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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Honey Haven part 1 of 1 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
I go to Teddy Bear High. Don’t laugh, that’s its real name.
Theodore Rooseveldt High. President Theodore Rooseveldt invented the
name “teddy bear,” so all my friends and me like telling people that we
go to Teddy Bear High.
At least, I used to go there. Then I got hired away, as a
model. At first my parents weren’t too thrilled about it. After all, I
was only 14. But the agent told my parents that I had an excellent
figure and face and needed to get started in the business at 14 if I
wanted to get ahead in it. Of course, my mom wanted me to be a star
swimmer, and my dad still somehow thought that his “little girl” was in
the third grade. The idea that I might have a sexy figure almost caused
him to punch out the agent. But, fortunately, I prevailed. I’d always
dreamed of being a supermodel. Being stuck in Peoria, Iowa, I’d never
imagined an agent would actually find me here. But she did. So off I
went to New York, and then to my first assignment. It was in Italy.
Little did I know what I’d get myself into. My father insisted
that I be “chaperoned at all times,” as he put it. The agent assured
him I would be. But when I boarded the plane for Venice, my only
‘chaperone’ was a fellow model, like me. Her name was Katrina. She was
16. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a soft, angelic face. But
her eyes gave off a worldly flash whenever she looked at you. She was
from Chicago. She’d done a little modeling before, but this was her
first overseas trip, for a major agency. Naturally I had all kinds of
questions for her. She spent the flight telling me all about
modelling. She was quite excited to be going abroad. We’d be working
for an important photographer, she said (Eveline Elginton -- the name
meant nothing to me, yet) and staying in a mansion outside Venice, not
in some hotel.
She was right on both counts. We were met at the airport by a
private limo. It whisked us out into the Italian countryside, leaving
the city and its charms, and problems, behind. We were told we could
sightsee all we wanted after our assignment was done. They’d give us
three extra days, paid, just for that. In the meantime, however, we
were introduced to Heloise, who’d rented the mansion where we’d be
staying. I have no idea who actually owned it. But Heloise was sort of
our house mother there, though not in any censorious way. She showed
Katrina and I to our private rooms. As the other models arrived, she
showed them to their rooms. A young bellboy carried everyone’s
luggage. I thought he was kind of cute -- almost cute enough to be a
model. From my bedroom window I watched everyone as they arrived. They
were all young, up through the mid-20’s perhaps, both male and female.
I noticed all of them were older than me. I felt sort of special, being
included with models who were older and more experienced.
The sun set over the Italian hills as I watched the models
arriving. The bellhop appeared at my door and told me we’d all be
boarding a bus to go to a nearby restaurant, if I wanted to come along.
He said there was no food in the mansion yet, although Heloise was busy
getting it stocked. There had been a delay or mixup of some kind. So,
still wearing my clothes from the plane, I went downstairs. We all got
aboard a bus. It was interesting, seeing all the other models close
up. I sat in a seat next to Katrina. We watched the scenery pass from
our window as the bus rolled into a nearby town. We offloaded at the
restaurant. You can imagine the other customers’ pleased looks when
they saw a whole bevy of voluptuous girls and dreamboat men walk into
the place! But we managed to have a nice meal, spread out among the
tables of the restaurant. I sat with Katrina and another woman, who was
perhaps 22. Her name was Angela. She was from Russia She had flaming
red hair that hung in loose, natural curls all the way down her back. I
felt sort of jealous of her. I was just a typical American blonde, with
long straight blonde hair down my back, that had just a few waves in
it. She looked at my bosom and told me my breasts might get too big for
me to be a fashion model. They were already fairly large and heavy, as
big as Katrina’s, and she was 16, two years older than me.
“Have you ever considered getting your breasts reduced?” Angela
asked me. I looked back at her with wide eyes.
“No,” I said.
“Well, it’s a possibility,” Angela said. “Keep it in mind, or
you may wind up doing cheesecake work.”
“Have you had your breasts reduced?” Katrina asked. Her voice
seemed a little worried, for if I had breasts that were too big, she
surely did too, for our bosoms were almost identical.
Angela brushed her hair back. Her own bosoms, I thought,
seemed a bit big, compared to some models I’d seen on runways and in
magazines.
“No,” she said. She sipped at her drink through a straw. “A
doctor in Russia offered to do it for free, if I would let him bed me.”
Katrina and I giggled. Angela smiled, kept sipping.
“It’s not fair,” Katrina said. “We’re told to get our tits
reduced, but guys don’t have to get their dicks reduced!”
Angela smiled. “You’d like for them to have to get their dicks
reduced?” she asked, still sipping on the straw in her drink. I giggled
into my hand.
“Well, I guess not,” Katrina said. Angela smiled, looked at
me. I smiled back, feeling conspiratorial, though she seemed, I think,
to have a deeper sense of it than I did.
We finished our supper and were loaded back onto the bus. We
were all pretty tired from our flights. Dinner at the restaurant had
been our first good meal all day, thanks to airplane food. Our stuffed
stomachs made us rather listless and sleepy on the ride back to the
mansion. Goodbyes were said as we filed from the bus and into the
house. We all went to our rooms. Heloise reminded us that we’d have to
be up early the next morning, for our first day’s shoot with Eveline
Elginton.
