right, girls?” mistress turned to me. I
gasped. “Does it hurt to have a penis go up your butt, Fury?” mistress
asked me.
“I-I don’t know,” I replied bashfully. “I’ve-”
“What? You’ve never done it? Is that what you’re saying?” she
asked. I let my eyes sink to the floor and instinctively passed my
hands back round my bottom and took hold of my bottomcheeks. Naughtily
I pulled them apart a little, feeling the firmness, the stretchiness, in
my hands. There was no way any cock could go up my little hole! “I’m
only 13,” I replied.
“Only 13?” mistress asked. “Do you hear that, boys? Only 13,
yet she has such nice, big breasts for a 13-year-old, don’t you think?”
“They just grew,” I replied.
“Of course they did, dear,” she said. “And your bottom just
fattened up too, didn’t it? Nice and plump, so that you can’t walk down
the beach anymore without grown men noticing you go by. And when you
bend over to pick up a seashell, well, what do you think they think
about?”
“Porking her up the butt!” the fat boy announced.
“Very good, tubby,” mistress said. “But yours is probably so
wide you’d split her right apart if you did it to her. You’ll have to
let somebody else go first. Egbert, perhaps, he’s nice and skinny,
aren’t you? A bit long, though. Where is your bulge, Billy? Did you
squirt in your pants already? It’s not nice to cum in your pants.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it, when you said about her
bending over I just...”
“Tch! Tch!” mistress said. She reached behind herself,
plucked a box of kleenex off a low coffee table. “Open up yourself and
let me clean up your mess. I can’t send you home to your mommie with
spermy underpants.”
We watched, all of us mildly intrigued (and the boys ecstatic)
as mistress played wet nurse to Billie. With her help he was unzipped,
his underpants opened, and his sperm scooped out into handkerchiefs.
“Has nobody ever helped you with this sort of problem before, Billie?”
mistress asked. Her voice was consoling. “It’s okay. You just need to
be around girls more, that’s all, Billie. 13-year-old girls included.
Don’t ignore them, if they excite you. Otherwise you’ll be president
someday and you’ll be making a speech when, suddenly, a 13-year-old girl
in the audience bends over to pick something up and you shoot off right
there, on CNN. Now that would be silly, wouldn’t it, having a wet spot
on CNN? ‘Greetings, Mr. Yeltsin,’ you might say. ‘Don’t mind my wet
spot. Your daughter bent over to pick up her hankie as I was coming
into the building.’”
Mistress finished scooping out Billie’s sperm. She crumpled
the handkerchiefs in her hands. “Maria, please open your mouth,” she
said. Maria looked shocked. “You heard me,” mistress said. “Show
these boys what happens when you don’t obey.” Maria’s face became
stricken. Her fortunes were worsening by the second. “Get up, Maria,”
mistress said. “Get off that lazy ass of yours, turn around, and walk
up to each boy and let him inspect you in behind.” Maria swallowed,
rose silently to her feet, still pulling on her hem as she stood, as if
hiding herself still mattered, at least as a point of pride, and turned
around. “Lift up your dress,” mistress said. Maria put her hands
behind herself, the boys already straining forward, their eyes wide, for
they thought they’d seen something upon her heinie, something they’d not
even dreamed could be done to a girl, at least in real life. “Get it
right up, Maria, don’t dally!” mistress, impatient, ordered her.
Maria lifted up the back of her dress. There was nothing to
it, really, the dress ended right where her heinie did, and the
slightest lifting of it immediately bared her nether cheeks.
The boys’ breath caught in their throats. They coughed, the
fat boy began having hiccups. Across Maria’s once-lovely bottom lay an
entrancing series of brutal marks, deep bruises that threatened to last
for weeks. “Yes, that’s what you must be prepared to do if your wives
misbehave,” mistress intoned. “Women’s lib must stop where the bedroom
begins, don’t you think, boys? These men who are brought to trial for
raping their wives! Such silliness! It is the wife’s duty to open
herself to her man. Why else was she born with a hole, and he with a
penis? When he is erect, she must open. Is he to go down the street to
the neighbor lady? Of course not! Marriages must be preserved. They
are the bedrock of our society, as Bill Clinton himself will tell you.
Sit down, Maria, and let me put these spermy kleenex into your mouth.
It is a trash can, as far as I’m concerned, if you were using it to tell
your dear husband that you wish to see other men besides him. Sit right
down and open your mouth for me!”
Maria sat, giving a little moan as her bottom once again made
contact with the floor. Silently, fearing greatly that mistress,
especially with her own husband secretly watching, might beat her again,
Maria parted her lips. “Wider, girl, I’ve used several kleenexes,”
mistress admonished. Maria, looking strangely pretty now, opened her
lips wider to receive Billy’s spermload. Mistress pushed the wad of
kleenex into the girl’s mouth, then eased Maria’s lips shut, for the
girl was as reluctant to close her lips as she’d been to open them.
