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From: Andrew Roller <andrewroller@sprintmail.com>
Subject: Party Pussies part 1 of 4 (NND)
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PARTY PUSSIES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
I was young and I felt restless. I liked wearing black
pullover sweaters that hugged my newly grown breasts. With my sweater
on, I’d put a medallion around my neck. It said “Black Sabbath” on it
and it hung from a long chain down between my bosoms. The weight of the
chain’s links cutting between my tits made my breasts stand out even
more. The medallion wasn’t as shiny as I would have liked (it was old)
but it was heavy and it kept the chain tight between my tits so that
they were perfectly delineated as twin mounds of flesh under my
sweater.
One night I was fooling around at the grocery with my friend
Beth Ann. Everyone calls her “Bethany.” She has nice breasts but she’s
only 12 and I’m 13 and a half so I like teasing her about how my boobs
are bigger than hers.
“Look, Bethany!” I said with a half-suppressed giggle. I
jumped from one black-tiled square to the next across the grocery store
floor, like we used to do as little girls. Of course I wasn’t wearing
any bra, just my black pullover with my medallion. As I jumped from
square to square my bosoms juddered under my blouse like large mounds of
jello.
Bethany laughed and tried it herself. She’d quit wearing bras
too and her bosoms bobbed like perfectly formed spheres under her
blouse. A balding man, walking by with his cart, saw us. Unfortunately
for him he didn’t look where he was going anymore, once he saw us. He
rammed his cart into a display of bottles of vinegar and they all
tumbled down and went smashing across the floor.
“Harold! What in God’s name -- can’t you even drive a grocery
cart properly?” I heard his wife say to him.
“I’m sorry Maude I--” the man began, and then his wife spied
Bethany and me jumping from square to square, seeing how much we could
make our tits bounce.
“That’s the last time we have the Girl Scouts meeting at our
house, Harold!” his wife said to him.
As Bethany and I were tootling around the store, looking for
other things we could do, we met a guy. He looked about 16. Later I
found out he was 16, which shows how good I am at evaluating guys and
their ages and stuff. He was tall and he obviously worked out, although
he looked a little bedraggled and I got the feeling that maybe he hadn’t
been home for awhile.
I felt bold. I knew I looked good in my black sweater and I’m
a blonde. I could feel my blonde mane hanging down past both sides of
my face and overlapping my shoulders. I have a small frame, shoulders
so narrow you’d think you could snap me in two just by picking me up.
That’s why I was glad when my breasts grew. They’re big and full and
round. Rising like cantaloupes off my chest, they give me a nice
healthy look. Before they popped out I was so slim-looking, like a
matchstick girl, but with them I look okay. Fortunately as my breasts
grew my hips and bottom started swelling and filling out too, though my
waist remained wasp-thin, with that ‘don’t touch me I’ll break’ thinness
to it that had plagued me in childhood. So I felt a little ambivalent
as I approached the cool, 16-year-old dude with the messy, slightly
greasy hair and the bulging biceps. But I felt bold too, because I knew
he’d like my breasts and I had my medallion between them to show them
off to best advantage.
“Hi,” I said. As he lifted his eyes I stuck out my chest at
him. “Watch’a reading?” He looked at my tits and then, lifting his
eyes, at my face. Bethany crept up behind me, as impressed, I think, as
I was by this guy, but she was only 12 and her breasts weren’t as big as
mine so she felt a little shy.
The guy looked at me with a knotting of his eyebrows. They
were kind of heavy across his eyes, matching perfectly his face, which
was starting to grow a beard and needed (I thought) a shave.
“What makes you think I’m reading?” he asked me indignantly.
“You’re holding a magazine, stupid,” I answered. If I’d been
younger I would have yanked it out of his hands and run away, but I knew
I’d look foolish doing that with my big breasts bouncing on my chest,
running through the grocery and probably out past the lanes of
checkers. So I stood my ground. But I was feeling kind of awkward
now, like a show-off maybe, though deep down I wanted to show off to
someone, and be admired by him. I didn’t just want to jump between
squares in the grocery’s empty food aisles anymore. I wanted someone
more than Bethany to admire my boobs. (But not a bunch of sour old
clerks at the front of the grocery!)
“I’m not reading,” the guy answered. “I’m thinking. Do you
want to know what I’m thinking about?”
“Yes, I guess....” I said. By now he was gazing at me with a
little more interest, though I still got the feeling that his thoughts
were deep within him, or far away, not really concentrating on me but
willing, for the sake of my boobs, to give me a penny’s worth of his
thoughts.
He looked at me and and then glanced at Bethany. She was only
12 and she looked at him with big, moony eyes, like twin saucers. “Is
she with you?” the guy asked me. He indicated her with a nod of his
head, in her direction.
“Yes, that’s Bethany,” I answered. I looked at my feet (or
tried to, my bosoms in the way) and said, “and I’m Lisa.”
“Well, Lisa,” the guy said. “I’m Steve.” He cocked his
eyebrow and seemed suddenly to relish the thought of telling me
something he knew would scare me, like boys did right before they showed
me toads or roaches when I was little, holding their hands up quite
politely and then suddenly opening them and letting out their dirty
little secret. ‘Eeek!’ I’d scream and run away, as a croaking frog or a
flitting cockroach came flying after me.
“I’m thinking, Lisa,” Steve said gravely to me, lowering his
voice but keeping it loud enough so he could scare Bethany too with his
revelation, “I’m thinking of becoming a sex slave.”
“What?” I think Bethany yelled it first but my voice was right
behind hers. Hers was higher-pitched, though, and I think people
throughout the store heard it, a big, loud, shrieky “WAAAHT?!” blurted
in a little-girl’s frightened, revolted voice across the aisles.
Steve grinned to himself and returned to reading his magazine.
Normally I would have dashed away from him then, but like I said, I was
feeling restless and I was bored too. So I stood my ground. I kept my
eyes trained on him until, much to my satisfaction, he was forced to
lift his head and acknowledge the fact that I was still standing there.
Bethany, meanwhile, had retreated up the aisle, yet I saw that she was
staring up at some coin-shaped condom packets hanging off the highest
shelf in the aisle. I think she was trying to look innocuous but I
laughed a little, for anybody could see she was pretending not to be up
to anything in particular while all the while her eyes were staring,
quite mesmerized, at these cool gold-shaped condoms that looked like
golden coins from some Pirate’s treasure chest.
Steve thought I was laughing at him.
“I am thinking of being a sex slave,” he told me. “In Mexico.
I got an offer today, hitchhiking along the road. The woman’s waiting
outside in her car for me. I told her I had to think it over, you
know? She was polite enough to let me. So that’s why I’m standing
here, pretending to read this magazine. But I’m not really reading it,
I’m thinking instead about having sex in Mexico.”
That made me shiver. I wondered if Bethany had heard him. I
think she had, for her eyes darted down from the condoms and looked
quite alarmingly at him.
“You’re kidding me,” I said to Steve.
He looked at me with a surly gaze. But a little respectfully
too, I think, because I was still standing there, while most girls, I
think, would have long since dashed away.
“I’m not kidding you,” he said. “I’ll take you outside and
show you the woman if you like. I’ll even introduce you to her. She
asked me if I knew any girls.”
I gritted my teeth. I was beginning to sense an opportunity to
get revenge on my parents, and my old boyfriend too. I’d had a fight
with him this afternoon. He’d told me he liked another girl better.
One that didn’t look (in my opinion) nearly as good as me. But he said
she would ‘service’ him, whereas I wouldn’t. And then I’d fought with
my parents, because in fighting with my boyfriend I’d been late for
dinner. They’d found us necking the day before and now they were on
‘Red Alert,’ thinking me and him were having sex every afternoon at his
house while they were out working at their jobs.
“You’re late!” my parents had howled at me when I walked in for
dinner this evening. Of course my hair was mussed from having a big
argument with my boyfriend, and he’d pulled on my blouse that I’d worn
to school and one of the buttons had popped off. Seeing me that way, my
dad and mom instantly blamed me for having sex with him in the afternoon
(although they weren’t exactly totally direct in how they phrased it,
but it was obvious what they were thinking). My mom called me a
‘strumpet’ and my dad called the boy’s dad, telling him over the phone
that he should mind his son better. After dinner my little sister went
out to play and told all her friends that I was a ‘trumpet’ now, and
boys could blow on me if they wished.
So after dinner, after taking a long hot bath and feeling quite
misunderstood by everybody (which I was), I put on my favorite clothes
and my old “Black Sabbath” medallion that I’d bought at a rummage sale
from a hippie. And I went to the grocery with my best friend Bethany,
who was having problems with her parents too, because she liked copying
me in not wearing a bra. (Of course that was a whole additional
argument with my parents. But I’d found a picture in a photo album of
my mom publicly burning her bra out on the street in the 60’s. So they
were forced to let me not wear a bra if I wanted to, though I still had
to wear a bra every day to school.)
Anyway, not wearing our bras, me and Bethany (who’s mom never
burned her bra in the 1960’s, apparently) went to the grocery after
dinner. She was pissed at her parents and I was pissed at my parents
and my boyfriend too, and now, with Steve, I suddenly saw an opportunity
to put a great deal of the Fear of God into my parents.
“Okay,” I said to Steve. I edged closer to him and let my
bosoms bob closer to his face. “Show me this lady. She’s probably your
mommie.”
To my surprise, Steve reached out and took my hand. He didn’t
ask, he just took it. He pulled me quite abruptly toward him and then
turned and walked up the aisle. As we passed Bethany, I grabbed out and
took her hand so I’d have her with me for protection. She gave a look
at me and then a last look at the gold Pirate condoms and then we were
out of the aisle and walking past the clerks and out the front of the
store. The manager eyed us, thinking perhaps we were stealing
something, since we’d bypassed the clerks.
Out in the parking lot there was a stiff breeze. It blew back
my blonde hair and it caught Steve’s too, for he had long hair, like
Kurt Russell. Bethany trailed behind me, looking slightly lost, for I’d
not asked her if she wanted to come along, simply grabbed her. She
trailed behind my hand and almost had to run to keep up, for Steve was
walking quite rapidly. Perhaps he was afraid that the manager would
come after us and try to detain us and make us empty our pockets. Or
maybe he’d simply made a decision and, having made it, wanted to go
through with it before he changed his mind. My bosoms bounced with
quiet abandon on my chest as Steve pulled me across the parking lot.
Little Bethany’s tits wobbled beneath her blouse.
I saw a black limosine. It was parked as discreetly as one can
park a limo, taking up two parking stalls. It was black and I felt a
sudden urge to ride in it, for I’d never ridden in a limo before. Then
I realized Steve was drawing me straight towards it.
A driver opened the door of the limo and stepped out. He was
dressed in a starched uniform and looked rather nerdy, I thought, in his
neat uniform. Hardly anyone to be afraid of. Then he opened the back
door of the limo. Steve brought me straight up to the open door.
“Get in, I’ll introduce you,” Steve said to me. I wouldn’t
have let him put me in the limo but he was a weightlifter and he handled
my body quite expertly, turning me and then easing me into the limo.
Before I could even think about what was happening I was already inside
it. Little Bethany, with a slight squeal, was popped in right behind
me. Then Steve himself got in.
Inside the limo was quite luxurious. I found myself seated
next to a dark-haired woman in a slinky black evening gown. She was
thin and had just the lightest of suntans, as if she were perhaps a
little afraid of the sun, like it might give her cancer or something.
Yet her skin was perfect, and she had twin dark eyes like pools you come
upon in the dark, where mosquitoes live and breed, out in the woods.
Her black evening gown circled her neck like a collar but was obviously
without a back to it, not crossing behind her until it had to in order
to put something behind her bottom. Then, just as it surrounded her
completely, where her hips were, to cover her front and in back too, it
was sliced up each side with long slits that almost defeated the gown’s
ability to hide her figure, for the slits ran from her ankles all the
way up to her hips. She obviously wore no bra, because her gown was so
narrow in front, crossing down over her chest, that it left the sides of
her breasts almost completely exposed.
I think I liked that about her. She was without a bra, just
like me. Just like Bethany, in fact, who leaned foward as we sat on a
leather bench-type seat in the limo and looked with wide eyes at the
woman. She smiled, the dark-haired woman, at myself and Bethany, then
at Steve, who’d brought us. Her bosoms, large and looking quite
vulnerable with her gown barely able to cover them, jiggled as she
moved. I felt a tender feeling toward her, looking so sweetly
accessible in her gown, which some wicked man had obviously chosen for
her, or she’d felt the need to wear to impress him, because she loved
him so much. And I felt too a wish to be classy and elegant like her,
and to be admired in a gown like she wore.
“Steve,” the woman said, leaning forward, her breasts moving
under her rustling gown, hanging quite freely, like twin gourds of fruit
being offered at a feast. “I see you’ve made up your mind.”
“Yes,” Steve answered. “But drive fast, before I change it.”
“And the girls?” the woman asked. She gazed with light,
carefree eyes at myself and Bethany.
“I-- I don’t know...” I answered. I let my voice trail off.
Bethany found my hand and squeezed it tight. Was she hoping I’d rescue
her, pull her from the limo before we were swept away? Or was she
hoping I’d say ‘yes’ for the both of us, because she was too shy to say
it for herself?
“Have you ever been to Mexico?” the woman with the dark hair
asked me with the same light, playful look in her eyes.
“No...” I answered. My eyes admired her dress as I spoke.
“Then let’s be off,” she said. She reached out and pressed a
small button. It lay in the panelled wood of a wet bar that stood in
front of us. The button, I think, buzzed the driver up in the front
part of the limo. She smiled at me again as the limo started up and
rolled forward. “My name’s Eveline,” she said in a small, delicate
voice. Then, looking past me at Steve, she said, “Steve, dearest, would
you serve the three of us drinks?”
That night I found myself in a dark, brooding mansion somewhere
below the Mexican border. We’d driven all the way, it wasn’t far. I
lived in Corpus Christi. The drinks had helped with my ambivalence
about the trip. I was feeling just a little dizzy now, as was Bethany.
Steve, I think, was somewhere downstairs, being given a bath by one of
the maids. She was big and fat and I don’t think Steve much liked
getting a bath, but by the time we’d arrived at the mansion none of us
were too disposed to resist anymore, giggling and laughing as the
mansion’s gates opened for us and the limo slipped us inside.
I got the feeling we hand’t been brought down to Mexico just to
see the sights. When I told Bethany this, she told me she wouldn’t mind
seeing the sights, provided they were made to wear those gold-coin
condoms she’d seen in the grocery. I laughed at that. We’d been given
a bedroom to share and two middle-aged maids, big and round and motherly
looking, entered our room.
“Take your clothes off, girls. You must be bathed,” the
largest maid said to us. She did not ask, simply commanded.
“Ohhh, I don’t want a bath. I want to go to a party,” Bethany
answered.
“Up, no time to argue. You must both have baths and then you
may be invited to a little celebration,” the maid replied. And so, not
wanting to undress, but having the maid approach me and take hold of my
sweater and lift it up, me giggling, from drinking too much, I had my
sweater pulled up over my head. My “Black Sabbath” medallion slipped
through the neckhole of my sweater as it was lifted off and tumbled down
past my face. It almost hit my nose. It landed with a loud slap
against my belly. The maid looked at it. In the dark of the room I
don’t think she’d seen it as she went for my sweater. I stood topless
before her, with my breasts white as snow upon my suntanned figure, and
my “Black Sabbath” medallion hanging between my naked boobs. It felt
cold against my tummy.
