Message-ID: <1035eli$9705311559@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1035>
Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail
X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: final Party Pussies 4 of 4 (NND)
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PARTY PUSSIES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Four
We undressed. Petra unlocked our cell. We went back up the
steps to the surface of the earth. Alfonse went first, opening the
storm doors of the cellar for us. Daylight flooded the steps and,
climbing, we emerged into it.
I was nude. We had no clothes. I embraced myself, covering my
breasts. My pussy hairs tasted sunlight. I dipped one of my hands
down, covering them. I saw field hands out in the corn, spraying it, to
keep off the bugs. I felt the sun on my face. The morning breeze was
cool. It did not carry the scent of the spray with it that the field
hands were using, and I was grateful for that.
Feeling awkward, I moved with the group round the house, to its
front. We entered through the front door, much as we had the previous
evening, save we were all naked now, and spent. I wished to leave, knew
I could not. I was too sore. I needed too much to sleep.
We went upstairs. Petra sought me at the top of the stairs,
gave me a kiss. I did not resist. I was too tired.
“Do you wish to sleep with me?” she asked.
“No,” I answered.
“Alright,” she said. There was a note of disappointment on her
voice. “I’ll send in the maid to oil and rub your bottom,” she told me.
“Yes. Thank you,” I answered. It was the least she could do,
I thought, after cropping it so severely.
I walked into a bedroom. A bed was already unmade for me, the
covers drawn down to the foot of the bed. The sheets were fresh,
waiting. I flopped into it. I landed on my belly, on purpose. I dare
not lay on my back.
I felt someone flop into the bed beside me. I didn’t wish to
see who. I was too sleepy. I buried my face in the bed’s pillow. I
kept my eyes closed, seeking sleep, wishing for it to come, to take me
away, to keep me forever.
“Yeek!” A hand on my bottom. My head flew up. My mouth
gasped. My eyes opened.
“Relax, dear,” a female voice said. It sounded old,
middle-aged at least. It was the maid.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Sorry,” I apologized. I placed my face
into my pillow again. But I bit it, this time, knowing her touch would
hurt.
I felt a cold squirting. Cream. She was squirting cream on my
derriere. I shivered. Even that hurt, a little. Then her fingers. I
bit my pillow hard. Gently she began rubbing me. On my fanny, my
seat. I should have kept my panties on. I shouldn’t have run away from
home. Now I was lying here, in the home of a woman I didn’t know the
last name of, having to get my bare bottom rubbed down, to heal it from
a cropping she’d given me. I promised myself I’d go home as soon as I
wakened.
In the evening I woke. I saw it was growing dark. For a
moment I thought it was growing light, then I realized dusk was setting
in. For a moment I thought I had to dress for school, eat my breakfast,
catch the bus. Then, just as I realized the light was fading, not
growing, I sat up in my bed.
It wasn’t my bed. Just on loan, and as my bottomcheeks felt
the sheet underneath them I let out a shout.
Laughter, from another room.
Petra entered. She was carrying a small whip. She was nude,
otherwise, but her hair was done up, and decorated with barrettes and
small bows.
“Oh, sleepyhead, you’ve finally wakened,” she smiled.
“Yes,” I answered. I frowned. My bottom was still quite raw.
“Turn over. Let me see what I did to you,” Petra said.
“No,” I replied. But she walked right up to me, and put a hand
on my shoulder. Before I could resist, (did I wish to?) she rolled me
onto my tummy.
“Ummm, yes. What a nice little seat you have. And nicely
striped now.” She stroked it. I shivered under her touch. But I
managed not to cry out. My bottom was healing, slowly. It hadn’t been
hurt as much as I’d feared.
“Another few hours, a day at most, and it will be all white
again,” Petra assured me. Playfully, then, she brought her whip, which
had many thongs, down across my back. “There is still much of you that
might bear up well under punishment,” she told me.
“No,” I said. I turned my head. I wriggled, lying flat on the
bed. I felt my bosoms, and the hollow mound of my pussy, pressing into
the sheets. I liked, somehow, her promise of torment, but I didn’t want
it. I slid my hands down my thighs. I felt a desire to touch myself,
but kept my hands, chastely, on the outside of my flanks. “Just-- just
my bottom,” I said. “When it’s better.”
“Yes, when it’s better,” Petra answered. “How sweet your seat
is. You should go look at it in the mirror, really, before all my marks
fade.”
“Yes. I will,” I said. “I will.” I hoped she’d leave me.
She bent down, instead.
“Oh!” I cried. Her lips kissed my bare ass.
“You have such a lovely bottom,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied.
She departed. With her whip lofted over her shoulder, the bare
thongs trailing down her nude back, she left me. I watched her bottom
as she departed. It wriggled salaciously, as nude as my own, as if she
knew my eyes would be watching it. At the door she turned. I hid my
eyes in my pillow, not wanting her to know I’d been watching her rump.
“Bye,” she said. But her voice was hopeful. I knew she wished
for me to join her soon, downstairs. Her fingers were itching to find
new ways to torture me.
The night deepened. I rose and bathed. I opened a window in
the bathroom, heard the night sounds. The owl was back. Had it found
prey the previous night? Was it out now, looking for more?
There were no clothes for me to wear. I searched a dresser,
found only men’s clothes. Perhaps Alfonse and Rico slept here, when
there were no guests. I shuddered. I was glad they hadn’t taken the
liberty of joining me in their bed, as I slumbered through the long
hours of the day.
Where had they slept? No matter. Perhaps it was downstairs,
on a couch. Someplace. It didn’t matter. I cared nothing for them.
But I had a bit of respect for them, for they were doomed to be
servants, all their lives, something I’d never have to be. I was free.
I had my beauty. My youth. I could play.
I brushed my hair. There was a small makeup kit in the
bathroom. Perhaps Varona had left it there for me. I did my eyes, put
on lipstick. I felt my hand shiver a little as I applied my lipstick.
Who would kiss these lips, tonight? Tom? Ginger? Petra? Bow? No,
not her. I at least would not stoop to playing her naughty games. Let
Bethany lick her snatch, if she wished. I was too grown up for that. I
knew better.
“Hi!” I heard a small voice say. I looked away from the
bathroom mirror. It was her. Little Bow, standing at the door to the
bathroom. As I turned her eyes flitted over my body. I saw longing in
her eyes, searching. She gazed at my bosoms jealously.
“A few more years,” I said to her. “A few more years and you
will have tits of your own.”
“But I want them NOW!” she said in a high, demanding voice.
“You’re too young,” I replied.
“I’m only 8,” she agreed, glumly.
“You should be playing paddycake, or playing with Barbi, and
Ken, not with whips and chains,” I told her.
“But I DO play with Barbi and Ken,” Bow replied. “And I want
tits, just like Barbi has. Big ones. Like yours.”
“Mine aren’t as big as Barbi’s,” I told her. Then I looked
down at them. They were... larger. Had they been growing, under all
the male attention I’d been getting? They did seem bigger.
Definitely. What would my mom say if, when I came home, none of my bras
fit me anymore?
“Can I lick your snatch?” Bow asked me. There was politeness
in her voice. I think she thought I’d say ‘yes.’
“No,” I answered. I drew close to her and touched her head.
Her hair was long, blonde. Almost down to her waist. “You should get
your hair cut. It’s summer. You’d be cooler, that way,” I told her.
But immediately I knew it was only jealousy that I felt. “No,” I added,
stroking my fingers through her hair. “Keep it that way. You’re
prettiest with it that way.”
Bow touched my belly. “You got fucked last night,” she said to
me. She looked up at my eyes. “Will you get pregnant now?”
I laughed. “I hope not!” I told her. I frowned, a little.
When had I last taken my pill? At Robin’s? Yes, I think so. I
certainly didn’t want to bear Tom’s child. We had only been...
playing. A quick fuck, nothing more. And I didn’t exactly have a
choice about it, with my knees hung up over the log, and my pussy
defenseless.
“Here,” Bow told me. She opened her hand. She’d been holding
something in it, I saw. A small blue pill. “Petra told me to tell you
to swallow this.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I said. It was a pill. To keep me from getting
pregnant. The night promised that, I suppose, although if I’d been
given a chance to leave, I would have left, instead. I preferred
Robin. Just Robin, and Bethany, I guess, since she was my friend.
Although I would have left her behind too if I could have.
I went to the sink. There was a glass in the cupboard. It had
paper over it, just like in a hotel. Verona was thoughtful. She knew
how to take care of her guests. Petra’s guests, actually. I removed
the paper from the glass. I filled it under the tap. I swallowed my
pill. I brushed back my hair. Was I ready? Ready for the night? I
had no clothes on. Perhaps I was ready, then, whether I wished to be or
not.
Swallowing my pill, I turned to Bow. She smiled at me. It was
a simple girl’s smile, an 8-year-old’s smile. I ran my hands down my
smooth, taut belly. A sparkle of mischief came into Bow’s eyes. She
knew where babies came from.
“You’d best be good, or you’ll need a pill too,” I warned her.
“I’m only eight,” Bow replied, matter-of-factly. Then she
looked up at me. Her eyes were sincere. “How many babies do you want
to have?” she asked.
“None!” I answered.
“Oooh, I want to have lots of babies,” Bow said. She jabbed
her belly button with her finger. “Then I can have fun feeding them
all, and putting diapers on all of them.”
