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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
I stayed in my bed all the next day. Katrina told me I was
being silly, but my bottom hurt. I lay on my tummy, feeling rather like
a mother who’d given birth, with my reddened ass sticking up at the
ceiling. Katrina visited me now and then and pampered me. She put
cream on my hot cheeks. She fed me a late breakfast in bed, spooning
oatmeal into my mouth while I lay quietly clutching my teddy bear,
squeezing and releasing my derriere.
Dave entered my room, late in the day. He laughed at me for
being so childish. But he lingered, watching as Katrina bathed my face
with a warm cloth while I remained resolutely in my bed, my belly flat
against the sheets, my bottom mooning both of them.
“I think you need to get out tonight, don’t you?” Dave asked
me. He gazed at my bottom as he spoke to me.
“Oh, how could I?” I answered. I could never sit down.
“Your ass looks fine to me,” Dave said.
“Yes,” Katrina agreed. She reached down and touched her finger
to the right cheek of my derriere.
“Ooooch!” I exclaimed, drawing in my breath.
“You have one lovely line left, honey,” Katrina told me. “All
the rest have faded away. How precious do you think you can be, over
one little mark?”
“Mmmmmf,” I replied. I twisted my head back, trying to inspect
the damage myself. There was a hand-held mirror on the nightstand and
Katrina picked it up. Casually she balanced it in her hand so I could
view my backside. “Oooh, it’s a long line,” I said.
“The executioner was a master in his technique,” Dave told me.
“He could have ripped your bottom to pieces with that bullwhip if he’d
wanted to.”
“He knew I was delicate,” I replied. I wiggled my bottom and
drew in its cheeks. Katrina let out a giggle.
“You’re going out tonight, little girl,” Katrina told me. “Now
let’s go downstairs to dinner so we can fill up before the evening
begins. It’s all you can eat. You had just a little cereal today and
you’ll need more than that if you’re to have enough energy for the
night’s festivities.”
“Is your hole okay?” Dave asked. He drew close and extended a
finger.
“I already checked it, dear, this morning,” Katrina told him.
I rolled on my side to get away from his finger. He smiled, looked at
my pussy. I put a hand over it.
“I’d be happy to inspect your asshole for you if you like,”
Dave told me.
“No thank you,” I answered.
Dinner was scrumptious. The food wasn’t exotic, but I wasn’t
feeling up to exotic food anyway. Chicken, potatoes, french fries. I
was quite happy eating an ordinary meal that I could make sense of.
Dave seemed happy too. He gorged himself on the food as if we might not
eat again for awhile. I wondered where he planned to take us tonight.
Katrina picked at her food a little. She said she’d had a heavy lunch.
Dave grinned, as if he’d contributed to her fullness in some special
way.
There was a woman at a table near ours. She was tall, blonde,
quite healthy looking. Dave wondered if she was from America. I think
he was going to go over to talk to her, when our waiter arrived with a
note. It was from the woman. He unfolded it. Katrina and I looked on,
jealously. Suddenly Dave grinned. He considered it a moment, then
looked at the woman and nodded. She smiled, demurely.
“Would you excuse me a moment?” Dave asked us, looking mainly
at Katrina.
“If you insist, Dave,” Katrina answered. Dave rose, happily.
He reminded me of a boy going up to the front of his class to receive an
‘A’ from his teacher. When Dave had departed, Katrina reached over to
his place and picked up the note. I watched him walk over to the
woman’s table. There was a swagger in his hips. Dave offered his hand
to the woman. She rose, and gracefully permitted him to lead her from
the dining room. They headed for the hallway where the restrooms were
located.
Katrina was reading the note. I leaned across from my place to
hers. I gaped with big eyes, trying to read it. She titled it
slightly, so I could see.
“Am having party late tonight,” the note read, in a quick,
cursive script. It was written on a napkin. “Drinks, conversation,
dancing. Topped off w/ btm games.” There was a smiley face drawn after
that sentence. Then the note continued, “Girls fine, please bring.
Dress: lingerie. Need to measure you.”
That was all. A short, telegraphic message, on a napkin.
