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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
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Subject: Bush League part 3 of 6 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BUSH LEAGUE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
We slept all day. Eventually Louis got up. In my sleepiness I
felt him draw back the bedcovers after he’d slipped out, to admire
Cheyenne and I. We lay face to face, on our tummies, with our white
bottoms sticking up at him. Her arm was crossed protectively over my
waist. She was, after all, a little older than me.
Louis traced his finger down the cleft of my bottom. It was
all better. I could feel that. I tensed my cheeks a little. In my
mind I hoped he’d pry me apart and force me to take him up the ass. But
he must have thought I wanted him to desist, for he withdrew his
finger. He replaced the bedcovers. I sighed, a little remorseful, but
he took it for contentment and turned and strode from the room. A
father checking on his child, finding her asleep in her crib. He left.
I was alone with Cheyenne. She stirred a little and nuzzled me with her
nose. Her mouth exhaled into mine. It was sweet, in a female,
primalistic sort of way. I drifted off to sleep again, feeling quite
protected, thank you, despite the presence of the post above my head,
where I’d been tied and beaten. It was somnolent now, tucked back
against the wall, like a penis put back in a man’s pants after he’s done
using it.
Later I heard Polly shrieking. I wondered, listened. Yes.
She was running around the castle and had gotten Louis and Andre to
chase her. When they flagged in their attempts to catch her she teased
them. My, such lurid taunts she used. Where did she learn those? And
then she’d be screaming again, delightedly, as the two big men raced
after her. Back and forth through the trees they must be running now,
for her screams did not disappear round the backside of the castle as
before, but remained below my window, more distant, then closer again.
“Oh, help! I’ve got two big sausages after me!” Polly
hollered, her voice bubbling with joy, and her boobies, no doubt,
bouncing like frisky tennis balls on her chest. They were all naked. I
was sure of it. Polly was heedless of her mother’s warnings not to run
about without a training bra on. (Or, indeed, given her size now, a
real bra.) The men ran gleefully, without supporters to protect their
balls, their big cocks erect and bouncing up and down like poles that
high-jumpers extend before themselves to jump the high jump. Except
much thicker, of course. Yes, much thicker. I longed to raise myself
up and look. I was glad Andre had recovered from his whipping between
the mayfair poles, on the dias. Rose had not hit him hard. She knew
the value of a nice big pair of balls. And Andre’s were a special
prize, large enough to make one think of bowling balls, promising loads
of sperm to the females whom he treasured, and who treasured his balls.
Despite lying with my eyes closed, I could see Polly,
infant-like, running with jiggling bottom cheeks, her fleet legs
unsteady, her head turning back to see how close her beloved pursuers
were. And, when the men really put their minds to it, they would have
no trouble catching her. It would be like chasing down a giggly
toddler. Just as I considered this I heard her yell out with dismay as
she found herself captured. Up they swept her, her feet kicking, her
arms struggling, hoping to break free. Her tummy heaved and her breasts
shook, their points woefully hard, for she knew she could not be
captured without punishment. Such naughty words she’d used in teasing
them! Laughingly the men carried her off, big men, big as football
linebackers, with poor Polly totally imprisoned now, held, I think, in
Louis’s arms, for she had started by teasing him.
Oh, how I wanted to see Polly get her just desserts! I tried
to rouse myself but my legs were still so stiff from Louis doing me, I
could not get up. I fell asleep again. In my dreams I replaced Polly
with myself. Louis and Andre and Branson and even Lurch were all
chasing me, through the trees and round the limo. At last, to escape
them, but really to let them have me, I dove into the pool. And, of
course, when I surfaced from my dive I saw all four of them arranged
around the sides of the pool, standing like sentries, watching me.
Their arms were folded and my watery sanctuary had become my watery
grave. Their cocks stood out like tree trunks. Then, like Pinocchio’s
noses, their cocks began growing. As I paddled in the pool I watched
their cocks grow out, out, out, finally looming over my head as I
hunched down, hoping to avoid them. And then Louis’s cock rammed
straight into my mouth. I could not stop him. He pried my lips apart.
I was forced to suck upon him. Then he flexed his cock and I was lifted
up out of the pool, struggling, trying to free my mouth, but there was
no escape for me.
“Look, I’ve caught a fish!” Louis crowed, and for a moment I
could not tell whether he was speaking of me, caught on the pole of his
cock, or was really speaking, outside my window, with little Polly
wriggling in his arms, hoping to escape him.
Rose appeared. I thought she was real but then realized I was
in my dream again. “Bring her to my skillet,” she intoned. “I will
cook her for your supper, men.” And her skillet was the dias. I was
tied down to it and my legs spread. “Yes, a most beautiful specimen of
fish,” Rose said, clinically, inspecting my oyster-lipped cunt. “Most
difficult to catch, except for expert fishermen like yourselves, of
course,” she added, eyeing Louis and Andre.
“Oh, it is not difficult for us,” Louis said, diffidently,
sitting nude at the table in the sunroom now, tying a napkin under his
chin. “We catch a new one every day.”
“Hurry up, I’m hungry,” Andre urged. He banged his knife and
fork down on the table. Underneath it his big prick wriggled
impatiently. Then Polly shot past, outside, timing herself by Lurch’s
watch as she ran around the castle. I followed her somehow and found
that we had to stop and jump through the hopscotch squares at the front
of the castle before we could run around it again. Our tits leapt and
swung as we played hopscotch, our scissoring legs showing off our mounds
without shame. Cars appeared on the desolate road beyond the castle and
watched us through its gate with X-Ray eyes.
“Hi,” I heard. A nose nuzzled mine. Cheyenne. I blinked away
my sleep and saw her lying beside me, her face pressed close.
“Hi,” I replied, smiling. We kissed. Our mouths were sweet.
We kissed again. Her hand, which had lain protectively over my waist,
passed down to my bottom and palmed it. I let her feel me. I spread my
legs a little to invite her explorations. We kissed a third time. She
slipped a finger between my legs and sought my spot. I kept my legs
splayed apart and we kissed again as she found me and delicately touched
me in my special place.
We did not hear the creeping of footsteps. Suddenly, with no
warning, our bedcovers were unfurled. We were exposed, fish gasping and
wriggling on a dock. Rose stood over us, poking her head through the
canopy of my bed. She’d unveiled our naughtiness.
“Girls!” Rose said. “Are there so few men in my castle that
you must entertain each other? All by yourselves?”
“We were just playing,” Cheyenne explained. We tensed our
heinies, worried she might slap us. Instead she turned her attention to
me. She ran both her hands over my bottom, pressed them into my newly
whitened flesh.
“Good,” Rose said. “You have a nice, cream-white bottom again,
Fleury. And yours is nice too, Cheyenne,” she added, for my girlfriend
seemed put out that she was not included in Rose’s inspection. Rose
vented my cheeks and examined my hole. “Ah, how snug and tight you are,
Fleury, despite the best efforts of some to enlarge you there. Someday
we will have to make you bigger. There is no question about that. I
have a little leather belt. It looks like an ordinary belt but there
are three chains that loop down and connect themselves under it. Sort
of like panties, except without the connecting bits of cloth. Just the
skeleton, as it were, made of small chains. And within the back chain
there is a brass ring. It fits right over the anus. I’ll put you in
those little panties someday. And when you’ve got them on, of course,
we can then begin to widen you. There are a selection of shafts that
come with the panties. Each day we will plug a new one through the
brass ring and, doing that, send it right up your anus. You’ll wear the
panties all day, plugged up your ass. You’ll walk around the castle,
doing what you’re told, or as you like, but of course everyone will see
that you’re in training, because you’ll just wear the little chain
panties, and nothing else. I’ll want you to stay out of the sun since I
like girl’s bottoms white. Perhaps you can drape a little towel over
your tushy if you lie out in the sun. Just like I’d expect you to do
now. To keep your ass white, so when it’s whipped we can see all the
stripes.”
“It sounds...captivating,” I answered. My speech slurred
because I was still a little sleepy, and her words had induced a kind of
prisoner-like listlessness in me. She pried my cheeks harder apart and
leaned down and let her breasts tumble out of her low cut, ruffled
peasant gown. She blew softly into my hiney hole.
“So sweet,” she said, Cheyenne watching her inspection of me
with a little envy, I think, in her eyes. We both liked being the
center of attention, even if it meant showing off our fannies. Rose
lifted one of her big gourd-like breasts, heavy like a gourd but round
like a grapefruit, and kissed and licked her nipple, preparing it, but
for what? Then I knew. She let her breast drop into my bottomfurrow
and she stabbed my hole with her hard nipple.
“Oh!” I cried. I had not expected it. Fiercely she jabbed me
with her nipple but I had little trouble taking it, for it was just a
woman’s nipple, nothing more.
“Ah, if only I had a cock,” Rose sighed. “I would ream you to
the other end of South America and back, my dear.” She stood, lifting
herself and taking her tit with her. She upped her dress and I saw she
wore no panties beneath. “But instead I’m stuck with this useless
pussy. Utterly useless for what I’d like to do with it sometimes. Look
at me! Nothing, just a mount of dark hair and my twin lips beneath, as
if God felt the lips on my face wouldn’t be enough for me, and had to
give me a second pair. So I’ve got nothing, just a belly, two pair of
lips, and my tits, of course, sticking out when I walk down the street
like balloons and making everyone think I’m a bimbo.” She sighed
again. She lowered her dress and put her breasts back inside it. She
straightened it.
“Get up and get ready for dinner, girls,” Rose said. “We’re
going to have fun tonight! Don’t wear anything. Just come as you are,
but see that your hair and your nails are perfect. Absolutely
perfect.” She withdrew her head from the canopy, walked to the door.
“No playing in the tub!” she warned. “Be good girls. I’m serious. I
want you both on tenterhooks when you come downstairs, not exhausted
because you’ve spent the last hour frigging each other to death in the
bathroom.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cheyenne and I answered. Our voices were
musical. We sounded like small girls at a slumber party, waiting for
mom to leave so we could discuss the finer aspects of boys.
We came downstairs an hour later. Rose led us into the
ballroom, a room we’d not dined in before. It was huge and had
chandeliers in it, six in all, built of crystal and hanging from the
ceiling, sprinkling their light down on us. I saw a score of people,
men and women, elegantly dressed, but Cheyenne and I, like singing
telegram girls, were quite nude, except that I’d tied ribbons in my hair
and so had she, to make ourselves extra pretty.
Polly was there. Rose had turned her so that her bottom stuck
out and she was leaning forward over a table. Rose beckoned us. To my
surprise I saw Polly’s bottom was white. Whatever Louis and Andre had
done to her, they had not whipped her. The day, I realized, had been
cloudy. She had been able to run around naked and yet keep her bottom
preserved in the state Rose preferred it in. Polly was festooned with
ribbons like Cheyenne and I. In addition to decorating her hair they
were tied round her upper arms, and again round her thighs, mid-way,
tied off in little bows with streamers dangling down to her elbows and
knees. She was exceptionally delightful to look at. Rose told me that
Polly was to be served for dessert. Indeed, all three of us were, and
we were to decorate ourselves for the crowd, as they watched. They had
already begun their meal. I wondered when Polly and Cheyenne and I
would eat but I did not ask.