“Off with your jeans, too,” the maid said. She bent and undid
my alligator’s belt that I liked so much. Then she popped the buttons
on the front of my jeans and pulled them down. Beneath I wore white
panties. She took those in her hands as she pushed down my jeans,
cupping my hips in both her big, broad hands, and shoved the whole works
down, my panties as well as my jeans. I wore slim boots on my legs and
as she got my pants down she had to lift my feet, one by one, and draw
off my boots. Then off came my pants, my fleecy bush feeling quite
exposed with nothing covering it. I felt a little wet between my legs
too, for it excited me to be naked in this big mansion, not knowing at
all where I was, or in whose house I’d been invited into.
Bethany shrieked as the other maid took hold of her and began
to undress her. But it was just a single shriek, and then for some
reason she quietened, and let the maid do her work. When we were both
completely naked the bigger maid, the one who’d handled me, opened a
door and brought us through a doorway into a bathroom. She lifted off
my “Black Sabbath” medallion but then put round my neck, rather
solicitously, a bar of soap suspended in necklace-form from a rope. The
tub in the bathroom had already been filled and I realized now why, in
the few moments I sat with Bethany in our darkened bedroom, wondering
what to do, I’d heard water running.
“Oh, but I must pee!” Bethany declared, as the two of us were
urged to step into the newly filled bathtub. She darted to the toilet.
Blushing a little, for all of us were looking at her, she sat down
nakedly on it and let out her water. I had to go too. I went after
her, peeing as the bowl refilled from her flushing it. Then, when I’d
stood, and flushed away my pee, the bigger of the two maids placed a
warm palm on my bare bottom, startling me, and guided me quite frankly
back to the bathtub. This time she lifted my leg for me and actually
forced me to step over the side of the tub into the water. I almost
fell as she picked up my leg. I grabbed Bethany’s shoulder for
balance. Standing beside me, she was made by her own maid to lift her
leg and get in the tub. When we’d both entered the tub we looked at
each other and then, not knowing what else to do, we both sat down.
“Ooooh, this water is nice,” Bethany admitted. Still feeling a
little woozy from drinking too much, it was nice to be able to settle
into the warm tub water. I lay back in the tub and she found a rubber
duck along the side of the tub and put it in the water to see it float.
The maids let us rest in the tub a moment. Then, offering us a
scrub brush and sponge, they told us to bathe ourselves or they would do
it for us. I still felt quite clean from my bath at home, but I
accepted their scrub brush and got to work. I decided, though, soaping
up the brush on the bar of soap hanging between my breasts, to have a
little fun by scrubbing Bethany. When the brush was foaming with soap I
told Bethany to stand up and show me her bottom. She did, feeling a
little silly, I think, but liking the naughtiness of standing with her
bottom in my face. I sat at her feet. I lifted the scrub brush and,
sexily, I began to scrub her wobbly bottom cheeks.
Bethany shouted with delight. We were both a little drunk and
it was fun to wash her bottom. She stuck it out at me and I slapped
it. The twin, tightly-stretched mounds of cheeky flesh shuddered.
“Ooohhh! Don’t do that!” Bethany pouted. She clapped her
hands over her small little 12-year-old ass to protect it. I reached up
and pried at her fingers. She laughed. Suddenly her hands flew away
and she stuck out her bottom again. “Fart!” she announced, though
nothing came out of her bottomhole.
“You’re a strumpet!” I told her, and I slapped her ass again,
though not as hard as before, for I didn’t want to hurt her.
The maids let us play. They did not seem too worried that we
wouldn’t get clean, though they did insist we wash our hair with shampoo
before they let us out of the tub. Our hair was already clean, of
course, but we scrubbed it anyway. I guessed they wanted our hair to be
as glossy and lustrous as possible.
After our bath Bethany and I were seated by the two maids in
front of a vanity mirror. We weren’t used to wearing makeup but they
insisted on applying some to both our faces. We were forced to sit in
the nude, our bottoms warming on soft cushioned stools. My toes barely
touched the floor. Bethany’s legs were too short and she kicked her
feet absently back and forth under her chair as the maids applied makeup
to her face. When we stood up we looked very pleasantly mature, I
thought, with our made up eyes and lipsticked lips and lightly-rouged
cheeks.
“Sit back down, I didn’t tell you to rise,” the bigger maid
said to us. I sat down again on my stool, wondering why all this was
necessary. I’d had a long day. Wasn’t I simply to be permitted to go
to bed? I didn’t need makeup for bed, did I?
The maid brought out a little kit. She set it on the vanity
counter in front of me. She opened it. I saw gold rings inside, and a
small needle, as if for piercing flesh. There was a brush within, quite
small and delicate, and a jar of rouge. The maid opened the jar, dipped
the brush into it, and then, lifting the brush, began applying rouge to
one of my nipples.
I shouted. I wasn’t expecting that! I heard Bethany give a
shout beside me. But the maid gripped my breast, held it tight, almost
painfully, and, extruding my nipple flesh between two of her fingers,
she proceeded to paint my nipple with the rouge. I felt it stiffen,
felt the nipple on my other breast harden too. Yet I felt awfully
tender and vulnerable, for she might pinch my nipples off, if she
wished, I thought, her fingers were so big and workmanlike. And what
was that needle doing in the kit?
I didn’t find out about the needle, but both my nipples were
carefully outlined with applications of the brush dipped in rouge. When
at last the process was done I felt my nipples were very hard, like twin
thorns, for the tickling of the brush against them had excited them
terribly. I looked over at Bethany and saw she was aroused just like I
was. I could feel my spot buzzing down within the lips of my cunt.
Bethany smiled guiltily at me and brushed her hands across her thighs.
I knew she was feeling excited down within her snatch too.
We were permitted to stand. The maids turned us and made us
bend forward and dusted both our bottoms with baby powder. Again I
wondered, what for? The powder felt silky against my soft bottom but
wasn’t I just going to be given pajama pants and put to bed?
We were taken back out to our bedroom. It was well-lit now.
Eveline had turned on the lamp. She was dressed in a similar gown as
before, but it was red now, instead of black. Her hair, which she’d
worn in the limo hanging free down her back, was now piled up
elaborately atop her head.
“Girls, you both look so special,” Eveline smiled. Her eyes
glowed at me, at Bethany. “I hate to hide such beauty but I have a few
little things I want you both to put on,” she said. I looked at the
bed. I saw a small bow tie for each of us, and a pair of shirt-cuffs,
like Playboy bunnies wear, with gold cufflinks attached to them. I saw
high heels for me and, strangely, rubber rain boots for (I guessed)
Bethany. They were lined with felt, as if to protect her legs from
being chafed by them. But that would only be necessary if she were to
walk around in them without stockings, wasnt’ it? Also on the bed, I
saw a small red fireman’s hat and a squirtgun. But, significantly, I
saw no panties, no bras, nothing to cover ourselves up with. This
seemed odd to me, for I supposed we could sleep nude in our bed, but why
would Bethany need to wear rainboots in bed? And I hated to see her
armed with a squirtgun. She was still young enough to cause trouble
with something like that. I could just see her trying to squrit me up
the ass with it if we were both to sleep nude in our bed.
“Are the heels for me?” I asked hopefully. I didn’t want to be
consigned to sleeping in rain boots. They looked rather childish and
silly. The floor of our bedroom was made of hard stone and felt cold
under my feet. Rather than freeze my feet off, I stepped over to the
warm throw rug by the side of our bed. I lifted a foot and dandled my
toes over the heel strap on one of the pumps. I looked at Eveline. I
knew Penthouse Pets were sometimes put to bed wearing heels and I
thought, ‘Oh well, I’ll wear them to bed if she wishes, with my makeup
on and my painted tits and talcum-powdered bottom, just so I don’t get
consigned to those ridiculous rain boots.’ I still had no idea why
she’d want us sleeping in the bed all made up and special feeling, with
heels on, but perhaps it would be fun.
Bethany saw the squirtgun and made a beeline for it.
Fortunately, it proved to be empty. She liked the firehat and picked it
up and plopped it on her head. She grinned at me. She fitted the chin
strap of the firehat under her chin. I smiled at her, glad she liked
the squirtgun and firehat, for I was sure the boots were meant to go
with them. I sat down barebottomed on the coverlet of our bed and
leaned foward. Reaching for the heels, I felt my breasts hanging
beneath me, full and soft and round, with my nipples perky from being
painted.
“Oh, I don’t have to fool with straps to put my shoes on,”
Bethany told me happily, claiming the boots for herself. “I can just
stick in my feet!” She stepped into the rainboots and I was glad, for
it meant I could have the high heels. Carefully I bound them to my
feet, working to get all the little buckles and straps closed
correctly. Then I stood up. Bethany looked at me. “You’ll probably
fall over in those,” she said.
I walked across the floor of our bedroom. The heels were at
least four inches in height and they made my bottom swing with an
exaggerated movement behind me as I stepped along in them. Bethany was
right. I tottered at first, Eveline reaching out to grab me so I
wouldn’t fall. But I soon got the hang of it and was walking quite
proudly round our bedroom. My tits shook a little with each of my
steps, my bare ass jiggled behind me. Bethany follwed me, pointing her
squirtgun at my ass and, I knew, wishing she had something in it to
shoot out at me. I could hear the slapping of her boots upon the stone
floor.
“You both look delicious,” Eveline said. She nodded to the
maids. They fetched our shirt cuffs and bow ties off our bed. Bidding
us to stand still, they carefully placed the cuffs round our wrists and
tied the bow ties round our throats. “Now let’s go downstairs and meet
my husband,” Eveline told us, when the maids finished.
“What?” Bethany asked. Her eyes were big and round again, wide
with surprise. She pointed her squirtgun at Eveline as if to defend
herself from the woman.
“Why, we’re having a party,” Eveline said. “Don’t worry, Steve
will be there too. We’re all going to have some late night fun
together. Do you like dancing?”
“Yes,” Bethany admitted. “But not without my panties on!” She
looked quickly around the room, as did I. Our clothes were gone. But,
perhaps in deference to a wish I might have, my “Black Sabbath”
medallion lay upon the nightstand beside our bed.
I fetched my medallion and put it around my neck. I felt much
comfort at it’s weighty presence against my belly.
“Do you think you’ve been brought here to sleep?” Eveline asked
Bethany. She rose up from a chair she’d been sitting in and went over
to the girl and hugged her. Bethany looked rather like an unwilling
rabbit being hugged by a child as Eveline embraced her. Her eyes stared
at me and her childish cheeks were compressed slightly upon her face as
Eveline pressed the girl to her bosom. Not wearing a bra, Eveline’s
breasts parted as the girl’s head sank between them. It looked sexy, I
had to admit, like something you might see in one of those awful men’s
magazines, one girl holding the other against herself, making her face
come into contact with her breasts. Bethany, of course, didn’t kiss
Eveline’s bosoms as she found her head pressed hotly to them. But when
Eveline let her go the girl turned, slightly, and looked at the
sumptuous cleavage she’d just been pressed into.
“You have nice tits,” Bethany said, frankly, and lifted her
squirtgun and placed the nozzle of it right against one of Eveline’s
nipples. You could see the woman’s nipples easily, standing up like
twin points, pushing against the fabric of her breasts. Bethany
squeezed the trigger of her squirtgun but nothing came out.
We went downstairs. We were not willing or unwilling, just two
nude girls hustled along with the maids behind us and Eveline leading
the way. Bethany’s boots went ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ down the home’s
grand front staircase. I stepped more lightly in my heels, feeling
awkward, almost wishing I’d fall, so a twisted ankle could excuse me
from the strange party we were invited to, where clothing (at least for
us) appeared not to be needed.
Downstairs the house appeared to be empty. Bethany and I
threaded our way past potted vines with flowering plants on them. We
passed under a painting by Renoir of a child with a watering can. I saw
gorgeous Edwardian-era furniture all aroud me, like my mom collects and
refinishes, and wondered if Bethany and I were to sit on it with our
bare bottoms. Passing a Grecian vase, I suddenly saw a man. He was
sitting in a chair by himself at the far end of the room. He was
dressed in an expensive Armani suit and he was smoking a cigar. The
moment I saw him he saw me. I stopped in my tracks. Bethany froze
beside me.
“There’s a man!” Bethany blurted. We’d only been nude with
females up until now, though Steve, I remembered had been promised to be
present at our little party. Perhaps I’d thought we’d be given party
clothes downstairs, before he came. But now we were revealed, in all
our girlish nudity, in front of this man. I didn’t know what to say.
Bethany seemed to quiver beside me, her bare bosoms jiggling with quiet
nervousness on her chest. I felt my bottomcheeks huddling behind me. I
was acutely aware of their bulbing nakedness. Across the man’s knees,
lying quite innocuously, as if placed there by accident, I saw a leather
riding crop. I remembered how the horses at the stables I visited as a
young girl would start when they were struck on the rump with one.
“Please, girls, show a little more bravery than that,” Eveline
said with a laugh. I felt hands upon my back, low down, near my waist,
and I was impelled forward. Beside me Bethany stumbled forward in her
boots. The man, seeming not to notice us, blew smoke rings as he held
aloft his cigar.
“Here’s two little ones for your party, dear,” Eveline said to
the man. “Just like I promised.”
The man was drop-dead gorgeous. I think if he hadn’t been I
would have clawed and kicked at the women at my back, including
Eveline. He looked rather like Tom Cruise, but was taller, much taller,
and sat nonchalantly, as if rather bored, not seeming to mind in the
least that we were without clothes at his party, nor aroused either,
though I saw his pants sported a distinct bulge where his thighs met.
He was young, no more than 30. His face had a scar across one
cheek that frightened me, but at the same time made me feel for him, for
it must have hurt for him to suffer whatever it was that caused it. He
had a ring on each finger, one with a ruby in it, the other a diamond.
He wore diamond cufflinks on his suit and he had one leg casually
crossed over the other, leaving enough space between his crossed legs to
show us he was amply equipped in the crotch.
Bethany seemed as impressed as I was by the man. Despite her
lack of panties she walked up to him, as the maids urged us, and we
stood before him, in the altogether, wearing just our little bowties and
our cuffs and shoes. Bethany aimed her squirtgun at the man menacingly,
as if to shoot him if he tried anything with her.
I was still flinching a little at being described as a “little
one” by Eveline. I wasn’t as tall as she was but surely, with my
breasts, I was at least as well endowed, wasn’t I? I thrust forward my
hips, feeling the wobble of my tits on my chest. My nipples were
painted. The man looked at them, then up at my face, as if not to
embarrass me by gazing at my sexual places. Beside me Bethany, more
from mere confusion, I think, for we were both feeling warm between our
legs, stuck out her hips, perhaps hoping the man she was still pointing
her squirtgun at might brave her gun and tickle her pussy.
