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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Nov 2 Punished for Pleasure part 3 of 3 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PUNISHED FOR PLEASURE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
It’s easy to be led to your fate if you permit yourself little
apprehension of it. And I, it must be admitted, wasn’t following what
I’d been taught on Safe Street. I was with strangers. I was nude. I
was underground. For all I knew, the only people who knew of this place
(who were still living) were us.
Bridget’s eyes grazed across the slick wet surface of my skin
as tea was served. We lay on flat rocks, grateful for the smoothing of
Nature that had taken place over millions of years in this rock-hewn
room. I took her gaze as one of Platonic (well, erotic) admiration.
Sure, we were both girls. Sure, we shouldn’t compare nipples and
admire, with open eyes, how they stood so readily to attention. But our
lust was gentle, appreciative. Soft stares, embarrassed comparisons.
We even admired, together, the swing of Amber’s bottom as she served us
tea.
How could I help not feeling a bit decadent? I had been a
normal girl. I had not pursued girls as lovers, only as playmates. And
the joy of having a girlfriend is the intimate secrets you share. About
everything. Especially things having to do with sex. Every girl knows
this.
Bridget reached over and stroked my nipple.
“Mmmm,” I whispered.
“They think this is just a toy,” Bridget said to me quietly.
“A what?” I asked.
“The men. They think our nipples are just toys,” Bridget
said. She blew across mine. I shivered.
“Yes I know,” I said. My voice felt quick. I didn’t want her
to stop and yet I was beginning to feel embarrassed at our intimacy. We
had touched. We had admired. Wasn’t that enough? Even among friends,
there was a limit to touch.
“Let’s show them it isn’t,” Bridget said. Her face pressed
close to mine. I heard her voice in my ear. She kissed me. Lightly.
Encouragingly. As if to say, ‘I know you won’t let me down.’
I turned my head. I pulled my face a little back from her. We
were too close. Her breath was sweet but I didn’t want it flowing up my
nose.
“What could we do?” I asked. I lifted my body slightly, pulled
it just beyond her probing fingers. She lifted her hand, arched her
fingers. She caught my nearest tit. At the tip. She squeezed, enough
to remind me of her earlier display of power on one of my nipples.
“Let’s give them a demonstration of breast feeding,” Bridget
told me. I looked at her fingers on my tit.
“Okay,” I answered. It seemed the best answer. I didn’t want
to displease her.
“Good,” she said. She let go of my tit. Lightly she brushed
it with her fingernail. Then, as if not to cheat me, she touched my
other nipple as well.
“I want some MILK!” I heard Amber shout.
“There’s just tea, and some champagne, but we might go swimming
later and--” Sherry replied, when Amber issued her demand again.
“No chocolate milk, no white milk...” Amber began ticking off
the faults of the fridges’ contents.
“It may not be the London Bridge, but she expected it to carry
that much food anyway,” Jim remarked to Walter.
I brushed a strand of hair back from my face. Bridget patted
my flat tummy.
“Roll over,” she said. I had no idea what that had to do with
breast feeding, but I obeyed. I felt the worn rock against my freshly
wettened skin. My bottom stuck up behind me. The warm water of the
pool lapped at my body, reasurringly. I kicked my feet freely in the
deeper water beyond, slowly, enjoying the floating feeling it gave me.
I was a beached whale, my upper part on wet, water-washed land and my
lower part still available to the open sea.
Bridget took one of my hands. It lay palm upwards along my
bare hip. Lightly she lifted it, I let her. I still felt soft,
receptive, I kept my legs apart as I slowly kicked so that I would enjoy
the luxury of the water washing between them. Its touch upon my
unprotected wet slit.
My hand, Bridget’s new toy, was laid to rest in the small of my
back. Then she lifted my other one. It was made to join the first.
“I must tie them. Please be still,” Bridget said.
What? We didn’t even have bikinis, let alone string bikinis,
in this room. It was for bathing! For--
Eating breakfast? I could smell my tea and the aroma of the
sausages, now joined by eggs, as Bridget passed a rope with expert
fingers around my wrists and bound them.
“But I want to eat!” I squeaked. The pressure of my chin upon
the rock distorted my ability to speak.
“Of course you will eat breakfast,” Bridget replied. Her voice
was soothing. “Mommie will feed you.”
“Mom-- ?” I asked.
“Yes,” Bridget soothed. Not without meaning, I thought, she
traced across my bottom where I had been whacked by Erica’s crop. My
fanny’s tattoo had faded. It was almost white now, my bottom, perhaps
entirely so, but Bridget knew I remembered the line, without or without
its mark.
I ate the entire breakfast lying flat on my belly with my food
passed through opened lips by Bridget’s fingers. Amber squawked when
they put her in the same pose. She cried a little. But Sherry, the
same who had met me and induced my compliance, so easily, there upon
their big bed in the bed room, worked upon Amber.
“But its MY cave!” Amber shouted.
“There are still rooms you have not explored,” Sherry answered
soothingly.
Bridget’s finger stroked its way down between the cracks of my
bottom.
“Mmmm, we must dress you afterward,” Bridget assured me. “We
might be nude, but the fatted calf must always be decorated for the
slaughter.”
“I don’t want to be eaten!” Amber screamed.
“The knife is for the sausages, dear. It is not for you,”
Sherry, giving her kisses, said reassuringly. “Settle down. I must
spoon your eggs between your lips and I don’t want your place getting
all messy.”
“My place...” I said to Bridget. I meant the spot right in
front of my face. My place mat, that is, as she began feeding a big,
uncut sausage into my mouth. The rest of my sentence was swallowed as
the big round beef pushed past my lips.
“Hmmm?” Bridget asked. “Your place mat? There are no
placemats here, you know that,” Bridget told me. “Bite now.
Carefully. Use your lips, use all your mouth. I don’t want sausage
crumbs all over your ‘place mat’, dear. Rocks have rights too.”
I chewed. The big sausage remained beneath my nose, pressed to
my lips, waiting for me to take another bite. It was tasty sausage,
just an awkward way to eat it.
“There, see? Look what Erika found for you,” Sherry said
somewhere to a belly-eating Amber. “Stop crying. Don’t cry, dear, we
only have your best interests at heart. See? Erika found Trix Cereal.
All the fruity flavors. I’ll pop them in your mouth one at a time so
you can follow your nose.”
“That’s the Froot Loop Bird!” Amber protested. The offense of
mistaking one cartoon for another stopped her crying. “The Froot Loop
bird has a big nose,” Amber explained. I was shocked at how quickly she
went from hysterics to calm. “The Trix Wabbit has big ears,” Amber
said. Her voice became small, almost too quiet to hear. I realized
Amber had perhaps explored the whole cave, after all, and knew its
potential. She knew more than me, at any rate.
I stood admiring myself in the mirror. Beside me, Bridget was
nude. The sleek lines of her body met at inviting points. Yet nothing
hid what lay there. No scrap of cloth. No top, no bottom. Just the
flesh, all white, letting itself be seen like pale expanses of ivory.
My skin was covered at least with a tan. But zones of promise
showed where my swimsuit usually covered me. There my flesh, like hers,
was white, and unprotected.
There were close to a dozen of us in the room. The bedroom.
Where we’d mated. Yet despite our pleasures earlier in the night,
despite our satisfactions, we were still nude. There was not a stitch
of clothing between us. We were like lost children in Eden, bare, our
genitals exposed and shame unknown to our eyes.
I felt my breakfast in my belly. I felt satisfied, safe. Yet
it was an illusion. My hands were still tied. I was still Bridget’s
prisoner.
I looked frankly between Bridget’s legs. She saw where my
wandering eyes rested and smiled. Quickly I looked away. I looked back
at myself. In the mirror. Hers was black. My nest was gold. As I
looked from her pubis to mine I noted how my curls were glinting in the
light cast in the bedroom’s corner.
Bridget reached down to a pillow lying in front of the mirror.
She picked up a small triangle of cloth. It was white.
“You’ll wear this little bikini over your private until we
arrive,” Bridget said. She presented it to my pussy. She threaded my
legs with it. She lifted it, arranged it over my bush. The cloth
pushed against my springy curls. My slit and the panty crotch touched.
Bridget tied the garment’s drawstrings. My bare hips felt the bite of
tightened string. I was held.
“Why do we have to dress if we’re just going to be nude again?”
Amber, standing next to me, asked Sherry.
“Don’t wiggle,” Sherry replied.
“You’re being prepared, dear,” Erika told Amber. Larissa,
already dressed, stood silently just to my side. Her hands were bound
behind her back. Panties were tied round her hips. They hid as little
as mine did. She was the men’s property. The three of them had dressed
her more quickly than Bridget could dress me. She’d spent breakfast a
free woman, but with penises for her side dish.
“Why are they underpanties?” Amber asked in a high-pitched
voice.
“For the same reason you have ribbons in your hair,” Erika
answered. “You belong to us for a little while, okay? We can do as we
wish with you. Don’t whine or I’ll give you a reason to whine, girl!”
Amber said nothing more.
Bridget fingered my slit. The fabric protecting my snatch did
nothing to stop her intrustion. It was too thin.
“You must make them wet,” Bridget said to me.
“I- I’m not...” I lost my words. I felt a wave of pleasure
wash over me.
“Mmmmmm!” a high-pitched voice squealed a moment after mine.
“Stop tickling my pussy!” It was Amber. They had fitted her panties on
and were pleasuring her.
“You are tied but it is good, hmm?” Walter asked.
Beside me, I felt Laurie give a quick, desperate nod.
We were touched until they were sure that our scent would be
left in our panties. Then they stopped. I watched Bridget’s finger as
it withdrew from me. She touched it to her lips. She kissed it.
“You excite me,” she confessed to me. Her voice was husky. I
glanced at her soft, feminine body. How could such supple flesh hide
what I now heard burning in her voice? My eyes darted up over the
slopes of her breasts, past her nipples, to her neck. Her face. She
was eager for me.
I blushed at the fire I saw in her eyes. Consolingly, she
kissed my cheek.
“You will learn,” she whispered. “You will learn to love
another... woman.” She kissed me again. I felt my knees go weak
underneath me. She smiled. She touched my slim shoulder and steadied
me. “Yes,” she said. “You are mine to do with as I please.”
“Look, mommie bought you something else,” Erika said to Amber.
I turned my head.
“A collar?” Amber squawked.
“Yes, don’t you like it?” Erika said to the blonde.
“I don’t need a collar, I need a bra!” Amber answered. But
Erika simply put the collar around her neck anyway. I received one from
Bridget. Larissa was given one by the men. Our necks were buckled like
suitcases.
We were led from the bedroom. We followed the hall. Like
gazelles we walked, gazelles sought by men, captured now, being taken
off for slaughter. The innocence of such animals even in their greatest
hour of danger showed in our eyes. We were large-eyed, observing all,
yet driven forward, hoping for reprieve from our captors as they gazed
at the succulence of our bodies. We were a good catch. Well fatted
where the meat was tenderest, long and lean on our limbs. I could feel
the weight of my breasts bouncing heavily on my chest. My nipples stood
hard. My bush sprouted invitingly between my young legs. My snatch was
a wet promise. Panties, some joke of civilization, ringed my hips,
hiding nothing with a wisp of expensive cloth. My dell sucked against
the intruded material Bridget had jammed up into my snatch in her
explorations. My body was hers, theirs. Only my eyes, large and
frightened, remained free of their control.
They took us down the tunnel toward the two pools that served
as potties. Then, where the bath tunnel began, they turned in. But no
sooner had we turned to go to the bath than we turned again! I had not
seen this hidden crevice in the rocky wall that jutted in on me from the
left.
Bridget’s fingers took hold of me. “You will have to turn,”
she said. “The crack is quite narrow.” And indeed it was. Larissa,
going first, was guided by the men. They had to be careful following
her. Their cocks, jutting out in front of them, sought to scrape the
rock walls every direction they faced. Bridget, when my turn came,
clasped my breasts and eased me through. Sherry followed with Amber.