I fell right asleep. I didn’t even bother to bathe. I don’t
know about the others, but I slept right through the night. The
excitement of my first day abroad, all set to be a model, had kept me
keyed-up all day. The supper, mixed with a little wine, knocked me
out. When I awoke in the morning I belatedly took a shower. Then I
slipped into my clothes and hurried downstairs, to be ready for our
departure at 7 a.m.
Heloise had apparently been trying to get a breakfast together
for us but Eveline, who I had yet to meet, had vetoed that. It was felt
the restaurant would be quicker. So, boarding the bus promptly at 7, we
went back to the restaurant. Then it was off to the place where we’d do
our modelling.
It was a beach. It was open to the public, but fortunately it
was a weekday and there weren’t too many bathers there. The beach was
fabulous, with slow, rolling waves gently washing its sandy shore.
Being from Iowa, I guess I found most any beach impressive, but this one
was quite photogenic. Eveline Elginton was already there, the famous
international photographer. She was set up with a crew of helpers.
There were lights, and cameras, just waiting for us to provide the
action!
We offloaded from the bus. There was a small crowd of
onlookers but they were kept back by ropes. An assistant of Eveline’s
greeted us. His name was Enrique. I thought he was rather handsome, in
a fatherly way. He had greying hair and looked mid-fortyish. His
figure was straight and erect, with broad shoulders. I wondered if he
was a model too, or had been one when he was younger.
Enrique walked us to a long table. It had a wind screen behind
it, to keep back the breeze. The table was piled with swimsuits that
we’d be modelling. All the latest, of course. I knew my friends back
in Iowa would be jealous when they saw me in a new swimsuit they hadn’t
even had a chance to buy yet. Posing in a fashion magazine, no less! I
was quite excited. There were two cabanas and we were told the one on
the left was for the men to change in, the one on the right for the
women. There were privies in them too, in case we needed to relieve
ourselves.
Walking with Angela, Katrina and I made our way to the cabana.
There were perhaps a dozen females in all. Quickly we changed into the
bikinis Eveline’s assistant had helped us pick out. Then it was back
outside, where we sat under sun umbrellas for the makeup people. There
were three of them in all, and they worked quickly, for they had two
dozen of us to do in all, both men and women. It looked rather strange
to see people stripped down to almost nothing, save for small bikinis or
Speedos, sitting having their makeup done. The guys, wearing newly
fashionable ‘ball hugger’ swimsuits, sat with their cocks upstanding in
their suits as makeup women assiduously combed their hair and powdered
their features. I admit I got a few hot flashes watching that. When I
had to sit for makeup I found my nipples were poking into my bra, quite
visibly, for it was just a swimsuit bra, made of lycra. I blushed, but
nobody seemed to mind. They knew I was brand-new to modelling.
We worked all morning. We tossed volleyballs, beachballs. We
played in the sand. We swam in the sea. All the while Eveline and her
helpers directed us, and photographed us. Whenever there was a free
moment we lounged under sun umbrellas or an open-fronted tent that was
already set up for our lunch. Eveline didn’t want us to get too
tanned. She wished to keep us light-skinned, with just a soft tan on
our limbs, and our faces and bellies. The makeup people fixed our
makeup whenever we needed it and applied sun lotion judiciously. We
couldn’t look all shiny in front of the cameras. We had to look
natural, as if we were new at the beach, in our new bikinis.
At lunch we had fresh steamed crabs, brought in by a caterer.
After lunch we changed into new bikinis, and Eveline photographed us
some more. Then, as it was Europe, we girls removed our bras and played
with the men topless while Eveline took photos of us. I was quite
breathless at first, being bare-bosomed like that. Katrina, though she
hadn’t posed topless before, seemed to take it more in stride. Angela
helped us both feel less nervous. She was utterly casual as she walked
around with just a small thong-backed bikini on. She posed with us and
told us not to feel worried that a crowd of people were staring at us.
We were models, it was expected we’d be looked at, and anyway the
onlookers were watching everyone, including Eveline (who remained
dressed), and her camera men, and the guys who were modelling with us.
Of course it was the dreamboat male models who were making me feel at
least as nervous as the crowd was. But they were polite, speaking to me
softly and pretending not to notice my bosoms, and how my nipples stood
up so acutely. Angela reminded me that the men, trapped in their
‘ball-hugger’ suits, had spent the whole day with their pricks standing
up in their suits. I could hardly complain if my breasts were visible,
when they’d had to show off their credentials like that.
The sun sank low and Eveline called it a day. We retreated to
the cabanas and changed back into our clothes. The bus was summoned
from a nearby parking lot and we boarded it for home. It was nice,
being models, in the transportation department. Most people had to walk
to the parking lot to fetch their cars. But we had been granted special
priviledges by the beach authorities. Our bus could drive down the
walkway that ran from the parking lot to the beach, to pick us up, so we
wouldn’t be thronged with passersby asking for favors or autographs.
I think we were all glad to retreat to our rooms for a shower
when we got back to the mansion. All day at the beach can leave you
feeling rather wind blown and salty, even if you are a pampered model.
I bathed myself and then changed into clothes. I wore shorts and a
print shirt and sneakers. I pulled my hair back and tied it off in a
long pony tail. Heloise had finally gotten the food in, and we were
promised a casual, private meal at the mansion. I went downstairs.