“You girls are lovely but I cannot have you greet my guests
quite so openly,” the man said to both Bethany and I, but looking, I
felt, longer at me than at her. I was older, after all, taller than she
and with bigger bosoms. He bid me to come close. He kept his riding
crop across his knees but he reached down beside his chair and picked up
a can of Kool-Whip.
I shivered. The man reached behind me as I came up beside
him. He palmed my bottom, but not searchingly, merely to hold me. Then
he applied pressure to my rump with his hand, forcing me to offer him my
pussy. In the space between my legs I was feeling increasingly moist.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked me frankly.
“Yes,” I whispered. For some strange reason, despite the
presence of the riding crop in his lap, I suddenly felt more protected
and loved than I’d ever felt before in my life. This was not a
boyfriend who would fight with me. He would command, but only when I
was able, I felt to obey, and then he would expect me to listen and do
as I was told.
“Very good,” he said. “All the more reason you should not show
too much too soon.” He brought the can of Kool-Whip close to my cunt.
I waited. He smiled, slyly. He depressed the top of the can.
“YeeK!” I shouted. I don’t know what I expected. But the
cream that came spurting out of the can was ice cold. It spattered
across my pubis. It coated my pussy hairs with white foam and then the
man, urging me to part my legs, which caused me to bend my knees, aimed
the foam lower and sprayed me underneath, not just in my pubic triangle
but actually against the virgin labial lips between my legs.
“Ooohhh,” I shuddered. I felt so hot between my legs and now
this icy Kool-Whip was being applied by this total stranger to my most
private place. He squirted carefully, slowly, not in a continuous
stream, which might have made a mess, but with artful grace, holding me
still with a hand firmly against my bottom, forcing me to offer him my
sex.
When I was well-creamed the man let me go. I returned to
Bethany, my pussy covered with white stuff but otherwise as I’d been
before. I liked it that the man, so easily able to take liberties with
my person, had instead totally restrained himself, not even touching me,
except upon my bottom, to hold me close to him. This was quite
different from my boyfriend back home! He’d yelled “Heel, bitch!” and
expected me to drop to my knees like a trained dog! And not merely to
play at being his doggie but to do the unspeakable act of zipping open
his fly and putting him in my mouth! This man, though I knew not what
else he had planned for me, seemed much more accomplished. He touched
me like a father might, though being much younger, and restrained what
must have been an obvious need on his part bulging up between the legs
of his trousers.
Bethany went ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ in her boots up to the
man. He placed a hand round her waist. She fliched. His hand passed
down over her bottom and he murmured something to her. Then, just as
he’d done with me, he took the Kool-Whip and sprayed it on her puss.
“Eeeek!” Bethany hollared. But I could tell she wasn’t going
to back away from him, because I’d had Kool-Whip put on me and she was
kind of like a little sister in always wanting to keep up with me in
whatever I did. The man coated her pudenda very slowly, as if covering
her up with the modest intent of a mother. When her pussy had been
nicely creamed he released her. She came back to me, her eyes wide,
holding her squirtgun and, I think, wishing to feel herself down there
between her legs, but afraid to. Perhaps she even wished to jam the
nozzle of her squritgun between her legs, I thought naughtily to
myself. I almost wished she’d do that to me.
I heard voices behind me. I turned. Steve was being escorted
into the room, by Eveline. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I
saw his condition. He was completely undressed. He wore new sneakers,
but nothing more. Sticking out in front of him, like a big erect snake,
was his penis. I’d never seen one before. It practically blew my mind,
seeing his, it was so very long and exquisitely hard. Steve had been
shaved and bathed and his hair had been bound behind his head with a
pink ribbon. I laughed, seeing the ribbon. I heard Bethany giggle.
Yet his chest was a powerful, rippling mass of hard muscle, and his arms
and legs were like limbs that you see on weightlifters, or the best high
school football players. His stomach was flat and hard and as he passed
me, barely noticing me, I saw his buns were very small and tight. They
were white, like the space of flesh where his cock grew from his body.
The rest of him was dark, from being out in the sun.
“Steven, my boy,” the man said with a wry trace of a smile. He
uncrossed his legs. He was about to draw a puff on his cigar but, I
think in deference to Steven, he did not. He looked the boy over and
then regarded him as, I thought, an older man might regard someone who
may one day take his place. “You will find this much pleasanter work
than drug running,” the man said to Steven. “Sorry about the pink bow,
but the ladies insisted. You are well fitted for the work they’ll be
giving you,” the man said. He glanced directly at Steven’s stiff
genitals. “Try not to wave that thing in my face, eh?”
“Sorry, sir,” Steven said. He stepped back a pace from the
man.
“Of course in my opinion, at my age, I still feel it would be
better for you if you were in high school doing your studies,” the man
said to Steven. This time his hand felt a need to lift his cigar to his
mouth and he permitted himself the liberty of puffing upon it. He blew
the smoke out slowly, ending with a smoke ring. “But, at your age, I
admit I ran away myself, so I could get a start in the world, and not be
a bookworm for the rest of my life.” He raised his hand. He gestured
to the room around us. “As you can see, I’ve done well,” the man
said. “Now about your chores here, you’ll be keeping in good condition,
of course, working out every day. And at night, as this evening, you’re
other parts,” the man paused, looked again at Steve’s cock, “Will be
seen to.” He nodded to Eveline. The woman approached Steve. She
kissed his lips and allowed him to feel the cushiony presence of her
breasts pressing softly against his bare chest. Then, with a smile, she
turned Steve around, so that he was showing the man his naked ass.
“Ah, yes, the backside,” the man said. He reached for the crop
in his lap and fingered it. “Tell me, Steve, have you ever participated
in anal sex?” the man asked.
“No, and I wouldn’t want to, either,” Steve said.
“Good,” the man nodded. “I fully agree. However, we must have
you properly outfitted, I’m afraid, for your duties this evening. You
are young and strong and, quite frankly, a bit of a threat to the other
men who will be attending our party tonight. I must show that you are
compliant, else they won’t let their wives spend time with you. I have
a device, here, which will make that quite easy. If you would, simply
bend foward, spread your stance a little, and bring your arms behind you
so I can get this over as quickly as possible.” He drew again upon his
cigar, puffed out rings. “Believe me, this is no pleasure for me to do,
but with you not having, correctly, done anything in a manner to voilate
your behind, I’m afraid I’m the only one present with the strength to do
what is necessary.”
“Go ahead,” Steve said. “Eveline warned me this was
necessary.” He leaned foward. Reaching behind himself, with Eveline
drawing on one of his wrists a little, in encouragement, he took hold of
his ass cheeks and separated them.
“Good, good,” the man said. He drew from a bag beside his
chair an enormous phallus. It was slim, however, and looked quite
flexible. It had been pre-greased, by someone. The grease looked thick
upon it, as one might expect if indeed Steve, like the rest of us, had
never had anything stuck up his behind. I’d read of such obscene
things, on the Net, surfing through alt.sexy.men.gay. I think Bethany
must have too, for she stood shivering beside me, watching, waiting,
holding her little squirtgun aloft just in case anybody got any ideas of
doing the same thing to her.
“I’ll try not to make this hurt,” the man said to Steve.
“Just jam it up,” Steve said. He gritted his teeth.
“You’re quite a good deal bolder with your behind than I would
have been, at your age,” the man said to Steve.
“I’m going to fuck your wife’s brains out when this is over,”
Steve warned.
The man laughed. “My delicate Eveline? Ah, Steve. Yes, you
will indeed get to have her, but you must perform first for the other
ladies, at our party tonight. Sorry--” he said then, and wedged the big
dildo-thing between the cheeks of Steve’s ass.
“Uhn,” Steve grunted.
“Don’t tighten yourself, my boy. It won’t make this any
easier,” the man said. He wrinkled his nose. “I’m glad you were given
a bath. I’d have hated to have done this to you after you’d spent 3
days on the road.”
“Yeah, up yours, just get it in. Your ass stinks too,” Steve
answered.
“Oh!” Bethany cried. He hand flew to her mouth as she watched
Steve suddenly lurch forward. Eveline caught him, pressed him back, a
hand low upon his belly, her fingers separating to make room for the
growth of his real cock in front.
“Ungh! OW!” Steve yelped. Eveline stroked his penis with her
other hand, consoling him.
“Hold still, dearest, you’ll do the same to me with this big
thing you’ve got and you know it,” Eveline said. Then, nodding at her
husband, she said, “Do him, dear. He deserves it. He already told me
upstairs how he’s going to rape my ass with his big proud penis.”
“Unh...unh...Ack!” Steve groaned. He gritted his teeth.
Behind him, as he held his ass open for the man, the man inserted the
dildo. It went up slowly at first, then more quickly, and Bethany and I
stood watching with our bottomcheeks clenched, knowing we’d never let
such an awful thing be done to ourselves!
“Yes, that feels nice and full, doesn’t it, you wicked boy,”
Eveline said to Steve. She was milking his cock now, pulling on it in a
manner that I thought must be painful for him, though he seemed not to
mind. Up, up, the big dildo went into his backside, until at last, with
a sigh of relief, the man announced that he had it all the way up.
Stiffly, Steve straightened. “God, Damn! I don’t think I can
walk with that fucking shit up my ass!” Steve said. The man laughed.
“You’ll manage, my boy, but it will reassure the other men that
you won’t run away with their wives!” He pulled a leather thong that
reminded me a bit of a girdle from the black leather bag beside his
chair. The girdle-thong thing was split into two, and the man now
fitted the two halves of the girdle together over the stump of the dildo
that stuck out of Steve’s bottom. When it was together, holding the
stump in place, the man wrapped it around Steve’s front. Eveline helped
him. She snapped the girdle’s split front closed around Steve’s penis.
There was a hole in the girdle for his balls to hang through. This had
a small drawstring permitting the hole to be slipped tighter or larger
around the balls. Eveline, getting the girdle closed around Steve’s
penis, now tightened the hole thru which his balls descended so that his
testicles were contstricted.
“That will help keep you from cuming,” Eveline said in a soft
whisper to Steve, as if sharing a secret with him.
In back, there were manacles attached to the girdle. As
Eveline closed the girdle around Steve’s cock, the man behind him bound
his wrists with the manacles. When they were both finished, the process
taking a while, me and Bethany wishing we could muss the cream between
our legs by rubbbing our slits, Steve looked quite sexy. His ass was
split down the back by a leather thong, which showed both his cheeks and
at the same time had been fitted to him in such as way as to hold the
dildo up his ass in place. Between his legs, his hairy balls stuck down
through the opening left in the girdle’s thong. And in front, his
penis, hard as a stone sculpture’s, had been encased round it’s base by
the same thong splitting his ass. Nothing hid the view of his big stiff
penis and nothing hid the view of his plump little ass, save the thong
which cut between the cheeks of his bottom and held the dildo up inside
his gut. In addition, his balls were as visible as before, though they
hung lower now because the of the tightness of the girdle forcing them
to descend.
Steve turned to us, his hands bound behind him. “Don’t laugh,
cunts,” he warned us. We both suppressed giggles but couldn’t help
looking at his big, captive cock, and the exciting display of his
balls. I wished he’d turn again so I could admire his well-popped ass.
“Dear, do something about that dick of his, would you?” the man
said to Eveline. “Here, do you want my whipped cream? I’m finished
with the girls.”
“Oh no,” Eveline said. She smiled. “I want to dip this fine
boy’s penis in chocolate. The ladies will simply adore that!”
The two maids appeared. I hadn’t noticed their absence, I was
so enthralled by Steve’s butt-raping and his fixing within the girdle.
Between them they carried a wastebasket. It was made of plastic, as if
to keep their fingers from being burned. Brimming within, I saw what
appeared to be a deep pool of chocolate.
The maids set the wastebasket on a low coffee table near the
man.
“Kneel, dearest,” Eveline said to Steve. Lightly she put a
finger to his back, down by his waist. Steve heeded her and dropped to
his knees, letting them come to rest on the end of the coffee table. Of
course, doing this, his dick came within inches of the warm, liquid
chocolate. On the end of his penis was a dollop of pre-cum and it
suddenly dropped within the liquid. I thought I heard a small hiss.
“How hot is this?” Steve asked, kneeling a bit unsteadily, his
penis itself in danger of plunging within the chocolate.
“Not too bad, I don’t think,” Eveline said. She came round
beside Steve and dipped a finger into the chocolate. She lifted it to
her lips. “Mmmm, delicious. It’s not too hot, dear. Plunge your penis
right into it!”
With a moment’s hesitation, gazing into the deep wastebasket
full of melted chocolate, Steve drew in his breath. His chest
expanded. It was big and heavy and powerful. Then, still holding his
breath, he plunged his dick in.
“Yeeeooo! It’s not very cool!” Steve howled. But he seemed to
manage the heat and he held his penis within the pool of chocolate. He
had little choice. Eveline had placed both her palms upon his ass and
seemed determined to keep him submerged in the chocolate for as he could
bear.
“Ahhhh,” Steve announced suddenly, and drew his big, dripping
penis out of the wastebasket. Clinging to the entire length of it was
rich, brown chocoate. I watched, amazed. I wished dearly to finger my
slit but didn’t want to be seen by the man, messing up what he’d so
carefully applied to me.
“Yes, it’s gorgeous. Come and blow on it, girls, to cool it
for him,” Eveline announced to us. Bethany and I couldn’t refuse. He
was so scrumptious, standing there with his chocolate-covered penis,
that she and I almost raced each other as we ran up to him. I reached
him first. Bethany had to run round to the other side of him. We bent,
blew on his cock. It was gorgeous, almost a foot long, I guessed
(though my mind might have been exaggerating a bit). Bethany’s eyes
danced as she blew on Steve’s penis, as did mine. I wanted to lick it
but Eveline warned us not to.
“He might spill, girls,” she said. “He must be saved for the
party.”
“Shall he dip his balls too?” Bethany asked. She and I
straightened up, reluctantly.
“Oh no,” Eveline answered. “His testicles hang down from his
body to keep the sperm healthy. Heat kills sperm. That’s why men are
made that way, didn’t you know that?” Eveline asked.
“Noooo,” Bethany answered, staring at Steve’s equipment.
“However, just like yourselves, Steve must be made modest,”
Eveline said. She walked over to her husband. She had him give her the
Kool-Whip. She returned to us, shaking the can. “I’ll spray a little
of this on his balls so people don’t see his hairy sack the minute they
walk in the door.” She bent, told Steve to spread his legs. From
behind, she squirted Kool-Whip on his nut sack.
“Hey! That’s cold!” Steve, his penis still cooling within its
chocolate shell, announced.
“Yes, dear, it’s Kool-Whip,” Eveline explained. He was too big
for her to get him completely coated from behind. She came round to his
front and, moving Bethany out of her way, bent again and applied
Kool-Whip to his balls from the front.
“Put a little of that on my dick too,” Steve said, for the
chocolate was still quite warm against his penis.
“No, dear. My pussy will be warm, just like the chocolate is,”
Eveline told him. “Get used to it.”
I was told I would have to answer the door. I was not given
any additional clothes to cover myself with. But I was still
lightheaded from drinking and my sex was terribly itchy. For an
inquisive finger, a sexy poke. I could feel my button buzzing away
somewhere beneath the Kool-Whip.
