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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!”
I turned my head to look behind me. Really, I did not deserve
this! I wished to party, not to be spanked. Couldn’t I please get up,
I begged through eyes, wide with pleading. With my mouth I tried to
implore her to stop. She smiled, wanly, as if many years of handling
girls like me had wearied her a little of all this, and dulled her
interest. She was an expert with the paddle. I was too young to
appreciate her skill, her eyes seemed to answer. Then she tossed back
her mane of blonde hair, aimed carefully, and brought the paddle
sweeping in again. It skimmed in low through the air, at a forward
angle, then rose abruptly and caught me on the underside of my hinds.
“YEEEEEOOOOOCH!!!” I screamed. The thudding impact of the
paddle lifted me. I shut my eyes. Joan had given me no mercy.
Instead, she’d hit me on my tenderest part! I felt my knees bounce on
the towel. I flung my head about, my scream continuing, ending in a
gasp. I shook myself, like a dog emerging from water. My bare tits
wobbled like gourds upon a vine. I opened my eyes. I blinked back my
budding tears. Wimpering, I looked around, found Dave again. He had a
pained look on his face. I implored him with my eyes, thinking he was
feeling sorry for me. Then, my eyes dipping to his crotch, I saw it was
his own penis he was in pain over. His snug leather undershorts cupped
and held his loins. Within them, he’d grown to massive proportions.
His cock, its outline visible against the thin leather, strained at the
front of his pants like a snake caught in a trap. Indeed, his cock was
caught, for despite the straining power of his loins, the pants were
designed to hold just such a member. These were, he’d told me, pants
from the gay subculture. They were sewn by craftsmen who admired the
male penis above all else. They lived to test the penis, and work it,
and skillfully manipulate it. Now, gazing my eyes about, I saw that all
the men were in a similar pain to Dave’s. The females had caught on,
meanwhile, to the pleasure of seeing their men so uncomfortably
disposed. Whenever one popped open, the nearest female stuffed him
ruthlessly back into his shorts.
“Oh, God!” A man cried. His cock burst suddenly from the top
of his little leather underpants. It wobbled in the air, a big banana
loving the coolness of the room after the long, hot confinement of his
pants.
“No, no, dear,” the woman next to him smiled. Gleefully she
took his penis with the small fingers of both her hands. Another female
dashed over and drew open the man’s pants. Together, wrestling with his
manhood, they somehow managed to jam the stiff member back where it
belonged.
“Egggghh!” the man grunted. His chin rose, his neck strained
within the circling confinement of his bow tie. His broad shoulders
flexed and his chest, huge and hairy, tensed as if he were lifting some
enormous weight. Yet, obedient to Joan’s wishes, he kept his hands at
his sides. He did not interfere with the girl’s efforts. His big
fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping at nothing, at the air, though
I knew he longed to smash both women to the ground.
“Unh! There!” one of the woman proclaimed at last. I heard
the front of the man’s underpants snap securely shut. Both women wiped
their brow with the backs of their hands.
“You were almost impossible,” a woman told the man. It was a
compliment, it seemed, for her eyes were dancing.
“My God these pants are tight,” the man gasped.
“No, you’re just thinking naughty thoughts, that’s all,” Joan
called from behind me. “Good work, girls!”
Suddenly, as I gaped at the man, Joan let fly with another
swing of her paddle. It caught me full on both my cheeks. There was a
loud “THUD!” My slim throat gasped, my eyes blinked, a scream tore
unbidden from my throat and filled the room. My hips worked like a
maid’s, scrubbing floors, even though I was doing no work but receiving
the swings of the paddle. Pain coursed through both my cheeks.
“YEEEhooooooth!” I uttered. Then, with a wheeze, remembering
suddenly to count, I gasped, “Tweeeee!” My eyes clenched shut. My hair
shook about my face. My back arched, flexed, then dipped again lest she
punish me for not showing obedience in my posture. I was learning. I
hated it, but I was learning to endure a proper bum whacking. Somewhere
deep in me, a small delicate part of myself, newly born, complimented
me. ‘Good job,’ it whispered to me. ‘You perform beautifully. You’re
driving the men wild.’ I hated it. I hoped it would be paddled out of
me.
“I’m disgusted with you,” Joan growled behind me. My eyes
blinked open. What could she mean? I was doing so well! “That’s swat
number four,” Joan told me hotly.
Suddenly, before I could even plead my case, apologize for my
forgetfulness, the paddle exploded against my behind.
“YAAAAAAAAAAK!” I shouted. My bottom lofted upward, fire
shooting through my bulging cheeks. My ass clenched, released, fanning
the flames, involuntarily, that now engulfed my hinds. I could hold
back my tears now longer. They burst from my eyes. I screamed again,
feeling yet new waves of pain take hold of my bottom as I worked its
cheeks. I was wanton. I was uncaring. I rolled my cheeks and shook my
ass like a two dollar whore inviting men to her room. I was Bottom,
nothing else, burning, reddened cheeks that knew no stillness, no
modesty.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The paddle struck again, in rapid
succession. Joan counted the blows aloud herself and gave me no time to
even try. I shouted. I lost control. Tears streamed down my cheeks
and my ass, well punished, worked itself like that of a horse in
gallop. Yet I was running no where. I was kneeling, crouched on the
towel. My bottom up, my head down. Somehow I kept my back dipped,
despite the soft bobbing of my head, the straining of my neck, the
arched-high workings of my ass.
Oh, how it hurt! My cheeks felt like a blow torch was upon
them. I burned all over my hiney. I was the sun, rising in the east,
blazing its new hot rays upon a dewy morning. The men watched. I could
hear them grunting. Each impact of the paddle seemed to give them new,
unwanted inspiration, making their cocks strain harder in the
stranglehold of their pants.
“Mmmm, lovely,” I heard a woman say. Her voice lisped, softly,
as if admiring something very beautiful. Was it me? But it couldn’t
be, not with my hiney as hot and red as the coals of a barbeque!
“Take your hand out of your panties, or I’ll spank you next,”
Joan scolded. At first I thought she was speaking to me. I yanked at
my hands, frightened, then realized they were cuffed, tucked underneath
me, cushioning the rise and fall of my breasts. My panties were in my
mouth. “Take your hand OUT!” I heard Joan say again.
“Mmmm, but I can’t! She looks too pretty!” I heard the woman
reply. Katrina! It was her! Ooooh! How wicked she was! I had no
idea she was enthralled by my punishment I was still hoping she might
save me!
SWAAAAK! The paddle blasted into my bottom. It was the
hardest, I swear. A scream broke from my lungs. My head lifted,
dropped, lifted again. My ass waggled in the air helplessly, unbearably
absorbing the sting. I couldn’t. I realized the pain was too great.
Suddenly, clenching my cheeks hard, I dropped flat upon my tummy on the
table. Taking a cue from Katrina, I jammed my hands down between my
legs. I felt my fingers make contact with my little bush. I rubbed
them hard in the fuzz, pushed lower, seeking. Yes! I found myself. My
spot. Screaming in pain, in fear, I fought against the paddle’s awful
sting by rubbing my clit.