There were tables set out on the lawn, in the gathering dusk. Torches
provided illumination, and a single candle set on each table. I found
Angela and Katrina sitting together at a table and joined them. Waiters
brought in by Heloise served us. It was pleasant, unhurried. Two guys
came and talked to us, Mark and Dave. They were both hunks. I felt my
heart beat faster as Dave, who I considered the handsomer of the two,
turned his eyes on me. Angela invited them to bring their chairs over
from their table and sit and eat dessert with us. We would make room
for them.
The men’s skin seemed to glow from their long day at the
beach. They had full, hairy chests that they’d sheathed in t-shirts.
They both wore baggy boxer shorts, a far cry from what they’d been
parading around in all day. Both men wore rubber zories on their feet.
They hadn’t bothered to tie themselves into sneakers like Katrina and
Angela and I had.
Mark began feeding Katrina forkfulls of her cherry pie.
Katrina could, of course, have fed herself, but she accepted Mark’s
generosity and let him put the food into her mouth for her. Dave tried
the same trick with Angela. She liked it so much that she moved from
her chair to his lap. I sat by myself, still feeding myself, and
thinking perhaps that was the best way, rather than having some man feed
me, no matter how good-looking he might be. But when Dave looked at me,
and smiled, I shivered. He kept feeding Angela but I sensed he’d have
fed me if I’d asked him to, or if Angela hadn’t been there.
I don’t know what my friends did that night, but I slept by
myself, with my teddy bear, that I’d brought with me from America,
keeping me company in my bed. It had seemed quite important to me to
bring teddy along, when I first left Peoria. But when I awoke in the
morning I looked at him and felt rather empty inside. After all, the
bellhop had insinuated that he would enjoy spending the night with me,
and a male model named Steve had walked me to my room. But except for a
quick, thankful kiss on Steve’s cheek, I’d kept him at bay. The
bellboy, despite his nice features, I’d laughted at. He, after all,
wasn’t even a model. So I regarded his offer of night time
companionship with something close to derision.
We had another long day at the beach. That night, at dinner,
Angela, sitting with me and Katrina again, and Dave and Mark and Steve
(we put two tables together), asked me a strange question.
“Have you ever done any erotic photography?” Angela asked me.
I looked startled.
“What?” I asked.
“You know, nude photography, and sex and such things like
that,” Angela said.
“No,” I replied. I had a cherry soda in a big, tall glass and
I put my lips over its straw to try to escape the conversation.
“Are you still a virgin?” Angela asked me. I felt myself
shrink in my chair. Everyone at the table, even Katrina, looked at me
expectantly. I sensed that I was unique.
“I- I tore my hymen riding a horse,” I admitted. Angela
laughed.
“That doesn’t count,” she said. She brushed her long loose red
curls back away from her face. The men grinned at each other.
“And I-- I did it with a boy once,” I lied.
“Well, then, no harm in asking her,” Dave said to Angela.
“Alright, then,” Angela said to me. “We have an offer to do
some erotic photography. A friend of Eveline’s. It’s a woman, don’t
worry, so she’ll be sensitive to your--” Angela’s voice broke off. I
expected to hear the word ‘inexperience’ but she spared saying it,
leaving her sentence unfinished. Steve, who’d been so sweet to walk me
upstairs last night, coughed. From nervous expectation or what, I don’t
know. I know I was feeling tense and nervous! I popped my straw in my
mouth and sucked at my cherry soda. The men, the fiends, admired my
lips as I sucked on it, but I knew no other quick way to silence my part
in the conversation.
Angela paid no heed to the fact that I was busy sipping my
soda. “We’ll get a good rest tonight,” she said, still looking at me.
At me! As if I’d slept with someone other than my teddy bear last night
or, indeed, on any night of my life! “The men, you know, have to be up
to the job.” She turned her eyes from me, glanced at Dave, then back at
me. “So what do you say? You can do more work at the beach tomorrow,
out all day in the hot sun, or you can enjoy indoor comforts.”
Honestly, I had no idea how to respond. The beach was fun but
I felt my heart palpitating at the offer I was being given. I didn’t
want to say yes, or no. “I’m too young,” I said finally, lifting my
lips from my straw.
“This is Europe, darling. And southern Europe at that,” Angela
said. “You don’t have to be a child if you don’t want to be. Not
here. But it’s up to you,” she added.
I looked at Katrina. She was my best friend, why wasn’t she
helping me out of this? Because, I saw in her fiery young eyes, she’d
already agreed to do it. She was from Chicago. A big city. She wasn’t
a small town girl, like me. I felt a twinge of jealousy and blurted
out, without thinking, “Okay!” Then I retreated to my straw again.
Heloise appeared at our table. “Hi, guys,” she said,
addressing us all. “Is your dinner okay?”
“Sure,” Steve answered. “What’s for dessert?”
“That depends on how exotic you want to get,” Heloise smiled.
She wore a t-shirt that she’d knotted below her breasts, plus shorts.
She let her hips sway forward, showing him the flat expanse of her neat,
suntanned belly.
“Thanks, but I’ll just take the pie with ice cream on it,”
Steve answered with a grin.
“Vanilla?” Heloise asked. As easily as if she hadn’t been
rejected at all, she pulled a pencil from behind her ear and produced a
pad and wrote on it. “What kind of pie?”
“Cherry,” Steve said.
It was with some trepidation the next morning that I got
dressed. I was, after all, getting dressed only to get undressed again,
quite soon. We were due at the photographer’s at nine. I put on a pair
of white panties, printed with tiny daisies, and felt awkward knowing
that others would soon be seeing me take them off. And not just my
fellow females in the cabana at the beach. Not today. Steve and Dave
and Mark would be there. Perhaps the photographer would even photograph
me taking them off. That thought sent a shiver up my spine. I still
didn’t know her name. I hoped she would introduce herself to me before
she asked me to strip for her.
I looked at my bed. A silver tray lay upon it. A maid had
brought me breakfast in bed. She’d said it was compliments of Heloise,
that she was trying ever harder to pamper us models. Unfortunately I’d
barely touched my food. My bacon and eggs were pristine, a waste of two
chicks and part of a hog. My coffee was undrunk. It sat well-cooled
now, in its china cup. Beside the cup of coffee lay a barely-nibbled
croissant. I was too nervous to eat. Perhaps teddy, sitting next to my
tray, would eat my breakfast for me.
I put on a conservative white bra. Then I donned a blouse,
which I carefully buttoned up. It had long sleeves and a high collar.
Finally I zipped myself into a miniskirt and slipped on modestly high
heels. I tied my hair back in a ponytail and looked at myself in a
mirror. Yes, I looked great. Then I remembered I didn’t have any birth
control. I’d never needed it before. Would I need it today? I wasn’t
sure. Perhaps not. Perhaps we would just be nude, and pretend. Yes, I
told myself. She was a female photographer, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t
ask more than that.
Katrina and Angela met me in the hall. Katrina smiled, blushed
a little. Angela put a slim arm around my waist and tossed back her
long red hair.
“Come along, Lolita, you look terrific,” Angela said in her
Russian-accented voice. I felt like I was in the grip of a bear,
despite her slim figure. Yet I allowed her to walk me downstairs.
There the men greeted us. They looked as great as we did. They wore
polo shirts, with slacks, except Steve wore shorts. I couldn’t help
admiring his stocky, hairy legs with my eyes. He saw my interest and
grinned. I blushed. His eyes fell to my breasts. I turned away,
hoping to deny him a view of them. I gazed about the large room we were
standing in. I heard nothing but silence in the house. I realized the
house was empty of models, except for us. The rest of them were already
at the beach, working hard. Heloise appeared in a doorway. She smiled
at us. She didn’t say anything. I flushed quite red, realizing she
knew where we were going.
I heard a car pull up outside.
“Come on,” Angela said. She reached for my hand and took it.
I resisted a little, then let her lead me outside. It was a bright,
sunny day. Yet I’d be posing indoors. I felt a momentary relief at
that. The sun was already hot. Then I remembered I’d be nude, in a
bedroom, with three horny guys, and felt a wave of intense
embarrassment.
Our conversation in the car was pleasantly free of innuendo.
You’d think, with three expectant guys, we’d be hearing sex jokes all
the way. At least, I would have thought so. But Steve and Dave and
Mark were men, not boys at Teddy Bear High. So instead they talked
about soccer, or pointed out sights to us girls. Angela had been to
Italy before and she pointed to a monument along the road as we passed
it.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“An old road marker, left by the Romans,” she said.
“I want to see the Leaning Tower of Pizza,” I said. “Do you
think we could go there for lunch? I like Pizzas.”
Angela laughed.
“That’s Piza, dearest, not Pizza,” Angela said. “And no, they
don’t serve Pizzas there. But I’m sure Svetlana will feed us
something.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“The photographer, silly,” Katrina said. We three girls were
sitting in front and the men in back. I was wedged between both Katrina
and Angela, Angela next to the window and Katrina next to the driver.
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my hands. “Well, I don’t know
everything.”
“You know enough to say ‘yes’ when you’re asked, and that’s all
you need to know,” Angela said pleasantly. She took my hand and
squeezed it. I looked up at her. I felt comforted by her touch. I had
an odd wish for her to keep holding my hand, right on through the rest
of the day.
We pulled up in front of an old brownstone within the outskirts
of Vienna. The driver helped us girls out. The men got out
themselves. Dave walked to up to the door of the house and knocked on
it. Large trees shaded us as we waited for the door to be answered.
Across the street there was a park. I could hear children playing in
it.
A maid answered the door. She was middle-aged. She wore a
traditional white apron and hat, plus a black pleated skirt. She bade
us enter. The men let us girls go first. Behind us, the car pulled
away.
The house was well appointed inside, but we were given no time
to admire its furnishings. The maid escorted us up a long narrow
staircase. At the top there was a hall, and we were taken down it and
through a doorway. I found myself standing in a large, well-lit
bedroom. The bed, to my astonishment, had red satin sheets. Its
headboard and baseboard were made of dark, rich mahogany. Beside the
bed, on a table, there was an ancient china water pitcher. But I saw no
glasses. Perhaps the pitcher was for washing. Under the table that
held the pitcher I saw a chamber pot. I hoped it was empty.
“Ah, you must be Katrina,” a female voice said to me. I
turned, saw a woman standing near a camera. She wore a loose skirt with
a tight bodice. It accented her breasts, which were of a considerable
size. Jewelry adorned her wrists, which were small, and a necklace
gleamed round her white, swan-like throat. Beside her were two women
assistants, more casually dressed, one in a t-shirt and shorts and the
other in jeans and a very light, pullover sweater.
