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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Summer of Sin part 11 of 11 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Eleven
“I want to fish too,” I said.
“You can’t, dear. You don’t have a penis,” Pauline answered.
Her voice was languid. She sounded bored. I gazed with inquisitive
eyes at the men. John, Brad, and Steve all sat on a couch in the living
room. There was a fish tank on the floor. Multicolored tropical fish
swam in the tank. Each man sat with his penis hanging erectly over the
side of the tank. A fishing line was tied around each man’s dick. At
the end of each line, down in the submerged depths of the fish tank, was
a barbed hook. On the hook a fresh nightcrawler wiggled.
“They aren’t biting,” Steve said.
“Don’t wiggle your dick around so much,” Paul said.
“I want to fish!” I said again. I crouched on the floor,
beside the tank. My hands clutched its glass walls, along the top.
“She could, you know,” my aunt said. She was sitting on a
pillow. Her well-lotioned bottom was hidden from our view, but it was
still red, from my whipping. My own fanny bore the marks of John’s
discipline. It didn’t hurt as much now, but there were several weals
that would take a while to heal. I let go of the fishtank and rubbed my
bare ass. It stung. I winced. John looked up from the end of his
penis and laughed at me.
“You’re wicked,” I told him.
“You won’t call me names anymore,” he said.
“You’re right,” I said glumly. I pouted.
“You look pretty when you pout,” John said.
“Let me fish. Can I play with your fishing pole?” I asked
John.
“Tie string to her nipples. Then she can fish,” my aunt told
Pauline.
“Of course!” Pauline said. “You’re quite inventive, Rebecca.”
She leapt up from the couch.
“But I want to play with *his* fishing pole!” I said, pointing
to John’s dick.
“No, you’re not playing with my husband’s penis,” Pauline
said. “He’s going to need all of his sperm for tonight, when he gets
married to Chrissy.” She picked up the ball of fishing line. “Do you
want bait, or a real worm?” Pauline asked me.
“Yuck!” I said. “I don’t want a real worm. They’re yucky!”
“Which hook do you want, then?” Pauline asked. There was a
collection of them laid out on a soft towel, on the carpet. Next to the
ersatz baits was a can with worms in it. Pauline’s fingers passed over
the can of worms and fingered the nearest bait.
“Give me a pretty one,” I said. “Two pretty ones, since I have
two nipples.”
“She gets to fish with two lines?” Brad asked, looking up from
his penis.
“She’s a girl. She won’t catch anything,” John said
dismissively. “I told you not to wiggle your dick around. The fish
will never bite your line if you do that.”
“I can’t help it. I’m horny as hell,” Brad said.
“After my wife and Chrissy both blow-jobbed you this morning?”
John asked.
“Yes,” Brad said. There was a look of desperation in his
eyes. He looked at me, pleadingly.
“Nope,” I said.
Pauline knelt down next to me. She made me turn towards her so
she could tie fishing line around my nipples.
“What do you mean, ‘nope’?” Brad asked me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said to him.
“What?” Brad asked.
“You want to fuck me,” I said. “And I bet I know where you
want to put it, too.”
“Where?” Brad said.
“Don’t wiggle your line,” John told Brad again.
“Up my bottom,” I said.
“So, let’s do it,” Brad said. He began to rise.
“Nope,” I told him.
“Sit down,” John said. He was sitting next to Brad. He
clutched at Brad’s penis and forced him to sit back down, bare assed, on
the sofa.
“I’ve got to cum,” Brad said.
“Not in me!” I shouted. “I’m fishing.”
“For God’s sake. Go whack off in the bushes if you need it
that bad,” Steve swore. “You keep wiggling your dick around and it’s
scaring the fish!”
“Nobody is going to cum again until I do,” John said. He
looked at Steve. “And tonight we’re getting married.”
“Not to each other,” Steve said.
“I could marry every one of you fucks and fuck you in every
hole you’ve got,” John said.
“John! Don’t be rude,” Pauline told her husband. She tied
fishing line to my right nipple. It made a pretty bow. Then she tied a
hook onto the end of my line. “Be careful with this,” she told me. “I
don’t want it cutting your pretty skin.”
“My bottom’s already cut,” I said ruefully. Pauline dropped
the plastic bait, with the hook built into it, in the fish tank. The
water rippled.
“You only have a few welts, that’s all,” Pauline told me. “My
husband didn’t cut your skin when he whipped you. It wasn’t that kind
of whipping.”
“She almost cut mine!” Rebecca said.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” I said. “I never whipped
anyone’s bottom before.”
“It hurts when I sit down,” Rebecca told me.d
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’ll both be better in a few days, if not well before then,”
Pauline said. “There. I’ve tied on the other line, Chloe.” She
plopped it in the water. I pressed my belly to the fish tank. Flatness
of glass upon flatness of flesh. I looked over the edge of the tank and
saw my belly button through the glass.
“This is fun,” I said, jiggling my bosoms. My bait wiggled in
the water.
“Don’t wobble your boobs around,” John told me. “You’ll scare
the fish.”