“Ooooh! Oooooh! Oooooh!” I gasped in a series of screamy
sobs. Each touch of my fingers upon the magic spot sent thrills of
pleasure through me. I was wet already, from Joan’s lickings, her mouth
upon my puss in the hall. My bottom, hurting terribly, tensed against
the inevitable onslaught of the paddle.
It never came. Instead, I heard Joan say, “Yes, dear, you’ve
learnt to take pleasure from pain. How wonderful! It will open up
whole new horizons for you. Rub yourself! Enjoy the sting of the
paddle on your tush as you bring yourself to orgasm. It will be the
first of the night, the first of many. How the others wish they could
join you, eh?” She must have glanced at the guests, for at that moment
I heard a scream from Katrina. I heard Joan shout something and, when
at last I turned my head to look, I saw Katrina on her knees. She had
her hands thrust down into her tiny pink panties and she was rubbing
herself furiously, as I was. Her breasts, freely hanging from her
topless basque, shivered their tips at me. Her head was flung back and
Dave had grabbed her by the hair, perhaps to stop her, but she kept
masturbating, oblivious to the eyes of everyone. Joan stood over her,
holding her paddle, waiting for her to finish.
“Ohhhhh, Katrina!” I mouthed from within my panty-stuffed
lips. I did not wish to see her punished, even if she’d delighted in
seeing me dealt with. It hurt. She would be in agony. She thought,
perhaps, it was bearable, but I knew better. Joan was awful, with that
paddle. ‘Stop frigging yourself, Katrina!’ I tried to call out. I
tried to warn her, but my mouth was muffled with my undies. Dave kept
Katrina’s head pulled back, forcing her to look up, perhaps at the
ceiling, perhaps at his own groin, displaying a prominent cock-shaped
bulge at the front of his black leather pants. Joan waited quietly.
She watched, we all watched, even me, still rubbing myself, as Katrina’s
fingers thrust and dug within her slit.
“OoooooooHHH!” Katrina cried, suddenly. Her breasts lifted.
Her tummy drew in hard, making a hollow beneath her ribs. The basque
fell in with her stomach, clinging to her tightly. It was like a sheath
upon her, clutching at her middle, while above her breasts wobbled
nakedly and below her legs strained upon the carpet. Her tiny panties
suffered under the exploring intrusion of her fingers. Their
thread-like waistband seemed certain to snap free of her hips at any
moment. Katrina worked her slit hard, gasping and groaning in a most
unladylike manner as she brought forth the fruit of her orgasm.
“HOOOOOOOO!” I shouted suddenly. I shut my eyes. I heard
Katrina blurt forth a wild scream. We were both cumming! I twisted my
hips. With the heat of my well-punished bottom tormenting me, I dug
hard in my slit. My hips bounced upon the softness of the towel beneath
me.
I ground my teeth. I let out a sob. I waggled my ass
indiscreetly, not caring now about anything, just my own hot pleasure.
In the distance I heard Katrina sob, moan, sob again. The flower of my
orgasm opened and engulfed me.
When it was over, my pleasure slowly seeping away, I lifted my
head. I looked at Katrina. She was down now, on the carpet, on her
knees. Dave had been permitted to sit in front of her and, amazingly,
he had been allowed to push down the front of his leather pants so that
his cock could stem free. It wavered in the air. It was big and thick
and meaty and I gasped upon seeing it. Katrina, doggie style in front
of him, facing his penis, gave its head a small, solicitous lick with
her tongue. Then my eyes lifted and saw Joan. She stood behind
Katrina, her paddle poised to begin Katrina’s punishment.
“Crawl forward and accept his cock in your mouth,” Joan told
Katrina.
“Oh, no! It is too big!” Katrina replied. Dave looked up at
Joan.
“She has a lot of trouble with it,” Dave said to Joan. It
really is too big for her.”
“Ridiculous!” Joan scoffed. “Are you not her lover?”
“Well, yes,” Dave said. I saw his hips nudge forward a little,
on the carpet, as if anticipating her next words. His cock trembled.
Katrina, about to lick it again, instead drew back from the big,
purplish head, her eyes expectantly widening, as if in fear.
“How fortunate you are to meet me, then,” Joan said. “I
watched you at the restaurant, with your girls. You are much too
solicitous, Dave. They are yours. You’ve collared them-- look at their
necks! They are your property and they must learn to love you
properly.”
“One’s only 14, the other 16,” Dave answered. But from his
voice I could tell he spoke in defense of his honor, rather than in
defense of us. His cock throbbed, he moved his hips a little closer to
Katrina’s face. He reached out, suddenly, and grabbed her hair. Her
eyes glowed with fright. He pushed his hips forward again and pressed
his cockhead to her lips. She was trapped. She could not back up.
Joan stood at her rear, a leg thrust down between hers. She tried,
bumped her bottom against Joan’s knee.
“Your girls will both be trained to love you tonight,” Joan
said aloud, solemnly. Her voice sounded like it was presiding over a
wedding. “With their mouths, their bottoms. Their cunts I do not care
about. Any girl can spread her legs, even a virgin. But slaves, slaves
like these, must be more helpful to a man. It is not enough simply to
open one’s legs. They must be accomplished, or they are hardly slaves
at all. Hardly even lovers.”
With that, Joan stepped from between Katrina’s legs. My friend
might have moved back then, save for Dave’s grip upon her hair. He
offered her his cock. She refused. She kept her lips pursed tightly.
He shoved the pee-holed tip against her mouth. Lipstick rubbed off her
lips onto his knobby crest. Yet still she denied him. Was she being
wilfull? I had no doubt she’d more skill than that! Yet, knowing not
how far she’d be forced to take him, she preferred to resist and not
take him at all.
WHACK! I shut my eyes, hearing the sound of the paddle. My
hands flew instinctively up from between my thighs and clapped
themselves to my bottom.
“EEEEEEOOOCH!” I heard screamed, and realized it was me, for my
heinie was still raw from my own paddling.
“BOO HOOPTH!” I heard from across the room. Opening her mouth
to scream, Katrina had suddenly received Dave’s cock.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Came the paddle again. Joan seemed to
show no mercy. I heard her shout that Katrina was 16 and ought to be
trained, by now, to the paddle. I kept my eyes shut, fearing to see.
“Mmmm, let me help you,” I heard whispered in my ear. The
voice was soft, feminine. My eyes popped open as I felt delicate
fingers touch my tush. My hands, long since having retreated, due to
the tender state of my ass, now tried to to bat her away. “No, no,” she
breathed. “Your bottom must be creamed and soothed.” I heard a rustle
behind me, as of a bag being set down on the table, opened. I pressed
my tummy hard against the towel underneath me and waited. I drew in my
breath.
“HOOOO!” I blurted when I felt her fingers touch me anew.
There was a squirting sound, and a cold cream spurted across my ass.
“Ooooh, no! It hurts too much!” I protested. But I pressed my hands
flat against the towel, by my thighs, and let her begin her work. My
legs, tense, spread apart.
“My, what a tiny little rosebud you have,” I heard her say.
Her fingers opened my cheeks, exposed the interior of my crack. “Do you
want some cream in here?” she asked. She giggled. I tried to protest
but she squirted me there before I could say anything. I doubt my
words, muffled by my panties, would have stopped her.
