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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Fevered Fall part 22 of 22 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
FEVERED FALL
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jim walked over to where I lay. He and Robin gazed down at
me. In my mirror I could see both of them. They stood over me for
quite some time, their penises erect, each of them sporting a foley
catheter that ran out of the tip of their hard cockhead and coiled down
to a waiting pee bag. Now and then pee would run out of their penises
and down along the inside of the catheters. They peed freely, without
any control over themselves. The catheter in each of their bladders
kept them open. However, they still controlled their sperm. No
catheter ran from their urethra down to their testicles. I’m sure, with
their penises still hot and glowing from the itching lotion, they wished
their catheters allowed them to sperm freely instead of to pee.
Meanwhile, I lay on the low wooden table. My head and hands
were bound. My feet were bound and spread apart. My small child’s
bottom wiggled salaciously, its saucy hemispheres seeming to invite the
punishment I’d been told I deserved.
I hated the waiting. They knew I hated it and so the men spent
their time boasting to each other how red they’d make my bottom.
“We’ll be able to fry eggs on her fanny when we’re done with
her,” Jim said to Robin.
“Yeah, and we may as well eat them off her too,” Robin
answered. “I’d love to lick egg yolk out of her ass crack.”
My aunt enjoyed seeing me suffer without being touched. What a
rich punishment-- nobody laid a finger on me, so I could hardly complain
at being ill treated, yet because I knew I was going to be spanked I
could think of nothing but my precious bottom, and how soft and cool it
felt, and how uncomfortable it would be once the man had punished me and
my aunt had penetrated my ass with her wicked dildo.
“Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh,” I moaned, hoping to get a reprieve. I told
them I was only 13 and that I didn’t want to be here and that they
should respect me. The men laughed. My aunt, telling me she knew a
good spanking was quite needed by every girl once in a while, promised
she’d “do right” by me, meaning, of course, that I’d be walloped!
Nothing I said dissuaded them. I think it amused them that I
was embarrassing myself in front of the neighbors with my childish
imprecations. They knew we’d never visit here again, so any
embarrassment I caused myself was only temporary. I blushed, thinking
of how the neighbors, overhearing me, would now be expecting to hear my
screams when the whip fell. I imagined those Arabs sipping their
afternoon tea, smiling silently to each other, waiting. They were
dark-haired, but I was blonde. I was a rarity in this part of the
world. They would savor the special treat of a white tourist brat being
soundly punished. The fact that I was being punished by my own aunt, I
think, must have made them even more delighted.
As for my aunt, she puttered around our bondage cell,
straightening things and seeing what was available. She was the first
to try out our toilet. As the men watched, she sat down on it, holding
her big fake penis out over the rim of the toilet. It would not fit in
the toilet itself. She had to pull the penis up at an angle so the
balls would be shifted forward and not be wetted when she peed. Then
she drew the rubber loin strap out of her cunt and peed like any girl,
while still holding the impotent fake penis in her hand. How strange
she looked, squatting on the toilet, the sound of her urine splashing
down into it, while she held a stiff erection up and away from herself,
with nothing coming out of it.
At last my aunt finished her pee. She wiped herself, then
stood up. Then she did something quite curious; she bent down and
opened a door in the front of the toilet. She pulled out a bowl. Her
pee sloshed in the bowl. She picked it up and went to the front door of
our cell. She knocked on the door. After a moment, I heard it unlocked
from the outside. A guard opened the door.
“My pee, sir,” Rebecca said to the man respectfully.
“Ah yes,” the guard answered. He took the bowl from her. She
waited while he did something with it and then, after apparently rinsing
the pee bowl, returned it to her.
“May we have some food?” Rebecca asked, taking back the bowl.
“If you wish,” the guard said. “How are you, ah, coming?”
“Fine,” my aunt said.
“No we’re not!” I shouted. How could she possibly tell him we
were fine when both Jim and Robin had catheters up their dicks and I was
to be spanked?!
