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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Private Places part 7 of 7 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PRIVATE PLACES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Seven
I lay by the pool. It was early morning. We were not at the
condo pool, but at a private pool behind the house of a close friend of
Sam’s. He had brought us there to recover from our bridal night. He
sat inside, eating breakfast with his friend and watching ESPN with him
on T.V. Jill and I lay in the warm morning sunshine, on soft towels
spread over chaise lounges. We had bikini tops on, but our bottoms were
naked. We could not bear to wear panties. I felt the rising sun upon
my bottom. It was red-striped and bruised from my visit to the whipping
bench. My cunt felt thoroughly violated, as did my bottomhole, though
only Sam had fucked me up the rear.
“Oooh, mine still hurts so,” Jill confided in me, sleepily. We
both were exhausted from our long night together.
“I hurt all over,” I replied, though in truth most of it was
confined to my loins.
“We’re pregnant now, you know, though by God knows whom,” Jill
said. Her tushy trembled. I felt my back shiver.
“I know,” I answered.
“Do you want to give birth?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Me neither.”
“Well, look at these two babes,” Sam announced, stepping
outside. Despite his night of exertion, his cock stood up stiffly,
ready to go again. He walked over to us, his friend accompanying him.
Out of deference to Sam the man kept his own swimsuit on, though I saw
it bulging mightily in the crotch. We were Sam’s women, not his. I
guessed, though, he expected to be given permission to fuck us later,
after we’d recovered a little more from our ordeal. Why else would he
have allowed us to be brought here? There must be a quid pro quo, and
Jill and I were obviously it.
“Sam, that was awful!” Jill said frankly, though she huddled
down in her her towel as she said it, clutching the ends of it with her
hands, as if still somehow on the whipping bench, certain to suffer an
immediate reprisal. My towel smelled sweet and fresh, like daisies.
I’d been bathed along with Jill in a bathtub a few minutes earlier, then
told to go out and lie down by the pool. Jill and I had donned bikini
tops, just to preserve our modesty. I could feel sleep filling me as I
felt the sun rise. Despite the dawning of a new day, I knew I didn’t
have much strength left after my long night to stay awake. Neither, I
guessed, did Jill. Yet, standing over me now, leering down at me, was
Sam’s friend Max, his erection politely hidden for the moment, but sure
to spring out at the first sign of permission.
“Girls, I want you to keep Max happy while I’m gone for a few
days,” Sam said. “I’ll be back when your bottoms have healed.
Meantime, Sam here enjoys helping wounded girls recover. He’s studying
to be a doctor, and he’s promised to do all he can to ease your pain and
help you get back on your feet.” He turned to Max. “Though, I daresay,
seeing them waddle out to these chairs a few moments ago I think they
may already be well on the way back to health, Max, and may need to be
fucked more than anything else. Once, that is, their cunts can take
it. This is their honeymoon, you know. Don’t disappoint them.”
“Sam, what are you saying?!” Jill asked. She propped herself
up on one arm, wincing as the movement flexed her asscheeks.
“I’m saying that this is your honeymoon, you are both
newlyweds, and I’ve been called away,” Sam replied. He grinned. I
guessed he had met some female or other and found he had an opportunity
to fuck her for the next few days, perhaps while her husband was out of
town. Or maybe he just had some new test for us to endure, to satisfy
his increasingly wicked sense of fun. “Max here is an experienced
sadist. He will help you recover and then give you both new things to
do. I expect you both to be shipshape when I return, and to report to
me everything new that you’ve learned, all the new skills and
techniques. For myself, to be honest, I’ve met two older women at the
party last night, who insist I don’t know the first thing about being a
groom. So they will help me, and Max here has been selected by them to
help you. It’s a fair arrangement, in my opinion, and the women
convinced me it was necessary. So if you find yourself being assigned
some duty that seems unpleasant, don’t feel bad, the women promised to
make me learn some new tricks too. I wanted to include you, but they
said it must just be me, all by myself, and them. So it will be two of
you with Max, learning and being trained, while I undergo whatever the
women have in store for me. Sorry, girls, but I couldn’t resist. I
wasn’t about to leave you two by yourselves at our condo. You belong to
me, after all. So I’m ‘disposing’ of you, as it were, while I enjoy
groom-training at the hands of the women.” He turned around then, and
walked away, tall and sure of himself, challenged, I guess, by the idea
of taking on the two women. He would go alone to them, and they and he
would see which was master of the other. I realized it was nothing a
young girl like myself or a newlywed like Jill could provide him with.
And, no doubt, the women were married, I guessed, so time was of the
essence, before their husbands returned from whatever had taken them
away, leaving their wives to find entertainments for themselves.
“Sam, don’t go,” Jill begged, but her voice was soft, not loud,
as if she knew no male could resist such a sexual challenge.
“You will be challenged as well, my dear,” Max answered, and,
looking up at him, seeing his mustache and his crewcut and his gleaming
eyes, I knew we would indeed be challenged, and I dreaded the thought of
it.
As soon as the sun grew hot Max took us inside. He said it was
bad for us to tan our wounded bottoms. He watched us as we walked, our
legs akimbo, our cunnies still hurting from being raped upon the bridal
bed. He showed us the greatest deference. He placed us in a bed
upstairs, tying our wrists lightly so that we might not escape, binding
them above our heads to the bed’s headboard. Then he gave us each a
sleeping pill, to ease our pain, and off we both went to dreamland. The
last thing I felt as I fell asleep was his hand lightly caressing me
between my carelessly spread legs. I was too weak to close them. He
tickled me lightly, not intrusively, upon my cunny. His very sweetness
scared me, for I knew the greatest sadists prepared their victims with
gratuitous kindnesses, savoring their bodies even as they planned to
destroy them.
Three days passed. Our bottoms recovered more quickly than I’d
imagined possible. Our host let us have the run of his house. Jill and
I both understood that we were not permitted to leave, and we didn’t try
to, knowing that it would be worse for us if we did, especially when Sam
returned. Our host shared meals with us, serving us our food, insisting
on being our slave. Just looking at his powerful, muscled body, though,
I knew he didn’t plan to remain our servant forever. He was toying with
us. I could see it in his eyes. He was encouraging us to be bratty, so
he could punish us. Instead Jill and I were both on our best behavior.
We prayed Sam would return, find us well-behaved, and take us home, yet
the days passed and he did not come back.
I think we gradually became entranced by our captor. He was
very handsome, and he had a way of looking at us that sent shivers down
our spines, even as he behaved with textbook chivalry toward us, like
Lancelot courting Guinevere. Two Guineveres, in this case. His
property was a low, single-story house, but with a basement we were not
permitted to enter. He kept it locked at all times. Surreptitiously
Jill and I searched for the key in his drawers, but we could not find
it. Trees bunched close to his house, shrouding all but his pool in
deep shade throughout much of the day. I’d been too worn out to watch
the scenery pass as I’d been brought here on the fateful morning three
days earlier, but I sensed the nearest sign of civilization was some
distance away, a few miles maybe, or more. A high wall surrounded his
house, and it was topped with barbed wire. He insisted it was to keep
out thieves, but Jill and I knew better.
Songbirds flitted amongst the branches of the trees, giving the
whole place a quiet, tranquil air, putting Jill and I at our ease, even
as we wracked our minds trying to figure out what ultimately would
happen to us here. All the while our captor kept feeding us, brining us
fine wines, dressing us in new bikinis every morning, burning our old
ones at night in the fireplace after we’d gone to bed. Our wrists were
tied to the headboard each night, not too tight, and we were given pills
to ensure we’d sleep. The moon would pass by our window as we lay
there, and we’d awake refreshed in the morning, moon-kissed, ready for a
day of swimming in the pool and aimless hours of relaxation.
Breakfast of the fourth day Jill confronted our host. She and
I wore the fresh bikinis he’d laid out for us, flimsy little things,
barely kept on by picturesque bows that hugged us low on our hips.
“You’re very nice, sir,” Jill said, poking a finger into his
bare chest. He wore shorts, nothing else, an erection perpetually
brimming in his pants. “But Sam said you’re a sadist, and you’ve yet to
prove it, though I can see just by your eyes that girls like me and
Flurry here have regretted knowing you.”
I trembled a little, standing beside Jill in my wee bikini.
We’d played mind games with this man for three whole days, dreading with
each passing hour that this would be the hour he pounced on us. Now we
could stand it no longer. (Though, as I stood beside Jill, I thought
perhaps I might have stood his mental torment just a little longer, for
his cock stuck up ever more profoundly in his shorts and his eyes took
on a mad, crazy look, as if some deep urgent need had just been
liberated in his soul.)
Max flexed his arms. He had tremendous muscles. His chest
heaved once, then relaxed. His stomach rippled.
Jill and I both had developed nice tans from playing in the
pool. Only our breasts and bottoms and privates remained white,
shielded from the sun by our bikinis, specially selected each morning by
him, worn by us with, I must confess, a sense of pride, for they were
hand-sewn in Italy, and specially imported by him, he said, just for
girls like us, his guests.
Max turned and ordered us to follow him. We dared not
disobey. He could have broken either of us with a simple flexing of his
massive arms. I dreaded the thought of having him wield a whip over
me. Yet I followed, wiggling a little impatiently. Curiosity killed
the cat, and I guessed it was about to do me in too.
He led us into the living room. A small fire had been prepared
in the fireplace. “Take off your bikinis yourselves and toss them in,”
he said, challenging us. Jill and I looked at each other. Finally Jill
touched the fabric of her bra, reached behind herself, sticking out her
boobies at him, and undid her top. That at least she could get away
with, I figured. She freed her breasts and took pride in seeing how
Max’s eyes glowed at having her topless before him. What wicked
thoughts did her naked breasts inspire in him? I touched my own bra
with quavering fingers. Jill’s nipples were attentive, poking
themselves right at Max, urging him to be bad. She tossed her bra into
the fire and we all stood there and watched the flames as they quickly
consumed it. Then she stepped behind me and, without my permission,
undid my own top. Misery loves company, I guess. I could not stop
her. My knees were practically knocking together from the awful
suspense that filled the room. She tossed my bra into the fire beside
the ashes of hers and we all stared at it as it burned, even Max, who
seemed intrigued by the destruction of my little brassiere.
Jill ran a finger along the top of her panties. Lightly she
fondled the drawstrings a moment, and then gracefully undid them. She
pitched her frail garment straight into the fire. I played with my own
drawstrings a moment, and then untied them myself. I did not want to be
showed up as a coward. Bravely I turned to the fire and, biting my lip,
I tossed my panties irretrievably into the hissing coals. I watched my
undies disappear into ashes upon them.
Boldly we faced Max. Our twin pairs of boobs bobbed sensuously
before his eyes. Naughtily we thrust our hips at him, letting him
admire our well-furred nests. Jill did not put her hands on her hips,
but I thought she might have, so directly did she stare at Max, daring
him to do his worst to her. Max pulled down his trunks, letting us see
his cock for the first time. It stuck up lewdly, springing into action
as he yanked down his pants. Jill and I both gasped at its monstrous
length and its imposing width. He might be a sadist, but he had a cock
to die for! I fidgeted, watching it, and Sam saw my eager apprehension
and smiled at me as he turned as threw his shorts into the fire.
“You will both do well, I think,” Sam told us. “I like girls
who are able to face what’s ahead of them.” With that he took us each
by the hand, and led us to the cellar door. From a tiny slot in the
wall he removed a hidden key. He unlocked the door, replaced the key,
and ushered us inside.