“Yes,” I answered. “You’d be quite busy then. You’d have no
time for playing in dungeons.”
“I know. I’d be a mommie then,” Bow agreed. “But in the
meantime, wanna see my teddy bear? He’s my pretend baby. His name is
Bert!”
“Bert?” I laughed. “Like Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street?”
“Yes,” Bow said. She moved closer. Her breath exhaled on my
belly. She plucked at my pubic hair with her fingers, a bit curiously,
for she herself had none. “I wanted to call him Ernie, but my friend
Sally’s teddy bear is named Ernie. So I called mine Bert. There’s one
for you too, if you’d like to be his mommie.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“I dunno,” she replied. Gently Bow slid a finger under my sex,
stroked my feminine lips, felt (I imagine) their wetness. She did not
say anything.
“Well, that’s just as well. Then I can name my bear,” I
replied.
“Yes!” Bow agreed. “That’s what we’ll do. My bear is Bert,
and you have to name yours.”
“Okay,” I answered.
Bow withdrew her finger from under my pubic lips and curled it
around the thumb of my hand. “C’mon,” she invited.
We left my bedroom. We padded down the hall, both of us
barefoot, me fresh from my bath, and Bow, though I guessed she’d been
put in the bath, reluctantly, smelling sweetly of Mr. Bubble.
Bow invited me into her bedroom. It had a big bed. Bow hopped
up on it and began jumping up and down. Her blonde tresses flew up and
down with her bouncing figure. She grinned happily. She was oblivious
to the nudity of her snatch, of her bare budding titties, of her long
lean little girl legs.
“Bow! Stop!” I cried. Why do adults always stop the young in
their fun? I don’t know. I guess I was afraid she’d go bouncing right
off the bed, and break one of her long lovely legs when she landed on
the floor. Beds weren’t made for jumping on, anyway.
“WHEEEE! I can jump on my bed if I wanna!” Bow cried. She
continued her display. So, in hopes of distracting her into quieter
pursuits (I worried the men might think I was jumping up and down with
her), I sidled over to her vast collection of stuffed animals.
That brought her running. With a proprietor’s eye, Bow jumped
down from her bed and came hurrying over to assist me in interacting
with her collection.
“This is Quigley, and Junior, and Beanie,” Bow told me. She
named off all her stuffed animals, introducing me to each of them. I
nodded my head. I noticed two of them, big teddy bears, had straps on
their backs. Bow took one down. She shouldered it and slipped it onto
her back.
“See? I can wear Bert as a caboose!” Bow told me happily. I
laughed.
“You mean a papoose!” I replied.
“You can wear the other one. What name are you going to give
it?” Bow asked me.
“I don’t know,” I replied. I took down the other big bear with
straps on its back. “What name do you think would be best for it?”
Bow drew close. She made me bend down. She whispered in my
ear. “How about Robin?” Bow asked.
“Oh.” I answered. “Is that the name you’d like me to give it?”
“Yes,” she said. “But don’t tell him. We’ll let it be a
surprise.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And one thing more,” Bow added. “Robin’s big thing leaks a
lot, and shoots sometimes too. We need to put diapers on him!”
“I agree!” I laughed. “Do you have any diapers?”
“Yes. Right here,” Bow said. She opened a dresser drawer,
still wearing her teddy bear. It flopped on her back, grinning at me
when she wasn’t.
Bow took out diapers. She had pins to go with them. “Here,”
she said.
We knelt on the floor. It was immaculately clean. I sat with
my bottom wedged between my heels, leaving space between it and the
floor. It still hurt from the cropping Petra had given me.
Tenderly, with only the care two girls can give, we diapered my
bear. Robin. We pinned up his diapers and adjusted them so they
wouldn’t fall down, revealing the (admittedly neutered) space between
his legs.
“There,” Bow said, finally. “Robin will get a big surprise
when he finds out we named this bear after him, and had to diaper him
too!”
“What about your bear?” I asked. I brushed my long hair back
from my face. We both enjoyed, I think, this quiet respite from men and
their demands. We were just two little girls, playing, her with breasts
just starting to grow and me, at 13, with breasts that were
embarrassingly large.
“My bear’s a girl bear,” Bow replied seriously.
“But your bear is named Bert!” I said.
“That’s just her pretend name, so boys think she’s a boy, and
don’t pick on her,” Bow said. “Really her name is Priscilla.”
“Okay,” I said. I was beginning to feel a bit confused by all
her childish thinking. Suddenly I wanted to be with adults. I could
hear them downstairs, talking. But I liked my new bear. I decided to
bring it along. I picked it up, diapers ringing its waist (though I
myself was nude), and put it onto my back. It wore like a backpack. I
reached up and held the straps that slung down over my front. Between
my hands my boobs jiggled nakedly.
“These bears will protect us, and keep us safe!” Bow assured
me.
“You’ll be safest if you tuck yourself into bed and go to
sleep,” I told her. “It’s after 8:30.”
“Oh, pooh!” Bow replied. She exhaled her breath loudly, saying
it, blowing her blonde hair away from her eyes and her face. “I go to
bed only when my teddy gets tired.”
“And your muffin?” I asked. She looked up at me.
“My muffin never gets tired,” she replied. But I don’t know,
given her childishness, if we were actually taking about the same thing.
We trooped downstairs. Our bears flopped amiably on our
backs. I felt the fur of mine pressing softly against my back, my hair
hanging down over it, giving it the appearance of wearing a wig. Bow
wore hers a little more considerately. Her bear was neatly hung outside
her long mane of hair. It pushed her hair up a little, giving it a
fuller appearance. My boobs bounced easily as we descended the stairs
in the nude. Petra and her guests looked up at us. I smiled, lowered
my eyes. I felt soft. I was bare. I would be a girl again, and the
men would have to treat me with the utmost deference.
“Hi,” I whispered, when Bow and I had reached the bottom of the
stairs and approached the men. I smiled a little at Robin. I did not
know who the other man was. I did not see Tom, or Ginger. But Petra
was there, and a new female. Petra wore riding gear, as if fresh from
riding. Her new female companion wore a light party dress. It was cut
low in front, showing her bosoms, almost right down to the points of her
titties. It was easy to see that she wore no bra between her dress and
her breasts. The sides of her dress were slit, revealingly, almost up
to her hips. Yet she had her legs crossed, as if in a half-hearted
attempt to retain her modesty after letting herself be brought all the
way out to Petra’s estate.
The new man, whose name I didn’t know yet, whose face and
figure I still was apprising, shyly, as I stood next to Bow with my
teddy bear, wore a suit. He’d taken off his jacket and loosened his
tie. I thought I saw a bulge in the front of his trousers. But didn’t
want to look too closely. I was innocent. I liked being a little girl
again. Yet, strangely, to be totally a little girl, like Bow, I had to
be unaware of my nudity. I stood easily, next to her, letting my pussy
show, hoping I looked artless.
“Turn around,” Petra told me. “Show our new friends your
bottom.” She motioned at me with a riding crop she held. She adjusted
the peaked rider’s crop on her head.
I obeyed. I was submissive. I felt my bottomcheeks clench as
I turned. I didn’t want to show my hiney! I heard the female guest
gasp.
“Would you like to have a red bottom, like she has?” Petra
asked the young woman matter-of-factly.
“A-a little,” the woman gushed. Her voice sounded shivery.
“I’d like to see it,” the new man said. Was he her husband, or
just her boyfriend? Why did he need to bring her all the way out here
to redden her ass? Was she recalcitrant? Did she prohibit him, yet
remain willing, if he could connive it, to submit to a proper mistress
in a proper dungeon?
“Let’s see what sort of color your ass has to it right now,”
Petra told the new female guest. I turned back around. I faced them.
The female looked up at Petra, wide-eyed, clutching a drink. Petra took
it from her hand.
With a sudden motion, Petra threw the drink into the woman’s
face.
“Oh!” the woman cried. Liquor spilled down from her eyes and
her cheeks and splashed onto her bosom. Neatly, with perfect decorum,
Petra placed the woman’s empty glass on a low table next to her chair.
“My, I’m sorry, dear. I seem to have wet your dress,” Petra
said. She bent over the woman. She reached down and, grabbing her
dress by its front, she tore it open.
The woman gasped anew. Her breasts, bare and jiggling, were
revealed to our eyes. They were fine young teats, full and with
perfect, pointed tips to them. They looked like bosoms that would
surely have babies clamoring to suckle from them in a few short years.
For a moment, I wished I could be one of her future babies, though I had
fine uptilted breasts of my own.
Petra took the woman’s hand. “Stand up, Annette,” Petra told
her. With her face still wet from her drink, Annette stood. Swiftly
Petra tore the remains of her ruined dress from her hips. Annette
watched the dress fall to her ankles. Reluctantly she stepped out of
it.
“Oh, yes. How white your bottom is!” Petra said. She turned
Annette so her back faced her. She patted her fanny, lightly. Annette
flinched. It was a high, round bottom, perfect, I suppose, from the
male point of view, for fucking.
“Come. I want you to meet another anal virgin, like yourself,”
Petra told Annette. She drew the young woman over to me! I stood
staring up at her, being a little shorter than her, for I was 13, she
perhaps 19, or 20.
Petra introduced us. We were both nude, our hair pretty, our
makeup perfect (though Annette’s face still glistened with her spilt
liquor). Our bosoms poked at each other.