“What does it mean?” I asked Katrina. She gulped.
“It means we’re going to an ass party,” she told me.
“A what?” I asked. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat.
“See?” Katrina pointed at the note. “btm. That means
‘bottom.’ It says, ‘Topped off with bottom games.’”
“Bottom games?” I asked, alarmed. Katrina grinned at me.
“You look like you just sat on a tack,” she said.
“I hope that’s all I sit on,” I answered.
Dave returned. He sat down. I looked to where the woman had
been sitting, but she wasn’t there anymore. A waiter was clearing her
table.
“What’s up?” Katrina asked Dave. She looked at him innocently,
as if she knew nothing at all. She’d replaced the note by his plate.
“We’re, uh, going out tonight,” Dave said.
“Oh?” Katrina asked.
“Yeah. You know, dancing,” Dave said. He picked up the note.
He didn’t offer to show it to us, but put it instead into the pocket of
his coat. “You’ll have to wear lingerie, though,” Dave said. “Basques,
ruffle gloves, stockings... panties,” Dave added.
“My, that’s quite specific,” Katrina said.
“Don’t worry, we’ll go to a lingerie store after we eat.” Dave
cleared his throat. “I’ll have to go in with you, to make sure you both
get exactly what’s required.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go to a party where I’m walking around in
my panties,” I exclaimed. I wasn’t too keen on the ‘btm’ part either.
“What’s that around your neck?” Dave asked. I gulped. I
reached up, touched my throat. I still wore the rope he’d tied around
my neck our first day here. Katrina wore one too. They were small,
unassuming ropes, knotted behind our necks and sporting half-inch frayed
tails. They were slim, seductive in their simplicity, as if we didn’t
deserve anything better.
“It’s - it’s a cheap collar,” I said to Dave. Katrina was
feeling hers, even as I felt my own. There was no way to remove them.
A tough pair of scissors, of course, could get them off, but without
one, they were firmly knotted to us. There was no way to untie the
tight little knot which held each one in place.
“And what does it symbolize?” Dave asked.
“That we agreed to be your guests, and to let you be our tour
guide, even--” Katrina paused. “In intimate matters.”
“Good,” Dave said. He began eating again, as if he considered
the matter settled.
“What are ‘btm games’?” I asked. Katrina shot me a glare, as
if she wished I hadn’t revealed that we’d read the note. Dave looked up
from his food. He arched his brows. He cast a quick glance at Katrina,
accusingly, and then looked again at his plate. With excellent table
manners, he cut into the chicken breast on his plate with his knife and
fork.
“‘Btm games’ are games that celebrate the bottom,” Dave said.
He put a forkfull of chicken in his mouth, chewed. “Specifically, the
female bottom. There will be colonics and enemas and perhaps some
strings of beads, of different sizes, put in the available bottoms to
give pleasure and see how much a female’s bottom can handle. And you
might also expect to receive a penis or two,” Dave added.
“Oh, then I’ll be WITHOUT my panties!” I exclaimed. Katrina
rolled her eyes.
“Dave, do you really think this is a party we should go to?”
Katrina asked. Dave cut into his chicken, heartily enjoying his meal.
“I already got myself measured,” Dave said. “Not my ass, my
cock. She said she only picks the very largest and best men. She
picked me. Since I’m going, you’re going. I’m not going to leave you
two here, feeling jealous.”
Katrina laughed. “Oh, is that what she was doing to you?
Measuring your penis? I wondered--”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “And she told me you two were perfect
beauties. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“And my bottom,” I said ruefully. I reached behind myself and
cupped my ass.
“We can always leave,” Dave said. “Anyway, I want to see you
both in basques. That sounds fucking great! And they have to be
without cups, too, so your breasts hang freely. The woman said all the
females will be dressed that way, like French wenches.”
“Sounds exciting,” Katrina said, mockingly. “Especially when
I’m told I’m wearing too much, and have to remove my panties.”
“That’s another thing,” Dave said. “There’s a special greeting
at this party. And don’t complain -- I have to wear a costume too.”
“What?” Katrina and I both asked. Our eyes lit up
enthusiastically.