I lifted my fingertips into the hushed darkness, feeling for
anything that might tell me where I was. A moment later Max flicked on
the lights. I saw I was at the top of a wooden staircase. Below me I
could see only the steps, and a little to either side. Like a child
wading into a pool, frightened of the water, I descended the stairs on
tiptoe. Jill followed. We were truly courageous, I thought, bravely
leading the way down into this forboding, hushed place, wearing nothing
at all to protect us, armed only with our beauty. Would Max love us
enough not to hurt us? He followed, naked as us, we being two against
his one, yet he was so huge I knew Jill and I were utterly at his
mercy. I felt my sleek sunbrowned legs timidly take each downward step
beneath me. Why did they not stop? You could see the whiteness at my
hips where my bikini was supposed to be, yet I’d taken it off and tossed
it away. My boobies, so freshly grown and beautiful, jiggled their
sensitive tips between my tummy and chin.
Jill’s hand brushed my bottom. Was it an accident? Did she
like my ass? I dared not turn my head and look back at her. The stair
had no railing. There was nothing to hang onto. All my concentration
had to be on keeping myself from falling, yet wasn’t I falling even as I
walked, would I not be a fallen woman coming down here, or at least a
fallen child?
I felt Jill’s breath on my shoulder and knew she must be in the
same predicament. She feared tumbling down the stairs. Max came after
her, no doubt entranced by her nervously waggling hips, her woman’s
hips, bared like a bride’s must be for the wedding night festivities.
My breath caught in my throat as I descended the last few
steps. Here, in this simple suburban cellar, Max had created a separate
world. The stone on the walls was old. Had he imported it specially,
or built the house over this place? The floor was carpeted, I realized,
stepping down onto it with my bare feet. Its warmth comforted me as I
stood shivering in the half-cold of the dungeon, its temperature
somewhere between midnight and dawn, never warming to the heat of
midday, always staying a recessed, quiet place, where the skin might be
cooled down for warming with wicked things, things that might warm
certain portions of the body only, leaving the rest chilly and unloved,
unhurt. I reached behind myself and let my hands hug the plump
13-year-old cheeks of my bottom. Feeling the carpet beneath me, I
realized it was not for my comfort, or any girl’s, but only for Max’s.
He would rule us here, and we would suffer and be discomforted. In the
dungeon I saw old, wretched equipment, from the days of the inquisition,
imported, I guessed, from Spain, to break the Indians of their innocent
beliefs in spirits and ghosts and make them baptised members of God’s
Holy Church. There was a guillotine, with a special bench for the
victim to lie on, its rearward portion upraised so they might be
sodomized even as they waited for the gleaming blade above to descend.
There was an indoor scaffold, its noose dangling down, with straps along
its base where the girl might have her legs spread apart, displaying her
sex to her captor as he prepared her for her doom. Looking close,
mesmerized, I saw the ankle straps would skitter downward along the
upright posts of the scaffolding when the noose was dropped, leaving the
poor girl bitterly wide open and available even as she felt the noose
grip and break her pretty neck. Had girls struggled there, I wondered,
feeling their lights go out even as men savored their split-apart legs,
their little sex hungry in death, from loveless nights spent here in the
dungeon? Next to the brutal scaffolding I saw a smooth, clean feather
duster. It was a truly perverse sight, and I wanted to tear my eyes
away, yet I could not! To torment a girl’s clit even as she waited to
die, to watch her squirm in frustration, her ankles hopelessly bound,
her cunny implacably spread for her captor’s amusement. Her slim
swanlike neck roped off from the rest of her, her head twisting above
the noose, pleading. Were spoilt white girls brought here too, I
wondered, in days gone by, girls who’d slept with other men or eaten
apples their parents disapproved of?
Nearby there was a stocks, a timber frame with holes not for
the wrists, or the head, but for (I feared) the breasts. I saw I might
be made to stand before it with the holes just at the height of my
breasts. They could be put between the two halves of wood and then the
wood brought together, sliding down in grooves, until it squeezed and
distorted the breasts as much as the girl’s captor might wish. And the
stocks could be raised or lowered, to accommodate Jill perhaps, or some
other girl. Hanging from the stocks, on a little peg, was a pair of
nipple clamps. Jill touched my back. Her finger found my spine, ran
down it. I felt her blonde hair fall upon my shoulder. I reached back,
found her hand with mine, squeezed it. We were crazy, standing there,
feeling our cunts moisten, our nipples so hard they hurt, looking
wide-eyed at such horrid things! Nearest to us, beneath a wall filled
with whips and straps and tawses, was a small table for our master’s
pleasure. It held tubes of fresh lubricant, and condoms in a pretty
flower vase. I saw nothing for my comfort, or Jill’s. Just the
necessities a man would wish for himself, as he worked his organ in and
out of the pretty captives in his possession. He would be protected,
right down to the latex sheath on his penis, yet the girls would be
utterly at his mercy.
“Max, please take us upstairs!” Jill blurted. Her finger
dimpled my bottom even as she echoed my own fear. Max did not touch
us. He merely stood, still on the last step, towering over us, like a
troll guarding a bridge over which we had too hastily crossed.
“Jill, is it not your honeymoon?” Max asked her. His voice was
low and growling.
“Yes!” she answered. “Well, Flurry and mine, with Sam! But he
is not here!”
Max laughed. “All you see before you is not old. Sam is
watching you, through hidden cameras I’ve rigged up. Even as he dallies
with his lady friends, or does their bidding, suffering perhaps, or not,
as they choose, his cock tested hour after hour with new challenges, new
tortures (I cannot say, it is their choice what to do with him), he
watches you. He has left you here to be trained, both of you, and he is
watching. You must obey, to please him, or to let him know you suffer
even as he suffers.”
I squeezed Jill’s hand more tightly. I scanned the walls, the
ceiling, for cameras. I could not see any. They make them so small
these days, some as tiny as the tip of a pencil. They could be
anywhere, even in the torture machines themselves, perhaps ideally
poised to zoom in on my butthole as Max did some awful deed to me. I
felt Jill exhale hard, as if trying to summon up her strength for Sam.
He had done this. He had brought her here, and he would reclaim her one
day, I was sure. We would not die here. We were just to explore new
things, albeit with a difficult taskmaster to keep us on the straight
and narrow.
Were we being watched? Were there women sitting someplace even
now, sipping tea, entertaining guests, perhaps, as we prepared to delve
into the dungeon’s secrets, offering up our own in exchange? Would they
sit and laugh and observe us, see our every twitch, our every
imprecation?
I stepped up to the last remaining barrier between us and the
dungeon. It was a simple steel gate, waist high, with a latch holding
it to the twin posts that kept it erect. Beyond this gate,
incongruously set between posts next to the stairs, lay the awfulness of
the dungeon. The wall of this room was to my right, the stairs to my
left. Behind me, Jill waited, letting me go first, a section of wall
beyond her, cutting us off from whatever lay behind it. I peered into
the gloom. The nights did not show us everything the dungeon held, only
the nearer things. Did beasts lie chained in its deepest depths? Were
there machines of impossible nightmares lurking in its unlit shadows?
With a click I lifted the latch. It was worn, as if many girls had
lifted it up before me, intruding into these uncharted depths of doom.
Jill caught my elbow. She held it a moment, tensely. Then, I having
lifted the latch, holding it up, she made the decision to push my arm
forward, by my elbow, opening the gate for the both of us. We tiptoed
within. Max descended the last step on the stairs and followed us. He
shut the gate behind us and I saw him use the same key he’d unlocked the
cellar door with to imprison us behind the gate. Once it was locked,
just as the door above must now be, I saw he reached to the wall and
opened a small door. There, set in the ancient stone, a small lockbox
had been secreted. There was a number pad, and Max touched the numbers
in a sequence known only to him. A compartment opened. He put the key
inside. He shut up the box. We were truly trapped now. I scanned
about, looking for a weapon. Except for dildoes and straps, neatly hung
up on the wall, I saw none. Could I fight this man barehanded? I
looked at him, judged him. He was as muscular as Atlas. His cock stuck
out boldly, unafraid. His nuts hung below, obscenely full and bulging.
I think kicking my toes up into his nuts wouldn’t have helped at all.
He was simply too powerful, even in his loins. He would probably just
laugh at me, and then make me pay.
With a sudden loss of all my resolve I stood with a sudden
meekness. I felt the same realization wash over Jill. We were trapped
down here with this man, knowing only his first name, nothing else. We
would be at his mercy, and there was no escaping it. Two young girls
like ourselves would be no match for him, however much we might have
been ‘empowered’ at self-esteem classes in school. He would rule, and
we would be his little subjects. I felt a thrill somewhere deep in my
womb, running up my spine even, as I realized the utter subjugation of
myself to this man with his big loins and chest, his powerful back and
arms and (I knew) his iron will. We stood before him with new
confidence, Jill and I. He did not take just any girls down here, I
realized. He had his pick of girls in the world. For him to take this
kind of time, show this kind of concern, loving us for days, serving us,
before bringing us down here, showed he had a special appreciation for
us. Yet I had no doubt that once Sam reclaimed us other girls would
stand right here in our place, testing their own feelings, and being
loved and raped by him in turn.
Yes, there was no denying him. His testicles brimmed with his
sperm, his cock stood up like a rooster’s, its largeness greater than
any man’s I’d seen before, and he was clearly sexually excited. He
would not wish to leave here with blue balls. He eyed us closely. He
picked up something I’d mistaken for lubricant from the nightstand. It
was, in fact, a squeeze-bottle of honey.
“Welcome to the dungeon,” Max said, and squirted Jill’s pussy
with honey, then mine. We laughed. There was nothing else to do. Jill
and I stood laughing at ourselves, staring down at our nests with the
honey squirted into them. Would we taste as sweet soon, naturally, from
our own excitement? I reached out and took the honey bottle from Max.
Fair’s fair, I thought, and squirted him up and down on his big cock.
He let me, did not stop me, savored the honey as it spurted out onto his
stiff organ. When I’d ceased Jill pushed her hair back from her face
and bent over and nibbled the honeyed tip of his penis. She looked
elegant, standing there, not wanting to get goo in her lovely hair,
keeping it back from her mouth and face as she gobbled more and more of
Max’s prick. He trembled. She bobbed her head upon him, knelt finally,
and choked herself as she tried to take as much as she could of him into
her mouth.
“Stand up,” Max whispered. Jill realized she had failed to
deep throat him, and knew not how to pull it off. She rose. She licked
her lips and then bit her lower lip apprehensively. “You must be
trained,” Max said simply. He opened a drawer in the nightstand and
took out sets of wrist and ankle straps for both of us. He handed them
to Jill, to me. “Put them on. It will make it easier for me to bind
you for your workout.”
“Our workout?” Jill laughed. It was a nervous laugh. I felt
butterflies in my tummy.
“Did you take P.E. in school?” Max asked.
“Of-of course,” Jill answered. “Soccer, baseball, dancing...”
“Baton twirling,” I offered.
“Yes, they exercised your arms and legs, but what about your
sexual parts?” Max grinned. “Well, as new young wives we must finally
have you experience the exertions that really matter. Put on the
straps. Your husband is watching. Let him see you go willingly. There
are ways to help the unwilling along,” he added, with a glance at the
wallfull of whips.
Trembling, I helped Jill into her wriststraps, and she into
mine. Then we both bent over and put on our anklestraps. When we stood
up again, Max had twin collars dangling from his hands. Jill took mine
and buckled me into it. I did the same for her. They were simple dog
collars, nothing fancy. When I returned my eyes to Max I saw he wanted
me to put my hands behind myself. I did. I could feel that a quick
snap of my wriststraps would make me cuffed in my own bonds. Jill stood
with her own arms placed as mine were. Sam walked behind us. With a
quick closing of my wrists he made me utterly captive. Jill’s wrists
were bound together just as easily.