Mistress patted Maria’s cheek. “There, there. Now chew, dear. Sperm
is edible, and tissue paper won’t hurt you. Chew and swallow your
dessert properly. When you’re done you can kiss Billie for being your
studly provider.”
Maria sat with a shocked look on her face, her lips not
moving. Mistress drew back her hand, as if to slap her. At once Maria
began chewing, just a little, her eyes big and her nose wiggling as if
she wished for all the world to somehow disappear into thin air. How
humiliating! To actually eat the sperm of a nerd! Well, he was a
virgin at least, so there was no risk of disease. Yet I myself would
rather have been kidnapped by pirates and force fed on their genitals
for a month than eat sperm from an ugly nerd. Maria chewed slowly.
“Faster, dear, or are you savoring the taste?” mistress asked.
We were all watching her, us girls pitying her, the boys entranced.
“No,” Maria mumbled, her mouth quite full.
“Well, chew it up and get it down,” mistress said. “You’ve
still got your hot dog to eat, I see, and it’s gotten cold now. I’ll
use it for a prop in my lecture on anal sex if you don’t eat it.”
Yikes! I picked up my own hot dog, which I’d just taken one
bite of, and immediately found a new interest in consuming it. Barbi
and even Sara did the same. Mistress laughed. “See, boys? These girls
don’t waste food. I’ve got them well trained. Now, where were we? Oh
yes, I have my own hot dog, don’t I? Well, I need this to be whole a
little while longer, for we must see what is the proper use of a condom,
mustn’t we?” She laughed, enjoying herself. Her bosoms moved within
her still-buttoned jacket.
Mistress picked up her hot dog off the floor. “Now boys, let’s
pretend this is your penis,” mistress said. I glanced at their
crotches. They were still bulging, all but Billie, and I knew they were
eager to lose their virginity on this night, if they could. They were
quite attentive as mistress began the next portion of her lecture, even
more so than they’d been before. “First you should wet your cock, so
the condom will slide on smoothly,” mistress said. “Have a friend do it
for you,” she advised, then added quickly: “A GIRL friend, boys. Don’t
be slathering each other up in the restroom during intermission, hoping
your dates will give you permission.” Mistress stuck out her tongue and
daintily licked her hot dog. Soon it gleamed anew with her saliva.
Having gotten the condom packet open, she placed the open end of the
rubber over the tip of the dog and began unrolling it. The boys
watched, mesmerized, as the rubber slowly encased the long dog. Finally
the rubber was unrolled, leaving just a part of the hot dog uncovered,
at the bottom.
Mistress put her hand behind herself and took a small jar of
vaseline from the coffee table. I’d not even seen it sitting there, it
had been so small and innocuous. But the boys might have seen it, and
wondered at it, for they offered to grease up the hot dog for her.
“No, I’m going to do this myself, boys, because you’ll be busy
enough soon with your own cocks,” mistress replied. “This one is
mine.” She lifted the hem of her business jacket, so formal and proper,
and placed the nose of the dog directly against her cuntlips. “Now
watch, boys. I’m only going to fuck myself once tonight. It’s not the
most elegant thing for a hostess to do at her own party, you know.
Watch now, see how I can stick the hot dog right into myself? That’s
because I have a vagina. Billy, can you say vagina?”
“Vagina,” Billy announced.
“That’s right, Billy. This is where your penis should be when
it spurts out its sperm. Not in your pants. Yours has never been in a
place like this, has it?”
“Actually, when he was born, he must have come out through his
MOTHER’S-” Egbert began.
“Tch! Egbert, I had such high hopes for you,” mistress
scolded. “That’s not something I’m referring to when I’m asking whether
or not Billie’s experienced. You boys! You really must get active and
involved in this world. Coming out of his mother’s vagina when he was
born, so that counts as having an experienced penis...REALLY!” Mistress
bit her lip and slid the hotdog deeper.
“Mmm, I still remember my first one,” she said, musing. “When
I was 13, Fury, just like you. He was so big, and strong, and handsome,
a part-time lifeguard at the beach. I used to tease him, never
thinking, really, what might happen. One day he simply told me to come
behind the lifeguard stand with him, pulled my panties right down in
back, bent me over, and put himself into me. I was so shocked! I
didn’t know what to do! I’d been eating an ice cream cone and it fell
right onto my breasts, melting on them, getting into my bra as he forced
himself into me and humped me. But he was gentle, I’ll give him that.