“I shall see about the food,” the guard said, ignoring me. He
shut the door. I heard it lock again. My aunt turned. The key hanging
from her collar dangled like a lost promise. Why had she asked for food
instead of insisting we be released?!
“Auntie,” I said, catching my breath from my futile yelling.
“Auntie, I have to go to the bathroom!”
“Good,” my aunt said.
“What?!” I cried.
“I said good,” Rebecca told me in a teasing voice.
“Then I can get up?” I asked. “I won’t take long on the
potty.”
“Of course, dear,” Rebecca replied.
My bottom wiggled with delight and anticipation. At last! I
would be free! I did need to use the toilet, although I could possibly
have waited a little longer. I bucked my hips with glee, as if needing
to go quite badly. I remembered ancient days when I’d gotten out of
first grade math by getting a bathroom pass.
I watched as my aunt walked over to the medical supplies, near
the medical table. She picked up a foley catheter and attached it to a
pee bag.
“Auntie! What are you doing?” I said.
“I’m going to put a cath into you,” my aunt replied.
“What?!” I shouted. “But I thought--” I didn’t bother to
finish my sentence. I was too breathless with fright. I knew, too,
that she had only been responding as a mother sometimes does, saying ‘of
course, dear’ to a child without really listening. She had no intention
of releasing me. As I gave a self-pitying whimper, my mind hit on a new
stratagem.
“But auntie!” I cried. “I have to do number two!”
“What?” my aunt asked. Implacably, she oiled the end of the
catheter.
“I have to poop!” I yelled.
“I can’t hear you, dear. I’m working,” my aunt said.
“I have to poop!” I shouted in my loudest voice. Both Robin
and Jim broke into roars of laughter. Even my aunt started laughing. I
blushed; realizing my shout had probably been heard by the entire
village.
“Should I put a colostomy bag up your butt, as well as a cath
up your pee hole?” my aunt asked. Her voice sounded deadly serious.
“NOOOOOO!” I cried. “I don’t really have to poop!” I said in a
loud voice. Then I flushed, realizing that at least half the village
had heard my sudden denial. I burst into tears, but the men only
laughed, and Rebecca walked over to me, carrying the catheter and pee
bag.
As my sobs lessened I realized two of our guards must be
standing outside our window, for I heard one of them speak:
“I saw a little girl today,” he said.
“Really?” the other guard asked.
Both Jim and Robin paused in their constant dick thrusting, and
listened. Even Rebecca paused, holding her pee bag. I wriggled my
bottom, feeling the itching lotion burn inside my hole, but I couldn’t
help wondering at the guard’s words. Why was he noticing little girls,
and why bother to tell his friend about one?
“Yes,” the first guard said. “She was 12, no older. She was
one of those tourist girls. I saw her from our limo as we were
driving. What a beauty!”
“What did she look like?” the second guard asked.
I couldn’t believe it! I mean, sure, I was only 13, but still,
I was a teen! Why were those two men discussing some 12-year-old
child?!
“She was blonde,” the first guard said. “She had her hair
pinned up, like a woman.”
“Wow,” the second guard said. “In the olden days even tourist
girls couldn’t pin their hair up until they were older. It was a sign
of maturity, and only teenage girls who were ready to ‘come out’ and
date boys were allowed to pin their hair up.”
“Really?” the first guard said. “Well, let me tell you; I
really wondered if this 12-year-old was still a virgin, she looked so
perfectly accoutered. She had several gold rings on each of her
fingers, and her hair was pinned up with finesse. There was one strand
hanging down, in front. One strand. Otherwise, her hair was pinned up
absolutely perfectly! And that one strand, hanging down so delicately
over her eyes, it looked as if it had been planned to hang there.
NOTHING was out of place on this 12-year-old, not even the supposedly
‘out of place’ strand!”
“Wow,” the second guard said. His voice sounded awed. Then,
after a pause, as if he were imagining the girl before him, he said:
“Well, any girl might have a fine hairdresser, but what did her face
look like.”