Bethany’s squirtgun was filled with baby oil. She was warned
not to squirt people without permission. She trooped round the room,
her trigger finger itchy but untested. She was obedient, for the
moment. She looked for targets she might shoot at when permission was
given. An old painting, with a dour woman in it. A parakeet in a
cage. The child in the painting by Renoir with the watering can.
An indoor grill was set up for cooking our meal. It would be a
picnic type meal, with hotdogs. Servants set it up. Two maids, dressed
in stockings and bibs, hats perched on their heads. They were dressed
modestly. They pretended not to notice my nudity, or Bethany’s, who
watched them wide-eyed, or Steve’s.
Steve was unshackled. The phallus was left up his ass, the
girdle tight around his waist. Only his wrists were undone. He wanted
badly, I could see, to get the big rubber cock out of his ass, but
Eveline forbade it. Had her husband forbidden it, I had no doubt Steve
would have disobeyed the man. But he seemed woozy with love for
Eveline. It made me jealous, but I did not know what to do about it.
If he preferred her, I had to accept that. At least, dressed as I was,
I did. The liquor felt good in my tummy. I wanted more, but Eveline
would not let me.
“Not yet, darling. You and little Bethany would turn into two
giggle-pusses, and be quite useless to me,” she said, quietly, imploring
me almost to obey, to not spoil her party by refusing. I accepted. I
was in an accepting mood.
His cock dripping chocolate, Steve was tasked with cooking hot
dogs over the grill. He was given a chef’s hat to wear. The maids lit
the grill for him and gave him a long fork and a spatula. Yet he was
allowed no pants. His penis stuck out many inches, full and thick and
hard. I giggled. Steve had to be careful. He might roast his own
weiner by accident. Bethany eyed him and giggled too. Steve was in a
bit of a pickle, I mused. What he wanted was a warm, wet cunt. Instead
he had a cock up his ass and his own sticking out precariously in front
of him.
I felt sexy. I watched Steve for a little while, perched on a
chair, watching as he stood cooking hot dogs over the grill for our
guests. I waited, listening for the doorbell to announce their
arrival. I was told there would be several couples, perhaps an extra
man or two, arriving alone. A woman might arrive also.
I saw that the Kool-Whip from my pussy was smudging onto the
expensive chair seat I sat in but nobody seemed to mind. I sat with my
thighs open, wishing I could diddle my slit. Bethany, trooping around
the room in her boots with her squirtgun, seemed itchy too, wishing, I
think, that she could shoot stuff from her gun up her twat. The finger
that didn’t itch on her squirtgun itched instead with a need to diddle
her slit.
“Here, a gun for you too, if you wish,” Eveline said to me.
She placed a small squirtgun on the arm of my chair. I saw it had milk
in it.
“Thanks,” I replied. I picked up the gun. “It’s nice to have
protection.”
“Mmmm, you’re sweet,” Eveline said. She patted the back of my
head. “Will you serve drinks for us?”
“If you wish,” I answered.
“I’ll mix them, you serve them,” Eveline said. I could see a
wet bar across the room, and I nodded. “After the guests arrive.”
“Yes,” I said. I picked up my squirtgun. Bethany crept close,
then saw I was armed and veered away, perhaps changing her plans. Had
she thought to disobey, to squirt me? I did not know. I wondered what
I would have looked like, with baby oil dripping from my nose, my
nipples.
The doorbell rang. I rose, went to the front door. I could
feel my hips swinging behind me as I passed the grecian urn. As I
walked under the painting of the child with her watering can I felt a
need to pee. ‘Not now,’ I told myself. I didn’t wish to embarrass
myself by asking Eveline where the toilet was. There was one, I knew,
upstairs in the bathroom beside my bedroom. Perhaps I could slip up the
stairs when no one was looking.
The bell rang again. I wished I could run upstairs and pee
first but there was no time for it.
My four inch heels made me feel unsteady. They amplified each
swing of my nude bottom. I was nervous. My hands shook. Yet I tried
to control myself. This was more fun than being at home, being yelled
at by mom. Especially with liquor making my head swim. I looked at my
white cuffs on my wrists with the gold cufflinks. I liked them.
The bell at the front door was rung again. I approached the
door, was impressed by its size. Much larger than ordinary doors. I
had not noticed it coming in, not really, but now I had time to observe
it as I approached it from the inside. Large, with panels engraved in
it. Everything was so well-made here. This was not a suburban tract
home. I wondered how Eveline’s husband made the money to pay for it
all.
Reaching out with both my small hands, I took hold of the
door’s handle. I twisted it. Almost immediately the door was shoved
inward and I stumbled back. I felt myself unable to keep my balance.
And then, lightning-fast, a large hand snapped out and caught one of my
retreating, flailing wrists.
“You are the slowest whore--!” a man bellowed. Yet I felt his
grip suddenly slacken. It had caught me with intense force, yet now I
feared he might let go again. Did my appearance displease him?
I gazed up at him with my eyes. He was 21, I felt, looking up
at him. Tall and dark-haired. A light stubble on his face. He
reminded me in size of a lifeguard at my pool. Awkwardly I let my eyes
suddenly dart down to his crotch. Even as I looked at it, I fancied I
saw it bulge outward. He had something impressive hemmed in there,
behind his zipper. I felt my tummy let loose a swarm of butterflies.
The man’s grip tightened again. Hard, possessive.
“Ow!” I cried. He gripped me now tighter than he had before,
when he’d caught me.
“Oh, my apologies,” the man said. Drawing me fully onto my
feet and balancing me on my pretty heels, he took a top hat off his
head. He was debonair. A top hat, a long flowing coat, thrown open, a
silk black suit. He reminded me a bit of a magician and I had to
giggle, thinking a rabbit might pop out of his hat. But he had no
mustache, like magicians do. He was clean-shaven, but with long, dark,
shoulder length hair.
I swallowed. I felt my knees wobbling as I regarded him. I
forced a smile, then blushed.
“You are... beautiful,” the man said to me.
“Thanks,” I answered. “Would you like to party?” I hoped to
draw him into the room as quick as I could, so I might go pee.
“Yeah, sure...” he said. Primly I took his arm. I led him
into the house, past the grecian urn, under the painting of the girl
with the watering can.
“Who’s that?” Bethany asked. She stood in the middle of the
room where Eveline’s husband was sitting. She levelled her squirtgun at
our new guest.
“He’s...” I blushed. I didn’t know his name, though I was
walking arm and arm with him with my nude breasts bouncing on my chest
and my bottom bare. I saw twin lines thru Bethany’s pubis, where she’d
apparently passed her finger, drawing off Kool-Whip and letting her
pubic hairs show. I was glad I hadn’t diddled myself there. The man
would see my private if I had. I would be a child like Bethany, unable
to control her urgings, instead of a young woman.
“Ah, Brendan,” Eveline’s husband said.
“Hello, Malthus,” Brendan replied.
“How goes the trade?” Eveline’s husband, Malthus, asked.
“They learn to tow the line or they learn to love the grave,”
Brendan said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, we shall make our own laws,” Malthus agreed.
Brendan surveyed the room. Steve found himself blushing and
turned to focus intently on his grill. Eveline sidled up to him and
stroked his bare cock and purred in his ear of pleasures to come.
“Who’s that fellow there?” Brendan asked. “He looks almost my
age. Are you planning to put me in whatever obscene thing it is you’ve
got him wearing?” Brendan laughed. Eveline patted Steve’s ass.
“He’s not available for your hit squads, or for drug running,”
Malthus said. “He’s more... er... valuable in his present condition.
To my wife, you know. She found him out selling drugs, small-time,
along a highway next to an American strip mall.”
“From the bottom to the top in one day,” Malthus said. “Not
bad. I envy all the attention your wife will be giving him.”
A maid hurried over to Brendan.
“Sorry, sir,” she announced. She helped him out of his
cloak. She folded the heavy garment over her arm. She offered to take
off his suit coat. He unbuttoned it, gave it to her. I watched as he
shed his coats. I liked seeing his body, how it moved. He was tall and
lanky, with broad shoulders. He had a muscular chest that rippled under
his white shirt.
Brendan sat down on the chair I’d been sitting in. If he
noticed the smudge of whipped cream I’d left there he didn’t say
anything. He looked at me expectantly. I wished to pee, yet I felt his
eyes compelling me to sit myself on his knee. I could hold myself in a
few minutes more, couldn’t I?
I perched myself in his lap. He ringed my tummy with his arm
and scooted me backward until my bottom found itself poised squarely
over his hard-on. I was glad the maid hadn’t offered to take his
pants.
I wriggled. His cock was sticking up, snakelike, like the
Golden Missouri Arch, trying to rise up and show itself, a hump in his
pants. A dolphin with its head and its tail in the water, but its back
curving up, up into the sky. Except his cock was curving up between my
bottomcheeks and into my ass. Struggling against his arm I tried to
slide myself forward again, but he would not let me. I realized I would
have to accomodate myself to his penis, and learn to accept its
presence. I swallowed. He stroked my belly with his fingertips.
“Keep your legs open,” he instructed me. I looked down at his
hand on my tummy, felt the wanting of my slit underneath. I parted my
thighs. They had not been together, no, that would have mussed the
cream Eveline’s husband had so artfully decorated my mons with. Yet
Brendan wanted my legs wider still. I could do naught but obey.
It felt strange, sitting there with my legs apart and something
that felt very much like a hard turd wedged up between the naked halves
of my heinie. I found myself bearing down, as if I might expel him, but
of course he was not a turd, but a stiff cock. I was virgin. I was not
used to things going up me, or wishing to.
“Get up. The bell is ringing,” Eveline told me. I had not
heard it. I had been too absorbed with the openness of my legs and the
impalement of my behind.
Reluctantly Brendan took his hand from my belly. My skin felt
cool where his palm had been, too cool, as if I preferred the touch of
his hand there. Self-consciously I stood up. I could feel his eyes on
my bare behind. I walked, his eyes followed me.
“Where did you find her? Her ass is perfect,” Brendan said.
His voice sounded throaty, constricted. Yet it was pleasantly deep.
“She is virgin too,” Eveline answered.
“Wow,” Brendan exclaimed. “To the crop as well?”
“Yes,” Eveline said.
I heard, they knew I heard, yet they didn’t care. I passed my
hands behind myself to hide my bulbing nether cheeks. I could feel
their wiggling as I walked. I wished they would stop but it was not
possible, now that I was a teen. Especially not in these heels.
I felt my bosoms bouncing heavily on my chest. They were an
offering, it seemed, my nipples painted and stiff with desire. I
wondered who I would meet at the door this time. I felt my flat belly.
I passed my hands over my hips. They flared out, like the curves on a
small violiin. I yearned to tug on my skirt, but I wore none.
The guests filtered in. As I admitted each one they looked at
me, some with a smile, others merely evaluating me. My hips, my bosoms,
the stance of my legs. I found I pleased most of them, if not all,
though all didn’t show it, save perhaps, in the men, with an increase in
the size of their crotch.
After letting in each of the guests I returned to sit on
Brandon’ lap. I felt safe there. He was the youngest, and he admired
me openly. Each time he made me sit on the lump in his pants. My
bottom moulded warmly to it now, liking the insistent feel of him there,
though it did press at me quite urgently. We began to play a little
game, he and I, me squeezing my cheeks and shifting my weight to force
him to stiffen and groan. The other guests noticed, smiled. A woman
who had entered got on her husband’s lap. They kissed.
With his cock insistent in my bottom, Brandon grew increasingly
restless. I was myself, needing to pee. I wondered how I might escape
long enough to do it.
“I should like her exercised before dinner,” Brandon said
suddenly. He spoke to Eveline. She was minding Steve, keeping him
obedient. Steve had a small pile of hot dogs laid out on the grill.
The fire was kept low. Eveline liked her hot dogs slow-roasted.
Eveline looked at Brandon. “I’m afraid that’s not possible,”
she said. She stood beside Steven, making him flinch by stroking his
cock.
“Not... that,” Brandon replied. He patted my tummy. “A taste,
rather, of leather.”
“Oh,” Eveline answered. “I suppose it would be alright.” She
kissed Steve. “There is a room in back. Do it there. I do not wish
for us to be disturbed.”
Brandon shunted me off his lap. More couples were kissing
now. Their hands roamed discreetly as yet, touching just faces, torsos,
as if waiting for permission from Eveline to do more. A man sitting by
himself reached for Bethany but she skittered away, pointed her
squirtgun at him. He began to stand, but Malthus cleared his throat.
The man was offered a cigar by a middle-aged maid.
“Ah, the wait... the wait,” the man complained.
“This is not a whorehouse, dear,” Eveline said to the man. She
departed from Steve. She motioned for a woman to take her place
strumming the boy. “Not too much,” I heard her say. The woman nodded.
Brandon pushed me ahead of him. I felt his hands pressing
against my bare back and wished, suddenly, to run away, but in my heels,
walking unsteadily, there was no hope of that. Eveline followed. “I
shall supervise,” she told her husband.
We walked past the grecian urn and then turned sharply and went
down a hall. Another hall beckoned beyond the first, and at last I
found myself escorted into the back of the house. There was an old room
there. It looked like it had been recently dusted. Within was a bed.
It had a tight-fitted sheet on it, nothing else, as if it were intended
to be some sort of platform. The headboard was old, though, the paint
flecked off, as if ropes had been repeatedly tied around its posts. I
spied a rope dangling in a loose coil off one of them. It was black,
like Brendan’s trousers.
“Sit on the bed,” Brendan said to me. He motioned with his
arm. I settled my bare bottom onto the cool of the sheets. It was
chilly here, in this back room. I heard an owl hoot out beyond its
large picture windows.
“The sheets are silk,” I said, feeling them with my hands and
the cheeks of my fanny.
“Yes, the bed’s for whipping, but I have made it as comfortable
as possible,” Eveline said. “It has a softer mattress on it than it had
before. Though one bounces more now, kneeling upon it.”
“Where are the pillows?” I asked.
Eveline laughed. “It is like I told you,” she said. “It’s not
for sleeping in. It’s strictly for whipping.”
“Oh,” I said. I shivered. I felt a dryness in my throat,
though I think my pussy wettened.
“I wish for her to put on stockings,” Brendan said to Eveline.
He drew a pair from his shirt pocket. I had wondered what was folded so
neatly there. I had mistaken them for a handkerchief.
“Oh, yes, they’re lovely,” Eveline remarked. Brandon unfolded
them and I saw that they were made of sheer silk. They were white, with
bands at the top of them to keep them snug against one’s thighs.
“May I?” Brendan asked. He looked at me. I felt afraid to nod
but somehow I managed to. He knelt. I was surprised. He looked like
Prince Charming, kneeling like that at my feet. My toes wiggled in my
open-toed heels. My feet dangled, unable to touch the floor.
“Keep your legs open,” Eveline said to me. She brushed my hair
back off my shoulders. It was gold, she stroked it softly as Brendan
removed my heels.
The stockings were slipped on. He drew them up my legs
slowly. I shuddered.
“I have to pee,” I said to Brendan in a small voice. He looked
up, but his eyes did not reach my face. They stopped at my
cream-covered slit.
“Oh dear, this is not the time,” Eveline said to me. “You have
cream all over you there. You’d have to pee through the cream.”