Strong and determined but willing to let me catch up with him, and
willing to help me too, but sticking a hand into my panties and rubbing
me nicely, with his experienced fingers. He’d had girls before, even
though he was only 16. He knew exactly how to do a girl so she could
feel good and come when he did. Such a silly boy! He pulled a towel
over us once we’d begun, so it wouldn’t be so obvious what we were
doing! Just about the time we were done his boss came by, and lifted up
the towel, and looked right into my eyes! He was a hunky dude, about
21. Instead of balling us out he ripped down my bra and cupped my
breasts and massaged them for me as I climaxed with Rod (that was his
name) up my cunt. I was really dazed when it was all over, and Rod’s
boss suspended him for two weeks for taking such a risk with me, right
there on the beach, where anyone could have seen us. Rod and me simply
spent the next two weeks in his bedroom, enjoying the extra time we’d
been given to learn about each other, and fuck. And do you know what
Rod said when his boss got mad at him? He said, “Sir, I know she’s
younger than me, but she’s been teasing me all summer, and a Man can
only take so much.” I thought that was quite a statement. Here he’d
been trying so hard, all summer, to resist me, but I’d finally won, and
lost too, my virginity, you know.”
Mistress sighed. She’d been moving the hot dog in and out of
herself as she talked, savoring the feeling of being fucked, enjoying
the fact that her own hand could control her pleasure. And, from the
waist up, she looked so demure! Her jacket was still neatly buttoned,
fresh from the cleaners, she might have been presiding at a business
meeting, from the looks of it, except she looked a little too happy now
to be doing that!
“Maria, it’s your turn,” mistress said finally. She hadn’t cum
or anything, just enjoyed having something long and firm inside herself
for a few minutes. Poor Maria, though! Her cheeks were still bulging
from the wad of kleenex, and now she was being given a used hot dog
dildo to fuck herself with. “You wont’ have to lick it, unless you want
to,” mistress advised her. “It’s nice and wet.”
Maria took the hot dog, contemplated it a moment, and finally
opened her flower-soft cunt lips and inserted its slickness into her.
As she continued dutifully chewing on the kleenex she began to fuck
herself with the hotdog. Mistress, meanwhile, told the boys to take off
their pants and put on condoms so they would be ready when the
opportunity came to prove themselves upon us. Quickly the boys
complied. They began hollaring with joy, and mistress had to tell them
to shut up or they’d find themselves pantless and out the front door.
“You’ll have to hitch a ride home along the roadside, hoping some gay
truck driver will pick you up,” mistress said. I realized that the boys
must have come in a cab, and they’d need to call one to get home. They
didn’t even have cars! What nerds! Did they ride their bicycles to
computer class each day? I guessed they must. And I wondered if their
bikes still had training wheels on them. ‘Four wheels are safer than
two,’ I could just hear one of them assuring me.
Six fine cocks soon presented themselves, which proved mistress
must have ‘vetted’ substantially more boys before selecting these six.
I guess she didn’t want to be too cruel to us. At least we could pride
ourselves on being taken by proper cocks, not ones that were too little,
or had warts or moles on them, or something.
“Six virgin cocks! My, my,” Sara exclaimed. She felt a little
special seeing them, as I did. Certainly we would never have wanted to
‘vet’ a bunch of boys to find the few virgins who had good cocks, but
mistress had done all that for us. We had simply to receive. Mistress,
though, wasn’t done with her lecturing.
“Boys, lets go over a few other items before you get your
reward tonight for being so good,” mistress announced. “These here now,
that I’ve just taken out of this little box...did you think there was
more food in this box, tubby? No, these are not edible. These
harnesses with red balls on them are called ball gags. Girls, would you
each please put one on? I want the boys to feel they’re totally in
control tonight. Maybe it will help them get over their fear of
girls.” She passed the ball gags to us and, very reluctantly, we
buckled each other into them. It took a few minutes to get it done.
The boys watched, visibly fascinated. I could see they wanted to rub
their cocks as they watched. They were probably used to masturbating
whenever they became aroused, and it must have been very hard for them
to wait.
We sat at last before them, like pretty slaves, our faces
harnessed and ball gags inserted between our lips, forcing them open,
making us unable to talk. I wondered how Wellesley College would
address the issue of getting permission from a girl who was gagged. It
would be difficult, wouldn’t it? What if I decided to say ‘no’ now?
Perhaps Wellesley would consider addressing this, especially for the
girl who was not only gagged, but bound as I’d been the previous day,
over a trestle, with my hair falling down over my face and my legs
spread wide open behind me. Ah, well. I had many years to go before I
was big enough for college. But I’d be sure to ask, when I got there.
I’d speak up in the ‘Gender Sensitivity Training Class’ and say, “Excuse
me, please, but when I was 13 I was bent over a trestle, gagged, and
shielded by my hair from even being seen, with my ass propped high and
my cunt yanked open, and I was speculating, you know, what if I changed
my mind halfway through? How would I tell the gang of pirates that was
fucking me on the high seas that I was bored with being a kidnapped love
slave and raped every day, and wanted to go home?’
‘Oh, well!’ the woman would answer. ‘Of course the pirates
would free you at once, and go back to studying philosophy, and just as
soon as they got through raping and plundering they’d let you off at the
nearest port, and bid you ‘Good day,’ and remind you to save your Oceans
Ahoy Frequent Rape Victim Miles in case you wanted to sail with them
again.’ Yes, that’s how it would be.
“Girls, would you please show your cunts?” mistress asked us.
Gagged, wide-eyed, we complied. What else could we do? We opened our
thighs, pushed up our shifts a little (as needed), and spread ourselves
with our fingers.
“Study them, boys,” mistress said. “Those are real cunts, not
photos in Penthouse. Aren’t they cute? Get close to them, look at them
closely, find the clit of each girl with your tongue. Take turns, boys,
I want each of you to examine each girl. We’ll fuck in a little while.
Right now we’re still learning.”
I leaned back, still dutifully holding myself open, as Tubby
came close and began his inspection of me. As his fingers took over
from my own, parting me himself, mistress appeared beside me and urged
me to lie back on the rug.
“You might as well enjoy it, dears,” she said, addressing all
of us. “These boys are going to make you swoon, because each of them is
going to have to find your special spot with his tongue and pleasure it
for you a little, so I know he’s found it. Just lie back on the rug and
enjoy it, as a certain Texas Republican once said. There’s nothing you
can do anyway to prevent it.” Realizing that we might cry out and, if
ungagged, our sighs of bliss would be the first the boys had ever heard
(in real life, I mean, not T.V.), mistress reluctantly decided to
unbuckle our ball gags. With expert fingers she lifted each of our
heads up and freed our mouths. I gasped, enjoying my oral freedom. It
was nice to be able to wiggle my tongue around again, and close my
lips. Billy, meanwhile, was busy discovering how to imprison his own
tongue in my muffin.
I lay on the rug looking at the ceiling for a little bit,
feeling Tubby’s tongue as it wormed into my most private place. I
turned my head, saw Barbi lying beside me. We shared a consoling kiss.
This was what our master wanted. We were pleasing him, I told myself,
not these stupid nerds who’d never seen a girl before.
“That’s good, boys,” mistress said encouragingly at our feet,
urging on her charges. A bit later, after Barbi and I had gasped into
each other’s mouths, sharing our passion, she’d had them switch, Egbert
taking Tubby’s place, while Tubby himself wound up with Maria, and Billy
with Sara, who seemed the least offended by it all, happy to provide
feminine comforts to boys who’d never had any.
Mistress, never one to miss a chance for increased depravity,
rose and warmed more hotdogs on the grill while the boys continued
exploring us with their tongues. When the hotdogs were nice and warm,
but not too hot, she encased each one in its own condom, and greased it
with a bit of vaseline. Then she made us girls roll over on our tummies
and, to our dismay, lift up our shifts in back.
The boys exclaimed when they saw our damaged tushies. The
marks seemed to excite some deep primal male interest in them. They
were the marks other men had ordered, mistress explained, our real
owners, who wished to let the boys know that even though they might
enjoy us, we did not belong to them. We each belonged already to a
lovemaster, and he was merely loaning us to these nerdy boys for his
own. “These are slaves, boys, not mere whores. Did you know that
you’re being watched? Yes, there are men looking right now at your
naked cocks, laughing at them, perhaps. But you can’t bear to leave
now, can you? Despite how silly you must look to the experienced
masters of these girls. Alright, boys. Here’s a hot dog for each of
you. I want you to stick these hot dogs into each girl’s butthole. Do
it gently, especially for Fury here, because she’s new and had never
been buttfucked before. As you can see, her master is still afraid to
mark her, for her bottom is white, no? She is so young and beautiful, I
had to actually FORCE him to violate her yesterday. He fears such
innocence, yet she is old enough for love, don’t you think? Look at
that cute little ass she has! Must we wait until she is 30 and her ass
is as wide as a house before we fuck it? No, no! (Just kidding,
Fury!) That’s it, spread her cheeks open, Billy, pop that hot dog right
into her tiny hole. But hold on to the end of it! If you lose that hot
dog in her I’m going to make you pull it out with your teeth, and send
you home with shit on your nose and an ass that looks like Maria’s here,
WITHOUT your pants.”
I felt myself opened in back. Billy, his fingers trembling
with his need, his long cock bumping the back of my thigh, spread my
springy cheeks open, found my hole, and carefully nosed the hot dog
inside me, a little at first, then a little more.
Oh, such a feeling! It felt like somebody was trying to plug
up my butt with a champagne cork! I was reminded of my experience with
master, but this dog had no big plum-sized cockhead on the end of it.
Mistress supervised, and under her guidance, with Barbi giggling beside
me even as her own hole was violated, I felt the long dog burrow into me
and devirginate me. Up, up, up it went, making me think all the air was
being driven from my lungs. I whooshed out my breath, heard Barbi
whoosh out her own as a dog was thrust up her tushy. Hers went quicker
than mine. I was still new, she’d done this before, knew how to relax
herself, let what must happen proceed.
The boys got their edible cocks up us and, under mistress’
guidance, began pumping us with them. I wished I had a pillow to cling
to. I clawed the carpet with my nails, wishing I could get the thing
out of me, wishing I’d been a pig and insisted on eating up all the
hotdogs before mistress could think of such a ruthless scheme. But
she’d already planned it this afternoon, I thought. What other crimes
did she know to commit on a young girl like me? Alas, alas! She
couldn’t even feel pity for me, I guessed, for she’d been raped at 13 by
her best boyfriend and had learned to love it.
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and thought of master. He was
the reason I was doing this. I’d left mom and dad, come here, just for
him. I pretended I was on my bed at home, with my teddy bear, and found
myself wishing still for him, and knowing that what must be done must,
however agonizingly, be endured. At least if he was here watching me he
was out of the way of my father! A vision of my master, all bloody and
dead, flitted through my mind. Yes, if this is what it took to keep him
safe, then I must do it, however horrible it obviously was. In and out
and in again the hot dog dildo went, Tubby quite pleased with himself
now, feeling quite experienced and quite like a man. At last mistress
let him withdraw the shit covered dildo and she had the boys deposit
them into a wastebasket. Then, as the boys washed their hands in a
little restroom, we girls came to our senses and managed to roll over so
that our fannies were once again under us, where they belonged.
“Lift up your shifts, girls,” mistress said, returning with her
troopers. “Let the boys see and get hold of your breasts. Let them see
your tummies, where you’d bear babies for them if I didn’t make them
wear condoms. Boys, this is it! Girls, bend your knees nicely now, let
the boys get right between your thighs!” I gasped as Tubby came
hovering over me, his sausage thick cock looking like a knockwurst in
search of a squeezing bun. He got down atop me like some dog, panting,
and the next thing I knew he was entering me. I felt tears stain my
eyes. I did not want this! His big stomach rolled atop my own, feeling
heavier by the minute. And then, before he’d really gotten into me, I
yelled loudly in my ear and ejaculated. They all did, I think, losing
themselves before they ever made it up to the promised land, into our
wombs where our unfertilized eggs lay waiting.
Mistress made them get up then, right away. There was no use
having them exchange post-coital small talk with us. They were just
unromantic nerds, and there’d been no real copulation. I lay gazing up
at them, pitying them, hating them, then turned my face to Barbi’s. Our
eyes met and we edged closer and kissed. Sara found Maria, I think, and
they kissed too. We girls lay kissing the person next to us as the
boys, feeling slightly sheepish, were hurried back into their clothes by
mistress. She ushered them to the front door, bid them goodnight, and
as they exited the house they found a taxi was already waiting for them
to take them back to their computers and their books.
“Ohhh, are they gone?” I heard Maria ask.
“Yes, Maria, which is too bad for you, because your master
might want to see you used much more ruthlessly, now that those sweet
innocent little boys are gone,” mistress answered.
“Oh, when will my bottom be better?” Maria asked. She kicked
up her heels and clutched at the underside of her ass. Her new shoes
glittered in the rec room’s lights.
“Two weeks at the most,” mistress said. “IF you’re very good.
If your master doesn’t order more. You’d best be on your very goodest
behavior, young lady, because if he pays me to hurt you, I’ll do it, no
questions asked. I need the money.”
Maria sobbed a little, pitying herself. Sara caressed her hair
as we four lay there, lovely captured birds, wondering if our masters
were watching us. Lightly I toyed with my clit, wishing for an orgasm.
Mistress came up to me and stood over me. She straddled my
torso possessively with her dangerous spiked heels, and I rolled onto my
back, breaking my nurturing kiss with Barbi, and looked up at her with
innocent, wondering eyes. I ran my fingers lightly over my smooth, flat
belly, with its almost imperceptible rise where my navel lay. In
infant-fashion I put a finger in my belly button and contemplated
mistress as a child in a crib might contemplate its mother.
“I do not work for free, and your master cannot pay,” she said
to me, her voice brusque and possessive. Amidst its feminine softness
there was a low growl, as a mother might emit when her cubs are
threatened. For a moment I thought, feeling a deep sigh of relief pass
over my wobbling breasts, that she was going to expel me from her home.
After all, it was all so new and scary. If I was to be dismissed, it
would be from no fault of my own. But instead mistress unpinned her
loosely held hair, letting it fall round her face and shoulders, and
then bent down and grabbed me. She rolled me onto my tummy as if I were
a sack of potatoes. Anna alone guessed what must happen. From the
corner of my eye I saw her break contact with Maria and rise and hurry
over to the box which had held our ball gags. From this ‘toy box,’ as
one might call it, she plucked a hideous thing I’d not even contemplated
before in my life! It was a long, compassionately flexible dong,
pointed at both ends with a simulated cock-head, flange and all. Fright
seized me. Right in the middle of the dong, there was a big donut
shaped ring, ringing it, that would prevent its entering farther, on
either side. Anna bent daintily and retrieved the vaseline, which
someone had thoughtfully replaced on the coffee table lest it be needed
again; mistress, I guessed, though perhaps one of the fastidious nerds
had done it. Anna lubed both ends of the wicked dong in the vaseline.
She stuck them right into the goo, not being sexy about it, for it
seemed plenty of vaseline would be needed on that dong where it was
going.
With me on my belly, unsure, scared, mistress plopped her ass
down on my thin girlish thighs. She was heavy in her maturity, with a
full round woman’s bottom that carried the grace and dignity of a female
in full bloom, ready to bear children and become a proper mother.
Mistress spread my ass cheeks open with her long, delicate fingers. I
felt as if I were a precious flower being opened by a bee. Anna knelt
beside me and placed a consoling finger on the small of my back, just
one, as if shushing a child who might speak in church when all must be
quiet.
There was a rustling behind me. Anna helped mistress strip
quickly out of her jacket, her lovely frilly bra that had shown so
sexily where the jacket had been buttoned over her breasts, its deep vee
intended to reveal a blouse, not underwear, finally coming off too. I
saw the big-cupped brassiere land on the floor and knew the nerds’ final
wish had come true; mistress had lost her top, her breasts were free,
but they were with us no more. They would never enjoy the twin peaks of
female flesh which now swung heavily behind me. I glanced up, over my
shoulder. It looked as if the Rockies were about to crash down upon
me. Mistress, eager to have me, bent forward and peered over her
cleavage to properly insert, with Anna’s help, the double-donged dildo
into her pussy. The other end was intended for me.
“I’m going to ‘pop your cherry,’ so to speak,” mistress told
me. “I’ll be as gentle as I can. This is your master’s payment to me,
though I have not asked his permission and he may leap out and stop me,
if he’s watching. But if he approves, no one will save you. Assume
that he approves, my dear, for I fear you will be devirginated in a
second. She struggled to get a good bit of the big dong up her pussy,
so that she would have a penis of her very own to fuck me with.
“I don’t, I don’t--” I babbled. I could feel as Anna’s fingers
joined mistress’ upon my derriere, the penis now firmly ensconced in
mistress’ twat.
“All girls must do this someday,” mistress told me.
Barbi, who had lain watching, now edged close to me and
presented herself teasingly to mistress by lying on her tummy as well,
just like me. She lay with her face to mine, and began licking and
kissing my lips. I think the ecstasy of what we’d experienced already
on this heady, difficult night had made her crazy. Did she wish to be
buttfucked by mistress after me? Or did she just like the thrill of
lying so close to somebody who was going to suffer the assault? I felt
my bottom vented in behind, opened up by fingers as if I were being
encouraged to fart. The air of the room, cooling as the night deepened,
despite our lust, touched the hole of my butt, making me feel frisky
even as I bit my lip and prepared to be assaulted. I squirmed on my
belly, a fish thrown up on a dock, waiting, gasping, hoping for a
reprieve but sensing I’d get none.
The head of the dong, properly greased, presented itself to my
virgin hole. This would not be a hotdog, or a finger, going into me.
This would, in essence, be an organ, borne strangely by a female but
penis-shaped just the same, and with the same deep, penetrating feeling
to it. I would be riven with male cock. And mistress gloated over me
now, her breasts swaying, casting her long hair from her eyes so she
could see clearly to fuck me. Already I could feel her hot breath
wafting with erotic heat down upon my back, my bare bottom. There is a
sensual presence a body takes on when it is truly at the peak of sexual
desire, fully stimulated, a body on the brink of bursting forth with all
the pent up passions that linger in us daily, waiting for a chance to
explode.
Like a tigress mistress bore down. I screeched. The thing was
going up me! Barbi pressed her hands to my face, squeezing my cheeks.
She pressed her lips to mine and inserted her tongue into my mouth even
as the pulverizing penis pushed fiercely into my butt.
“No! No! No!” I blabbed, my mouth muffled. Mistress jabbed
at my butthole, unable to get in more than the knob into me, stopped by
the very virgin-ness she so desperately wanted to fill. “No! Please!”
I begged. My cries went unanswered. They could barely be heard, so
deeply did Barbi penetrate me with her tongue, fucking me in my mouth as
mistress ground her fake cock into my heinie. She was penetrated more
deeply at her end even as my own butt suffered its assault. Together,
for seeming hours, we battled each other. Anna lent a hand by tickling
up my cunny, reaching awkwardly underneath mistress’ bulging ass to find
my clitty and please me with her fingers.
“Rise, move your butt,” mistress growled in my ear, bending
low, pressing her mighty bosoms to me and lifting me by my hips even as
she cock-fucked my tushy.
I lifted my bare ass a little, not wanting to, but scared to
disobey her, even though I knew the consequences. The dong pressed more
firmly within me. I whooshed out my breath. I was being riven like
some butterfly tacked to a board, still alive, my keeper watching with
gleaming eyes as I struggled to break free. It was not my wings that
were clipped to the board, though, but my hiney-hole, the most intimate
part of me, where nothing should ever go up, but only out. By my ass I
was nailed right to the floor, my mistress herself. I felt the burning,
the itching, the strong need to expel the intruder, and at the same
time, amidst my muffled cries of sorrow, I felt completely, totally
possessed, even more than when master fucked me. Deep in the pit of my
womb I knew I was a bottom, a girl who could not resist having her ass
hole fucked as deeply and thoroughly as her cunt. And I was only 13!
How horrible to realize at such a young age that you need something so
awful, so terrible, as being split open in back, teasing people with
your peach and then being fucked by them.
Mistress, with Anna’s help, fingered herself to orgasm. I came
with her, Anna helping, and I even bucked a little to please her, in the
final moments, when I knew I’d been truly opened and could not be
injured by moving my backside up and down, like a stallion trying to
discharge a rider, yet hoping somehow to he’d be broken. He would be a
fine, princely horse, bearing his king when broken, and I would be a
delicate young lady, teasing, and being fucked. It was just that
simple. Mistress rode me til her pleasure was spent. Then she
dismounted from my butt, leaving the dong in me, easing herself off her
end so that, trophy-like, the dong would remain firmly in my ass where
it could be seen and admired by all. The girls all kissed me, whispered
consolations, ran their fingers down my spine, caressed my hips, and
lovingly fingered the long fat penis that stuck up from my wide-open
hole. I wept softly. I was overcome with female emotions, a little
miss riven and split, her pretty bottom on display, all naked and popped
apart. My bosoms bulged beneath me. I slept on them as one might sleep
on pillows, loving the feel of the cushiony softness beneath me. They
were so new! A year ago I’d had just little breast buds, now these
large fat bosoms had grown from my chest and found me, ultimately, where
I was now, loved by men and admired by women, a child no more.
From behind the screens they had hidden, the walls, the secret
compartments, our men appeared. I expected attention as I lay
teary-eyed upon the floor, but I was ignored. The girls got up and put
on some music. There was dancing. I do not know how long it lasted. I
stuck my thumb in my mouth and lay shivering upon the floor, my bottom
still presenting its penis-trophy. Food was brought and they ate and
partied and fucked like animals. There was much gaiety and laughter. I
wiggled my ass now and then, hoping to remind them of my predicament.
In between bouts of self-pity I daydreamed, seeing lumberjacks hacking
down trees, carrying them with much sweating and huffing and puffing,
and at last finding me lying on the beach and drilling them into me.
Sometime in the night, still sobbing softly to myself, utterly
unable to get the penis out of my butt, I was picked up and carried to
bed. Gently, slowly, as I lay suffering upon the clean, soft sheets, a
maid with tender fingers removed the penis from my heinie. The party
was still going on, she had been called in specially to take care of
me. I was bathed right there on the bed, sponge-bathed, so to keep at
least part of my big bed dry. She squirted water from the sponge into
my hole. I felt comforted. She told me I was okay, there was no
damage. I had experienced nothing more than one does when one has a
really, really big turd in one’s butt, or constipation. I had not, in
fact, been “bled,” and I whispered a prayer of thanks to mistress,
silently, for she might have done whatever she pleased with me, but
instead she showed consideration for my newness, for my (now lost)
virginity.
In the morning mistress came to my bedside. She turned down my
sheets, finding me lying on my back, with my hands placed under my
bottom, protectively. Smiling, she woke me up and rolled me over. She
inspected my asshole.
“Good, good, I did not hurt you,” she said. “Perhaps you are a
little wider now, perhaps not. But there is no harm, and that is
important, for I want you to relish this form of entry. The rear hole
is as important as the front hole, in my opinion. But you will make
your own choices as to that as time goes by. My only job was to make it
POSSIBLE, by introducing you fully and completely to that option, or a
fully as I could, given that I’m a girl, just like you.” She stroked my
shuddering heinie cheeks. I lay with my hands under my pussy, hoping
she would go away, yet loving all the attention she was giving me. Pity
that it was given because I’d been forced to surrender my ass the night
before. Yet, in truth, nobody gives you as much attention as when
they’re involved with you sexually, I think. Not teachers, or parents,
or even priests. (Well, sometimes maybe, if you’re a choir boy.)
Sexually, though, you must open yourself up to be part of it. Feelings
of inhibition must be overcome, and clothes must come off. At last
there must be The Entry, if the experience is to be truly fulfilling.
One must enter, and the other, me being a girl, must submit to the
entry. So I had done as I must, as nature intended. It was not my
fault, though I dearly wanted to feel guilty, I don’t know why.
Mistress rolled me onto my back again and gazed at me with loving,
motherly eyes.
“Your master is giving you your own apartment,” she said. “For
you to live in by yourself. He says you deserve it. He must be away
for awhile, and wishes for you to experience life on your own.”