“Yes, you will both lose your anal virginity tonight,” Petra
assured us. I was still feeling too submissive to try to contradict
her. Annette gazed at me, I gazed meekly back. “Kiss, both of you,”
Petra said. “Greet each other with your lips and your bodies. This is
no ordinary party. You’ll be spending the night together. Get to know
one another!” Petra pressed upon each of our bottoms. Her hands were
gloved. Our tushies were bare. The touch of her glove on my ass made
me wince. (Though more from fear, I think, than from real pain, for my
bottom was healing quickly.)
Annette let herself be pushed toward me. I was the same,
letting myself be pushed toward her. Suddenly, impulsively, our arms
embraced each other. Mine slipped around her waist. Hers slipped
around mine. I thought I heard Bow, watching, gasp. My lips touched
Annette’s. We kissed. Her lips opened to mine. Her tongue extended,
tentatively, out to my lips. I opened my mouth. Her tongue jabbed in,
looking for my tongue. I let her find it. We dueled a little, with our
tongues, as we stood there kissing. Our breasts rubbed. Our nipples,
hard and pointed, tried to penetrate each other’s bosoms. Our bellies,
beginning to aquire a sheen of desire-induced sweat, pressed together.
I wished she had a penis. I guess she wished the same of me. But we
were just two girls, exploring, letting our bodies mold pleasurably for
the delight of the men.
I tilted my head. I let her tongue invade more deeply. I felt
her gasp. Her breath entered my mouth. Was she excited by my
submissiveness? Yet, when I pushed her tongue back with my own, she
relented, let me enter her. We were both submissive. I stuck my tongue
far in her mouth and she gasped again. Ah, I liked the taste of her, so
sweet and soft, so pliant.
“Ouch!” Annette suddenly cried. Had I hurt her? I felt her
face pull away. I looked at her worriedly. Then I saw, from the corner
of my eye, Petra’s crop uplifted. I remembered the sound of leather
against bare flesh, applied smartly. Petra had given Annette’s bottom
an admonitory whack. I was glad she hadn’t hit me. I’d had enough of
her crop.
“I didn’t tell you to mate with each other,” Petra laughed.
Annette let go of me. Her hands flew to her bottom and she massaged it,
though she’d only been struck lightly. Was it her first taste of the
whip? Of being spanked? I could only guess and wish, ruefully, that I
was as innocent as she of such things. I reached back and rubbed my own
bottom. Petra admired us, both females under her control, both
assauging our bare asses in front of her.
“Yes, I think you will both train very well,” Petra said. She
spoke as if we were horses. Young mares.
“Where is Tom?” I asked her.
“You will have a new penis tonight, plunging into your bottom,
breaking you in,” Petra answered me. With a sense of fright I turned my
head. I looked at the new man. He was handsome, but I didn’t even know
his name! Gallantly, sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, he
saluted me with a wave of his hand. His legs were crossed in the manly
way, one perpendicular to the other, not parallel, as a woman crosses
her legs. Within the large space left by his crossed legs I could see
his crotch. It was bulging quite visibly now.
Robin, my beau, was barechested. Apparently, as Petra had been
doing her riding, he had been tasked with cleaning out her stables.
Now, freshly bathed (for so I surmised, looking at him), he wore a fresh
pair of jeans, buttoned around his waist, but was barefoot, and still
barechested, as if he might be called again to go clean the stables some
more. (All this I guessed, piecing it together from the conversations
we’d had, as we’d chatted the night before. Petra had said she wanted
to do some riding. She’d asked Robin if he’d clean her stables for
her. He’d nodded, politely, but with, I thought, a desire to be
submissive to her in his eyes.)
Bethany appeared. She walked in from the kitchen, nude as
myself and Bow. She was munching on animal crackers. She didn’t know
there was company, I guess (perhaps she’d been watching T.V. in the
den). When she saw the new man amongst us, she started. She clapped a
hand to her muff.
Petra smiled. “Go fetch us a bottle of baby oil, dear Beth,”
Petra said matter-of-factly to the girl. “We’re going downstairs to the
dungeon in a minute.”
“I’m watching Gilligan’s Island,” Bethany replied.
“You can see Gilligan later,” Petra said.
“But it’s the episode with the Tiki bird in it,” Bethany said.
“The baby oil, darling,” Petra said. She flexed her crop in
her hands, made sure Bethany saw her doing it.
“Oh!” Bethany declared. “All we do is fuck, fuck, fuck! I
want to watch Gilligan’s Island!” And she turned, hotly, and hurried
away, leaving half an animal cracker on the rug. She’d dropped it when
Petra told her we were going down to the dungeon.
“I shall get the oil,” Petra told us. She flexed her crop
again. “Bow, you’re in charge. Tell them a story while I get us some
oil.”
“Okay!” Bow announced. All eyes turned to her. We were, as
all guests are, deferential to the demands of a child. “Once upon a
time my teddy bear -- wait--.” She took off her bear. She displayed
him to us, especially to the men, and Annette, who hadn’t been
introduced to him yet. “My teddy bear -- his name is Bert -- and he has
a secret name too, but I can’t tell it. Anyway, Bert was going over to
his friend Sally’s house. That’s ‘cause her teddy bear is named Ernie.
Bert and Ernie, see?” Beth said happily.
Just then Petra returned. She had a new bottle of Johnson and
Johnson’s baby oil in her hands. Her reappearance ended Bow’s story.
The girl seemed not to mind. She had said all she could think of, I
think. Her story had yet to be imagined, as most children’s stories
are, being made up as they go along.
Petra walked over to Annette’s beau. She flipped open the top
of the brand new bottle of baby oil. She bent. She undid the man’s
zipper. I still didn’t know his name. Petra pointed her bottle of baby
oil at the hole left in the man’s crotch by the undoing of the his
zipper. The man’s underpants bulged through the hole. Petra aimed.
She squirted.
“Hey! These are expensive pants!” the man protested.
“Oh. Expensive underpants. How nice,” Petra said. She kept
squirting, a long, lucid squirt that went all over the bulge the man was
presenting through his crotch.
“Not my underpants, my pants!” the man said.
“Oh, you want baby oil squirted on your pants?” Petra asked.
“Ah, God!” the man said. He stood bolt upright. Petra was
thrown back by his sudden movement. I thought he might hit her. He
looked quite strong. Instead, he reached down for his belt. He undid
it. Then he shoved down his trousers. His underpants went down next.
I gave a startled gasp. The man’s penis was huge! Not bigger
than Robin’s, I don’t think. Perhaps just a little. It waggled at
Petra. Completely nonplussed, though he possessed quite a monster, she
aimed her bottle of baby oil once more at his loins. This time, since
he was barehipped now, when she squirted she hit him right on the tip of
his dick.
“I’m just making you nice and wet, darling,” Petra told the man
with a sly smile.
“And what about you?” he asked. He clearly had an admiration
for her.
Petra lifted off her cap. Her long brown hair had been piled
under her cap but, when she took it off, her hair spilled all down her
shoulders. It was glossy, curly.
Petra kept squirting the man’s penis. She squirted all the way
along his shaft. When she’d finally gotten him dripping wet, she
squirted underneath him, on his balls.
“I don’t fuck with those,” the man told Petra. She laughed.
She enjoyed squirting him. I think she would have squirted him all
over, if she could. But there was still Robin to attend to.
My boyfriend undid his jeans. I watched. My breath caught in
my throat when he lowered them. He was nude underneath. He wore no
underpants. I heard Annette emit an appreciative sigh. Robin’s bare
buns were tight, small. They stood out like twin white muffins. His
legs were hairy and tanned. Robin kicked off his jeans. He was utterly
naked now. Petra approached him.
“Such an eager boy!” Petra complimented Robin. Even standing
almost behind him, as Annette and I were, we could see the prominence of
his cock sticking out. Not all of it, of course. Just the tip. It
wiggled, involuntarily. Petra anointed his purplish knob with a squirt
of baby oil.
“Ah,” Robin said. He flinched a little, as the baby oil struck
him. I wondered what it felt like, having a big dick like that, being
squirted down. I would never know. I was made to receive, not to
present.
Lovingly Petra bathed Robin’s penis completely in baby oil.
Then she turned to me.
“You’re next,” Petra said. She made me bend my knees and open
my dell for her. I gasped. She squirted baby oil into my slit.
Annette was next. The men watched. When Petra had finished, she asked
us to wait while she undressed. Our eyes shifted to her. Slowly she
took off her clothes.
“Are you men ready for our party tonight?” Petra asked. She
liked winning their attention and keeping it. As if her pinup poster
body wasn’t enough already. She slipped off her riding jacket. She
unbuttoned her blouse. “Well, it’s going to be a long party, that I can
assure you. I hope you’re both up to it.” She glanced slyly at Robin.
He’d been worked last night, perhaps again while I slept. “There’s only
two of you, you know. And all us females. We’ll be expecting a lot of
you boys.”
Petra finished undressing. She replaced her riding cap on her
head. She didn’t bother to pile her hair underneath it again. She kept
on a red neckerchief that she’d tied around her neck. On her hands she
retained leather gloves. They were short. They only covered her hands
and her wrists. I liked them. They looked pretty on her. But I was a
little afraid of them too, for they made her look quite commanding. On
her feet she kept her knee-length rider’s boots. She picked up her
crop.