“Yes, you’re going to be fucked right here,” I heard her murmer
above me. Her finger, cream-laden, swirled around my bumhole. I
shivered under her touch. Was she right? Was there no relief, no
escape from this awful place without first surrendering my anal
virginity? I gasped again, looked around at the men. To my surprise, I
saw that many of them had freed their cocks. Joan had not given
permission. But she was busy swatting Katrina, and they, obviously
aroused, seemed able to bear her teasing no longer. The women, too, it
seemed, had tired of the game of self-denial. They played their fingers
over the men’s dicks, strumming them, it seemed, like instruments, while
their fingers played over their pantied dells. A few women, choosing
not to heed the very punishment Joan was now delivering to Katrina for
such a crime, stuck their fingers into their undies and freely diddled
their slits.
“Unnnh!” I gasped suddenly. The woman tending my bottom began
to massage it. She cupped my cheeks and forced me, through her
fingering, to wriggle my ass. New darts of pain shot through me. It
was horrible, I thought, needing this type of treatment. Her very touch
was a curse.
“No, darling. Don’t try to escape me,” the woman said. I was
trying to slither away across the towel. “Hold still and accept,” she
said. “Be sensible. Cream has to be applied to your bottom after a
paddling. It helps it heal. You don’t want to walk around with red
cheeks any longer than I you have to, do you?”
It was some twenty minutes later when Katrina and I found
ourselves standing before the coffe table. The towel, showing a small,
wet place where I’d spent upon it, now had a big steel bucket sitting on
it. Within was soapy water. My panties lay beside it. They were
crumpled into a little ball. They were soaked with my saliva. I
wondered if I’d have to wear wet panties home.
“You must wash your pussies, you naughty girls,” Joan told us.
She seemed not to mind that others now showed their loins, that perhaps
even a few females had cum. Dave had not. Straining, at the last
moment, he withdrew his cock from Katrina’s throat before spending. She
had taken the whole length of him, I think, though I’d been too scared
to look when she was really swollen and full of him.
The males stood around us, their leather underpants a thing of
the past. The floor was littered with them. Intermingled with the
men’s shorts were female panties. We were all naked at the waist now,
though the men still wore their ties and the females, myself and Katrina
included, still wore our basques, our ruffled gloves, our rope collars
(which we could not remove), and our stockings. Despite my spanking my
stockings still had no runs in them. I had checked them, being let up
at last from the table, and been surprised at how new they still
looked. They were fine silk, a whip might have torn them open. But
Joan’s paddle, well placed, had left them undamaged. I liked my
stockings. Dave had bought them for me. He said I looked great in
them. With my long legs, I imagined he was right.
“Open your legs and thrust forward your hips,” Joan told
Katrina and I. We obeyed. We each held a sponge. There was only one
bucket, though. We would have to share it. “I want you both to scrub
your pussies,” Joan said. “Don’t be shy about it. Keep your legs apart
and let everyone see. Rub yourselves. You seem to like it. Rub
yourselves with the soap and hot water and remember I have my paddle if
you don’t obey.”
I sniffled. My bottom was still horribly sore and I knew
Katrina’s must be too. She still had tears in her eyes. Mine had
dried, but there were stains running down my cheeks where my crying had
streaked away my rouge.
“Begin,” Joan ordered. Katrina and I both leaned forward. We
bumped each other’s shoulders as we both reached for the bucket. We
looked at each other. We giggled. Katrina’s giggle ended in a little
sob. The heat of the paddling was still intense upon her bottom.
“You go first,” Katrina sniffled. I dipped my sponge in the
bucket. I drew it out. Worried I might get my stockings all wet, I
spread my legs wider apart. Then I leaned my hips out, trying to get
them over the towel on the table, so Joan wouldn’t scold me for dripping
water on her carpet. Well, it wasn’t hers, but the hotels, but I knew
she might punish me anyway if I got it all wet.
“Oh!” I sighed. I pressed the warm, wet sponge against my
muff.
“That’s it, scrub your private,” Joan told me. “You too,
Katrina.” With a blush Katrina dipped her sponge in the bucket. Then
she rung it out, carefully.
“No, don’t wring it. You must WASH!” Joan told her. “Get your
pussy all soapy, like little Cindy is doing. My word, don’t you know
how to take a simple sponge bath, girl? You’ve spent, now your
spendings must be cleansed from your cunt lips. This may be an orgy,
but we do practise proper etiquette here.” Joan smiled. “Not hygeine,
my dear. Etiquette. It’s an entirely different matter. Your hair is
pretty and your breasts are firm and ripe and your lingerie looks
lovely. You are not a dirty girl in need of a bath, but a lingeried
beauty, showing yourself and letting the men see how squeaky clean you
keep your cunt lips. Rub them, that’s it! I do not mind if you make
yourself cum again. The hot sponge will wipe away your spendings.
“OH!” Katrina sighed. She tossed her head back. I think she
must have wanted to cum again for she now rubbed her dell quite
vigorously. I took inspiration from her, rubbed my own slit harder. I
tensed my bottomcheeks and felt their nudity, all stingy from the
paddle, yet there was, I think, a faint glow beginning to develop in
them.
“God, they’re lovely!” a man said of us. “Twin beauties, with
tight little asses and cunts that promise to be at least as tight, if
not tighter!”
“They are only offering their pussies for show,” Joan warned
him. “If you want them, you’ll have to find a way to get your cock into
their pretty mouths or, indeed, up between their buns.” She laughed.
“I hope you can manage it.”
“I can, I can!” the man groaned. But I hoped he might not, for
the women were all busy fingering those hugely presented cocks. With
luck some of them would spill, perhaps even on Joan’s carpet, and get
their bottoms whacked as I had.
“Now girls,” Joan said, addressing the women. “Do you think
I’m going to just let you stand around fondling the men until they all
loose themselves on the carpet? Not at all! It’s time we began
preparing for our anal orgy. There are several jars of cold cream, here
in this bag. I want you to share them amongst yourselves. Each of you
is to poke her sister in the bottom, so as to lubricate her there for
entry by the male.” She smiled. “Yes, girls, you will do each other.
If I let the men stick their fingers in you, they won’t be able to
resist sticking their more important parts in too. Men, stand back!
Play with yourselves as you watch, if you like, but if any of you sperm
the carpet, don’t think your ass will escape my paddle!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was so awful, so
decadent! Were the other girls really going to lube each other’s
assholes so they could be fucked there by the men? Why, I couldn’t
imagine those big male penises going up female bottoms. Joan had
specially chosen each man, measuring him before inviting him, as she’d
done with Dave, at the restaurant. She hadn’t chosen them because they
were little. They were the biggest guys she could find, some admittedly
bigger than others, but all of them capable, I think, (though I’d never
actually seen him!) of putting ‘Long Dong Silver’ to shame.
“OHHHH!” Katrina gasped. I let out a heated breath of my own.
Were we really going to an anal orgy? I rubbed my cunt harder. If only
the men would take me there! But I was virgin, of course, and pledged
(quite how I wasn’t sure) to Dave. Only he could have me, and perhaps
not tonight. Tonight was devoted to my bottom, and maybe my mouth. My
ass and my face. Wasn’t there some joke about the two, told by
schoolchildren? I was too hot to remember. I ground my hips, feeling
the warm sponge against my slit.