Dave cleared his throat, a little nervously. “I have to dress
like a Chippendale. All the men do,” he explained. Katrina giggled. I
put a hand over my mouth and barely suppressed one. The waiter at the
other table looked in our direction. I knew then Katrina and I would be
going to the party, if only to see all the cute guys in their
Chippendale outfits.
A maid greeted us at the door to the woman’s hotel suite. I
didn’t know if she lived here, or had merely rented the room for the
night. The maid was young. She spoke to us in a language I didn’t
understand. I think it might have been Russian. She was dressed
conservatively, in a traditional maid’s outfit. She took our coats.
We’d had a special evening already, Dave not only springing for our
lingerie, but for fur coats to hide our outfits under too. Safe now in
the suite, at least from the eyes of outsiders, we let ourselves be
seen. The maid hung our coats in a closet. She motioned to Dave to
undress. He wore a coat and a suit, but he had on his Chippendale
outfit underneath. He took off his coat, gave it to the maid. He began
unbuttoning his shirt.
The woman I’d seen at dinner appeared. She came round the
corner of the foyer, from the hall, and smiled at us. She was
seductively dressed in a basque. Unlike our basques, hers cupped and
covered her breasts. It rose by broad, twin straps to her neck, where
it bound her throat to hold itself up. The front of her basque, like
ours, was split down the middle, and had been carefully tied on by a
series of crisscrossing strings that ran from her breasts all the way
down the front of her belly. I could see her belly button through the
network of overlapping strings. Below, her basque ended, right at her
hips, leaving them bare. But a small panty covered her pubis. Barely.
It consisted of a very small triangle of silk, no greater in size than
the thatch it covered. It hung in place by two spaghetti thin
drawstrings that circled her waist. I guessed it was nothing but a
g-string in back, showing off her ‘btm.’ Garters hung down from the hem
of her basque and were attached to stockings. She wore matching heels,
of blue. Her entire basque was opaque blue silk with darker blue
ruffles, and ribbons. Her hair, like mine, was brushed to a high
gloss. It looked like spun gold. It hung down round her face and over
her slim, healthy shoulders. She seemed to exude vitality and
athleticism. One might have thought she was going to a tennis match,
save for her lingerie.
“Hi,” the woman said to me. “My name’s Joan.” She stepped
forward and, with a quick glance of acknowledgement at Dave and Katrina,
she plucked open the front of my panties with her hand. I, like she,
was wearing a basque, except I had to use my long hair to cover my
breasts, for Dave had insisted we wear topless basques to the party.
Joan slipped her hand into my panties. She ran her fingers
through my bush, lightly.
“Hi,” I answered. I blushed deeply. Nonetheless, perhaps in
retaliation, I reached for the front of her own panties.
“Yes, that’s right,” Joan said. She plunged her hand deeper,
between my legs. I had nothing but a g-string down there and she deftly
lifted it and placed a finger within my fig.
“Oooooh!” I sighed. My teeth jittered. I responded by placing
my palm into the front of her panties. I rubbed the springy curls of
her private.
“Very good,” Joan complimented me. She leaned forward and
lightly kissed my lips. Then, quick as she’d explored me, she withdrew
her hand. She moved from myself to Katrina. “Hi,” she said. Katrina,
looking suddenly flushed, let Joan slip her hand into her panties.
Katrina responded, feeling Joan’s muff in turn. They kissed.
Dave was almost finished undressing. He pulled his pants off
over his shoes, leaving on only a leather bow-tie around his neck, and a
leather pair, very tight and small, of underwear. His huge cock could
be seen, coiled inside the too-small triangular shorts. Below the
outline of his cock, his balls brimmed. They were so full they looked
as if they might burst the trunks. Part of his testicles couldn’t be
contained, and bulged out the crotch strap of his shorts. I looked at
it. It was hairy and looked like part of a big fleshy water balloon.
“Hi,” Joan said to Dave. He grinned. Carefully she opened the
front of his shorts. She let out a yelp as his big cock, leaping to
erection, sprung from the top of his shorts. It quavered hugely in the
air. Joan touched a shy, delicate finger to its tip. “My, you’re as
big as ever,” Joan told Dave. Her eyes were bright.