“I will... make an opening for her,” Brendan offered. He spoke
to Eveline, not me. She said nothing. Perhaps she wished to save my
passion for her party. Yet her fingers gripped my bare shoulder to hold
me as Brendan leaned in between my legs.
I flinched. My back shot up erectly as I felt Brendan’s tounge
invade my slit. He tasted my cream, my honey beneath, within the folds
of my slit.
“Oooooh!” I cried in a small, stifled voice, trying not to
notice him, yet relieved, I think, that at last something was sticking
within me there. I arched my hips toward him. His tongue invaded more
deeply. My breasts shook on my chest. My nipples stemmed atop them.
In my slit his toungue worked like some big worm trying to get
into a hole. I wished to clamp my legs, did, but his head was in the
way and I couldn’t bring them together. Repeatedly I arched my hips at
him. At last he drew his face away. I laughed, wishing he’d return,
yet delighted at how silly he looked. He had a dot of whipped cream on
his nose. He had cream on his lips. His tongue darted out and circled
his lips and wiped them clean.
He rose. The feel of his stubbled face between my legs
lingered still on the insides of my thighs.
“Tie her down,” Brendan said to Eveline.
“Oh! Will it hurt?” I asked, suddenly realizing what we must
be about. Eveline looked at me, at my face, nodded.
“It must, dear. Otherwise there’s no point to it,” she said.
Her hands came to my shoulders, turned my frail, thin frame so that I
was drawn up. I twisted, moving as she wished. I pulled my feet onto
the bed. I had stockings on now, but no heels. Brandon had forgotten
to put them back on.
“But I must pee!” I said.
“You are bare, except for your lovely stockings,” Eveline
said. “Pee in the bed if you must. I’ll wipe you with a towel after
it’s over.”
“Noooo,” I said, but it was a half-spoken howl, for I let her
urge me forward, kneeing my way to the head of the bed. She pressed my
head down.
“Keep your bottom up, dearest,” Eveline said. She drew my
wrists out. She took the coiled rope off the bedpost and wrapped it
around my wrists, keeping them together, binding them so that my arms
stuck out straight in front of me, my elbows tugged close. In back of
me I heard Brendan warn me to keep my knees apart.
“Pin up her hair,” Brendan said when my wrists had been secured
to the head of the bed. I’d watched them being tied, heard Brandon
behind me. He was opening cabinets in an armoire. I heard long and
short things being whisked through the air. “Pin up her hair,” he said
again. “I want to be able to see her face.”
Eveline bent over me. I knelt on the bed with my ass high, my
tummy curving down so that my ribs and boobs pressed into the sheets.
With my head I tried to turn and look back at Brendan.
“Keep still, honey, I must pin up your hair,” Eveline scolded
me. When it was done I was permitted to look back. Brendan was there,
a long swishy thing, very thin, bent between his two big hands. He
remained clothed, though I thought perhaps his zipper might burst any
moment, he looked so large in that place.
“Pee if you must, dear, but try to hold it as long as you can,”
Eveline told me. She stroked a hand along my back. My tan lines stood
out against my skin, where I normally wore my bra. All was nude now,
including my ass, which stood up like the tail of some rabbit trying to
find an opening in the snow. I wished I had a pillow. I felt saliva
pooling in the corner of my mouth when I turned my head to one side.
“Be brave, darling,” I heard Eveline say. She’d moved so that
her body was next to my upraised rear. Very gently she patted each of
my naked cheeks. “Oh, they will be so sore soon,” I heard her say in a
muted half-whisper. I clenched my bottom, hearing that. Yet, in my
innocence, I kept it uplifted. I had never tasted punishment before.
It intrigued me. Brendan intrigued me. Curiosity killed the cat but I
was just a kitten, I told myself, a little kitty stretching on a soft
cool bedsheet.
I heard voices.
“Oh, look how courageous she is!” I heard a woman say.
I looked, guessed there were people in the room’s doorway, but
they did not enter. Eveline seemed displeased with their presence. I
heard her say something in a loud whisper but I couldn’t make it out
because she had her head turned away from me, towards the door.
“Spread your legs wider,” Brendan said to me. His voice was
low, threatening. I didn’t wish to, not in front of the people, but I
was afraid and let my knees slide a little more apart. I wished he
might wedge his face between my thighs again, instead of whipping my
bottom.
“She will be uncomfortable at dinner,” I heard a woman say.
“But such pretty stockings,” another said. “I wish my husband
would dress me in stockings like that each time he whipped me.”
“Do not be too lax,” I heard a man say gruffly to Brendan.
“She is young. She can endure much.”
By now, I must confess, with my cunny buzzing and everyone
making me the center of attention, I was actually wishing Brendan might
give me a blow. I’d never been struck before. I felt erotic. I moved
my body a little on the sheet, letting my nipples scrape against the
sheet where my bosoms pressed into it. I knew I was very naughty to
present myself so boldly like this, yet must a girl not do it sometime?
I flexed my slim legs. I let out a small sigh, as if bored.
“She wants it,” I heard a man say.
“She is too pretty,” a woman said.
“Not a mark upon her,” a third said.
SWIIIIIK! Suddenly I heard a whistling sound and it was
immediately followed, not like before, by the stillness of the room, but
by a very hot-feeling stick slicing across my bottom. It bounced off,
but left a sensation in its wake like that of a brand.
“Yeeeeeowwwch!” I cried. My head lurched forward, my bottom
following, impelled by the stick. Then my chin arched up, and my ass
seemed to rebound, as if to follow the stick and ask for another. I
felt tears wet my eyes.
“Ah, such perfection!” I heard a man intone.
“Yes she has a glorious bottom,” I heard a female agree. A
third, with a small, high voice, giggled. I felt my whole body stiffen
and realized it must be Bethany.
“Can I shoot her ass?” I heard Bethany inquire.
“No, dear, you may not!” Eveline replied. I guessed she had
not planned for my caning to be a public spectacle. I felt a tear run
down my cheek and wished they would leave, especially Bethany.
“Slowly, it must be done slowly,” I heard Eveline say. She
seemed to stay a desire on Brendan’s part to hit me again. I welcomed
her intervention. My bottom smarted horribly, in a thin hot line across
my cheeks. Yet to wait would only prolong the whole thing, would it
not? I wished that it were over, yet knew it couldn’t be yet. Could
it?
“May I get up?” I asked.
“She is ready,” Eveline said.
“YYYYYEEEEEEECKCKCK!” I shouted. Like swift-striking lightning
from some horrible god, Brendan’s cane descended across my bottom
again. My furrow tightened, seemed to clutch at the air between its hot
cheeks. I put my face into the sheet beneath me and ground my face hard
against the satin, not caring if I wrecked my makeup. My bottom rotated
in the air behind me, wishing to capture the cool air in the room upon
and within my scorched cheeks. I felt more tears on my face.
SWIIIIICK! Again the cane. Again I lurched forward, dragging
my heavy bosoms across the bed. Again I felt as if my bottom were
somehow apart, yet painfully connected to me, burning behind me as if
little Bethany had shot streams of hot oil across it.
More strokes were given, my face pressed into the bed, my
bottom bulbing hotly behind me. I wished to get up and yet, perversely,
I wished to endure, to please Brendan. It was my first whipping and I’d
wondered sometimes, as a little girl, seeing old British schoolboy
films, what it must be like, seeing the boys take down their pants and
be whipped by their master. And now it was me! I was bare-assed.
Brendan weilded the cane and though I hated him now, really hated him, I
knew there could be no handsomer master in all the world if a girl
needed to get what I was receiving.
“Yes, keep your bottom up,” Eveline told me. “You are doing
very well.”
I took three more blows. Each seared my seat like nothing I’d
ever felt. I bucked on the bed and felt it creak beneath me. I felt my
pee in my belly and wished to let it out upon the sheets but was too
scared, yet its wetness would have been welcome if I could, somehow,
have sprinkled it on my bottom.
“Oh, let her pause, let her pause,” Eveline said to Brendan. I
had begun crying. Eveline made Brendan put down his cane and she waited
while I absorbed the stinging from the last of his blows. When I was
mostly still, just my bottom wiggling, my cheeks urgent in the air for
relief, she took my face in her hands and turned it towards her. She
kissed me. She put a teacup to my lips. It was cool, ice tea. She
bade me sip it.
“It has a valium in it, dear,” Eveline said. “It will help a
little.”
I lapped at the tea. It was held in a teacup that was made of
fine china, yet what a wicked use to put it to! I spilled some tea on
the sheet under my chin. I could only lick at it like a cat, I could
not manage to swallow it. Eveline seemed not to mind that I’d spilled
some of the tea. She patted my head. She withdrew the cup. “She is
ready,” she said to Brendan.
By now my face was drenched with tears. I plopped my face back
into the bedsheet and wished I could do the same with my ass.
“I wish to SEE your face, bitch!” Brendan yelled. He struck me
hard against my bottom. My chin lurched up. My eyes gazed at the
ceiling, squinting, seeing nothing but how far it was from my bed. I
would have flown to it if I could, to protect my bottom.
Again, even as I tried desperately to recover from the previous
blow, the cane sliced into my ass again. I drew in the cheeks of my
heinie, involuntarily, felt them spring back out again, felt the full
impact of the cane’s impression seize my hinds only after Brendan had
long since drawn it back. I ground my teeth. I felt then, even as I
tried so hard to squeeze my cheeks together and somehow squeeze out the
pain, a strange sense of exhiliration wash over me. I was so
vulnerable, so exposed, my buns forming a burning ball of upturned fire
behind me, like a hot sun rising at dawn.
“Scream, darling, scream! It is alright,” Eveline said to me.
She leaned forward and stroked my long, tousled mane of golden blonde
hair. She could see that I was clamping my mouth tight, some new
resolve overcoming me. Did I wish for him never to stop? I shook my
ass at Brendan, ferociously, wantonly. Then my resolve broke and I
cried to the very rafters, the tip of the mansion’s peaked roof.
As I felt a scream break from my lungs, I knew suddenly why I’d
tried, all of a sudden, to contain my emotion. It was to give me the
fortitude to contain something far more important. My bladder. I felt
anew the pressure of the pee in my tummy. I felt a desperate sense, as
I let out my newest scream, that I could not hold it.
“Darling, are you to be naughty?” Eveline asked me, sensing my
need. She ran her fingers across my hot forehead.
Brendan struck me anew with his cane. A blaze of heat,
imprinted so thinly across my wobbling bottom, making a new mark where
already he’d marked me so thoroughly.
“Ynnnnghghghgheeeeeee!” Grinding my teeth, I tried to stop
myself, but the harshness of the cane was too much for me. Suddenly, I
felt a spurting come from between my legs, my lips. I heard it hit the
white sheet beneath me. I tensed my white-stockinged legs, trying to
stop it, but it was no use. Once my stream had started, my body was too
far gone to stop it. I shuddered as I peed. I was wetting the bed like
a little girl and I felt absolutely mortified. I felt the splash from
the pee against my white stockings. I wished I could reach down with my
hand and cup myself, but my hands were tied beyond my head and useless
to me.
“Bottom high, legs apart,” Eveline warned me. She saw my knees
begin to skitter toward each other. She slapped the backs of my thighs,
forced me to keep myself open. My pussy lips pissed their offering. I
could not stop them.
I had been broken. All my reserve had been whipped out of me.
I had peed, and I felt so embarrassed. I could hear Bethany giggling
nervously somewhere behind me, standing in the doorway with, perhaps,
someone caressing her own bare bottom, with plans for her. I hung my
head. I kept my bottom high, lest I be struck even more forcefully for
dropping my poise, my posture, yet now I felt as if some boundary had
been crossed, some crack in my girlish reserve broken through.
As if in benediction, Brendan dropped his cane and stepped
forward and kissed my bottom. I felt his cool lips upon my hot flesh.
My rump! Nobody had ever kissed me there, yet now his hands cupped my
split peach and held it, wriggling, in his large hands, as his stubbled
face came against it and kissed it.
I felt eveline’s fingers at my wrists. She freed them. I drew
them toward me, hid them under my breasts. Brendan kept kissing my
bottom. With my face pressed to the bed, my hands safely tucked
underneath me, I felt a strange desire to stick my ass in his face. I
lifted it, despite its soreness. I tried to smother him by shoving it
up against his mouth. He held me, kissed my hot bottom. I had a small
ass, he laughed.
I had evil thoughts. I wished for him to spear me in my ass
with his thing. But he only kissed it, despite the bulge in his
trousers. He had enormous reserve, I thought, for someone as young as
21. An older man, perhaps, might hold himself in, but someone as fine
and young and strapping as Brendan? Yet he did, and I found myself
admiring him, though when I finally found it within myself to turn my
head and look up at him I stuck my tongue out at him.
Brendan laughed. He let go of my sore bottom. He turned,
walked with the casual air of a conqueror back to the guests waiting in
the doorway. Eveline bent over me and helped me up. My bottom was
ravaged. I let out a shout as she lifted me and forced me to use it to
sit on. I had to lean to one side. I could not bear its contact
against the soft bedsheets.
“Stand,” Eveline told me. She gripped my hand tightly as I
rose to my feet. She made me step into my heels. The insides of my
thighs were wet with my pee. I could not stop moving my bottom. It
felt like a ball of flame behind me, yet only it had been struck. The
backs of my thighs, my back, were untouched, cool in the coolness of the
room.
Eveline drew me away from the bed. I teetered in my high
heels. I did not like wearing them. My bottom hurt too much to wear
them, yet I must, I saw, as I lifted my eyes to look at the man who’d
struck me. Brendan. He stood with arms folded across his chest,
watching me, evaluating my every step. Who was winning this war between
us, I wondered? For despite the severity of his look, he seemed
mesmerized by me, almost addicted to me. He paid no attention to the
other beautiful women, who drew close to him, surrounded him, one even
reaching for his zipper. Yet seeing the other women, I knew I could not
displease him, for he might turn against me, take an interest in them
instead, and punish me for breaking the spell through which I held his
eyes so intently.
Carefully I walked on my heels. I hated the tall spikes on
them that elongated my legs, made my ass almost into a spectacle as it
wiggled behind me. I gripped Eveline’s hand even as she gripped at me.
I tried to touch my seat, I flinched. It hurt too much for even my own
fingers to graze it.
Eveline drew me past Brendan. My head turned as I passed. I
saw his zipper pulled down. A young woman, bending low, gasped her
breath across his crotch as he sprang out into her fingers. He was
huge! I thought for a moment I’d seen a snake being released, he came
out so long, darting, thrusting into her small hands which flew away
like birds, lest he defile them. Then, his big sausage exposed to the
air, to her eyes, her breath, her hands fluttered back down again, to
take purchase on his hot throbbing hugely-inflated organ.
“Brendan!” I cried. I knew then I was lost. He’d been utterly
cruel to me, yet I did not want her to have him. I wanted him for
myself, including his big throbbing cock.
“You must bathe, dear. You cannot be seen at dinner with your
pee all over your stockings,” Eveline told me. I heard other zippers
unzipped as I moved through the guests hanging within the doorway. I
heard Bethany scream. Yet it was a happy, little-girl scream, as girls
utter when they play. Half-shocked, half delighted. I wished to stay,
yet Eveline tugged me on. “It will not take long,” she whispered. “I
shall do you myself.”