“Perfect!” the first guard said.
“You like the word ‘perfect’,” the second guard said.
“Like Mark Twain said, ‘Why should I struggle to find a
different word each time, like some human thesaurus, if one word fits
perfectly?’”
“There you go again,” the second guard said.
“Well, anyway, this girl’s face was perfect,” the first guard
said. “It was small, with a... uh... perfect small little nose,
perfectly set eyes, and a perfect small little rosebud mouth. And the
whole shape of her face was, you know...”
“Perfect?” the second guard asked. His voice sounded amused
and slightly bored now.
“Yes,” the first guard said earnestly. “Like a small oval.
Her face was shaped like a perfect, small oval. And she had, like I
said, that perfect hair, with the perfectly out-of-place strand hanging
down.”
“And perfect rings on her small, perfect fingers,” the second
guard laughed.
“Well, yes,” the first guard said. “So, anyway, I figured she
was with her boyfriend, considering how ‘decked-out’ she looked. But
then I saw she was with her mother. Her mother was driving. And the
girl, she had this little cordless telephone. She put it up next to her
face as if to talk, and then, childishly, she drew it down and punched
some numbers into it, as if she had forgotten to dial before she began
talking.”
“Maybe she was excited about going to a party,” the second
guard said.
“Perhaps,” the first guard said. “But she was utterly calm and
demure. She was quite composed.”
“I thought you were going to say she was perfectly composed,”
the second guard volunteered.
“That too,” the first guard said.
“Well, that’s nice,” the second guard said. “When I get enough
money from my guard duty I’m going to get me one of those girls.
Provided she’s still a virgin, of course. I don’t want one of those
American or European women who’s been having sex all over the place
since she was 12.”
“Unless it’s with you,” the first guard laughed.
“Well, of course it’s okay if it’s with me!” the second guard
said. “Maybe I won’t fuck her right away, if she’s only 12. I mean, it
would be fun to live with a little, perfect virgin for awhile, just have
her around, you know?”
The first guard’s laughter increased. “You’d fuck her the
minute you got her inside,” he jibed. “And you’d tie her down, too, if
she complained.”
“No! No!” the second guard said. “What need is there for me
to fuck her, as long as I know she’s not sleeping with somebody else?”
“It’s a race, though, don’t you think?” the first guard asked.
“If you don’t take her, somebody with more guts will.”
“But I mean, IF she were loyal to me, wouldn’t it be nice just
to have her around as a virgin for awhile?” the second guard asked.
“I suppose so,” the first guard said. “But that’s the
problem. These girls love to flirt and tease, and they do get fucked
pretty young these days, voluntarily. Let me tell you, friend. If she
likes you, you’d better take her all the way, right away. Otherwise
you’ll wake up to find she’s been popped by somebody else.”
“Well how about if she was nine?” the second guard asked. He
sounded rather angry. “How about if she were only nine? Could I keep
her and not fuck her then?”
“You mean, live with her?” the first guard asked.
“Yeah. Live with her, but not fuck her,” the second guard
said.
“Well Hell, if she’s nine, she probably would not be up for any
sex yet, so, yeah, I guess then you could live with her, and not have to
worry about coming home and finding the boy next door in bed with her.”
“Well, that’s the answer then,” the second guard said,
triumphantly.
“Huh?” the first guard asked.
“I’ll get a 9-year-old girlfriend, instead of a 12-year-old.”
“You can both be virgins together,” the first guard said.
“Don’t insult me,” the second guard said. “I think it would be
rather nice.”
“You could both play Monopoly together,” the first guard said.
“Well,” the second guard said. “Tell me this, then. What if
that tourist brat, the 12-year-old, what if she came up to you right now
and told you she wanted to live with you, but you could tell that she
wasn’t yet ready for sex?”
“Despite her perfect hair?” the first guard asked.