Rose handed me a cannister of whipped cream. “Decorate Polly,
would you, Fleury? Be still, Polly. It is only whipped cream.” Polly
looked over her shoulder, like a child ignorant but wanting to know, and
not sure it liked the answer. Gracefully I took the whipped cream. I
wanted to appear as ladylike as I could, despite my nudity. I aimed the
cannister carefully and, at Rose’s direction, I carefully shot a line of
whipped cream down Polly’s ass crack. “Don’t wiggle, Polly, I want the
line to be perfect,” Rose scolded. Polly moved her hips once but I
anticipated her movement and was able to keep my line of cream
straight.
As I squirted Polly’s asscrack, Bambi, who wore a tight corset,
met Cheyenne and drew her aside. “More guests will be coming soon. You
must serve them their appetizer,” Bambi told her. I could not study
Bambi, but I caught a glimpse of her and saw that she wore a corset that
plumped up her breasts and left them free, despite its tightness around
her middle. Atop the mounds of her nude breasts her skin was all wet
and there were bits of stray fruit lying atop them. I realized,
somehow, that Bambi had used her own bosoms as a serving tray. She’d
placed (or perhaps Rose had done it) bits of fruit atop her uplifted
breasts. Then she’d gone from guest to guest and served them this way,
offering them her breasts, atop which was the fruit which they were
invited to pluck from her with just their mouths. Now it was Cheyenne’s
turn, and she shivered a little as Bambi suited her up. Polly,
meanwhile, was to be the official dessert. She would be made modest,
perversely, by having whipped cream squirted over all her private
places. Then she would be served this way, and the guests would lick
her clean, making her immodest again, and titillating her and themselves
in the process. I realized all this in a rush, squirting the whipped
cream carefully down the indrawn line of Polly’s bottom crack.
Rose turned Polly around. The girl looked down at herself as
Rose forced her to jut her hips out at me. Her little cunt made a
perfect target.
“Ooooh, Polly, how indecent you are! Let me cover you up a
little,” I offered.
“Noooo,” Polly whined, but I squirted her nonetheless.
Icing-like the whipped cream spritzed into the hairs of her pubic
mound. Then, coating her thoroughly there, I moved down, parted her
legs and squirted her cunny lips and then continued my line back until
it met up with the line of cream I’d drawn down her buttcrack. I did
not bother to give her cream bikini drawstrings.
“Now for your nipples,” I said. I stood and placed the nozzle
of the whipped cream close to her nearest tit. She was trembling. I
had to cup her breast from beneath to hold her wobbling tittie. Then I
squirted her nipple, as she gritted her teeth against the cold of the
refrigerated cream and begged me to stop.
Next I did Polly’s other nipple. I did not bother to give her
bra cups, just the nipples was enough. No decorative drawstring
either. But, raising my can, I traced a little cream collar round the
front of her throat. Just above her real collar. It looked nice. She
looked sweet. I kissed her blushing cheeks and told her so.
“Oh, can I wipe it off now?” Polly asked, stroking her tummy
and threatening to dip it into the cream that decorated her pubis.
“Why Polly, we just got you properly dressed for the party and
you want to get naked already?” Rose teased. “Be a good girl and go
show off your cream bikini to the guests. I wonder if you’d be allowed
on a beach now, since we can’t see your privates anymore? Of course,
you mustn’t get your bikini wet. That would truly be a no-no,” Rose
laughed. She was clothed in a beautiful red gown that moulded itself to
her figure like a glove. It was cut off at the knees, seductively
showing her calves, I thought. In front her gown dipped so low her
nipples showed. Just the top halves, the pronging tips barely below the
hem. It constricted her breasts a little so that her nipples’ tips
would stay concealed. But I knew if she moved incautiously she’d find
herself displaying her teats right out to the tips.
Bambi was inventive. Having tied up Cheyenne in a breathlessly
tight corset, she made the girl perch her bare ass on a table and she
fitted the girl into ankle-high boots. Then, finishing that, she did
not release her. Instead she made her stand and then bent her over.
Cheyenne grimaced as the tautly-laced corset creaked and bit into her
already trim waistline, compressing her slim tummy even more. When
Cheyenne was bent double, her fingers brushing her toes, Bambi parted
her legs, giving her a wider stance. Cheyenne looked ready to keel over
and Rose rushed to hold her. She cupped her hands beneath the girl’s
face and stroked her hair. She watched with approval as Bambi took an
oil funnel, the same type used in gas stations, but brand new and clean,
and poked it into Cheyenne’s tight bottom.
“You must experience submission, Cheyenne,” Rose said softly to
the girl, in a reassuring voice, letting her know she approved of all
the new tricks Bambi was thinking up. Rose tossed her hair back over
her shoulder, carelessly, and one of her hemmed in nipples managed to
break free of her low cut bodice. Cheyenne, meanwhile, had no such
protection for her breasts. The corset stopped short of containing them
and merely pushed them upward, so that they could be used as wiggling
nude platforms for fruit.
Polly stood beside me, a hand on my shoulder, a finger in her
mouth. She sucked on it speculatively, watching, as I did, as Bambi
took a small bottle of liquor and popped its cork. Carefully Bambi took
hold of the oil funnel which, in the interim, Rose had been holding in
place. Its neck was most indelicately stuck within Cheyenne’s
butthole. The girl shivered, waiting, first while the cork on the
liquor was popped and then as Bambi took back possession of the funnel.
Now all of us watched as Bambi slowly began pouring the liquor into
Cheyenne’s ass.
GLUG GLUG GLUG could be heard in the room. The guests had
ceased eating. We all watched with fascinated eyes. Cheyenne gasped as
she felt the liquor run from the funnel straight into her hiney.
“I-I don’t want tooo,” Cheyenne offered, but her protest was
ignored as more liquor gurgled its way down the oil funnel and into her
upthrust tushy. Cheyenne’s eyes widened, glazed, widened again. I know
she must have been feeling the effects of the liquor as it communicated
its potency through the walls of her rectum and up to her head. The
fluid remained in her bowels, like liquor in the tummy, but the effects
of it could be felt in her brain.
“Alright, now stand up,” Bambi ordered when the bottle was
empty. Cheyenne stood. She wobbled a bit on her feet but then came to
herself. She was a little drunk, but still quite aware that she was
nude, in just a corset and booties, in a roomful of strangers. Rose
took fruit from the table and, with Bambi’s help, the two of them
sprinkled it over Cheyenne’s breasts. Meanwhile, the girl was jamming
her asscheeks together, striving her best to contain the fluid in her
bowels. As soon as Rose and Bambi were done decorating her they
launched her into the crowd.
“Go, serve them, but don’t lose your enema,” Rose and Bambi
told poor Cheyenne. In the back of the room more guests entered, seated
themselves, and Cheyenne walked with wavering half-steps toward them.
So far she was keeping her enema inside her. I crossed my fingers and
prayed for her. How embarrassing it would be for her to spill it right
out there amidst all the new diners.
“Now for Polly,” Rose said.
“Oh, pwease!” Polly begged. But I pushed her over to them and
they upended her just as ruthlessly. Her jamming asscheeks were pried
apart. Rose handed Bambi a small china plate piled high with slit
grapes and chocolate bon bons and pitted cherries.
“Help me, Fleury,” Bambi told me. Unsure of my own fate, I
squatted behind Polly and took hold of her asscheeks and pulled them
wide apart to allow Bambi to stuff her butthole with the fruit.
“You’ll make a most scrumptious dessert,” Rose assured Polly.
The girl shuddered and sighed but, curiously, did not fight us. I think
we were all excited by the prospect of intermingling with all the
handsome men in the crowd. They wore dark suits and ate with beautiful
women beside them, yet their eyes were upon us mostly, absorbing our
every movement, unsure when or if they’d get another chance to see such
young females being put through such horrid ordeals.
Cheyenne gave a heart rending cry as a woman she presented her
breastful of fruit to chose to tickle her cunny as she mouthed fruit
from her tits.
“I can’t hold it if you do that, ma’am!” Cheyenne begged. She
was standing with her legs apart, but her ass jammed together in back,
desperately trying to hold in her enema. She wanted to cross her legs
but that was, of course, quite forbidden. At the castle one of the
first rules we’d been taught was to never cross our legs. Cheyenne
screamed a little scream as the women kept on tickling her. The woman
cared not the least about Cheyenne. She simply wished to entertain
herself.
As I watched, my bed mate found herself unable to hold in her
liquor under the relentless assault. There was a sudden cry of
surrender from her. Shivering right down her spine to her toes, her ass
cheeks tremored and released their load. A shower of shit-colored
liquor burst from Cheyenne’s hiney and spilled all down the backs of her
thighs and into her boots.
“Noooo,” Cheyenne cried out remorsefully, for she and I had
spent so much time getting ready upstairs, doing each other’s makeup,
hair, carefully making ourselves perfect, and now she was spoilt,
nothing but a girl with diarrhea.
“How unpleasant,” the woman who’d been tickling her sniffed.
“Go serve the others.” Cheyenne walked miserably to the other guests
and let them mouth fruit from her breasts in turn. When she reached the
last one, a woman, the lady took her over her knee and began slapping
her bare ass with her hand, which was gloved in kid leather. Cheyenne,
formerly just runny at her rear, was now forced to offer up tears as
well.
Shivering at her fate, listening as she bawled, I turned my
eyes back to Polly’s bottom. Bambi was busily filling it up with all
the fruit on the tray.
“Oh, it’s too much! It’s going too far up!” Polly whined.
“Be still, Polly!” Rose ordered. The girl waved her bottom
about but I kept a firm grip on it and kept her cheeks apart. She was
not as resistant as in the past. I think the castle was slowly breaking
her in, changing her from a little crybaby into a woman. Bambi pushed
fruit after fruit through her layer and cream and into her hole. There
was a little gap in my handiwork now, where I’d squirted her buttcrack
with the cream. Like a chipmunk storing food away for the winter, Bambi
relentlessly kept plugging Polly’s bottom with more and more fruit. And
the bon-bons also, which had gone up first because they would melt
within her body, while the fruit would have to be removed by human
intervention, unless we were simply willing to wait for Polly’s next
poop, which I knew we were not.
When Polly was quite full behind, Rose stood her up. She
turned the girl around. I was told to pull Polly’s thighs apart in
front and I obeyed. Rose handed Bambi a long banana. Polly watched
wide-eyed, me keeping her legs open, as Bambi peeled the banana. Then
Bambi bent down and intruded it into Polly’s pussy.