Blushing, we had cum again, Katrina and I. We seemed the
Orgasm Queens of the party. Perhaps, I thought later, it was Joan’s way
of softening us up. With lots of orgasms we would, hopefully, be able
to relax, and take cocks up our bottoms more easily when the time came.
Our pussies were dry again. Joan had toweled them for us when
we were finished washing them. Then she’d applied a blow drier to them,
and combed them with a small comb, playing it across the bristly little
curls of our dells. In back, we’d each been poked by her, right up
between our nude, reddened cheeks. We were prepared now, as much as the
other girls, for being fucked from behind. Yet my cunt sang, wishing
for more attention. I wished I, or somebody, could give it what it
wanted. My poor bottom didn’t need anything thrust up it. It hurt
enough from the paddling I’d gotten!
Joan opened the door to the party room. She ushered me in
first. The guests, behind me, waited to hear my gasp at seeing what lay
within. My God! I nearly fainted when I did. It was a large room, but
it had not a stick of furniture in it. There entire floor, save for a
few small spaces, was covered with mattresses. I gaped at them.
“Each mattress is covered with a protective plastic sheet, as
well as the ordinary cotton sheet that you see,” Joan told me. I felt
like a tourist, on some strange vacation. “Take off your heels, dear.
You’re unsteady enough in them as it is. I don’t want you falling,”
Joan whispered. I took my eyes from the mattress-covered room and
reluctantly bent over. My bosoms hung beneath me. Their points,
despite my orgasms, remained stiff. Joan lightly caressed the small of
my back with a fingertip as I reached down and unbuckled my heels from
my feet. Then I stood straight again. “Very good,” Joan told me. “Now
go ahead, walk out onto the mattresses. Pick someplace and kneel down.
Don’t shy away from the enema bottles, dear, we’re all going to enemize
ourselves before we begin.”
With a pounding heart, I stepped up onto the mattresses. My
hips wiggled salaciously as I tried to negotiate my way across the first
of them. It was like trying to walk on a bed. The cushiony surface
dipped under the pressure of my feet. My bosoms bounced with each of my
steps. Tenderly I reached behind myself and cupped my still-flaming
ass. It would hurt, getting porked up the butt, and I wasn’t looking
forward to it. Yet how could I refuse? I wore my slave collar, made of
simple rope. I was adorned in a basque and stockings bought for me by
Dave. My gloves were gone now, left behind on the towel-covered
cocktail table, but taking them off had only impressed upon me how,
without what Dave had bought for me, I’d be utterly, completely nude
here. I had my body, that was all. Even the fur coat hanging in the
closet by the door had been bought by Dave. Perhaps that’s why he’d
been so generous. To impress upon me, at the proper moment, that I was
utterly and completely his. I was his slave. I wore his clothes and
went where he took me. Oh, how had I come to this? I’d only intended
to visit Venice with Katrina. I’d turned down my precious Steven,
despite his manliness, his boyish wonder at the world that I so admired,
sharing it myself. Now he was in Rome, celebrating an ersatz honeymoon
with his second-choice, while I, his first, was about to be put to
trials I, and perhaps even he, could not imagine!
I dropped to my knees. Kitten-like, feeling hopelessly
submissive, despite my plight, I turned my head and looked back at
Joan. She smiled at me. My heels waited on the carpet by the edge of
the farthest mattress. I would replace them on my feet when the night
was over. When my bottom was undone. I shivered. Then, I turned away
from her. I gazed up at a big enema pole towering over me. There were
several in the room. Several bags of saline hung down from it. They
were brand new, swollen with fluid. Could I possibly take those bags up
my ass? I shivered again, cupped my tushy with my hands, and winced at
the sting that still burned there. Slowly I impressed the pads of my
fingers into my cheeks. I drew the halves of my heinie apart. Yes! I
felt the cool air of this new room touch my dimpled anus. I would
receive. Straight up my bottom that dangling enema tube would go, and I
would take it all, as much as was asked of me. Then, just as quickly, I
felt refusal well up within me. I darted away from that awful pole. I
planted my bare bottom on the sheet beneath me. I yelped. My bottom
hurt so! I could not even sit on it! Joan laughed.
“Now you see why I paddled you, dear little miss,” she said in
a throaty voice. “If you can’t sit on your bottom you have to keep it
up in the air. Which is just where I want it!”
I bit my lower lip and let out a sob. She was right. I
couldn’t sit on my bottom. I had to kneel instead, keeping it a little
elevated. I placed my palms against the mattress and leaned forward. I
felt my bosoms hanging with supple weight from my chest. Their tips
were hard, so hard, despite my worries, my fears.
One by one the other guests began to filter into the room.
Joan delighted, insisted even, in bringing each one in herself. She
made each guest deposit their shoes at the foot of the strange bed we
all now began to gather upon. A bed as big as the room! With
strategically-placed enema poles growing like trees between the
mattresses, their heavy bags shading us a little from the room’s
overhead lights. It was bright in here. There was to be no romance,
only work. Labor, intensive effort, enema tubes up bottoms and then the
male penis, each male taking as many, I guessed, I feared! females as he
could.
“Hi,” Katrina whispered to me. She dropped to her knees beside
me. She seemed as awed by the room as I was. “Some room to have a
party, isn’t it?” she breathed.
“Yes,” I answered. “I don’t like it.”
“Well, don’t tell Joan that,” Katrina said. She reached out,
touched my hair, brushed back a long, drooping lock that had fallen
across my face. “Joan still has her paddle.”
“I know,” I said. My voice was soft, quiet. I watched as Dave
crossed the mattresses. His stride was firm, steady. He grinned at
Katrina and I. We blushed. His big dong stuck out on front of him like
some fleshy trombone, I thought, waiting for Katrina and I to put our
lips to it and play upon it. And our bottoms.
“Hi, girls!” Dave said cheerily. He didn’t mind this room at
all. It was made for him, for his cock. He would have nothing up his
ass this night, I guessed. That was the job of Katrina and I. To
present, to receive. To milk. His testes hung heavily under his dick,
reminding me of the enema bags overhead. He looked up. “Looks like you
girls are going to have to take a lot of fluid tonight,” he said.
“Thanks, Dave, I’m looking forward to it,” Katrina said wryly.
“I didn’t know you wanted a human enema bag for a girlfriend.”
“Ah, don’t worry,” Dave said. “You two are the best two girls
I’ve ever known. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Anything at all?” I blurted hopefully.
“No, not anything at all,” Dave replied. He grinned. His chin
was stubbled. The hour was late. Perhaps dawn would come soon, and
save me. Dave reached out. He cupped both my breasts. “God, how
pretty these are,” he said. “Yours are still growing, you know. I’ll
bet they’ll be really big by the time you’re 18.”
“Mmmm, do you think mine will grow some more?” Katrina asked.
She reached out and touched the shaft of Dave’s big cock. She stroked a
single finger along it, as if afraid to touch it with more.
“Sure, at 16? But they’re nice and big already,” Dave said.
“You don’t want them growing enormous, do you? Models aren’t supposed
to have big boobs.”
“Then it looks like we’ll be out of the modelling business,” I
sighed to Katrina. Dave’s hands, despite their callouses, felt
wonderful on my tits. They were male hands, not female hands, as I’d
endured all the night so far. They gripped me with male pleasure and
squeezed my tits as if in hopes I might offer milk. “Mmmm, Dave!” I
sighed. I limned my tongue across my upper lip. “Please don’t leave
us, okay, Dave?” I asked. “I want you right beside me the whole time!”