“Yes,” the second guard said.
The first guard didn’t say anything for a moment. Then,
finally, rather grudgingly, he said, “Well, in that case, I guess I’d
live with her, but we’d play Monopoly.”
“HA!” the second guard said. “Now let me ask you this: Would
you rather live with the 12-year-old, and just play Monopoly, or would
you rather live with her mother, and have sex the minute you both get
inside?”
“Sex with the mother?” the first guard asked.
“Yes!” the second guard said.
“I don’t give a hoot about her mother,” the first guard said.
My aunt cleared her throat. She muttered something. The
guards must have stepped away from the window, because their
conversation became harder to hear, and soon I couldn’t hear it anymore.
With the guards gone, I sensed a heightened enthusiasm in the
people standing over me. I looked at them in the mirror; how sensual
they looked, stark naked, the men rampant and my aunt bending down over
me. She patted my pert bottom gently, belying what she had planned for
it later on.
“Don’t hurt me, auntie!” I screeched.
“I’ll try not to,” Rebecca answered. With aplomb she reached
down between my spread thighs and opened my cuntlips with the tips of
her fingers. Perhaps to be deviant, perhaps to help me, she touched the
already oiled tip of the catheter to her mouth. Her tongue protruded,
licked it, once, then she reached down and poked it into my peehole.
“YeeeeHOOOOOCH!” I squalled. Rebecca laughed and shoved it in
deeper.
“Be quiet, dear, unless you want to entertain our neighbors,”
Rebecca warned me. “It’s got to go all the way up into your bladder.”
“NOOOOOooo!” I wailed. Then, catching my breath, and feeling
the cath go deeper still, I begged, “Gag me! Oh, please gag me if
you’re not going to spare me!”
“Certainly not,” my aunt answered. “Perhaps at home I would,
to preserve your reputation with our real neighbors. But not here,
darling, in this windless desert where only a handful of Arabs can
hear. Here you must learn to control your screams yourself, if you do
not wish to bring yourself embarrassment.”
“But the Prince! The Prince! He watches TOOOOOOO!” I
quailed. But I knew that we’d all since grown accustomed to the
cameras, lost as we were in our lust. The Prince was far away, and what
he might be seeing, if he cared to watch, was too remote and cerebral a
concept for us to pay heed to now. (Nevermind that in a month I might
be seen peeing all over Europe, in video stores.)
And so, drowned in our passion, unable to stop if we’d wanted
to, my aunt proceeded to catheterize me. I felt shocked when she
announced that all my pee had run out of me and into a pee bag. I’d not
even felt it!
“Quite a load,” my aunt said, hefting my bag.
“Well, now that she’s lost a load, it should be replaced,”
Robin said in a high, quick boyish voice.
“Yes, of course,” my aunt replied. “But first I have something
for Jim.”
My aunt walked away. Her bare hips rolled enticingly. In
front of her, I could see her big strap-on dildo wobbling like a lost
submarine.
When she returned, my aunt was carrying a velvet red cushion.
I wondered at it, watching it with my eyes, my eyes rolling in my head
as I watched, big and blue, my upturned face limited in its movements by
the padded neckhole through which my head had been thrust. The odd
thing about the cushion was the way my aunt held it. She didn’t carry
it alongside her, hanging down from her hand, as one would suppose she
would. Instead she held it with both hands, reverentially, holding it
flat as if it were a plate. Upon it I thought I saw what she’d been
brandishing at us all afternoon; yet now she seemed to be making a
presentation of it to Jim, as if it were some kind of a gift!
How ridiculous to make a gift of something intended to make
horses run faster.
“Sir, if you will do the honors,” my aunt said with bright-eyes
to Jim. She seemed to like the ceremony that the presence of the
cushion portended. She lofted it up to him, as if serving him dinner,
but really she was serving him her riding crop.