“Oh, I can’t TAKE anymore!” Polly hollered, for she was already
quite full in back and the banana would plug her quite completely,
filling her up for dessert-time.
“You must, Polly,” Rose replied. She gripped the girl’s bare
shoulders and made her watch as Bambi eased the banana up her, going
slowly so as not to hurt her. It possessed an exemplary length. Polly
would be well-fucked, by nature, if Bambi succeeded in getting all of
the banana up her.
As it turned out, most of the banana made it inside. But a
little protruded out, its white tip looking like a little penis. Polly
touched it.
“I have a penis!” Polly said.
“So you do,” Rose laughed. “I wish I had one, even a little
banana one like you do,” Rose admitted. She looked at me. I remembered
our conversation in the bedroom. I smiled. I let go of Polly’s legs.
“Go show off your new penis, Polly,” Rose told the girl. She
pushed her toward the guests. They watched, bemused, as this slip of a
girl, just 13, came tip-toeing toward them, her feet bare, wearing a
seductive cream bikini. In front, she offered them a boyish view of a
banana cock, while in back she had to keep her asscheeks together lest
the fruit stuffed into her begin popping out.
“Mmm, let me lick your little penis,” a woman said to Polly.
She reached out and grasped the girl by her hips. She drew Polly toward
her. Bending her face down, she tongued Polly’s banana just as she
would a cock. A little boy’s cock it would have to have been, for Polly
showed only the tip of the banana, the rest jammed up inside her.
“Ohhhh,” Polly moaned. I thought it must have been exquisite
for her to be presented this way. The woman’s tongue, confining itself
to her banana, did not touch her directly. Polly sleeked a hand across
her tummy and I knew she wanted to touch herself. But she did not. She
let the woman lick her banana, the husband watching, other guests eyeing
her from all around, savoring their dessert, waiting politely for their
turn at her.
Cheyenne howled and was let up by the woman who’d been paddling
her fanny. She stood sobbing, holding her asscheeks with her hands, and
the woman reproved her for making a mess of herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Cheyenne moaned, but of course it wasn’t her
fault, even though the woman told her it was. A man took the poor girl
and toppled her over his knees and began spanking her.
“Boo! Hoo! Hoo!” Cheyenne cried, but there was no stopping
her spanking. How rude to spank her again, I thought, but Rose took
hold of me and turned me toward her. I drew in my breath expectantly
and felt my bosoms rise on my chest.
“Oh, please don’t make me do this,” I pleaded.
“Shush, dear, it is nothing. A little playing, that’s all,”
Rose replied. She squirted my nipples with chocolate syrup. All the
work I’d done upstairs to make myself look my best, and now I was being
used as a scoop of ice cream might be, my breasts decorated with syrup
that made me instantly, if seductively, messy.
Rose squirted chocolate syrup into my navel. I giggled. Then
she lowered her bottle to my pussy. She looked at my eyes.
“Ready?” she asked, standing before me, I her disciple.
“No, but--” I began. Smiling, I looked down and watched with
bashful eyes as she squirted chocolate syrup right into my pretty nest.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. How naughty I felt. How my mother would
disapprove! Rose decorated me like one might a cake, making my nest all
chocolaty and then moving down to do the same to my cunt.
“Now, turn around,” she told me.
“Oh, Rose! You must NOT!” I giggled, almost beside myself at
the prospect of what she was going to do to me. Yet I let her, with the
help of Bambi, turn me around. Bambi bent me forward a little so that I
presented Rose with my ass.
“Many call it the ‘chocolate chute,’ so...” Rose said. She let
her voice trail off as she poked the tip of the syrup bottle into my
hineyhole.
“Oh please Rose, not back there,” I asked one last time, but in
answer I felt my guts get a jet of chocolate right up them. Rose
laughed. The crowd, watching, laughed. Rose squeezed the bottle again
and more chocolate jetted up my ass. I heard a man smack his lips.
Either what he was eating was very good, or he was anticipating me. It
was the latter, I knew. In the distance Cheyenne howled. There was no
stopping her spankings. Each diner seemed to want to have a crack at
her now. I guessed she’d not be sitting at dinner, that was for sure,
whenever we finally got to eat, instead of just being eaten. Polly, I
saw, turning my head, was having her banana cock nibbled away. There
was nothing left but her slit now, the extruded portion of banana was
gone, eaten up. Inside, though, I knew she carried the remainder, and
now the guests would begin the more invasive job of mouthing that out of
her.
“There! You’re a chocolate bunny!” Rose said. She was
finished shooting up my bottomhole with syrup. I felt quite full in
back. Mercilessly she pushed me toward the crowd. My turn. Where were
Louis and Andre? I could not find them. I was alone, with only Rose to
protect me, but she had just violated me. Polly whined as a hungry
woman gnawed at her pussy. I heard a little grape pop out of her and
bounce off the tiled floor.
I wandered up to the first guest. “Do you like chocolate?” I
asked her. Her husband grinned and she let him have me. He turned me
around and bent me over and stuck his tongue rudely into my hiney.
“Oh, sir! You DO like chocolate!” I cried. For answer he
raped me with his tongue.
When we were quite despoiled, and all our fruit and cream and
syrup dug and licked out of us, were were put side-by-side on a table.
Our backs were laid on the tablecloth, with linen napkins piled under
our heads to give us a little comfort. But our hips were left to dangle
off the table. Each man who wished to was fitted with a condom and
brought to stand between our legs and fuck us. As we were fucked, Rose
fed us our dinner. Baby food, so that in our crying and gasping we
would not choke on our food as the men fucked us. Then we were taken
upstairs, bathed, and put to bed, all three of us in my room. As I
drifted off into an exhausted sleep I could hear the party continuing
downstairs. I think Louis and Andre entered then, and were the delight
of the dinner’s wee hours. They demonstrated their manly spirit upon
the women, their husbands being all spent, just watching, as bull-like
Louis and Andre fucked each of the women in the room. Their cries and
moans emanated upstairs, putting me to sleep.
In the morning I was the first to awaken. I slipped into my
bathroom and freshened myself. As I returned to my bed I found Cheyenne
and Polly waking up. Polly scooted herself off my bed as soon as she
was conscious and ran to the bathroom, like a little girl, to pee.
Cheyenne, a bit older, smiled at me, and excused herself. When Polly
was done peeing I heard Cheyenne remind her to flush the toilet. Then
Cheyenne took her turn upon it.
As the girls freshened themselves I looked with renewed
interest at the pole behind my bed. I got on my bed and, kneeling at
the headboard, I unhooked it from the wall. I lifted its heavy length
and locked it into place. Then I stood up. I put my mouth to the soft
rubber ball that angled up from it, mounted on a second post. I felt
the ball fill my mouth. I pressed my face hard against it, so that I
could hardly breathe. I concentrated on inhaling through my nostrils
and, at the same time, I reached behind myself and opened the cheeks of
my bottom.
I hand at the canopy of my bed. Turning my head, I thought it
was just Cheyenne, or Polly. To my heartbeating surprise, I saw it was
Louis! He put a finger to my back and ran it down my spine. He
continued on to my bottom. He poked inbetween my cleft cheeks and
touched my hole.
“I hear you got quite a licking back here last night,” Louis
said to me.
“Yeth,” I mouthed over the ball. He lifted my arms up. He
locked them to the back of my collar. He fastened my collar to the
front of the post. He positioned my legs wider apart on the bed. My
bare feet planted themselves firmly and I waited while he undid his
trousers, freeing his cock, then his belt.
Polly interrupted us. With a finger at her lips she asked,
with inquiring eyes, “Oh, Fleury! What are you doing? I thought you
were going to come play with us in the tub!”
I heard Cheyenne drawing the bath water.
“In a minute,” I said. I watched as Louis doubled his belt.
“Go take your bath,” Louis told Polly.
“Yes, sir,” Polly gulped. And she saluted him, dear girl.
Then she scurried out of sight.
I tensed my cheeks. They felt so cool and white and normal in
the morning air. Did I really want Louis to turn them into a ball of
flame? I don’t know. I watched with my eyes as his tantalizing cock
swayed out of view as he got up on the bed behind me. I could not see
him now. I switched my eyes to a mirror, placed strategically so a girl
could watch her tormenter and learn to love him. Louis’ cock dangled
from his loins like a snake poised to strike. He ran his fingers across
his cock and then over his doubled-up belt. I think we were both tense
now, he and I. His erection showed no sign of abating until a female
had been sacrificed to it. And I wished for no other to take my place.
If he needed me, I would be there for him. I curved my back inward,
letting my bottomcheeks hang more impudently, more seductively. Saucily
I wiggled my tail. I was glad my hands were locked behind me. As I saw
him raise his belt I know I would have covered myself in back. I was
glad my mouth was plugged. I could not have kept from crying out for
him to spare me.
“Louis, Fleury dear,” Rose interrupted suddenly. Where had she
come from? She should not be here. This was our private moment
together. She put her head through the bed’s canopy and stayed Louis’s
hand just as it was about to come swooping down most mercilessly on my
bottom. “Louis, there’s a young lady here to see you,” Rose told him.
She spoke with amusement in her voice, as if enjoying interrupting us.
“Damn,” Louis swore. “I’d forgotten.” He dropped his belt
uselessly on the bed. He leaned forward, kissed my nearest shoulder, as
if I were just his niece, he my uncle. Or worse, as if he were my
father, and I his daughter. Two souls who could never reach out and
enjoy each other in the intimate way lovers do. “I’ll be back in the
morning,” he told me. Then he stuffed himself back into his pants,
somehow, and looped his belt back into his pants. He left. Delicately
Rose undid me from the post. I felt empty, somehow, as I slumped down
onto the sheets of the bed.
“Go take your bath, dear,” Rose said consolingly to me. I got
up and walked in my nudity to the bathroom. Going inside, I met
Cheyenne and Polly. Cheyenne was watching Polly as the blonde sailed a
boat quite merrily through the foam laden waters.
“Come in, Fleury! All done? I’m exploring SudLand!” Polly
chortled. She seemed perfectly content with her boat. Reluctantly I
joined them.
We spent the day sunning ourselves. We were careful to keep
our bottoms and tits covered to keep Rose happy. She watched over us,
me especially. We played dominoes, twister, monopoly, all in the nude.
We swam in the pools, wearing our bikinis for that to preserve the
distinction between our covered and uncovered places. We ended the day
sucking popsicles and eating an early meal. Then we turned in, each to
our own beds to keep us from being mischievous.
“Get up!” Rose urged me the following morning. I was not
permitted to bathe, but there was no real need for it. I’d taken a bath
the night before, was still feeling fresh. She did up my hair with pins
so that I wore it in a loose coiffure. Then she brought me downstairs.