Petra swished her crop through the air. She looked at
Annette. “Yes, dear. It’s time you felt this,” she said to the young
woman. “You’ve the perfect bottom for it. Really. Let me see?” She
stalked round behind Annette. The girl clasped her arms over her
bosoms, hiding them, but leaving her bare ass sticking out for Petra to
inspect.
“Ahhh, so pretty. And it will be so red and sore after we’re
through tonight. Won’t it, Luke?” Petra asked Annette’s boyfriend.
“Yeah,” Luke grinned. Petra swung the crop, moderately hard,
and struck Annette on her fanny.
“Ouch!” Annette blurted. Immediately her hands flew to her
behind. She rubbed it.
“Mmmm. That’s just the first of many,” Petra assured Annette.
The girl looked at her beau. He only grinned back at her. I stood back
a little from Annette. I was afraid I might get smacked too.
“Annette, would you please pour more drinks for the men? I
have to be absent a minute,” Petra told the woman she’d just smacked.
Annette gaped at her. “All is not punishment, my dear,” Petra told
her. “The drinks. The maid has stepped out. Refill the men’s drink
glasses. I’ll be back in a minute and then we’ll go downstairs.”
Petra walked from the room. Beyond the big woolen throw rugs,
the floor was bare tile. Her boots clicked loudly upon it. I saw her
heading for the kitchen. The den was beyond. I guessed she was going
to fetch Bethany.
Annette, still shocked from her first taste of the leather on
her behind, went to the wet bar and picked up a bottle of liquor. She
came back, carrying it. “Who wants more gin?” she asked.
“Me,” Robin told her.
“Me,” Luke said. Carefully Annette refilled the men’s
glasses. They had ice in them. The gin mixed with the melting ice.
She rubbed her bare ass as she filled up their glasses. Then she went
to her own. She poured more gin into her own glass. “Do you want
some?” she asked me.
“Sure,” I said. She went to the wet bar and got me ice. She
scooped it out of the wet bar’s small freezer with her bare hands. She
dropped the cubes in a glass for me. “Any mixer?” she asked.
“Seven up,” I answered.
“OWWWW!” came loudly from behind me. I turned. Petra had
Bethany by the ear. “But I want to watch Gilligan’s Island!” Bethany
yelled. I watched her boobies bounce on her chest. She wore no
clothes. She was as naked as Bow and I, yet she chose to be difficult.
I think she liked being that way sometimes. It made her special, in her
mind.
“Stand still. I have to squirt baby oil in your dell,” Petra
told Bethany. The girl stopped. She looked down over her breasts at
her tummy. “Bend your knees,” Petra said. Bethany, with a quick glance
at me, obliged. Petra insinuated her fingers into the girl’s snatch.
“OH!” Bethany cried.
“Shhhh. I’m making you nice and wet,” Petra told the
12-year-old girl.
“Make me wet too!” Bow said.
“No, dear. You shouldn’t even be watching,” Petra answered.
“You’re too little.”
“I’m in third grade! That’s big enough! I know all about
dicks and pussies!” Bow said.
“There,” Petra said to Bethany. She ignored little Bow. She
released Bethany’s cuntlips. “You’re up first tonight, dear. Did you
take your pill?”
“I think so...” Bethany said, wide-eyed.
“Well, you’re going to be installed in the chair,” Petra said.
“I hope for your sake you took your pill. You’re going to milk both men
to make them less randy when they have to be put to Annette and Lisa.”
Bethany looked at me. I returned her look of incomprehension.
I didn’t know anything about a ‘chair.’ Or about what evils Petra had
planned for myself and Annette. Except that I knew Annette’s bottom
would be as red as the sunrise by morning. Petra had already promised
that.
“And me too! Let me milk the men too!” Bow said impetuously.
“I’m going to send you up to your room if you don’t act your
age,” Petra warned the girl. (Of course, if she did act her age, not
asking repeatedly to be fucked, she got to go to an orgy, which struck
me as rather strange.)
“Oh, alright,” Bow said. “At least I’ll have Bert with me.”
She shrugged her shoulders, hoisting the bear that hung from her back.
She looked at me. “He’s really a boy,” she assured me.
“Mine too,” I answered.
We walked outside into the night. What a strange procession we
must have made! Petra led the men. She was clad but unclad in her
riding gear. The men loped along beside her. Their big penises stuck
out from them like batons. They bobbled freely. Petra kept them
mindful of her crop by aimlessly (or so it seemed) swishing it alongside
herself. It whipped through the air past her thighs, and past the
thighs of the men who walked at her flanks. A quick flick of her wrist
and she could deliver instant pain to their erect penises. Perhaps it
excited them, being so vulnerably displayed to her crop like that.
Bow and I followed. We carried our bears on our backs.
Bethany liked my bear, his diapers. She wished she could have one to
keep her company, but we only had two. I told her she could have my
bear on the trip back up from the dungeon. That satisfied her.
Walking alongside Bethany was Annette. They held hands.
Annette had red hair and it streamed off her shoulders, lifted by the
light breeze. The owl was out again. I heard it screech. It was
looking for prey.
The men lifted the storm door to the cellar open for us. How
courteous, I thought, except it was a wry sort of courtesy, I thought,
since we were, unequivocally, being led toward a fate that would leave
us girls raw and sore. Nonetheless, I gave both men a shy smile as I
passed. I didn’t wish to be difficult, as Bethany was sometimes. I
wished to please. I wished to be admired as pleasing. It was in my
nature. But I felt apprehension, for a female asked to please a man in
a dungeon can get herself into more than she wishes to.
Could I cope? I didn’t know. I would try. That was all I
could do, wasn’t it? Try to please my boyfriend, Robin, and the new
man, Luke, that Petra had assigned me to meet. Yes, I would do my
best. Both men’s big penises throbbed at me as I passed between them.
Their sacs were full beneath, hanging like taut, hairy bags. A touch of
my finger might set them off.
Bow passed between them next. She wished to suck upon them,
tried, was given a quick slap on her bottom by Petra.
Next, with me leading the way this time into the darkness, came
Bethany and Annette. I heard them both squeal, as they passed the men.
Standing halfway down the ladder, trying to find the next rung with my
bare foot, I looked up. I couldn’t see what was happening. Bow’s
bottom wiggled nakedly above my eyes. Her long hair shifted across her
back. I saw feet, a glimpse of cunt, above her. I noticed light
growing in the dungeon. A new invention? Perhaps a servant had
installed a bulb that would slowly lighten the chamber once the doors
had been lifted. I was grateful. I looked up again, tried to catch a
glimpse of the stars above the open hatchway. But there were too many
people on the ladder now.
“Don’t drip your sperm on my head!” I heard Bethany announce
petulantly. Robin, or was it Luke? was above her. The men’s dicks
leaked precum. Bow, the little slut, lifted her head and opened her
mouth wide, hoping to catch some.
The cage. It stood before us in the now bright light of the
dungeon. We would be locked in it again, in with all that awful
equipment. Somewhere in there waited ‘the chair’. Bethany would be
bound into it, her feet spread, I guessed. What other use could there
be for such an innocently named device in such a diabolical place? The
men would mate with her. They would loose their sperm inside her, to
make them a little bit easier for Annette and I to take up our bottoms.
Petra moved ahead of me. She alone was clothed. The rest of
us were stark naked. Her clothes were minimal, though. Just gloves and
boots, a cap, a scarf. And her handy riding crop. Were we animals?
She unlocked the cage door. She swung it open. With a beckoning of her
crop, she herded us into her cage. Then, when we were all inside, she
swung the door closed again, locking herself in with her pets. She
smiled. She had us all at her beck and call now. Annette and I were
too inexperienced to challenge her. Bethany and Bow were too little.
The men, Robin and Luke, were in thrall to her, and too hard to think of
anything but obeying her whims. We were all wet with baby oil in our
privates. (Except little Bow, of course, who longed to be.)
“The purpose of our party is pain,” Petra announced. She eyed
Annette, who was new. Then Bethany, then me. She ignored Bow. Then
she let her eyes fasten themselves on first one man’s tool, then the
other. “And pleasure,” she added, almost as an afterthought. She
lifted a gloved hand. She used it to brush back her hair. Then she
advanced on Annette, cat-like. She touched the woman’s face.
“How much pain can you stand, hmmm, Annette? And how much
pleasure? We’ll find out tonight, I’m sure. Or at least we’ll begin
to.”
Annette was shivering. She’d never been in a dungeon before.
I wished I hadn’t been. I was only 13, after all. I shouldn’t be
here. I should be home, content with Love@AOL on the Net, reading
messages posted by dweebs. But instead I was here, naked, my pussy wet
with baby oil. I swallowed. I prayed I could survive whatever Petra
had planned for us. I wondered if the two randy men, hard as they were,
and desperate, would really step in and save me if Petra got out of
hand. I hoped they would. I trusted Robin. I didn’t know Luke.
The servants had already come and gone. They had prepared our
cell beforehand. Fresh cut flowers stood in a crystal vase on a wooden
table. Droplets of water clung to their petals. On the barred wall of
the cell, incongrously, someone had hung a painting, or a print of a
painting, by Matisse. The sofas were clean. There was no sign of our
soapy play from the night before. And, quite grimly, the equipment that
made this cell so forbidding waited beyond the twin sofas.