Max stepped back in front of us, tracing a finger over our
bottoms before he went.
“Well, sir, now that you have us, what are you going to do with
us?” Jill asked him. Her stance was bold, her legs apart, her bush
pushed forward. She tossed her head, like a horse at pasture, regarding
a boy who longed to break it. I tried to emulate Jill’s courage. I
stuck my pussy forward, heedless of the danger. I felt my breasts rise
and fall and rise again as I tried to stare Max down.
“You girls are born without penises, yet your most important
goal in life must be to accommodate yourself to the male penis, to learn
to accept it as a part of yourself,” Max said. “As girls, you are
taught to fear men and their penises, which is too bad, really, for men
will not have their cocks denied. Would you both live to be old maids?
I think not. So let us begin, then, helping both of you.” He led us
with this flowery speech deeper into the dungeon. Flicking on a little
lamp, he showed us a table with gags laid out upon it. I saw Jill and I
would be helped, whether we wished it or not, in learning to suck cock,
for there were all sizes of penises laid upon the table, each one able
to fit into a gag that would be worn in a girl’s mouth. “Would you like
to start small,” Max asked, “or attempt something big?”
Jill gulped. She scanned the assortment of rubber cocks. I
saw her bottom cheeks twitching as she contemplated them, her boobs
rising and falling softly. “Something big,” she said finally.
“Jill!” I protested. She should not push herself too far.
Especially if it meant I would be fitted with one the same size as
hers! Suavely Max took up a gag, and asked Jill politely to open her
mouth. She obeyed, obviously scared, yet parting her lips, not
resisting. He eased her teeth more widely apart, then inserted the
gag. She coughed. He bound it behind her, in the nest of her lovely,
tumbling hair. Were the women watching? Were they laughing at her
fright?
There was a slit in the middle of Jill’s gag. She tried to
close her teeth over it, but Sam opened them. He picked up a large
rubber dildo, not one as big as his cock, thankfully, and stuffed it
into the slit in Jill’s gag. She revolted a moment, bucking her head,
twisting away, but he shoved it forward until she had all of it worked
into her mouth. It must have rammed against the back of her throat, and
I dreaded having to take one just as big. Max attached the dildo with
snaps to the gag so that it would remain in place.
Jill turned her head, looked at me, free of Max’s hands at
last, looking ridiculous, like a harnessed horse, except a horse did not
have to suffer a cock in its mouth. She tossed her long hair. She was
truly ‘bitted’ now, no doubt about it, gagged, with her wrists bound
behind her. Her hair fell into her eyes and she flicked her head again,
but some remained still. Her tits wiggled freely. Max grinned at them,
plotting, I feared, to put clamps on them.
“Prance about,” Max ordered. “Let your husband see what a fine
young filly you are.” Jill lifted her knees high and marched herself
around Max twice, glancing at him nervously, fearful to disobey yet not
really, I think, wanting to play horsey before the hidden camera with
its unknown viewers. When she stopped, panting, her breath muffled by
her thick gag, Max turned to me.
“You must attempt one the same size,” Max told me, letting his
hand pass over the cocks so neatly arranged on the table. “Though, you
are somewhat smaller, so a proportionally smaller cock will be okay...”
He found one my size and picked it up. I opened my mouth. I felt like
I was at the dentist. (And how I would have preferred it, even to get a
cavity filled!) Max pushed the cockhead within my parted lips, pressing
them wider apart, filling me with the awful penis shaped gag. Then he
lifted a strip of leather, put it over the base of the penis, snapped
the two together, and tied the whole thing up behind my neck. I turned
my head to face Jill. She stood watching me. We were twin horses now.
We could neither speak, nor resist, our master.
“Forgive me, girls, but since you have taken up an equestrian
lifestyle, I must ensure your compliance with the appropriate
instrument,” our new master grinned. Reaching into the shadows, he drew
forth a little pony whip. It had a short, stout handle, almost too
small for his big palm. He gripped it with a sense of humor, as if he
were an older boy taking hold of his younger brother’s toy. The lash
itself was capriciously thin. However, being so short, I thought it
could not hurt me too much. Salaciously I waggled my bottom for him.
Standing there bare-legged, I wanted to be struck on my seat with it,
and I think Jill did too. How terrible it is to be a girl, you must
think, reading this, wanting to be dominated and whipped and fucked,
despite spending hours putting on makeup, or polishing our nails, or
thinking about how to be ever so perfectly beautiful. I cannot explain
it. But when I felt that slim lash burn into my bottom I leapt forward,
shrieking a little, as if in protest, and it hurt too, it did, I did not
want it, yet as I felt my boobies spring up and down beneath me, my
small feet flying forward to avoid the lash, I felt female entire, as if
I’d at last arrived at some blissful state, with a man who would make me
into a true woman.
Jill skipped forward with me, both of us receiving anew the
pony lash upon our bottoms. It whistled and struck into our quivering
seats again and again. Max drove us deeper into the dungeon. I dreaded
going deeper, for I knew at the very end of the dungeon, like Lucifer in
Hell, must lie its most awful secrets. Amidst the ever deepening gloom,
far now from the lights which lit the dungeon entrance, machines of
inexplicable horror loomed up at me. I could not tell their purpose.
Somehow Max (or somebody) had found them and gathered them here,
polished them up, and rebuilt them. Each had probably originally been
made by the Catholic Church, I guessed. Their aim had been to break
sinners, cut off their limbs or put them to death if they resisted.
Now, I supposed, they’d wickedly been converted into items of fertility,
or pseudo-fertility. Now they stood for the purpose of breaking a girl
in to sex. Young wives, little girls, it mattered not, I imagined, to
Max. Even older women, if they’d become too frigid for their husbands,
too Hillary-like in their presumptiveness, might be brought here and
retrained into obedience to the male penis. They would leave humble and
subservient. All my feminist training in school made me want to rebel
against such male-dominating devices. And yet, in a way, my training
drew me in closer, made me ever more curious. With my nipples springing
up on my bosoms, hard and desiring, with my belly so soft and slimly
adhering to my hips, longing to be swollen with male seed, with the
awkwardness of my youthful hips and the sassy swell of my girlish seat,
I wished to explore, and to be explored upon those terrible phallus-like
machines. Jill too looked quickly from side to side, in awe at the cave
into which we were being driven, and its contents. Like mushrooms
growing on the forest floor, the place seemed over-stocked with
dildoes. Big ones, smaller ones, ones with nubs down their sides,
circus-like, to be twisted inside some female so she might become
acrobatic in her bonds.
At last, coming round, I think, to the wall that fronted the
stairs, we were in the most secretive part of the basement. There I saw
a small lamp. It stood on a nightstand that held a vase of fresh
flowers. A nice touch, in such a forbidding area of the dungeon. Had
Max prepared it for us? He must have.
Max ceased his flailing upon our shivering, whip-stung
heinies. Jill and I stood squeezing our cheeks, trying to rid our
bottoms of the pain that enflamed them in insidious little stripes. My
ass felt like a road map, each road delicately carved into my flesh with
the awful kissing of the whip. Jill tossed her head backward, stood
churning her ass and clamping her cheeks together. I drew mine it too,
but not just from the whip. For it was then that I guessed the purpose
of the two settees laid out before us. Upon each pillows had been
placed and plumped, about mid-way down. I saw straps affixed to each
sofa, and they seemed specially strong, as if a girl were sure to buck
and struggle here with all her might. I wished to turn, to run, but Max
loomed up behind me, watching my bottom with fascinating and just barely
containing, I think, his urge to flay us both alive right then and
there, whacking us perhaps with his hand, slamming his palm into our
asses again and again until we were no more.
I felt a poke in my seat. I turned my head, my eyes
frightened. It was Max’s cock. He had not intended to jab me right
between the cheeks of my bottom, I guessed, but was simply too big to
avoid it. The dungeon was a little cramped here. He eased himself
around me, watching myself and Jill all the while, ready to spring at us
if we made any attempt to run away.
In the light of the small table lamp I saw two dildoes. I’d
ignored them at first. They were much too big to be anything but a
joke, weren’t they? Max took them now in his hands and lifted them up.
Each one put the handle of the pony whip to shame although, comparing
them to Max’s penis, I think there might have been a fair contest
between them in size.
“You girls are reported to both be inadequately receptive in
your behinds,” he said, his voice a low, controlled snarl that sent
chills of wonder down me. What did he intend to do? Could I take it?
Did I want to? Jill seemed to thrust out her bare bosoms as if to say,
‘She, the little girl, cannot take hers, but I can take mine.’ Well, we
would just see about that!
Max turned the dildoes in the lamplight, opened a jar of
vaseline and dipped each one in, lovingly, as if knowing where they’d be
soon, and how remarkably they’d impress themselves upon their victims.
“Yes,” he said. “You will both be strapped down here, on these couches,
and given these gifts up your ass. Sam purchased them for you, and
others besides, bigger still, to be worn by you here each day. For a
period each day I will bring you both down here and I will insert
ever-larger dildoes into each of your assholes. Why, you ask? I know
you must be asking it of me, even though you cannot speak. When you are
at last done with me, you will be taken to a party. Men will be there,
and it will just be you two, and you will have to serve them. You will
not want to be too narrow in back then. Mistress Lalique has arranged
for you to both entertain young men fresh from boot camp on the army
base. They will be lusty, and they will want to fuck you in your asses,
because in army training they must submit themselves in such manner to
show their utter obedience to their sergeant and their nation.
Naturally, such submissiveness is repulsive to normal young men, and
they will want to expiate their fears and their misgivings at their own
masculinity by pounding you both in your bottoms. Besides which, being
locked up in boot camp, they’ll be lusty as hell, as I’m sure you both
can imagine.” He grinned. “So you see, girls, it does have a purpose,
this idea of having you lie over these couches and train yourselves to
take big, large, manly dildoes up your little bottoms. I know there are
fat girls in college who would love to be imprisoned with young army
studs for the weekend, and made to serve them. Naturally, of course,
such girls are never invited. But you are, and you will serve these
men, because Mistress Lalique has planned it this way, and promised Sam
compensation for your services.” He laughed. “Yes, dear Jill, you will
not have to live in your sweet little lovenest condo anymore. You and
Sam will be moving up to a proper house, in a proper neighborhood, where
you will take on the real duties of a real wife and begin bearing
children for Sam. Your young married days of bliss are over. Now you
will actually be his wife. But you will have a big house, with a big
lawn, and servants. Robert Redford might pay a million dollars for a
quick lay with another man’s wife, but Mistress Lalique requires a bit
more for her money. But when it is over you will have a fine new life
for yourself, and you will quit your job, of course, for it is not fit
for a woman of your stature, living where you will live, to work for a
living.” I turned to look at Jill. There were tears in her eyes. She
wanted what Max offered (who wouldn’t?) but she was sad to bid goodbye
to her previous life. She liked her little condo. Now she would have
her own private pool, but it was fun sometimes to talk with the other
couples just like her at the condo, or the older folks, winding down
after raising children, or the young mothers burdened with too many
kids, all of them racing around the pool and causing as much trouble as
they could. Yet who would not want to live as Mistress of a modern-day
Tara, with Sam her husband playing Humphrey Bogart?
Max turned his burning gaze to me. “Yes, Flurry,” he said,
using the more feminine variation of my name, the one Jill used, the one
that sweetly denied my will but promised to care for me and love me.
“You will be going back to school, but as Jill’s daughter, not really
her daughter of course, free to come and go when you please, but, being
13, you will be presented as her daughter, though some may wonder when
indeed Jill got pregnant to have one your age at her age now. But, a
few mysteries are not entirely to be frowned upon. You will be going
back to school, a private, advanced school, one more suited to your
temperament. You’ll leave in your crisp girl’s uniform and then come
home again at late afternoon, everything all certain and proper. Then,
at night, you’ll sleep with Jill and Sam, the three of you married
together and fucking in your big bridal bed. You’ll wear a slim wedding
band to school on your finger, and tease the boys with it, I’m sure,
them wondering which hand and which finger indeed means a girl is taken
for life, and being left all confused. Of course, if you fancy one,
there’s no bar to you substituting him for Sam, or sharing him with Sam
and Jill, as you choose. Mistress Lalique is only laying the foundation
for you two. You may make other arrangements as you wish, once you’re
settled.” He gazed longingly at our two slim naked bodies, and I
realized again he might still be our servant, despite his hugeness and
the overwhelming dominance of his demeanor. “Tell me, girls,” he said
at last. “I know it will be quite a struggle for you to accommodate
yourselves to the many pricks which wish to invade you, including my
own. Yes, you will take me also, when you can handle it.” His grin
widened. “But, overall, let us say, despite the Civil War you must feel
inside you as you contemplate all this, do you think you might agree to
such a scheme, living in a mansion of your own, in the finest part of
town, and having servants to do your bidding? There’s no such thing as
a free lunch of course, even for beautiful, spoilt little girls. But
what say you to the entire thing, can you nod your heads that you would
like the result, at least?” He waited. I wanted to tell him he was a
lousy poet and should just talk normally, but with every impatient heave
of his chest I felt a little poetry from such a monstrous-looking man
wasn’t necessarily a bad sign. At last, imperceptibly at first, Jill
nodded. I copied her. I did not want to, but standing there,
weak-kneed, feeling wet between my legs, the cool air of the dungeon
playing games with my hot, excited flesh, I nodded too. I was but 13,
yet I could not deny my hunger to invite males to joust with me, though
I hoped they’d lose and I’d win. Secretly, looking at Max’s big dick, I
wished he’d suddenly paw himself and shoot right there, right in front
of us, spill his seed uselessly on the floor and then run away,
embarrassed, frightened of our awesome female beauty. Jill and I would
somehow free each other, nod politely with girlish confidence, and say,
‘Such a baby! He couldn’t even handle two teenage girls.’ Yet, at the
same time, I wished for it not to happen. And it didn’t. His cock
pulsed madly, yet Max regarded us with the cool calmness of a cucumber.
There was no way this big man was going to flame out. We stared, he
stared back.
“Jill,” he said. Words of command. “Your husband is
watching. Get yourself down over these cushions now.” She stepped
forward. I imagined she was a girl contemplating lovely flowers, not
sure if they were poisonous, wanting to pick them, perhaps wanting to
break open their stems and suck out their nectar. I’d done such, as a
child. The nectar of daisies was sweet. I’d wanted to suck on roses
but their stems had such nasty thorns, I’d never tried them.
Jill regarded the pillows. Her bottomcheeks shook a little as
she stood there, contemplating them. Then she placed one knee on the
sofa, spreading herself in back, letting me and Max see her private
beauty, the undersides of her nether cheeks, the sweetness of the cunt.
She would display this view for hours to come, I feared, and me too.
Jill lay down over the pillows, letting her legs spread wide
upon them, opening herself with a nervous glance at the dildos Max held
in his hands. Though her wrists were bound behind her, she arched her
heinie and let the pillows lift her butt while the rest of her settled
onto the much lower portions of the settee in front and back. Her chin
rested on the firm cushion of the seat itself. There was no pillow for
her head. Her knees, opposite her upraised tushy, found themselves on
the bare cushion too. She let her ankles slide off the sides of the
settee so that Max could bind them to its wooden legs. The result was a
picture of utter, total submission, which was indeed best for her
safety. The dildo Max intended to put up her would rend her apart if
she did not submit completely. Max thrust his own cock at the air,
watching her. His balls seemed close to bursting. I knew it must be
quite a job for him to restrain himself from taking her then and there,
right in front of her husband, who must be watching us by camera. Max
was a scoundrel. I knew he must have been paid a king’s ransom by
Mistress Lalique to restrain himself so chivalrously with female
bottomflesh beckoning so closely.
Max walked over to me and patted my behind. One couch
remained, standing empty and waiting next to Jill. “Don’t make me flog
you onto it,” he urged me. “I could not control myself once I truly got
angry. I’ve killed girls before, in my lust. Lie down. Obey. It is
best for you, and for me. Do not be wilful or I’ll kill us both.”
I stared at him. I knew he meant it, standing there with his
powerful, hairy chest rising and falling above my slim little
shoulders. Once he got out of hand, there would be no stopping him. He
might control his lust, but he could not control both his lust and his
anger. I did not wish to harm myself by lying down, yet to remain
standing would be even worse for me. Max was the true master for a girl
like me. A gentler man might have relented, or gotten cold feet. But
Max had passions, deep and profound and uncontrollable, like a God who
warns his flock not to disobey lest he control them. As Max spoke to
me, I knew he was being utterly candid about himself. Were I to anger
him, he would not be able to stop himself. He would destroy me, like
O.J. with Nicole. There would be no satiating his anger-lust until I
was reduced to lifelessness.
With shivery, fearful steps I approached the sofa. It was
there to see me Fucked, pure and simple, by horrid things that meant I
would have trouble getting up when it was over. Max squeezed my
asscheek, as if to reassure me. Jill turned her head, seemed to urge me
in complicity. ‘Don’t stay standing there,’ her eyes seemed to beg.
‘Don’t let me be embarrassed, all by myself, in front of all the eyes
that might be watching. Lie down here beside me. We can do this
together. We can be the same.’ I loved Jill as a sister. I’d never
had a sister, being an only child. I’d always wanted one. Okay, big
sister. I won’t let you down.
I approached the sofa prepared for me. I let my knees bang
against it. Max patted my bottom as one might pat the flank of a horse
to prepare it for a big jump. I glanced nervously again at Jill, saw
her waiting, watching. Like a child mounting a big bed, I lifted my
knees and planted them on the sofa. My bottom waggled with fright. My
thighs seemed to jiggle like jello. I spread them wide as I felt my
boobies dancing on my chest, my breath coming in quick, short gasps as I
knew I was dooming myself to enormous suffering. Biting hard on the
cock that was jammed in my mouth, I lay down over the soft pillows. My
hips pressed hard into them, trying to smoosh them down to the level of
the sofa itself. It was no use. There were too many of them, they were
too well selected, firm in their softness, meant to keep my ass up no
matter how much I might buck or thrash upon them. I dropped my chin to
the sofa cushion. I felt my saliva pool in my mouth. Behind, I felt
Max’s strong hands spread my legs wide. Air caressed my offered cunt.
It would not be satisfied today, I guessed. It was my bottom that was
on display. It felt good being offered up so to the air, easing the
pain of the whip kisses that had been emblazoned upon it. Lovingly Max
bound my ankles wide apart to the two opposite legs of the couch. There
was no going back now. He unfastened my wrists only to stretch them out
before me and rebuckle them wide apart to the legs of the couch beyond
my head. When he was done I tried to arch up, found my bottom lifting
only, a little, the rest of me bound fast to the sofa. A friend of mine
told me once of being bound so at a ski lodge, during her college
break. She was older than me, had babysitted me once, but been kind to
me, not mean or demanding. Sharing her private life with me, she said
her boyfriend and some of his friends had tied her down to a couch like
this, the snow blowing outside, their skis all propped up against the
wall so they could do some indoor slopes instead. She had been first,
fucked and re-fucked. Then her girlfriend had been put down, and fucked
in turn. It had been hard work, she said, taking all those cocks, but
she’d not regretted it. Afterward they’d gone skiing again, no one the
wiser, all of them happy. They’d all been students at a Southern
Baptist college, where even dancing was frowned upon. If only her
teachers and her mom and dad knew how she’d really spent her Christmas
vacation, she’d laughed, herself mostly being buggered the whole time.
Now it was my turn. I watched with a mounting sense of trepidation as
Max tied down Jill. She mouthed her dildo, seeming to work her lips
upon it, as a baby girl might suck a pacifier. It kept her distracted,
I supposed, as she felt her limbs affixed implacably to the sofa. Both
divans, I’d noticed, were bolted to the floor. Somebody knew us girls
well. We would not go easy. Nobody likes having something stuck up
their bottom, do they? But it was necessary, I told myself. It had to
be done if I were ever to see myself as a true woman. Nuns might escape
it, but all the rest sooner or later had to succumb. Better to get it
over and done with as soon as you could, I figured. Widen me, then.
Let it be done. I must love men, for they surely loved me and would not
let me get away with disdaining them.
With my heart beating wildly, I watched as Max went to the wall
and took down a leather belt. Another hung waiting beside it. At first
I thought he was going to whip me again, and I drew in my bottomcheeks
in apprehension. Instead he bent low and threaded the belt beneath my
tummy. He buckled it at the small of my back. The steel of the buckle
was cold. Why a belt, I wondered, if I was not to be given pants? Max
opened the drawer of the nightstand and drew out a small chain. I saw
it split into two at about the mid-point, and that where it remained a
single chain it had a big ring placed in it, much larger than the other
links of the chain, which were tiny. I felt the chain touch my skin.
Max draped it into the furrow of my bottom. The big ring, I realized,
as he drew the ends of the chain beneath me, the split ends, settled
right over my butthole. It was small, hidden, withdrawn, but pulling on
the chain, Max caused the big ring to part my asscheeks and show my hole
more easily. They were yanked apart already, from my posture, but now
as the ring impressed itself between my two nether cheeks it forced them
wider apart, and my recessed bottomhole was made more available. I
tensed, tried to keep its dimpled privacy all to myself. Max hooked the
split ends of the chain to the front of my belt, feeling beneath me for
the snaps. I found that the split chains ran down thru my nest and
joined up only after bypassing my cunt. Max could take me there if he
wished, without the chains preventing him. Ah, how odious it was! The
chains were apart where they might have saved me in front, yet in
behind, where the chains became one, the big ring spread me to insure
that something could be forced up my bottom!
Jill watched, a lamb waiting to be slaughtered in turn. Max
got my three chain tails all snapped to my belt, two tails in front, one
behind. The ring brooded more deeply between my slumbering cheeks. The
O of my bottomhole remained snug, private, but not for much longer.
Along the lips of my cunny the twin chains passed, infuriatingly
bypassing my cunt, my clitty. Yet at the same time they squeezed a
little upon my cunt lips, from the outside, as if promising to make me
happy, yet failing miserably.
Max added a final sheen of vaseline to the huge cock intended
for my little hole. He grinned down at me, an executioner regarding his
victim with barely-suppressed glee. “You’re going to feel this right up
to your bellybutton,” he assured me, making my heart pound ever faster.
“Try not to move once it’s in you. It’s going to be something your
body’s never had to deal with before. Don’t hurt yourself trying to
fight it. You won’t be able to have it out until I say so.” He bent
down then, waving the bulletheaded monster once before my eyes to truly
frighten me, and he grabbed my asscheeks and pulled them apart with
brutal disregard for my body or its limits. I felt the flanged tip of
the beast hard against my anus. I jerked in my bonds. He laughed. I
arched up to try to escape. It was my undoing. The movement shafted
the mighty thing right into me, his hand pressing hard. I shrieked. He
worked it deeper.
No, no, no, I breathed and coughed over my gag. But it was a
penis gag in my mouth, mocking me, filling me, so that I could not
speak. In my behind I felt the dildo pressed harder and harder, opening
me despite my will, ramming ever more vigorously into my ass. In truth
I think he might have taken many minutes, urging it slowly, but it all
seemed to coalesce in my mind, one long moment of unending agony as he
made me take something bigger and bolder in my bottom than I’d ever even
dreamed of in my wildest, most nightmarish fantasies. And there were
bigger still to come, I knew. This was just the first, the ‘easy’ one,
in the mind of those who would have me prepared for a roomful of lusty
army boys. Jill watched with ever more fearful eyes. I did not wish to
look at her, did finally, staring at her as I felt myself impaled in
back. Up my gut he pushed his wicked thing, his own cock still standing
by, readier than ever, waiting its turn. At last I felt myself split
utterly wide, all the way up me. I think he might have stopped short,
so as not to hurt me, but I only found that out later, as we ate
breakfast together the next morning. The ring that had first broached
the cheeks of my fanny was now tightened around the fake cock so that I
could not expel it. (I could not, in any event, it was so imposing, but
I might have worked it back a little, in time, through involuntary
movements of my muscles.) To assure that it would stay right up me, far
as it could go, the cock was clamped with the ring. It fit around one
of many little grooves in the cock, each subtle groove being there just
for the purpose, so that a girl like myself could be penetrated to any
depth and then firmly kept there.
Jill was fitted with a belt of her own. She tried to lie
still, but I could see her wrists twisting in their bonds and her mouth
sucking hard on her penis-gag, to try to release some of her tension and
fright. Injudiciously I moved my bottom just a little and a sharp cry
of alarm was forced involuntarily from my throat. My whole body was
captive to that awful thing up my ass! I could not move at all, except
perhaps my head, without that horrible penetrating thing threatening to
tear my guts out! I lay panting over the sofa. Oh, let me up now
please, I’ve had my punishment, done my duty. Jill was buggered slowly
by Max, who ignored me for the time being. I felt I might black out.
How could I have gotten myself into such a predicament? I prayed there
wasn’t an earthquake. My poor little body wouldn’t survive it.
When we were both fully fitted, Max sat down between us. He
stroked his cock a little. I think it was to assuage the terrible
longing he felt there, in his privates. Then he began comforting us.
For hours he patted and stroked and kissed us, like a young boy with his
first love. Never have I felt so cherished, even as I endured the agony
of having the monster cock up my butt. He weighed each of my breasts in
his hands, cupping them, squeezing them gently again and again, milking
them, it seemed, as I lay panting and crying from my torture. He ran
his calloused fingers along my satiny inner thighs, tickling my clitoris
like it were my belly-button, and I a laughing little girl. ‘Don’t make
me cum,’ I begged, for the thrashing of orgasm would have torn up my
insides. He brought me close, desisted, taunted me more. I moaned and
prayed to be left alone, yet when he turned to Jill I wanted him back.
Never have I had such male attention. He licked my bottom with
his tongue, testing the fit of the cock in my anus with his tonguetip.
Jill too received the same treatment. He massaged my split-open cheeks,
applied cream to my whip marks. I hardly felt them now, the dick up my
fanny was so all-encompassing. If only I could be back home, or at
school, sitting primly at my desk before the teacher, thinking of
numbers, the alphabet, cursive writing, nouns and pronouns and beginning
algebra! Yet, somehow, calculating numbers in my head, I think I might
wind up measuring the jock strap size of the boy sitting behind me, who
pulled on my ponytails. Oh, what we girls get ourselves into when we
stop being ourselves and start noticing boys! Let me be little always,
ensconced in my room with my mommie at the door, watching me do my
homework, teddy beside me, nude in his fur but without any sporting
appendages, carefully neutered.
Our gags were removed. “How are you doing, girls?” Max asked
us in a mocking tone. We both gasped out our breaths, moaned a little,
could say nothing. It was too horrible. He fed us cookies and milk
then, fetching the milk from somewhere, as if to tease us about our lost
innocence. I had to lap up my milk from the cup he held to my chin. He
would not let me drink it. I could not have, anyway. Little lapping
sips were all I could manage in my distended state.
“I must destroy whatever conception might have taken place in
your wombs at the wedding,” Max told us after feeding us our cookies.
He made us stick out our tongues and placed on each one a pill.
RU-486. We’d had too many men at the wedding. Not by choice, of
course, but to satisfy the fantasies of Sam and Emily and the others
there. I swallowed my pill. Jill swallowed hers. Next Max made us
each swallow a birth control pill. We were being put back on the pill,
he said, for our stay here was for pleasure and training only, not for
the purpose of bearing young. When I’d swallowed my pill Max fed me his
penis. I wanted the gag back. It was small compared to his member. He
urged himself into me. I fought it a little, but was too weak from
being over the couch to resist sufficiently. He urged himself in deep,
then back and forth. I could see he wanted desperately to cum. At last
he withdrew. Jill, her face stained with tears, lifted her eyes and
regarded him.
“Max,” she said. “I know Sam is watching, and you must please
Mistress.” Jill let out a short cry. She’d moved her fanny a little,
or perhaps her tummy, and felt anew the hugeness of the cock up her
ass. She recovered, and continued. “Don’t torture yourself so, Max,”
she urged him. “Let yourself cum. We won’t tell. Perhaps Sam is not
watching now, or if he is, shoot and then pull out before you’ve lost
your size. He won’t know, if you do it just so. Let me help you.” She
parted her lips, opened her mouth. She let her tongue loll on the lower
lip of her mouth. Lightly, though it caused her to scream out briefly
again, she shook her head, tossing the blonde strands of her hair away
from her eyes.
Max went to her then, like a supplicant boy approaching the
altar of his lust. He bent his knees and introduced his cock into her
mouth. She cried out and tossed her head again to let her long blonde
locks fall concealingly over her face. Sam would not see, would not
know, what happened next. Max thrust himself into her, letting his
organ feel the sensuousness of her lips and tongue upon him. In his
face I could see he was urging himself to pee his cum into her, to rid
himself of his awful load that so swelled his balls and thickened his
cock. Looking through the camera, they would not see him quite so
intimately as I did. They would not catch the subtle change in his
features. With glad-hearted strokes he pounded Jill’s mouth, enjoying
her, letting her lead him sometimes, he leading at other moments.
Actually it did not last too long. He had waited for hours for this
chance, and he prayed to himself to let go, let go, let go... It was
hard after so many hours of manfully holding back.
And then it happened. You would have to have been as close as
I was to realize it. With guilty pleasure he flexed his bottomcheeks
and jetted his essence into Jill. With the skill of a married woman she
took him all, losing just a little. It dribbled down her chin and I
wished I could run and lick it off, to save them both from the wrath of
Mistress Lalique. Was she taping all this? Would she replay it later
and discover it then, watching us in slow motion? I hoped not. As soon
as he was done Max withdrew, his cock not yet deflated. Quickly he
wiped his sperm off Jill’s chin with her own lovely blonde hair.
There were not any pants for Max to put on, so he went to the
wall and took down a leather belt. He put it on. Then he took a chain,
clipped it to the front of his belt, and wound its length down around
his softening penis. He drew the chain beneath himself, over his balls,
splitting the nuts apart, and then passed it up through his buttcrack.
He attached it to the back of his belt. Turning around to face us, it
looked for all the world as if he’d bound up his huge schlong to avoid
the temptation of fucking us. He grinned. It was our little secret.
He let us up then, removing the huge cocks first, then taking off our
belts, finally unpinning our legs and arms. He had to lift me bodily
from my couch. Jill tried to get up, collapsed. Gently Max stood her
up and helped her get her feet planted firmly on the floor.
I looked at Jill. She looked at me. We were still hot with
our need. Suddenly I flopped back down onto the sofa, so recently the
scene of my torment, and threw open my legs just as wide as they’d been
before. This time, though, I made sure I got my hands beneath myself.
I turned my face so that my cheek rested comfily on the sofa seat. With
my bottom over the pillows, my hips resting atop them, my belly
churning, I touched my fingers to my clit.
Jill smiled. Unsteadily she bent forward, Max holding her, and
she kissed my face. Then she kissed each of my bottomcheeks. She
raised her hand. I began to frig myself. “Naughty!” she gasped, her
voice hoarse from her screaming, and she slapped my fanny as hard as she
could with her hand.
When my spanking was over, and my need released, she took my
place. I gave her as good as I’d gotten. She let out shouts of joy,
mingled with pain, as she masturbated her clit to fulfillment. Max led
us upstairs then, holding us, helping us walk, and put cream on our
bottoms for us and then tucked us in bed. We slept all day, knowing we
must start all over again the next morning.
That night we went skinny dipping in the pool. Max did not
fuck us, we simply played together, for he knew he must be hard as steel
the next morning for the cameras in the basement. It was special, the
three of us running and splashing in the moonlight. I felt like a
fishtailed mermaid, and wished for a tail, to keep me from ever being
fucked in my bottom again. But it was not to be and, at last, we
retreated to bed, where we lay awake, watching the moon pass by us in
the window, leaving only the stars at last to twinkle in on us. We
spent the long night touching each other, like children in a sleeping
bag. It was sensuous, just touching. As the dawn loomed we fell asleep
for a little while, resting for the torments of the day ahead.
Jill sat down nude at breakfast. She ate delicately with her
knife and fork. She shifted on her seat. Her bottom still hurt a
little from yesterday, as did mine. Her pancakes were syrupy. I could
see she was eating as daintily as she could, so as not to drip on her
softly stirring bosoms. She had large ones. They dangled over her
plate, her nipples threatening to dip themselves in her eggs and syrup.
I ate with equal care. We were all fresh and showered, our
hair fixed, our makeup perfect. We could not dally long at breakfast.
The watching eyes would be waiting for us in the dungeon, expecting us,
counting off the minutes we were late, promising vengeance. Jill looked
up at Max.
“Max,” she said suddenly. “I don’t want a big house anymore.”
He turned. He was gorgeous in his nudity. His big pole stood
out from his loins, all hard and ready for us. “It is too late--” he
began.
“I just want you, Max, that’s all,” Jill said. She took off
her wedding band. She tossed it at him. Then, reaching for my hand,
surprising me, she drew off my own ring, me watching with utmost
reluctance, and tossed that at Max too. The rings landed on the floor,
at his feet. Casually he stepped on them, looked up at us. “You
escaped from prison, didn’t you?” she asked Max. “Escape from here.
Lead us away.”
“I cannot get out,” Max answered.
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Jill asked.
“I---” Max began. “We have everything here we need for our
pleasure. All you have to do is agree to have your bottoms widened.
And I must stay hard, of course, not difficult, really. I could have
fucked you last night. But I want to look my best for the women on the
T.V. I have mixed loyalties, you see.” He grinned. Such a rogue!
Here he was, living with us, making love to us, yet he cared only a
little for us, in the end. He saw us as victims, nothing more. Just
bodies to be broken and trained.
“Alright, Max, but don’t say I didn’t ask,” Jill relented,
returning to her food.
“I’m a well kept man,” Max replied. He sat down and began
eating. “You see, when you are both gone, other girls will be brought.
I have nothing to gain in your love. I don’t need love. Just sex.” He
grinned at Jill. He watched with amusement her young bosoms as they
jiggled freely over her syrupy plate. “I might clamp those today,” he
said.
Jill shivered. “I hate you, Max.”
“You girls are so unpredictable,” Max laughed. “It is for the
best. A masochist should not love her sadist. She should fear him.
I’ve been too easy on you girls.”
“Please, Max,” I begged. “Don’t hurt us anymore. That was
awful, yesterday, lying over that couch, however much you might have
tried to make love to us and comfort us. My bottom still hasn’t
recovered!” I felt my heinie sitting on my seat cushion. It nether
cheeks spread out on it. My hole still felt violated, all these hours
later.
“It isn’t supposed to recover,” Max replied suavely, eating his
eggs, cutting his bacon. “Your hole will shrink back to its normal size
if it isn’t pried further apart each day, until finally it gives up and
becomes more accessible, for all time. We must return to the basement
and begin again. I promised Mistress Lalique, and there’s no way you
girls can escape it, so you may as well accommodate yourselves to it, in
a manner of speaking.” He laughed a big, hearty laugh, that made his
penis wiggle between his legs like a feisty pogo-stick. I could see it
all, under the table, for it had no tablecloth upon it, being as
uncovered as we ourselves were. I truly hated him then. But I knew I
could do absolutely nothing about it.
We ate our breakfast in silence. Outside, through the screen
door, songbirds sang out their mating calls and went digging for worms
in the soil to feed their nestlings. When we were done we took our
dishes to the sink and dumped them in. Jill and I would have walked
away, but Max stood behind us and made us wash them. We had to wash his
too. He did not help us. Then, as we dried our hands on the dishtowel,
he got the key to take us downstairs. He led us to the cellar door and
opened it. I felt a rush of cool air on my skin, Jill just behind me,
touching my back apprehensively. Again I was made to go first, stepping
into the darkness. Max switched on a light for me after he entered. I
made my way down the stairs, no railing to help me, my ass jiggling and
me still feeling the impression the dildo had made yesterday in my
backside. The whip marks were almost completely faded. But, last night
in the pool, as we floated on our backs under the stars, he’d promised
us that each day would be a little harsher, a little more demanding, in
all its aspects, not just in the size of the dildo we were required to
take. I’d accepted it then, not caring, knowing that morning was still
hours away. Now his words haunted me.
At the bottom of the stairs I undid the gate latch again,
lifting it up, letting the gate swing open to admit me. Jill followed.
Hidden cameras tracked our progress. Max closed and locked the gate
behind us.
“To the couch?” Jill asked, turning to him. Her eyes were
expectant. The tips of her breasts were traitorously erect. Max
nodded. Quietly she turned away and took my hand. I sought
reassurance, found none. She was as scared as I was. We were not
playing today. This would be for real, the damage to our bottoms not
yet healed as we were stretched even further.
With graceful, meek steps, sometimes nervously on our tiptoes,
we proceeded through the dungeon. At the back the twin sofas waited.
Freshly cut flowers, droplets of dew still clinging to them, stood in
the vase on the nightstand. Briefly I admired Max for remembering such
a thoughtful, feminine touch amidst all this male-inspired madness. How
had he managed it? I had not seen him cutting the flowers, yet there
they were, and neatly arranged too, as if he’d spent time learning
floral skills when he was in prison. Yes, he was just a convict, we’d
learned, floating in the pool, shivering at the stories he’d told us of
his days in prison. Now he was out by the governor’s permission for
good behavior. But still half-captive, under house arrest, and used by
Mistress Lalique for her wicked designs.
“Alright girls, let’s be quick about it. I’ve got other things
to do today, like mow the lawn,” Max said. He was housekeeper here
too. No maids or servants were provided for prisoners. But would he
leave us alone down here? A sudden dread filled me at that thought.
Just Jill and I, bound and gagged, the cameras watching, prying? What
if we needed something? Surely he could not abandon us. Jill and I
turned, looked back over our slim bare shoulders at him. We unclasped
our hands. From the look on his face you could see he would brook no
nonsense this morning. He had taken a braided whip from the wall upon
closing the gate and it terrified me. He’d not stuck us with it, but he
sometimes made us start with flicks of the whip against the
furniture-like machines in the dungeon.
I bumped my knees to my couch. Jill contemplated hers. Twin
dildos, larger still than yesterday’s, stood erectly on the nightstand.
They were already greased. If only I could have been tried again with
yesterday’s cock, I might have found it easier this morning, but no,
today I must have bigger still, by order of my unseen masters. Were
they watching me? Did they care? Or was I just the newest bottom to
submit to their horrid desires? I bent, let my ass cheeks show more
fully to whoever might be looking. I stroked the sofa where I must soon
lay. I jumped suddenly. Max had struck something again. Not me, not
yet. Hastily I decided to get on my couch, to comply, to open myself
and behave and been seen to do my best to obey. Jill had the same
inspiration. A moment later we each lay over our pillows, our hands in
place, our legs duly apart, waiting to receive. Max bound us down with
the straps affixed to the legs of the couch for the purpose. He seemed
to somehow tie me wider this morning, make me even more open. I did not
protest. I would need every ounce of openness I had in me to even think
of taking such a huge cock as now stood on the nightstand. I urged my
butthole to unclench itself and bloom wide before the bulletheaded
monster. Yet, squirming over the pillows, I knew it was just about as
snug as it had been yesterday, a little bit opened perhaps, soon to
close up completely again if it were not forced anew.
Jill and I shared self-pitying glances. Max buckled us into
our belts, threading us with the chains so that we would not be able to
expel the gifts which soon would pierce our backsides.
“Please Max, spare us,” Jill whispered to him. “I’ll do
anything for you.”
“You will indeed,” Max chortled. He was truly evil, I
realized. Then he took her assigned cock from the nightstand, hers a
little bigger than mine because she was older, and sat down beside her.
He put the bullet-shaped penis to her anus and pushed. She gave a brief
cry of alarm as she felt it intrude. “Open yourself, bitch!” Max
snarled. He had less patience today. He worked the cock into her,
pushing and shoving, not caring as she cried out in terror and pain. I
don’t think he truly harmed her, except for opening her more, but it was
his manner, so callous this morning, that made her bleat with renewed
misgivings and fright. When she was properly impaled he sewed the cock
up tight in the ring, then turned to me.
“No!” I shouted. I strove to break free of my bonds. It was
then I knew why the straps on the couches had looked so sturdy to me.
Stronger women than I had tried to break free, all to no avail.
Fruitlessly I wiggled about as he sat down, slapped my ass, and then
buggered me with the fake cock. He did not care that I screamed.
Softly Jill wept beside me, feeling used, forgotten, unwanted. With
prolonged, penetrating thrusts, perhaps treating me a little more gently
than Jill due to my youth, just past the edge of puberty, still so young
in the world, he got me open and the cock up me. It took awhile, and
many screams later I found myself panting over the pillows, my bottom
bruisingly wide apart, squeezing desperately on the dildo, yet tiring
rapidly. As he stood I gave up and relaxed. My derriere, so plump and
cute, had a sheen of sweat on it. I could feel it drying fast as I lay
breathless and exhausted over my pillows.
“Try to sleep,” he said, patting my head. “I cannot be with
you today. It will all be over in a few hours.” He turned, taking his
glorious cock with him, and left me alone with Jill.
We waited in the darkness. He turned out the lamp before
leaving to encourage us to forget and sleep. I closed my eyes, squeezed
them. I still had strength to do that. Letting my tongue fall out of
my mouth I felt more at ease in my bonds, or tried to. I was feminine,
female. I must receive. I must, or the things put into my ass each day
would eventually kill me. I must take them, and not protest. I would
suffer more than that, swelling someday with male seed, birthing a
child. This was just a test run to that. A simple thing, really, I
told myself. Turds can go out. Why can’t a fake cock go in? But men
never did such things, did they, despite shitting out bigger turds than
us girls every day of their lives. Bitterly I clenched my teeth and
tried to fall asleep. Beside me, in the darkness, Jill sniffled and
tried to do the same.
I was awakened with a tap on my shoulder. Immediately I became
aware of a huge presence up my little heinie, splitting it apart, making
me adjust myself to it. I shouted at my realization of where I was. In
the dungeon still, with Max awakening me by bending his knees and
whacking my shoulder with his cock. It was stiff still, making him ache
with need, but he could not serve us as we wished, because of the
cameras. He unbuckled the penis from my bottom-impaling belt. With
cautious squeezings of my heinie, feeling all sore and raw inside, I
helped him free me from the awful cock. He raised it up when it was
finally expelled and made me look at it in the light of the lamp. “Your
shit is almost as pretty as you are,” he told me sardonically. “Let’s
see what Jill’s looks like.” With urgent helpfulness she contorted and
contracted her fanny to assist Max in withdrawing the dildo. Then he
held up her contribution. Its odor wafted out on the air. Max dropped
the dildo in a bucket of water mixed with alcohol to prepare it for its
next bottom. Then he took the braided whip and, not striking us hard
enough to mar us, for we had been good, he flogged our distended bottoms
to revive them and get them back into shape. Apparently he didn’t want
us opened too quickly. We churned upon our pillows, clenching our
heinies against the whip, tightening ourselves as best we might as he
threatened to strike us right in our hiney holes. He left us confused
and crying, our bottoms in a state no girl would ever want anyone to
see. Red marks of the lash burned across them and our holes gulped in
air, still breached and cloven from the sodomy. We wriggled like fish
in our bonds, suffering so, our tears flooding out over our cheeks,
wettening the seat of the couch beneath our faces. I longed for
panties. I had not worn them in days. To be safely wrapped up in them,
even little girl ones, with dumb teddy bears on them, would have been a
relief for me at this stage in my training. Even Underwear that’s
Funtowear, that I’d chucked out my bedroom window some years back, to
show my mother how grown up I was, would be something I’d have settled
for now, as I lay over the couch. Instead, not comforting me in the
least, Max introduced his penis to my mouth and made me suck it. I
wanted to bite it, but all my energy was being put into desperately
trying to assuage my bottom by moving it around. Jill was just as
active, shaking her heinie like she was the star of her own strip show,
mouthing at the air with her lips. She let herself enjoy an outburst of
tears, not caring how unladylike she looked. When I’d been made to
favor Max’s huge popsicle-like cock he took it over to her, and she was
put to it just as callously as I had. She did not offer to ease his
erection today. We hated him too much.
We were untied from the couch. We were taken upstairs, shaking
like children going for shots. Max had to help us walk. He put us to
bed, shutting the door behind us. Jill and I snuggled tightly into each
other’s arms. We spent the next hours consoling each other, whispering,
nuzzling, licking. At last in a frenzy of feminine lust we made each
other cum. We did it in 69, finding the strength at last to assume such
a position, me above, more frisky, she below, receiving me with motherly
warmth. My tongue fucking her, hers doing mine, we cried out our
pleasure together. Down below our open bedroom window Max worked with a
weedeater, doing his chores. His pole stuck up obscenely as he worked
naked in the hot sun, spinning out the line of his weedeater machine. I
hoped he would cut his prick off with it, but he didn’t. Later he
showered and joined us in the bed, but we were asleep by then.
When night came we rose and swam together in the pool. It was
lit by starlight. Max retained his erection still. In the stillness of
the night we offered to help him get rid of it. We loved him more at
night, I think, forgiving his transgressions of the day. He relented at
last. We took turns sucking him beneath the surface of the pool until
at last he added his own liquid to the cool waters.
Morning came, and we shared breakfast again. We ate snacks
sometimes by the pool at night, but this had become our main meal. It
was best, Max said, to eat in the morning, so we’d have energy for the
day ahead. Then he took us downstairs, this time selecting a cat o’
nine tails to keep us keen on obeying. Before taking to the couches, he
made us sit down on an unfolded towel. It felt fuzzy and soft against
my trembling heinie. I saw a bottle of baby powder sitting nearby, but
I don’t think it was meant for us. I longed to reach out, take it, and
pamper my fanny with it. Instead I sat watching Max as he walked to the
nightstand, his buns tight as could be, his balls drawn up with new seed
inside them, his penis waggling like a dog’s tail. “Dong,” I said
aloud, watching him walk back toward us. Jill suppressed a giggle,
unsuccessfully. We were giddy suddenly, in our fear. I lay back on my
elbows, let myself relax a little, my eyes still on Max and his mighty
organ.