The cave widened. Enough to walk. I listened to my bare feet
make contact with the rock underfoot as we followed a path. It was a
natural, cave grown trail, where rock had thrust itself up from the
warmth of the earth and then, later, lonely at its fate in the night,
exposed and cold under the fixed staring starlight, it had split. We
were in such a split and as the razor walled rock fell away from me, I
found a sense of claustrophobia pass. We were let go. Not by our human
masters, but by the rock. The path between the rock became quite wide.
I felt my feet touch wood. I looked down. Around the corner,
amid the gloom, I found myself on a board. A makeshift bridge. It was
about two feet long. A foot wide. Carefully I crossed it. A watery
fluid passed underneath it. Water, I guessed, but it had a sulfer
smell.
“Don’t get your feet wet,” Bridget chided me.
A room opened. To my surprise, it was another room that played
host to a pool. But along the edges of this pool the walls gradually
closed in so that, at the far end, there was only flat wall. I saw,
poised in the far wall like an entrance, a dark hole.
“Yes, we’ll have to swim across,” Bridget said to me. “We
can’t walk around it.” She gestured toward the hole in the wall.
“That’s the entrance to the training room.”
I stared at the hole. It was big, menacing. It looked like a
giant maw waiting to swallow me up. Within I could see light
glimmering. I felt a tremor pass through me. Somehow I would cross the
lake, and find myself in there, or... or what? I guessed they’d find a
way to make me cross.
“Line up, girls!” Jeff called out. He made Larissa and Amber
and I stand shoulder to shoulder. He took the pose of a drill sergeant
in front of us.
“Girls,” he said. He put a drawl in his voice. Larissa broke
into a giggle.
“Are you laughing at my cock?” Jeff snapped at her.
“No,” Larissa answered.
“Well if you do, I’ll make you lick it!” Jeff said. He put his
hand to his dick. He stroked it. It bulged from his fist at either end
like a fire hose.
Larissa stared at it. She blushed. Then, remembering her
breakfast, she said, “I think you already did.”
“Yes,” Jeff nodded. He grinned. Then he again passed his eyes
over all three of us. He pointed at the hole in the rock beyond.
“Girls, that there is the trainin’ room. We are going to cross this
lake single file. You will not find it easy. However, nothing in the
training room is easy either, so we may as well get started.” He
cleared his throat. He looked at his cock. He seemed for a moment to
waver between saying more, and needing to concentrate lest something
untoward happen. “Don’t shoot on me yet, ol’ boy,” he finally muttered
under his breath to his penis. I looked at the trembling erection
aiming itself at us from between his legs. I felt like I was under a
gun. One move, and he’d shoot me.
“He has to go to the bathroom,” Amber, next to me, confided to
Sherry.
“Want me to lick it some more for you, sir?” Larissa offered.
“No,” Jim answered. “Wise of you to ask, though. A drill
sergeant does have to keep his primary weapon well-polished. You’ll be
called to the head of the class if mine needs any polishing during our
stay in the training room.”
“Thank you, sir,” Larissa said. Her voice was respectful. I
realized she would play along no matter what they had planned for us.
She was committed. To the whole thing. I wasn’t sure I was. I still
liked preserving my options, at least in my head. I might, I might
not. I was still free to choose, wasn’t I? I looked at Larissa. Her
eyes were bright. She glanced at me, then away. I felt my belly sink.
She had fallen in love with Jim.
I glanced at the others. I saw them only as friends. They
were eager to try something. It had been fun so far. There had been
teasing, touching. There had been more. Last night had been fun.
There had been no inhibitions then, just as there were none now, and
we’d all gotten to experiment on each other.
And now there was going to be... training.
I felt a tremor. My nipples, already stiff, grew more. I felt
a wave of yearning in my belly. What could they mean, training?
Couldn’t they just tell us? We could learn by listening, not by doing.
“Let’s step over here to the water’s edge, girls,” Jim said.
We obeyed. Me because I was too curious not to. Amber because she knew
something, or perhaps nothing, about how she felt in the cave, and
wanted to go on feeling it. Larissa because she loved Jim. A man we’d
only just met a day before.
Jim arranged us along the edge of the pool. Then he told us to
step into the water. It was cold. Bridget touched her fingers to my
hips. “I must take these off now,” she said to me. I watched as she
undid the ties of my panties. They fell down my legs. They struck the
water and floated upon it.
“Now let’s go forward, girls,” Jim called out. He led the
way. Like Tarzan, but without a loin cloth, he turned and walked into
the deeper part of the pool.
We followed. We stepped away from our panties. They remained
behind, floating on the water. They floated placidly. I looked back at
mine, over my shoulder. But for a million years, and the permeability
of the fabric, already becoming waterlogged, they might have floated
forever.
“Single file, girls!” Jim called. He made us rearrange
ourselves into a file. The men took command of Larissa again. Bridget,
grinning, stepped up beside me. Amber walked between Erika and Sherry.
We went forward toward the hole at the pool’s far end. Water
sluiced quietly between our legs as we put ourselves farther from the
shore at our rear. As we did, the water grew higher around our bodies.
It rose to my knees. Then to my thighs.
“No! It’s cold! I’ll get my pussy wet if I walk any farther
out,” Amber told Erika.
“Yes, dear. You’ll be swimming in a moment,” Erika answered.
Her voice was calm.
“But my hands are tied!” Amber protested.
“So? Use your feet,” Erika said.
“You like wiggling, don’t you?” Sherry said.
They made us go forward, despite the water. I felt myself sink
deeper and deeper into the pool. The water rose on my body until it
lapped at my waist. Then my ribs. Then my breasts, supporting them.
Finally my nipples were submerged.
And then my shoulders! My neck thrust above the water like the
last hope of a giraffe in a flood. Behind me, Amber complained that she
couldn’t stretch her “tippie toes” any farther.
Larissa let out a shriek.
“No! I’ll drown!” I heard her cry.
“Forward!” Jim yelled. “You must swim across. It is only a
few feet for you.”
Like gasping puppies, we made the crossing. My eyes bulged.
My lips sought. I sucked in air no less precious because it was from
between the walls of rocks. We emerged wet on the other side, and
frightened. If they could do that to us, what wouldn’t they dare?
“You did it. Life is a challenge,” Bridget told me. She
kissed my cheek. She was happy for my success. I was simply scared.
“Now let’s go up into the hole,” Jeff said to Larissa. He
pointed to a small set of steps in front of her. She mounted them. I
watched her feet go up them, one by one. Then she stood atop the
makeshift stairs and looked inside.
“Ohhh, it’s scary in here!” Larissa said. She drew back. She
looked over her shoulder at me. I stood behind her, waiting to climb
the stairs after her. “Hold your breath,” she said. “We’re about to
get what’s coming to us.”
I felt a chill at the end of my spine. I gazed into her eyes.
She nodded, briefly. Then she turned away. I felt the cheeks of my
fanny tighten.
“Yes, it is quite the place to bring a young woman, isn’t it?”
Erika said. We stood in a bare rock room, with a flat floor. Someone
had taken care to ensure that all the roof’s stalactites had been shorn
away. I gazed at the walls. At the ceiling. All the room’s surfaces
had been smoothed so that they possessed a kind of regular uniformity.
We were in a square chamber, deep inside the mountain. We were in a
place where man’s hand had definitely intervened. No one could mistake
it for a natural formation. It had a flat roof, a flat floor, square
corners. This room, despite being hewn from living rock, was intended
to reflect the best man’s discipline had to offer. No matter how
beautiful the natural rock may have originally been. All the earth’s
natural variation was broken and sanded and swept clean. It was as if
we were in a box.
What the box contained was even scarier. My throat was raw
from the way I’d screamed upon seeing it all. Whips, chains, implements
of harm everywhere! Yet intermingled with it too, as if the two might
be fitted together, were items of pure luxury. Bath soaps, piled in a
corner, next to a bubbling jaccuzzi. Pillows, a teddy bear, tubes of
oils and rolls of condoms. This was truly a weird room. And it was
large, too. Able to accomodate twice our number in any imaginable
style, be it the pain of an inquisition or the soft nursing touch of a
mother tending a newborn.
“Yes girls, you may have a bath or confess your sins,” Bridget
told myself and the rest. “I’ve done both here. And not too long ago,”
she added. She placed a quick hand to her own fanny. “But today its
your turn. You are, after all, our newest friends. And we can’t just
let you into our secret without exacting a price.” She looked at Jim.
He grinned. She smiled and glanced at Amber. “You too, dear.
Nothing’s free.”
“Kids under 10 are,” Amber countered. Her eyes were wider than
if she’d seen a ghost. But I saw her nipples were stiff, all the same.
Just like mine. Was her snatch wettening like mine was, too? Why? Oh,
I didn’t know! But something had drawn us here, and now we were going
to find out about it.
“So? You’re not 10. Quit bringing up irrelevancies,” Bridget
told Amber. “All day long you’ve whined and complained and needed to
tell us all something more. About yourself, of course. Well you’ll
tell plenty here, little Bitch Babe. Plenty you’ll be glad your mommie
doesn’t find out about when I finally see you off at the end of the
weekend.”
“That wouldn’t be...” Amber began, but she seemed to lose her
voice in her thoughts and we found ourselves in silence. There was not
much to hear in the depths of the cave.
“Look how perky all three of you are,” Sherry smiled. Her eyes
passed over the tips of my breasts to Amber’s teats, then to Larissa’s.
“Aren’t you frightened you might lose your sweet nipples in a room like
this? Well, you’re right. You won’t. You don’t have a thing to worry
about as long as you do just as you are told. Always remember girls,
whenever you’re here, it’s good behavior that counts more than anything
else. I learned to be very, very good here. That’s why I cook so
well!” She laughed. She looked at Bridget. “Did you like my
breakfast, girls?” she asked us when her eyes returned to ours. All
three of us, myself, Amber, and Larissa, nodded vigorously.
I was aware of my naked breasts bulging out brazenly in front
of me. I wanted to cover them. But I kept my hands by my side.
Bridget had searching eyes, eyes that were looking for a pretext to
begin our games. She scanned our faces, our bodies again. More slowly,
as if sizing each of us up. I felt other eyes upon me. My breasts were
young and ripe and warm. My nipples sought attention. Beside me, Amber
was no different. I sensed a desire on our part to break free of our
childish ways, to conceive, to nurse, to feed millions with our awkward,
large, obvious breasts. Our bosoms that were suddenly too big for the
little girl bodies we still thought we carried with us. Our paps had
grown to teats and our ‘titties,’ as they were briefly called, had
ballooned into full-fledged, womanly breasts. Now we stood revealing
them, seeking permission to use them to console men, to breed with them,
to offer ourselves as incubators for hungry newborns. I felt a
tightness in my belly. It was empty. It wished to be filled. I
squeezed the cheeks of my bottom. I was ready. Let them do what they
might. I would be brave.
“My, how your mothers would remark at your attire!” Bridget
laughed. She glanced conspiratorially at Erika, then returned her eyes
to us. “Yes, such sweet little outfits,” Bridget remarked. Her eyes
fell on me. “You’re collared, leashed, and your hands are tied behind
your back,” she said. “And such sweet panties! But they hide so
little, and you got them all wet crossing the lake. And such company
you keep! Men with penises hard as rock.” Bridget broke off her speech
in mid-sentence and glanced around at the guys. “Come here, gentlemen,”
Bridget beckoned. “I shall command us today. Yes! The victim can
become the oppressor. I know you’re all dangerous. Do you think I can
only receive? No, I can deliver the pain also, and the pleasure. So
come, stand in a straight line over here, next to the girls. There must
be games, and contests, and ceremonies. No wild orgies today. Not yet,
anyway. We had our fun last night. Now we should strive for more
exacting pleasures. After all, we are not animals, but human beings.
To my surprise, all three men shambled over to where I stood
with Larissa and Amber. They looked us over, closely, and might have
taken us right there, standing up or pushed to the floor, but Bridget
let out a scream.
“No! No! Stand in a straight line beside the girls! You
aren’t to fuck them!” Bridget protested. The men left off their
inspections and formed a line beside ours.
“What is this, the fucking military?” Jim groused.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Bridget answered. Her eyes
twinkled. She surveyed the men’s dicks. “My, what eager beavers,” she
said. “Or eager for beaver, as the case may be.” Bridget cast her eyes
across to Erika again, then to Sherry. “We’ve got some heavy equipment
here, girls. Come look! Better yet, let’s huddle. We must decide what
to do with it.”
Amber leaned forward a little. She gazed, her eyes growing
quite huge in the process, at the line-up of penises beside her. Jim’s
was closest. It throbbed with his pulse. He grinned down at her. She
shrank from his gaze. Yet, a moment later, she was sticking her neck
out again, leaning forward and surveying the row of penises displayed so
freely just to her left.
Bridget and Sherry and Erika had formed a three-woman huddle.
I could just hear their whispering voices. Sherry’s bottom stuck out
invitingly toward us. She waggled it aimlessly as she listened.
Bridget did most of the talking.
When the huddle broke, the three woman gazed at us
enthusiastically. They had made plans for us. For our bodies. Their
eyes passed to the men.
“Ah, yes. You three,” Bridget said. “The sperm boys. Well,
we’re going to see just which of you has the strongest penis.” She
smiled. There was a sensusous glow in her eyes. “We must shackle you,
though. All three of you. You’re men. The simple ropes that bind the
girls’ wrists you might find a way of breaking. So, no ropes for you,
boys. Heavy shackles, on your hands and feet. But your penises will be
given free reign. In fact, they’ll be put through quite a few paces.
But I want you to focus, men. Just on your dick. forget your arms and
legs. Your past. Your future. You’ll be judged in here solely by what
your penis can do. Can it keep from shooting? Can it hold out a
minute? Three? We’ll see which of you explodes and which of you
doesn’t. Think of it this way, men. You’re a sea captain. But you
don’t travel the ocean. You travel in time. Through time, minute by
agonizing minute, until you reach ‘tommorrow.’
“That’s right,” Bridget continued. “You must transport your
precious cargo of sperm from one end of the night to the other. Don’t
lose it! But don’t expect an easy ride, either. You’ll see your poor
Ship Penis smashed between the Goddesses Skylla and Charibdis. They
used their faces by the way. They kissed, with a big male penis trapped
between them.
“But don’t be too disappointed if you cum,” Bridget advised the
men. “You can, after all, make more sperm, can’t you? But be warned.
Don’t shoot casually. I know there’s an upper limit on how much sperm
you can produce in one night. So hang on tight to what you’ve got.
There’ll be no let up in the action. And at the end of the evening,
when you’re ordered to discharge your cargo, your ejaculate will be
weighed. The man who shoots the most wins.”
Bridget grinned. She walked to a table and picked up a small
golden scale. It was made of gold. It sparkled. She held it aloft.
“Here’s the scale, gentlemen. But we will only use it at the end of the
evening. Only your end of the night discharge will be weighed. So do a
good job keeping yourself in ‘til then, and you just might win.”
I looked over at Amber to see her reaction to Bridget’s erotic
soliloquy. It gave me hot flashes but Amber, perhaps, was too immature
to listen. She was struggling with the rope that kept her hands
securely behind her back. Her body, just touching maturity, was utterly
defenseless to whatever depredations might befall it.
It was still possible to see her 9-year-old figure within the
more curvaceous lines of her 12-year-old’s body. I tried to picture her
on a swing, jumping off, teasing a boy, running away (successfully). I
saw her, in my minds eye. She was small of form. She had long, golden
hair. A petite midriff with budding nipples topped breathtakingly long
legs. Despite slim hips she had a provacative bottom. When she felt
sexy she tied a scarf around her neck. Slowly, her belly button became
revealed as the months slid past. Then her shirt grew even smaller in
relation to her growing body, exposing almost her entire tummy. It grew
tight upon her ballooning breasts. It was her favorite shirt, with a
Care Bear on it, but given her nude tummy and her ever-larger,
shirt-moulded breasts, her mother finally had to insist that she not
wear it anymore. Too many men were drooling over her. Even the
previously chaste father of two next door.
The men in our company were drooling. But not, like a pervert,
from the mouth. Rather it was their elongated, sexually-charged penises
which drooled. Pre-cum. The very description of this overabundance of
male semiotic fluid sent a shiver up my spine. Were they really to keep
their seed all bottled up in their testicles for the entire night?
Pondering this, I realized that despite the different textures of
condoms and sex toys, despite the differnent flavors of the various
sexual aids on display, this room was not about pleasure. Not
primarily. It was about testing. Pushing ourselves to the limit,
sexually. Testing ourselves against the room’s equipment and against
each other. It was, in the case of the equipment, an unequal contest.
Unfeeling machinery (and toys!) against raw flesh. And not just
anyplace on the body, but a test of one’s most sensitive parts. The
nipples. The clitty. The soft, expansive, and inviting roundness,
pierced in its center by a small hole, of the bottom. My derriere
tightened against the inevitable; I would have one or more things up my
ass before the night was over. Seeing what was on display in this room,
I guessed those who oversaw my denoument would choose uncomfortable
things. They would make me receive them. They would make a game of it.
As for testing ourselves against each other, I felt the contest
was unequal in the case of Amber. Still, she would have to ask to be
relieved of her duties. Perhaps even plead. And despite her
disconsolation at being tied, I didn’t yet sense a willingness on her
part to back out. If Amber were to back out, I might try it myself.
After all, she was 12 and I was only 13. Yet as I licked my lips at
Bridget’s soliloquy I felt infinitely more mature than Amber. I felt a
need for the men’s cocks. She appeared to only feel a need to be
untied.
I thrust out my bosoms. I gazed at my nipples, at their
display, then looked sideways to see if any of the men were noticing my
arousal. They were not. They were mesmerized by Bridgette, by her
descriptions of what would be required of them in their denuded state,
their cocks all stuck up and their balls balled up, straining for
release. Bridget, oddly, did notice me, however.
“Yes, dear, your nipples will be seen to,” she said. She
tossed back her straight black hair with a flick of her head. She
regarded my tits for a moment and then nodded to Erika. The blonde
stepped over to a shelf. Her body was lean, athletic. She had a jaunty
air as she walked. She picked up what looked like two jewelled
clothespins and brought them over to me. On closer inspection I saw
they were plastic, mounted with gems of cubic zirconium.
“Have you worn nipple clamps before?” Erika asked me
conversationally. I shook my head ‘no’. My hair streamed back and
forth in front of me with my urgent denial. “Hold still, then,” Erika
told me. “They shouldn’t hurt too badly.”
“Oh, please don’t,” was all I could muster in words. I wished
to retract my nipples but they were febrile with lust. I watched,
swallowed, as the first of my tender pink points was clamped.
“Oh! It stings!” I cried. It felt like a bee had stung my
right breast. It didn’t let go.
“Of course it produces a certain... feeling,” Erika replied.
Lightly she brushed a fingertip over my other nipple to ensure that it
was fully extended. I felt wet in my slit, still wearing my panties,
and yearned for a more substantial, and less painful bra.
“Ooooch!” I cried out. The other clamp was applied to my left
tit. It bit into me mightily and made tears spring from my eyes. “How
long must I wear these?” I asked in a panicked voice.
“Why, you will be proud to display them on your most intimate
parts until permitted to do otherwise, of course,” Erika answered.
Woefully I turned my head to the men. I had their attention now. Jim
smiled.
“You’ll survive,” Jim said to me laconically.
“I don’t feel like I can!” I answered frantically.
“Hang bells upon her titties,” Bridget commanded Erika. “That
will increase her pride of ownership.”
“Ohhhh! I’m not a cow!” I answered. But Erika, impressed with
the idea, went to the shelf that had borne the clamps and returned with
twin metal bells. They were small, silver, suspended from threads. She
used small clips at the pointed end of my clamps to affix the bells. I
shivered. A silvery sound tinkled from my breast buds. My bosoms,
despite their mature size, had been reduced to trinkets.
Worse awaited the men. A straw was inserted into the pee hole
of each man’s penis. Rubberized thread was fitted behind the flange of
his cockhead so that the straw woudn’t pop out. Then each man was
encouraged to drink large volumes of water. It was proffered to them by
the ladies; the men drank in a manner reminding me, at least, of
horses. Each of their mouths supped at a shared bottle while their
hands remained conveniently bound and out of the way.
“Yes, you will pee through the straws,” Bridget told the men.
“It will be like a human fountain, watching you. A penis fountain. And
you’ll all pee together, of course. To make the fountain more
interesting.”
While the men were being fitted with cock-straws, Erika
explained to Amber and Larissa and myself the rules of a devilish game.
There was a collection of padded wooden trestles. Each was a foot
wide. But one end of each trestle was lower than the other. Picture,
if you must, six sawhorses. With wide tops. The top of each is covered
in leather. But the top doesn’t go straight across, horizontally, as
with a normal sawhorse. Instead, it is angled downward. Rather like a
slide. A kitten might mistake these sawhorses for playground slides, in
fact, and slide down each one.
However, despite the soft leather padding covering the top of
each sawhorse/slide, it had an ominous aspect to it. Near the
‘falling-off’ end of each sawhorse/slide, a large dildo pushed up
through the leather padding. It stuck up straight and Erika explained
to us that it was our job, as girls, to race from sawhorse/slide to
sawhorse/slide and shove the penis up each of our asses. Conveniently,
perhaps, the dildo mounted on each of the sawhorses varied in size from
sawhorse to sawhorse. The nearest sawhorse bore a small dildo, the size
of a boy’s penis. The middle sawhorses held man-sized dildos. But the
final sawhorses each held a dildo fit for a perverted queen. Huge, and
ominous.
“Only the biggest and best for you, hmmmm, girls?” Erika
teased. “We’ll proceed one at a time. You’ll each be timed. The girl
who can shove each dildo up her ass in the minimum amount of time wins.”
“I-I can’t possibly take such a huge thing!” Amber protested.
“There might be a small dispensation for you, Amber, if you try
your very best,” Erika answered. She walked up to myself and Larissa.
She poked a finger into each of our tummies. I didn’t giggle. I was
too scared. My bosoms heaved, though, against the sudden intrusion into
my flesh, and their nipple-hung bells tinkled. “As for you two,” Erika
said to Larissa and I, “You’ll be expected to take the full length.”
She smiled. “Again, it’s effort that’s most important, just like with
Amber. Effort and enthusiasm for doing the job. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Larissa and I answered in quavering voices. We sounded
like small children agreeing, before a long car ride, to be good.
“Fine,” Erika said. “Don’t worry. I’ll jam plenty of
lubricant up your asses before we begin.” She tugged on one of my
breast-borne bells. “Come. I want each of you to place your chin
comfortably on the high end of a sawhorse. Bend over, spread your
stance, and give your chin a rest. Hmmm? So I can drill into your
behinds with cream-laden fingers, of course!”
“Ohhh, I don’t want to,” Amber said. She sounded, curiously,
like a child in a candy shop, I thought, disagreeing with the choice of
candy but not with having a sweet tooth. Erika gazed at her, Bridget
too. Then they glanced at each other.
“I can see we’ll have to take care of you first,” Erika said,
looking again at Amber. She said it in a soft, knowing voice. It
sounded not the least bit threatening, just a statement. But it was one
she fully intended to carry out. Amber shrank from her gaze. Bridget
licked her lips.
“Alright, little Amber,” Bridget said. She tossed back her
jet-black hair. Her sumptuous tits swayed, elegantly, as she walked
with long-legged grace to where the 12-year-old neophyte stood. Gently
Bridget cupped the girls’ breasts. They were so young, so tender, I
wanted to dash forward to protect her from Bridget’s grasping hands.
Amber, her hands tied securely behind her back, her bosoms ripely
displayed, uncovered, unprotected, gave out a small wail as Bridget
suddenly squeezed down on her tits.
“Yes, little one. Sex can hurt as well as being pleasurable,”
Bridget breathed. She kissed the girl directly on her unwilling lips.
“Here you will learn, I hope, that it is a mixture of the two that gives
one the greatest pleasure. Hmmmm?” Bridget concluded her statement with
a question mark, directed her gaze at Erika even as she held Amber’s
tits tightly.
“Mmmmm,” was all Erika said in reply. She dipped her right
hand into the front of her bikini panties. She touched herself. I
watched as her nipples became stiffer. Her fingers played in her slit.
“I’m going to put you in the corner,” Bridget said to Amber.
The girl stiffened. Bridget smiled. “Unspanked. With a white bottom,”
Bridget assured her. She let go of Amber’s breasts. She glanced at the
rest of us, both male and female. All of us who were captives. “Please
turn around,” she said to us. Walk to the wall and face into it. The
girls and I have some preparations to make.” She fixed her gaze on me.
“Do not think your little race will be forgotten,” she said. She
glanced at Larissa, then back at me. “In fact, as you stand facing the
wall, think of me, squeezing vaseline up your ass, for your own good,
your own protection.” She laughed. “And you thought your health class
was a pain-- in the ass.”
Erika took hold of me. She turned me around so that I faced
the wall. She brushed back my blonde hair and, leaning in to me from
behind, whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll see that Bridget doesn’t mistreat
you.”
I was shoved forward then, by Erika, as if to make up for what
she’d just said. So that Bridget wouldn’t suspect? I stumbled and made
my way forward across the bare floor to the wall. Something fell into
the water outside, beyond our big stone cell. I listened to the splash,
wondered at it. Did something live in the water we’d just crossed
through? We still had to go back. And we had nothing on, save our
soon-to-be-removed little panties.
The men, already naked at the hips, had the straws pulled from
their cocks. Bridget assured the men that they’d soon be bedecked by
the straws again. At the moment, though, more important matters
beckoned.
“Be submissive for a little while, and let me handle all our
affairs,” Bridget said to the men. They complied. I felt it was
strange to see them so visibly eager, yet so docile. But they were, and
that sealed my fate. Only they knew I was being held captive here. But
I could hardly be rescued if they were going to let themselves be made
into slaves. If they were submissive, I must be too. I tried to accept
my fate. I stared at the stone wall. It was implacable. Facing it, I
could see back into the centuries. But at the same time I was prevented
from seeing what was happening in ‘real time’, right behind me!
We were put in a straight line, like soldiers at revielle,
against the wall. Three males stood to my left, presenting their
erections to the bare stone. The girls made them press the tips of
their penises to the wall. Nick, who’d brought us, farthest from me.
Then Jim, whom I had a crush on. And finally, uselessly close, since I
had no interest in him, was Walter. Perhaps I’d have sex with him,
given our undressed state, but it would not be ‘making love’. It would
simply be sex.
Next to me, on my right, stood Larissa. She shivered at what
lay ahead for us. I watched, briefly, her boobies, her bottom, as she
stood facing in to the wall. It was like gazing at fresh jello. She
was curvy and cute. Beside her stood the ever-desirable Amber. She was
placed in one of the room’s four corners. She stood contritely, her
legs straight, her back stiff. She was being reprimanded for nothing,
save her desire to preserve her innocence in the face of such awful
depravity. I admired her courage in speaking up. Then, with her hands
softly grasping my neck, Erika turned my head so that I was forced to
look at the wall in front of me.
“Behave,” Erika told me. “Don’t give Bridget an excuse to
spank you. God knows, she’s good at inventing reasons. You dont need
to provide her with extra incentives.”
Time passed. I heard activity behind us but only managed
half-glances to my left or right. I didn’t wish to be punished. Not
any more, at least, than was already planned. I shivered. I felt the
cheeks of my bottom press together. My ass crack became a slim,
delicate line. Oh, how I wished I could take everything back now. Both
my promises to them and to myself. I would be little again, just a
small girl, in the swing in her front yard. Alone. Protected by her
daddy. Strangely, thinking of my father made me more aroused. I
wished, suddenly, to fling myself upon the floor and dare Jim, despite
his restraints, to plunge himself into me. But the party was all about
waiting. Denial. We were being inflated like balloons, stretched,
teased. Last night was for fun, today was for something else. I wasn’t
sure what. Penance... for our fun?
We were permitted to turn around. Or perhaps we were
commanded. Bridget’s clear voice sounded in the quiet room. We
obeyed. When we faced out into the room, I saw some things had
changed. Bridget was without panties. Her pussy showed its soft
curls. Lightly she stroked within it, using her fingers. They were
gloved. The gloves covered just her fingers, her hands. Nothing more.
They were made of black silk. It was patterned with designs. There was
a large silk bow attached to the back of each of her gloves. Upon her
thighs, stockings rose above her knees. They were of the same material
as the gloves. Each had a big bow on it, hung from the outside of her
stockinged thigh, at its apex, as if she were a Christmas tree in need
of decoration.
Except for a scarf, tied tightly around her throat, matching
her gloves and her stockings, Bridget was naked. I gazed at her
lily-white skin with amazement. Her cherry tits poked up at me from
across the room, inviting me to sample them. Involuntarily, I licked my
lips. She caught the movement of my tongue and smiled.
“Come, we must have our afternoon tea before you are punished,”
Bridget said to me. Her voice was gay. She was in total command. I
was but a leaf, blown by the wind. Larissa was the head of a
dandelion. Amber was but a puff of pollen. Bridget, despite her
nudity, held a big, demanding-looking horse whip in her hand. It had
multiple thongs. Each bore, at its tip, a small jewel. I wondered if
they were real, or fake like the gems hung from my nipples.
“Oh, this whip is quite valuable,” Bridget said. “Much more so
than your ass, I can assure you.”
Assured that we would be punished with only the finest of
implements, we allowed ourselves to be led over to a table set out for
tea. The china pot holding the tea looked delicate; blue with swirls of
bird-shaped color on it. The cups, exactly the correct number for our
group, matched the pot. Bridget seated herself at the table and put me
on her knee. Erika took Amber. Sherry, better endowed than any of us,
sat Larissa in her lap. My friend, inexplicably, snuggled up against
Sherry’s big mother-like tits and seemed to wish to nurse at them.
“Oh, she wishes to have milk with her tea!” Sherry laughed.
She guided Larissa’s mouth to her nearest teat and began suckling the
girl. Of course, she wasn’t pregnant, Larissa could get nothing but
comfort from Sherry’s tits. But she sucked lustily anyway, and I envied
the relative safety of Sherry’s lap, compared to the lap I sat in, that
of the Vampire-like Bridget.
“Would you like a taste of my tit?” Erika asked Amber. She
took the girl’s chin and pressed it close to her bosoms.
“No, I--” Amber began. But then, seeing how relaxed Larissa
looked, despite our situation, she suddenly grabbed Erika’s nearest tit
begween her teeth and began sucking furiously.
“Oh, hungry baby!” Erika said, startled. She gasped out a
sigh. “Yes, feed, suck all you please,” Erika said. I did not pay
Bridget the same compliment.
How embarrassing it would be for one girl to suck another’s
tits in the normal, everyday world! Yet here all was different. I was
being served tea, in delicate cups, yet my bottom must be scourged, and
plied with vaseline, so I could partake of wicked games ramming dildos
up my unwilling ass. I gazed at the men. They knelt round the table,
showing us their penises. Their nude promise was my only reason for not
screaming out at once that I must be let go, released, sent home like
the little girl I felt, deep down, I still was. Oh, to be impaled on
such cocks! Even Walter’s took my breath away, if I let myself
concentrate just on his member. They were all well-hung, and desperate,
and I was wet to receive them. It’s most unfeminine to discuss one’s
feelings in such matters but, reduced to a pair of wet panties, I
couldn’t help but think of giving myself to their lust. They would take
me, in any case. I had no doubt of that. Bridget’s games were only a
way station to a ravaged fulfillment at their hands.
“You must drink your tea in a ladylike manner,” Bridget advised
me. I sipped. I gasped, not at the heat of the tea, but because as I
leaned forward to take a sip, my breasts tinkling with the bells hung
upon them, Bridget pressed a finger between my legs. She began
massaging my slit with it. “Keep your legs open,” she reminded me.
“Always you must be ready for whatever might transpire.”
It was difficult to drink my tea with Bridget diddling her
finger in my slit. Beside me, I heard Amber gasp as the same trick was
performed on her sex. And Larissa, who had found Sherry’s breasts so
comfy, so reassuring, nonetheless was suffered to entertain her host’s
digit in her pussy.
The men had accepted being bound and facing into the wall.
Now, kneeling before us, watching us have tea, I could guess at their
reason for remaining compliant. Just beyond the tea table lay a large
bed. It was a bed on wheels and our Mistresses of Crime, Sherry and
Bridget and Erika, had taken advantage of the wheels on the big bed to
roll it right up to our tea table. It waited, like a promise, its
covers already drawn back. It was beautifully outfitted, with satin
sheets and matching pillows. But I saw, as did each of the other girls,
gazing at it, cords upon the bed. They were black. There was one tied
to each bedpost. I could guess their use; one of us, at least, was to
be tied into the bed after we were done with our delicate tea cups and
our feminine party. We might sip like ladies, but we would howl, I
surmised, like banshees on that bed. Would we be tied face down? Face
up? I guessed it would be with legs wide apart, for the cords at the
bed’s footboard were widely separated. The cords at the headboard had
the same amount of distance between them. Spread-eagled. That was it,
I saw. But still I didn’t know whether it would be belly-down or
pussy-up. I trembled. My trembling made the bells on my breasts shake.
“Oh, my! It’s way past little Amber’s bedtime,” Erika said
with a smirk when we’d all drunk our fill of tea. We girls, those of us
who were captives, had been made to drink tea till our tummies were
sloshing. The men got nothing, just watched, on their knees. Amber,
hearing her name, sighed with relief that she would have to drink no
more tea. But at the same time her head shot up, worriedly, her neck
straightening out, for she had seen the cords.
“I’m not sleepy!” Amber said. “But I will have to pee soon.”
“Then tonight’s a good night for you to learn bladder control,”
Erika said. She patted Amber’s head solicitously.
“Indeed,” Bridget agreed. Frantically Amber looked at me, then
at the men. I was sympathetic but the men were not. Their eyes glowed
at the prospect of seeing little 12-year-old Amber tied down to the bed
with a tummy full of tea.
“Yeek!” Amber cried. She struggled. It was no use. Erika was
tawny and athletic and handled the girl easily. It only made Amber look
more childish to protest. A minute later, Amber was tied to the bed.
Her back pressed to it, her face looked pleadingly up at us. Bridget,
standing over the bed, admiring her, reached out and stroked the girl
between her split-apart legs. “Oh! You shall make me have to pee!”
Amber said. I marvelled out how, despite her full belly, her tummy
actually sank below the level of her ribs. She was young, thin, with
long, coltish legs, slim thighs, a childish face. Only her bosoms gave
her away as being something other than a girl in primary school. They
ballooned on her chest like ripe, round fruit, a twin pair, each
sprouting a nipple at its tip. I found myself desiring to lick her
cherry-tipped nipples and lick her cunny with my tongue until it wet me.
It was good that my hands were tied behind me. I would have
fingered my slit, impulsively, gazing at such a young, tender creature,
spread out before me. Erika wasn’t restrained. She indulged herself
with a finger up her cunt. Bridget did the same, as did Sherry.
“Oh, how sweet she looks! I should wish to nurse her and
protect her and make her my own child!” Sherry exclaimed, both her
motherly and sexual instincts aroused simultanously as she looked at
poor vulnerable Amber. The men, wickeder in their plans, were kept from
massaging their aching pricks, or from pouncing upon her.
“At least I still have my panties on!” Amber said. Her voice
was rueful. She didn’t like being tied up and yet, I sensed, she was
not utterly averse to being the center of attention. We were all
staring at her, admiring every curve of her young, newly grown body.
She had no reason for embarrassment, she was tied up, and could no more
have prevented our admiration than if she’d been a babe in a crib. We
blew kisses to her, we complimented her, we spoke of her tits as if they
were mounds of delight and wished for a body as slim as hers. Despite
her bonds, she blushed. Then she wiggled and complained that she needed
to visit the toilet.
“Oh, I’m afraid they forgot to put one in down here,” Bridget
said, with false sadness. “Morning’s not too far away. Sleep tight.
And don’t pee in your nice new satin sheets or Daddy will give you quite
a whaling for ruining them. Not to mention your Mommie.”
“I can’t-- I have to go NOW!” Amber declared. She wriggled her
hips violently. Erika laughed. Bridget smiled, and displayed the
multi-thonged whip to the girl’s eyes. “Please!” Amber cried. Her eyes
grew big as saucers. Her pretty thighs tried to clamp upon each other
but they were wide-spread and firmly held by the cords. “Ohhh, this is
awful!” Amber said at last, resigned to her fate and knowing it would
cost her dearly when her pee came spurting from her panty-clad nether
lips.
“Tickle! Tickle! Tickle!” Erika said. She didn’t even have
to touch the girl to make fear run up her spine and her mouth gape.
When she did, Amber writhed like a small snake on the bed and howled.
“Noooooo! You’ll make me peeeeeee!” Amber begged. The men
laughed at the outrageousness of it all.
“Don’t wet your panties!” Jim cried.
“Perhaps she’d prefer that I eat them for her?” Walter said.
“No! Panties are for wearing, not for eating!” Amber shouted.
Erika continued to tease her. The girl wrestled against her cords but
couldn’t escape.
“Tinkle, tinkle, Little Star-let,” Erika sang in a lilting
voice. At the same time, Bridget, reminding the girl of what awaited if
she gave into her natural impulses, dangled the gem-encrusted whip over
the girl’s face.
“Oh! The jewels are so beautiful!” Amber cried. She gazed at
them with childish wonder. And then it happened. Staring at the whip,
working her hips against the diddling intrusing of Erika’s fingers,
Amber suddenly began peeing. We saw the crotch of her panties suddenly
wetten. Then the fluid escaped her lovely, stretched-tight garment and
flooded the bed between her legs and under her bottom.
“Ooooooeeeeeek!” Amber blurted. I don’t think she could
believe, any more than I actually could, that she’d wet the bed. She
wriggled, trying to stop. It was no use. Her legs were tied in a wide
vee and she, feminine creature though she was, had tea in her belly that
was yearning to get out. And so it did. She made a big, wet spot right
in the center of the satin-covered bed. When she finally shuddered to a
conclusion she lay gazing at us with fear-struck eyes.
“Oh, my. My, my. Poor Amber,” Bridget said. “Such a mess
you’ve made, girl!”
“I didn’t know a little girl like her could hold so much pee in
her bladder,” Erika remarked.
Amber began crying.
“Shhhh, we are only playing,” Sherry said. She leapt onto the
bed, next to Amber’s head, where the pee had not, fortunately reached.
She glanced at the girl’s hips, where there was a big stain, then back
at her face. She stroked the girl’s cheek. Amber’s sobs softened. She
began to hiccup.
“Hold your breath,” Sherry told her. “No hiccuping allowed in
the dungeon.”
“You must put sugar under my tongue if I’m - hiccup! - s’posed
to stop -hiccup!- hiccuping,” Amber told her.
“Lick my cunt. It’s sweet,” Sherry said. She straddled the
girl. I watched as her big bottom settled over Amber’s chin. It
swallowed it up in its divide, leaving only her neck showing. I watched
as Amber’s neck strained and then, to my surprise, moving forward
slightly, I saw Amber sticking out her tongue to lick the woman’s
snatch. A hiccup seized Amber. Then, when it had passed, she began to
dutifully lick at Sherry’s slit.
“Oh!” Sherry cried, delighted. Her large bosoms shook on her
chest. Amber’s body sighed. Perhaps she hoped to avoid a whipping by
bringing plasure to one of her tormentors. Sherry clapped her hands
behind Amber’s head. She lifted it from the bed. She begged the girl
to tongue her more deeply.
Amber obeyed. She licked for all she was worth as we gazed at
her slim, alluring form, at its suppleness, its lightness, and at the
pee-soaked panties which wreathed her hips. Mostly she was just skin
and bones, save for her sumptuous young titties. She was a perfect,
albeit junior-sized Barbi, laid out for our pleasure, naughtily wet
between her flamingo-like legs.
“Ah, if only we could all be as young and innocent as she,”
Bridget said in the very first of her heartfelt statements of the
evening. She let the whip dangle aimlessly from her fingers.
“She is truly lovely,” Erika agreed. “Young, but lovely all
the same.”
The men made less gallant comments. You’d have thought you
were in a restroom, listening to them.
When Sherry had taken her pleasure, she dismounted, rather
blushingly and awkwardly, from Amber’s face. She stood beside me. She
kissed my cheek. “One to be punished, and the other yet to be tested,”
she said, apparently in reference to Amber and myself. Larissa,
forgotten, shrank back from the women, hoping not to be missed. Jeff
grinned at her.
“Don’t forget Larissa,” he said.
“Ohhhh, you!” Larissa scolded. Sherry laughed.
“So many newcomers to be put to the test, I forgot my favorite
nurseling.” She walked over to the girl, oblivious to her own wet,
post-orgasmic snatch, and pressed my friend to her. Larissa resisted,
then relented. She tilted her head down and kissed Sherry’s right
bosom.
“Please, help yourself. My body is yours,” Sherry offered.
“Mmmmm, thanks,” Larissa replied. She nibbled at a tit,
perhaps thought of biting it, then finally settled on sucking it
instead. Sherry gasped with pleasure. The men, watching, made
desperate comments about our beauty and their need to fuck it.
Amber was untied from the bed. Gently she was helped to her
feet. She stood contritely, eyeing the many-thonged whip. She let the
women pat her head. I admired her panties. They were still lovely,
despite being peed in. I looked at the wet spot in the satin sheets of
the bed. It was her mark. Her sign that she had been there.
“It is time for your torture,” Bridget said to Amber. The girl
swallowed.
“Pretend you are a heretic, and must be made to repent by the
inquistion,” Bridget suggested. Hardly helpful, I thought, a comment
such as that. It made butterflies rise in my tummy.
Amber, however, merely, said,
“What’s a hair-tic?”
“Someone who believes bad things,” Erika replied. She stroked
the girl’s blonde mane.
“Well, I don’t believe bad things, but I certainly *do* them,”
Amber answered. She shivered. I felt a sense of shock run through me.
Was she being complicit?
“Yes, yes you do,” Bridget agreed. “But I should so love it if
you’d be a little heretic, and need to confess something,” Bridget
said. She stroked her jewel-tipped whip up the back of the girl’s
thighs, then over her pantied ass, making the girl quiver. Her
unadorned nipples jiggled upon her breasts. My own bosoms, weighted
down by the clips, shook out a quick jingle as I felt a shudder run
through me.
“Well I s’pose I could think of something bad and then confess
to thinking that,” Amber said. She popped a finger contemplatively
between her lips. I watched, stunned, thinking she ought to run while
she was untied, her hands and feet free. She could dart out of the
dungeon and, despite the splash of whatever I’d heard outside, probably
swim to safety. Instead, the attention she’d gotten, or something, made
her stay, rooted next to the bed, thinking of bad things to think, while
the women, beguilingly, paid her the utmost attention. I wondered why
she was not simply put over at once and punished. Bridget was strange,
with her black hair and sleek, Vampire’s body. She promised tortures,
then skipped them, keeping all of us, including me, on tenterhooks about
what must happen to us next. The men, conveniently bound, ached to
spend. I gazed at their hard cocks and would have dived to the floor to
have them, or onto the pee-stained bed, but knew they’d only consider me
a slut for doing it, for giving myself to them, and so I waited for
direction from Bridget instead. We all waited. She, I think, indulged
herself minute by minute, with no plan save her own personal pleasure.
“What was the first boy you ever did it with?” Bridget asked.
“Oh! I could never tell that!” Amber said. There was a
serious look on her face. Despite all she’d been through, she’d
suddenly placed in a postion where she was not about to give.
Of course, that gave Bridget just the entry she was currently
looking for.
“Then you must tell us,” Bridget said. “And be tortured if you
don’t.”
“What?! It’s-- It’s my secret, and mine alone,” Amber
protested. She looked up at Bridget with her pug nose and her eyes
defiant. “Who did *you* do it with first, hmmmm?” she asked.
“I asked first,” Bridget replied smoothly.
“Oh! I’m not telling!” Amber cried. For in that moment Erika,
sensing an opportunity, had picked the 12-year-old up, and tossed her
with a lithe, quick movement over her shoulder. Amber’s slim legs
kicked. Erika laughed. The woman’s bosoms shook and Amber’s tits,
hanging down, brushed over Erika’s. Both females grew more aroused, but
it did not keep Erika from hauling little Amber into the depths of the
dungeon.
She was plopped down, wet panties and all, next to a medieval
rack. Amber’s eyes widened. “I learned about these in school,” she
said. “In hist’ry.” Reverentially she ran her fingers along the
surface of the rack. It was a wooden machine but someone had taken the
trouble of padding the bed of the rack, where the victim was to lie,
with leather. The leather was well-polished.
Amber gazed at the chains waiting to bind hand and foot at
either end of the rack. The links looked old, as if used many times.
But their weakest link had not yet been found. Amber’s bosoms stood out
from her chest, all round and perky. Her tummy dipped inward, just
under her ribs, and above her hips, giving her the look of being
underfed. At her waistline her legs began, stretching in slim columns
down to her dainty feet. Her wet panties clung to her hips. From the
front I could see a few stray wisps of her pubic hair where they escaped
out the top of her too-small panties. From behind, I saw most of her
bottom, left uncovered by the undies. Yet Bridget commented that she
would have to lie nude upon the rack.
“We must bare ourselves before our Lord,” Bridget said. Erika
nodded, but had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. The men
looked on with hungry eyes. They would not save Amber from whatever she
got herself into.
“Be careful, Amber,” I thought to myself. She was getting
marvelous amounts of attention, but she was entirely on her own, and
neck deep in uncharted waters. Did she really wish to play a heretic in
the Inquisition?
“Oh, I’ve had many bad thought,” Amber said reflectively.
“Mmmm, I know you have,” Bridget agreed. She patted the girl’s
bottom with her hand. Amber shivered. She gazed again at the big
chains mounted at the head and foot of the rack. At the large, spoked
wheel that would, or could, be used to stretch her to pieces if she
should be unlucky enough to find herself bound down upon the leather bed
of the device. And, gazing to the wall beyond, she saw several metal
saws. They hung innocuously from the wall, but one was reminded, upon
seeing them, of magical shows where poor girls have to get themselves
cut in half.
Amber sat her pantied bottom down on the leather bench.
“Oh, I think I’m having a bad thought right now,” Amber
confessed to Bridget. The black-haired woman laughed.
“You’re not to confess so soon,” she said. She gave a flick of
her whip. It’s jeweled tips struck her thigh, lightly, but making her
wince.
“What-- what should I do then?” Amber asked, wide-eyed.
“Tell us the name of the boy you first did it with,” Erika
suggested.
“Oh, no. Not that!” Amber said, quite seriously.
“Then we have our answer,” Erika said to Bridget.
“Yes,” Bridget agreed.
“But it would be too embarr--” Amber began. She was seized by
both women, head and foot, and shoved down onto the bed of the machine.
“Yook!” she cried, and quite honestly, I think, as she felt her wrists
and feet made fast to the device. When her screams had subsided, and
the women stepped back to admire their handiwork, Amber was once again
stretched out for us, this time on something that could make her shout
much more urgently than tickling her ever had. I found myself shaking,
could do nothing to stop it. The bells on my bosoms jingled. Bridget
told me to quiet myself or I’d be punished. That was fruitless. It
simply made me more nervous, and my tits noisier. Bridget ignored my
tinkling titties for the moment, but my heart sank, for now I’d earned
my stripes, so to speak, and knew I stood little chance of not having
them applied. My ass burned with the memory of my previous encounter
with the whip. Its mark was gone now, but hardly forgotten.
As if in anticipation of my transgression, and my need to be
reproved for it, male fingers grasped at the drawstrings of my panties.
Quickly I turned my head. My eyes darted back over my shoulder,
fearful, seeking my assailant. It was Jim! He grinned. I tried to
suppress smiling in response, found I couldn’t. Oh, why would I smile
at a man intent on seeing me punished?
“Jim, please...” I said. My voice quavered. I lost my thought
as I felt his big fingers on my hips. Gently he stroked my flaring
thighs, savoring their bell shape, and the tiny bit of stringy cloth
wrapped about them. He did not pull my panties apart at once, but
rather savored how delicately they clung to my hips, held there only by
the feeblest of bow-tied strings. Gradually he began to draw upon the
ties of my undies. A tug. Another. A third, and I felt my panties
begin to give way. I gasped as they suddenly came undone. They
drooped. They fell. But a bit of the crotch material was caught in my
snatch. I looked down. I saw my panties, untied, literally hanging by
my cunt. Jim eased a hand between my thighs. He grasped the small
panties. He pulled. They popped out of my sex and fell into his hand.
He took my panties from me. I was left stripped completely nude, save
for the collar around my throat, the leash clipped to it, and the metal
handcuffs round my wrists. Plus the devilish nipple clamps that bit at
my titties. I expected then to be raped, or at least pawed and molested
by my manly thief. Instead, he touched me not at all, leaving me to
shiver in the nude, apprehensive, as Amber’s punishment continued.
“Mmmm, nice,” I heard a female voice say, somewhere behind me.
I recognized it as Sherry’s. Had she uncuffed Jim? With three females
in charge, there were endless possibilities. I wished to turn, to beg
her to untie me too, and most of all to get her away from Jim, so I
could have him to myself. Instead, worried about that jewel-encrusted
cat o’ nine tails that Bridget kept gaily swinging about, I kept myself
attentive to her. She was the most dangerous, in my opinion. She was
willing to suffer, and to cause others to suffer in turn. And yet there
was a certain intiguing quality in that. Somewhere deep inside me I
wished to be like her, to be willing to suffer and to inflict
suffering. Sexual suffering. Long, drawn out, exectued with the best
intentions. To give a strange kind of pleasure, mixed with just the
right tang of pain. Was pleasure heightened when there was pain
sprinkled in with it? I was beginning to fear it was, and that I was
desiring just that for myself. Oh, I was only 13! To have such
thoughts at such a tender age! Yet Amber, little seventh grader that
she was, already had plumbed deeper depths. She wished, it seemed, to
have attention above all else, and was even willing to seek it from
Bridget. And from the randy men who, despite their bondage, or sometime
bondage, were complicit in Bridget’s plans. I drew closer to Amber,
hoping perhaps to dissuade her, and thereby myself, from the wicked
things we were falling into. We would escape and be best friends
together, she and I, and confine our adventures in the cave to picking
flowers. The magical flowers she’d spoken of when first I’d met her.
Yes. Just she and I. We would hold hands and explore the cave safely
together, fleeing at the first sign of danger. Ah, but it was too
late. My legs bumped against the leather-covered rack where she lay. I
gulped. It was too late, for us all. We were captives, at the mercy of
masters we barely knew.
Amber gazed up at us with large, liquid eyes. They looked like
big, round marbles, searching for God. She’d gotten her wish. She was
the perfect center of attention. We all crowded round her; myself, with
my jingling, bell-laden bosoms, Larissa (despite her desire to remain as
unnoticed as possible), Sherry, with her bosoms big as pumpkins, hanging
heavily on her chest and inviting, it seemed, a milking with their every
savory bounce. Next to her Erika, with her lanky, perfect body,
beautiful yet surprisingly athletic. Bridget, with her jewel-laden
whip, sizing up the pretty victim she and Erika had laid out for us all
to see. I wished to clap my hands to my cheeks. I wanted to cover my
eyes, but due to my cuffs I was not able to. Behind me I felt the
throbbing cock of a man bump my bottom. He crowded close to me. I
guessed it was Jim. I gasped as his dick invaded between my heinie’s
soft cheeks. But he hardly noticed, it seemed. He was eager to look
past me, to see Amber. She lay stretched out before us. She quivered.
I gazed upon her figure. She struck me as utterly vulnerable and yet,
somehow, utterly safe. Every nuance of her, every breath, was noted by
the close-pressed group. Nothing would happen to her, nothing would be
permitted to happen, without the group’s approval. One could only hope
they would be kind to her, and that the pain they inflicted would be
outweighed by pleasure.
“Yes, little Amber, the rack. To make you tell,” Bridget said
in a soft, but ominous voice.
“Oh no please don’t--” Amber said. She wriggled upon the
leather padding. It was strange, seeing her lie there. The leather
padding was thick, comfy. And yet she was stretched out upon it,
tight-stretched, her hands and feet yanked to their limit.
Bridget swung the cat o’ nine tails over Amber’s body. The
girl shivered. She, truly, did not wish to tell us about her first
love. Yet she liked keeping a secret from us, that we might pay her the
utmost attention.
Bridget touched Amber’s belly with her fingertip. Her nail
gleamed against the soft skin. She pressed it into the girl’s flesh.
“Ooh! You need to cut your nails,” Amber suggested. She
winced at the sharpness of the touch. Her nipples stood rigid upon her
plump, bare breasts.
Amber’s breath quickened as Bridget, still touching her skin,
trailed her finger down to the girl’s waist. Her panties clung there.
They were wet but still tied, still keeping her modest.
“You must be nude before God on the rack,” Bridget said.
“No-- please, they are just--” Amber began, but Erika placed a
stiff finger over her lips.
“Shhhh,” Erika said. “When you wish to tell, simply tell.
Otherwise, keep quiet. Not a peep. We have gags for girls who...”
Erika couldn’t help laughing. “Pee.”
Strangely, Amber grew quiet. There was no sense in pulling her
panties down. Her legs were spread and the panties would have been
stretched beyond their limit in no time. Instead, they had to be
untied, or simply ripped off. Bridget grasped the white bows that
formed the panties’ drawstrings. I marvelled at how much of Amber’s
bikini, very similar to my own, was simply string; drawstring. Tied
into a bow at her hips. Only where her triangle of venus grew was there
a patch of cloth, and then only just a swatch, as if the tailor
permitted it simply to rid himself of a useless scrap. The same was the
case in back, where her bottomcheeks were left to hang freely, save for
what little the overstressed cloth could contain. Yet even this must be
removed, for the morsel of cloth, though small, kept our eyes from
seeing her slit.
Like a mother undressing a babe, stripping off its too-small
diapers, Bridget tugged on Amber’s bow-tied drawstrings. She held the
whip as she gave a tug, letting the girl feel it pressed to her hip,
then drawing it slowly away as her panties were undone.
“Ooooh, I--” Amber began, but her voice died as she felt the
chill of the room invade her sex. She was wet, open. Our eyes peered
at her bared muff, her slit, wondered at the soft undercurve of her
bottomcheeks were they pressed into the leathered table.
“Yes, gentlemen, there she is,” Bridget said. She lifted
Amber’s panties into the air and gave them a ceremonial flourish. It
was as if they represented her hymen, though that had been taken
already. Bridget looked at Amber. “If you were pregnant, I might beat
the child out of you, with this whip,” she said. She waved the jewelled
cat before the girls eyes. Each gem glistened, oblivious to the awful
harm it could inflict. “But you are not,” Bridget said. “So instead of
flogging your stomach, I shall whip your sex.”
I clapped my hands to my ears as the first shower of jewels was
brought to bear upon Amber’s crotch. The girl screamed as I’d never
heard. Bridget applied the whip gently, yet ‘significantly,’ as she
later told me, so that the girl would not think her too soft.
What girl wouldn’t love to have such jewels? Diamonds, rubies,
sapphires; all real, all natural. Yet to have them in such a way,
impressed upon one’s sex, how horrid!
“Yes, dear, I know it hurts,” Bridget said, flinging the whip’s
expensive jewels down on Amber’s pussy. “It is meant to. And no one
can hear you, down here. So indulge yourself. Scream as if your life
depended on it. God knows, your sex certainly does!”
When Bridget had given Amber several lashes, she chose to show
mercy. She ordered Erika to find something to cool Amber’s wounded
slit. Perhaps she knew in advance what Erika would choose. It was
wicked. It was Redi-Wip, fetched from a cool hole in the ground at the
back of the dungeon. The hole contained ice. I guessed it had been
brought in, hours before, by the men. The ice, and the cool whip. The
latter was applied in short bursts until it completely covered little
Amber’s muff. Then each man, unshaven though he was, was permitted to
lick between her legs until the Redi-Wip was all gone.
“Not bad for a damaged cunt,” Jim remarked cruelly. Amber was
sobbing, pleading to be let up, but no one paid her any attention,
except Larissa and myself, and we were bound, and torn between the
eroticism of her suffering and its wickedness.
The whip was applied again, this time to the flatness of
Amber’s belly. Each stroke made her jerk, cry out, beg. Like an animal
she begged, but it only made Bridget harder in the application of her
whip. Red lines appeared across the smooth expanse of Amber’s tummy.
Sharp lines, marks that were more deeply made than those that had been
placed within the split of her legs. Each time the jewelled tips hit
they left tiny, deeper marks of their own.
When Bridget commanded it, Erika squirted whipped cream across
Amber’s belly. They were long, loving bursts, able to cover a wider
expanse of skin. Then the men fed in her navel and licked her entire
tummy clean. Amber watched, sobbing, over the rising, falling nudity of
her breasts.
We all dreaded what must happen next. Her bosoms. Her
upstanding, perfect nipples had to taste the whip. She had such lovely,
young bosoms. I pleaded with Bridget to put me in her place. I didn’t
wish to see her beautiful young teats marred, even at the risk of my
own.
“No, my dear. Each to her own,” Bridget smiled.
“Yes! I did it with my -hiccup!- my foist cousin!” Amber
wailed. It was truly a wrenching, heartfelt wail, and for a moment
Bridget’s face showed disappointment. She hadn’t given a damn who the
girl had slept with first. She had wanted to test her skill with the
whip on her bosoms. Striking them, hurting them, yet not making them
bleed. A jewelled cat could inflict serious injury if not applied with
just the right finesse.
“So you choose to rat on your cousin, eh?” Bridget asked,
hoping to revive the need for punishment.
Erika, however, bent over the girl and clapped a tender hand to
her cheek and kissed her lips. “Oh you poor, poor dear. How much
you’ve endured. And for a cousin? I did it first with my first cousin
too. At a picnic. Get up, silly. All that for a cousin!” At once
Erika, shedding a tear for all little Amber had suffered, reached for
her wrists. She began untying them.
“There are other breasts,” Bridget said. She eyed me.
“You have proven your merit. Put that awful thing away before
you truly hurt someone with it,” Erika scolded Bridget.
“I should use it on your ass,” Bridget retorted.
Calmly, still untying Amber, Erika gazed at Bridget, tossed
back her blonde hair and said, “I could take you, dear, if I had to.
And you know it.”
Bridget tossed down the jewelled whip upon the stone floor.
“Hey! That’s expensive!” Walter cried.
“So’s my pussy!” Amber managed to say, though her face was
hidden under Erika, who was bent over her, untying her wrists. I bent
forward and examined the girl’s dell. It was red-marked, no doubt of
that. Little whip-printed lines covered the insides of the girl’s
thighs, right up to her sex, and upon the soft, moist tenderness of her
labial lips. I prayed her clit, hidden somewhere in her curls and
within her lips, had escaped the whip’s touch. I pressed my face to her
muff. I planted a kiss within it.
“Oooh! Amber cried. I began to lick her. She tasted sweet.
“Forgive me. I must,” Jim said. It is to his credit, I think,
that he was able to surprise me, despite his tied hands, with a sudden,
upthrusting of himself between my legs and into my cunt. The head of
his cock rammed up; I shouted, so surprised was I, then I gasped
prettily. He grunted. He was surprised himself, I think that he had
aimed his organ so well at my dell. I had my legs open a bit already,
so as not to win punishment for modesty. Now I spread them more. I
returned my tongue to Amber’s cunt and feigned helplessness at my fate.
“Oh, you beast!” Bridget, who was not impaled, cried. Did she
wish to suffer my fate? It was I who bore the discomfort of it. Jim
shoved, hard, and paid no heed at all to my virginal tightness. I
shrieked as his organ split me apart. I was riven like a tortured
prisoner, forced to sit on a spit.
Another shove. Another. My twat was filled. Gasping, I
managed somehow to put my face back upon the small comforting triangle
of Amber’s muffin. I kissed her curls there. She sighed. I invaded
her wetness with my tongue. It was nothing compared to Jim, piercing me
to my core with his cock, but it made her shout in a quivering cry of
joy.
Jim fucked me. There is no ladylike way to put it. No modest
way for a schoolgirl of 13 to state it, save to say, ‘he fucked me.’ He
drew back, relieving me a little of the pressure of his being, only to
jam himself up me again. He was, indeed, an animal. Like a horse in a
barn. I was his new mare. I tried to console myself by making Amber
shout with invasions of my tongue into her nest. We screamed our way to
orgasm. She honeyed my tongue, quite thoroughly. I received a deluge
of Jim’s juice up my quim.
Yet the games were to continue. Bridget picked up her jewelled
cat. She looked at me. I straightened up, my bosoms jingling, hurting
from bouncing so much under the strain of fucking, whilst hung with
bells. I licked the honey from Amber’s cunt off my lips. I realized
Bridget’s eyes were on me and blanched.
At the time, though the clamps on my titties weighed upon me,
and made me sore, I didn’t realize I’d been more ‘decorated’ than
‘clamped.’ They were just tight enough to keep them on, and me mindful
of them, while not being any tighter. Clamps can be adjusted, and mine
had been fixed to my titties in the lightest of the adjustments. In
this way, since clamps do reduce blood flow, I was able to wear them as
long as I did. Now Bridget determined to free my tits, but only to whip
them. That I could tell just by looking into her eyes. She’d been
deprived of Amber’s breasts. She wished, as I’d promised, to have mine
in substitution.
Frantically I looked at Jim. He only grinned in response.
Men! He’d just had my cunt, yet now he would not even help me avoid a
tit-lashing! I turned my gaze to Erika, but she was too busy getting
Amber untied. She’d waited ‘til I finished fucking her with my tongue
to get her undone. A victim must have some pleasures, I suppose, and
having your wrists bound while a friend licks your cunny must, if trust
is there, be one of life’s better pleasures. Or at least one of its
wetter ones. That she had so recently relieved herself there, wetting
her panties, had not even crossed my mind, I was so intent on consoling
her.
Now I was to be punished, and none stepped forward to save me,
not even Nick. Bridget came to me and removed the first of my nipple
clamps. I howled as the blood, decreased in volume, returned to my
teat. Ah, how it hurt! And the worst of all, as I danced around,
shouting at the pain of it, was that, with one clamp remaining, I knew I
must endure it all a second time.
As I stood sobbing, gazing down at my naked tit, checking its
condition as best I could, Bridget removed my other clamp. Again I went
into a kind of nude, handcuffed rain dance. I cried. Erika and a newly
released Amber calmed me with kisses and dried my tears.
“My titties hurt!” I said ruefully.
“Alligators and alligator clips tend to do that, dear,” Erika
said. Her voice was nonplussed.
“Are they alright?” I asked of my nipples.
“They’re fine,” Erika said.
“You’re just saying that,” I answered. She held me still. I
hiccuped. She bent and kissed each of my nipples in turn. I shouted,
winced. But each kiss was long and as she suckled my teats, one at a
time, they began to feel better. Amber helpfully rubbed my cunt with
her fingers.
“You’re sticky,” Amber said, feeling up between my legs.
“Of course I’m--” I gasped. I hiccuped. Amber giggled.
“You’ve caught my hiccups,” she said.
“Just so I don’t catch that whip that connected with your
muffin,” I said.
“Ah, it is too harsh for the bosoms, in my opinion,” Erika
said. I sighed. “But that doesn’t mean they can be spared,” she
added. “You did promise--” she kissed one of my tits, lovingly,
possessively.
“Mmmmm,” I breathed. Bridget stepped behind me and patted my
bottom. “This will be good also,” she said.
With mincing steps I was led on a tour of the dungeon. Bridget
wanted to find something to punish me on. She led me along with her,
pulling me by my leash, as one leads a pet. With my hands cuffed behind
me, I could do little to stop her. Hopefully I glanced at Amber, for
help. She was loose, looking a little like a small pet herself, but
without restraints binding her any more, without even her panties. They
lay crumpled under the rack where she’d been stretched. Perhaps they
would be left behind, a souvenir for other, future visitors. I still
remembered Bridget’s scheme to have Larissa and myself compete in
jamming dildos up our bottoms. My eyes darted to Larissa. She was
submissive. She gazed at the floor. I saw she was feeling the effects
of the tea in her belly for her hips were wiggling excessively. My own
tummy felt full, and I quivered. I had to pee too! Oh, I didn’t want
to do it in front of them, and yet, how could I not? I felt wicked,
silly, both at the same time. I let my hips sway expansively. A shiver
ran down my spine, shook the hinds of my bottom.
“Do you have to pee?” Bridget asked me bluntly. I flushed red
with embarrassment.
“mmmmm, yes,” I finally admitted. I wished I could clap a hand
to my cunny to hold myself in but my wrists were still locked behind my
back, tight in the cuffs. I tugged at them. They wouldn’t give.
“How delightful,” Bridget remarked. “But we must continue our
tour.” She tugged on my leash. I was pulled forward. I stumbled.
Jim’s hand darted out and caught me. I looked at him. My eyes were
wide. They showed worry. He smiled.
“Enjoy it,” he said. He touched a finger to my bosom. He
trailed it in a tight circle around one of my nipples, newly released
from the clamps. It was stiff. He tickled it. I winced, fearfully,
but felt only pleasure. “Feel the need for relief course through you
and hold it and savor it,” he said. “Doesn’t your school start again
soon?” he asked.
I nodded.
“So, you will be back in school soon,” he said. “I can just
imagine you in a soft, pullover sweater. And it will be cold, not warm
like it is now. And there will be books, and homework, and lessons,” he
said. He traced a circle round my other nipple. “But for now, for
these few minutes, there is just you. And us. And you are free and you
need--”
In deference to me he did not state what I needed to do.
“Yes,” Jim said. He stroked my flat belly. He passed his hand
lower and tugged at a wisp of my pubic hair. “Gaze around you,” he
said. “Do not be afraid. You and the other girls have been quite brave
so far. Hold up a little longer, and I will rescue you in the end, I
promise.”
I gazed at Jim’s penis. It had come up swiftly again, after
his first discharge. Already he was ready to take me again. I smiled,
blushed. I turned from him. Bridget pulled again on my leash. I was
drawn deeper into the dungeon.
Hooks and chains dangled loosely in the dungeon, waiting for
victims to bind. I passed under some, stood beside machines bedecked
with others. I saw a bondage bench, guessed at its use. One might be
bent over it, or lie upon it. A crank underneath it could raise or
lower it so the bent female might be made to stand with her legs bent,
or straight, as her master wished. Near it, incongrously, was a table
for medical exams. I gazed at the two metal stirrups sticking out from
the table’s base. They waited to receive my feet. Bridget had only to
lead me there. Or perhaps I would visit the dentist. A dental chair
stood in a corner, with equipment for filling cavities. I might be made
to lie nude in it, striving to contain my pee, while Bridget played oral
games with me. Near that another chair stood. It hung from the
ceiling. It was a big rattan chair reminiscent of a bucket seat in a
sports car. But there was a big hole cut in the base of the chair,
where one’s bottom promised to fall through. Underneath the hole a wide
range of dildos stood ready for use. Behind them a box of kleenex
waited, in case the poor victim had a bowel movement while she sat in
the chair, I supposed. A suppository and a bottle of castor oil sat on
the floor near the dildos.
Casting my eyes farther afield, I spied a barber pole. Next to
it sat a big leather barber’s chair. There was a hairdryer poised on a
small table next to the chair. Beside the hairdryer was a big,
battery-operated vibrator. The table also possessed a razor and a can
of shaving cream. One might lose more than just one’s modesty down here
in this dungeon, or one’s clothes. I shivered. I didn’t want my muff
shaved. I’d just grown hair on it, within the past year. I didn’t want
my sex made to look like a little girl’s again. I looked at Amber. She
had a fleecier sex than myself, hers only just grown in lately. She
grinned. She was loose as a cat, wearing only her collar. I looked
away. In her happiness she seemed to be looking forward to seeing me
punished.
I tripped along behind Bridget. Her eyes danced as she pointed
out all the different instruments of torture to me. I felt everyone’s
eyes upon me. They watched me react, savored my blushes. Where my
swimsuit normally was my skin showed white. My nipples, sprouted,
wiggled their tips freely in the air. My bush displayed itself to their
inquiring eyes. My pussy lips, snug between my legs, wettened in
anticipation of more intimate surveys. I glanced at the men’s cocks.
They saw my glance and grinned like cats observing a parakeet. I would
endure each of them up my twat this evening, I knew, my tummy sinking.
Jim was my favorite, but he would insist on sharing me with his friends.
Worst of all, looking away from the randy men and back at all
the tortuous items the dungeon possessed, I knew none of us would leave
this place without marks upon our body. We must have souveniers. They
need not be permanent, but they needed, I knew, to be painfully
applied. It was the essence of the place. I suppressed a desire,
suddenly upwelling, to see the men shout as their asses were flayed,
making their cocks bobble like loose swords. Finally I could stand it
no more. I asked Bridget to stop, almost at random, before a machine
whose evil I could only guess at.
I swallowed. I looked at the machine, at Bridget.
“This one,” I said. I felt brave in saying it. I had no idea
what the machine did. I shut my eyes. I swallowed again. I would have
patted my chest, so nervous did I feel, but the restraints on my wrists
made my hands captive behind my back.
“Ah, such an Amazon!” Bridget complimented me.
“What is it called?” I asked, my voice quavering, my eyes
opening to regard anew my choice. It was a large and looked like a
gallows. Two upright posts rose from the floor. They supported a
crosspiece. One might stand between the posts, and be hanged, for all I
knew.
“This is a ‘Natural Birthing Tree’,” Bridget told me. I felt
myself exhale and a sense of relief came over me. Well, it was a
womanly machine, then. Perhaps I had little to fear. I would not, at
least, be swinging from it by my neck.
“And?” I paused. I was afraid to ask, yet suddenly dying of
curiousity. I wanted to have a baby someday. Would I need one of
these?
“Kiss me to show you’re ready to proceed. Then you’ll find
out, as we strap you into it, how it’s used,” Bridget replied coyly. I
glanced at her breasts, so incongrously large on her slender, model’s
body. Then I looked up into her eyes again. I did not know what to
do. Should I trust her? I felt a shudder in my tummy. It made my hips
wiggle. I had to go to the bathroom quite badly!
“Oh, yes!” I said. I stood on tiptoe, my hands still
restrained behind me, and pressed my breasts to hers. My chin lifted.
My lips sought hers. She tilted her head down to meet me and we
kissed. Her tongue pressed apart my lips and invaded my mouth. “Oh!” I
breathed. I drew back. Our kiss was broken. I had sensed lust in her
mouth, her tongue. A man’s sort of lust, except she was all woman. How
strange.
“I’m ready,” I said, trying to avoid blushing again.
“Very well,” Bridget said. She gestured at two sturdy-looking
milk crates placed against the inside of each of the upright posts.
“Mount up.”
Anxiously I stepped forward, between the two posts. Then, with
Bridget steadying me, her hand on my bare hip, I stepped up onto one of
the crates. I glanced at the other one. It was separated by the one I
was standing on by a good three feet. I would spread myself quite wide,
if I was to actually stand up upon that other crate, while still keeping
my foot placed on the first.
“Mount up,” Bridget told me again. She nudged my bottom with
the handle of her cat. She placed a hand to my back, steadying me, lest
I fall, for I was still cuffed.
I drew in my breath. I lifted up my other leg. I placed it on
the crate. Ah, how spread apart I felt! I was straddling two
widely-separated crates. I felt like Wonder Woman but, I suppose, I was
a captive Wonder Woman, due to my handcuffs.
“Very good,” Bridget said. I hoped she might uncuff me.
Instead, she unfastened a long rope that was wrapped round one of the
posts. I swallowed. Was that meant for my throat? As I gaped at it,
Bridget slung it under one of my arms. She lifted the end of the rope
and wrapped it around a hook high up on the post. She had to stand up
on one of the crates with me to do it and it was then I realized the
crate was firmly bolted into the floor. When the rope was secure,
Bridget got down. But she immediately went to the other post and undid
a rope there and put it under my other arm.
Standing before them, my body slung up by twin ropes, I
shivered. My bosoms wobbled freely on my chest. I looked down at my
taut nipples. Why were they so excited, when I was being displayed like
a roast mutton in the market? The ropes rubbed me under my arms but,
thankfully, they were sheathed in rubber where they made contact with my
body.
I felt my breath inhaling and exhaling. Each movement of my
lungs made my bosoms quaver. I felt like an animal, about to be served,
eaten. Suddenly my head was yanked back by my hair. Someone forced a
gag into my mouth and tied it behind my head. I yelped, tried to
protest, but the gag shoved my tongue back so far into my mouth that I
could barely utter a sound. Tears sprang to my eyes. My bosoms
juddered ripely on my chest.
“Be brave,” I heard Bridget say from somewhere behind me.
Erika, nude as myself but without restraints, pranced over to a
table. It had various sexual items on it. I averted my eyes. In my
condition, exposed as I was, I couldn’t bear to contemplate the
possibilities inherent in my new position.
Returning with a feather, Erika handed it to Bridget.
“Thank you, Erika,” Bridget said. She looked at the men. She
passed the feather underneath the erect glans of the nearest one.
“Whoa! You’ll make me sperm the air!” Walter cried. Despite
his protest, Bridget passed the feather under Nick’s penis as well. He
was as hard as Walter and the feather, so light, so soft, tickling his
cock made him shudder.
“I can’t hold on if you do that to me,” Nick warned in a
breathless voice. Bridget smiled. Jim was unrestrained, but she placed
a hand on his bare hip and passed the feather under his sturdy penis as
well.
“Ah, nice,” Jim answered. He’d shot off once, in me, and was
better able to enjoy his erection now, having taken the edge off his
sexuality.
“Now, gentlemen,” Bridget said, regarding our nude male
companions. “And you are ever gentlemen, tonight, I see, though you got
out of hand with me the last time we were in here,” she added. “Keep
your bearing proud, kingly. Don’t shudder so when I pass a mere feather
under your cock. Does it torture you? Tut. tut. To think what
martrys went through, in the Inquisition, and you men can’t even
entertain the pleasure of a simple feather without begging me to stop.”
She smiled. “But be that as it may, we’re going to make some honey to
reward you three for being so nice and hard. I know its difficult,
retaining your seed under trying circumstances. Don’t think I’m not
proud of you. Now, you may ask, what sort of honey? Why, natural honey
is the best, of course. And I’ll bet my feather can make some, right
here,” Bridget said. She turned to me. She walked over to me and
touched the tip of the feather to my slit.
“Ahkkk!” I cried within my gag.
“See? She’s wetting my feather with honey already,” Bridget
told the men. “How cooperative she is. But she must needs pee soon.
Come and lick up the honey between her legs, before she spoils it by
peeing through these pretty cuntlips of hers.”
The men needed no further invitation. Though two of them were
cuffed, as I was, nonetheless they came forward and crowded in around
me. At once Bridget withdrew her feather. The men nuzzled their
unshaven faces between my legs. I gasped, wrenched. I could do nothing
to stop them. I was splayed, my legs quite well apart, my sex exposed.
They attacked me with their tongues.
My eyes rolled in my head. I sought help, gazing first at
Erika, then the other girls, but no one tried to intervene to save my
modesty. Little Amber, seeing me, actually broke out into giggles. She
covered her face with her hands. Erika scolded her. Yet she giggled on
and on, watching me.
I wriggled atop the men. I must have looked like a dancer. My
chest heaved. My bosoms bounced. My derriere ground against the air.
I was bare, nude, and now utterly defiled. Like hungry, rooting pigs
the men shoved their hungry tongues up into my twat. I was made to
gasp, to shout within my gag and, finally, blushing as I did it, I was
made to orgasm.
My honeyed climax did nothing to abate the men’s evil
appetite. They hunched below my pelvis and continued their attack. I
spasmed, came again. A third time. A fourth. And as I rode from
hip-waggling climax to climax, I felt my need to pee increase.
“Do not pee on the men’s faces, you dirty girl,” Bridget warned
me. She reached out and tickled my titties with her feather. I began
crying, my pleasure and torment were so intense. And then, collared and
bound and spread like a turkey, I tried to shout.
I was going to pee. I could feel the need increasing inside me
with a frantic, unstoppable urgency. I was a child again, in preschool,
waking from a long nap and running to the bathroom. Except I was tied,
and could go nowhere. I didn’t even know where the bathroom was down
here in this awful dungeon.
It proved to be the men’s mouths.
“Ack! She’s peeing on me!” Walter cried suddenly. Nick echoed
his surprise. Jim, shouting, opened his mouth wider and received my
feminine tribute. The other two men withdrew, shocked, surprised, and
telling Jim to take his face away from me lest ‘that bitch turn you into
a human toilet’!
They were jealous, I think. For the next embarrassing minute,
Jim and I shared the most intimate moment I ever have yet shared with a
man. I peed. He received. My pee overflowed his swarthy face and went
running down his chest. It gathered in the bush of his pubic hair. It
ran in rivulets along his stiff penis and dripped off the end of it. We
were one. I peed and he seemed to, with me pee making its way to the
tip of his cock, and thence to the floor.
“Such a bad girl!” Bridget said when at last Jim took his face
away from my cunt. At once I felt her cat connect with my bottom.
Where a moment before Jim’s tongue had assauged me, now the cat came
inquiring. Its jewelled tips bit into my sex. I screamed. My eyes
sought help from Jim but he merely stood back, accepted a handkerchief
from Erika, and wiped off his mouth.
“Ahhhhddkdk!” I cried in my gag. The cat struck again. Its
sinuous, curling cords came sweeping up between my legs and peppered my
sex with stinging, hard-edged jewels. I was being expensively
assaulted, but assaulted nonetheless. New tears sprang to my eyes. I
wondered how Amber had managed to bear up under such a wicked attack.
The cat struck again. This time it scorched my bottom. Its
tips explored the divide between my cheeks. They found my anus, stung
it. I shrieked within my gag. I grabbed at my bottomcheeks as best I
could with my hands. Bridget took hold of my cuffed wrists and yanked
them up. My fingers slipped off my bottom. I felt the bareness of my
ass, and then at once the cat, covering it, so briefly, with a pass of
its leather thongs.
“Ackghghkkk!” How horrid it was! I couldn’t defend myself. I
could only weep, scream, try to shout. I worked my mouth but the gag
blocked all but the most gutteral of sounds from escaping. I was,
truly, an animal, strung up, denuded, being basted now by the
fire-tipped thongs.
Bridget relented when she chose to, and when the condition of
my bottom, well-striped, demanded it, lest she break my skin. That
wasn’t to happen, but only for a reason so wicked I half-wished she had
chosen ‘to draw’, as I’ve since learned its called, when the whip master
chooses to hit you so hard you bleed.
I hung exhausted from the ropes. My chin fell to my chest and
rested there. With half-lidded eyes I regarded my bosoms. My nipples,
despite all my pains, still stuck up like twin little thorns. My bottom
cheeks throbbed from the basting they’d taken. My sex burned. And,
strangely, it wettened itself still, as if excited by all I’d been
through. Had the men attacked me again, I’m sure I could have served
them honey anew.
“Yes, men, we must put your straws back in. How long they
are!” Bridget said somewhere behind me. I paid no mind. What happened
to the men was no business of mine. Or so I thought.
Erika came up to me and kissed my cheek.
“You are doing very well,” she breathed in my ear. “You will
make a good mother someday, when you have to bear up under much more
pain to have your first child.”
“Ackghlg,” I answered. My gag blocked all speech. Erika
kissed me again. “Would you like something warm and wet to soothe your
poor bottom?” she asked me.
Vaguely I managed to nod.
“Very good,” Erika answered.
“Men, you look so enormous with those straws stuck into your
cocks,” Bridget declared. “You’re big already, and then to have ten
inch straws sticking out of yourselves, how delicious! Now, if you
please, Miss Bambi here would like something warm and wet for her poor,
spanked bottom. Please relieve her suffering. And yourselves.”
My head shot up off my chest. My bosoms joggled on my chest.
My hips launched forward, but, since I was constrained between the
posts, fell back again. Did Bridget mean what I think she meant? My
eyes gaped. I noticed Amber was looking at me and giggling
uncontrollably again.
“Yeeeeeeek!” I shouted within my gag. For, suddenly, three
unwanted streams of male pee struck my bottom. In unison. Like a
fountain. I was inundated by Jim, Nick, and Walter. They hollared out
their delight at turning me into a human urinal. I could only scream in
reply, and work my limbs, fruitlessly, which made my bosoms bounce on my
chest and my bottomcheeks flex. I was told later I looked most
alluring, trying to escape the pee by dancing around like that, between
the sturdy posts. The men gave me the entire contents of their
bladders. They held back nothing. All of themselves was exuberantly
pissed across the scorched cheeks of my ass. Amber, watching, giggled
her seventh grader’s head off.
“And now for the titties,” Bridget said when the men had
relieved themselves and retired. She sounded like a surgeon, saying
it. Detached. Uncaring, almost, as if I were only meat, pink and warm
and wet, strung up for whatever needs be done with me. I feared she
might fetch a knife, and cut me, she sounded so clinical. Butterflies
rose in my tummy and, deeply blushing already, I felt myself almost
faint. Erika darted up to me, placed a hand to my forehead. At last,
seeing me recover a little, she turned her head and nodded to Bridget.
The raven-haired woman walked up to me. Bridget was not
carrying a knife. But, as I gazed with a bit of relief at her hand, I
felt a new fear seize me. Though it wasn’t sharp, the implement she
held aloft in her hand had an ominous look about it. It was long, and
straight, and there was something small and round at its tip.
Innocuous-looking enough, but it reminded me of something I’d seen,
somewhere... where? In a film at school? Suddenly I remembered. It
had been a film about cattle. And they’d been moved about in their
herding stalls with an item just like Bridget now held.
“Yes, darling, your nipples are so nice and young and perky,”
Bridget said, gazing at my tits. “How nice. But you never know, they
might be longer still, and sharper. More erotic even than you can
imagine. Provided,” Bridget smiled. “Provided they get a little help
in their growing, hmmm? A little stimulation. This cattle prod should
do the trick.”
Gently she touched the tip of the rod to my right nipple. I
screamed. An electrical charge jolted my tit. I gasped. New streams
of tears sprang from my eyes. I gazed at her bug-eyed, frightened out
of my wits.
“Yes, we do cause a few growing pains with this method, but
then nothing’s without a price,” Bridget smiled. I was in agony. How
dare that woman put a cattle prod to my tits? As if reading my
thoughts, she touched my belly button. I jerked. She grinned. “Yes, I
can touch more than your nipples with this, can’t I?” Bridget asked.
She gazed down at my thighs. “And how about between your legs? Is
there anything for me to touch down there? A button, perhaps?”
“Yeeeeeeoooooch!” I tried to cry, gagging on my gag as I
screamed. She had touched the cattle prod to my clit. She nestled it
again in my slit and found me once more. I shrieked.
“And behind? Between the cheeks of your bottom? Do you have a
little hole back there for me?” Bridget asked. Wickedly she slipped
behind me and stuck the prod up into my ass. I yelled, hard, feeling
the wicked thing as it touched my anus.
Bridget passed round to my front again. She touched my other
nipple. I responded, crying and yelling into my gag. She touched my
right nipple again. I screamed, but it was no use. I was at her
disposal.
“You are so sweet,” Bridget said. “How you jump when I touch
you. Perhaps you shall be my servant, hmmm? My lover-servant. Yes.
You’re so responsive, my dear, I’d be remiss not to hire you.”
When at last I was taken down from the posts, I collapsed. Jim
caught me. I hardly felt it was heroic, though, for he hadn’t saved me
from the least bit of torture. He kissed me. I turned my face away,
exhausted. I felt like jelly, a jelly fish. He carried me to the bed
in the dungeon and tossed me down upon it.
30
THE END ? (hopefully she’ll write more - h.j.)
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