Jim took the crop from her. He showed it to Robin. In my
mirror I saw his eyes glow with mischief. Then, as quickly as he’d
taken the crop, he put it back on the cushion. I felt the breath flow
out of my lungs with heartfelt relief. Perhaps I would be spared!
“I have whipped many in my time,” Jim said. “You do the
honors. She’s your neice. I’m afraid I might hurt her. She is quite
young.”
“You want me to?” my aunt asked. She looked at the crop and
seemed a little like a bank robber unsure what to do with a bagful of
marked bills.
“You’re a woman. You’ll know better how to whip such a young
girl without injuring her,” Jim said.
“He just wants to concentrate all his attention on jacking
off,” Robin said. I thought I detected a note of disappointment in his
voice, at not being asked to flog me.
My aunt looked at Robin. “Well, I’m not going to let you do
it, in any event,” she said to the boy. “You’re 15, and I have some
experience with 15-year-old boys, gained in the back seat of their
cars. You may fuck her, but the whip, well, you would not use it with
the right technique. It must be applied with technique, especially on
one so young as Chloe. You cannot just flog away like its football
practise or something.”
“We don’t have riding crops in football,” Robin said. “The
ball is pointy at two ends and...”
“I know what a football looks like, dear,” Rebecca said. She
looked at Jim again. “Do you really think I should?” she asked. She
gazed down at my bottom. One of her hands lifted from the corner of the
cushion and wandered across its surface. She took the crop. She held
it. She dropped the cushion and licked her lips. The cushion fell upon
the floor and was forgotten. Robin kicked it out of the way.
My aunt leaned over me. The fake penis mounted on her pussy
hovered menacingly over my tush. Lightly she brought the crop down to
my ass. She began stroking my cheeks with it. She used the looped tip
to caress me. I felt as if she was making love to me with the
implement.
“Ooooh,” I breathed, on the other side of the pillory. It
stood tall between my back and my head.
My aunt continued to stroke my bottom. I flexed my cheeks. I
could sense my bottom’s allure, so white in contrast to my surrounding
skin, well-tanned by the sun. My aunt divided my cheeks by pressing the
stick-like part of the crop into my cleft. My ass twitched. It pressed
deeper. The pallor of my rump’s skin was like a white, new-risen moon.
A pumpkin moon in a land where the air was clean and clear.
“Chloe, you have been quite naughty,” my aunt said in a shy,
tentative voice. I felt she was trying to work up the nerve to do to me
what apparently something deep in her yearned to do.
“I know,” I breathed, in a small voice. At once I gulped,
disbelieving that I could have said such a complicitous thing.
“So we agree you have been naught?” my aunt asked. Her voice
sounded more certain now. Still she seemed to have a slight wisp of the
beggar in her voice, asking, not telling.
“Yes,” I said. I said it softly, but I knew she heard me, for
she straightened up in alarm at hearing it.
“She has been very naughty,” Jim said in a reassuring voice to
my aunt. He patted her behind with his hand, which caused her to stand
even more erectly, shocked at the connection of his hand there, against
her bare, unmarked skin, even as she contemplated turning mine rosy red.
“I shall have to whip you very hard, Chloe,” my aunt said to
me. Jim massaged her bottom with his broad palm.
“One for every one you give,” he said to her, in a deep,
masculine voice. My aunt looked at him and I saw her throat work.
“Yes,” she said, gulping. Jim leaned over and kissed her on
the mouth. Their kiss lasted a long time. All the while I lay
wiggling, wiggling, waiting for what I’d agreed to, my oiled hole
burning, my ass cheeks bulging soft and cool. Robin stroked himself
with his fist. But he did it slowly, savoring the moment, not wanting
to lose himself (and his chance to buggar me!)
My aunt’s bottom moved in slow, liquid motions against Jim’s
palm. He held it there, against her slowly undulating skin, feeling the
soft roundness of her bareness.
“Yes!” my aunt said, when she suddenly tore her mouth away from
Jim. She lifted the riding crop high into the air above me. Then she
brought it down, quick and hard, and I shouted.