“Please, have a seat,” Petra invited us. Quietly we padded
past her, past her easily-applied crop, our bottoms flinching as we
passed, and sat down on the sofas. Bow and I unshouldered our teddy
bears and gave them a seat of their own beside ourselves on the couch.
We were seated as we’d been the night before. Except now,
instead of having Tom beside me, I had Luke. Bethany flanked his other
side. Bow sat next to Bethany. Her teddy bear, Bert, sat next to her.
Bow finished arranging her teddy bear on the sofa. She stood
up. She walked over to the table with the flowers atop it. She opened
a drawer that hung underneeath the table. She took out a bubble wand
and a bottle of oil to make bubbles with. Perhaps she had secreted the
items in the drawer when last she had played down here, by herself. Or
perhaps Verona, to keep her busy, had left the items there for her. In
any event, with her wand and her bottle of oil, Bow plopped down on the
couch next to Bethany. The two of them were soon sharing the bubble
wand. They held it for each other, while the other blew into it, making
bubbles. The big diaphanous spheres wobbled from the wand’s tip into
the air. They rose toward the ceiling, where they eventually shattered
against the barred roof of our cell. Petra ignored them.
There was a bucket of ice next to the vase of flowers. Within
it was a bottle of white wine. Arranged around the bucket were glasses,
but not enough for us all. We would have to share. Petra drew the
bottle from the ice. It was slick with melted water. She gave it and a
corkscrew to Luke. Manfully he opened it, while she stood over him,
watching. When the bottle was open Petra herself served our glasses.
Annette was forced to sip from the same glass as Robin. He held the
glass for her as she sipped. Luke and I shared a glass. He held it for
me. My breasts caressed his arm as I drank from it.
“Ooooh, I want some!” Bow cried out.
“You get Kool-Aid, my dear,” Petra told her. “You too
Bethany.”
“I’m not eight,” Bethany protested.
“I know you’re not, dear. That’s why I’m putting you in the
chair, to receive the men’s sperm. Nonetheless, to keep Bow happy,
please share a glass of Kool-Aid with her.”
Bethany rolled her eyes. But, perhaps feeling submissive, she
protested no further. Bow whispered something in her ear, and she
giggled.
“What was that, girls?” Petra asked. She poured Kool-Aid from
a pitcher that stood behind the ice bucket. She brought the glass over
to the girls.
“Bow says the lemonade looks like pee,” Bethany laughed.
“I’m not drinking that. It’s pee!” Bow confirmed.
“Open your mouth, dear. Such pretty lips,” Petra said to
Bethany. The blonde looked up at the woman. Petra’s fingers touched
her lips. She opened Bethany’s mouth, prying Beth’s lips and teeth
apart, until the girl looked like a horse about to receive a bit. Petra
poured in the lemonade. Bethany choked a little. Then she swallowed
quickly, to keep up with Petra’s pouring.
“There. Did that taste like pee?” Petra asked Bethany.
“Noooo,” Bethany agreed. She was quite submissive now. She
folded her hands in her lap like a little schoolgirl. But unlike a girl
in school she had not a stitch of clothing on. Not panties, not even
socks for her feet.
“You see, Bow?” Petra told her 8-year-old niece. The woman
returned to the table. The glass was small. She refilled it with the
pitcher.
“It doesn’t taste like pee,” Bethany assured Bow. Petra
returned with the glass. She handed it to Beth.
“Pour it into her mouth,” Petra told Bethany.
As I sipped from the glass Luke held for me, as Robin was given
a drink by Annette, little Bow was made to drink by Bethany. The
8-year-old resisted a little at first, but Bethany took her lips in her
fingers and forced her, just as she had been forced by Petra. Except
for a little wiggling, Bow swallowed down the entire glassful without
incident. I thought she might wind up spilling it on herself but she
didn’t.
We chatted. Strange as it sounds, we hardly knew each other.
We hadn’t had time to talk much upstairs. Petra asked Luke about his
work. She sat down, primly, next to Robin. She pretended to ignore the
big aching penis he was carving the air with. Luke, equally stiff and
visible, nonetheless answered Petra’s questions like a man in a suit
having a job interview.
Annette asked me how Bethany and I ever came to be here, being
so young. I explained as best as I could. She said she’d run away at
13, but only managed to ride the bus out to L.A. She’d tried selling
herself there, she laughed, on Sunset Boulevard, wearing her jeans and
her backpack. But the cars only rolled by, ignoring her. Then she’d
hit on the idea (for she had only the clothes she was wearing) of
cutting her jeans’ legs off. Wearing just the remainder, a small swath
of denim around her hips, her legs all bare, and leaving the backpack
behind a dumpster, she tried again.
“I immediately had three offers,” Annette said. Her voice was
cheerful, but a little nervous. Perhaps it was her story, or the
coolness of the air down here in this cellar, or the fact that we were
all, despite our manners and our polite demeanor, locked in a cell.
“Three offers! Two cars almost collided with each other in the street.”
“What did you do?” Bow asked. Petra frowned. She didn’t like
little Bow listening to stories about young girls running away, I
guessed. But Bow was all ears. Her bubble wand didn’t interest her
anymore.
“I got scared, with so many men suddenly interested in me,”
Annette confessed. “I ran away.”
Petra smiled. I suppose she liked that ending. It wouldn’t
inspire little Bow to take up the idea. Yet I could almost see the
small girl, out on the dirt road, wearing just her swim panties,
sticking her thumb out and strolling along, hoping a driver might stop
and buy her. Fortunately Petra’s estate was remote. There was little
chance of a car coming by, even if Bow were to stand by the roadside all
day.
“I took the bus back home,” Annette said. “But I had only my
hot pants now. I looked quite sexy, riding the bus in them. A boy got
on the bus in Nevada and he sat with me. We necked.” Annette blushed.
“Did he screw you?” Luke asked. He looked perturbed.
“He was nice,” Annette replied. She let Robin hold their wine
glass and she sipped from it. Perhaps to show her independence from
Luke, despite being his girl friend, she stroked a finger along Robin’s
dick. My beau, my boyfriend, shuddered at her touch. To get revenge,
despite liking Annette, I stroked the dick of Luke. It throbbed against
the tip of my finger.
“Well, we must begin,” Petra said. She had a wine glass of her
own and she downed its contents, quickly. She stood. She beckoned with
a wave of her crop.
We stood. Luke took my hand. With his other hand he took hold
of Bethany. She started, feeling him grab her hand. But she acceeded,
let him draw her across the room. Bow strolled behind us. She brought
her bubble wand with her, and blew more bubbles as she walked along.
One of them drifted to Luke’s butt and burst upon it.
“Hey!” Luke said, startled.
“Your ass killed my bubble,” Bow pouted.
“You’ll feel more demanding things upon your cute buns than a
bubble before the night is over, I assure you, Luke,” Petra told him,
laughing.
Robin led Annette. She was shy. She shivered as he made her
rise and walk from the sofa. We trailed back behind the couches and
into the maze of equipment.
“Ohhh, what’s this?” Annette asked. She touched a hook
dangling from a device.
“Perhaps you will learn about it, soon enough,” Petra
answered. “But first we must get Bethany seated.”
“Ohhh, I don’t want too,” Bethany said.
“Come, child, here it is,” Petra said.
“What is it?” Bethany asked. I might have asked the same thing
myself. There was a large barrel. It looked like it might have once
held moonshine. It was tall, and only half of it remained. I have no
idea where the other half was. It was sawed in half, from top to
bottom. It served as the backdrop for a small leather covered stool.
The stool was set within the curving walls of the barrel. Not quite
connected to the stool, but leaning back from it, was what looked like a
narrow seat back. It, like the stool, was covered in leather. Chains
hung suspended above the stool. I saw metal stirrups fixed to the
barrel’s edges. There was one on the left side of the barrel, and one
on the right. They were at the same height as the stool. I suddenly
realized that a girl might sit in the stool, and lean back on the seat
back, and put her feet up into the stirrups. If she did, her sex would
be shamelessly displayed. Even a man might sit on the stool and, if he
fitted his feet into the stirrups, his erection and even his balls would
be exposed to whatever depredations others might wish to inflict upon
them.
“Yeek!” Bethany cried. Petra took my friend firmly in hand.
She plopped Bethany’s bare ass down on the leather covered stool.
Annette and I, perhaps inspired by the naughtiness of seeing her thus
displayed, moved forward and grabbed her knees. I lifted her left
knee. Annette lifted her right. We placed her small bare feet into the
metal stirrups. There was a leather strap at the back of each stirrup
and, seeing it, I buckled the strap around Bethany’s heel, so she
couldn’t remove her foot. Annette did the same with Bethany’s other
foot.
“Her knees too, dear,” Petra told me. I felt Petra’s riding
crop touch my behind. I obeyed. I was fearful she might swat it
against me if I didn’t. I took the chains which hung down over
Bethany’s left knee. I wrapped them underneath my friend’s knee. Then
I drew them up, and attached them high above her to a hook. I had to
stand on my tip-toes to do it. I felt my bare breasts wobble on my
chest as I lifted my arms high. Petra’s crop grazed my bottom again,
making me flinch.
“Lie back, dear. Make yourself comfortable,” Petra told
Bethany. She stroked the girl’s belly. Rather anxiously, Bethany was
leaning back against the chair back, the back that was not quite
attached to the stool. “Reach back,” Petra told Beth. “Do you feel
handcuffs back there, dangling from the back of the barrel?” Petra
asked.