Katrina leaned over and kissed me. “How do you think Dave can
do as Joan wishes if he holds your hand the whole time?” she teased.
She was clearly a little more adventurous than I. I would have been
happy to just lie back and open my legs to Dave, and let him do the
rest. I didn’t need all this enema jazz. But Katrina seemed to have a
slightly wicked streak in her. I wondered what she and Dave did at the
hotel, sharing the same bathroom. A vision of her sitting on his lap,
kissing him, as they both pooped on the commode flashed through my mind.
“Alright, everyone, I hope you like my party room,” Joan
announced. “I set it up myself. Don’t worry, I took nursing. I know
all about enemas, in case any of you don’t.” She flashed a look at me.
In one hand she held her trusty paddle. In the other she held the black
bag containing all the cream. She dropped the bag on the mattress at
her feet. Then she stepped from the carpeted portion of the floor up
onto the mattress, kicking off her heels first. “Let’s get this cream
redistributed to everyone,” she said. “Men, I don’t mind you inserting
the enema tubes, if you wish. As soon as a girl has been filled and
emptied, she’s available for fucking. You may fuck your own girl as you
wish, but when you switch to another female that you don’t know, please
put on a condom. Cindy,” she called to me. “You’re closest to that
closet at the back of the room. Please open it and hand out the bowls
and the tissues I’ve stowed in it. Plus the condoms. Get up, girl!
Don’t just stare at me. You’re part of this party too.”
I was staring at her, I guess. Like a deer in headlights. Or
a bunny rabbit. I felt small like a rabbit. But my white tail had been
turned beet red by her paddle. I stood, wincing a little as my
well-whacked bottom shifted. I reached back, touched my aching cheeks
to try to soothe them, winced again, then turned and found the closet
Joan had spoken of. It stood innocuously just behind me. It had a
sliding door. I pressed my hand to the door, slid it back. Omigod!
Stacks of bowls, more tubes of cream, of oil, jars of KY, waited for me
to distribute them. In addition there were rolls of toilet paper, and
boxes of Kleenex tissues. I also, with a sinking feeling, spied a pile
of condoms in one corner, each wrapped in gold foil.
“Try not to just use whatever,” Joan called out to the guests.
“I’m planning to have another party soon and I don’t want to have to buy
endless quantities of new supplies.” I turned, looked at her. “Pass
the things out, dear.” Someone picked up the black bag at the other end
of the room and began handing out the creams it contained. I took hold
of a handful of rolls of toilet paper, fearing I might be spanked if I
didn’t.
“Hokay,” I said, grunting a little. Who ever would have
thought I’d be walking around at a party with an armload of Charmin?
With unsteady steps I padded over to Katrina and Dave, dropped a roll of
toilet paper between them. Then, my ass cheeks stinging as they rolled
behind me, feeling utterly silly, I walked around the room, handing out
lavatory tissue. If only mom could see me now! I heard a little voice
giggle in my head. And my dad, who’d insisted I be “chaperoned at all
times.” Well, I was going to be chaperoned all right, probably by every
randy male in the room! I looked at their big cocks as I passed them.
They watched my ass, seeming to savor it. Were we conspirators, or was
I just a victim? I couldn’t be sure. There were too many thoughts
rushing through me.
It was not too long afterward, and much sooner than I’d hoped,
that I found myself poised bottom-upwards on a mattress. Dave was
behind me. I felt his cock bang against the back of my thighs. He
positioned himself at my tail and eagerly parted my hind cheeks with his
hands.
“Ooooh!” I cried, feeling his touch, wishing he’d touch me
someplace else.
Katrina, bravely, had offered to go first, to show me, as best
she could, how it was done. She was kneeling beside me. She said she’d
done this before but, glancing over at her face, I think she’d lied
about that. There was a grimace upon her features. Joan, standing
behind her, was controlling the flow of enema fluid into her butt. Joan
gave her a little at a time. Whenever she wished to stop the fluid, she
pinched off the tubing with her fingers. Joan rubbed her pussy with her
free hand. Her paddle lay discarded upon the mattress at her feet.
“Oh, please hurry!” Katrina blurted. She shook her head and
her lovely brown hair swirled about her face and shoulders.
“Nonsense, dear, an enema is like fine wine, to be savored and
enjoyed,” Joan answered. “Do you like it?”
“The salt stings!” Katrina said.
“It’s a very low concentration of saline,” Joan said. “What do
you expect me to do, pump your butt full of champagne?”
“It would be nicer,” Katrina said. She shook her nude bosoms.
They hung under her crouching figure. Their tips just touched the
mattress. Whenever I moved mine I secretly enjoyed the scraping of my
titties across the sheet.
“And it would make you drunk too,” Joan said. “I couldn’t give
you as much as I’m going to, without turning you into a drunken slut.
No, dear, you’ll take salt-water up your butt, and quite a lot of it.
Lean forward more. I want to really fill you up!”
“No, PLEASE!” Katrina said. But she leaned forward, all the
same. Her face pressed to the mattress and her tail lifted higher,
toward the bright overhead lamp that burned so brightly down upon us.
“Yeah, you sure do have a cute little hole in your ass,” Dave
said. Nothing was hidden now, and I blushed, knowing it. I wondered if
anyone was watching me. I hid my face in my hands, so I wouldn’t see
them.
“YOOOK!” I suddenly squawked. My head shot up and my eyes
gaped wide. He was sticking it in!
“There, there, don’t wiggle your damn ass around so much. You
look like a duck!” Dave said gleefully. He thrust the slim tube higher
up my ass. My passage clenched at it. “This will clean any poop out of
you, so you can have all of me up your ass, every last inch,” Dave
chortled behind me.
“No, Dave! It’s in enough already. Don’t push it
H-I-G-H-E-RRRR!” I shouted. I heard someone laugh. Then I heard Dave
laugh. With probing fingers he shoved that damnable tube still deeper
into me. I gasped. I hid my face in my hands again. I wished my teddy
bear were here with me, so I could hold it. We’d share my fate
together, me and my Ernest. He would rub his fuzzy nose against mine
and console me.
“Yesssss,” Katrina hissed beside me. What did she mean, I
wondered? Was she liking it, now? I hoped she wasn’t trying to
encourage me. I didn’t want any part of this.
“Oh! God! Please! I’ve had enough!” I heard a woman scream
in the distance. A man chuckled. A woman laughed.
“Now I’m going to fill you up,” Dave said behind me.
“No, Dave! Not the fluid!” I cried. “The tube is enough!”
Suddenly I felt a gushing in my behind. I tightened my cheeks. It was
no use! Saline, warm and wet, flooded into my guts. It had a stingy
feeling to it. I shook my ass, trying to shake out the tube, but Dave
had stuck it way up me so I couldn’t get it out.
“Fill ‘er up, just like at the gas station,” Dave called to me
from behind my bottom. “This is a full service station, young lady.
And don’t think you can avoid my dipstick,” he added, mangling his
stupid metaphor.
“YEEEEK! I can’t take anymore!” Katrina pleaded beside me.
“What? You want me to waste the rest of the bag?” Joan asked
her. “Bottom up, young lady. I’m a nurse. I know exactly when you’ve
had enough, and we are stopping until you’ve got this stuff coming out
your nostrils.”
“Nooooo!” Katrina gasped.
“Yes, darling. I’ve enemized men, women, girls, you name it.
You’re acting like a baby. Lift that sweet bottom and stop fighting
it.
“Aack!” I heard Katrina howl, and echoed her, my ass filling
painfully full with that awful hospital fluid!
The minutes passed slowly. Each one was an agony of waiting.
Behind me, Dave pumped in the fluid slowly. He enjoyed seeing me shiver
each time more was added, filling me, stretching my bowels. Beside me,
Katrina took her libation with quiet sobs. Joan was pushing her to the
limit. I kept my face in my hands. My eyes were in darkness, despite
the bright lights which shone down on my bottom.
“There,” I heard Joan breathe at last.
“Oh, Jesus, please...” Katrina gasped. Her voice quavered.
She could no longer demand, only beg. For mercy. Joan showed her some
at last.
“Now I’ll begin to withdraw it,” I heard Joan say.
“Me too!” I squeaked to Dave, wiggling my ass. I felt
unbearably full and my tummy felt like it would burst.
“Ah, you’re such a baby,” Dave replied. But, to my vast
relief, I began to feel the tube that was so far up in me begin to slide
backward.
“Yes,” I breathed into my palms. ‘Take it out, take it out,
take it outttt,’ I wished to scream, but knew he would only jam it up me
again if he heard me. My palms were wet. I was sobbing very quietly
into my hands.
At last the tube popped out of me. I kept my bottom lifted
high, afraid I’d shit all over the mattress. I felt full, unbearably
so.
“Squat,” Dave ordered. I didn’t move. He reached around my
hips and grasped me by my shoulders. Up I flew, quite suddenly, drawn
by him so that I rocked, then fell back on my hips. He plopped me onto
a bowl. I felt a gushing within me. Suddenly, my bowels began to fill
the bowl. I gritted my teeth. I looked up, up at the lights, then down
between my spread knees. I saw my poop, all runny, gushing out into the
bowl. Was it my poop, or just the enema water? I couldn’t be sure. I
shivered. I looked over at Katrina. She was squatting on a bowl, just
like me. Joan held her, kissed her cheek. Katrina blushed. She looked
at me.
‘This is awful,’ I knew Katrina wished to say to me, but she
worried about being punished if she said it. My eyes showed the same
uncomfortable feeling. We were like children, having our first sit on
the potty. Tense, anxious, wishing only that it be over and done with.
“Ohhhh, please!” I heard a woman scream in the distance. I
could guess what was happening. The enemas were at an end. She was
having a penis stuffed up her.
“Now, back on your knees,” Dave told me. He grasped my hair
and shoved me forward. With a shout I fell face down on the mattress.
He took hold of my hips and forced me to lift my bottom. “Kneel, girl!”
he growled. “Katrina, help me with her. Joan, wipe her ass so she’s
ready for me as soon as I’ve done little Cindy.”
“Noooo, David!” I blurted. I tore at the mattress sheet with
my fingers. I tried to crawl away, but he held me. I felt a big,
knobby presence pass up between the cheeks of my ass. I tried to
resist, to keep my bottomouth shut, but it was wet and slippery from the
enema. “IN!” I heard David crow. Suddenly, like air being released
from a balloon, I felt all my breath forced from my lungs.
A soft hand caressed my hair. “Yes, darling, he’s going to go
right up you,” Katrina told me. She giggled. “And maybe go in you,
too!”
“No! No! No! No!” I hollared. But he was IN me, somehow,
and burrowing deeper still as I fought to catch my breath.
“Unh, uhn, uhn!” I heard behind me. Male grunts, as a man
makes when he’s exerting a very great effort.
“Yeeeeooook! Take it OUT!” I pleaded. He filled me, his big
sausagelike prick sliding inexorably up inside my enema-wettened hiney.
I realized then there must have been a mild cream mixed in with the
water, perhaps it was the tang I’d felt, perhaps there was only it, and
the water, and maybe the word “Saline,” printed on the bags, was simply
there to fool and confuse, to make it all more exciting. Whatever it
was, that fluid had left me well-lubed. I worked my hips, trying to
reject the big, horrible thing that was burrowing into my bowels, but
with every one of my wriggles Dave just seemed to plunge himself deeper.
“Ohhh, yes! Take it all, little one!” I heard Katrina whisper
above me. Her hands stroked my hair, my back, my silk-ribboned basque.
“Unnnnnn, DAve, Nooook!” I said. My words were all mushy. I
shook my hips, he plunged deeper still.
“God! She’s so tight I can barely stand it!” Dave suddenly
croaked.
“Give her a few strokes at least,” Joan told him.
“I’ll try,” Dave gritted. I felt him begin to pull back. I
gasped out a huge sigh of relief.
“Yes, please take it oooot!” I hooted.
“No, dear, he’s just pulling back so he can give you your
fucking,” Katrina told me. She reached back and took hold of my ass
cheeks. I squealed at her touch. I didn’t want her helping him!
Katrina spread my bottoms wider, to try to lessen the tightness of my
ass upon his dick. I felt like a turkey, spread and opened for its
Thanksgiving stuffing.
“Ahhhh,” Dave said, his words a half-grunt.
“Yeeeek!” I yelled. He was going up me again! “No, David!
Please take it out!” I blathered. He paid me no attention. I was just
something soft and wet and cuddly for him to stick his big prong into.
“Spear her,” Joan said lustily. “Your time has come, little
girl! You are an anal virgin no more!” she said.
“Noooo! I still ammm!” I stammered. I hid my face in my
hands, sobbed, wished her statement was false and mine true.
I was taken then, through one of the doors leading away from
childhood. I was just 14, but Dave showed me no mercy. He thrust his
big thing in me, back and forth, making me gasp, cry out, beg, plead,
all my words fruitless. At last, with Katrina squeezing his balls with
her hand (perhaps to save herself!) he spent in my tightness. It was
like being enemized all over again. I felt his hardness in me and his
jetting virility. I tried to expel him by tensing my cheeks but instead
he expelled himself into me, raping me, glutting me with his seed. When
at last he pulled from me he left me crying upon the mattress. My legs
lay scissored open behind me. My raw red bottom felt thoroughly
violated. I wished to be small again, to be me again, but I knew I
could never again be quite the same.
I lay sobbing awhile, listening to the screams and moans all
around me. Gradually I recovered. I lifted a hand and swept my blonde
hair away from my eyes. I sighed. I felt pouty and luxuriously
miserable. But despite my growing sense of delight at the sounds all
around me, my bottom still pained me terribly. Or so I told myself. In
truth, it was now a curious cross between smarting and glowing. I
denied that it felt good in any way, though, flexing my cheeks
tentatively, issuing a little pained breath as I did so, I found my
well-paddled ass not as disagreeable in its feelings as I’d feared.
Tenderly I reached back, lying flat on my tummy, and touched it with
both my hands.
“Oooch,” I sighed. Nobody heard. There were screams in the
distance, moans, grunts. The sounds of fertilization. I caressed my
bottom lightly. Yes, it was still hot, though I was no longer sure
whether it was hot and dislikable, as a fever is, or hot and tittilated,
as a lover is.
I rose to my knees. I kept my face pressed to the mattress. I
extruded the warm, polished halves of my bottoms into my seeking palms
and opened my cheeks with my fingers.
“Ahhh,” I breathed to myself. I felt the air of the room, not
as cool as before, but still soothing, touch my tiny anus. It felt
bigger now. My whole bottom felt bigger. Even my bosoms, cushioning my
chest, felt bigger beneath me. And my nipples were still traitorously
swollen with lust. I shoved my bottom back into my clutching hands.
Wider I spread myself. Then I drew away my fingers, feeling a little
embarrassed, and placed them under my chin. They were moist with
vaseline and I caught a scent of Dave’s seed on them. My fingers joined
stickily under my chin. I had him in me now. I possessed him. Dave.
Did it mean I loved him? I don’t think so. I didn’t like him, not
really. He was too big and old and rude for me. But still, I think I’d
grown to respect him. He had a respectable cock, I told myself, and
giggled.
The air caressed my hot bottom. I pushed it out more, dipped
my back, let it gently wash over my paddle-braised skin. Mmmm, I
daydreamed. I wondered again about Dave and then about Steven and what
he and his second-choice girlfriend were doing in their honeymoon bower
in Rome. Were they happy? Or were they worn out with each other by
now, and looking, perhaps, for excuses to part? I had a boyfriend once,
just my age, and we fought. He wasn’t polite, as Dave was, in his odd,
grown man way. Perhaps I liked Dave a little, but not really, no. Just
a little because he was nice to me, in a sort of sick, perverted way.
And because, I giggled again, he had a very respectable cock.
“Oh! GOD! Not againnnn,” I heard a girl cry. I turned my
head, slightly. Like a cat, like the detached owl in Bladerunner, I
peered into the mass of bodies sprawled on the joined mattresses. Poor
girl. Why did she come here if she didn’t wish to be fucked? I asked
myself. Silly girl. Even I knew it would be an ‘a’ party... that sort
of party. I didn’t like saying the word but, still, I admitted to
myself, I’d known, hadn’t I? Known it would be an ‘a’ party, and that
my ‘a’ would have to entertain. I giggled again. ...Respectable
cocks. Like Dave’s.
I closed my eyes. My eyelashes fluttered and I sighed. I was
content, though my ‘a’ was very sore. I’d had mine. I’d been undone,
but it had been bearable, though not how I’d have liked it, I don’t
think. How would I have liked it? I wasn’t sure. I’d heard of women
riding atop men, riding their prong until it burst into them. Yes, I’d
like that. But I knew, if that had been the way it had been offered to
me, I’d have refused. I’d have said ‘no,’ ‘sorry,’ ‘no thank you,’ as
all good girls must. And so it was that instead, I had to take it as I
had. I felt content. I was too good to ride on top. To ride me a man
had to force me a little, just a little, but be polite about it, and of
course he must have a respectable cock. Not just any man would do, no
no. He had to be respectable. And he had to use just a little
persuasion and force, else I’d be an old maid. Of that I was sure.
I hummed a tune to myself. I wiggled my toes as I hummed it:
“Cock, cock, cock, are you in the dock... again?
“Did you pop a girl who was too young?
“And now you’ve got to pretend?
“That by her your balls were not rung?”
I wiggled my bottom. I liked my song. Men like Dave should
beware. I could get them in lots of trouble. I smiled. A cat’s
smile. I brushed back my spider-like blonde hair. It stuck to my
sticky fingers a little. I plucked off the strands. Perhaps I would
weave a web around Dave and get him in lots of trouble, I told myself
happily.
A girl on her knees is an invitation. Alas, I didn’t know that
at the time. I thought I’d given my due. I was 14, after all. What
more could they want from me? Then, hearing a heavy tread behind me, I
suddenly froze. My head turned quickly back over my shoulder.
“Yeek!” I gasped. A huge blonde goliath was grinning down at
me. I tried to scurry away but I bumped my head against the door of the
closet. It was closed. I’d retreived what Joan wanted and closed it,
politely. Now it blocked my escape. The blonde god dropped to his
knees behind me, seized my hips, all in one quick movement.
“No! I’ve already been done!” I blurted to him. “I’m only
14!”
“I’ve done three girls already and you’re going to be the
fourth,” he said matter-of-factly. He flexed his cock. It was huge.
It put to shame those big sausages that hang from the ceiling in the
Pepperidge Farm store. Suddenly, Katrina appeared. Her hair was
tousled, messy really, and I saw white foam caked in it. Sperm. I
breathed a sigh of relief as she dropped to her knees beside the
Cyclopian man.
“You can’t just stick yourself in her,” Katrina told him. I
breathed a quick sigh of relief. I wriggled my hips hard, but he held
them fast with his giant-like hands. “Here, let me wash your penis
first,” Katrina told the big blonde. She produced a medicated pad from
somewhere, lifted it to her teeth. She bit it open. Then she reached
down and gently, respectfully, swabbed the head of his big cock.
“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m going to need several more.” Quickly she turned
on her heels, still kneeling, and reached behind her. She turned back,
bit open another pad. “Don’t fuck one girl in the ass and then another
without washing your penis first,” she explained to the giant. She drew
the cleansing pad along the top of his shaft. Then she slid it
underneath and wiped the sensitive part of him, right behind his
cockhead.
“Oof! Hurry up, girl!” the giant said.
“My, still so excited, and after three emissions already?”
Katrina asked him.
“I need a lot of sex,” the big man admitted.
“Well, I hope you get enough tonight,” Katrina said frankly.
“I hope so too,” the man answered.
“I don’t WANT him having sex with me!” I blurted from my
crouched position in front of him.
“It’s not what you want, it’s what’s available,” Katrina said
to me. “You’ve been opened by Dave. Now you’re available to others.
And they to you. It’s an orgy, dear.”
“Nook!” I said. I half-gagged on my word for, as I spoke it, I
felt the big blonde hunk jab me hard with the pee-holed tip of his cock.
“Open Sesame Street,” the giant said, in a flat voice. I don’t
think he knew there was a Sesame and a Sesame Street. Stupid hunk. I
pulled my body forward, clutching at the mattress, trying hard to free
myself from his grip.
“Stay, girl!” he growled. Katrina, just rising, turned her
head, thinking he meant her.
“What, you wish to do me next?” Katrina laughed. “Poor man.
I’m not responsible for your sperm problem.” Then, smiling at him, but
in a dismissive sort of way, a ‘catch me if you can’ sort of way, she
walked away, leaving me with him. Her bare bottom rolled atop her long
straight legs, an invitation, I’m sure, to his following eye, but
smeared already with the spendings of other men, which oozed milk-like
from her heinie hole.
“Katrina!” I screamed. I couldn’t believe it! How could she
just let this awful big blonde stupid man fuck me with his enormous
cock. Tears burst from my eyes. I felt betrayed. Then I saw her walk
wobble, and she collapsed to a mattress as only someone drunk, or
exhausted, could. Alas! The minute she was flat on the mattress a man,
large and handsome but surely not with her permission, leaned over her.