Upstairs, Eveline took me down the hall and into the bathroom
Bethany and I had been given. We entered the bathroom from the hall.
We did not pass through the bedroom Bethany and I had been given. The
door between the two rooms was shut. I heard a muffled scream beyond
it. Were the maids playing? I heard a sharp crack, as of something
thin and hard against something tender and soft. I started, freezing in
my tracks. Eveline kissed my cheek, told me not to worry. Was one of
the maids being disciplined, I wondered, or forced into wicked games by
the other?
“Relax, darling, it does not involve you,” Eveline told me.
“You have had yours already. You are only here for your bath, then I
must hurry you downstairs to dinner.” She kissed me again. My body
relaxed, a little. Yet it tensed again when I heard the report of a new
blow, and again a muffled scream. Eveline kissed me once more. Her
hand played across my nipples.
“Pay it no mind,” she whispered.
Eveline took off my shirt-collar cuffs and rapped on the
bedroom door. In a little while, a maid entered. She was young, a mere
slip of a girl. I saw her hair was mussed and she had new welts across
her bottom, snaking round to the fronts of her thighs where something
had caught her, something long and sharply delivered. There were tears
in her eyes but she kept her chin up, tried to look professional in her
bearing. Her hair was loose, long red curly hair. She tossed it back
as if uncaring of her condition, yet I knew from her tears she was only
trying to pretend nothing had happened to her. I guessed it was her
muffled screams I’d heard. I thought I saw marks at the corner of her
mouth where something had been tied quite tightly.
“Have you been slack in your chores again, Linda?” Eveline
asked. She did not really look at the girl as she spoke to her. She
lifted up the cuffs she’d taken off my wrists, the shirt-collar cuffs.
They were wrinkled from the rope that had bound them to the bed
downstairs. “Iron these, nice and crisp,” Eveline told the girl. “She
must wear them again after her bath, at dinner. Remember to unfasten
the gold cuff links before you iron them. Don’t be lazy, Linda. And
fasten them back on when you’re done.”
Linda accepted the cufflinks. I sat in the bath, leaning
slightly to one side, the water sloshing around my tummy. Bubbles
foamed about me, making me feel like Venus rising from the sea. I still
wore my bow tie, a black collar of cloth wrapped around my neck,
standing out starkly against my nude body. I was wet from the waist
down but my upper half had not submerged into the bathwater yet. My
hair was still pinned up, loosely. I felt my bosoms rising and falling
on my chest, my nipples painted, as I stared at Linda. Her eye caught
mine, she looked away quickly.
“Take off her bow tie, it must be ironed too,” Eveline said to
Linda. Eveline sat back on her heels, kneeling outside my tub, elegant
in her dress with myself and Linda both quite nude. Linda bent
forward. She wore a maid’s waist-bib, long white stockings, heels, but
nothing else. Her breasts were like hanging ripe fruit as she leaned in
towards me. I saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Her cheeks were
wet where they’d run down her face. With quiet fingers she unfastened
my bow tie. Her face was submissive. I wanted to kiss her but didn’t
dare, in front of Eveline. She drew off my tie, stood upright.
“Well? You won’t iron them by merely standing there, girl.
Hop to it!” Eveline said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Linda drew
the bow tie I’d worn to her chest. My cuff links were tucked in a
pocket in the front of her apron. She turned, I saw the full expanse of
her bottom. It was as wealed as I’d feared. Long, red weals, newly
formed. They’d been delivered by someone implacable. They put her in a
much worse condition than me. Despite my soreness I’d not been as
deeply marked as she. Brendan had a light hand, but it had stung me
awfully, for I was new to it. She needed more, I guessed. It had not
been her first time.
With a self-conscious wriggling of her bare hips, almost
sashaying, Linda left us, retreated back into the bedroom from which
she’d come. Quietly she closed the door behind her. I heard no more
muffled screams, no more sharp reports of a sharply-weilded instrument
striking bare flesh.
Eveline wet a sponge and ran it over the mounds of my breasts.
“Do you know what my role is here, darling?” she asked me. I shook my
head. I did not know, wasn’t sure I wanted to. “It is to keep you, and
Bethany, at your very best,” she said. “And Linda too, for she is a
rich girl, from a very wealthy family. She is only playing at being
maid, for a little while, to teach her submissiveness.” Eveline watched
my nipples rise under her sponge. She smiled. “Yes, you must be at
your very best. Even if your masters are cruel to you, which they very
well may be, you must always strive to look your best and keep up the
very best manners. At dinner tonight, especially, I shall be watching
you. And Bethany too. Even though your bottom hurts I expect you to
sit at the table very prim and proper, using your very best table
manners. Do you understand, darling?” Eveline asked me. I nodded. I
didn’t want to agree to that, but I knew any choice in the matter had
long since been taken from me. I must be at my very best, and she would
quite happily punish me for any slacking. She might even punish me if I
didn’t slack, like Brendan had, though I suspected I could remain on her
good side, at least, by doing as she told me. Brendan had whipped me
out of fierce male lust. Eveline was a female. She knew how much the
cane had hurt, coming against my bottom. I trusted she would not make
me feel it, unless a man told her to. We were women together, she and
I. She might feel the cane as easily and quickly as I, if a man wished
it. Impulsively I leaned up within the tub. I kissed her cheek.
Eveline laughed. She drew back, picked up a bottle of Winnie the Pooh
shampoo. She squirted it in my hair. I felt like a baby, newly
delivered, newly spanked by the doctor. And I was being delivered,
wasn’t I? From my girlish ways into womenhood.
“Is she ready yet?” I heard. My head turned sharply. Who was
invading our privacy, our private shared kisses? Eveline too turned her
head, a little surprised, put out, that our female retreat should be
interrupted.
He stood in the door that opened into the hall. Brendan. His
cock was out, trembling like some huge stiff snake in the air. Yet
otherwise he was clothed still. I saw saliva gleaming on his cock, the
imprint of female lips wearing lipstick. I thought I saw a small hickey
on it where lips had given way to the small bite of lusting female
teeth.
“Brendan!” Eveline said. “You should not interrupt us before
she’s ready.
“I- I want her,” Brendan said. He strode in from the doorway,
toward us. How long had he been standing there? I had not heard him
open the door. He must have done it quietly. Had he seen me kiss
Eveline, seen her kiss me?
Brendan’s eyes were hard, bright. They reminded me of a rabid
dog. I shrank down in the bathwater. I would hide, like a seal, under
the surface of the sea, under the ice floe of bubbles.
Eveline stood. She faced Brendan. It was then I learned that
there was more to this place than simply male domination, though
undoubtedly, if Malthus wished, they could have the upper hand whenever
they wished. Yet in this respect it was not wished, here in the
bathroom.
“Brendan, this is not a whorehouse,” Eveline said to Brendan.
She regarded his cock as a small girl might regard a big dog, happened
upon as she played. A big dog with a tendency to bite the neighborhood
children. Eveline stepped back a little from him, from his cock, but
then, because she was not a small girl, but a woman, she raised her face
and addressed him directly again. “You must go downstairs, Brendan,”
she said. “I know you’re desperately hard. But you know as well as I
that Malthus doesn’t choose to have you come here simply to give you
relief. You can find that anywhere. You know that here, in this house,
it is a testing of your loins, of your character, that is what matters.
That is what we play at. Sex can be had anywhere. Go, open that door,
go into the bedroom and tell little Linda that you’ve broken a taboo by
coming in here. She’s most unhappy at having her bottom whipped, for
not doing her chores. She will be delighted to have someone to take out
her unhappiness on.”
“What?!” Brendan asked. “I’m not going to have my ass
whipped. Do you think I’m going to sit at dinner like some punished
girl?” He shot me a quick glance. I was sitting delicately as I could
in the tub, resting on my hip to keep my sore heinie off the hard bottom
of the tub.
“Not your ass, no, Brendan,” Eveline said with a wicked smile.
She walked to the door separating the bath from the bedroom. She rapped
on the door.
“Yes’m?” a small voice asked. Linda opened the door, peeked
in. She held a hot iron in her hand.
“You must punish Brendan’s penis,” Eveline said to Linda. “Put
the iron down, girl. Go fetch a penis whip. Bring it and show Brendan
that he is not to intrude on girls’ baths.”
“Yes’m,” Linda replied. She disappeared.
“Be a man, Brendan,” Eveline said to the young man. “You
wished to see Lisa with a sore bottom. Now you can share a similar
experience.”
“Oh, please ma’am, don’t!” I cried from the tub. I didn’t want
to see Brendan’s fine young organ punished. Secretly I wished for him
to step into the tub and make me take it.
“He must,” Eveline said to me. “Do not complain, girl, though
I admire your love for him, your forgiveness.” She smiled. “You make
such an excellent slave. Finish your bath, dear. I must supervise
Brendan’s cock.”
Brendan’s face took on a nervous appearance. His cock stuck
out lustily. Eveline knelt worshipfully in front of him and insisted in
opening his trousers completely.
“All must be seen, exposed, dearest,” Eveline told Brenan.
Perhaps it was because she was older than he that he let her get away
with undoing his pants. Softly her hands worked, softly her breath
exhaled upon him, yet there could be no doubt that the result of all
this attention would be a very painful connection between his cock and
the little penis whip. I watched. I scrubbed myself. My sponge dipped
beneath the water and I found it against my pussy. I rubbed myself
there. I hoped Eveline didn’t notice that I was masturbating my slit
instead of properly taking a bath.
Linda returned. She crept into the bathroom, from the hall.
She did not return from the bedroom. I guessed she had had to look
rather far afield for a penis whip. Most times, I suspected, only girls
were punished in this house. But tonight, for a time, it would be
different. For poor Steve downstairs, being forced to suffer an anal
initiation before he could have his way with us girls, and for Brendan,
too, because he’d broken a taboo, spying on a girl having her bath.
Linda looked as affrighted as I was to see Brendan’s dick
whipped. Yet I saw her own fingers had slipped beneath her maid’s bib.
She touched her own slit as excitedly as I fingered mine. Eveline
scolded her for frigging herself, but said nothing when the girl kep her
hand right where it was.
“Present yourself, Brendan. Hold your hips forth and let your
cock stick out in all its glory,” Eveline said to my lover. He hardly
needed encouragement. Even with his hips drawn back, his cock still
stuck out like some sturdy re-bar in front of him, a bar where a small
girl might suspend herself and do her gymnastics.
With a slender finger, Eveline stroked the underside of
Brendan’s penis. She coaxed him to straighten his posture and arch
forward his hips. He obyed, too manly perhaps to be found a coward.
Within inches of his cock, the penis whip dangled, held by Linda, who
still tickled herself under her maid’s-bib.
“Give it to him, girl,” Eveline said to Linda. “Don’t be shy
about it or I’ll have Matilda give you another whipping on your bare
ass.”
“Yes’m,” Linda gulped. She drew in her breath. Her bosoms,
large as mine, rose on her chest. Then, looking down like a girl might
at a snake slithering through the grass, wide-eyed, she brought down her
hand.
“YEEEEOUCH!” Brendan shouted.
“The goose tastes his own medicine,” Eveline laughed. A bright
red line formed across the throbby, veined shaft of Brendan’s cock where
the whip had struck it.
“Again,” Eveline told Linda. “He has no reservation about
whipping a girl’s bottom. Let him taste the feel of it on his ‘manly’
cock.” She laughed again.
“No,” Brendan said. But he did not move, or cower. He kept
his hips forward, his legs apart, as Eveline wished, his testicles
dangling under him like soft swollen balls, covered with a light growth
of hair. I knew he must be feeling intense pressure within those twin
hanging balls, yet somehow he kept the fluid in them contained. Eveline
stepped behind him and drew back his wrists. “Lisa,” she called to me.
“Stop frigging yourself in the bath. Come here and lick your lover
between strokes of the whip to ease his pain. He is a man, after all.
Here men are treated gently, even when they must be punished.”
I sprang from the tub’s water. Dripping, still diddling my
slit with my fingers, I rushed to Brendan and dropped to my knees before
him. I raised my face to his cock and drew my tongue in a long, loving
stroke along his huge member.
Brendan shuddered.
“Oh dear, pain makes you want to cum, but pleasant licking does
too,” Eveline laughed. “Well, Brendan, you don’t seem satisfied either
way. Look how these bare hairy asscheeks of yours tense up as she
touches your cock with her soft tongue. It is worse for you, I think,
than the whip! Give him another, Linda, to help him control himself.”
WHACK! Linda applied the whip again, almost hitting my face in
the process. I drew back, waited. Brendan hollared, groaned. I
thought he looked quite silly standing there, on the soft pink bathroom
rug, with his pants down around his ankles. Yet as soon as the whip had
flown away I darted in again with my tongue.
“Yes, bathe his balls with your tongue,” Eveline told me. She
reached out and cupped the back of my head and pushed me so that when my
licking tongue reached the base of Brendan’s shaft it kept right on
going, slipping down along his hairy pouch. “Who knows? The whip might
hit his balls. Woulnd’t that be something to remember me by, eh
Brendan?” Eveline asked.
“No,” Brendan said, but he kept his hips resolutely forward,
letting me tongue him all round his big hairy balls.
When I had tasted Brendan’s testicle pouch, Linda gave him a
new blow on his cock. Down near the base she struck, and the whip,
perhaps as planned, curled down round his shaft and hit, like a bee’s
sting, with its tip against Brendan’s testicle pouch.
“YEEEEEEEOWWWWWCH!” Brendan hollared. He drew in his hips,
gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut. Eveline was bumped
backwards. One of her large tits popped from behind the apron-like
front of her dress. She tucked it back within, though hiding little
more than the nipple, for the dress was so narrow in front it showed the
sides of her breasts quite distinctly. Vengefully she shoved Brendan’s
hips forward again.
“Present your cock, young man,” she said. “Have some courage!”
“I do, I do,” Brendan whined. He was broken, I realized. Like
I had been downstairs, on the bed. A real fear showed in his eyes now,
though he offered his cock again to the whip. Linda struck. He
howled. He yanked his hips back but Eveline shoved his bare ass forward
again. Both her breasts spilled from behind the narrow front of her
dress. This time she didn’t bother to replace them.
We went downstairs. I was fresh from my bath. My hair was
piled neatly atop my head. I wore my freshly ironed wrist-cuffs about
my wrists. My bow tie adorned my throat. The gold cufflinks on my
wrists gleamed, as did my earrings. They were new, given to me upstairs
by Eveline. They were clip-ons. She told me that before I left here I
must have my ears pierced.
I walked quietly. I still felt the silkiness of the baby
powder that had been newly sprinkled on my hurt bottom. It was red,
like a tomato, but Eveline assured me that, since I had no real welts,
it would be white again soon, by tomorrow perhaps, though I had no
guarantee I wouldn’t be put over and spanked anew, perhaps harder. I
prayed no one else took an interest in my bottom in that way this
evening.
My bush had a new coating of Kool-Whip. I walked with my hands
at my sides, wishing I could clap them in front of my nest. I knew I
looked silly with Kool-Whip smeared all over my pussy hairs, though
perhaps men might think me seductive, decorated that way. On my feet I
wore new high heels. Eveline liked dressing me in new shoes, said they
made me look extra special.
Brendan’s pants were pulled up again, but his cock remained on
display. It was lacerated with a humiliating welter of whip marks.
Somehow, he had survived them all without cumming. Eveline walked
behind him, her dress restored over her breasts. Linda walked with me,
holding my hand. She’d been invited by Eveline to our dinner, because
she’d been so good with the whip.
We entered a dining room. I saw the guests all there, arranged
around a big maghogany table. It had a linen tablecloth on it, linen
napkins. The plates were all made of fine china. The serving dishes
were silver.
“Ooooh, let me see your bottom!” Bethany cried. She sprang
from her chair at the dinner table. She ran to me. I saw she still
wore her firehat, her rubber boots. There were fingermarks in her pussy
where someone, probably her, had swiped a finger, removing the coating
of cream here and there. I saw she had a dollop of cream in the corner
of her mouth. I guessed she’d been fingering her sweet slit and licking
the cream off her finger with her tongue. She was naughty, yet no one
had harmed her. Perhaps the squirtgun she carried, like a talisman, had
done its job.
“Oh!” Bethany exclaimed. She’d run round behind me and started
when she saw the state of my fanny. It was polished by the cane, a
bright hue of red that made both my cheeks glow like a rising sun in the
morning, against the whiteness of my back and my thighs. “You got it
good,” Bethany told me. “You were very naughty.” Impulsively she
squirted her squrit gun. I shouted. I felt hot squirts of baby oil
spurt onto my bare seat.
“Bethany! You are not to use your gun until you’re given
permission to,” Eveline scolded.
“I already did,” Bethany answered. “I had to squirt all the
guys penises, to make them lubed.”
“It is alright,” a woman said. She rose catlike from her chair
at the table. I had let her in, earlier, but now she was dressed
differently from when I’d seen her. She wore a collar round her neck.
A strip of fabric, thin as a leash, ran down from her throat to her
pussy. There it crossed under her, passing between the lips of her
slit, it was so thin, then up through her bottomcrack to rise again, up
her back, to connect at the back of her neck. Across her front a strand
of cloth passed horizontally. It was connected to the leash at her back
and at her front, and passed just over her nipples, keeping them
hidden. It had no other purpose. Yet I saw her risen nipples sticking
up into the fabric, and wondered if it was really good for anything,
save perhaps tickling her a little within her slit when she walked.
“Ahh, Vanessa,” Eveline said. “I see you wore your Vamperilla
suit under your dress. Do you plan some torture for Malthus?”
“You should have seen him flinch when I put heated baby oil in
Bethany’s squirt gun and had her squirt him with it,” Vanessa smiled.
Languidly she crossed the room to where we stood. Her breasts, held
tight under the crossstrap that covered her nipples, nonetheless
jiggled, and I suspected a quick movement on her part would send them
popping out from under the crossstrap. Yet she managed to move without
freeing her nipples.
“May I squirt his dick? It looks wounded,” Bethany asked
Vanessa, her eyes large, Vanessa’s lidded by contrast, almost sleepy.
“No,” I breathed. “That oil’s hot!” My heinie stung under the
ropy cum-like strands of oil Bethany had shot onto me. I wished to
reach back and rub my cheeks, but they were too sore from the whipping
I’d gotten.
“She has compassion for the man who caned her. How sweet,”
Vanessa said to Eveline, glancing at me. “Nonetheless I wish to see his
whip-lacerated penis squirted with hot oil. Do it, please, Bethany.”
“Yeeee!” Bethany squealed. She fired her little squirt gun.
Poor Brendan, his cock already aching, flinched under the stinging
assault. Wet oil spurted onto his cock. He twisted his thing away, but
it was so big that little darting Bethany, following, could harldy miss
it.
“Come, let us eat,” Malthus bellowed from the table. I turned,
looked at him. He sat at the head of the table, Steve seated beside
him. From the way he sat, easily, I guessed Malthus had let Steve take
out his dildo. His hands were free, he sat tall, yet bare, while the
other men still wore suits. Some of the women were topless. Others
still wore their dresses, though their hair looked a little mussed, from
kissing, I guessed.
Brendan, despite the lacerations on his penis, bore himself
with dignity as we headed for the table. He took my arm. When we
reached the table he drew back a chair for me. He’d been so harsh with
me just a little earlier, using the cane on my bottom, yet now he
whispered in my ear for me to sit and held my hand aloft, lightly,
letting me position myself as if I were a grand dame at a ball. I saw
there was a pillow atop the chair’s satin cushion, for my bottom. The
others did not need pillows. Only I had been caned. Brendan whispered
to me that he’d specially requested it so I would have as much
opportunity as possible to enjoy my meal.
I sat down. My bare, sore cheeks spread upon the pillow. I
let out a gasp, despite the pillow’s softness. I had indeed “gotten it
good,” from the very man who was now a perfect gentleman. I suspected I
would not be the last to find sitting down unpleasant before the evening
was over.
A waiter appeared. Middle-aged, mustached. With a flourish he
produced a large chef’s salad, removing a silver cover off a silver
tray. He paid no attention, not visibly, at least, to the fact that
most of his female diners were topless and all his male diners were
forced to sit with their penises exposed under the table.
There was a chorus of appreciative sighs at the sight of the
salad. It was an artful jumble of spinach leaves, iceberg lettuce,
sliced salami, pepperoni, and a variety of cheeses, plus onions and
olives and mushrooms and other vegetables too exotic for me to
identify. The whole mountain of veggies and meats and cheeses had been
doused with a liberal sprinkling of Italian dressing. Bare bosoms moved
sensuously as the females closest to the salad extended eager fingers.
They plucked olives and mushrooms and from the salad and popped them
into their mouths. I reached, found I could just catch at a slice of
carrot, my breasts hanging pendantly underneath me as I stretched across
the table. I felt my nipples, hard, skim across the surface of my wine
glass. Burgundy, I think it was. It stung my nipple.
The carrot was delicious. I ate it slowly, eyeing Brendan, who
sat next to me. With cautious fingers I reached over between his
trousered legs and clasped at his large penis. I wasn’t sure such
touching was allowed, but perhaps I could snatch a feel of his lovely
cock, and tease him a little. I stroked his engorged member. He
winced, tried not to let on to the others what I was up to. His penis
was super-sensitive from the whipping it had received.
“Please, I’ll spill,” Brendan gasped under his breath, casting
a quick glance at me.
“Such a pity that would be,” I teased in answer. “Eveline
might have to give Linda permission to whip your ass then!” I felt
wicked. Somehow, his caning had liberated me. I was still a virgin,
yet I felt like a full-grown woman.
“Lisa, what are you up to?” Eveline asked from the head of the
table, sitting next to Malthus.
“Nothing, ma’am,” I replied. Quickly I withdrew my hand.
“She’s playing with him,” Bethany tattled. I glared at her.
“Bethany, how is your bottom feeling this evening?” Malthus
asked my friend. “Is it comfortable?”
Bethany squirmed in her seat, checking. “Yes, sir,” she
replied. The other guests laughed. Bethany gulped, realizing the
question may not have been quite as straightforward as it sounded. She
had, I supposed, imagined that I could be caned while she escaped
entirely from such punishment. Yet now that assumption was thrown into
doubt. I saw her peer down at her salad and take a great interest in
it. Just before she’d seemed diffident, apparently used to plain salads
at home. Yet now, sitting squarely in her seat, she forked her salad
with no complaint. Yet when she drew the forkful of salad to her lips I
saw her make a face, tasting the Italian dressing. Such a little girl,
I thought. Wasn’t she really too young for all this? She looked so
small and cute in her red firehat, with a black bow tie around her neck,
her cufflinks sparkling on her wrists. Yet her bosoms were large and
her nipples stood up stiffly. I guessed they would not let such a
well-endowed girl escape here unscathed, no matter how young she might
be. I myself was just a year older, though my breasts were bigger.
It was a wicked party. At no time were we permitted simply to
relax and enjoy ourselves. Eveline reached over to Bethany and stroked
the girl’s long, blonde hair. I had deep, rich blonde hair, but
Bethany’s was almost white, infant-like, a fine mass of long corn silk,
hanging down past her pixie face and tumbling down her back. Eveline
lifted it, as one might caress the hair of a baby. But she said, quite
seriously, “Bethany, have you ever been spanked?”
“No,” Bethany answered. Her small mouth was like a trembling
rosebud. She bit into her forkful of veggies quite deliberately,
despite the Italian dressing, as if to silence further discussion of the
subject.
“Do you think you’ve ever been naughty?” Eveline asked, still
stroking Bethany’s long hair with the greatest of care. Bethany shook
her head quickly, like a child might, denying stealing cookies.
“I think perhaps you have been,” Eveline said to Bethany.
“Hmmm? How about now, sitting here without any panties on? Isn’t that
naughty? What would your mother think?”
Bethany chewed her forkful of veggies. They made her cheeks
bulge. She’d put too much in her mouth and her lips struggled to keep
closed as she chewed. Finally, speaking over her unswallowed mouthful,
she said, “She’d be mad at me for wunning away.” A bit of food flew
from her unclosed mouth as she spoke.
“Mmmm, talking with your mouth full,” Eveline said, regarding
the bit of food that had flown from Bethany’s lips. “That’s certainly a
no-no.”
Bethany gulped, tried to swallow. She didn’t quite manage it
successfully. She coughed. Eveline smacked her hand against the girl’s
back to help her get her food down. At last, coughing, Bethany managed
to get it all swallowed. Eveline brought the girl’s wine glass to her
lips and made her drink from it, to help her. Bethany swallowed the
wine greedily, eager to clear her throat, still coughing a little.
By now all the women were topless. Dinner was but a pleasant
prelude to a long night of sex, I suspected, though as a virgin I wasn’t
quite sure what that entailed. Even Vanessa, letting her lover pass his
hand across her chest, had her bosoms liberated by the lightest touch of
his finger. They hung full and large, she sat directly across from me.
She gave me a healthy, inquiring look and I guessed she wished that we
might spend the night together, if I but nodded, she and I and our male
lovers.
The waiter returned. This time, when he lifted a silver cover
from a silver tray, there was immediate laughter and a burst of
applause. Steve’s hotdogs, cooked so much earlier on the living room
grill, had been kept warm in the kitchen in a warmer. Now they were
revealed, all neatly arranged side-by-side, on a big plate. Long brown
marks looped around each dog, like marks of circumcision, where the
grill had burned the dogs. Female fingers stole in admiration to the
male penises under our table as the hotdogs were placed on the table.
Several men groaned, victims of quick, loving tugs on their cocks
delivered by their lusty female companions. I myself caught at
Brendan’s big cock again, gave it a vigorous yank. He gasped. I let
go, reached for a hot dog on the tray. It was a stretch but I got one,
drew back and sexily licked the tip, holding it bare in my fingers.
Vanessa took a bite out of hers. She eyed her male lover, smiling. I
guessed she had a similar torment in mind for his organ.
Ketchup and mustard were provided and we females lustily
squirted our dogs with them, still holding them in our fingers. Buns
were not offered, perhaps not available in the house. The men, needing
to eat too, were forced to take hot dogs from the tray. How silly they
looked, putting condiments on the naked hot dogs, then eating them, like
fags feasting on cock.
Bethany liked eating her hot dog, but her face look worried.
It was obvious to her now that it was only a matter of time before her
little bottom got its first spanking. Yet, despite her fear, she
managed to play with her hot dog. She inserted it between her breasts.
She laughed at how she could make it move up and down between them.
There was mustard on her dog, squirted on by Eveline, and the mustard
smeared between her tits, making her messy. It must have felt a little
hot, for it was spiced mustard. Yet when Bethany was done stroking the
dog’s length between her tits, she tickled each of her nipples with it.
She gasped as the mustard touched the tips of her breasts. I guessed
she was readying herself, as best she could, for the inevitable pain the
spanking must produce.
“Yes, darling. It’s naughty, but it’s fun, isn’t it?” Eveline
asked encouragingly of Bethany.
“Ooooh, yes. But it hurts a little,” Bethany said.
“Of course it does, dear,” Eveline said. “That is the pleasure
in pain. If you don’t have a toothache, do you think of your teeth? Of
course not. But with a toothache, you think of them all the time.
That’s how I want you to be about your bottom. I want you to think
about it all the time.” She cast a glance at me. “How is your bottom,
sweet?” Eveline asked.
“It hurts,” I admitted.
“And you think of it constantly, do you not, and of the man who
made it hurt?” Eveline asked me.
“Yes,” I admitted. I cast a quick glance at Brendan. My hand
was covered with the same spice mustard that adorned Bethany’s dog. I
took my fingers, coated with the mustard, from my hotdog. I passed them
under the table and stroked Brendan’s whip-marked cock with them.
“Ooooh!” Brendan shouted. The mustard was hot against his
lacerated organ.
“And he can think of nothing but his poor, big penis,” I said
to Bethany, smiling.
“I don’t want to think about my bottom,” Bethany replied. She
quit tickling her boobies with her hot dog and stuck the end of it in
her mouth.
Things were getting quite frisky now. More than one female
gave her male lover a touch of mustard upon his cock, and received in
turn mustard-laden fingers within their slits. Brendan did me, the
mustard was spicy hot against my clitoris. I gasped at the pain of it.
Bethany, sitting next to the ever-wicked Eveline, found a gentle finger
inserting itself into her slit, not to play with her there but to give
her clit a dollop of mustard. Bethany yelped, shifted her bottom on her
chair. She squeezed her legs shut, trapping Eveline’s finger.
“You must never close your legs while you’re here,” Eveline
said to Bethany. “That’s naughty.”
“Oh, Boo! Hoo!” Bethany said, breaking into sudden tears.
“Closing my legs ISN’T naughty! It’s what I’m supposed to do! I took
‘good touch, bad touch’ in school and got an ‘A.’!”
“Yes, dear, but this is a good touch here,” Eveline teased.
She was looking for any excuse she could find to make Bethany into a
naughty girl who’s bottom had to be punished, and Bethany was quite
distressed by it. I smiled. I had Brendan’s finger in my slit, rubbing
me with hot mustard, and I had him on the point of cuming with my own
wicked caresses. Little Bethany would have to survive, somehow. I knew
I would. I was master already of the very man who’d caned me.
“Oh, if you must spank me, please do it right away!” Bethany
suddenly shouted. She leapt from her chair and stood there, huddled in
front of the table. She turned toward Eveline and showed her the
nakedness of her bottom. She scrunched her eyes shut and bent over a
little, offering it.
“Sit down, girl! It’s the waiting that’s half the discipline
of it,” Eveline scolded. Deliberately, she avoided touching the girl’s
bottom. Instead she took the girl by her small shoulders and plopped
her back into her chair. “You must learn discipline, my dear,” Eveline
said. “Waiting upon the male, waiting, indeed, for him; to return from
work or his other affairs, and attend to you, to inspect how you’ve kept
his household during the day. You must learn to serve and obey, and not
be so impatient, thinking everything must always be just as you
choose.” Eveline took a slice of carrot from the half-eaten salad tray
and popped it in Bethany’s mouth. “Chew, suck,” Eveline told the girl.