“Ooooh, yes. But I can’t stick-- can’t stick my hands back
that far--,” Bethany protested, though even now, perhaps out of
curiousity, she was doing just that, feeling for the cuffs. Petra
stepped into the barrel, straddling her uptilted thigh. She reached
back. Her hair brushed against Bethany’s face and breasts as she leaned
deeply over the girl. I heard one click, then another. “Oh!” Bethany
cried. But it was too late. Petra had locked her hands into the
cuffs. The woman stepped back out of the barrel. Bethany was left
fruitlessly wriggling her arms, quite trapped now, her legs akimbo, her
wrists cuffed far behind her. Her bare bosoms wobbled invitingly on her
chest. I saw her nipples stiffen. She was ready.
Petra, quite pleased with her wickedness, went to the back wall
of our cell. She drew back a black curtain. I saw whips arranged
there, and other implements, and also several black gags. Annette,
standing beside me, gasped as the things were revealed. I felt
butterflies rise in my tummy. I palmed my belly, wished I wasn’t here.
But I was, and I couldn’t leave now. My best friend Bethany was trapped
on a stool in a barrel!
Petra selected a gag. It was made of silk. She returned to
Bethany. Leaning forward over the girl, she made Bethany accept the
silk gag in her mouth. She knotted it behind the girl’s head.
“Now you are ready, my sweet,” Petra said. Yet there was one
thing more. Petra took hold of some ropes that were fixed to the chair
back. She drew their length out in her palms. Then, quite ruthlessly,
she bound the ropes around Bethany’s breasts.
“Oh! Yeek! No! Please!” Bethany cried through her gag. It
muffled her protests, making her words sound silly. When Petra was
done, the girl’s bosoms were wrapped by the ropes. They squeezed her
tits, compressing them, making them extrude their bulk out beyond the
soft clamping of the ropes. Bethany’s nipples stood out like pointed
stems on fat cherries held squeezingly between one’s teeth. I thought
her breasts might burst, they looked so plump, so exquisitely bound by
the tight ropes. I longed to lean forward and lick at her nipples.
Petra had more sinister plans.
“My, my, little Bethany, how deliciously you present yourself,”
Petra taunted the girl. She went to the back wall again, leaving us to
admire Beth. The men seemed mesmerized by her. The small 12-year-old
had her legs spread wide, her knees strung up by chains, her little feet
bound securely into the widely-spaced stirrups. Her cunny was wet with
baby oil, set within her splayed thighs like center of a nectar-laden
flower whose petals have been opened. There was no stamen, of course,
to this flower. Just her little dell, beckoning, urging the men to
plunge themselves up within its warm, wet depths.
Bethany’s bare tummy trembled tautly. Her tits jiggled within
their rope bindings. She tried turning her head to see what Petra was
bringing back with her from the back wall, where the implements hung. I
saw. It was a feather. And in her other hand she still held her riding
crop.
“I-- haftoo pe-ee!” Bethany said through her gag as Petra
reappeared beside her.
“Well of course, dear. Just after you’re all seated and
trussed up too, hmmm?” Petra said. “Don’t think you’re going to get out
of that chair for such an unimportant thing as that.” Bow, however,
scurried away, and returned moments later with the same pail we’d used
the night before. It looked freshly scrubbed.
“Here,” Bow said. There was a look of concern on her small
8-year-old face.
“Well, for your sake, then, dear,” Petra told the girl. She
gave her feather and her crop to Luke. He received them, stared at
them. The feather was a big ostrich feather. It looked very soft. The
crop, of course, was as hard as his dick.
Petra placed the bucket underneath Bethany. She knelt down
between the girl’s uplifted legs. I watched her bare bottom as she
squatted. It split nicely as she knelt, and hung underneath her like a
ripe peach waiting to be picked from a tree at harvest time. Luke, I
think, contemplated bending down and giving her a swat on her exposed
hiney, but he didn’t, perhaps because just then Bethany began peeing.
We crowded in to watch. Holding open the lips of Bethany’s
cunt, Petra let the girl pee right into the bucket. The chair wasn’t in
the way for Bethany. My friend, leaning back, actually had the
frontmost part of her ass off the seat. She was well-displayed, and
well offered, and I knew the men must be looking forward to kneeling in
front of her and stabbing into her with their cocks.
PISSSSS! went Bethany’s pee into the bucket. The sound was
intoxicating. We watched her, urinating, and I felt a little envious,
for the men hardly noticed myself or Annette. Their eyes were fixed on
Bethany, on the opened flower of her cunt, on the naughty fluid it was
offering. She finished at last peeing into the bucket. There was a
small box of tissue wipes on the clean-swept floor next to the base of
the barrel. Petra took one. She passed it up through Bethany’s legs.
“There. All wiped. All set,” Petra said. She stood, hoisting
the bucket up with her. She turned to Bow. “Here, go empty it dear, in
the drain,” Petra said. She handed the bucket to the small girl. Bow
took it, and looked quite silly as she did, for it was quite heavy for
her, and her eyes bulged and she grunted as the weight of the bucket was
placed into her small hands.
“Oh! Ah! Ug! Oh!” Bow proclaimed, waddling away with the
bucket. I could hear the urine sloshing within it. Her little ass
jiggled behind her. She reached the drain and, with a great sigh,
dumped Bethany’s pee down it. Some pee splashed on her feet and her
legs.
Bow dropped the empty bucket onto the floor. She skipped back
to the back of the cell. There was a box of wet Handi-Wipes on a shelf
at the back of the cell, I saw, my eyes following her movements. Bow
pulled a half dozen wipes out of the box. Anxiously she wiped herself
off. When she was done, she dropped the crumpled wipes on the floor.
They lay there like discarded flowers, picked by a lover, then left when
his love proved unwilling. I guessed the maid would pick them up after
we were done playing.
“Ohhhhh!” Bethany announced. My eyes returned to her. Petra
was leaning over her. She had retrieved the ostrich feather from Luke.
Lightly she brushed the feather up over Bethany’s nipples. The girl
shivered. She gasped into her gag. Petra dipped lower, stroking her
belly. Then, going lower still, Petra assualted the girl’s wet cunt.
“Ah! Damn!” Luke declared. He grabbed his cock. Eagerly he
began fisting himself. His dick was wet with baby oil and his hand,
though gripping himself quite tightly, slid easily up and down his
shaft.
“Yeech!” Bethany whined. She bit her gag. Petra was driving
her crazy with that insidious feather. It flicked her cunt, it stroked
along the insides of her thighs. It tickled her bare toes in the
stirrups. Then Petra began applying her crop.
“Oh, don’t!” I cried. My friend was utterly vulnerable. She
was trussed up, bound, gagged. Yet her nipples were quite forcibly
presented, as was the wet openness of her cunt. Petra payed me no
attention. She whacked Beth’s nipples. She flicked the crop hard
against her tummy, leaving small red marks. She slapped its loop down
upon Beth’s wide-open cunt.
Bethany began to sob. It must have hurt her quite badly, I
thought, to have that nasty crop whacking her slit. Petra laughed.
“Fetch towels, Bow. The men must have something nice and soft to kneel
on,” she told her little niece.
Bow scurried off to the back of the cell. I saw towels stacked
there, all soft and fluffy, as if, in this nearly waterless cell, we
were going to have a bath. She picked up a half dozen towels and
returned with them. She looked so sweet, the towels piled right up to
her eyes. Petra took them from her, one by one, and laid them down on
the floor in front of Bethany’s spread cuntlips.
“Ah, Luke. Are you ready?” Petra asked, when she was done.
She tossed her whip and feather to the floor. Bow scampered over to
them and picked them up.
“Don’t hit me with that,” I warned the girl. Eagerly she
swished the forgotten crop through the air. Petra, meanwhile, reached
beckoningly for Luke’s cock. He placed its warm length in her palm.
Her hand was much too small to contain all of him. Even both her hands,
grasping him, would have left some of his length extruding out beyond
her gripping hands. As it was, with just one hand holding him, she
looked rather like she was trying to take hold of a big knockwurst
sausage with just a small delicate white bun.
Petra drew Luke by his penis over to where Bethany sat
waiting. Through tear-clouded eyes, the girl watched Luke kneel down
before her. He flexed his bare behind. He gazed at her. He leaned
forward and, gallantly, placed a kiss on her small indrawn tummy. Then
he kneed forward a little, on the towels. His big purplish cockhead
bumped against her wet slit.
“Oh!” Bethany cried. Her teeth chattered against her gag. Big
tears rolled down her cheeks but, suddenly, she was no longer sobbing,
just crying quietly. Did she accept his presence, pressed against her
dell? I didn’t know. But I was too entranced by how big he was, and
how small her little opening looked, to interfere. Could Luke really
get that big sausage-like thing of his up into Bethany’s cunt? I feared
he would try. I knew he would. But I didn’t say anything, just stared,
waiting.
“Yeeeeoooch!” Bethany howled. Suddenly, quite deliberately,
Luke jabbed at her cunt with his lance. Some of him managed to stick
himself into her. The girl twisted her head. She tried vainly to
separate the gag from her teeth, working her mouth, so that she might
protest more vocally. Luke’s bare bottom flexed again. The motion
caused him to sink even deeper within her. Bethany shouted. I leaned
forward. I was curious. He was in her now. Up to almost a third of
his cock. I touched my belly. Would I too feel him in me, before the
night was over? I guessed I would. How big he was! He looked like he
would rip her open, yet I saw no blood, just the big thick stem of his
cock, slowly sliding up into her.