He raised her legs and splayed them. He presented his cock to her and
rammed it up within her belly. Her head lifted up, her eyes gaped, then
it fell back again. I saw the tip of her tongue rise from between her
lips and then loll down with them once more.
Suddenly two elegant legs appeared next to my face. Coming up
from behind me, stepping over my head with one foot, Joan compassed my
face with both her shapely ankles.
“A champagne enema will do that to a person,” Joan said matter
of factly, following my gaze. “They had quite a party, over on the
other side of the room, her and Dave and another couple. They kept
dousing each other’s rectums. Such a silly sport. But they promised me
they’d pay me for the champagne, so I let them have it.”
“Now that guy is letting her have it,” the giant behind me
said.
“Saul, you’re much too big for her,” Joan said to the hunk
behind me. “You’re even bigger than her boyfriend, and he’s no slouch
in the cock department. Unhand her hips. Find someone older, with a
little more practise in accomodating your size. She’s practically had
her first one tonight!”
I held my breath. I prayed to Jesus. Finally, with a grunt of
great displeasure, the giant let go of my ass.
“That’s what I hate about your parties. Not enough freedom,”
the giant said.
“I may host parties that are orgies, but they’re still kept
within certain bounds, dear,” Joan replied. “Thank you, and come again,
as I’m sure you will. But if you want to come again to my next party,
you must always do as I say.”
“I’d rip you in half with my hands if you weren’t so sexy and
having such great parties,” the blonde ogre said.
“Yes, dear, now go spend your seed,” Joan answered.
“Whew!” I squeaked. I looked up, saw myself staring straight
into her cunt, looked quickly back down again.
“Stay just as you are, dear,” Joan replied. An icy chill shot
down my spine.
“Why?” I asked. My voice was meek, tremulous. My asscheeks
flexed behind me, hiding my hole in their huddling halves, then easing
open again to reveal it.
“Yes, over here, Raymond. Here she is. Is your cock ready?
My! Such a nice long one, but not too wide. Yes, she needs another.
No girl leaves my party with just one sperming. Especially from her own
boyfriend. Get down and give it to her. She needs the practice.”
“Nooooooo!!!” I screeched. Too late! The young turk was at me
before I could even think of jumping away. Eagerly he thrust his
dickhead into my bare cheeks. I tightened my hole. He pressed. I felt
rubber, knew him to be wearing a condom. It was well lubed. My anus
resisted. I scrunched my eyes closed, balled my fists under my face. I
ground my bosoms into the mattress underneath me, dipped my back, hoping
to spring away, rabbit-like.
“YOOK!” I cried. He handled my hot bottom with excited hands,
feeling my burnished skin, still warm from my paddling.
“God, I love fucking a girl who’s been spanked,” he admitted to
Joan. I rotated my bottom in his clutching hands as he felt my skin.
Perhaps I could still escape...
Suddenly Joan’s ankles clipped themselves against my ears. I
could not move my head! She held it as if in a vise, using just her
legs.
“Joaoooooonn!” I gasped. I felt Raymond’s (was that his name?)
dick ram itself suddenly into my hole.
“Ahhh, in! She is well lubed from her boyfriend’s spendings,”
Raymond said. He prodded himself further within me. I was still wet
inside, though the sheen of Dave’s sperm on the outside of my anus had
dried.
“Yes, give it to her,” Joan urged above me, holding my head so
that I had no way to escape. “She’s still such a diffident little
virgin. She must be brought to enjoy cock, to take it and to welcome
it, even the biggest ones.”
Raymond pushed deeper in me. I felt his cock pulsing inside
me. It was long, moderately thick (though it seemed gigantic at the
time), and stiff as a bar of iron. The latex of his condom separated
the flesh of his poker from my own. I wriggled, tried to escape. I
felt my long-columned legs splayed wider by his knees. My I snorted.
My teeth chattered. He shoved his hips closer, his dong pierced deeper.
“Ohhh! PLEASE! Take it out!” I blathered. Joan laughed.
Raymond gave me another poke in response. I felt my lungs empty
themselves onto the closet door in front of me. As quickly I gulped in
new air, could barely hold it. A quick thrust from Raymond and I
realized he was almost all the way up me now. I lifted myself, felt my
breasts wobble free under me.
“NO! Down, girl!” Joan, who had relaxed her grip on my head,
barked. Her calves came slamming into my ears. She held me frozen in
my half-upraised pose. Raymond probed deeper still in my ass. I felt
his full balls bump rudely against my snatch. Our hairs, mine soft, his
kinky, intermingled there.
I was fucked. With slow, expert strokes, as if breaking in a
new filly, Raymond thrust and jabbed within me. With each leaping
stroke of his cock I prayed he would cum, but he didn’t. “You are being
trained,” Joan told me from above. She’d saved me from the blonde ogre
only to put me instead to a Master, it seemed, of opening brand new
girls. I wondered if she’d put him to my still-virgin cunt next.
“Unnnhh! Please cum,” I breathed through gritted teeth. Joan
laughed.
“Do you want me to tiddle my slit and cum in sprinkles upon
your hair?” Joan asked me.
“Noooo!” I felt my breath expelled and had to fight for a new
gasp, waiting for Raymond’s outstroke, before I could speak again.
“No! Him!” I blurted, and it was all I could say before Raymond thrust
himself in again, lurching all the air from me.
“Mmmm, she must have the world’s most beautiful bottom,” I
heard Raymond say behind me. His hands fondled my tail in admiration.
I twisted my back, then stilled myself, afraid his long thing, so deep
inside me, might rip up my insides if I tried wriggled too much. I was
caught upon him. I could escape no more than a fish could, speared on a
scuba diver’s weapon.
“Uh! May I come, Joan?” I heard Raymond say with a voice
suddenly agonized. I felt his balls shiver against me. “May I come?”
“Three more strokes,” Joan said. “Give her three more. I want
her well opened so that she complains not so much in the future about
this sort of thing.”
Back he drew himself, the latex-sheathed prong sliding from me
like a big turd oozing down my insides. Then, just when you would think
it would pop out, it shot up me again!
“GAAAAA!” I cried, whinnied, bleated, all of them, a sheep and
a mare and a pig too, perhaps, speared Piglet-like on the end of my
toothbrush back at the hotel.
“There, back again, dear. Hold it! Hold! I know she’s tight,
dear, that’s why I’m having you do her!” Joan scolded Raymond.
“WHEW! I can’t!” Raymond gasped, but indeed he did, much to my
chagrin, driving himself up me yet again.
“Now back once more,” Joan commanded.
“Oh, God! What an ass! How beautiful, how tight!” Raymond
exclaimed. He was in the throes of his passion now, his balls churning,
right on the brink of release. I felt him begin to slide back.
“NOOOO!” he cried suddenly. He thrust himself hard into me, without
pulling back as he’d been told. My eyes gaped. I bumped my nose
against the closet door. Suddenly, there was a huge throbbing within
me, splitting me open in my deepest, most intimate parts like a knife
splitting apart a peach. I felt spasms. His thing spasmed in me. Yet
there was no discharge from his peehole, for he wore the condom. His
hand reached down, around my belly. His fingers grabbled at my puss. I
shivered. We came, together. I spent my dew on his balls, anointing
them, though he gave me nothing but the jerkings of his cock.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
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