Out back in the sunroom Polly and Cheyenne were busy tugging on
thick socks and leather hiking shoes. I was made to sit down on a step
with them and do the same. When we each stood, we were made to put on
backpacks. We wore nothing else.
“I feel like a pack horse,” I said, struggling into my
backpack.
“Andre and Louis are taking us hiking!” Polly said gleefully.
“Louis? Is he back?” Rose nodded. I smiled.
“What’s in this thing?” Cheyenne asked. Her backpack was
especially bulky. Her bosoms were squished a little by its padded
straps.
“Yours is an insulated cooler, carrying three bottles of wine,
plus glasses, two of them, for Louis and Andre,” Rose told her.
“What will I drink out of, then?” Cheyenne asked, squeezing her
bottom cheeks as she contemplated an opening in herself that she did not
want to use for drinking.
“Why, you’ll just have to share with the men, if they let you,”
Rose replied. If they let us? I wondered at that. I looked down at my
shoes and felt I might, indeed, be just a pack horse.
“What’s in mine?” I asked. I gripped the straps and squared
the weight against myself to carry it better.
“Pillows for the men to sit on, a tablecloth, two sandwiches I
packed for them, plus some fruit,” Rose told me.
“How about mine?” Polly chirped. She looked like she expected
to be told hers carried toys. It did, of a sort, but not the kind she
was thinking of. No colored chalk, or bathtub boast.
“Whips,” Rose answered. She turned her head. Louis and Andre,
clad in hunter’s gear, but carrying nothing, came into the sunroom.
“Alright, I see the girls are ready,” Andre grinned.
“Let’s go, girls, I’m hungry!” Louis said, and walked past us,
as if we were indeed horses, albeit pretty ones. Shouldering our
backpacks, we followed them. We stepped out into the open air and felt
the breeze upon our faces. And our tushies. We were totally nude, we
three girls, except for our hiking shoes.
“Have fun, and don’t worry about screaming, girls,” Rose called
after us from the sunroom. “They’ll take you where no one can hear!”
With that send-off we walked most apprehensively behind Louis
and Andre. They led us out into the fields, past the worker’s huts, on
toward a distant mountain. I saw a jeep waiting at the end of the
field. Louis and Andre put us into it. We were allowed to take off our
backpacks and throw them in back. Then we got into the backseat and
strapped ourselves in. The seat was leather. We were offered nothing
to sit on except the bare seat itself. The men strapped us in with
seatbelts so that we wouldn’t fall out. Then, getting in front, they
drove off with us jostling in the back.
We drove up the mountain. It was a jaunty, butt-thumping ride
that took little cognizance of the fact that Cheyenne and Polly and I
were girls. We drove through indian villages, our breasts showing,
bouncing helplessly, as natives came outdoors and grinned at our
passing. Did they practise the same ritual, taking their girls into the
mountains?
When Louis finally stopped the jeep we got out. He and Andre
made us reshoulder our backpacks. Then, forcing us to lead the way up a
small dirt path, they followed. They admired our bottoms as we walked.
We were feeling a bit more like pack horses with every step, clad only
in our shoes, as if shoed like horses, carrying loads not intended for
our amusement but only for that of our masters. Cheyenne and Polly and
I huffed and puffed under our loads, climbing steadily, while the men
behind us carried nothing. My breasts swung beneath me. I wished for a
bra but had none. I wished for panties to keep the men’s leering eyes
off my bottom but, out here, the nearest pair of panties must have been
50 miles away.
The mountain was bare. There were only rocks and crags, plus
fields of daisies, all bright and glowing under the warm summer sun. I
felt bereft, though, carrying so much weight. Was this, I wondered,
what it felt like to be pregnant? Obviously the weight would be in my
tummy when I was with child but, nonetheless, I’d be carrying my
husband’s future child, bearing up under the strain, while he,
naturally, carried nothing heavier than his own erection.
We walked higher into the rocky waste. The wind was mercifully
quiet. It was as if God had set aside this special day for us and,
knowing what Polly was forced to carry in her pack, he had calmed the
winds to give us respite from them at least. I thought of horses out
West, in America, with the men walking behind them, wondering at their
asses, wondering if they might, just might...
I could feel Louis’s eyes burning into my bottom. It hung like
a white cloven marshmallow above my bare tanned legs. How close we’d
come, yesterday, to consummating our love for each other with another
punishment. And now, with my bottom quite naked, and Polly loaded down
with whips, there was no chance of me being spared again. None of us, I
thought, would escape down the mountain with our bottoms still white.
In front my snowy tits jangled in their fullness beneath me. I
panted and hefted my backpack higher on my back.
“Here,” Louis said. He pointed to a small grassy clearing
amidst the daisies. There was a sturdy log in the middle of the
clearing. I wondered at it, bit my lip.
We were led to the clearing and allowed to put down our packs.
Their packs, for their contents were picked by Louis and Andre, and
brought for their own pleasure. The men made us squat and undo the
packs and lay out their contents. Cheyenne and I unfurled a tablecloth
for the men to sit on. Three pillows were drawn from my pack, and
placed, at the men’s orders, atop the log, in a neat row that boded ill
for our bottoms. The men sat down on the blanket and had us girls sit
amongst them. Polly with fear in her eyes, was made to arrange all the
whips from her pack in a neat row on the blanket. They were awful,
absolutely the worst. Rattans braised in a fire to make their tips hard
and tough. A cat with jewels worked into the ends of each of its tails,
glittering, beautiful, but promising to flay a girl alive if its beauty
was used on her. A pony whip, used to drive horses, brought out and
laid with care amongst the other whips despite our obedience.
“Oh, I don’t wish to be whipped!” Polly moaned.
“Then drink. It’s why we brought the wine,” Louis told her.
He made her take a sip from his glass. Cheyenne, who had never been
touched by a whip, sat with frightened eyes looking at the implements,
with her palms firmly beneath her seat, afraid to let it touch even the
blanket, lest she somehow be harmed by it.
I tried to be brave. Yes, we were alone. Yes, no one could
possibly come to our aid. But Louis and Andre were our favorite guys.
Surely they would not harm us. What, though, had Louis been called away
for, yesterday? Did he still love me? Did he--my breath caught in my
throat--did he need to dispose of me? High on this mountaintop no one
would know if he did. Only the natives, and they did not share the
mountain’s secrets with outsiders. Only with Rose perhaps, but she
never asked, merely paid them to use the mountain sometimes, for her own
purposes. As today, paying to let Louis and Andre drive myself and
Polly and Cheyenne up here. Did the natives use this same clearing for
their girls? I thought the grass was especially lush here. Surely
daisies might have grown here, yet they did not. Someone had kept them
back, to allow the grass to grow. And that log. Had it not seemed a
little worn, where we’d placed our pillows. Three little depressions,
worn, perhaps, into the wood by struggling Indian girls who had only
woven blankets underneath their tummies? We were special. We had
pillows, gleaming whitely in their pillow cases. Yet our fate, I
guessed, would be no different from that of the Indian girls.
Clutching our bottoms, we each took sips from Louis’s or
Andre’s wine goblets. Little was said, save for the occasional
simperings of Polly. But even she seemed to accept her fate, finally.
The sun shown down as the men ate their sandwiches, offering us none,
admiring our bare brown-limbed bodies. Polly asked to pee and they led
her to the edge of the clearing and squatted down and relieved herself
in the lush grass. I took the same opportunity. There was no fighting
it. Once put over the logs, we might be kept there for hours. Cheyenne
went after me.
“It is time,” Louis said, after we were done and we’d wiped
ourselves as best we could with handkerchiefs and moist towelettes. We
were taken to the log. Our hands were cuffed in front of us, to keep
them away from our bottoms, though we might frig ourselves, if we
wished. Louis and Andre told us we could if we needed to. It would
make it easier for us, they said. Then Cheyenne, and Polly and I, their
faithful pack horses, were made to kneel in front of the log, as if to
receive communion before it. They did not serve us wafers and wine,
though, but instead bent us over it. I felt the softness of the pillow
receive my tummy. I felt my head pressed down on the far side of the
log until my cheek met the lush grass.
“Oh, please don’t, Louis,” I begged.
“Spread your legs,” was all he said in reply. His hands came
between my thighs and opened them. I felt the sun on my hiney. How
carefully I’d protected it from the sun’s rays, yet now here I was,
white-bottomed, with nothing covering me. And Rose would not disapprove
now, would she? No. Nothing must come between a girl’s bottom and the
whip.
Polly whimpered.
“I’m not going to give you a gag,” Louis told her. I want to
hear you scream. Scream as much as you like.
“I have to... I have to go to the bathroom again,” Polly
claimed. The men fixed leather straps into the wood and bound them over
the small of our backs. We were truly imprisoned now.
“You don’t have to go to the bathroom, Polly, you’re just
saying that,” Cheyenne scolded. Perhaps she was trying to distract
herself from the inevitable. Her voice was shaky, unsure, but she
scolded Polly anyway.
“I do too! Very badly,” Polly said, but immediately began
crying in soft sobs of fear.
“Then just hold it,” Cheyenne snapped, almost on the verge of
tears herself. We had been so good, and now the men were fixing to
treat us horribly!
Not content with bolting us down to the logs, or tying our
hands, the men next fixed spreader bars to our ankle straps. They used
these poles between our legs to keep them wide apart. I had one between
my legs, a good three-footer, spreading my legs right up to my hiney,
and Cheyenne had one, and Polly, who was now blubbering, got one also.
“Pee right where you are if you have to, I don’t care,” Louis
told Polly.
“Okay, I WILL then!” Polly declared, though her tears.
“Well?” Louis asked. The girl’s bottom shivered but she
delivered no pee.
“Now I don’t have to,” Polly gulped.
“You never did,” Louis replied. “Extra strokes for you my dear
Polly, for being a liar!”
“It was just a likkle fib,” Polly pleaded. Tears rolled anew
down her wet cheeks.
“Bye, I love you,” Cheyenne said. She was closest to me and
she turned her head to me.
“Bye bye,” I replied, shivering, for I knew we were just
seconds away from our torment. The men hefted their whips behind us and
swung them into the wind and commented on the possibilities of their
uses. Meanwhile, not to limit their enjoyment in any way, they stripped
off their clothes and stood buck naked behind us, enjoying the sun on
their cocks, their balls. They were fully erect and promised to ream
Polly and Cheyenne and I most astutely once they’d finished punishing
us.
Louis bent over me and kissed me. I felt his dangling cock
bounce off my heinie.
“I love you,” he whispered to me. “And I love your bottom.
That’s why I’m going to whip it.” His finger was under my chin and I
lowered my mouth quickly and caught it between my lips. I sucked hard,
but I did not bite him, I did not bite.
Andre gave Polly her goodbye kiss. And then they both kissed
Cheyenne, making me feel just a tad jealous, despite my fears.