“No, I’m Cindy,” I said.
“Fine,” the woman, whom I guessed was Svetlana, replied.
“Please undress so we can do your makeup.”
I realized, suddenly, that more than my face would be made up
today. Every part of me would have to be examined and made perfect.
After all, nothing would be hidden from the camera. Feeling queasy in
my stomach, with the men and Angela and Katrina behind me now, and the
photographer and her crew before me, I began to unbutton my blouse.
There were sounds of undressing behind me. Svetlana used the
time to ask each of our names, which an assistant wrote down on a pad
for her, so she’d remember them. It took me a little while to undress
and Katrina actually finished before me. She headed over to the makeup
person and sat down in a canvas chair for her makeup.
I looked around. I nearly lost my ability to breathe when I
saw the men. At the beach, their cocks had been encased in swimsuits.
I could only see an outline of them. Now, however, in the bedroom, the
men stood naked and free of their clothes. From each of their loins a
long, banana-like cock stood erect, arching expectantly up in the air.
Underneath a full sack of sperm hung. I shivered. Angela took my
hand.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” she teased me.
“I-- Yes, it is,” I said. Steve grinned at me. I blushed and
turned away.
“You’re next,” a female voice called out. We all turned. The
girl in the sweater and jeans was busy combing the tight curls of
Katrina’s pubis, but already she was motioning for Dave to present
himself. He did, walking grandly across the room with his big organ
sticking out in front of him. She took the comb from Katrina’s nest and
began working it over Dave’s more luxuriant growth. Carefully she
avoided touching his ramrod hard cock.
“Ah, what a fine member,” Svetlana said. She picked up a
portable camera and bent over Dave’s loins and snapped a picture of
him. Dave grinned, loving the attention.
My turn came next. I was seated in the same chair that Katrina
had been in. The canvas seat felt warm from her bottom. The makeup
person, whose name was Dielle, powdered my face and my breasts. She
touched up my lipstick, did my eyelashes. She stenciled my eyelashes.
She applied a very light, pink coating of rouge to my nipples that
matched their color. The tips of my nipples, already excited, rose
under her touch. I felt my nest wetten. She was down there a moment
later, carefully combing my private curls.
“Oh, you’re wet already,” Dielle said. I blushed fiercely.
Svetlana told Dave and Katrina to get on the bed. “We’ll start
with some natural poses first, then move on to more complicated work,”
Svetlana told them. I watched them both knee their way onto the bed.
It was a big, sumptous bed, perfect for lovers. Its red satin sheets
glowed under the studio lights. Unfortunately Katrina’s favorite of the
three men was Mark, not Dave. She turned and looked at Svetlana.
“Could I pose with Dave?” she asked.
“No, darling,” Svetlana replied. “You’ll all pose with each
other before the day’s through. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” Katrina answered. She looked up at Dave. She was more
than a head shorter than he, for he was a full grown man, the oldest of
the three males. Her brown hair bobbed neatly about her shoulders. It
had been glossed to perfection by the makeup girl’s hairbrush.
“Please face each other. Lean in to each other, as if you’re
about to kiss,” Svetlana ordered. “Yes, good. Don’t be afraid of him,
dear. He’s only a man,” she told Katrina.
“I’m not afraid of him. It’s just that he’s so big,” Katrina
said. She looked at Dave’s large penis and, after a moment, placed her
finger upon its crown. She tried to push him back from her.
“Darling, in the old days we were not allowed to show penises,
and mission number one would have been to jerk all the men off, in hopes
of hiding their equipment from the camera,” Svetlana said. “But things
are different now. Enjoy his penis. Let it press up against your
belly. Don’t be bothered by it, for heaven’s sake. You do like boys,
don’t you?”
“Yes,” Katrina admitted. She let Dave enclasp her waist and
draw her close to his hairy body. She flinched, feeling his cock press
up hard against her. I saw a flash, heard a click.
“Kiss,” Svetlana commanded. Dave lifted Katrina’s chin. She
closed her eyes. He pecked a kiss on her lips. She opened her lips a
little and let him kiss them again. Suddenly, their mouths meshed.
More flashes, more clicks. Angela gave a small, polite clap for their
performance.
“Now you,” Svetlana told me. “Up on the bed.” Dave and
Katrina were still deeply engaged in a kiss.
“Huh?” I said. “There’s already two of them there.”
“We’re not confining ourselves to conservative shots, dear,”
Svetlana said. “Do you think this is the 1890’s? Get up on the bed
with them.”
I rose from the comfort of my canvas chair. Katrina was still
kissing Dave, so I cast an anxious glance at Angela. But she was no
help at all. She merely smiled, nodded. I guess she approved of me
playing with her boyfriend. Suddenly I wondered if I should ask for
birth control. After all, Dave wasn’t wearing a condom. And couldn’t,
either, for the point of photographing him in the buff was to be able to
to snap pictures of, among other things, his cock. But I felt guilty,
asking, for it would mean we were to have sex. I still hoped we
wouldn’t actually do it. So I kept quiet. I felt my breasts bobbing
nakedly on my chest as I crossed the room. Dielle had slipped heels on
my feet. They made me taller, elevating my bottom. I could feel it
rolling with an alluring sway behind me. All could be seen, even the
crease between my cheeks. Absently I put my hands behind me, to hide
myself.
“No! Show your bottom,” Svetlana barked. My hands flitted
away. I saw a flash behind me, heard a click. I felt my tummy swimming
with butterflies and was glad I hadn’t filled it with a breakfast it
couldn’t have kept down. I patted my belly, trying to quell my
nervousness. It was flat, smooth, even a little withdrawn. I had an
innie navel. I explored it briefly with my finger.
I drew close to the bed. My knees banged against the side of
it. Dave, kneeling up upon the bed, turned to me. Gallantly he passed
an arm behind my back. I felt frail, captured by his big hairy arm.
Katrina reached down from her perch on the bed. Bending a little, she
freely clasped the nearest cheek of my bottom. I flinched. I felt her
hand exploring my bottom and lifted a hand to her face to try to push
her away. I tried drawing back from them. Dave’s arm kept me close. I
pushed at Katrina’s face with my hand. She opened her lips. One of my
fingers stabbed into her mouth and, closing her eyes, she sucked gently
upon it.
Flash. click.
I was undone. I was frozen forever on film, in a pose not
entirely becoming to my virginity. Whose eyes would see me when the
pictures were developed? I tried not to think about it.
I couldn’t free myself. Dave’s big arm prevented me from
drawing back from the bed. Katrina, handling my bottom, had me captured
by one finger. I relented. I let Dave pull me up between them, onto
the bed’s satin sheets. My finger slipped from Katrina’s mouth. She
smiled at me. She pecked a kiss onto the side of my face. Then, more
rudely, still palming my seat, her hand sought between the cheeks of my
bottom.
How erotic we must have looked! Our tan lines showed, where
we’d worn our swimsuits at the beach, but we were free of them now,
displaying the complete nudity of our bodies to whomever might purchase
our photos. We kissed, all three of us, nuzzling each other’s lips. To
get revenge on Katrina, I placed a hand on her bottom, though I wasn’t
so indiscreet as to wedge my fingertips between her bottomhalves.
The flashbulbs flashed repeatedly. I heard the click of the
camera.
We parted, slowly, unsure what to do next. We remained
kneeling on the bed. I gave a quick lick across Dave’s hairy chest,
then pulled back. Katrina kissed him again, on the chin, too short to
kiss his lips unless he bent his face down to her. Dave looked over at
Svetlana for direction. He was hard, pulsing. Katrina and I looked at
his big organ and imagined he must be ready to spend. Oh, too soon!
Don’t let him! I heard myself cry, inside my head. Katrina must have
thought the same thing for we both laughed, suddenly, looking at his big
manhood. Our breasts shook, attracting his eyes back to us. Suddenly,
perhaps impulsively, perhaps at a signal from Svetlana, he lifted a hand
between each of our legs. We were kneeling with our legs immodestly
open, not even really aware of it, until Steve’s big hand slid up to the
apex of our thighs.
“Oh!” I gasped. With a single finger Steve began sliding his
hand back and forth against the lips of my pussy. His finger was
stiff. I was soft and open against him. Too open. I drew my legs
together but heard Svetlana order me to keep them apart.
“Ah!” Katrina protested. Steve had one finger underneath her
as well, sliding it back and forth under her lips. I felt myself wetten
upon his digit. I looked down at his hand, heard Katrina murmur
something beside me.
We reached for his cock. He did not mind us handling it. Our
fingers were small upon his big member. I could feel it throbbing in my
grasp. Would he spend? I didn’t know. He kept up the fingering of our
nests. I let my head fling back. I breahted a fevered sigh. Beside
me, Katrina did the same. More flashes, more camera clicks.
“Very good,” I heard Svetlana say somewhere behind me.
“Spontaneous, without being disobedient to my direction. I think we’ll
get along swimmingly. Come down off the bed, you three love birds.
What do you think you’re doing this for, pleasure?”
Reluctantly Dave withdrew his hands. I felt deprived with him
gone from between my legs. I wanted him back. I tugged on his dick.
Angela appeared. She disengaged Katrina and I from her lover’s penis.
“That’s enough, girls,” Angela said. “Wait for your next pose
now. Would you like some refreshments?”
“I want--” Katrina said dizzily. I knew what she wanted. The
same as I. To continue in our wicked games. But we were models, not
lovers. With a somewhat palsied movement I slipped down from the bed.
How strange, to leave it just when we were all so ready! I blushed. A
camera caught my blush, my wobbly knees, my aimlessly flitting hands,
wishing to grab onto something that was not mine. Behind me Dave helped
Katrina down from the bed. His cock jutted at my seat. It stood up
rigid beside Katrina, pointing at the ceiling. She reached for him.
Angela slapped her hand away.
Steven and Mark, I saw, through my passion-bleared vision, were
still both hard and erect. Steven was sitting in the makeup chair,
getting his pubic hair combed. Mark was standing beside him. The
assistant in shorts and a t-shirt, whose name I still didn’t know, was
handing him a glass. It contained ice water. “Drink it down,” she said
to him, smiling. “Svetlana will want some photos of your gorgeous cock
peeing it out.”
Mark nodded, smiled. He drank down the glass. The assistant
had set up a big pitcher of ice water on a folding table. It wasn’t the
one by the bed, which I guessed was for washing, but another, fetched
perhaps from the downstairs kitchen while we were on the bed kissing.
“You too, hun,” the assistant said to Dave as he approached
her.
“Can I have a drink?” Katrina asked.
“Only if you don’t mind having pictures taken of yourself
peeing,” the assistant replied. She smiled. She poured Katrina a
glass. I asked for one too.
Six females and three males. In one bedroom. We made quite a
group. Three of the females were clothed, not models, but their
features were not displeasing. I saw my favorite of the men, Steven,
gazing appreciatively at the rondeur of the pink sweatered makeup girl’s
bosoms as she bent over him to dust a light powder onto his cock.
“What’s that for?” Steven asked.
“It will make you horny as hell,” the petite makeup girl told
him frankly.
“I already am,” Steve replied. He nuzzled the curve of her
sweatered bosom as she stood. She ignored him.
“It’s talcum powder mixed with a small dose of chili powder,”
Dielle said. “You may be horny, but not like you’ll be in a minute.
You’ll have a desperate need to rub yourself, but you’ll be prevented
from doing it. The photos should be breathtaking.”
“Men, let’s get you both handcuffed to the bed,” Svetlana
said. “Steven? Mark? Over here, boys.”
“Ach. I can feel it already,” Steven announced.
“You shouldn’t powder their penises until I’ve got them
cuffed,” Svetlana told Dielle.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dielle replied. “I didn’t know.” I realized
she must be new to erotic photography makeup.
“Over here, boys,” Svetlana said. She pointed to the foot of
the bed, where two towering mahagony bedposts stood. “Constance, get
the cuffs,” she said to the girl in shorts and a t-shirt.
I watched as Constance went to a wooden dresser next to the
bed. She opened a drawer and took out two pairs of metal police
handcuffs. She walked to the foot of the bed, where she stood
expectantly, waiting for the men. Her hair was drawn into twin,
efficient pigtails. I saw she wore no bra. Her nipples rose into her
shirt as she watched the men approach.
“Uh, my dick is feeling hot,” Steve complained.
“Put your back to the post, please. Wrists behind you,”
Constance told him. Steve obeyed. He gave me a quick glance from
across the room. I frowned. Now he liked me, and sought me out, though
a moment ago he only had eyes for the pink-sweatered makeup girl. I
felt a bit of vengeance in me. I watched with satisfaction as he was
cuffed to the bedpost. It looked very strong. There were marks on it,
as if other young men had been cuffed there before him.
Constance moved quickly to Mark. Dielle crossed the room with
her makeup kit, in order to powder his dick. Svetlana adjusted her
camera to capture the scene that was about to unfold.
Without realizing it, I began frigging myself.
“Don’t,” Angela said. She slapped my wrist. I drew my hand
from between my legs. She moved to Katrina, who was dipping a finger in
her water glass and rubbing it across her slit, trying to cool herself.
“Don’t masturbate,” Angela said. She clasped Katrina’s small
wrist and pulled her finger from her dell.
“I’m only trying to chill out a little,” Katrina replied.
“I know,” Angela said. “Go to the dresser and fetch a pair of
handcuffs for yourself and Cindy. I’ll help you stay good by cuffing
your hands behind you where they can’t get you in trouble.”
“Ohhh, I don’t want to,” Katrina said. But, tossing her long
shoulder-length locks back from her face, she crossed the room. She
opened the dresser and poked around. “There sure are a lot of condoms
in here!” she announced.
“I do a lot of sexual photography here,” Svetlana told her,
aiming her camera at the men. “We’ll use those later.” Katrina
sighed. She drew a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer. Then another,
for me.
“I don’t want any cuffs,” I told Angela.
“And I don’t want you cumming before your time,” Angela
replied. “Though you might do it as often as you please, it’s important
to keep you tense for the early photos. It makes them sexier.”
“Have you done this before?” I asked her.
“No, dear. Of course not,” Angela replied. “This is just a
lark. We’re really professional models, you know. Not erotic ones.
But I talked with Svetlana about it a lot on the phone. Here’s the
cuffs. Thank you, Katrina. Turn around, Cindy. Don’t make it
difficult for me.”
I turned. I showed her my bottom. I put my wrists behind me,
presenting them to her. In the distance I heard Steven (or was it
Mark?) groan with pent-up emotion. I wondered how much difference there
was between us, and them. They had big pricks and we had holes instead,
but we both seemed to need each other quite badly at the moment.
I felt the steel of the handcuffs press against my wrists.
They snapped shut. First one, then the other. Angela breathed on my
neck. She bent, licked my ear, as if to reinforce my new subservience
to her. I could do nothing but flinch. I felt my teats quivering
before me, all stiff and hard, heavy for my age. “Stand with your legs
open,” Angela told me. “You have only a small slit. Do not hide it
from the men’s view by pressing your thighs closed. Let them see it at
least, though they cannot touch you.”
I obeyed. Somehow, dispite my misgivings, I liked obeying. I
had only to do as she told me. She would handle the rest.
Angela turned me, so I faced directly at the men. She reminded
me to part my thighs. Then she moved to Katrina. My friend was as
submissive as I. Dave’s hands between our legs had made us exquisitely
feminine. Now he stood near us, drinking, so he could pee in Svetlana’s
photographs. I glanced at him. He smiled.