“Thanks,” Dave answered. He reached for the front of Joan’s
panties. Joan pulled back her hips.
“No, dear, you don’t get to feel me,” Joan smiled. “Not yet.
Only females can feel. This isn’t an orgy. It’s a bona-fide party. If
I let you men feel, all us girls would be down on our hands and knees,
or our backs, a minute from now!” Joan stroked Dave’s massive cock with
an appreciative finger. “Patience, darling,” she purred. Then she let
go of both his cock and the pouch that formed the front of his leather
shorts. “Put yourself away,” she told Dave. Then she turned back to
the hall she’d come from, leaving Dave to figure out how he was going to
fit his big cock back in his shorts after she’d taken it out and excited
it.
Joan clasped my hand. “You’re quite young,” she said to me. I
gulped, instinctively, thinking I was about to be bounced, somehow,
because of my age. Then she smiled. We paused in the hall. She seemed
intent on drawing something out of me before she let me pass around the
corner into the other room. Katrina paused, watching us. Dave stood
behind us, struggling to stick his hardened cock somehow back in his
pants. “Do you know what this is?” Joan asked me, frankly. I was
looking at her eyes and could only guess at what she meant.
“A party?” I asked. Joan nodded. She ran a fingernail up the
crossed ties at the front of my basque. It was sharp. But for the
strings, it might have grazed my flesh too deeply and cut into my tummy.
“What kind of party?” Joan asked. She insinuated her finger
between the ties holding my basque together in front and pressed it hard
into my navel. I gasped.
“A-- a--” I was too modest to speak it.
“Yes, an anal party,” Joan said. “For anal games and anal
sex. Do you know what anal sex is?”
“It means you get something stuck up your bottom,” I
stammered. I felt a moistness in my slit as I spoke. I hoped it
wouldn’t wet my panties.
Joan nodded again. “It won’t be easy,” Joan assured me. “Just
do your best and do as you’re told.”
“What if I have to poop?” I asked Joan. My eyes were wide. I
was both entranced and repelled by her words, by my circumstances. Out
of the corner of my eye I could see Dave still trying to get his big
pulsing prong back into his small leather shorts.
Joan laughed. “Then we’ll take whatever’s in your bottom out,
so you can go do it. But don’t worry, we’ll enemize everyone first. It
really shouldn’t be a problem.”
Katrina glanced anxiously at Dave. He seemed delighted by the
conversation, but it was doing little to help him get his penis stuffed
back in his pants. She seemed worried, but still bold. She’d told me
on our flight over that she believed in trying anything once.
“Are you willing to let an intimate place like your bottom be
owned by someone else tonight?” Joan asked me. Her eyes were frank,
direct. They drilled into me.
“I don’t know,” I stammered.
“You have lovely blonde hair, dear,” Joan said. “You remind me
exactly of me when I was your age.” She lifted my locks, brushed them
back from my breasts, exposing them. My nipples were unbearably stiff.
She touched one with her sharp-nailed finger.
“Don’t,” I hissed.
“Stand still,” Joan said. “Let me help you make up your
mind.” With that she dropped to her knees. I watched, frightened, as
she stared at my panties and took hold of them by their teensy
waistband.
“Noooo,” I breathed, but my hands fluttered upward, not down,
and Joan was able to slide my drawers down without interference. My
bush was bared. My panties banded my thighs. I wished she’d put them
back up, lest they crease my silk stockings. Joan leaned forward. She
blew softly on the tight curls of my bush. Then, without so much as
even a word of request, without any permission from me, she extended her
tongue. She let it rove across my private. Then it dipped underneath,
and I gasped. It licked sensuously at my labial lips. I was wet there
now, from her tongue if not from my own desire.
Katrina peeked round me, entranced. I blushed, I sighed, I
shivered. I wanted to push Joan away. I arched my hips forward
instead, and found my wrists sought by Katrina and pulled abruptly
behind my back.