Louis got behind me and caressed my bare fanny. His cock
bobbed just behind its spheres, tempted, but wishing to see me punished
by the whip first. After he’d touched me with his hand he picked up the
implement he’d chosen to start off with, a soft leather whip with thin
cords. Deceptively he brushed it over my ass, touching me with it in
soft warm caressing movements, as if it were a sponge instead of a
whip. Then, abruptly, he stood. Andre, who’d been playing with Polly’s
ass, stood also.
“We’ll share Cheyenne,” Louis told Andre.
“Sounds fine with me,” Andre said.
“Let’s see which of us can make them cry the most,” Louis
suggested.
“They’re already crying,” Andre replied. And we were, though I
at least tried my best not to. I knew it would hurt and we would not be
spared.
When we rode through the Indian village at dusk they turned out
to watch our jeep pass. Louis drove slowly, as a hunter might, showing
off his catch. Polly, Cheyenne and I could not sit. We were bound over
the back seat, our asses high, still frigging ourselves to try to
assuage away the pain that they’d inflicted, Louis and Andre, high up in
the mountain crags, amidst the daisies. We were red-faced, sobbing.
Our tits swung with every movement of the jeep’s rolling wheels. Polly
gasped anew as a fresh orgasm seized her. It was our only hope of
relief. Our bottoms, sore and ruthlessly cloven by our boyfriend’s
pricks, red as the sunset, offered us no respite. Only our fingers
could, working constantly at our slits. We’d been fucked anally, not in
our pussies, perhaps purposely, so we’d still be playing with ourselves
when the jeep drove down from the mountain. I knew we were making a
spectacle of ourselves. I heard an Indian woman laugh. Young children
giggled. They knew we were being naughty. They did not know of whips
or penises but they knew girls must not rub themselves. Even the
littlest girls knew that. Yet here we were, big girls by comparison,
and we were frigging ourselves, and they could see by our bottoms that
we’d paid for our naughtiness. What they did not know was that we had
not frigged ourselves and then been punished for it. We’d been
punished, despite our goodness, erotically punished, and we’d had to
frig ourselves as our only hope of taking our minds off our bottoms.
Rose received us back at the castle with hugs and kisses. We
were bathed and put to bed, all in my room, so we could console each
other. The men had not bothered to put salve on our bottoms but Rose
did, after our bath.
“Stop playing with yourselves, girls. It’s over,” Rose told us
before turning out our light. Then she clicked it off, shut the door,
and we cried ourselves to sleep. Downstairs, Louis and Andre smoked
cigars and regaled Rose with our torments. I heard her tinkling
laughter through the open window, Louis’s gruff descriptions. I could
not hear his precise words but there was no question he and Andre were
telling her about their day.
In my dreams, after I’d fallen asleep, I saw Rose make love to
Louis and Andre, and I know my dreams were true.
“Such bad little girls!” Rose scolded, waking us at first
light. I was hungry. I’d not eaten all the previous day, and had quite
forgotten about it, after my spanking up in the mountains. She served
us breakfast in bed. We ate like spoilt children, the three of us all
in a row. Our covers were pulled up to just below our breasts, letting
our nipples show quite naughtily, but we revelled in the naughtiness,
not caring, and Rose did not mind either. She left her own breasts bare
so that we would feel more comfortable in her presence. We were all
females. We ate with our fingers and she helped us drink our cocoa,
lifting our heads for us so that we would not spill it on ourselves.
As I sipped my cocoa, feeling so special and cared for, I felt
my bottom against the smooth white sheet. Just the pressing of the
sheet against it made me wince a little. I heard Polly whimper as she
shifted within the bed to better accept her cocoa. And Cheyenne, our
newest friend, mewled out a sulky little whine.
“My, such pampered little girls,” Rose chided. She wiped my
chin with a napkin. I’d let a little of the cocoa escape my lips. “You
receive a nice punishment and all you can think to do it whine about
it.” Polly, despite her bottom, eagerly opened her mouth and vied, like
a little kitten, for a sip from my cup. Rose gave her a taste and Polly
greedily drank down the rest of my portion.
We were not harmed. No, just reminded every moment of how our
bottoms had been treated. Whipped, with all manner of implements, all
of them carried aloft into the mountains by poor Polly, the littlest of
us.
As unnecessary and unpleasant as our whipping had been, the
ride home had been even worse. Sitting was, of course, out of the
question. Even we knew that. So the men had simply dumped us over the
back seat of their jeep and strapped us down to it. Fortunately,
perhaps to show they were not utter brutes, one of them went to the
trouble of uncovering a coil of soft rope. He’d rummaged around in the
jeep until he’d found it. I didn’t see who. I was too busy crying.
Our upper thighs had rested against the seat back, not our
hips. This was to permit our hands to freely frig ourselves. It was a
necessity. I don’t think I could have borne the ride back if it weren’t
for my busy fingers. Even hiking down the mountain, forced to carry the
very packs that had precipitated our distress, we had to play with
ourselves. All three of us, myself, Cheyenne, and Polly, had traipsed
down the mountainside with at least one hand busily fondling our slit.
Meanwhile, the men followed, leering at our bottoms. Their loins were
utterly satisfied. They had pried their way into our clenching
bottomholes with their ‘meat-packer pricks,’ as they called them, and it
was hardly a wrong name for them for I felt more stuffed than a
Christmas turkey when Louis, who had to work at me for quite some time,
finally got his awful Thing up me. I could not relax with the severity
of the strapping he’d given me. He’d had to fight his way into my
nether hole, while I screamed and kept gyrating my bottom and clenching
and squeezing it, trying to throw off the scalding burns from the
strap.
The air, passing over our upraised tushies on the ride back
down, had proven a welcome relief. I remember wiggling my ass at the
sun, not caring if it tanned me, hoping to somehow cool down my bottom
in the wind.
The men deposited our backpacks in the small bed at the back of
the jeep. My chin bounced on my backpack as they drove us home. To the
castle. It was our home now.
“It hoits!” Polly had sobbed to me as the sun set.
“Keep rubbing!” I’d shouted back to her between my own sobs. A
moment later she’d crooned into orgasm. The wind blew through our hair,
streaming it out beyond our faces. Our backs flexed as we worked
ourselves into orgasm after orgasm. We were very wet girls by the time
we got back to the castle.
“There. Breakfast’s all done,” Rose announced a little later.
She laid down her knife and fork. We’d all eaten from the same
silverware. It was easier that way. Polly smacked her lips.
“Mmmm! I liked my eggs,” she declared.
“Let’s just hope the eggs in your womb don’t like all the sperm
that’s been pumped into you,” Rose replied. “I haven’t been keeping up
on your pills like I should have.”
“It’s okay. I was fucked up the butt yesterday,” Polly
replied. She spoke quite frankly, as if telling teacher she’d caught a
frog in her palm, or memorized her multiplication tables.
“And how was it, darling?” Rose asked, caressing Polly’s face.
The girl looked down. Her eyes gazed at her nipples. I watched as the
tips hardened.
“It was...bigggg,” Polly answered.
“Andre fucked you?” Rose asked.
“Mmm hmm,” Polly nodded. She bobbed her chin. “He was weally
big but I just kept bearing down, like he told me, opening my
bottomcheeks as much as I could. Except, it was hard to breathe ‘cause
his penis actually pushed the air right out of me!” Polly exclaimed.
“It always feels that way when a man fucks you, up the bottom I
mean,” Rose said. She stroked Polly’s blonde hair. She lifted a strand
to get it out of Polly’s eyes. “You’ll get used to it, darling. And as
for you, Fleury,” she said. Her eyes met mine even as she continued
playing with Polly’s hair. “Louis wants you put into a butt-harness.
You know, the little item I told you about earlier. You’ll wear it all
day from now on at the castle. He insists he wants you more
accessible.”
I bit my lip. I did not want to be... altered. Rose knew my
apprehension and, as if to console me, she slid a finger into my mouth.
I bit down on it. I sucked it and looked up at her with wide eyes.
“Some men wish to have their girls made more receptive, using
such a device,” she explained simply. I was aware of Cheyenne, next to
me, swallowing. Her throat was dry. Our cups were empty. She was
swallowing fear. Polly said nothing. She listened, watching the tips
of her nipples. She knew no such device was intended for her. Andre
liked her just as she was.
We bathed and tidied up in the bathroom. Then Rose took us
downstairs to show our bottoms to the men.
Trooping into the parlor, I was amazed to see we were not
alone. Rose had preceded us by a few minutes. She sat interviewing a
young mother and her husband. With them were their two daughters. They
were moppets, kindergarten-age, squirming in their seats and oblivious
to what their mother and father were discussing.
“I’ll want daycare for the children,” I heard the mother’s
voice say. She turned and saw us. Polly, myself, and Cheyenne were
utterly nude. Louis and Andre were seated on the sofa in their tuxes
and we marched up to them and turned around.
“Oooh, they’re naked!” one of the woman’s moppets exclaimed.
“They’ve been bad, girls,” their father told them. Their
mother would have shushed them, I think, but her face was ashen and she
was sitting very stiffly beside her husband.
“We have nursery facilities on the premises,” Rose said to the
young mother. She was writing on a pad. “So you’ve not had enjoyable
sex since the birth of the twins?”
“No,” the father of the moppets answered.
“It happens sometimes. A female gets pregnant, becomes a
mother, and then feels the pressure of her new babies. I’m sure it was
especially true in your case, with twins. But there’s no reason you
can’t both resume an active sex life. Sometimes the woman just needs to
be reawakened. We have all the necessary things for that here. As you
can see, we help young girls get in touch with their bodies all the time
here.”
“Yes,” the young mother answered. The father looked at us with
an interested eye.
I felt Louis palm my bottom. It didn’t hurt too much, except
his hand was calloused and their roughness made me flinch.
“Oh! You spanked me too HARD yesterday,” Polly told her
boyfriend Andre. Louis laughed. Cheyenne stood between us, waiting her
turn, just as she’d had to wait for her turn yesterday upon the
mountain. At least today the hands passing over us were consoling ones.
“Bend down,” Louis told me. I leaned forward and reached down
and grasped my ankles. He pried apart my nether cheeks and examined my
hole.
“I told her we’d begin widening it today,” Rose said to Louis.
“Good,” he answered. He pressed the pad of his pointing finger
against my hineyhole.
“I don’t want mine made bigger!” Polly said, as Andre made her
bend over, and Cheyenne too.
“Another year and we’ll do it, maybe,” Andre mused. “Or
perhaps I’ll have you branded back here. Don’t squeeze your cheeks so.
I’m trying to see into your hole.”
“I know! That’s why I’m trying to squeeze it shut!” Polly
blurted, but the prying of Andre’s fingers finally won out and he
treated himself to a close examination of her. Polly wiggled, rocking
to and fro on her heels, an impatient child waiting to be let up. Her
breasts swung freely under her chest. I wondered if we’d been ruined at
all by our ride back home in the jeep. Our tits had swung like fruit in
a windstorm, jounced and jostled by the jeep. We’d been without bras,
of course. We’d not brought any. We’d ridden unprotected, despite the
best efforts of our mothers to keep us in training bras from the minute
our breasts had started growing. I looked at mine. They seemed okay.
Louis reached out and passed his hand over my dangling nipples. He
liked them, anyway. He plumped my breasts in his palms and for a moment
I thought he would rise up and unzip himself and take me right there, in
front of the two little girls.
Perhaps he might have, but Rose uttered his name and his hands
slipped away from my tits and he slapped my flank to make me stand up
again.
“You do not mind if your wife is fucked by others?” Rose asked
the husband of the young mother matter-of-factly.
“No,” he answered. His eyes were on us. Three underage girls
with our tits wobbling and our bottoms quite well-spanked. The twin
little girls giggled. One of them lifted her dress and began playing
with herself.
“Don’t,” their mother said. She slapped away the girl’s hand.
But the little one went right back to frigging herself, and her sister
soon followed.
“No harm will come to my daughters?” the wife asked.
“They will be returned to you as virginal as they are now,”
Rose smiled. “Girls,” she said, addressing them. “The reason the big
girls across the room got spanked is because they played with themselves
like you’re doing now.”
“Ooooh! I don’t want a spanking!” the one who had started the
game of frigging announced. She withdrew her hand from her panties.
Her sister copied her, pulling her hand up quickly and abruptly.
“That’s better, girls,” Rose told them. Their father nodded at
them approvingly.
A young woman walked into the parlor. It was the neatly
dressed maid who’d attended to Polly and I on our first night. She had
on her traditional maid’s costume, complete with its perky white hat and
apron, plus a skirt made of black cloth that was shorter than any maid
might wear in ordinary employment, but not so short as to show anything
if she was careful not to bend over.
“Kelly, take these two to the nursery,” Rose told her. She
pointed at the two kindergarten girls. “They’re frisky. Best to put
both of the them naked in the baby pool and give them some toys. Is
little Johnnie about?”
“Yes’m, he’s been showing me his cock repeatedly this morning
and I don’t know what to do!” Maria said. There was a look of
exasperation in her voice.
“Well, he can go swimming with these two,” Rose said. “They’re
all the same age. There should be no harm in it.” She turned and
cocked an eyebrow at the girls’ mother. She nodded, just a small nod,
but enough to show her approval.
“I played with boys when I was their age. It was... fun,” the
girls’ mother said. “No fucking, of course.”
“Of course not,” Rose answered. “I’ll make sure no perverts
barge into their nursery. And Kelly,” she turned her head. “Make sure
Johnnie doesn’t get out of hand.”
“Yes’m. I don’t think he knows of such things, actually,” she
replied. “He seems not to know yet that he can diddle himself.
“Right. Well, these two will teach him that, I’m sure,” Rose
replied.
Kelly beckoned to the two girls and they leapt from the chair
they were sharing. They were eager to get out of the stuffy parlor.
Their mother lifted a hand to call them to kiss her goodbye. Rose
caught her hand, held it. She shook her head ‘no.’ The girls raced
from the room and Kelly had to run to catch them. Her dress flipped up
in back and I saw the girls’ father gaze with interest at her pantied
rear.
“Well, let’s get started then,” Rose said to the girls’ mother
as soon as they’d left. “Stand up and take off your clothes.”
“My..?” the young mother protested.
“Show me everything you’ve got, darling. Don’t be ashamed of
yourself. You look to me like you’ve got a great body! I’ll need to
see your cunt to see what birthing those two darling girls has done to
your sex. And your breasts, too, to see what effect nursing has had.
Precious little, I’ll bet. I think most of your inhibitions are just in
your mind. But don’t worry, dear, we’ll rid you of those here at Cunt
Castle!” She smiled as she spoke the name of the place. I felt my tummy
tighten and, looking at the mother, I know hers did. What an awful
name! Yet the mother, with her husband prodding her, stood up. She
fiddled with the buttons on her blouse.
“We’ll take her right upstairs and give her a good caning to
get her nice and weepy,” Rose told the young mother’s husband. “Yes,
dear, everything. Take your clothes right off. You’ll be crying and
moaning and showing us how nicely your ass wiggles in a few minutes.
Don’t be shy. There’s no point to it. Here at Cunt Castle all must be
seen, and continuously too. You won’t have need of any clothes for days
to come!”
“Oh, I don’t want to,” the mother whined. Her knees bent and
her legs seemed about to collapse underneath her. Yet, somehow, she
kept her fingers working, and I watched as the buttons of her blouse
opened, showing her belly and her curves.
Louis and Andre stared past us. I think they were fascinated
by the sight of this young mother shedding her purity and agreeing to be
broken in at the castle. Her husband developed a pronounced tent in his
pants. Polly and Cheyenne and I, not able to sit, stood and watched as
the mother undressed herself. Her blouse fell away. She reached behind
herself and unzipped her dress.
“Oh, what is happening?” I heard a youthful voice cry. My head
snapped toward the doorway. It was one of the twins! Kelly appeared
and scooped her up.
“But what is mommie doing?” the girl asked.
“She’s undressing, dear,” Kelly answered. She sounded
distressed.
“But this isn’t our house,” the little one persisted. I heard
no more. Her mother, blushing, continued removing her clothes. She
reached back and unhooked her bra. It popped open. She shed it. Her
tits proved large and firm. Nursing had not harmed them. I was glad.
I wanted babies too, but I didn’t want to lose my figure.
The young wife slid off her panties.
“Mmm, a nice bush,” Rose said. She lifted a hand and plucked
at it with her fingers. “Turn around, dear. Show me your ass.” The
young mother gulped and turned on her feet. Behind her the plump
fullness of her ass spread out before Rose’s gaze. Motherhood had
broadened her seat and given it a mature look. It was quite different
from Polly’s slim little ass, which still resembled the twins’.
“Oh, I should like to go swimming in a baby pool too,” Polly
sighed.
“There is a nursery for big girls up in the attic,” Rose said,
turning to Louis and Andre. “Please take your young women up there.”
But Louis ignored Rose. “Sir,” he said, speaking to the twins’
father. “If I may, I would love to fuck your wife for you.”
“Oh, Brent! You would NEVER!” the young mother blurted. She
turned to her husband.
“It would be a waste of opportunities if he didn’t,” Rose
suggested to the father.
“Could I ask for a trade?” the father, Brent, replied to my
Louis.
“Which do you prefer?” Louis asked. He passed his hand in a
sweeping gesture along the level of our bottoms. We stood like children
before Brent, although across the room from him.
“I’d like all three,” Brent answered. “My wife’s worth it.”
“Sounds okay,” Andre nodded to Louis. “We could both do her.”
“Louis!” I cried. I turned and looked at my lover. Would he
give me away so easily to a man we didn’t even know?
“Agreed,” Louis said. He stood. He and Andre and Brent all
got up and shook hands on the matter.
“I’ll have you fitted into your butt belt later,” Rose reminded
me. Was I still to be widened for Louis even though he gave me away so
cavalierly? I didn’t like that.
“Good morning girls,” Brent said. He came up to us and eyed us
like a farmer at an auction of domesticated animals. He was tall and
good-looking. But still, he was older than Louis, and did not have
Louis’ broad build. “Let’s go up to the attic,” he said. He gestured
for us to lead the way to the door. Louis and Andre, meanwhile, made
the acquaintance of Brent’s wife. She was as nude as ourselves now, and
I guessed we’d all be feeling like tarts before the day was over.
To get to the attic we found we had to climb up a ladder. To
my dismay, Brent stood below and watched as, one by one, Polly and
Cheyenne and I climbed up. Our tushies, still red from our spankings
the day before, shimmied as we climbed. There was nothing we could do
to keep him from staring at the full glory of our fannys, right into our
clenching cracks, showing our bottomholes as we lifted our legs up to
the next rung. They were widely spaced, as if to force us to show
ourselves more freely. Of course our cunts were completely at the mercy
of his prying eyes. I tried to cover myself with my hand but sighed
aloud as I realized climbing a ladder one-handed, especially one with
such widely spaced rungs, just wasn’t safe.
Polly went up first. Brent watched her with a father’s
attentive eye, as if afraid she might fall. Next Cheyenne went, and
finally myself. There was a trap door at the top but Polly managed to
lift it to let us through.
“Oh, swings!” I heard Polly exclaim. By the time I got up I
found she’d gone to a small swingset in the attic and was pushing at a
swing with her hands. It was an infant swing. It had a full seat,
rising right up to the waist, a kind of bucket, actually, but with leg
holes for the passenger’s legs to stick through. And there was a third
hole, between the twin leg holes, for something...
Stepping closer, I saw the third hole between the leg holes
wasn’t the only addition to the attic’s infant swings. Down below,
where our seats might sit, there was a hole through which some object
might be pushed into the fanny.
“Would you like to swing?” Brent asked Polly.
“Oh yes, please!” Polly exclaimed. “I like swinging.”
“Polly,” I cautioned. I felt I should warn her about the extra
holes. But before I could, Brent had lifted her up, just like one might
lift up a baby. Polly’s legs wiggled as he slotted her into the seat
and fitted her legs through the swing’s leg holes.
“Wheee!” Polly shouted. Brent got behind her and began pushing
her in the swing.
“Oh, I’ll do it!” Cheyenne offered. She seemed happy about the
swing, as happy as Polly. Neither of them noticed what I did. There
was a generous hole over Polly’s slit, through which Brent might
introduce some unwanted object right into her. And where her small
bottom sat, there was a hole through which he might push himself yet
again.
When Polly had gotten her swing going nicely, Brent called
Cheyenne and I over to him. He sat down in a child’s chair next to a
child’s table. Cheyenne and I took seats of our own. They were small.
They made my knees stick up and my ass complained to me about their hard
plastic surface. Brent sat with his own legs spread out. There was a
visible spear growing in his crotch. It pointed straight up with his
need.
Cheyenne looked happy. She seemed to enjoy being with this
man. I was ambivalent. It was all very well for her, perhaps, but my
boyfriend was downstairs fucking this man’s wife!
“You have a boner,” Cheyenne giggled. She gazed pointedly at
Brent’s erection.
“When I was in nursery school we always had ice cream!” Polly
called from her swing. “Chocolate or vanilla. Every day. Whichever we
wished!”
Brent thought a moment, then gazed about the room. “I want you
two to see if Polly can have some ice cream,” he told Cheyenne and I.
“Maybe there’s some Kool-Aid at least.”
“Alright,” I answered. I saw a small refrigerator next to a
set of toy cabinets. I went over to them, bent, letting him see (there
was nothing I could do otherwise) my bottom.
“Keep your legs apart!” Brent called to me. Ah, he knew the
rules of the castle. Reluctantly I widened my stance. He looked with
interest at my cunny, snug between my legs.