The moon rose. We stood before a makeshift alter. I wore a
dress that was rucked up in back to show my bottom. The welts were
receeding. They were just faint pink lines now. I had a daisy in my
hair. I was best lady at the wedding.
Rebecca was the priest. She wore a dog’s collar around her
throat. A black vest, open in front, hung over her shoulders, showing
her shoulders, her belly, her boobs. Her nest was uncovered. Her legs
were long and bare, but she wore high heels. She was a most unusual
priest.
Brad was best man. He wore a black-tailed coat that John had
insisted be raised in back, so that his cute buns could be seen. In
front his penis stuck out lewdly. His balls swung freely between his
legs.
Pauline and Chrissy stood next to each other, before Rebecca.
They turned and kissed briefly as Rebecca opened a hymn book to read out
the marriage ceremony. Their bushes showed. Their bosoms peeped over
the rim of their corsets, their nipples just visible. The tips of each
woman’s breasts stuck forth lewdly. Whenever they moved, or breathed,
their nipples stirred the decorative lace fringe on the top of each of
their corsets.
Next to Chrissy stood John. He held her arm possessively. His
cock protruded from underneath a black formal coat. He wore a bow tie.
There were shoes on his feet, well-polished by the slave boys, but his
legs were bare. Steve was dressed in the same fashion, his cock
showing, his ass displayed by the rucking up of his coat in back, his
legs naked. Only John’s butt was covered, by the tails of his long
black coat. Everyone else offered their bottom to the view of the
others.
We faced the altar. Rebecca faced us. Dressed as girls, the
two slave boys waited at the end of the room, holding rice. They had
flowered dresses on. There were bright ribbons in their hair. They
both wore veils of white. Under their dresses I knew they were hard as
stone, their balls full. They were eager for sex and I wondered if
they’d get to fuck the bride, or her bride’s maid. John told them to do
just as he ordered, and to throw the rice properly, or they’d be made to
entertain us afterwards by fucking each other.
Rebecca picked up a squirtgun. It was filled with white wine.
She directed it at Chrissy’s bush. She pulled the trigger. A long
stream of wine jetted forth. It struck Chrissy’s bush and wetted it.
Rebecca kept squirting until all the wine in the squirtgun was gone.
Chrissy’s bush was drenched. The small curled hairs of it hung down
wetly. She dripped on the floor.
“Do you, Chrissy, take John here to be your unlawfully wedded
husband?” Rebecca asked with a giggle. Chrissy gulped.
“I do,” Chrissy managed to say. I understood her fear. At the
last minute, it had been agreed that the marriage would have one very
important added feature. Though it was a lewd marriage, giving Chrissy
to John, and Pauline to Steve, it would also be a ceremony that bound
each lover more completely to their true love. For, in a corner, next
to a pile of soft, comfy pillows, stood a brazier. There were two irons
heating on the coals of the brazier. One bore a J. The other bore an
S. Though she would marry John this night, and be impregnated by him,
and carry his child, Chrissy would, to always remember her true love, be
branded on her bottom. With an S. The initial of her real husband’s
first name. It would be the same for Pauline. She would take marriage
vows to Steve, and receive her sperm. But, so she remembered who her
real husband was, she would, before the fucking, be permanently marked
with a J.
I could feel Pauline trembling as she stood beside me. Her
hand was in mine. It was sweating.
“Do you, John, take Chrissy as your unlawfully wedded wife?”
Rebecca asked our black host.
“I do,” John said. He felt the squirtgun (there was one for
each of us, lying on the alter) jet out wine upon the length of his
penis. “That makes me have to go to the bathroom,” John said.
“No peeing at the altar,” Rebecca told him. Then she read out
the marriage vows for Pauline. She drenched her pussy with wine.
Pauline agreed to be unlawfully married to Steve. Then Rebecca, turning
to him, shot wine all over his penis.
“And now you, Brad, as best man,” Rebecca said. She drenched
his cock with wine. When the squirtgun designated for him was empty,
she did me. Finally, turning a gun on herself, Rebecca soaked her own
pussy. “Now you may kiss,” Rebecca told the two couples.
Brad and I watched from opposite sides as the four people
embraced. They kissed long and passionately. Brad looked at me with
pleading eyes. His dick was dripping, and I knew there was more than
just wine plopping off the end of it. I lifted my nose. I wouldn’t let
him have me. Not yet. We might get in trouble with John, if we messed
up his wedding by balling at the altar.
“I want to get married,” I said suddenly to Rebecca. Watching
John and Chrissy and Steve and Pauline kiss was making me hungry for it.
“You’re too young,” she answered.
“I want to fuck,” Brad said frankly.
“Go in the bushes if you need it that badly,” I giggled.
John told us to shut up. He said we were messing up his
kissing. Chrissy swooned as he kissed her. I think he managed to stick
his tongue all the way down her throat.
“Now for the brazier,” John said.
“Oh, I don’t--!” Pauline said. There was misgiving in her
eyes.
“We must,” John said.
“Will it hurt?” Chrissy asked. Her eyes looked across the room
at the flickering coals.
“No worse than when you birth my child,” John said.
30
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