Max held aloft a needle and I at once lost my sense of humor.
“Girls, this is Quinine, a muscle relaxant,” he told us, quite
seriously. “Today you will have to take the largest dildos yet, even
bigger than yesterday, and this will help you. I want each of you to
inject the other with it, to show your acceptance of what must be done
to you. Of course, should you refuse, we can begin with a well-laid on
whipping. It’s why I brought the cat with me today. Sometimes girls
try to be brave and say ‘no’ to me. It’s not a wise decision, and they
soon regret it. But if you wish to try to prove your mettle against me,
go ahead. Otherwise,” he said, ominously dangling the whip so that its
tails tickled my nipples, “Get your shots.”
Alas! I had felt like a child going to the doctor this
morning, and now I knew it had not just been some idle premonition.
Jill stood up, brushed her hair back from her face, and took the
injection needle from Max. He handed her a bottle of alcohol and a
cotton swab. Holding the needle as one might a cigarette, she got the
cap off the alcohol and wet the cotton with it. I stood. I showed Jill
my arm. I felt like running away but I was so scared I felt my knees
lock once I was up. I stood shaking, my eyes wide, a rabbit in
headlights. Jill was trembling a little too, for as soon as I was done
it would be her turn.
“Not in the arm, stupid. In the ass,” Max told me. “Bend
right over. Show her your fanny and don’t be a baby about it. What do
you think, that I’m going to put the dildo in your arm? Let’s go!”
I couldn’t move. I thought Max might slap me when Jill,
touching my back, somehow eased me over, bending me in the middle. I
remembered our 69 together and tried to imagine that we were going to do
that again. I offered her the fig of my cunt as I bent low and touched
the floor with my fingertips. She stroked my bottom with the alcohol.
Then I felt a quick jab in my flank. I howled. I wanted to bolt
upright but I knew I mustn’t. With all my strength I gripped my toes
and contented myself with wiggling my tits. At last the needle was
withdrawn. She’d injected me very slowly, almost sensuously. She wiped
away the tiny dot of blood left behind by the needle, using the cotton
swab.
I stood up and my hands flew to my bottom. I assuaged it as
best I could, rubbing it, and feeling the warmth of the quinine begin to
spread across it. When I finally let go of myself Jill handed me the
needle, the alcohol, and a new swab of cotton, offered to her by Max. I
took the items with frightened hands. I’d never done this before!
“Try not to shake,” Jill told me, and bent over. I swabbed her
carefully, doing the area Max pointed out to me, just off to the side of
her plump fleshy cheek, on the right. Then, steeling myself against my
fright, remembering how it hurt when she poked me, I stuck her in turn.
She helped. Her back arched, she caught herself. Her bosoms hung
heavily beneath her. When at last I’d shot all the injection fluid into
her I withdrew the needle and she stood.
“Rub yourself, make yourself ready for it,” Max said to Jill.
He went to the nightstand and began greasing up our new dildos. I
looked at them with wonder. They were gigantic. They looked like twin
nuclear missiles standing side by side, and I didn’t doubt that they
could do at least as much damage to a girl as radiation could.
Max finished preparing the dildos and led each of us in turn to
our couch. The pillows were fresh, there were new dew-laden flowers on
the nightstand. Violets. I hoped my butt wouldn’t be the same color as
them when I was returned to my bed upstairs. We were each buckled down,
and received our butt-widening belts. Then the work of the dildos
began. We were gouged with them. We began crying almost at once as
they were crammed up our hineyholes. Max worked with judicious slowness
this morning. The penises were so big that even he had to show us some
consideration. He rubbed our bottoms now and then to make sure the
quinine took full effect. I felt my hole stretched beyond belief. I
struggled a little to try to free myself, knew it was fruitless,
contented myself at last with bawling my head off.
We were left to sob to ourselves. Max departed, his work
done. Somewhere cameras whirred and inspected his handiwork. He had
succeeded. Jill and I were gorged upon the obscene cocks. They did not
belong in girl’s bottoms, yet somehow Max had got them up us. I turned
to Jill. I felt like Christ on the cross.
“I love you,” I wept.
“I love you too,” she replied. We lay in our bonds. Now and
then, moving incautiously, a slight shift of our hips, a too-quick turn
of our heads, and one of us would blurt out a shrill cry of alarm. The
rude penis up each of our butts was a frightening agony. I was sure I
would never be the same, and I was certain Mistress Lalique wished that
it should be so.
When Max returned and removed the dildos, I felt I could not
close myself in back. Easily he passed his finger into me, testing me.
How slightly I resisted his passage! He checked Jill next. “Soon, soon
it will be permanent,” he told us. He seemed to savor the prospect.
“Tomorrow I will have enough room to begin phase two of your training.
Each day, after the dildos are removed, I will fuck each of you up the
butt. Gently the first time, less so each day afterward, until at last
you can receive a butt-hammering fucking without being torn or harmed by
it. It is my reward, girls, for breaking you in.” He slapped my fanny,
then untied my wrists. He permitted me the freedom of masturbating
myself over the pillows, with just my ankles bound to the couch, as he
whipped me lightly with the cat. He promised the whippings on ensuing
days would be stricter, more admonitory, though I might still frig
myself while he did it. Jill got the same treatment. With glowing red
bottoms we were put on our feet at last, and taken upstairs.
Jill and I both visited the potty as the afternoon sun teased
the horizon. When we had both wiped, Jill suggested I let her check my
bottom. Standing before the bathroom mirror, I parted my cheeks for
her.
“Yes,” she said, tracing her fingertip in a circle over my
anus. I clenched it, scared.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
“You’re a little less tight, maybe, though I can’t tell for
sure,” she said. She poked me. I yelped. My bottomcheeks flexed and
rebounded. She laughed. “Oh, we still are tight-bottomed, I think,
both of us,” she said. “Here, check mine. I want to know too.” She
turned around and vented herself at me. I knelt and jabbed lightly at
her fundament with my finger, finding her hole receptive, but rubbery
still, clinging to my finger as I pulled back from it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think we both need more still,” she answered. “I mean, I
don’t want it, but if Sam wishes to use us both with ease...”
“I know,” I answered. I stood up. We faced each other and
clasped in a sudden embrace.
“We must be women!” she breathed into my mouth.
“Yes,” I answered. “We must, mustn’t we?” Furtively we felt
for each other’s nests and played with each other there, standing naked
in the bathroom, freshly wiped from our toilet. Max found us kissing
and took us to the bed and spanked us both over his knee, one of us
waiting while the other was smacked, me first, then Jill, then me again,
and her again, for good measure. He made us both suck him off
afterward, under the concealing sheets of the bed. I think the camera
must have noticed, but he did not care. He was desperate. I was pretty
sure he’d be forgiven. A little spurt now and then, in the company of
such beautiful girls, must surely be permitted.
We awoke the next morning with new resolve. We stood in the
bathroom after our shower, Jill and I alone, Sam downstairs. Together
we made each other up, carefully, knowing that this would be the day we
really began to feel the effects of our training. We brushed out each
other’s hair, not just our long locks but our nests too, for the camera
saw our cunts just as easily, if not more easily, than our faces. Then
we trooped downstairs, and found Max flipping flapjacks in the kitchen.
“I can do that, Max,” Jill said helpfully.
“Alright,” Max answered. He handed her the skillet. We were
all nude, the cool morning air fresh upon our bodies. I felt new and
alive in the world. I would be made a woman today. Max left the room
and came back with a bottle of champagne.
“Oh, Max, what’s that for?” Jill asked, happily surprised at
the treat. A champagne breakfast! He was treating us this morning! I
beamed at him. He could be a gentleman, after all.
“I want you girls a little drunk this morning,” Max said. His
words made our tummies tighten, not to mention our bottoms! “You’re
definitely going to feel open after today,” he said. “The cocks I’ve
got to put in you today actually expand and contract. They’ll be big as
hell to start with, and then, once embedded, they’ll widen themselves
and shrink, not shrinking too much, of course, just back to their normal
size. Widening and shrinking again and again, they’ll really give your
bumholes a workout. Too much of a workout, I imagine, which is the
whole point of it. You’ll be left changed afterward, not much at first,
but more so with each passing day.” Jill and I looked at each other.
She held the flapjacks over the flame of the oven, not noticing that she
was burning them. I felt my bottomcheeks tense uncontrollably and knew
hers must be doing the same. Except for the hiss of the burning
pancakes there was nothing but shocked silence in the room. Max gazed
at us, enjoying our fear. At last he laughed and took the pancake
skillet from Jill. “Go and sit down and start drinking that champagne,”
he said. “I’ll finish the flapjacks. A toast to your bottoms, girls.
Enjoy sitting on them. You may not be able to do it again for awhile.”
He laughed a hearty laugh then, long and luscious and utterly wicked.
Jill and I scurried to our seats and sat down on our bottoms hoping to
never have to get up. Max brought us the champagne a moment later,
pouring out a glass for each of us. I watched the liquid flow with
entranced eyes. Could I bear to be put to such a use as he
contemplated? Should I try to kill myself? I think Jill was
entertaining the same thoughts. I took my glass of champagne and
hastily gulped down the contents. On the stove the flapjacks waited,
the flame turned down to protect them.
We ate our breakfast quietly, not saying anything, not eating,
really, just nibbling a little. I began to feel tipsy from the
champagne. Jill giggled, let Max refill her glass and drank it down to
the dregs. “I can’t believe I’m actually letting someone give me a
bigger bottom,” she said aloud.
“Just the hole,” Max answered. “I’ve no interest in making
your pretty little ass lose its shape. Just in getting myself up you
more easily.” He glanced at me. “You’re lucky, to be doing it so
young,” he told me. “Men will prize you for your ease of use in the
coming years.” I shivered. I knew men prized both tightness and ease,
preferring to open a girl themselves if they might. Should I wait. I
still loved Sam. He wanted me bigger. I must obey, mustn’t I, if I
truly loved him? And I admired Max. His ruthlessness, his refusal to
be bargained with, try as Jill and I might sometimes, begging him out by
the pool under the stars, praying to him to let us go, spinning wiles
wherein he might be our slavemaster for life, if only he’d spare us and
take us away from here, though I knew in my heart we’d escape him if he
should fall for our tricks. Girls do not like a man who does what they
tell him. Not in these circumstances. Because they know they would
never go through with it, except for his iron will.
Max let us into the dungeon. Apprehensively, knowing the
condition we’d be in when we departed it, we descended the stairs, all
shivery and anxious, wishing Max would relent at last and take us away
from here. Implacably he followed us. We alighted lightly onto the
carpet, afraid to let our toes touch it. Max placed a broad, warm palm
on each of our bottoms and urged me to open the gate. I could not.
Jill reached out at last and lifted the latch, a simple thing, yet I
hadn’t been able to, my hands shook so. Max pushed us inside. He took
a martinet down from the wall. It was stiff. It would leave a mark
just by touching us.
“I can’t!” I cried suddenly. Jill seized me. I thought she
would force me forward but instead she sought solace in my frail body by
pressing her own against it.
Suddenly I heard a tromping on the floor upstairs. Max’s head
darted upward, mine, Jill’s. Heavy footsteps, businesslike,
uncompromising as Max himself.
“Get down, hide someplace!” Max hissed. Obediently Jill and I
scampered behind the nearest machine, some hideous device of execution,
and ducked down. There was a pounding at the cellar door, and, moments
later, it came crashing down the stairs, its hinges and lock broken.