There was nothing in the toy cabinets except empty boxes and
cans. I knelt and opened the fridge. God must have blessed Polly.
There, within, stood two big tubs of ice cream. They were brand new. I
lugged one out and called Cheyenne over. We each brought one to the
table. I found an ice cream scooper in the toy cabinet.
“There aren’t any bowls,” I lamented.
“Catch, Polly!” Cheyenne called. She had opened her tub of ice
cream. It contained strawberry. She scooped out a ball of fresh
strawberry ice cream and flung the scoop at Polly.
“Aaack!” Polly cried. The ball of scooped ice cream struck her
right between her breasts. It slid down her tummy and nestled atop her
slit.
“Ooooh, it’s cold!” Polly lamented. She picked up the ice
cream, all the same, and held it to her mouth and bit into it. “I don’t
really like Strawberry,” she said.
“Then have some Vanilla!” I cried. Getting into the spirit of
things, I scooped up vanilla from my own tub of ice cream and tossed it
at her.
“You missed!” Polly replied. Sitting in her swing, she looked
glumly back at the place on the floor where my ice cream ball had
landed.
“I’ll try again,” I said. I passed my hand over my forehead
and scooped up another scoop. I tossed it at her, aiming carefully.
“Ooooh, got it!” Polly said gleefully. Reaching out her hands,
she just barely managed to catch the ice cream. She put it to her lips
and began eating it, while the other scoop lay on her thigh. “Ooops!”
she said. Looking down, eating the vanilla, she saw that the strawberry
scoop had once again rolled down onto her slit. She picked it up,
decided to try to hold both scoops at once. She was beginning to look
quite messy.
“What a clever idea,” Brent mused. He looked at Cheyenne and
I. “You two get on either side of me and throw ice cream at each
other,” he said.
I didn’t like the idea, but Cheyenne was pleasantly surprised
by it. She plunked down her tub on Brent’s left knee, while I put my
tub on his right. I found another ice cream scooper for her in the
cabinet. Brent unzipped himself so any lost ice cream might fall on his
prick. We both gasped as we saw how big he was. Not the size of Louis
and Andre, but still a worthy member. I felt a little better about
entertaining him.
With our hair loose about our shoulders, our makeup still
perfect from our morning toilet, Cheyenne and I got on either side of
Brent. We eyed each other.
“Who’s first?” I asked Cheyenne.
“I don’t know. I guess I can go first,” she replied. “Say
something insulting to me.”
“You’re a slut,” I told her.
“Okay, now hold still while I throw my ice cream at you,” she
said. Brent waited, watching us both, stroking his prick. Cheyenne
stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth and scooped up a big scoop
of ice cream from her tub. Then she gazed at me, while I stood across
from her with my hands on my hips.
“You’re a slut and a lousy shot,” I told her. “And don’t get
any in my hair.”
“Your hair on your head or your muff?” Cheyenne asked, and she
launched her scoop right at my private.
“Yikes!” I exclaimed. I watched as her scoop flew across and
landed right where she’d aimed it. I found myself looking at a big ball
of ice cream right on my delta. Slowly it slid off and plopped like a
turd to the floor. Behind it left a runny smear of strawberry in my
pubic hair.
“Alright, my turn, wise ass,” I told her. In answer, Cheyenne
turned around and happily mooned me.
“Some ice cream would feel good on my bottom!” Cheyenne said
invitingly.
“Okay, you’re going to get it, then,” I answered. I tossed
well, but she flinched at the last moment.
“No fair! You have to stand still,” I told her.
“Rats,” Cheyenne said. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”
She resumed her salacious pose.
“I want to play too!” Polly cried. But she was stuck in her
swing. She could not get out of it without someone lifting her out.
Cheyenne and Brent and I ignored her. I wanted to have my
second shot. I scooped, aimed again, and plopped my ball of ice cream
right on Cheyenne’s left cheek.
“Oooch! That’s cold!” Cheyenne shivered. The ice cream fell
to the floor, leaving a smear in its wake that was white.
“At least this way you’ll get a white bottom,” I told her.
“My turn!” she replied. She made me stand still and we
continued like this, back and forth, until we were both covered with
splats of ice cream. Twice we hit each other on the boobs, and once I
struck her in the face, not meaning too, but aiming too high for her
tits. Polly bleated all the while that she wanted to join us. Finally
we bombed her with ice cream, just to make sure she was as messy as we
were. She almost cried, but held back her tears, knowing it was just in
fun. Brent rubbed himself the entire time. I feared he might cum but I
didn’t really care. I was more worried about what was happening
downstairs with Louis.
“Well, there’s only one way to clean up ice cream that I know
of,” Brent said. He pointed to a small child’s bed in the corner of the
room. “You and Fleury go and lick it off each other,” he told
Cheyenne.
Cheyenne, enjoying her nudity and with an eye toward the
promise of Brent’s erection, crossed over to me and took my hand.
“Let’s make up,” she said.
“Alright,” I replied. We kissed. We did it for Brent. She
took my face in her hands and we wiggled our bottoms as our tongues
touched. I felt her nipples perk to mine. Polly, still unsatisfied,
begged to join us. Cheyenne took my hand and led me over to the bed. I
waited while she turned down the covers. Then we both slipped into it.
We kissed again, briefly, and then I stretched out on the bed. She
knelt beside me. She smiled at me. I smiled back, waiting for her
tongue. I glanced at Brent.
“Play with yourself,” I encouraged him. I wanted him to cum so
we might escape downstairs.
“Alright,” Brent answered. “See if you can make me cum.”
“Oooh, I’m tired of swinging! I want OUT!” Polly moaned.
“Quiet, girl! Stick your finger through that hole in the front
of your swing and play with yourself right along with me,” Brent ordered
her.
“Oooh, this is naughty,” Polly said, discovering for the first
time that there was an extra leg hole in her swing, unused. She reached
over the front of her swingseat and poked her finger at her slit.
“You’re still a slut,” I said to Cheyenne.
“I know, but I’ll bite off your nipples if you call me that
again,” she said softly to me. She lowered her face to my tits and
began licking them. I sighed. I parted my legs more widely and her
hand slid down my creamy belly to my cunt. “You taste good,” Cheyenne
told me.
“Thanks,” I answered.
I shivered and turned my head on its side. What an unusual
room we were in! Some awful pedophile must have designed it, for it
was, in effect, a playroom for very small children. There was the toy
cabinet, made of plastic. There was the swingset, with twin swings,
designed for infants, except with bigger seats. There was a children’s
table, low to the ground, with small seats designed to hold little
children’s bottoms. I saw Play-Doh, rattles, pacifiers, lying about
aimlessly, waiting to be picked up and played with. But also there were
dildos, of varying sizes and designs. Plus condoms, casually laid out
so they might be picked up and used at a moment’s notice. Off in one
corner there was a baby pool, already inflated, with a hose stretching
out from a faucet in the wall so it could be easily filled. Within it,
waiting, were water wings, a toy telescope, a pinwheel, and a plastic
boat. Beside it stood the de rigueur bottle of Mr. Bubble, housed in a
bottle shaped like Winnie the Pooh. Underneath the baby pool was a big
fluffy towel, laid out, for obviously any girls who got into the pool
would make splashes and toss water out of the pool. The floor itself
was softly carpeted, to protect the little bare feet that were sure to
scamper across it. Above, a skylight allowed the sun to brighten the
room naturally. We might have been outside in the yard but, given all
the opportunities to fuck, we were instead in a private attic,
sound-proofed, with the trap door locked securely. It would be our word
against Brent’s as to what happened here, and I guessed his would win.
We were, after all, just little girls, weren’t we?
Cheyenne slurped her way down my belly. I glanced down at my
tits. They were sparkling clean, save for the saliva left behind by her
tongue.
“You’re doing a good job,” I shivered. Her fingers lightly
played along my slit.
“Thanks,” she answered. I opened my legs a little wider.
Despite my misgivings about being here, I couldn’t deny I was enjoying
myself. I stroked my fingers along Cheyenne’s thigh. She shifted a
little. “Not yet,” she teased. She shifted her hips away from me so
that I could not reach her slit.
“What do you want me to do to you?” I laughed. My bosoms
bounced nakedly on my chest.
“I’m going to take you right to the brink, and then you’re
going to do me,” Cheyenne said. She lifted her face from my body to
speak to me. There was ice cream on her nose.
“You’re wicked,” I said. I did not want to be aroused and then
left hanging.
“You’ll tongue me very nicely if you’re desperate,” Cheyenne
said happily. She saw my hand edging toward my cunt in response. “No,
don’t play with yourself,” Cheyenne warned me. “If you do I’ll find a
whip and flay your bottom, and ask Brent to help me.” She grabbed my
hand by the wrist, lightly but firmly, a finger on her hand extended as
if she were holding a teacup, and moved my hand away from myself.
“What, are you the domme?” I asked her, a bit surprised. She
was the newest girl! She had not even met Branson yet.
“Yes, I am the domme, at least for now,” Cheyenne said to me.
She placed her face over my tummy and swirled her tongue round my navel,
once, then ran it directly, in a continuous line, right down my belly
and through my pubic mound to my slit. She beavered into me and I
shuddered uncontrollably. I gritted my teeth, smiling, and bucked up my
hips.
“Ohhhh, please don’t,” I begged. I didn’t really want to be
here with Brent. I didn’t want to let myself go like this. I’d just
wanted to get him to cum, and then escape downstairs. But now I was
sinking into the abyss of pleasure, and anything might happen to me now!
Brent came to our bedside and stood over us and massaged
himself. I looked up, then Cheyenne. “Please don’t shoot on us,” I
begged him. I didn’t really want a semen shower. He reached down and
pushed Cheyenne off me. She toppled back and landed on her
bottomcheeks. She’d been kneeling over me, but she let him roughly push
her back, as if she were a rag doll. She sat with her legs open and her
slit showing. I think she wanted it more than I did, despite the
licking she’d tantalized me with.
“Get up,” Brent told me.
“Oh, please,” I protested. Lying underneath Cheyenne’s
attentive tongue was, I was sure, much better than anything Brent had
planned for me. But he took me by the arm and yanked me up from the
bed. I stood shivering beside him, naked as he was, warily eyeing his
cock. He’d undressed since Cheyenne and I had taken to the bed. He
ordered me over to the toy cabinet. What was he thinking?
“Find me a nice pair of dildos,” Brent said to me. I glanced
about. There were a few lying about, intermixed with the toys someone
had left out, but I guessed he found those unsatisfactory. I opened the
toy cabinet. Well, there were none here, I realized. But drawers down
below held out some promise. I began opening them and soon found one
full of dildos, all laid out in a pile, like sausages, with a red velvet
handkerchief underneath them.