“OWeeeeeeee!” I cried. I bucked upon the table. I shook my
tushy and felt a searing line of heat where the crop had found me. I
was divided four ways in back now, a cleft between my cheeks, and a red
angry line across the summits of my ass.
My punishment was just beginning.
A tearing sound was heard, of the crop moving with force and
velocity through the air. A moment later and it connected with my ass.
At once I shouted, hard and loud, the air rushing out of me, bursting
from my lungs, as a second weal joined the first already on my bottom.
I knew then I wouldn’t sit for days.
“Wow, you’re really giving it to her!” Robin crowed. He gazed
at my ass with exultant eyes. He rubbed his dick faster. He seemed
suddenly heedless of the consequences of his desire.
“HOOOOOOOOO!” I yelled in a long, passionate scream, as the
third cropstroke cracked across me.
“Whippings are best delivered on the bottom, for it heals the
quickest,” my aunt said to Jim. There was cool sensuality in her
voice. She arched her back, making her ass protrude, and said, “Aren’t
you forgetting something, dear?”
WHACK! As soon as he’d been reminded, Jim let loose with a
bottom-thumping hand slap. My aunt shouted. It was very hard-- she
dropped her crop on the floor.
Warily, when her shout had faded and died, my aunt bent over to
pick up her crop. Jim’s hand hovered. I was shedding tears profusely
by now and wished to God he’d whack her again, as she was bending over,
but he preferred to wait.
When my aunt struck me anew, bringing a flood of tears from me,
Jim slapped her bottom hard, so that she herself began crying.
“Ah, we have both been naughty,” my aunt gasped when she
recovered her voice.
Afterwards the guards brought us buckets of ice and we sat in
them, my aunt and I, cooling our butts side-by side. We kissed as we
sat there, calm and free in our sexuality, still sobbing a little, our
breasts bobbing, our hands clasped. The dildo still hung from her
pussy, brazenly hard, but Jim and Robin, inspired by our contrition, by
our willingness to suffer, had loosed themselves on the floor. Their
penises drooped. Their catheters still pierced their penis tips but
they had managed to spurt jism in spite of being plugged up by the
catheters. Sperm ran along the outside of each tube, looking spooky as
pee continued to flow down the inside.
“God,” my aunt said. It was a murmur, between breaths that we
stole amidst our ever-present kiss.
“I wasn’t fucked,” I said. My eyes were closed. Tears still
ran down my cheeks.
“You are too small in back for what I had planned for you,” my
aunt said.
And that was it. The guards escorted Jim and Robin out.
Neither complained. They seemed to be delighted at what they’d
experienced, even if they’d both become overexcited. They were granted
a release by the head guard and given their freedom.
My aunt and I, rising stiffly at last from the ice-packed
buckets, our bottoms still flaming, our knees week, stood and received
our own freedom from the head guard. He conferred it to us in the name
of the Prince. We were told that the spirit we had shown in punishing
ourselves had greatly moved him. I wanted to ask about the Sultan’s
fate but then decided not to; I would not see him again, I was sure,
despite our intimate acquaintance on a previous evening. If he lost
himself, there were other men all too willing to take his place, who
were as yet amply endowed.
I felt then like a bit of a vixen; saving some men, only to
doom others.
When we had been granted our freedom my aunt and I turned to
each other and kissed again. We kissed long and lovingly, not leaving
the room or anything you might have expected; being, as we were, newly
freed prisoners. Instead, overcome by emotion with what we’d both
(successfully) passed through, we kissed and kissed.
“They would never have shown such affection before,” the head
prince intoned, speaking to his other guards. “But the crop brought
them to it. Now they can show each other their deepest, heartfelt love,
without fear of embarrassment.”
“Wow. A benefit to being whipped,” Robin said, his voice
awestruck.
“Sure. It’s spurred them to love, just like it spurs a horse
to win,” the head guard said.
THE END
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| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>