“Mmmf! Mmmf! Mmmf!” I said in explosive gasps. Joan was
sending shock waves all through my pussy! I felt shivers all the way
down to my legs, to the tips of my toes. She closed her lips over my
sexual lips and sucked and tongued at my opening like a delicate animal.
“OHHHH!” I cried suddenly. People peered around the corner
from the other room. I flushed, seeing them. Yet they were dressed
just like me. The women wore topless basques. The men, like Dave, had
snug leather underpants on. Otherwise they were nude, save for cute
little bow ties. Suddenly I longed to be with them, to expose whatever
they wished to them. I would be theirs and, being inside me, they would
be mine. I wanted those men suddenly, even if it meant having to take
them up my ass.
Joan pulled her face from my bush. It was quite moist now. I
gazed down at her, at myself.
“Do you promise to surrender your bottomhole for the evening?”
Joan asked me.
“Yes!” I blurted. Then I wished I hadn’t, for instantly the
men standing at the junction of the hall and the room beyond seemed to
double the size of the (already enormous) cocks in their pants. One
man’s dick actually popped out of the top of his underwear. Another’s
shot out the side, cutting across his thigh.
“Gentlemen, please, mind your manners,” Joan said, turning her
head and following my eyes. Her fingers began to lift my panties back
into place. They would be wet now, I had no doubt of that. I felt the
silk touch me between my legs and immediately my juices wettened it. My
juices, and the saliva left from Joan’s mouth.
“I’m too big to mind my manners,” a man groused. He was trying
to replace himself in his shorts. “Especially in these small little
underpants!”
“You like us girls in tight little outfits,” Joan answered
him. “It’s only fair.”
“Yeah, but it hurts to keep myself stuffed in this little
leather pouch,” the man said.
“Then don’t think naughty thoughts,” Joan replied
dismissively. She turned back to me, checked the fit of my panties,
adjusted them slightly with her fingers. Then she kissed my bellybutton
and stood up. Behind me, Katrina released my hands. Joan smiled at
me. “You’ll be surrendering yourself to me tonight,” Joan told me. She
took my hand. She saw the look of dismay on my face. “Plus a few men,”
she added. “Do you think you can take several up your bottom?”
Vigorously I shook my head no. Joan smiled. “Don’t worry,
I’ll help you,” she said. “Dave told me you’re new at this. After
tonight you’ll be able to open yourself to any man who wants you.
Though it might hurt a little, training you to do that.” She glanced
down at my breasts, wobbling freely and nakedly on my chest, their tips
stiff. “You don’t mind a little pain, do you?” Joan asked me.
“Yes I do,” I answered.
“Then that’s why I’ll take special care with you,” Joan said.
“So it hurts as little as possible. But you can’t spend the rest of
your life avoiding men’s needs, dear. You have to be able to accept
them into your life and, perhaps, even control them.”
We walked into the party room. It was decorated with streamers
and balloons. Some were purple. Some were white. Many of them were
pink, reminding me of my moist interior, that seemed to be so desired
tonight. I looked for anything menacing, saw nothing. Just a wet bar,
the maid pouring drinks for us now, the other guests, perhaps eight,
milling about in their lingerie and leather bow ties and underwear.
Joan sat me down on a loveseat. She sat down beside me. Other
guests, already sitting, were joined by those standing up. Dave found
an empty stuffed chair and sat down. Katrina plopped herself in his
lap.
The maid appeared. She held a tray containing drinks. Joan
reached up to the tray. I thought she was getting herself, or me, a
drink. Instead she brought her hand down from it with a pair of
handcuffs! They were police handcuffs, made of steel.
“Have you ever worn handcuffs before?” Joan asked me. I shook
my head ‘no,’ then remembered I had, briefly, at Svetlana’s. I decided
not to mention that. “I want you to put these on,” Joan told me. To
facilitate this, she made me put out both my wrists. Then she gently
locked first one cuff on my wrists, then the other. I looked down at my
hands. They looked strange, gloved with my short ruffle gloves, made of
silk, matching the whiteness of my basque, with the steel metal
handcuffs clamped over them. I wriggled my wrists and found they were
securely bound into the cuffs. There was no more than a half-inch steel
chain between them.
Now Joan fetched me a drink from the tray. “Sherry? Gin?
Bloody?” she asked me.
“Sherry, please,” I said. My voice was quavery. My pussy felt
wet. I wasn’t sure what to do. Joan placed the drink in my uplifted
hands. I drew the drink to my mouth and sipped it. “Mmmm,” I couldn’t
help saying. I’d tried sherries on the flight over, gotten used to
them. I liked them.
Joan helped herself to a Bloody Mary. She drank it, slowly,
looking into my eyes. I looked into hers. She let her eyes fall again
to my breasts. She gazed at my nipples. “Those must be clamped,” she
said. She saw the alarm in my face. Joan reached out. She stroked my
long hair. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Though it does become you,”
she smiled. “Tonight, what is closed must be opened. What is free must
be imprisoned. All your sexual parts, save your pussy, which is
reserved to Dave -- yes I know you’re a virgin -- all your sexual parts
must be provoked. Your mouth filled, your bottom, your titties and even
your clit clamped.” I gasped. Joan grinned. “You are young, healthy.
This is as important as playing sports in school, or cheerleading. You
don’t just have arms and legs dear, you have sexual parts and places
too. These must be exercised, opened, explored, trained.”
I shivered. I didn’t want to be opened in front of all these
anonymous guests. I glanced around. Everyone was looking at me. Then,
suddenly, I felt a flush of delight. I was the center of attention!
Despite the other gorgeous women in the room, despite being the
youngest, I had every man’s eye. I sighed, shivered. Joan smiled.
“Get acquainted with the other guests, dear,” Joan told me
softly. “There are still a few more to arrive. Then, when everyone’s
here, and settled, we’ll go to the playroom.”
“The playroom?” I asked. Joan smiled, nodded.
“Yes, dear,” Joan said. “Remember, all this is for pleasure,
even if I do have to clamp your nipples for you and widen your ass.”
Joan stood up. She offered me her hand, and I felt required to
take it. She made me stand up. “Turn on the music,” she told the maid,
who still waited beside us with her trayful of drinks. There was music
playing already, in the background, but I sensed Joan wanted a change of
tune. “Turn down the lights. Let’s dance, while we wait for the other
guests.” She turned to the others, seated in chairs around the room. A
few were surreptitiously already petting and making out. Joan let go of
my hand. “Dance and mingle, everyone!” Joan called out. A few guests
rose. Joan saw a couple kissing and walked over to them. Gently she
grasped both the man and the woman by the hair. She pulled their faces
apart. “Dance, my dears. This is not an orgy. Not yet,” Joan said.
The maid turned on some music. It was a hard beat, pounding.
I liked it. I danced with several men. At first we danced a few feet
from each other but then, in each case, we drew much closer. It was
sinful, dancing like this, me in just lingerie, my bottom showing, my
titties bouncing all over as I twisted and swayed. The men looked
incredible in their briefs, bulging unnaturally. We gazed at each
other’s loins as we danced. They let me feel their equipment. I passed
my hand over the surface of their leather underpants. They cupped my
breasts, pecked my nipples with kisses. I was hot, flushed, excited.
Suddenly the music stopped. The lights in the room
brightened.
“I trust everyone’s had a chance to meet?” Joan asked. She
stood with a hand on her hips. In her other hand, she held a paddle.
It was leather on one side but I saw, strangely, that the other side of
it was covered with a soft black fur, as if she might instantly soothe
anyone’s bottom she spanked. Were we to be spanked? I clapped my hands
to my bottom. I didn’t wish to have my rear end paddled. I’d done
nothing wrong.
Joan eyed me. She brushed back her blonde hair from her face.
“Cindy, come here,” she said. She curled a finger and beckoned me. Her
face was severe.
“But I haven’t done anything,” I replied. Nonetheless, caught
under her cold gaze, I let go of the two men I’d danced with last, and
walked over to her. My hips wobbled as I walked. I could feel the cool
air of the room on my bottom and didn’t wish to change its temperature.
My pussy was warm, but my bottom was nice and cool. It wiggled sexily
with my stride.
“Bend over,” Joan told me. She pointed to a low coffee table.
The maid, now topless, with fine young breasts rising from her chest,
was spreading a soft white towel across the table.
“But I haven’t done anything!” I protested again.
“I’m not going to spank you because you’ve been bad, silly,”
Joan answered. “I’m going to spank you because you’re my favorite. You
have the prettiest bottom of all!”
“Ohhh!” I cried. I turned. Instinctively I clutched at my
bottom again. I looked at the towel on the coffee table. Was I
supposed to kneel on it?
“Take down your panties first,” Joan said. Amazingly, I
complied. I touched the drawstrings of my panties, fingered them a
moment, then pushed them down off my hips. I felt incredibly naked as
the g-string between my labial lips popped out of me and descended down
my thighs.
“All the way off?” I asked, gazing round my shoulder at Joan.
“Yes, and spread your legs wide apart when you kneel on the
table,” Joan said.
“Oh, please don’t hurt me,” I told her. My eyes were grave.
“The sooner you comply, the less you’ll be hurt,” Joan
answered. There was no change in her countenance. She looked as severe
as ever. I glanced about, looking for Dave. My eyes settled on him,
but he simply stared back at me, holding Katrina’s hand. Briefly,
Katrina nodded to me, in encouragement. Dave’s underpants looked like
they were about to burst.
“OH!” I said, disgusted. Why was I chosen to do this? Because
I had the prettiest bottom? I had the littlest bottom, that’s what I
had. Small and neat and compact and heart-shaped, with a dimpled little
anus sleeping between my hind cheeks. I stepped out of my panties. I
turned, handed them to Joan.
“Stuff them in your mouth,” Joan told me. Her voice was stern.
“What?!” I gasped.
“Do it,” Joan said. She waved her paddle at me, at my
backside.
With shivering fingers I lifted my panties to my face.
Gradually, slowly, reluctantly, but finally doing it, I opened my lips.
I pushed my panties into my mouth. I could taste myself. I wanted to
spit them out, but Joan pointed with a stiff finger at the towel-covered
coffee table.
“Oh, I don’t like this,” I said, but my panties muffled all my
words. I bent, kneed my way onto the table. The towel felt comfy under
my knees. It was thick, soft. They had taken every care for my
comfort, but to what end? To have my bottom smacked?
“Head down,” Joan told me. “Dip your back. Yes, like that.
Up with your bottom. You can raise it higher than that, girl.”
“OW!” I cried. With prying fingers she cupped my dell from
behind and yanked up my hips, intruding into my softness with her sharp
nails as she did so.
“Hold still,” Joan told me. “Don’t move. I’m going to give
you 20 smacks and I want you to count them.”
“But I have panties in my mouf!” I said in a muffled voice.
“Count them anyway,” Joan said. “I can hear whether you’re
trying to talk or not.” She took up position behind me.
I cowered with my face hard-pressed to the towel. I wished I
could sit on my bottom, instead of presenting it to her. But it was the
center of attention. My face, usually the center, was half-forgotten,
stuffed with my panties and buried in the towel.
SMACK! Suddenly a hard crack slammed into the softness of my
cheeks.
“Eeeeeeyoooowch!” I cried. My head bolted up. I wriggled my
tushy. My tail felt hot suddenly, and a shock of pain went coursing
across my bare cheeks.
“Say ‘One,’” Joan told me.
“Onefff,” I gasped. My panties blocked my speech but she could
make out what I was saying.
“Very good,” Joan told me. “Now I’m going to hit you again on
your ass and I want you to say ‘Two,’ do you understand? Did you watch
Sesame Street when you were little?”
“Yeth,” I gasped over my panties, hot with my scent.
“Good,” Joan told me. “Then you should have no problem
counting to 20.”
“No, but my bothom wil--” I was just saying, when the paddle
slammed into me again. “YEEEEEOOOOOCH!!!” I shouted. Then, my ass
grinding against itself, my cheeks tense and swaying, I added, “Two!”
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
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