“Pick two,” Brent said quietly to me. “They need to have studs
on the end so they can be clipped into the holes on the infant swing.”
He spoke quietly. I bit my lower lip and tried to suppress a
smile. Cheyenne had gotten up from the bed and gone to Polly and was
swinging her. Polly, who’d spent the last five minutes complaining that
she wanted out of the swing, was now ordering Cheyenne to push her
higher and higher.
“WHEEE! Go higher!” I heard Polly yelling in the background as
Cheyenne, her tits swinging, dutifully pushed on Polly’s seat. I found
two well-sized dildos for her, with the proper studs, and plucked them
from the drawer. Polly would be giving quite different orders in a
minute.
Cheyenne, perhaps sensing mischief, stilled Polly’s swing as I
turned and approached them. Polly gazed at me with childish eyes, big,
round, unknowing. I walked easily, feeling quite tingly in my slit
thanks to Cheyenne’s licking, swaying my hips sexily to excite Brent. I
was getting into the mood of the moment now. I’d stopped thinking about
escaping from the attic. With a leap of my heart I realized that Brent,
or perhaps Cheyenne, had lofted Polly’s hands up high over her head and
fitted them into cuffs. The cuffs hung down from the overhead pole of
the swingset, the horizontal pole, where the swing itself was attached.
I felt my nipples grow harder as I realized little Polly, quite nude in
her swing, would be utterly at my mercy.
“What are those for?” Polly asked me. I dangled the two dildos
temptingly before her eyes.
“They’re for you,” I laughed. “Polly, you’re going to sit in
the Seat of Doom!”
“Nooooo!” Polly shrieked. But Cheyenne put her hands to
Polly’s little ribs and held her tight in the seat. Polly wriggled,
watching, as I placed the first dildo against her slit. There was a
hole in her seat, her slit plump against the opening. she was utterly
at my disposal.
“Mmmm, you’re wet, Polly. Have you been playing with
yourself?” I asked her.
“Nooo,” Polly gurgled, watching me with big eyes. Brent handed
me a jar of vaseline. How thoughtful of him. How forgetful of me not
to remember it. Quickly I larded the dildo with vaseline, sticking it
into the jar and then drawing it out.
“Pleeeeaze,” Polly gasped, watching. It was a nice big dildo
and would plug her quite well.
“This is only the first of two, Polly,” I laughed. “The second
one goes you-know-where.” Cheyenne laughed with me. Polly screamed,
like a little girl might, playing at the pool. I pushed the dildo right
into her. She was tight but my dildo was well greased and she’d
wettened herself my being naughty in her swing.
“Oooh, ooh, ooooh,” Polly gasped, each gasp a little yelp. The
next thing I knew, Brent, our ever-handy man, was passing a penis shaped
ball gag to Cheyenne. The girl accepted it eagerly and wrapped it over
Polly’s gasping mouth.
“Gooooo,” Polly moaned, fighting the gag. But Cheyenne got it
right in and buckled the head strap on her. I fitted the dildo entirely
within her moist slit and latched it onto the clasps on the swingseat.
Next I took the second dildo and, burrowing it in the vaseline, I
proceeded to jam it up her bottomhole, right through the convenient hole
that had been cut in the seat.
Polly was beside herself. All three orifices of hers were
plugged. I found the butt dildo the hardest to get up her but I
persevered until the task was done. Cheyenne began swinging Polly when
I’d finished. We looked amazing. Tanned, healthy, with ice cream
smeared over ourselves but our hair still pretty. Polly wriggled in her
seat, utterly captive, utterly unable to escape. What a pretty picture
she made! Brent began fisting himself furiously. I turned to him and
touched a finger to the head of his cock.
“You, sir, are a pervert,” I told him. And he was, too. He
must have eyed his little daughters every day, wanting them, but quite
unable to have them, of course, because they were born for other men,
not their father. Now there was a real girl, with boobs and all,
displayed in the seductive, captivating infant seat. One he could fuck
at will, with Cheyenne playfully pushing her. And there was me, of
course, the nearest twat. We were all just twats, I think, and him a
cock. We cared nothing for him, nor he for us. But we did have a
healthy admiration for each other’s privates.
I reached under Brent’s cock and clasped his balls. They were
huge, hairy. I cupped them gently, afraid to hurt them, they seemed so
full and swollen. I felt his twin eggs and carefully gave each one a
little squeeze.
“You’re in need of emptying, sir,” I told Brent frankly. “You
could hurt yourself, trying to carry around this much sperm. How do you
manage to find pants that fit you?” I squeezed each of his eggs again,
more forcefully. I think he liked the idea that I might hurt him.
“Ohhh,” Brent moaned. His huge chest rippled with his
anxiousness. He wanted to cum, yet he did enjoy so much playing with
himself, I think he just wanted to be stiff forever. “I’ve had such a
cold wife,” Brent told me. Really, I didn’t want to hear about his wife
or his family problems, but he told me anyway. “Yet, every night, I had
to bathe my daughters. They were so.... open, available.”
“Yes, sir, you’re developing quite a pedophile problem,” I told
Brent, meanwhile taunting his balls with ever more rudeness, squeezing,
pinching them a little. Then I got an idea. “You need to watch two
grown-up girls take a bath,” I said to him.
I turned to call to Cheyenne. She was bending under Polly’s
seat. “Look, these dildos can be turned on!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, don’t!” I said. But I hadn’t selected them with the
purest of intentions. Polly’s eyes were wide as she realized what would
happen. Wide as saucers. She burbled something but her penis pacifier
kept us from hearing.
BZZZZ! I heard suddenly, and then it was joined by a second.
Cheyenne laughed. She’d turned on both of Polly’s underneath dildos,
sparing only her mouth.
WAAAK! Polly screamed within the plugging fulness of her oral
dildo. She buzzed atop the twin dildos in her ass and cunt, shivering
right along with them, her boobies shaking on her chest.
“Come, bath time,” I called to Cheyenne. I wanted to get all
this ice cream off me. I walked to the baby pool, leaving Brent to fist
himself, and bent and turned on the wall faucet. The hose gurgled and
began filling the inflated pool.
“Oh, thank God,” Cheyenne said. I’m tired of being a walking
ice cream cone. She tossed her hair and walked over to the me. Polly
was left to suffer the buzzing visitors in her holes.
“I’m thirsty,” I said. I knelt down outside the pool and stuck
my head over the rapidly rising water. Cheyenne joined me, and together
we lapped fresh water from the clean plastic pool. Brent, meanwhile,
let out a new groan of pleasure, watching our bare asses. We tightened
them. His prick was so near, and neither of us wanted to get butt
fucked by him. We just wanted to play. I felt my tits swaying
underneath my chest as I lapped at the water. I was female. The male
prowled somewhere behind me. Would he swoop down and fuck me? I hoped
not. I didn’t want him to. Yet I couldn’t resist teasing him.
Fortunately, Brent just kept fisting himself, admiring us both so much
that he couldn’t decide which of us to take first!
“Mmm, the water’s cold,” Cheyenne said to me.
“I know. It can’t be helped,” I replied. We both got up and
stepped into the chilly water. She lifted the bubble bath and sprinkled
some into the tub. She stirred the powder with her foot to make the
bubbles grow.
“Sit down, cowards. Get your bottoms wet,” Brent told us. He
came up to us and Cheyenne and I both sank down to avoid him. He was as
lusty as a satyr.
“Ohh, it IS cold,” Cheyenne exclaimed as her bottom touched the
water. Reluctantly she sat in it. I sat down too. I felt the chilly
water envelope my bottom and invade my slit. I stared at her, she at
me.
“Well, we’re seated, at least,” I said to her with big eyes.
“I hate cold baths,” I admitted.
“Me too,” Cheyenne replied, but then she splashed me. She
didn’t mind, I guess, if she made me chilly. I splashed her back. She
picked up a loofah brush. There was a soap squirt beside it. Boldly
she squirted my tits, first one nipple, then the other.
“The soap smells good, at least,” I said. It was creamy and
fragrant.
“I wish it was edible,” Cheyenne admitted.
“You would!” I laughed. She took the loofah brush and
carefully began scrubbing my tits. Her strokes were bold in their
carefulness. I felt like I was a vestal virgin being prepared for some
bizarre sacrifice. Cheyenne passed the bristly sponge-like brush over
my nipples. I gasped.
“Wait ‘til I get to your slit,” Cheyenne smiled at me. “I
wonder if this would feel nice being stuffed up you?” The brush was
long and cylindrical, shaped like a barren cardboard center from an
empty roll of paper towels.
“You are a domme,” I said to her. “But you haven’t been
whipped by Branson yet. Then you can be domme. Until then, I am.”
“Whipped?” Cheyenne asked. Her strokes slowed.
“Every girl must be,” I told her. “A penal whipping, as
repentance for all the bad things she’s going to do here at the castle.”
“Have you been?” she asked. Her face was contemplative now.
She’d ceased washing me with the brush. I took it from her.
“Yes,” I answered. I grabbed her lovely hair. “Turn around.
Show me your bottom,” I told her. Reluctantly Cheyenne got turned round
in the make-believe tub and bent herself over. She had to rest her
elbows on the towel outside of the pool. Half in, half out, her knees
in the water but her elbows outside it, her legs splayed open in the
water but her head hanging over the floor and the towel, Cheyenne
presented her bottom to me.
“Very good,” I said. “You obey well.” Then I ran the loofah
brush boldly between the cheeks of her ass, scrubbing her tender ass
crack briskly. Cheyenne gasped as she felt its bristly sponginess dig
deep into her cleft. “Yes, whipped,” I teased her. “How sore you’ll be
when it’s all over! But it must be done, before you can be a domme.”
“Umph,” Cheyenne breathed. I think she may have started to say
‘yes,’ but at the last moment she stuffed her fist into her mouth and
suppressed the sound so that it was inaudible.
“I’m going to cum,” Brent announced. He thrust forth his hips
and fisted his big cock vigorously.
“Cum in my mouth, then, I don’t want it all shooting into our
bath water,” I told him suddenly. I turned and offered him my lips. He
thrust himself into me and I prepared myself to begin swallowing. I
wanted to get clean in this tub, however cold the water might be, and go
tie up Cheyenne for her whipping. I wanted to engineer it, to make it
happen now, with me in charge of her. Brent was just an obstacle.
Perhaps his passion could be got rid of. Then he would leave us alone.
“Unh, unh, unh,” Brent groaned. He began shooting himself into
my gasping mouth. I struggled to swallow fast as his jism suddenly
erupted. My God! I felt like I’d put my mouth over Old Faithful! He
shot merrily, lustily, relieving himself of days, perhaps months, of
sexual tension. Meanwhile I lightly tickled Cheyenne’s slit. She
mewled soft sighs of pleasure. Her boobies shook as mine were shaking,
while Polly, poor girl, was left to be unpleasantly amused in her swing
seat.
30
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