“I-” I began. She placed a finger to my lips.
“Do not protest,” she said. She fiddled with the rawhide
collar around my neck. “Merely accept. You are still his slave. You
might run away, of course, abandon the apartment, but I know you won’t.
You’ll be a good girl and wait for him to come back to you.” She bent
low, kissed my cheeks. “And have fun in the meantime, I hope! It’s up
to you.” She tugged at my bit of rawhide that ringed my neck, seemed to
contemplate cutting it off me. “You’ve earned a leather collar,” she
said at last. “But you look so darling in this! So new, so fresh.
Just a little piece of rawhide, like a puppy would wear, before her
master has gotten to the store to buy her a proper leash and collar.
Keep it on for me. Where it wherever you go. I like you in it, and I’d
like to think you wore it just for me.”
“Okay,” I smiled. I felt loved. Not by my mother, or even in
the way my dad loved me, by making me behave and do my homework and
complimenting my dress sometimes. I felt loved on my own terms, as a
young woman, by a woman who understood where I was in life, and what I
was feeling. She bent down and we kissed, right on the lips. She
offered me her tongue and I accepted it. Her fingers stole to my
pussy. I opened my thighs, not minding. She tickled me there. I
giggled into her mouth. I slipped my hand over the sheets until I’d
come to her thighs. I crept my fingertips up to their juncture, I
repaid her with a tickling of my own. Together, after many long, loving
minutes, the sun warming my bedroom, we came at last.
“I shall call the maid to change the sheets,” mistress said
when at last our kissing and touching was done. She fixed her hair in
the mirror and I lay upon the bed, quite nude, watching her, letting the
sun bathe my body as it shone through the white curtains of my bedroom.
At last I got up too, for this room was but borrowed by me, for my
enjoyment, and I wished to go now. I wanted to be on my own. By noon I
was walking briskly out the front door, a bright new dress on, a parasol
propped on my shoulder to keep the hot South American sun off me. In
fresh booties made specially for walking, I travelled out to the
roadside and waited for a cab. Mistress had called one. I wished to
greet it away from the house. I knew if I waited indoors I would want
my master back, or to stay with mistress, or perhaps to take up lodging
somewhere with the other girls, especially my new friend Barbi. I had a
phone number for her if I needed to reach her, at least. Of that I’d
made sure. And I had mistress’ number too. Yet I knew I’d want to stay
with SOMEBODY if I didn’t leave the house on my own. When the cab
arrived I did not turn back, or wave, though I knew they were watching
me. I slipped into the back of the cab, not making the driver get out
and open the door for me.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Wherever I please,” I answered. I felt very adult-like. At
last I gave him an address. It was my own apartment! I felt very
special as the cab whisked me away, although my bottom was still a
little sore from last night and I leaned my weight a little to the side
to give it relief. We passed into the trees, roadside apple trees,
their fruit not perhaps quite as pretty as mistress’ but still edible,
succulent, just coming into full ripeness. I told the cabbie to stop
and I opened my window and reached out and, stretching, just barely
managed to catch hold of a big, balls-ripe apple and pluck it from the
tree. It had rained a little this morning, just as the sun came up,
liquid sunshine that had specially washed this apple, just for me. I
bit into it. There was a tangy freshness. I felt suddenly as if God
himself had given me this apple.
“Is it good?” the cabbie asked.
I nodded, silent, took another bite. “Would you like me to get
you one? I think I see one more,” I offered. I always tried to be
generous.
“If I let you, and took it, I would not stop just there,” he
replied. His eyes were modest. He spoke truthfully, not sportingly.
He was a humble man, unshaved, fortyish, with a Parisian’s cap on his
head and a slowly burning cigarette in his mouth.
“Then I shall have to deny you, mon sewer,” I said, garbling my
French as I tried to reply to him as elegantly as he’d addressed me.
“So let it be,” he said. He smiled. He enjoyed having me as
his fare. We drove back to Montevideo, and not once did I think of my
master, or how he might die at the hands of my father. I felt released
from him, as if he’d used me fully and I’d pleased him, and now he’d
rewarded me with a year’s lease on an apartment, and my very own bank
account, while he straightened out his affairs. Yes, let him get his
business back together while I explored life on my own. I could not
help him with that. It was a man’s job. He must do his work sometime,
and I would let him. Goodbye, master. I turned, blew a kiss at the
place where mistress’ mansion must lay, somewhere behind us in the apple
trees. Then I turned and regarded the view before me, a new girl, a
woman, a freed love slave. Yes! How strange and wonderful it sounded.
A freed love slave. Not a runaway slave, but a slave who’d accepted her
servitude, and earned her freedom with her body, like a love slave
should. My eyes took in the lovely hills and valleys as we travelled,
the sheep in the pastures, the cows with their big heavy udders and
bells. Horses, geese. All this I admired as we passed through the
countryside on my way to my new home.
30
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