Then, as Bethany chewed obediently on the carrot, Eveline reached down
between the girl’s legs with her other hand and tickled her slit.
Bethany laughed. This time she did not close her legs.
Vanessa had been placed between two men and she sat stroking
both their cocks. She had ceased to eat. Instead, she simply teased
them. They offered her their half-eaten hot dogs in compensation. She
bit at the dogs without taking her hands from their penises under the
table. As she swallowed a bite of food, she proposed lots be drawn.
“Bethany’s bottom really is too cute to let just anyone whip
it,” Vanessa said. “Why don’t we draw straws, and see who gets the
honor? Women as well as men?”
“Ohhhhh, I don’t WANNA get spanked!” Bethany shouted, but
Eveline tickled her again between her legs and pressed the carrot deeper
into her mouth.
I gazed at the pairs of nude breasts at the table. All were
large, perfect, displayed as fruit might be in a market stall. I
guessed all were up for grabs, including my own. Every nipple was stiff
and the females, whether responding to Vanessa’s suggestion or simply
letting events proceed, chatting with a friend or a lover, kept their
fingers busy upon the cock of the closest male. The men, in turn,
diddled in the nearest female slit they could find with their blunt,
hairy fingers. All was casual, respectful, yet I guessed things would
get wild soon. It was like witnessing the calm before a summer
rainstorm. We would all be quite wet, even up in our wombs, within the
hour, and the men would have burst their balls laboring within us. Yet
the moment, as it was, was touching, a moment to be savored, remembered,
all displayed, nothing hidden, yet politeness prevailing, extending the
mood as far as it could go. A female laugh, a small whisper from a
lover to his beloved. ‘My dear, your tits are lovlier than I could have
imagined.’ ‘Honey, your cock is too large for me, I fear. I can barely
get my fingers round it.’ Whispers, incantations, fibs and lies, all
were told and accepted, loved. We were merry in our sinfulness.
Many men eyed my tits and I knew they were especially hungry
for them. I was the youngest, really. Little Bethany was in a special
class, all by herself. But I was available. My smile was open and my
eyes were bright. I stroked Brendan freely, as if I were his mistress,
though I was half his age. I grinned at the other men, bashfully,
wondering how I could handle them all. I really didn’t need all that
attention. Was there any way I could tell some of them ‘no’? But which
ones? They were all so handsome. I swallowed. The men watched me
swallow. My tits jiggled as I swallowed, nervous under their stares. I
guessed my nipples would be quite sore by morning.
Brendan, despite the tortures I was gently subjecting his cock
to, managed to pass his fingers across my teats. I looked down at them,
at his hand. It hovered, then pinched one of my nipples sharply. I
gasped. My breasts shook. Bethany watched, wide-eyed. Yet I did not
cry out, somehow. He squeezed my nipple hard and then lifted his
fingers away. His hand crossed to my other teat. I breathed hard,
trying not to flinch, to scream, as his fingers lightly stoked my risen
teat. Then, just as he’d done with the other, he suddenly squeezed very
hard on my breast bud.
“Yeeeek!” I shouted. I could not help it. It hurt! Brendan
laughed. Vanessa, with a wicked grin, laughed. I pumped hard on
Brendan’s cock with my small fingers in response, impressing the mustard
into his dick, squeezing on his lacerated member to make my touch hurt.
Suddenly, I felt him spurt. He’d pushed me too far, I’d retaliated,
sending him over the edge. Hot cum spurted down over my fingers. I
shafted him like a maid might shaft a favorite donkey, as a last gesture
prior to her father castrating it. He was through, or I would make him
through, fisting him until he’d spent every drop he had. I felt him
wriggle his hips, try to twist away. Awkwardly he tried squeezing my
tit bud harder, but he had already squeezed hard, and despite my doing
him in, he didn’t want to harm me. In the end he could only make me
screech, biting at both my nipples in turn with his fingers, while I
brought him off. I did not let go. Neither did he. When I withdrew my
hand from his softening member it was coated with dripping cum.
I looked at my hand. I supposed I was to lick it, but I didn’t
want to. Instead I put my fingers into my wine glass and attempted to
clease my whole hand that way, compressing it within the glass flute
until it was almost completely inside the glass. Wine spilled from its
rim onto the linen tablecloth. With my other hand I captured and
stroked my nipples, quite carefully, first one, then the other. Brendan
had given each quite a squeeze.
Tiffany was still laughing. She stood up, not letting go of
either man beside her. The men were forced to stand, lifted up
literally by their cocks.
“May we adjourn?” Tiffany asked Eveline.
“If you wish,” Eveline answered. She played at Bethany’s
slit. Bethany, feeling a little less shy, diddled her finger in
Eveline’s.
Vannessa, I think, brought relief to us all. I know my cunny
was buzzing, and the men all had stiffened cocks that Bethany had coated
with her squirt gun half an hour before, making them gleam with baby
oil. All had been fine and fancy moments before, but now a kind of
ruthless necessity took over. I found myself standing, of my own
accord. The other women were standing too, and of course the men, who,
I think, are always most eager to engage in sex, for theirs is to
penetrate, while the female must somehow accomodate herself to the male
penetration. I felt Brendan’s hands caress my nude bottom and the soft
touch forced a quick gasp for me, for I still bore the marks he’d given
me with the cane. A stickiness pressed itself to my ass and I knew it
must be his groin. I felt his breath upon my neck. His stubbled chin
grazed my cheek.
I stepped forward. I was elegant in my heels. Despite
Brendan’s attentions, I found my eyes gazing at Vanessa. She gazed
back. I wished to be with her on my first sexual adventure; why, I do
not know. Perhaps it was because she seemed so able to control the men
who flanked her, despite being merely a guest, not woman of the house,
like Eveline was. We would be together, both guests, both equals, yet
she would see to it that I was handled carefully in my first foray into
sex.
Vanessa, her men captured by their penises, which indeed were
so big she could barely get her fingers around, stepped toward me. We
drew close. I was shorter, I gazed up at her with round eyes, my breath
hot. She was topless as was I. I felt my bosoms heaving on my chest
with my excitement. My breath came in eager gulps, my titties burned at
their tips with hunger.
Vanessa bent and lightly kissed my lips. The men round us
gathered closer. Her own two seemed about to strip her of her nothing
costume, but a quick squeeze of her small fists on their cocks, with an
upward yank, stopped them. They were like horses. She controlled them
expertly.
Our bellies bumped. We both had perfect, desirable flat ones,
with just a slight swell. Would we still be flat nine months hence? I
hoped so, tried to remember if I’d taken a Pill, could not, decided not
to care.
“Do you wish to saddle up and ride with me?” Vannessa asked
teasingly. I nodded. Her lips descended to mine and we kissed.
Brendan, standing behind me, hugged me closer. I felt a protuberance
between the cheeks of my ass, knew he was rising again.
“Gentlemen, enjoy the spectacle of two females kissing. Do not
be so quick to ruin it,” I heard Eveline’s voice say. “We shall retreat
to the bedroom in a moment.” I felt hot male breaths, closing in on me,
draw back a little. Vanessa got her tongue past my lips and stabbed it
into my mouth. I gasped, tried to pull back, but Brendan hugged me
close and kept his face against the side of my head, not letting me
squirm away. Vanessa drove deeper, I choked on her tongue.
“Ooooh, but I’m a VIRGIN!” I heard Bethany declare. What was
happening to her? I could not turn my head to look. Suddenly there was
a sharp slap, of flesh on flesh, soft flesh, like a female bottom.
Bethany squealed and I knew, as her squeal broke into sobs, that all was
lost.
Vanessa’s tounge withdrew. She turned, I found myself walking
now, carried along by the press of male and female bodies that gathered
all around me. We walked with a purpose from the dining room, our flesh
hot, the whipped cream still cool between my legs but rubbed away from
my most heated place because Brendan’s finger had been diddling me
there, leaving cream only in my thatch, above my slit.
Leaving the dining room, we walked down a short hall, and then
into a bedroom. It was well appointed. The bed was large, king size or
larger. A big chandelier hung over the bed, as if to give a touch of
class to the quite animalistic events that I knew would soon transpire
here. The bed had a railed headboard and footboard, where ropes waited,
neatly coiled, to be used to bind hands and feet. Beside the bed on
either side was a nightstand. Neither had a lamp, there was no room.
Instead the top of each was a busy collection of creams and ointments
and suppositories; condoms, and a single flower vase, with fresh flowers
stemming within, the heavy blooms dripping with moisture and giving a
bit of class to the room. I guessed a maid had just placed the flowers,
watered them. Roses, chrysanthemums, voilets surrendered an aroma from
the vases to our heated, indrawn breaths.
Yet that was not all this well-equipped bedroom contained. For
beside the wall, atop a dresser, as if to leave no doubt as to the
purpose of the room, was an extensive collection of dildos. Some were
short, some long. Some had a strap attached, so that a female, if she
wished, might pretend to be a male for a bit. I cast a sideways glance,
looking for Steve. I caught a glimpse of him, his cock hard, yet with
his eyes widening as he saw the dildos, for he had so recently been
forced to experience them, and might again, if anyone wished, since he
was the youngest male among us and up for such things on this night, as
an initiate. I knew it was the same with me. I would be used as anyone
wished, though I hoped my virginity might at least permit them to show a
little care for me. I heard the first time could hurt. I did not want
it to be a night of pain.
My glance fell next, however, upon a trestle. It was made of
wood and stood near the bed, that all might see the condition of anyone
draped over it. Manacles waited on the far side of the trestle. They
dangled down, the cuffs that composed them open, the chains from which
they hung looking newly polished. Yet it was an old trestle, I saw
marks on its legs where whips and switches had cut into the wood over
the years. I heard Bethany sobbing. I hoped they would not put her
over the trestle but guessed they might.
I found Vanessa presenting her back to me. It was long, bare.
She had golden blonde hair like me and she pulled it forward, leaving
her neck bare. She told one of the males whom she held by his prick to
hand me the key that would unlock her suit. Looking up, I saw the
collar that bound her neck had a small lock in the back.
A key was placed in my hand. I held it nervously. I knew,
undressing her, I would seal my own fate. Again I heard Bethany. She
was crying more softly now, as if accepting whatever it was they had
planned for her. I looked again for Steve, but did not see him.
I lifted the key to Vanessa’s neck. I inserted it into her
collar. I twisted it. There was a small click. Vanessa thanked me,
reached up, pulled open her tight collar. She drew the suit off one of
her small tanned shoulders and dropped it like a glorified strand of
spaghetti to the floor. She stepped out of it as it fell, holding the
opened collar gracefully in one of her hands.
Vanessa turned around, faced me. I dropped the key on the
floor as she, quite suddenly, bent her knees and pushed her pubic thatch
directly against mine. She laughed. She rubbed her pubis into mine and
we shared my whipped cream. Brendan hugged me from behind. He was
stiff again, though still sticky. His dick wedged its considerable
girth into the crack of my ass, splitting my cheeks. It angled upward
so that I was not pierced by it, but rather felt its whole length
stemming between the small plump halves of my ass.
“Oh, get on the bed. I’m dying to see you fucked!” Vanessa
laughed. She drew me forward. I stumbled in my heels but she held my
hand so firmly that I didn’t fall to the floor. My bosoms bounced
heavily on my chest. My hips wobbled, making a display of my round
bottom. Vanessa paused, pulled down the bed’s coverlet, its top sheet.
Then she pushed me onto the bed.
I fell, sprawling. I bounced once on the bed and lay still, on
my back. My legs splayed apart and I wished to close them, but Brendan
was atop me before I could. He was hungry. He lay on me and then, just
as quickly, his weight bearing down upon me along my entire length, he
gave me a moment’s relief, lifting up just his hips. It was a phyrric
sort of relief, for no sooner had the heavy weight of his lower body
been lifted from me than I felt a nudge in my slit. He drove within. I
screamed. I felt my whole essence split wide as his awful cock invaded
me. Then his hips were bearing down on me again, but with his cock
ripping into my insides.
Vanessa plopped down beside me. As I cast my eyes about,
looking, perhaps, for Bethany to save me, I felt Vanessa’s teeth come to
one of my nipples and bite it.
I screeched. Vanessa laughed. I was aware of a man thumping
down on the bed behind her and her teeth released my tit a moment as he
stuck himself into her backside. Then, sighing beside me, breathing
hotly on my breast, Vanessa returned to biting my nipple again, but more
gently now, with little licks of her tongue across my teat to soothe the
small bite marks she’d caused there.
“No-No-No-YEEEEEEooooooH!” I heard. Bethany! Someone, I
guessed, had dragged her to the trestle and was applying a switch or
their hand to her bottom. At the same time I heard a cry that sounded
as if it had been uttered by Steve’s voice. I thought him perhaps
implaled again, in his backside, but then he immediately gave a
war-whoop, like an Indian, and I guessed he’d been permitted to spear
some woman with his big dick. Strangely, despite my own torment, I was
happy for him, for I knew his penis had suffered long for this moment.
I was glad he at last had gotten the enjoyment he’d come here for.
As for me, I did not know why I had come. As I lay underneath
Brendan, I broke into tears, for it was truly quite painful to feel him
sliding with his giant, hard cock up into my virgin belly. As I felt
each inch of him rise up within me, a spattering of blood wetly between
my legs, I was sure he’d reached the limit of my womb. Yet another
thrust by him, a more ruthless weighing down of his hips, and I felt him
rise higher still. A scream issued from my throat. I felt my mouth
working, I felt my neck tighten of its own accord, as if a tightness in
my neck might somehow keep him from plunging deeper up into my womb.
Brendan kissed me hard upon my mouth. I felt his hips slam
against mine and knew he must have penetrated me with his full length at
last. A second mouth found my other teat. I looked sideways and saw it
was a man. His chin was unshaved, like Brendan’s. It felt quite rough
against my bare breast. I wished only women would have my tits, their
soft cheeks not hurting me like the men’s rough faces did. But I felt
the presence of men all around me and knew I would not have my wish.
Between their legs their cocks stood up stiffly, waiting a turn at my
nest, while their lips burned with desire for my bosoms. Intermingled
with the men were women. I prayed the women would undo the men’s
hardness but knew the men, many of them just in their 20’s, would
quickly rise again even if their female friends made them spend.
“Oh, God!” Bethany cried, from the trestle, I think, and I knew
she could well be speaking for both of us.
I felt Brendan draw back. I thought he might be choosing a
gentlemanly course, withdrawing from me, and as I felt his cock slide
back and his hips lift off mine I felt truly grateful. I kissed his
lips in appreciation. Alas, so little I knew, being a virgin. No
sooner had his hips lifted and his cock drawn back than he slammed his
whole body down upon me again. I shouted. Somewhere in the room a whip
cracked and Bethany shouted. I wished I were her, bearing only the
whip, for Brendan’s cock drove all the breath from me as it plunged anew
up my twat.
I felt hot breath on my face. There was the smell of after
shave, from Brendan, from the other men. The women’s perfume assailed
my nostrils more sweetly, but just as ominously, for Vanessa continued
to bite and suck at my nipple. I thought I might pass out. Then a new
drawing back of Brendan, followed by yet another upward stab of his cock
into my belly, brought be sharply back to my senses.
30
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