“Give me a drink,” I said. He approached, put his glass to my
lips. I drank greedily at the water, wanting what he offered lower down
instead, but accepting the water in lieu of it.
“Have you ever been whipped?” Dave asked me. My eyes bulged.
I spluttered in his glass. He withdrew it. Water dribbled from my lips
down my chin. It fell in droplets onto my breasts. They were promient,
sticking out in front of me like twin shapely gourds, forced forward by
my posture in the cuffs.
“No,” I told him, wide-eyed.
“Perhaps we can convince Svetlana to take some photos of it,
then,” he smiled.
“I don’t want to be,” I told him frankly. He pressed a finger
to my belly. He touched my navel hole.
“No girl wants to be, especially her first time,” Steve assured
me. “But there is a certain pleasure in it, you’ll find, being all
hot-bottomed, wiggling your ass.”
“But who would do it?” I asked.
“Perhaps me,” Dave replied. His fingers played lower across my
belly and grazed the top of my pubic thatch. I wondered at my being
bound, if he was going to frig me instead. “Don’t worry, I’ve done it
before,” he told me. “I know how to apply the strokes properly.
Especially on a newbie.”
“You’ve whipped other girls?” I asked.
“A few,” he said. I didn’t know if he was lying or telling the
truth. About the number, that is. About his experience, I had no
doubt. He was at least twice my age. He fondled my nest and let his
fingers wander dangerously close to my slit.
“Are you going to do it then, for her?” Angela scolded Dave.
He didn’t catch her meaning.
“If Svetlana lets me,” he answered. He looked up from gazing
at my pussy. “Oh, you mean frig her. Perhaps I will, hmmm? Just a
little.”
“Eh!” I gasped suddenly. It was an immodest cry, to be sure,
belted straight up from my tummy, but I couldn’t help it. Dave had just
stuck his finger into my snatch. Not far, just knuckle deep, but it was
the first ever to enter me. Casually his thumb searched in the folds of
my labial lips for my clit.
“Don’t!” I implored him. I gazed beseechingly in his eyes. I
searched for what, I wasn’t sure. “I’m a virgin.”
“What?” Dave asked. He sounded like a man who’d been shot.
“Ah, I knew it,” Angela said. “Now all three of them will want
her. So much for eroticism. She’s never even been opened!” She turned
from me, from Dave. For his part, Dave suddenly became much more
attentive.
“Really?” he asked. He made me gasp, and lurch forward, as he
intruded deeper in me, searching with his finger.
“Don’t!” I pleaded. “You won’t find anything. I lost it on a
horse.”
He entered me more, more, jamming his finger up inside me. But
with his other hand he stroked my long blonde hair. My pony tail
swished across my back and fell off it, dangling below my face.
“No, I feel something,” Dave told me. “Your hymen’s torn, but
not gone.” I felt his big finger in me and tried clamping my thighs,
but he easily took hold of one of my legs and pulled them apart. I was
just a girl, just 14, no match for him. “You’ll need to have this
removed,” Dave told me. “Not a problem, really. I’m amply equipped to
take it from you.” Bending under his searching, intruding finger, I
gazed at his penis. It was big, hard. Clear fluid dripped languidly
from its tip.
“Will we have some honeymoon photos today then, hmmm?” I heard
Svetlana say. Angela was telling her about my ‘problem.’
Dave used my resistance to his advantage. He bent me further.
He reached behind me. He palmed my ass. “How about your bottom?” he
asked, feeling my cheeks. “Have you been giving it away in back, to
save yourself in front?”
“Noooo,” I bleated. I felt his hand part my cheeks and a
finger probe against the rubbery ring of my anus. “I’m virgin ALL
OVER!” I shouted, but it was too late. He’d already stabbed at me. My
ring gave way and I felt his finger within my puckered hole, up to the
first knuckle.
“God, you’re tight. Quit squeezing your ass. I told you to
keep yourself open, girl!” Dave reproved me. I heard a whip crack in
the distance. I gasped, thinking somehow it was me, but then realized
it was one of the boys. Mark? Steven? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know
that much about them, yet. But it wasn’t Dave, for he kept me bent
over, a finger up my twat and another exploring my asshole.
“Do you want her, hmmm, boys? My, how you struggle against
those posts! Keep jabbing at me with your cocks, yes! How helpless you
look. Thrust at the camera, boys!” I heard Svetlana say. “Don’t worry
about Angela and her penis whip.”
CRACK! Again the whip. Again a scream, but it wasn’t me. It
was one of the poor boys, chili powder burning his dick and a whip
cracking across it to make it hurt even worse. I hoped Angela wasn’t
being too hard on them. They had fine penises, and I was soft on
Steven. But at the moment, bent over by Dave, I couldn’t do anything
but listen. I wriggled against my captor. Dave laughed. He drew his
finger from my ass and pulled out of my twat.
“There, stand up,” Dave said. “A virgin, by God! In all your
private places and with an unwhipped bottom, too! I’m going to have fun
with you!”
I shivered in his grasp. I didn’t think I wanted any part of
his fun. But he jabbed at my belly with his penis, smearing his pre-cum
across my smooth, tanned flesh, as if it were his right to. His
absolute right. Well, he was the biggest and the oldest male in the
room. But I was the littlest female. Surely he had no right to claim
dibs on me. I was too young for him!
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
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