“Ugh! God! She’s tight!” Luke said, gritting his teeth. He
gave another shove. More of his manhood disappeared inside her.
Bethany shouted at the ceiling but none of us paid her the least
attention. We were too entranced by Luke’s progress. He flexed his
bare buns, and more of himself sunk into her. He was almost completely
up her now. I wondered how she could take all of him. She was only
12. Where was she managing to put him? I feared at any minute his
cockhead might push its way out between her lips, and show itself,
bulging, under her gag.
“Ah!” Luke gasped. He was in her completely now. His balls
swung under his cock, happily. They knew salvation was close at hand.
Luke drew back. His cock began sliding out of her. It was wet with her
juices. Bethany gave a sigh of relief. But too soon, I fear. For just
as Luke was about to withdraw his head, he rammed himself forward.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Bethany yelled. It sounded like a
never-ending scream. I don’t know when it finally died away. It seemed
to continue forever. Luke slammed himself up inside her. Then, just as
I thought he might spend, relieving both himself and her, he drew back.
And, maliciously, just before withdrawing from her completely, he shoved
himself forward again. In and out he moved now. His asscheeks clenched
tight as he worked. His balls grew more taut. He stuck her repeatedly
with his big prong, as if sticking a piglet with a sword in order to
kill it for dinner. Bethany was in turmoil. Her neck twisted, her
mouth worked at her gag. She wrenched at her bonds, trying to free her
hands. It was no use. All her struggles were fruitless. She was open
and exposed and there was nothing she could do, nothing at all, to stop
Luke’s assualt on her privates.
“You’re up next,” Petra told Robin. He was fisting himself.
She made him desist. To keep him happy she glided her fingertips across
the top of his cock. But she didn’t touch him underneath, for a touch
there might have triggered his release.
I slid my hand down my belly. I sighed. I touched my slit.
Ah, I did not wish to play with my opening, but how could I not? It was
so erotic, watching little Bethany have to take big Luke up her snatch.
And he an adult, and she just a child. Was there ever such a
mis-matched couple? He was big and strong. His job was building tall
buildings, in Mexico City. He was a welder. He welded together beams
on the skyscrapers. Bethany was just a girl, a seventh-grade girl, to
be sure, but just a year past the lunch box-toting days of primary
school. She had a Barbi lunchbox. We used to play a little game on the
back of her lunch box, moving pennies across a printed board to see who
could get to Ken first. Now she had Ken inside her. He pumped her
lustily. She moaned, tried to sit up, couldn’t. She could only receive
him. She could only lie there, and entertain him with her feminine
cries, and wait for him to release himself into her.
He did, at last. With a final series of manful thrusts he gave
himself completely to her. When he rose, sperm dripped from her wet
cunt. He turned away. His schlong looked less elongated now. It hung
between his legs, like a spent snake. It no longer stood up stiffly.
My Robin was still stiff. He walked past me, his cock carving
the air before him with wobbling flourishes. He knelt before Bethany.
Her eyes widened. Perhaps she had thought her ordeal was over. Not
quite. Not until Robin satisfied himself. I felt my tummy tighten. I
wanted to rush forward, to free her. But Robin was quick. Before I
could even move, he gave her the first stab of his cock.
“EEEEEEEEK!” Bethany blurted, through her gag. Robin ground
into her. He was hungry. He shoved with quick thrusts of his hips. I
thought poor Bethany might pass out. Her eyes rolled in her head.
Robin gazed at her fiercely. In he went, deeper, and then when he
finally got himself all the way into her he pulled back.
Ah, how vicious it was. I had to turn away for a moment. She
was too helpless. This was no match of equals, or even of half-equals.
She was bound, was only a child. He was a full-grown man, and free to
move against and within her however he wished.
Annette touched my bottom. I turned. Her lips sought mine. I
was grateful. I did not wish to see anymore Bethany’s sufferings. I
threw my arms up around Annette’s neck. She clasped my waist. We
kissed. I felt a finger slip up between my legs. Whose was it? Not
Annette’s. I could feel both her palms holding me by my hips. I
pressed close to her, my tummy to hers, my breasts crushed against her
own. Then the finger between my legs was replaced by a bubble wand. I
heard a childish giggle.
“Ah! No!” I gasped, murmured. My words were lost in Annette’s
seeking lips. The bubble wand found my clit and scraped against it.
“Mmmf! mmmmmm! Mmmff!” I cried. Wildly I rubbed my belly to
Annette’s. My nipples clashed with hers. Our muffs, pressed close,
intertwined their springy curled hairs.
“Our bottoms are next,” Annette confessed to me through
close-pressed lips.
“Yes!” I whined back at her. I shivered. I felt her trembling
against me. Would we be able to endure it? I knew not. We were both
virgins, untested in our hineys. It would be a struggle, I knew, taking
those big men up our butts. I prayed we could do it. Otherwise, I
feared, I might die down here, and never see the morning, my ass split
wide, myself left as limp and lifeless as the smiling teddy bears Bow
and I had carried down with us.
Robin finished his work. He coughed. He rose. I separated
myself from Annette. We clasped hands. We stood close, our cunnies wet
and needing attention. Bethany, poor girl, had a surfeit of attention.
I dripped out of her in great, white blobs. She looked like some little
fertility goddess, that all the men in the tribe had paid tribue to.
Petra walked up to her. She bent, kissed the girl on the cheek. Then
she began untying her.
At last Bethany was permitted to stand. She could barely do
it, she was so thoroughly plumbed and defiled by the men. Her knees
wobbled. Her ribs heaved beneath her wobbling breasts. Her mouth
opened, shut. Her eyes blinked. I knew she must be sore. I wondered
what my bottom would feel like after both men had finished putting
themselves to me in that manner. Would I have to take both of them? I
wondered. I did not know. I hoped they didn’t have enough stuff in
them to go three rounds. Yet, curiously, another part of my mind wished
they might be capable of going forever.
We walked back to the couched. Bethany was picked up and
carried by Luke, she was so unsteady on her feet. He dropped her onto
one of the sofas. Immediately she rolled over onto her belly. She hid
her face in her arms. I sat down beside her. I stroked her soft hair.
It was all tangled from her struggles. She whimpered something, telling
me to desist, I think, but I kept caressing her hair anyway, hoping to
make her feel better. She kicked her feet. Bow was going to sit down
next to her feet but when she almost got kicked she removed herself to
the other couch. Both men sat there, and Petra, and Annette. Annette
had to sit on Robin’s lap. I felt a little jealous at that. Bow
climbed up onto Luke’s lap.
“Oooohhh, your thing is getting big again,” Bow told Luke.
“I guess you’re inspiring me,” Luke kidded her. Bow smiled.
She tossed back her blonde hair.
“Don’t play with his penis,” Petra warned Bow. “Come sit next
to me.” But the girl didn’t listen. Instead, quite inquisitively, she
touched and fondled Luke’s growing member.
“Will it shoot white stuff onto me?” Bow asked Luke.
“Hopefully not,” Luke answered.
Petra rose and poured more wine for us. She gave me a glass,
and Annette. I sipped mine. Annette would have to share with both Luke
and Robin, I guessed. I didn’t mind. We were closer now. We could
share and share alike with our lovers.
“I hope both you girls are ready to lose your anal virginity,”
Petra told myself and Annette. She said nothing. Neither did I.
Finally she nodded, just a bit, and then quickly took another sip of her
wine.
“Fine. I’m going to whip you both a little first, to warm you
up for it,” Petra said. “You’ll relax more once the whip has plied some
of your more anxious emotions out of you.”
“I’m still sore from last night,” I protested.
“I’ll go more lightly on you, but you must have some, all the
same,” Petra told me. “And Annette, of course, having never been
whipped, must have the full treatment.”
“What will you --?” Annette gulped. “What will you use... on
my bottom?” she managed to say, gulping again when she’d finally gotten
the question out of her throat. I saw her mouth tighten. She took
refuge in her wine, sipping it again. Her big eyes looked up at Petra
from the rim of her uptilted glass.
“Why, there is such a variety of things available,” Petra
replied. “Isn’t there? Spanking straps, single-thonged whips, cats.
Which would you prefer, my dear?” Petra asked. Annette stiffened. I
don’t know if she’d been seeking to make the choice herself. She turned
around. Over the back of the couch she could see, in the distance, all
the items of flagellation displayed on the peg board, where the gags
hung. I gazed at her bare shoulders, her slim bare arms, the line of
her spine running down her curving back. I felt a great love for her
then, and a great admiration too, for she knew whatever she chose must
hurt. That was it’s purpose.
“The--” she pointed. “That one,” she said. “With the tails.”
“The cat? Brave girl!” Petra said. She walked up to Annette
and stroked the girl’s long red hair. Annette shivered at her touch.
“It will lash your bottom most exquisitely, and leave long red marks in
its wake,” Petra told her. “You won’t be able to sit for a week.”
“That’s -- if it’s to be any of them -- that’s the one I want,
all the same,” Annette said. Her voice was small, submissive. She had
no more wine to drink. Graciously Petra took her glass from her and
went to the table and refilled it.