Max, defenseless but for the martinet, strode over to the base of the
steps. A gunshot rang out and he and his glorious erection fell in a
heap to the floor. Jill and I screamed. I screamed louder when I saw
the figure coming down the stairs. It was my father!
“Daddy!” I shrieked. I did not rise from behind the machine.
Instead I found myself gripping Jill, my nails digging painfully into
her shoulder. That he should find me here, bare-ass naked, having run
away from home! He would not believe my excuses. He was not that kind
of man. Indulgent, maybe, but not to a fault like some dads.
Blushing and crying, squeezing my bottomcheeks guiltily, I was
extracted by my father from behind the execution/sex machine. He glared
at me, then softened his features a little as he pulled out Jill along
with me.
“Your mother has been looking for you!” my father snapped at
me.
“I-I was kidnapped,” I said, all teary-eyed and blushing right
down to my toes. Other men trod down the steps now, wearing police
badges. I was in my birthday suit but my hair was all pretty and combed
and my face was made up with makeup. My nails, including my toenails,
were painted to perfection. There was a hint of rouge on my wiggly
nipples. Jill, yanked up beside me, had ribbons in her hair.
“I heard you got married,” my father told me. His voice was
stern. He gave my fanny a hard, uncompromising slap, making me shriek
and clutch my bottom right there, in front of all those policemen. He
did not strike Jill, just me, making tears of shame come to my eyes.
“Get upstairs and put on your panties,” he told me. “Then I want you
outside in the car, pronto!”
I ran up the steps. The policemen made way for me. I was
small and light, my legs flashing, my slim-hipped bottom jiggling and my
newly grown tennis ball titties bouncing on my chest. Jill followed,
her bigger, heavier, woman’s boobs jostling like over-ripe fruit, her
mature bottom alarming the men’s desire as she ran with it shaking
heedlessly, all scared and embarrassed as I was.
Upstairs we found bikini bottoms, but no tops. I guess Max had
assumed we wouldn’t need clothes anymore, just panties, perhaps, to
cover us when we at last were freed. He did not contemplate us being
freed by my father. Quickly we slipped into the swim panties and then
fetched towels from the bathroom. Blushingly we came downstairs again
and were escorted by my father to his car.
Huddling in the back seat, I thanked my father silently in my
heart for saving me from my foolishness. Jill and I were both drunk,
and had come so close to having our bottomholes permanently popped that
I didn’t even want to think about it. She was dropped off at her
condo. My father went upstairs and fetched the things I’d bought for
myself in the meantime. I waited downstairs in the car. I did not try
to get out or run away. He returned shortly. He drove me back home.
My mother greeted me at the door. We did not kiss or hug or say hello.
I went upstairs to my room. My teddy bear was waiting for me. My
father spoke briefly with my mother, then marched upstairs.
“Take off your panties,” he told me. He held his trouser belt
in his hands.
“But,” I protested. I had dropped my towel on the bed to hug
my teddy.
“Get them off, this minute, young lady!” he did not call me by
name. Weepily I put down my teddybear. I shrugged my bare shoulders,
lifting my hands, my arms thin, awkward. Slipping my hands into my
panties I drew them down quickly. I bent over as I slid down my
panties, wondering if my dad would like seeing my seat. Did he know how
close it had come to being made receptive, like a woman’s bottom?
Lightly, but with grave misgivings, my fanny flexing with fright, I
stepped out of my panties. I lifted them up and dropped them onto my
bed. My father stood behind me, admiring my cherub bottom.
“God, you look just like your mother!” he said. I flinched.
Like her? She was 45, wrinkled, and flabby. I turned. My father stood
stroking his belt but I wondered if he would rather have been stroking
himself instead. His trousers bulged. “Get up on the bed,” he told
me. “Kneel on it and stick your bottom out. Let it overhang the edge.
Did your husband teach you to do this? He’s in prison now, where he
belongs, the pervert!”
I gasped. Sam, in prison? No! How could it be so. Feeling
disconsolate within my fear, I knelt on my bed.
“Offer your bottom more,” my father told me. “Dip your back.
If you fancy yourself a married woman, I’ll make you present like one.”
Guiltily I let my chin drop a little. I put a bow into my back, making
my hind cheeks stand out more. They were trim and firm and I wiggled
them apprehensively. My father had never seen me like this before. Did
he admire my tits? They hung full and well-fleshed beneath me, proud
titties, ones a girl might show off at the beach. My cunny offered
itself to him, but I guessed he tried his best to keep his eyes on my
ass.
And then my father, who had never in his life laid a hand on
me, asked me a very strange question. His throat sounded constricted as
he spoke. “How hard do you want it?” he asked me.
“Not too hard,” I answered, feeling a quivering in my voice as
I spoke. My nipples felt like thorns on my breasts. I feared they
might tear the quilted bedcover as I let them graze their weight across
it. “But hard enough,” I replied.
“You were a very bad girl, running away from me,” he said. He
did not mention my mother. “I almost got killed rescuing you.”
“I know, I know,” I wept.
And then he struck. I started, feeling the sting, my eyes
widening. It burned across my bottomflesh, searing me, making me
remember. I had been so bad, to run away from him, to live with a drug
dealer, to marry Sam without his knowledge or permission. And I had
spoilt the family name, too, letting myself be recorded on film for all
time, embarrassing my mom and dad in ways no one could ever erase.
“Again?” he asked me. I recovered my balance, dipped my back
again and lofted my bottom high for him.
“Please, and don’t stop until I’ve learned my lesson,” I said
with utmost certainty, wanting to be punished now, wanting to be made to
behave. I promised myself I’d even wear my one-piece from now on, until
my mother permitted me to have a bikini.
My father hit me again. It was a practised stroke, I realized
later, and knew somebody must have let him use her own body to train
him. I did not admit to myself who that was, though she stood
downstairs, listening to my cries, weeping, no doubt, for it meant I’d
passed through childhood and was a teen now, being spanked for the first
and last time by my father, who would never dare to order me out of my
panties again, no matter what I did, for I was too big now for him to
discipline like this. My bosoms shook and my hiney bunched and
churned. I rocked on the bed as stripe after stripe was laid on my
bottom. The bed creaked knowingly, I tried to restrain my cries but
shouted lustily at last, unable to control myself, wanting even to pee I
was so nervous and drunk and excited. At last my father threw down his
belt and left me kneeling up on my bed, slamming my bedroom door behind
myself as he stalked out.
I eased myself down onto the bedcover and lay there holding my
bottom tight. He had really given it too me, but had saved me from a
worse fate still, at the hands of Mistress Lalique. I prayed he did not
know I’d tattooed the inside of my cunny with her initial. Oh, I’d been
so bad! I deserved so much more from him, but he was gone now. I lay
in my bad for a long time, not daring to move. I did not hear my mother
and father downstairs. They had to be in their bedroom, my innermost
mind told me. My father would not have been able to ‘keep his council,’
as it were, after seeing my nakedness. He would need relief. I did not
let my mind delve further.
When morning came my mother said we must go into town to buy me
a proper swimsuit. I thought she meant a one-piece, but found to my
delight that she insisted I buy and wear bikinis from now on. “You must
begin dating too, dear,” she told me on the way home. “I was wrong to
keep you cooped up for so long.” She did not say more. That afternoon,
feeling liberated and free, I roamed the beach in my bikini, not looking
for boys exactly, but not necessarily avoiding them either. The house
where my long-lost drug dealer boyfriend had once lived was empty now,
with a ‘For Rent’ sign on it. Did my father know of my relations with
him? I did not know. There was so much I did not know, and I hoped
there was much he did not know either. Or my mother, especially.
I played in the waves along the beach and wondered about the
future. I let boys proposition me but turned them away at last, leaving
them disappointed, skipping back home as the sun disappeared and not
minding it, not minding it at all. Dinner was waiting for me when I got
home. My parents had gone out. I ate alone, for the first time without
a babysitter to bug me, or my parents themselves lording over the
dinnertable, asking about my homework, telling me what to do. My
mother, especially.
Later that evening Jill called. She apologized, I told her
there was no need for her to. I’d loved being with her. She told me
Sam was back home. I spoke with him briefly. He sounded as great as
ever, but I didn’t want to go back to him, not after what he’d almost
put us through in the dungeon. Jill told me to thank my father for
rescuing us. I assured her I would. I knew he’d secretly enjoy hearing
that she admired him, though of course he’d never admit it.
When it was truly dark out, the moon gone, and my parents home
and asleep in their bed, I went out again. I sat on the beach and
played in the sand, covering my feet with it, wondering at all I’d been
through.
A shadow appeared beside me. It was darker even than the night
itself. “Come with me,” a familiar voice said. I looked up. It was
Him! My first boyfriend, a man actually, Lord Shaftsbury. Barbi stood
beside him. She held him, wearing just her bikini, though he was
cloaked in black robes. I looked closer and saw she did not have a top
on. Her breasts hung free, but there were small gold rings in her
nipples. I shivered.
“I can’t,” I answered. I did not tell him I’d tattooed the
inside of my pussy, the pussy he’d opened for me to make me grow up. I
gulped. “Promise you won’t hurt me or my family...” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“There’s something I must tell you,” I said.
“What?”
“Promise first,” I insisted.
“You were always a brat,” he said, and added, “I promise.”
“My father’s trying to kill you,” I said. “He’s hunting for
you. You must go far away. Don’t come back. Don’t go near him.
Because I know if you two meet only one will live, and I want you both
to be alive always, even if I can’t run away with you again.”
“Thanks for telling me,” he replied.
“You promised!” I shouted.
“I’ll do my best,” he answered. “Do you want to come away with
me? I have money again. We could be happy together.”
“No. You have Barbi,” I answered simply. I did not intend
playing second fiddle, much as I liked it in the past. I wanted to be
first now, first and forever loved...by somebody...
He shrugged. In the end I was just a girl to him. He had no
shortage of girls.
I rose up from the sand. I wiped my hands on my legs. Without
saying a word, I undid my panties. I passed them to Barbi and she took
them wordlessly. “Do one thing for me,” I told my ex-boyfriend.
“Sure,” Lord Shaftsbury answered, and made to unzip himself.
“Not that, silly,” I said. I stopped his hand in mid-zip.
Carefully I zipped him back up. “I want you to tattoo me.” He
started. He looked as if I’d caught his penis in his zipper, although I
hadn’t.
“I-I have a tattoo, it’s an ‘L,’ I said. But I need it
changed. To an ‘F,’ my initial. It’s in cursive. It won’t be hard.
It will mean I belong to me, and nobody else. You can do it?”
He swallowed. “I can do it. Although, I’ll admit, it will be
tough, looking at your wet cunt and knowing I can’t fuck it.”
“No, you can’t. Just do me with the tattoo needle this time.
You owe me, in my opinion, for deflowering me and... and all that other
stuff you did to me too!”
“Not that you didn’t enjoy it,” he replied with a glowing grin,
his teeth as white as the moon might have been, if we weren’t all
shrouded in darkness.
“Just do it,” I said. “Don’t fight me, don’t seduce me, just
do it. Then go away so I’ll never be tempted to take to your bed
again.”
“What am I, Burger King?” he sniffed. But he took my hand and,
with Barbi holding my panties, he led me up the beach to his limo. He
had a driver now. He drove me to a tattoo parlor, someone he knew,
someone he could trust to do a good job. They changed my tattoo there,
with me screaming, with Barbi gently fondling me to get me through it.
And then I went home, and I vowed to myself to be a good girl for the
rest of my life.
30
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