The men were soon stiff again, with all the talk of which whip
we might take on our bottoms. I chose the single-thonged whip. I was
not as bold as Annette. I knew how much a cat could hurt, if it was
applied with vigor. She was utterly new to the sport, and naive in her
newness. By morning she would understand better.
Petra needed more baby oil, but could find none. She swore.
The maid, apparently, had forgotten it, though she remembered much else;
the flowers, the bucket, the ice, the wine.
“We could use my bubble potion,” Bow offered.
“Why yes! That’s nice and oily,” Petra declared.
“But only if I get to put it on the men’s penises,” Bow
insisted. Petra frowned. She did not like seeing her 8-year-old niece
sport so casually with the men. At the rate she was going, she’d be
pregant before her 12th birthday. But she could hardly stop the girl,
at least in this matter. Sensing she’d won, for there was nothing else
we could do, Bow began using her bubble wand to spread bubble lotion
across the men’s dicks. The men shivered. The girl was, after all,
only 8, a freshly-minted graduate of the third grade. But they could do
little except present their cocks to her. They were excited in their
stiffness and longed to puncture the bottoms of Annette and myself. If
they expected to be successful, they had to be re-greased for the
venture. Bottoms did not wetten like pussies, though, I was soon to
learn, they might offer up some moisture when the event was fully
underway.
With the men dripping with Bow’s bubble fluid, Petra bid us to
rise. We did, all shivering a little, I think, for we were all so bare
and naked and about to embark on forbidden acts. She drew us into the
back of the cell. There, I saw to my surprise, behind a big rack, where
a girl might be hung up by her wrists and tortured, were two padded
bolsters. They were made of leather. There was a depression in the
middle of each where other girls had obviously left their mark. Petra
took my hand. She drew me to the bolster. I looked down at it. It
rose to the level of my tummy. It looked soft. Comfort would not be a
problem, until, that was, the men, Luke or Robin, quartered my bottom.
Petra laughed. She knew I was nervous. My bottom cheeks were
clenching. She pushed me over the bolster and I let myself fall,
knowing I must. I gasped. My belly bounced upon the bolster and then
settled nicely upon it. I hung with my head down in front and my toes
scraping the floor behind me. My bottom was lofted high, on full view
to the eyes of the men. I saw a bar and gripped it. It gave me
confidence. Behind me I felt Petra draw my legs apart.
My ankles were bound to the sides of the trestle. Then my
wrists, to the bar in front. I gripped it tightly, even though, once
bound to it, there was no way to separate myself from it. I closed my
eyes. I felt female fingers come to my lips. A gag was inserted. It
would spare me embarrassing words in the heat of the battle.
I heard Annette cast down over the bar beside me. I opened my
eyes. I turned my head. She gazed at the floor. Her eyes widened when
she felt her legs separated behind her. She gripped the bar that hung
low between the legs of her trestle, as I gripped mine. She waited.
Her breath, exhaling, blew at her hair that hung down all round her
face. When she relaxed, briefly, lowering her head, her hair fell back
from her face and, mane-like, dropped in long red curls all the way to
the floor. I watched her, feeling my own sighs, my own wrigglings
against the bonds which held me. Petra came around to her front and
tied off her wrists. Then Petra went behind her again.
“Oh!” Annette suddenly blurted. I twisted my head, looked
back.
“Be still, girl. You know I must do this,” Petra scolded. I
saw to my surprise that Petra was dipping her finger into Bow’s bottle
of bubble fluid. Drawing it out, she poked Annette in her bottom. I
guessed she must be oiling Annette’s bottomhole with her finger. I was
next. I watched as Annette, flinching and trying to rise, suffered the
intrusion. At last Petra was done. She walked over to me.
“Oh, I doth neeth any,” I tried to say through my gag. But I
felt fingers pry apart my bottom. Then, a moment later, something hard,
with a sharp nail on it, circled my anus. It felt wet, oily. I
jerked. It drove in, punishing me. I gasped.
“They are ready,” Petra told the men. “Do you desire to whip
them, or shall I have the honors?”
“You forgot to gag her,” Robin said of Annette.
“Oh, yes. No matter,” Petra said. “Let her boyfriend hear her
screams. He will enjoy them. It’s her first time.”
“Please let me up?” Annette asked. She spoke in a small,
squeaky voice, like a little mouse hoping for mercy from a cat.
“Ah, she is going to be too vocal,” Petra decided. “Bow, bring
me a gag for her.”
And so Annette was gagged, over her protests, her mouth even
trying, I think, to bite at Petra’s fingers. Luke helped her with the
task. When she was muffled I looked over at her. She looked foolish.
Her eyes were gaping wide, her teeth were apart. The gag was pushed
deep into her mouth, making her lips look like fish-lips, gasping for
oxygen. Yet I knew I must look the same, to her, for I was gagged too.
I heard the swish of a whip. It frightened me. I pulled at my
bonds. They did not give way.
“Which of you shall I do first, hmmm?” Petra asked us. Of
course, being gagged, neither of us could answer. I wondered how we
might have, though, if we could have done more than just mumble. Did I
hear myself saying, ‘Do her?’ Or was it ‘Do me. Get it over with
please.’ I felt confused in my fright. I wiggled my fanny. Was I
inviting her to strike it, to do me first, to finish with me, so that I
might rise, or did I hope somehow to ward off her blows by wiggling my
ass? The wine, I think, had made me a little heady. Perhaps that was
best. I knew, whichever of us went first, I would feel awful when the
whip finally connected with my bare flesh.
“SHEEEEEEEEK!” Sounded suddenly beside me. I jerked my head to
my right. Annette had gone rigid. I realized that the whip had struck
her. The sound of its report echoed in my ears, blended with her
scream. Her breasts, hanging beneath her, wobbled like fruit on a tree
in a storm. “YEEEEOOOCH!” Annette shouted again. Again the
whip struck her. I suspected they were using the cat. How it must
sting, I thought, all those knotted tails biting into her soft, tender
flesh. And it was hitting her where it was sure to hurt most, too.
Against the curving cheeks of her seat. I hoped she didn’t plan to do
any sitting soon.
I watched her torment. I knew I was next. Blow followed
blow. Annette writhed and shook, cried, protested. Her bosoms joggled
under her, needing a bra, having none, all exposed to whatever
depredations they might wish to visit upon her. Her ribs stood out
along her frightened sides, heaved with her gasps. I counted them. I
wondered if she would make a tasty meal of spare ribs for cannibals.
Big tears rolled down Annette’s face. They wet her long red
locks of hair. Petra and the men took their time with her. There was
no rush. When at last, perhaps a half hour later, they were finally
done with her, they left her to sob and cry while they turned to me.
I suffered my blows little better than Annette had. Each one
seemed to burn anew into my bottom, making my sore tushy cringe at its
touch. They were not as considerate of my previous punishment as I’d
hoped they’d be. I think they liked seeing my bottom react. It would
tighten as the lash hit, then rebound outward as the lash leaped away.
Burning, I’d squeeze my seat cheeks together, but that would only
impress the pain more into me. Finally, hopelessly, I’d let my bottom
relax into the air. It would bulge out, like a big pumpkin trying to
rise up into the sky. That made them laugh. It looked like I was
asking for more.
At last we were both weeping and crying, undressed, oiled,
flayed. Prepared. Luke came to me. Robin took Annette. I was forced
to watch as Robin entered her. I did not want to, but Luke waited, and
made me turn my head to see her. I watched her face as it reacted to
his entrance. She gasped. She blubbered protests through her tears.
But there was no stopping him. He was hungry to spend again. No amount
of tightness, even in her poor bottom, was going to deter him.
When Robin was fully embedded in her, Luke presented himself to
me. I felt a spear split the cheeks of my ass. I shivered at his
touch. His orgain was intruding between my hemispheres. It felt like a
big banana was trying to insert itself up into my cleft.
“No!” I cried. It was awful! I felt his big plum-like knob at
my portal. He bumped against me, as if knocking. “No!” I cried again.
I twisted my head. He was too big! He ignored me. I felt a sudden
thrust. Inward it came, splitting me. I was being invaded by a big
knob coated with Bow’s bubble fluid. Did I hear her giggling, somewhere
behind me?
“Ahhhh! God!” I cried through my gag. His hands gripped me.
My bottom was burning from the whip. I did not want to be touched,
anywhere. Least of all on my fanny. Yet he gripped me, oblivious to my
pain. I struggled. He did not mind. I think it inspired him. He
drove deeper into my fanny. I could feel the big tube of the stem of
his prick following his hard cockhead into me. I tried to squeeze him
out. He laughed. I think he liked the tightness of me, the
resistance. I felt like a burning pike was being shoved into my ass.
“YEEEEEE!” Annette hollared beside me. Robin was beginning to
work her. In and out his cock drove, making her buck with each of her
thrusts. I was still being invaded. I could not stop Luke, much as I
tried. I felt him bend over me. His hairy belly pressed against my
upturned ass, my back. I felt his weight upon me. His kisses showered
my neck. I tried to buck him off. I felt him slide in deeper as a
result.
30
Annette
Luke
Lisa
Bethany
Bow
Petra
Robin
Verona
Alfonse
Rico
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of
my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians.
-Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net
-formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com,
roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search
under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant
bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.)
-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
-For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com
- Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age
statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 272 EMISSION
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /