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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Nudie Nursery part 4 of 5 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
NUDIE NURSERY
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Four
“Wake up, you sleepyheads! You have visitors!” I heard
somewhere beyond the clouds of my dreams. My mother, I thought. And
then I realized that there must be two of us, me and somebody else, and
for a moment I lay there wondering, with eyes closed, why on Earth I’d
decided to actually sleep over at my friend’s house? I mean, I used her
as an excuse. Her face was full of zits and she wore hornrimmed glasses
and her knowledge of boys centered exclusively around an (ever growing)
collection of issues of Tiger Beat.
I felt a nipple nudge me. Her breasts were not that plump.
And then, quite suddenly, as a half-dried, half-licked sticky lollipop
plopped against my cheek, I realized that I was not at home at all, or
even in L.A., but in Caracas!
A sweet tropical air wafted in through the door as it stood
open beyond the figure of Jasmine. She wore a simple t-shirt,
much-scissored, and cutoffs. She appeared to be absolutely blooming, as
if she’d spent the night being nourished on men’s sperm. And, rubbing
my eyes, I realized she’d been doing just that, and with my Brent no
less! I gazed at her firm, tanned legs, breathtakingly long, mounted on
jelly heels to loft her bottom even higher than nature itself already
had. Her bosoms thrust themselves at me as if they were twin zeppelins
launching into the warm summer air. She tossed her head. She put her
hands on her hips to let us know that, much as we might hate her, she
was very much in charge. Within the curling fingers of one hand she
held a no-nonsense riding crop. She slapped it lightly against her
thigh. I felt like I was a girl at boarding school and realized, to my
heartbeating surprise, that I may as well be, given how little freedom I
had. Except this school ommitted the three R’s in favor of the three
S’s: sucking, spanking, and submitting.
Three rowdy young males in their twenties sauntered into our
bedchamber behind Jasmine. I recognized none of them. Two had crewcuts
and the third sported hair to his shoulders. They looked like American
Football players. But they behaved like farmers at a cattle auction.
Jasmine yanked down the bedcover and exposed myself and Missy.
“See? They are lovely creatures, don’t you think?” Jasmine
asked her guests.
“Mite young, eh?” one male said to his buddy.
“Tits are nice, long legs, roll over, girls!” his friend
replied. Missy and I stared wide-eyed at them. We found each other on
the sheet and hugged each other for safety.
Jasmine struck our denuded sheet with her crop. “Do as you’re
told, girls!” she shouted. Missy and I flopped over on our bellies and
showed them our bottoms.
“Who marked them?” the intellectual one, in the middle, who’d
analyzed our breasts and limbs for us, asked. He was the one with long
hair.
“I did, last night,” Jasmine replied. “They are being
trained.”
“You provide this... this service... it is included?” the
intellectual asked.
“If you wish. It is customary,” Jasmine replied. “Your
girlfriend would be put in this room, or one of the other two. They
share a communal bath in the center.”
Olaf strode in from the bathroom and Jasmine introduced him.
“This is Olaf, and you might be able to meet David, if he’s not busy
with Sally. She requires extra attention. Olaf is gay, so you needn’t
worry about him guarding your girlfriend. David is sterner but not
gay. I usually put the little ones, like these two, with Olaf.” Missy
and I looked at each other and then hid our faces back in our pillows.
I was all too aware of my hiney sticking up behind me. There was
nothing to save me if Jasmine chose to strike. I gripped the corners of
my pillow with my fingers. I wanted desperately to reach back and cup
my bottom in my palms, but we’d been flipped over to show our tushies,
not hide them. I was learning. Later I wondered if I might have gotten
away with lifting up my heels, hiding myself a little with my legs, but
at the time I didn’t think of it.
“I will have my girlfriend brought, then,” the intellectual
told Jasmine. “These two, they look ripe for fucking. You wouldn’t
mind if I hop on the bed and do them, would you?” I froze as I heard
his zipper unzip.
Jasmine sauntered over to him and clasped his zipper between
his fingers. Sneaking a peek over her shoulder, Missy told me that it
looked like she was going (to her, at least) to pull out his cock, but
instead Jasmine zipped him back up.
“You must understand that they are the property of another,”
Jasmine told our intellectual friend. “Just as I will protect your
girlfriend, so I must protect them.”
“I will gladly pay,” the intellectual footballer said, reaching
into his pocket. Mindy whispered to me what was happening as she stole
her peeks.
“Not now, but I’ll let you warm up with them,” Jasmine smiled.
“There are, let me see, why there are three chairs here! Sit down,
boys, and go ahead and unzip yourselves. Play with yourselves freely,
but try not to shoot! If you can hold yourselves in I’ll finish you off
when I’m done with these two!”
“Now that’s a bargain!” the two crew-cut footballers agreed,
though Missy thought the intellectual one might have been a bit miffed.
The three of them swaggered to chairs arranged across from our bed and
plopped down and undid their pants. Out, like three big bananas, came
their cocks. At once, with sly glances at each other, they began
jacking themselves.
“Missy! Kelly! You two are quite fortunate; you especially,
Kelly. You’ve won a reprieve from your morning spankings. Get up! No
spankings! Brent wants to take you both out and he wants you to be able
to sit down.” Jasmine clapped her hands and Missy and I flipped back
onto our bottoms, both of us wincing a little as we bounced them on the
soft sheet of the bed. I could still feel the marks she’d given me.
Jasmine smiled as she saw me feel them. They were like dull streaks of
fire across my heinie. Jasine took my hand and pulled me from my bed.
Missy, like a kid sister, hopped out of bed behind me.
“First we must measure you,” Jasmine told us. “Over there!
Both of you, against the wall! Let’s see how tall you are!” I noticed
a Sesame Street measuring tape, a foot broad, running up the side of the
bedroom wall. It was behind the door and Jasmine marched both Missy and
I over to it. I had to step over the stretched out legs of one of the
footballers to reach the tape. I think he reached out to pinch my naked
fanny but Jasmine sluiced her whip down between his reaching fingers and
my bulbing ass, protecting me from his touch.
I backup up to a Smiling picture of Big Bird. Amidst his
yellow feathers the tape measure ran. He smiled, gaily, holding up the
measurer. Jasmine put her crop flat against the top of my head and
announced my height. Then she did the same to Missy.
“Up with your arms, girls, I must measure your busts,” Jasmine
said. She produced a small rolled tape measure from her jeans pocket,
made of soft cloth. She had me stand out a little from the wall and she
wrapped the tape right round my nipples, indenting them. She did my
hips next, then measured me from my pubic thatch to my neck. She did
the same with Missy. All the while our three male visitors played with
their big pricks, watching. Jasmine bent and measured my feet. Her
jeans rode up her hips in back and showed the men the undercheeks of her
bottom.
“God, what an ass! I get first dibs on plunging into that!”
one of the crewcut lads proclaimed. Jasmine just smiled, and went on to
measure Missy’s feet. We both had small feet. The Chinese would have
liked them.
“Alright, girls! Just a little more trimming and your coats
should be ready. Brent’s bought you both new fur coats to make you feel
special.” She smiled at me. Did I have two fur coats now? “But
remember, whatever you’re given here is for his pleasure, girls,”
Jasmine continued. “Don’t think the furs are yours, even if they’re
specially made. You are both little toys, and he owns you, and he owns
the clothes on your back, too. So enjoy them, but don’t treasure them.
He’ll buy you some very nice things when you both get sent home, if
you’ve made him happy.” There was a look in her eyes of warning, and
promise. She tossed her lovely dark hair and smiled a possessive smile.
“Do we HAVE to dress in front of those three lugs?” Missy
declared. She was as eager to get into clothes as I.
“Girls, you should know I am the absolute feminist,” Jasmine
said. She put a hand to Missy’s hair and brushed it with her fingers.
“But there is a time to control, and there is a time to be controlled.
And,” she added, conspiratorially, “there is even such a thing as
controlling by submitting, and by being beautiful. Do boys like you,
Missy?”
“Of course,” Missy said scornfully. She tossed her hair and
seemed not to wish to have Jasmine attend to it.
“And they would kill each other to have you, wouldn’t they?”
Jasmine asked. Missy looked at her, guessed at her meaning, and
smiled. “And all you need do is look beautiful, hmmm?” Jasmine reached
out and made Missy let her brush at her hair.
“Well,” Missy looked down at her toes. I looked down at mine
and I watched as hers curled up under her feet and I copied her.
Missy’s breath exhaled and her tummy protruded a moment, as if she were
but a sweet teddy bear.
“Here you exist for the pleasure of men,” Jasmine said to us
both. She put a hand under Missy’s chin and lifted her eyes so that she
was forced to look up at her. “No complaining, sweet dear. I will
protect you from men, as I see fit. Otherwise, you are to not worry the
least about them. If they wish to gawk, let them! They are twice your
age.”
Missy pulled her chin away from Jasmine’s fingers and gazed at
our three paramours. “I don’t like them,” she sniffed. “Two have hair
that’s too short, and one has hair that’s too long. And as for their...
THINGIES... well, they’re nice I guess, but I’m not in the mood this
morning!” Missy stomped out past Jasmine, past the men, and over to my
vanity. She found her lollipop on my pillow and plucked it from the
bed. Standing in front of the vanity’s mirror, sucking her lollipop,
she brushed back her hair with her hand. Her heinie, bare as the day
she was born, tensed and released, then tensed again.
“That girl is just begging to be spanked!” Jasmine said to
herself, aloud, under her breath. I brushed back my own hair and
followed her, much more modestly, back across the room to where Missy
stood.
Jasmine made us both stand facing the mirror. She palmed our
bottoms. We were glorious as newborns, but she was past pampering us.
“Missy, you will do just as I say, or I swear you’ll stay behind and not
get to go out with Brent and Kelly. You’ll be spanked until you can’t
sit, and then you’ll be made to clean all the bathroom floor in my house
with a sponge in your mouth. And, just in case you think that’s fun,
I’ll have these three ‘lugs,’ as you call them, pee on the floors for
you!”
I put my hands to my mouth and failed to suppress a giggle. I
don’t know what Missy thought of all that, but I guess she decided being
laughed at by me was more than she wished to bear.
“Okay,” Missy said, but kept on licking her lollipop as she
spoke, as if to muffle her consent so it could barely be heard.
Jasmine slapped Missy’s bottom. The girl stood up on her
tippy-toes. Her fanny was still sore from last night.
“Owoooh!” Missy keened. Ruefully she reached back and rubbed
her bottom.
“Yes, little one, you are going to be sexually trained,”
Jasmine said to her. “You’re too big to just be spanked like a bad
girl. I’m giving you to Brent and I expect you to be on your best
behavior. You’ll be a woman when you leave here. Your parents won’t
know what to think!”
I realized, standing there in the all together, that I had to
go to the bathroom. I put my hands to my pussy, discreetly. It had
been so amazing, waking up to the sight of three althetic men in my
room, I’d not even thought of my bladder!
Jasmine saw my hands in the mirror. She laughed. She looked
down at me and I, with a self-conscious wriggle of my bottom, looked up
at her. “Gentlemen, you’re about to see two little girls pee!” Jasmine
called out. She looked over her shoulder at our guests. I blushed. My
fingers fidgeted in my nest. Missy’s cheeks colored. She had to go
just as I did.
We peed for them in the bathroom. Missy managed to slip in
ahead of me and I had to wait while she peed. She pretended like she
had to do number two also, but Jasmine yanked her up from the toilet. I
went next, the men watching. They were intrigued. You’d have thought
they were watching sports.
Jasmine had Missy and I take a quick dip in the tub. Then we
put on new makeup, and brushed out our hair. The men watched, rubbing
themselves. One of them almost came as I bent forward to put on some
lipstick.
Back in the bedroom, Jasmine had a new surprise for us. She
handed Missy and I each a teensy pile of string.
“Put these on,” Jasmine told us.
“What are they?” Missy asked.
“Bikinis, silly,” I guessed. They were even smaller than the
ones Sherry and I had worn.
Missy untangled her bikini and stared at it. “I can’t tell
which is the top and which is the bottom!” she said. And, looking at
mine, I could see I had the same problem. There were two tiny pieces of
fabric for the bra cups, and two tiny pieces of fabric for the front and
back of our panties.
“This half looks like the panties to me, try it on!” Jasmine
told Missy. She pointed to me which half I should try first. I put the
bra on the vanity and slipped the bikini panties around my waist.
Pulling them through my crotch, I realized to my horror that nothing but
string went through my labial lips.
“This must be the bra!” I said hopefully. But a glance at
Jasmine told me it wasn’t so. These were, indeed, the panties. A
miniscule triangle of fabric hoped (vainly) to cover my pubic delta. My
tail, meanwhile, had a little vee of fabric centered at the base of my
bottom cheeks. It hid perhaps an inch of my bottomcrack. The rest of
me was left bare.
“I’m afraid Brent picked out bedroom bikinis for you girls to
wear to brunch with him,” Jasmine smiled at Missy and me. We stood half
in and mostly out of our bikinis, staring at her, holding the string of
our undies in our hands and wondering whether there was any point in
even tying them on. Jasmine assured us that we did, indeed, have to tie
ourselves into them. The men watched Missy and I as we struggled with
the loose bits of string. Finally, after much suffering, we managed to
get all suited up in both our nothing undies and our postage stamp bras.
I looked at myself in the vanity mirror. A string as thin as
spaghetti crossed over the mounds of my breasts. Where my two nipples
protruded, two small cups, made of felt-like fabric, attempted to keep
me modest. As I stared at myself my nipples perked up and the twin
little cups rose up like tiny peaked mountains. They bared my areolas,
leaving nothing but the tips of my nipples themselves covered! Down
below my belly, meanwhile, my pubic thatch showed itself as naturally as
if I were naked. Somewhere down where my legs met, a small bit of
fabric showed. Spaghetti drawstrings crossing my waistline dipped down
to the pouch. But it was so insubstantial as to only offer itself as a
decoration. Beyond, between my squeezing thighs, I had nothing but a
string running through my cunt lips. And then, where the cheeks of my
bottom tensed together, there was another useless bit of fabric. It was
a little V-shaped morsel, more an embarassment than anything else, and
it offered, quite pointlessly, to cover the lowest bit of my asscrack.
“Did these shrink in the drier?” I asked Jasmine. She smiled.
“You wouldn’t want to get your bikini wet,” she assured me.
“It’s made of cashmere and it would just come apart. Try not to,
well...” she smiled conspiratorially. “Don’t get too excited!”
I stepped back from the mirror and adjusted the cups of my
bra. Even though the cups were the tiniest morsels of fabric
imaginable, they still worked like any other bikini cups, having string
running through their undersides. I had to tug on them to get them
centered just right over what little of me they covered. Whenever I
moved, they seemed to move too. I reached back and untied my top and
then retied it, more tightly. Hopefully that would hold them.
“Wah! This won’t stay on!” Missy lamented. She was finding
her bikini as frustrating to wear as I was mine. Jasmine retied her top
and bottom for her. I did my bottoms up again and then, turning to walk
to the bathroom to get a hairbrush I liked, I felt a shivery tingle run
up inside me.
“Ooooh! This soft little string rubs me right on my clitty!” I
exclaimed. I suppose, with men in the room, I shouldn’t have been quite
so descriptive, but the feeling the string made just caused me to blurt
it right out.
Jasmine laughed. Missy, who was having her bottoms tied up,
took a step, experimentally, and felt the same sensation.
“Hmmm, it must be a design flaw,” Jasmine said. I glared at
her.
“Don’t tell me they forgot to put in the crotch of our undies
by accident!” I said. Missy took another step. Jasmine clapped a hand
to her belly and made her hold still.
“We should go hiking in these,” Missy said to me.
“Yeah, right.” I replied. I wasn’t too keen on having an
orgasm with every step but she seemed to like it. When Jasmine had
finished tying her up she tugged on her bottoms to make them fit into
her as snugly as possible.
“Oooh, these are so naughty,” Missy said admiringly. She
pranced around the room, emitting little gasps with every step. “Are we
going to an orgy?” she asked. I think she was somehow supposing we were
dressing for breakfast in the East Wing of the building.
“Why no, dear. You’re going OUT for brunch,” Jasmine smiled.
“Out in public.”
Missy frowned and looked at Jasmine. “Nobody is going to let
us into their restuarant dressed in these,” she said. Even little Missy
wasn’t naive enough to be fooled about that, her face seemed to say, as
she knitted her brows. Her tummy popped out again, teddy-bear like.
She still looked skinny even when she stuck out her tummy. Her navel
twinkled. With her hips thrust forward and her sighing tummy sticking
out, she seemed even younger than she was. She put her thumb in her
mouth, contemplatively.
I guessed the answer. “The furs,” I said.
“That’s right. I should call over with your measurements,”
Jasmine said. She walked over to one of the men and asked to borrow his
portable phone. He gave it to her, and she dialed somebody in the other
wing. She reported our measurements as Missy and I took little steps in
our bikinis, testing them, letting them rub us, watching our bra cups to
make sure they didn’t slip off our nipples.
“I like white,” Missy said, looking in the mirror at her
bikini.
“Your bikinis are white for purity,” Jasmine said, returning
the phone to our suitors. “I hope you both maintain the high standards
your white bikinis imply,” she added. I touched the triangle of fabric
at the base of my pubic curls and tugged on it. I wished I could pull
it up higher. What if the butler at the restaurant asked to remove my
coat?
“Jasmine,” I moaned. “These swimsuits are awful. They’re more
trouble than they’re worth! Can’t we please put on something else?”
“Up til now you’ve both worn bikinis for your own pleasure,”
Jasmine answered. “Here, you will wear bikinis and other things for the
pleasure of men. Don’t expect them to fit, or be comfortable. They’re
designed to show as much as conceal. When you’ve been trained, you may
wear what you wish. But until then, you’re dolls, girls. Pretty little
slaves for Brent to kiss and pet and be delighted in.”
“And spank too,” Missy said, with open-eyed frankness, sticking
out her hips and her tummy and clapping her hands to her bottom.
“Well, dear, you DO have a reputation for being naughty,”
Jasmine said.
“I promise I’ll try to reform myself!” Missy offered. Jasmine
sliced her crop through the air, just missing the girl’s thighs, forcing
her to jump back.
“You’re too cute to reform yourself,” Jasmine smiled. “But you
may try if you wish. I’m sure we’ll all appreiciate it, even if it
doesn’t spare you.”
I ran my fingers tenderly over my heinie. I turned and looked
at my ass in the mirror. Across the fleshy white cheeks of my bottom,
high and proud and firm, ran traces of last night’s whipping. My bikini
panties, which did almost nothing to hide my fanny, made my marks look
even more ominous, as if I were just a bottom for whipping, nothing
more.
“Jasmine, please don’t whip me ever again,” I said. I was
quite serious. Were we not equals now, more or less? A firm gaze from
her dispelled that hope.
“You’re not being whipped this morning so you can sit down like
a proper young lady when Brent takes you to brunch,” Jasmine said to
me. She stuck her crop right into the front of my panties and pried
them away from my bush. I felt the loop of her long crop nesting in my
pubic hair, hungering, perhaps, to whip my pussy. “When you come back,
I’m going to have you stand in the seat of a big leather chair in the
East Wing. We’ll be having our afternoon tea, the ladies and I, and you
and Missy will show us what big girls you are.”
“By being whipped?” I shouted. I felt my face reddening.
“Yes, by sticking your bottom right out and not complaining and
taking your daily punishment just as you must. Brent will be so pleased
to learn of your progress when I tell him you didn’t shout or whine.”
“She was naughty last night. She licked my pussy and made me
cum,” Missy said, pointing a finger at me. I think she supposed she
could exclude herself from my afternoon whipping if she blamed me for
something.
“You too, little one,” Jasmine said. “Really, girls! What do
you think being a love slave entails?” She pulled her crop from my
panties and walked up to me and corralled both Missy and me in her
arms. Suddenly, heated from the string rubbing me so intimately, I
found myself meeting her tongue with mine and sharing a kiss. Missy,
aware of Jasmine’s crop and not wanting to misbehave, stuck out her own
tongue. Suddenly we were three love birds, all cooing and sighing and
necking.
“Mmmm, such sweet dears, let me train you and you will have men
eating from the palms of your hands!” Jasmine sighed. We kissed, our
tongues exporing lightly; limning lips, delving within mouths.
Jasmine’s teeth bit and held the tip of my tongue. Missy pecked my
cheek. Our hands caressed each other. The bikinis Missy and I wore
were hardly a bar to inquiring fingers. I felt Jasmine’s intrude into
my cunt lips, bypassing the string there. Missy, meanwhile, ever the
devil, probed a childish finger within my fanny and found my hole.
With sighs of mounting desire we desisted at last, letting our
mouths, then our fingers retreat. Jasmine tossed her hair and regained
her composure. She still held the crop. She was clothed, though her
boobs presented us with the treat of risen nipples now, sticking up
through her t-shirt. I’d slipped a finger past the crotch of her jeans,
to pay her back for the urgency she was creating in me. Jasmine
adjusted her shorts and gave me a smile.
“You are such a sweet guest,” Jasmine said. “But you truly
must not be my equal, dear. I do charge men money who bring their loves
here for training.”
“Then I’m just property?” I said with a moany-sigh.
“You are your lover’s property,” Jasmine corrected.
“What if I don’t like him anymore?” I asked. And, truly, I was
beginning to have my doubts.
“You won’t like him, sometimes, but that’s to be expected.”
Jasmine fingered her crop and I knew she was dying to ply me with it.
Did she wish to see me scream? A flash of myself hitting her ran
through my mind and I realized with a shiver how tempting it seemed. To
control her, to make her respond to my every whim...
“I’M not Brent’s proberty,” Missy piped up, mangling the very
word she wished to dispute.
“You, dear child, are a little handful, and I decided to mate
you up with the nearest available male,” Jasmine whispered, out of
earshot of our male admirers. “Behave or I’ll give you to Larry, Moe,
and Curly,” she added, with a nod toward our masturbators. I felt quite
detached from them now, as if they were just furniture. They watched us
like hungry dogs. Much as I disliked Jasmine’s crop, I was glad she had
it available to keep our three hungry suitors at bay. I plucked at it
with my fingers and lifted it to my lips. As she held it steady for me,
I kissed it. I was kooky, the string, our kisses, making me wild.
“Punish me now!” I begged suddenly. I wanted to get it over
with. I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting.
“No,” Jasmine breathed. “Half the fun is in the waiting.
Think of it as you’re sitting at brunch. Do you remember last night?”
I nodded.
“Today will be harder,” Jasmine said. She did not smile. Her
face was deadly serious.
“You will hurt me!” I gasped.
“Hurt, but not harm. There is a difference, dear. Always you
must be reminded of your enslavement. Otherwise you would be just a
houseguest. Come, let’s go to the East Wing. I’m sure your coats are
ready by now. I have a wonderful tailor.”
Jasmine swished her crop and Missy and I, not wanting to cross
her, spun about to go find our lover. Our real lover, Brent, whom I
hoped would find a way to spare me my afternoon cropping. With wiggling
bottoms, glistening earrings dangling from our ears, our makeup just a
little mussed, Missy and I paraded past the masturbating men and headed
for my bedroom door.
“Agh! I can’t stand it! They’re too young! We’re not
supposed to be watching this!” one of the crewcut twins declared. Missy
yelped as his jism suddenly shot forth and splattered across her leg.
“Hey! Don’t pee on me!” Missy cried. She bent down and
brushed at the spurting on her leg. I pushed her forward. I could
sense more was in the offing.
“It’s not pee, silly. It’s sperm!” I said in a hushed voice.
Missy bounced forward as my hands shoved at the small of her back. Her
fingers, scooping up the man’s sperm from her thigh, waved in front of
her face.
Jasmine, following me, frowned at the men and slashed her crop
through the air. It was a warning to the men. She didn’t want to see
them spoil our swimsuits.
A naughtiness possessed me as I passed in front of our
admirers. “Tootle-oooh, men!” I called out to them, and gave them a
little wave. Suddenly, the remaining two shot off, sending spurts of
jism right across my path. A little hit my thigh but, fortunately, I
seemed to magically walk through the rest, just managing to avoid it.
Standing in the doorway to my bedroom, I looked back with tense
bottom cheeks at the three men who’d invaded and defaced my room. A
pungent odor of semen greeted my nostrils. Between each man’s open legs
lay a puddle of his manhood, upon the floor, staining my nice carpet.
“Are they football players?” I asked, surprised at their sudden
loss of control.
“No,” Jasmine said. “They’re Sanramento District Attorneys.”
“What kind of District Attorneys?” I asked. I brushed their
sperm off my leg with my fingers.
“They live in a tomato?” Missy piped up.
“Never mind,” Jasmine answered us both. “They came down to
Caracas to maintain their political viability within the system. Bye
bye, boys! If you can’t control yourselves in front of two little girls
don’t expect me to have anything to do with you!” She slammed the door
on them. “Don’t worry, I’ll have Olaf clean your room before you come
back,” she told me. I heard a crashing sound.
“What’s that?” I asked. I cringed. It sounded as if someone
was smashing the furniture in my bedroom.
“It’s Olaf. I told him if they couldn’t control themselves he
could give them a free membership in NAMBLA.”
“What?” I asked.
“Well, perhaps NAMBLA isn’t the right word for it. SAMMLA
might be better. The South American Man Man Love Association,” Jasmine
smiled.
I heard a howl from within my (former) bedroom. What were they
doing in there?
“All work and no play makes Olaf a tempermental boy,” Jasmine
grinned. Her teeth were white. Wisps of her long dark hair were caught
by the breeze and sent flying out in front of her. She looked like the
world’s sweetest dominatrix, standing there with her hair wild in the
wind, but she turned to my bedroom door and locked it from the outside
so our suitors couldn’t escape. The wind ruffled her t-shirt and she
caught at its scissored neckline to restore it to her shoulder. “They
put fine young men in prison for having underage girlfriends, yet sit at
home downloading child pornography from the Internet!” Jasmine said
aloud. “Then, when that gets tiresome, they visit Caracas to learn
about drug interdiction, and girl interdicktion, of course. Let them
have a taste of their own medicine for a change!”
“Really, Jasmine, you shouldn’t!” I pleaded. I wanted to grab
the key from her and release our three friends. After all, even cops
needed a little fun, didn’t they? So what if they’d lost control of
their penises? It just meant they found me attractive!”
“I don’t wish to be cruel, dear, but Olaf must be fed
sometimes,” Jasmine said to me. “I don’t pay him. I just let him have
a man, now and then. It keeps him happy and I do need his services.”
Missy and I heard howls and cries of remorse from my cellblock-like
bedroom as the three Attorneys from the Tomato, or whatever it was, got
cornholed by Olaf.
“My daddy doesn’t like lawyers,” Missy offered. She looked at
me with wide eyes. I shivered as screams continued to break from within
the stone walls. I reached out to her and we hugged each other. Then
Jasmine, ever in charge of us, whistled her crop past our bottoms and
sent us walking with quick steps through the garden. The East Wing
beckoned, home of last night’s orgy that left me and Missy out in the
cold, uninvited, forced to sleep by ourselves and, though I could hardly
dare to remember it, forced to drink from a toilet! My cunny whispered
to me naughtily. My little string bikini sluiced back and forth within
my dell. Every step I took sent little shivers up me. Bouncing freely,
barely contained by the string and the tiny cups, my breasts felt like
lassoed gourds. The wind blew my long hair out in front of me, making
me feel like I had a blonde halo on. Missy sought my hand. I squeezed
hers, reassuringly, even if we were doomed to have our hineys whipped.
We were going to meet Brent, my love! With my sexy bikini on, inspiring
me with my every step, I knew I would find happiness in his arms.
Stately palms lined the road. At the end of a long driveway
the Mont Vernale waited, its cuisine the best in Caracas. Our limo
pulled up and a doorman opened our door for us. Brent stepped out. He
wore a tuxedo. The restaurant permitted nothing less, even at brunch.
Missy was next, a choker of pearls round her neck. It had replaced her
collar. I wore an identical choker, four strands of pearls, tightly
bound round my throat. If you looked closely you could see that a tiny
gold lock, hanging at the back of my neck, made the choker more than
just a piece of jewelry. I could not remove it. Thankfully my fur
coat, high on my neck, kept the back of my choker from being seen.
We were quite a pair of fashion plates, I thought, as I ducked
out of the limo behind Missy. We each wore long lovely earrings. Our
hair was piled loosely atop our heads, to make us sophisticated. Our
fur coats were waist-length, leaving our legs bare. My coat barely
covered my fanny. Missy, seeing a dime on the asphalt, bent down and
carefully picked it up. Her fur coat was no more concealing than mine,
leaving her thighs completely bare, and her calves too, right down to
her five-inch spiked heels. She was a little unsteady in her shoes.
She was used to wearing sneakers. I scolded her for bending down and
took her hand.
Brent smiled at the valets. They were a little surprised to
see girls in such short coats, with bare legs, but it was warm in
Caracas and a little insouciance on the part of female attire was no
doubt permitted. Had they guessed that we wore nothing but string
bikinis underneath, I’m sure we would have been refused.
“Your coat, madam?” the butler inside the entrance asked as
Missy and I walked in. Missy, dear girl, made to open her coat, but I
caught her in time.
“They are not used to the air conditioning,” Brent said to the
butler. It was chilly in here. He nodded, we passed on. The maitre d'
observed us with a stuffy gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was polite,
but a trifle condescending, as if he’d once served the Queen and now had
to earn his living less agreeably, catering to mere mortals with money.
Missy and I walked as obediently as we could, following him. The
restaurant was hushed, like the inside of a church. A string quartet
was in the center, playing soft, lyrical notes, entertaining the diners
without intruding into their conversations. Chandeliers hung at regular
intervals. Their light reflected off the silverware and fine china set
out on the tables.
Curtains of brocaded silk divided up the interior of the
restaurant. Each table could be viewed by several others yet none could
be seen by all. The diners liked their privacy, yet, dressed in pearls
and diamonds, they did not want to go completely unseen. Older ladies
dined with their husbands, exchanging the day’s gossip. I saw no one as
young as myself.
I tried not to let my hips wriggle overmuch as I walked. With
my bare legs flashing, I was dressed more daringly than the other
females I saw. I bit my lip. The string between my cunny lips was
driving me wild! Missy let her bottom sway unnaturally, too childish to
constrain its movements. I knew the little cashmere string between her
legs must be tormenting her at least as mine was tormenting me. Even
the little bra, with its cups over my nipples, seemed to stimulate me.
I felt my boobies bobbing within my coat. I sighed, and knew Brent was
smirking behind me. He followed us in his tuxedo, making everything
look normal, a man with his two daughters perhaps, taking them out to
lunch.
We came to a table and the maitre d' pulled out a chair for
me. I sat. I held my coat close to my bottom as I sat down so the
maitre d' wouldn’t see I was bare. My bikini hid nothing. It served
only to tantalize me. It was a teensy thong where it should have been a
pouch, a crack belt, infuriating me with my every movement, which only
made me squirm more. I glanced at Missy. Her cheeks were puffed and
she seemed ever more distracted. How could we possibly enjoy an elegant
brunch in this place when we were both steaming in our dells.
Only Brent was at ease. He watched as the maitre d’ lit a
candle at our table. For a moment he looked like my father, sitting
there, and I could almost hear him saying, “Now girls, I know this is
the first time I’ve taken you to my club. I know you’re both immature.
Please don’t embarass me. Try to behave. Don’t make a paper airplane
out of your napkin and try not to spill anything.”
But fathers weren’t quite like that, were they? I didn’t know;
I spent too much time with my mom to know anything about fathers.
Fathers, I think, simply expected you to be grown up, and you were.
Mothers were always the ones warning you and berating you. I looked at
Missy with a confused look on my face. But she was no help at all. She
was eyeing her spoon and I could just imagine her making it into a
catapult.
“Do you have any strawberries?” Missy piped up.
“Strawberry pancakes?” Brent asked. I wanted to shout, ‘No!
Don’t! She’ll shoot them at you!” but the maitre d’ was standing right
there and I couldn’t.
“Yes, strawberry pancakes, with LOTS of strawberries!” Missy
begged. Brent, of course, the poor innocent, was clueless.
“Whatever she wishes,” he said, tugging absently on the sleeves
of his tux. The maitre d’ nodded and wrote down her order.
“Would you like ham?” the maitre d’ asked Missy.
“I want...” Missy paused and looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I want sausages! BIG ones!” She grinned merrily. Somehow, with a
sinking heart, I began to realize our elegant brunch was going to be a
complete disaster.
I glared at her. I was enjoying it here. I didn’t want her
spoiling it with her antics. I was bigger than her. We could settle
this in a way that would get her extra smackings from Jasmine, or from
me!
Missy seemed taken aback. She shrugged her shoulders and sank
a little into her chair. The maitre d’, oblivious, wrote down her
order.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Ummm, honey. Toast and honey,” Missy said. “And some ice
cream.”
“Ice cream?” the maitre asked.
“Yes, for my pancakes,” Missy said.
“And you, madam?” the maitre d’ asked.
“An omlette,” I said.
The maitre d’ took down my order. Missy squirmed in her seat
and figeted. She played with her spoon. Brent ordered, something in
French that I didn’t understand.
“Omlette,” Missy said aloud as soon as the maitre d’ left. She
was teasing me. She lifted her spoon into the air and waved it about.
“An omlette. I’ll have an omlette, please!” She giggled. I glared.
Our waiter arrived, bringing us water.
“You would like an omlette?” he asked, thinking Missy wanted to
add to her order.
“Why yes. I’ll have an omlette, sunny-side up,” Missy said,
feigning elegance.
“Sunny side up?” the waiter asked. “An omlette,”
“Just bring her an omlette,” Brent said dismissively. He
pointed at me: “And bring her what she is having,” he added. “There,
now you’re both getting everything. And champagne,” he added. “Bring
us all some champagne.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said, scribbling. I liked him. He was
younger than the maitre d’. He was tall and slim but looked, well,
handy... He returned to our table within a minute of leaving, bearing a
tray brimming with champagne glasses and condiments. He set everything
down quickly, smoothly. I wondered if he could despatch me just as
smoothly. I would gasp and with quick fingers he would finish me off,
leave me gasping.
I slipped my arms from my sleeves and dropped them within my
coat. I was sick of my infernal panties. I wanted to have a pleasant
breakfast without moaning every time I shifted my hips. I untied the
drawstrings of my panties. I returned my arms to my coatsleeves, taking
the panties with me.
I plopped my panties onto the table beside my plate. Brent
looked at me.
“Hi darling,” I smiled. My voice was sweet. Missy thought I
was teasing him. Our waiter came with our food, glanced down. I saw
his eyes gazing at my little pile of string and cloth next to my spoon.
The string was damp where it had threaded my nest. Gracefully he put
down my omlette, then my pancakes.
Missy, not wanting to be any less daring than me, buried her
arms in her coat. As the waiter laid down her plates her hand suddenly
returned to her coat sleeve, bearing the fruit of her reconnaisance; her
undies. She dropped them onto the table. The waiter noticed. I saw
him miss a breath and I wondered if he guessed all our secrets.
Brent looked at me, at Missy. Our waiter bustled off.
“Try not to embarrass me, girls,” Brent said. “They do have
statutory rape laws her in Caracas.”
“Oooh, you mean you might go to jail?” Missy said. She reached
out with her fingers and played with her panties.
“No, but you might get spanked if you misbehave,” Brent warned
her. “Stop playing with your panties.” He reached out and took them
from her. He put them into the pocket of his tuxedo.
“A string is dangling down,” I said.
“Hmmm?” Brent asked. But our waiter returned just then,
bringing fruit. Grapefruit and pineapple and orange slices, all piled
up on a tray. Brent nodded, unaware that a string connected to Missy’s
underpants was hanging out of the pocket of his tuxedo.
The waiter left again. Missy sipped her champagne. I drank
mine and enjoyed the flow of little bubbles running down my throat.
They settled into my tummy. Missy, intrigued by the idea of staging a
strip show for our waiter, drew her arms into her coat once more. Brent
tried to stop her, but our waiter reappeared and refilled our champagne
glasses. As he turned to leave Missy’s hands popped from the sleeves of
her coat again, bringing up her bra this time, and she laid it onto the
table. The waiter, a perplexed look on his face, turned and left.
“Missy, you’re going to get spanked extra hard for that,” Brent
said.
“But Brent, you’re going to have Jasmine spank us anyway when
we get home,” I said. I pouted and my own arms disappeared inside my
coat. I shifted my breasts forward, arching my back, and reached behind
myself and untied my bra. I liked having it off. It kept tickling my
nipples. Now, perhaps, I could enjoy my meal. I slipped my arms back
into my sleeves and laid my bra beside my bottoms.
Brent looked at my little bikini, laid in a tangled pile next
to my silverware. He gulped, shifted his hips. Was he at last feeling
a little discomfited? Good. It was all his fault, anyway. He should
have let us wear dresses and blouses to brunch, instead of naughty
bikinis.
Missy picked up a pitcher of syrup. I thought she was going to
pour it on her pancakes but, instead, she hovered the lip of the syrup
pitcher over her bosom.
Brent, who sat between Missy and I, with she and I facing each
other across the table, shot his gaze from me to her. Missy grinned at
him. She poured the syrup into her coat.
“Oooh! I seemed to have spilled something!” she said with a
high, spoilt voice. I watched in disbelief as she poured the syrup over
her bosoms.
Our waiter returned. He brought us slices of watermelon. He
seemed solicitous of our appetites. He wished that we should lack
nothing. Missy drew her coat closer. Her syrupy bosom could not be
seen within the closely held halves of her coat. She poured syrup on
her pancakes.
The waiter left. I decided to eat my toast while it was hot.
I buttered it. Then I lifted up the bottle of honey to squeeze some on
my toast. I glanced at Brent. He was grinning at Missy, bemused,
admiring her daring. She had entranced him. He liked her mischievous
ways.
I held the squeeze bottle of honey between the tips of my
fingers. I didn’t like losing my boyfriend to Missy. I was going to
put the honey on my toast but, suddenly, I put it over my chest.
“Do you think I’m sweet, Brent?” I asked. He turned his head
to me. Liberally I squeezed the bottle of honey and it spurted a stream
of itself into my coat. I felt it splash onto my breasts. It felt like
Missy’s lollipop. I kept squirting as the sticky goo ran down to the
tips of my nipples inside my coat.
Missy decided she must not be outdone. There was a plastic
bottle of Hershey’s syrup on our table, for her ice cream pancakes. She
picked it up and squirted it down inside her coat. “I’m getting gooder
all the time,” she said with an invitational smile to Brent. “Would you
like to give me a licking?”
Brent was both pleased and displeased. He desperately didn’t
want to be embarassed by us, yet seeing us squirt ourselves down with
the condiments was making him hard. He shifted in his chair, yet it
offered him no relief. I picked up the chilled bottle of whipped cream
that the waiter had brought for our strawberries. I scooted my chair
back a little and dropped it down to the level of my legs. Daintily,
with Brent’s eyes gazing in aroused horror, I lifted the front of my
coat and spread my legs. I aimed the can of whipped cream at my pussy.
I looked at Brent and smiled. I depressed the top of the can. A
squirting rush came to my ears. I gasped as a spurt of whipped cream
struck my dell. It was cold! I bit my lower lip, squirted some more,
and then replaced my coat. I put the can back up on the table. Let
Missy top that!
Missy reached for her own can of whipped cream. It was, like
mine, a miniature can, offered by Redi-Whip to restaurants to promote
its brand name. It was housed in a little bucket of ice and Missy’s
eyes glowed as she grabbed for it. Fortunately, Brent found his wits
and grabbed her wrist just as she picked up the can.
“No, Missy,” he said. He drew the can from her fingertips.
“I need it for my strawberries!” Missy whined.
“I’ll squirt it,” Brent replied. He put the whipped cream on
her strawberries liberally, hoping to empty the can. Missy watched,
pouting, frowning, and crossed her arms. When Brent was done he
replaced the whipped cream in the bucket. Missy grabbed it and put it
down between her legs.
The waiter appeared. “May I take any of your plates?” he
asked. Missy did not see him.
SPLURT!
Missy gasped. “Ooooh! That’s cold!” she squeaked. Then,
realizing we had company, she looked up at the waiter, guiltily. Stray
locks from her chestnut coiffure fell into her eyes. “I was just
playing,” she whispered contritely.
“Oh! May I get you a napkin?” the waiter asked helpfully. He
did not understand.
“Noooo,” Missy murmured. She replaced the can in the bucket.
“I could use some more whipped cream, though. This one’s almost out.”
“She’d like a bib,” Brent scowled. The waiter, at last, caught
on a little (hopefully no more) and nodded politely.
Several of our plates were removed. Missy picked up her glass
of orange juice and gurgled it down noisily. Besides our champagne we
had hot chocolate and the juice, or anything else we wished. Brent
nursed a cup of coffee. The establishment, I guessed, charged an
extravagant price for brunch, and could afford to shower us with food.
When the waiter left Brent dipped a hand into his tux and drew
out a handkerchief. I could see it was concealing something. “You
girls have been very naughty,” he said quietly. He handed me the
handkerchief and I accepted it.
“I want one too!” Missy piped up. Her eyes were wide. She was
like a younger sibling, always afraid of being left out. I opened my
handkerchief. Handcuffs! I felt my throat constrict.
“Put them on,” Brent said somberly.
“Brent! You wouldn’t--” I was having such a nice meal, albeit
a messy one. He looked at me with his hard, demanding eyes, the ones
that made my heart skip beats. I’d never had a father. Not to speak
of, anyway. I couldn’t refuse. If he’d been a woman I’d have said
‘no,’ but I couldn’t refuse that scowling, unshaved jaw, stubbled like a
pirate’s or a prisoner’s. He had prisoner’s eyes, too. Were we not
illegal? Yet he owned us. He owned us and our furs and the food in our
bellies and the risque bikinis we’d worn into the restaurant.
I drew the handcuffs into the sleeve of my coat. Brent passed
a handkerchief parcel to Missy so she could be just like me. She
accepted it, poor child. She was desperate not to be outdone by me,
even if it meant her doom.
I’d noticed that the handcuffs Brent had given me were
connected by a long chain. I guessed why, now, reaching behind myself
and snapping on the first cuff. The chain allowed enough room for my
cuffed hand to secure my uncuffed hand. Looking at Brent, feeling my
hunger for him rise within my creamed, slitted womb, I snapped the
second handcuff into place.
“Very good,” Brent said to me. His eyes smoldered. Mine
showed fear, resignation, and a tinge of love. Did I wish it any other
way? He’d promised a spanking for me. Jasmine had promised it, and she
was fierce. I felt a new sensation in my bottom, a memory of last
night’s whipping, gone now, except in my mind, mixed with the tension
and fear of a new assault. The seat, warm and soft, was meant to offer
me the ultimate comfort. Yet I would abandon it and follow Brent home,
where I would be displayed and forced to suffer. I yanked on my
handcuffs. The chain snapped taut, offered me no escape. I yanked
again. My wrists banged within the grasping steel of the handcuffs.
Yes, I was his prisoner now. Fully, completely. Unless, that is, I
chose to be a tattletale. I could tell all to the maitre d’ and be
flying home on the next plane, back to my real home, back to L.A.
I set my teeth. Brent watched me do it. He saw my
determination, he smiled wanly at my cupid face. I was an angel. I was
a lover. I was a prisoner.
A raw metal click announced Missy’s own imprisonment.
“I’m trapped!” she realized. She had locked herself in without
understanding the consequences. “How do I unlock this?”
“You don’t,” Brent said.
“The bib, sir,” our waiter announced, returning suddenly.
“I don’t want to wear a bib!” Missy proclaimed. Diners looked
up from their meals. Like explorers in a cave they gazed uncertainly,
into the darkness of ignorance but finding small gleams of knowledge.
Was the girl not too big for a bib? Yet perhaps she’d been difficult.
The bib was meant as a threat to control her.
“The bib will not be needed. She’s agreed to behave,” Brent
told our waiter.
“No I haven’t!” Missy contradicted. The waiter withdrew,
letting us settle the matter ourself. He left the bib on the table,
beside Missy’s undies. Did he know they were undies? I could not tell.
Brent finished his breakfast. It was odd sitting there,
watching him eat, unable to eat myself. My arms were pinned behind me
now, inside the confines of my coat. Nobody knew, nobody guessed. My
nipples were sticky. They felt like they were adhering themselves to
the inside of my coat as the honey on them dried. Would my nipples be
ripped from my chest when I stood up? I was wet all down my tummy, with
honey drippings and chocolate syrup. From the neck up I was a picture
of politeness, with dazzling earrings, perfect hair, and sensational
makeup. Yet between my thighs I was wet with oozing whipped cream. I
felt decadent. Brent finished his meal and rose. He drew out Missy’s
chair. She was quiet. She was a brat, not a tattletale. She would not
betray our captivity. Brent came to my place and helped me up.
I walked with expansively swaying hips through the restaurant.
I could not help myself. I was being taken home to be spanked. I was
going to get it. My bottom rubbed against the soft inside of my coat,
uknowing, comfortable. Yet my mind was a whirl of confusion. I should
tell! I should run! But how humiliating to be discovered naked under
my fur coat, and handcuffed, and messy with cream and chocolate and
honey. And all put there by me, little guiltless me, except nobody
would believe I was guiltless. They’d say I was, of course. They’d be
politically correct in speaking to me. But behind my back they’d say,
“Such little tramps those two were! Imagine! Messing themselves like
that!”
Missy wriggled exceedingly as she walked. She was frightened,
frisky, a girl compassing between the known and the unknown. How hard
would Jasmine hit us? Would we really be made to stand before ladies,
at tea? I almost opted to blurt out my fate just then, passing the
maitre d’. Yet it would be a private humiliation, between lovers. Only
a few would know. It would not be on the evening news, with my name
blocked out but all my friends knowing. My mom knowing. “Here’s your
daughter, ma’am,” the F.B.I. man would say. “We found her in Caracas.
She was staying with a man who kept her as a pet and...”
I curled my fingers around the underside of my coat, in back.
To get a grip. To reassure myself. Did the maitre d’ see my fingers?
Did he wonder why I had my hands inside my coat, and behind me, with my
fingertips sticking out and curled round the fur trim of my coat? I did
not know whether our coats were real or artificial, but they were fur on
fur, blonde fur surrounded by a lighter fur trim. Probably they were
ersatz, I concluded. Missy and I were still a bit too irresponsible for
real fur. Perhaps Brent would buy us real fur coats when we parted,
when we’d proven ourselves to him, that we were real women and not just
little brats.
Would there be a parting? I speculated on that, passing out of
the restaurant. I wanted to glance back over my shoulder. Had I left a
trail of drips behind me? It felt like the cream on my pussy was
dripping. I hoped not. Brent made me so ecstatic, but he was fierce,
under his smooth demeanor. His control-oriented nature appealed to me,
yet would it always? Surely I must be free sometime. But now, just
now, I was his. Myself, and Missy too, probably, unless I could rid
myself of her. He liked having two of us. It made him King. Had he
seen her and requested her? Had he heard her sobbing screams somehow,
and asked for her?
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Missy confided to Brent as he
halted us. We were out of the restaurant now, thankfully, and under the
end of a tented entryway. A valet saw us and hurried off for our limo.
“When we get home,” Brent said.
“I have to go NOW,” Missy whined. “Unlock me.”
“No,” Brent answered.
“I’ll pee in the car,” Missy warned.
“We’ll see about that,” Brent replied.
I rode sitting on the way back. I was cuffed, sitting
barebottomed on the car’s leather seat. I could feel the leather
adhering itself to my ass. It would sting a little when I stood up,
like my nipples stung when, on rising, I forcibly detached their honeyed
tips from the inside of my coat. But I was better off than Missy. She
rode lying over Brent’s lap. Barelegged, bare-bottomed, she was forced
to present him with her naked wriggling ass all the way home. She
begged to pee but he refused.
“You’re putting on quite a show,” Brent smirked at Missy.
“Oooh! Let me up! I need to pee and I don’t like lying on my
tummy! Quit sticking your finger in my hole!” Missy begged. Brent just
laughed. I laughed. She looked absolutely silly lying with her fanny
all exposed, her feet tossing in the air and her legs kicking. Yet her
hands were fastened within the cuffs, trapping her, and Brent, oiling
his finger with his spit, was entertaining himself by plunging his digit
in Missy’s anus. She dared not misbehave too much or he’d go deeper
with his finger, or try penetrating her with two, or three. She was
forced to accept him in her butthole and offer only pleading
resistance. She might have kicked at his chin with her heel but she
would have instantly found her guts impaled. Like a man drilling for
oil, Brent eased his finger in and out of her, enjoying his power over
her, the fear he induced.
“Do you have to pee on my pants leg, minx? Hmmmm? Go ahead,
pee! Here, let me tickle your cunny!”
“Oh no sir please, stop! Don’t! I weally WILL pee! Ack!”
And so our ride proceeded. Missy was getting her comeuppance
now, for all her mishcief at brunch. Yet, as we neared our destination,
Brent thought of a way to punish me too.
“Open your legs,” he told me. I obeyed. Sitting there, on the
seat with my arms trapped behind me, I felt desperately vulnerable.
Exposing my slit to him only made it worse. Yet there was nothing I
could do. “Eat her,” Brent told Missy. “Lick up all that whipped cream
on her pussy!”
“Oh, no! PLEASE! I don’t like eating girls! I--” Brent took
Missy’s face and manhandled it into my dell. To keep her ever-compliant
he rammed his finger to its deepest point yet in her butthole.
I gasped and heaved my chest forward as little Missy’s tongue
delved within me. I heard a soft lapping sound and looked down, wishing
she wasn’t there, yet unable to escape her. She mooed and moaned and
pleaded, but Brent made her lick me clean. When at last he allowed her
to raise her face a little I saw her mouth was circled with cream.
Missy licked her lips. Perhaps she had a sweet tooth after all.
“Alright you two, time to get out!” Brent told us. Our limo
entered Jasmine’s property. We were safe again, free to play out our
games without anyone knowing. Yet we were at our most vulnerable, Missy
and I, for we were the game. We were the pieces and Brent was our
Chessmaster.
We trooped within the house. We were taken into a parlor.
Brent admitted us himself. He was happy, ushering us along, happy like
a man who owns property and enjoys doing with it what he pleases. He
wiped his finger with his handkerchief so it wouldn’t betray traces of
Missy’s shit.
Within the parlor Jasmine sat with two other women. They were
mid-30’s, perhaps, young like she yet dignified. Old enough to be
amused by what happened to us, yet still in the bloom of youth, pleasing
Brent with their bodies if they chose to disrobe. At the moment they
were fashionably dressed. One wore a sweater, unbuttoned, over a pretty
dress. She had glasses but had put them aside on the coffee table. The
other had on a skirt and blouse. Long strands of pearls hung casually
down over her bosoms. They made her look casual but expensive. Jasmine
wore slacks. They were dress slacks, smooth and dark brown. She wore a
beige blouse and a tan neckerchief. I might have thought I was at some
conservative women’s luncheon, except I was barelegged and cuffed.
Jasmine rose as we entered. She approached me first and
unbuttoned my fur. Opening it, she saw the mess I’d made of myself at
lunch. She gasped. The other two women gazed at me and then laughed.
She opened up Missy next. She removed our coats and called the butler
to come and hang them. She did nothing about our handcuffs.
“Poor dear. Even your face is messy,” Jasmine said to Missy.
She dipped the corner of a napkin into her tea and wiped Missy’s mouth
with it.
“Brent made me--” Missy began, but Jasmine hushed her. Her
finger pressed itself to Missy’s lips. She was gentle, yet her next
words chilled me. “Go stand on that big leather chair, darling,”
Jasmine urged Missy.
“But won’t you--?” Missy began. Jasmine took her by her pinned
arms and walked her to the chair. In her confusion, Missy did not
finish her sentence. Jasmine tugged off the girl’s pumps. Then Jasmine
bent and lifted Missy’s thigh and made her step up onto the chair.
Missy’s feet planted themselves in the seat. It squished down under her
weight. Her adorable bottom hung its cheeks before our eyes.
The woman with the sweater and the long pretty dress rose from
her chair. She wafted over to Missy. With a concerned look in her
eyes, yet with implacable hands, she forced Missy’s wrists up off her
bulging little bottom cheeks. The woman, whom I later learned was named
Kerri, pressed Missy’s hands into the small of her back. Drawing a
leather cord from her sweater, she bound Missy’s upraised wrists to the
back of her pearl choker.
“Don’t break the strands of pearls or it will be worse for
you,” Jasmine told Missy.
“But what are you going to do to me?” Missy bawled. She was
shivering and her peaked, honey-tipped breasts were shaking. With her
arms yanked back and high on her spine, bound quite implacably, she
offered her bosoms to the wall. It was an obscene vista, this poor
milkmaid of a girl presenting her full young bosoms. Kerri slipped into
the space behind the chair and, having made Missy present her mammaries,
she took hold of them. Kerri kissed each of Missy’s nipples in turn.
“Ooooh, your buds taste like honey!” Kerri smiled.
“Quit licking my boobies!” Missy complained.
“I’m afraid this is a lesbian luncheon, dear,” Jasmine said to
Missy. She patted the girl’s bottom and smiled over Missy’s shoulder at
Kerri. “I’m going to swat this precious little ass of yours until its
wigglier than you can imagine. Then I’m going to cup it with my hands
and you’re going to roll it on my palms, letting me feel all the little
tensions and spasms in your tushy. I see Brent’s already been playing
with you a little, from this trace of shit in your ass crack. Bring me
a napkin, Leslie, so I can wipe her.”
The woman with the long strands of pearls rose from her own
chair, putting down her tea first, on the low coffeetable the three of
them had been sharing. I saw a book on the table. “Lost Loves, The
Shame of America’s Anti-Gay Policies,” it said. Beside it was a book of
poems. “Little Clits,” its no-nonsense title proclaimed. A tassled
bookmark with hearts lay between the chapbook and the treastise.
Jasmine wiped Missy’s bottom. “Oh boo hoo!” Missy cried,
standing in the chair, her breasts held by Kerri and Jasmine and Leslie
attending to her ass. But what about me? I was next. I knew I was
next. I had to stand and watch her suffer and then take her place, all
for the women’s aimless amusement. It was midafternoon, a time of
boredom and invented games to pass the time. I looked at Brent.
“Must I?” I asked him. He nodded. “Oh, don’t make me!” I
begged.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I love you!” I sighed.
“Then obey me,” he replied. He looked away from me and stood
admiring Missy’s ass. Jasmine was kissing it, soft little kissed.
Beside her Leslie had picked up a crop off a lamp table and was testing
its flex. With her hands she bent it, then let go of one end and let it
snap back to rigidity.
“This should leave nice marks,” Leslie said to Jasmine.
“It will give her something to be proud of,” Jasmine agreed.
“I always liked showing off my marks after a whipping when I was a teen,
didn’t you?”
“MmmmHmmm,” Leslie agreed. “Though now I prefer having the
whip hand.”
“There is more work involved in being mistress, though,”
Jasmine said. She lifted her face from Missy’s bottom and patted it
with her hand.
“I’LL be mistress!” Missy piped up.
“Shhhh, or you’ll be gagged!” Kerri, squeezing her breasts,
answered.
“You’d just dance around and act silly and whack without even
aiming,” Jasmine replied. “A young girl submits first, Missy. Only
then may she lead.” On the lamp table a bottle of Alpha-Keri lotion
waited to be smoothed on Missy’s bottom. Beside it, in a little pile,
were condoms, no doubt for Brent. They were wrapped in gold foil.
Would he have our bottoms, encased in them? I looked at him again. His
trousers sported a tent now. I longed for him but he was gazing at
Missy’s ass.
“Hold her,” Jasmine said to Kerri.
“I’ve got her by the breasts,” Kerri smiled.
“I want you all whipped,” Brent said. Jasmine, just accepting
the crop from Leslie, looked back at my lover.
“Would you like that, Brent?” Jasmine asked. She flexed the
crop between her fists.
“Yes,” Brent said. “Take off your pants. Have your friends
take off their skirts. And your panties. Roll up your blouses so I can
watch your bare ass as you whip hers.” He nodded at Missy. The girl
was sobbing now, but nobody was paying attention.
“There are many hours ‘til evening,” Jasmine said, thinking
aloud to herself, enjoying the repartee. “We will have an orgy this
evening, of course, but a little fun now shouldn’t spoil it.” She eyed
Brent. Her gaze lowered itself to his trousers. “If we play victim for
you, you must play victim for us,” Jasmine said.
“O.K.,” Brent replied.
“No, my dear, think on it a moment. We will own your body and
do with it what we please. You will not complain, and you will not
disobey.”
“O.K.,” Brent said, as nonchalant as before.
“The young man wants it,” Leslie smiled. She had Jasmine’s
fiery eyes. She licked her lips and looked uncompromisingly at Brent’s
crotch. “You know it will involve the penis,” she told Brent.
“And the testicles,” Kerri suggested.
“Yes, the penis and the testicles, YOUR penis and testicles,
young man. That’s what we’ll concentrate on, and we’ll be giving just
as good as we got. Do you really want to see our bottoms cropped?”
Brent paused a moment. I knew then that he wanted to back out
but his manly ego prevented it. He swallowed. “Okay,” he said.
“Very good. He has sworn to it and pledged his penis,” Jasmine
said to her friends. “Off with your panties and dresses, girls! We’re
not going to be able to sit after this, but he won’t be able to sit or
to stand!” Like witches they laughed then, sending shivers right down
my spine to my tailbone. Poor Missy was weeping. Kerri unhanded her to
undress. Missy tried to step down from the chair.
“Stay up there, girl!” Jasmine said. She slapped Missy’s ass
hard with her palm.
“YAHOOOO!” Missy howled. She rose up on her toes. With her
feet in the seat of the chair and her face arched toward the ceiling,
she looked like a schoolgirl caught out by the teacher. But her wrists
were trussed up high behind her, making her boobies stick out. No
teacher, however depraved, would do that. These were sexual games, not
schoolroom punishments. Missy, with her honeyed tits quaking and her
bottomcheeks tensing, would be just the first of our victims. Indeed,
by afternoon’s end all of us would be hurting.
The females hurried out of their clothes. There seemed to be
an electricity between the ladies, as if a promised course of events had
borne all the fruit they hoped it might. Or perhaps they were just
afraid of Brent. After all, he was a big man. He scowled at them,
unhappy with the terms he struck. Yet his penis, I thought, seemed to
be ever bigger within his trousers. I watched it grow. It made my slit
juicy.
Jasmine and Kerri and Leslie bared their asses to Brent but
left their tops on. That was the deal they’d struck. It preserved a
bit of their modesty. Jasmine, though, dutifully rolled up the backs of
their blouses so that Brent could see their bottoms all he wished. She
pinned her friends’ blouses up with hair pins plucked from her lovely
dark har. Kerri, having no blouse but a sweater, stripped it off first,
then donned it again after removing her dress. She kept her back turned
while she was naked so that Brent couldn’t see her boobs. The ladies
liked being coy. I meanwhile, was forced to stand in the altogether,
showing my bush, my ass, my boobs. It made me feel wet, being stripped
naked and shown like this. To console myself in my excitement, I bent
my chin down and began licking honey and chocolate off my chest. I felt
warm, passionate. I wanted. I did not want to wait, even if it hurt.
“No! Oh please, no!” Missy begged. Kerri seized her breasts
once more. She was bare-assed as her victim now, wearing only her fuzzy
sweater, her dress a crumpled pile on a chair. Jasmine strutted behind
Missy, taking up the crop again and swishing it ominously through the
air.
“She should be nice and bouncy,” Leslie observed, eyeing
Missy’s ass.
“Oh, she will be absolutely darling,” Jasmine replied. “She’ll
show us her ass like she’s never shown it to anyone. Do you have to pee
too, dear?”
“Yes,” Missy sobbed. She had her thighs tightly together and
she’d been moving her hips in little urgent circles ever since mounting
the chair.
“Well, don’t pee in it,” Jasmine warned.
“Oh, all I want to do is go pee and go home!” Missy declared.
“Shhh,” Kerri replied. She bit one of Missy’s nipples with her
teeth. A light little bite, but if Missy jerked suddenly it might prove
worse.
“Let’s see you jiggle that ass, honey!” Jasmine smiled. She
struck. Hard. Missy shouted and threw her face toward the ceiling.
Her mouth gasped open and her chest heaved forward. Kerri bit at her
boobs. Missy’s asscheeks contracted under the blow and then rebounded
reflexively. It looked as if twin marshmellow halves were being forced
in along a central line and then allowed to rise, as if in an oven; cake
dough rising in the heat.
“WaHOOOOO!” Missy stamped her feet in the seat of the chair and
sobbed bitterly. I tensed my own ass, watching. I would be next and
Jasmine would be no less severe with me. If anything, I’d get it
worse. I was older and, in her estimation, I could take more.
“Please Brent,” I said, turning to him again. I bowed my
knees, indicating my need. I wanted him, just him. I didn’t need these
stupid games. He grinned at me sardonically.
“I’m a man of many tastes,” he replied.
“You’re a pervert!” I hissed.
“Your ass will sing for that,” he said. He unzipped himself
and drew out his penis. He did not fear, I guess, the torture the
ladies had planned for it.
Jasmine paused and looked at Brent. “Don’t cum,” she warned
him. “You will endure our punishment more easily if your cock still
longs for pleasure.”
“I’ll do as I please,” Brent said. He began masturbating
himself. I felt shocked, watching him. Didn’t he want me? He didn’t
need to play with himself! I felt like dropping to my knees and sucking
him but I was repelled by the ease with which he dismissed me and
pleasured himself with the sight of Missy’s ass.
“I hate you,” I told Brent. He ignored me. Men! Why do they
think of nothing but their penises? The world would be much better, I
think, and men would be much better too, if men didn’t have penises.
But then, of course, they wouldn’t be men and...
“YEEEARGH!” Missy howled. Jasmine was striking her with
languid blows, each given after the girl had finished her dancing from
the one before. They were hard when they came. Hard and swift and
fast, but the interval inbetween was a time of pausing, of waiting, of
sips of tea and bites of crumpets. I was offered tea and accepted.
Jasmine poured it into my mouth for me. She tickled my nest.
“Delicious,” I heard Kerri say. I looked past Jasmine and saw
she was playing with Missy’s slit. Leslie frigged herself and Jasmine,
after tickling me, fondled herself.
“Ohhh, please don’t,” Missy sobbed. She had to pee badly and
Kerri’s tickling only made it worse. Missy squeezed her cheeks and her
breath hissed. Even tensing her bottom made it hurt now. Thin blazing
stripes crossed her behind. They were almost weals, but not quite.
“Another blow across any of those lines and she’ll be wealed
for sure,” Leslie observed.
“Then I’ll have to aim carefully, won’t I?” Jasmine called
out. She fingered my pussy as freely as if she were a nurse and I were
her patient. “Poor little Missy! Are you afraid I won’t be careful
enough in my aiming? Don’t jump around, dear, or you’ll be sorry!”
Jasmine looked at me and smiled. “Do you have to pee?” she
asked.
“A little,” I answered truthfully. “Then you must have more
tea,” Jasmine said. “I want you absolutely bursting when I put you up
on the chair.”
“No, please,” I said, but she fetched the teapot and made me
drink three whole cups. Brent observed me. He made sure I did just as
Jasmine insisted. The other girls watched too. They liked seeing me
prepared for my fate. The preparatons of it were almost as much fun for
them as the doing of it.
“Let’s finish this little tart off,” Jasmine said when she’d
made me drink all I could and returned to Missy. With hissing strokes
she did her best to mark Missy in new places on her bottom. Missy
howled and pleaded, but there was no mercy. Her chubby bottom was
sliced up, leaving her looking like a tomato in back, blazing under the
heat of the lash.
“My such a fine shot I’ve been,” Jasmine observed. Missy
jiggled her poor huddled cheeks, sobbing on Kerri’s shoulder as the
woman tried to keep her as still as she could by mouthing the girl’s
tits.
“You’re no fun at all. You’ve been at this too long!” Leslie
observed. “Let me hit her. I’m sure I’ll miss and strike one of her
marks.”
“No, I’ll do it deliberately,” Jasmine answered. “I’ve got a
weal for you, dear Missy. Hold on tight!” Jasmine called. She struck
the girl hard where she’d been before, laying a stroke right over a
previous line. She hit the underside of Missy’s bottom. She’d feel it
most there. Missy threw her head back and howled like a banshee.
Kerri, forever consoling her, fed at her nipples. Missy’s tummy
expanded, teddy bear-like, then contracted as she drew in her
bottomcheeks. But she could not contain them for long, and they bounced
out again, shaking and saucily showing themselves.
“Ooooh, feel!” Jasmine said to Leslie. But Leslie could not
get at the girl for Jasmine placed her own palms there, right on Missy’s
little ass, feeling the warmth of the blows. Missy danced and bounced
in Jasmine’s hands. Her bottom rolled. Jasmine let her shake her hinds
against her palms and announced to us that it felt delightfully obscene.
“Poor little baby! You act like you’ve sat in a nest of
hornets!” Jasmine teased. Missy bawled and finally hung her head,
defeated. Jasmine had Leslie squirt lotion onto her hands and then she
palmed Missy’s bottom again, letting the girl grind her poor smarting
ass into the soothing lotion on her palms. It was a truly decadant
sight. Missy mouthed at the air, her eyes shut tight, her cheek resting
on Kerri’s shoulder. She offered her behind in brazen desperation to
Jasmine’s palms. A little while ago the girl would have balked at
letting Jasmine handle her bottom, yet now she desired it, urgently, and
felt no qualms about shoving her ass into Jasmine’s seeking hands.
I tensed my own bottom, watching. I could not bear this.
There must be some way out. I watched as Jasmine, bored at last with
Missy’s gyrations, opened her cheeks and stuck her thumb into Missy’s
hole.
“Oh! Yes! Please!” Missy cried. She did not mind being
cornholed now. Any attention was helpful. With lotion-slicked fingers
Jasmine fucked little Missy’s asshole. The girl simply accepted it,
even needed it, while in front Kerri teased her clit, stopping only when
Missy tensed on the brink of orgasm. Cumming was not permitted. Even
the ladies teased themselves only to the edge. All else must wait,
until the punishments were done.
Missy was taken down from the chair. Jasmine had pumped her
ass and spanked her bottom. Nothing else was required of her for now.
Brusquely she was shunted aside, and they came for me.
“Ohhhh! I hurt very much!” Missy bawled. She stood bereft.
The ladies ignored her. Tensing her thighs together, she suddenly peed
on the carpet.
“Missy! Bad girl!” Jasmine declared. She slapped Missy’s
face. “Go stand in the corner, you naughty girl!” Crying, Missy was
led by Leslie into a corner of the room. Leslie drew the girl along
with a finger crooked into her lovely pearl choker, using it as a
collar. Leslie faced Missy into the corner and let her stand there,
hollaring over the state of her bottom, her breasts thrust forward, her
wrists pinned high behind her, the cheeks of her ass clenched and
churning and shaking, red as beets.
“Do you have to pee?” Jasmine asked me. I stood before the
chair, ready to mount. The seat dipped slightly where Missy’s feet had
weighed upon it.
“Pretty much,” I replied. I was truthful. There was no
denying myself to Jasmine. My body was bare and she could see all my
tensings.
“Drink more,” Jasmine urged. Leslie fetched the teapot and I
was served another cup.
“I’ll pee on your carpet,” I protested, but Jasmine poured the
tea through my lips and I was forced to swallow it, lest it be spilt.
“Now up on the chair, dear,” Jasmine said. She cupped the
cheeks of my bottom and urged me up upon it. The big cushioned seat
sighed. My toes squirmed on its leather. Some of the whipped cream and
honey on Missy had dripped to the surface of the seat and it was slick
there.
“Mmmm, nice,” Kerri said, grasping my tits and squeezing them.
“God, what a great ass!” Leslie remarked. I was on display
now, presenting my white bottom. I drew in my cheeks and they whistled
at me. I felt like a treasure put up for auction. Except the crowd was
nothing but vandals.
“She’ll feel delicious when we’ve warmed her up,” Jasmine
said. She palmed my cheeks. “I’m going to toast these lovely bottoms
of yours, Kelly!” she said to me. Her voice was happpy. I tried to
draw myself away from her and she laughed. “You won’t be so modest when
I’ve switched you up,” she told me.
Kerri fingered my dell. “Don’t hesistate to pee,” she
whispered to me. “The last one is always permitted to pee in the
chair. Go on my hand when you do it!” I blanched. I had to pee, but
now that she’d asked me to go on her I felt a sudden recalcitrance.
Like when you’re a small girl and you decide to pee in the pool, and
then suddenly can’t because you’re wearing your swimsuit. You agree
with yourself to go, secretly, so you don’t have to quit playing. But
your bladder just won’t let go. Kerri saw my recalcitrance and tickled
my nest. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” she confided. “Just think of
yourself in a waterfall, then you’ll pee. Do it on my hand and I’ll
make them stop whipping you! I promise!” Her eyes glowed at me. She
bent and kissed my tummy. “You are so sweet,” she said. “I hate to see
you marked but it won’t hurt too much, I hope. We can sleep together
afterward.”
Jasmine, meanwhile, had fetched ointment and was polishing up
her leather riding crop. She wanted it to sting as much as it could,
she said. While she prepared her implement Leslie went to Brent and
checked on the condition of his cock. “Soon we’ll begin with you, sir,”
she said very meekly to him, but under her meekness I sensed the
attitude of a lioness. She was hungry for his cock and, worse, she was
hungry to do awful things to it and see his reaction. Brent was so hard
by now he’d wisely ceased pleasuring himself. He was on a hair trigger,
ready to cum. He drew back from Leslie’s seeking hands but she would
not be denied. She grasped his organ and gave it a quick inspection.
They had not met before today. They did not even know each other’s last
names.
“You’re one of the biggest males I’ve seen,” Leslie said
frankly. She handled his balls and yanked his cock up toward his
stomach. “Is the underside of the penis the most sensitive part?” she
asked.
“Don’t you know?” Brent replied.
“I like women, mostly,” Leslie answered. “But if a man is big
enough I suppose I can get interested. I like the challenge of a big
cock, you know? Sometimes its hard to get it in me, I fuck so little
with men.” She kissed the underside of my lover’s penis. “Yes, I see
how you flinch,” she said. “You shouldn’t have rubbed yourself so much,
sir. Now you’re on the brink, and I’m not even ready yet. We’ll start
your punishment here, I think, where you’re most sensitive. Have you
ever had it put in a vise?”
“A vise?” Brent gasped.
“Yes, a vise, darling. I heard you were coming so I borrowed
one this morning from my friend. She runs a carpentry store. I have it
in my purse. I’ll set it up on the lamp table and we can put you in it
so you’ll behave and not cause any trouble.” She gazed at his body.
“Such big muscles! They look like they’ll rip right out of your tux!
Please undress now, we’ll be ready soon. I wouldn’t want your tux
stained or anything. Ohhh! You’re dripping! Don’t drip pre-cum on my
hand, sir! I’m a lesbian, remember? You’ll have to receive extra
punishments for that, you naughty boy!” She shook his cock, like she
was shaking a hand, then turned and left. As she walked away from him
she purposely waggled her ass. “Remember darling, no fucking. We’re
lesbians! When we’re through with you you can dispose of your seed in
Missy or Kelly.”
Brent was beside himself. I knew he was not the least bit
interested in having his penis punished, yet he tore off his tux like a
madman. Girls were easy for him. Missy, myself. But these lesbians,
promising to do awful things to his cock, were another matter entirely.
Like a schoolboy asked to pork the teacher after class he undressed
himself and then followed Leslie over to where she stood by the lamp
table.
Leslie had begun emptying her purse onto the lamp table. She
looked up at Brent as if he was new in the room, a new arrival and she
some kind of customs official. “That side,” she said, pointing to the
side of the lamp table opposite her. “Jasmine’s decided she wants you
punished at the same time as Kelly, so you and she can watch each
other. You’ll be bonded after this, hmmm? Partners in love, desire,
and pain. It will be like birthing children together.”
Brent, mesmerized, presented his big organ and waited. He
watched as Leslie set up a vise on the table top. Jasmine, meanwhile,
finished polishing up the crop and laid it across the cheeks of my
bottom. It felt smoooth. I knew it would impart an entirely different
feeling in just a few moments.
“Can you see your lover okay?” Jasmine asked me. I nodded.
Brent was standing beside me, I on the seat and he on the floor, I
offering my bottom and he his penis. “Watch him as I whip you,” Jasmine
said. “You’ll see his face show every emotion as we deal with his
penis.”
“Please don’t hurt him!” I blurted.
“He’ll be fine, darling. Just a little sore,” Jasmine smiled.
“And now for you, sweet. Call for the first stroke. You’re a big
girl.”
My wrists had been attached to the back of my pearl choker by
the ever-helpful Kerri. My breasts offered themselves. My bottom
bulbed behind me, white-fleshed, inviting. I felt as if I were nothing
but bosom and bottom, with my shaky knees holding it all up. My tummy
felt queasy. I heard myself swallow.
“One,” I said quietly.
“What?” Jasmine asked.
“Please, um, spank my bottom...” I said, softly as I could.
“Well, I don’t expect you to yell, but I don’t expect you to
talk like a little mouse either,” Jasmine scolded. “Say it loud enough
for everyone to hear.”
“Please spank my bottom!” I blurted.
“I have a crop,” she teased.
“Please crop my bottom,” I said.
“You mean you want me to hurt this precious soft pumpkin of
yours?” she asked. She made me flinch as she touched a finger to my
heinie.
“Yessss,” I hissed. I stuck my bottom back at her, mooning her
with it, I was so tense and nervous and awkward. If it must be, then do
it, for God’s sake!
And she did. Jasmine drew her arm back and delivered a royal
stroke, whipping the crop into my hinds so hard I nearly toppled over
the chairback. I howled. I felt tears spring instantly to my eyes. I
was off to a difficult start, but at least it had begun. The tenseness
had burst and I heard myself screaming.
WHACK! Another blow caught me just as I regained my balance.
Kerri, who’d pushed me upright, using my bosoms like they were handles,
almost fell down. I keened out a howling moan. Behind me my bottom
felt like I’d been stung by a line of wasps. It felt tight and hot and
I squeezed it inward, hoping to throw off the pain. Jasmine rewarded me
with another blow. It left a sizzling strip of fire in its wake and I
shook my ass all about, disorderly and lewd. My chubby cheeks were
awash in pain. It burned in hot lines across me and I thought I would
evaporate through my asshole. In my clenchings, sobbing and howling, I
glanced to my right and saw my lover being fitted into a vise.
Carefully, with tender hands, Leslie put Brent’s organ into a big iron
jaw. It held him at the base of his cock, trapping him against the
table. Slowly Leslie closed the vise on his dick. When he seemed
unable to escape she looked up at him with her big doe-like eyes.
“Struggle, try to escape,” she urged. Brent, caught by only
his dick, tried to pull it from the vise. She’d cuffed his wrists
behind him and he quickly found that he’d indeed gotten himself into a
jam.
“I’m-- I’ve never been like this before,” my lover gasped. He
looked down at his huge organ. It was snug in the vise and the iron
jaws would not let go.
“Good,” Leslie observed. She tickled the underside of his
cockhead with her fingertips. “Now we can have a little discussion
about feminism, sir.”
Jasmine delivered my blows with plenty of time between strokes
for me to recover. She wanted me to be able to watch my lover and see
his defilement. After all, he had chosen to have me whipped with the
crop. I felt like I was part of some kind of bizarre marriage, where
the partners were joined by mutual suffering. Yet, with Kerri tickling
my dell and Leslie pleasuring Brent’s penis, it was not all pain. It
was a mixture, and between my sobs I wondered if marriages, if done in
this way, would last longer than church-made ones.
Leslie began Brent’s torment by producing a thermometer. She
told him she would take his temperature by poking it in his peehole.
But first, she wished to stuff as much of him down her throat as she
possibly could.
“This is an excellent way to train, don’t you think?” she asked
Brent. “I mean, usually the man just rams it in. How can a girl learn
that way? Here, with you so nicely trapped, I can take my time. I’m
new at this so it may take awhile.” She bent and began by suckling just
his cockhead. Then she worked more of him into her as she was ready.
Bent over, her bottom made a marvelous target. Jasmine turned from me a
moment and whacked her friend.
“Yeeeeow!” Leslie cried. She lurched upright and clapped her
hands to her bottom. It had been a real stinger, and she hooted at the
ceiling, finally gasping and just holding her cheeks a while, massaging
herself. Brent, meanwhile, wet with her saliva, could only wait for her
to comfort herself.
“Er, I have to pee,” Brent said.
“Ummmm, guess you’ll have to wait,” Leslie told him. “You’re
the one who ordered red bottoms for us all.” She broke open a condom
and slipped the end of it over his cockhead. “There, that should keep
you from peeing,” she said. Then she went to check on Missy. The girl
still stood in the corner, sobbing quietly. Her head was hung down and
I imagined her bosoms must be wet with her tears.
“Are you thinking about behaving?” Leslie asked Missy.
“Go ‘way! You’re mean!” Missy sobbed.
“Well, you’re a cocksucker!” Leslie replied. Missy’s chin
rose. She sniffled.
“A cocksucker?” she asked.
“Yes, darling, you’re a cocksucker and I want you to come over
and suck Brent’s cock right now!” Leslie told her.
“Ohhh, goody! Can I bite it too?” Missy asked. “He’s the one
who ordered me spanked, isn’t he?”
“Yes, darling,” Leslie replied. She untied Missy’s wrists.
“We girls would never do awful things to each other unless these evil
men made us.” She kissed the girl’s cheeks. They walked hand-in-hand
to the lamp table.
“Uh, hi Missy,” Brent said. The girl looked at him, wide-eyed,
and then broke into giggles.
“You look stupid!” she teased.
“I feel stupid,” Brent admitted. “Would you be kind enough--”
“Don’t, Missy. He’s to be experimented on,” Leslie whispered.
“Yes!” Missy agreed. But she had to stop a moment and rub her
bottom because it still hurt quite a bit from her spanking. I,
meanwhile, was being put on par with her, Jasmine whisking in another
stroke to keep my tears coming.
“Oh, please don’t hurt Brent!” I begged when I could speak
coherently again. I sniffled and held back a sob and tried not to cry.
But my fanny was really hurting now! I wished there was some way I
could free my wrists and get Brent’s big organ out of that awful vise
and escape with him. But it was not to be, I realized, as Jasmine
touched my bottom with her fingertip, testing my temperature, she said,
and making me howl. I was afraid, I had to pee, and I couldn’t stop
wiggling my ass. Kerri delved within my slit, making me wet. She bit
my nipple, a clamp made of teeth and tensing and relaxing at will. I
was captured, caught, burning and burnt. Jasmine gave me another whippy
blow and I howled anew.
Like a trapped snake, Brent’s penis flexed and wiggled within
the vise. He was fiercely hard. Urgently he flexed his buns, in and
out and in again. He was desperate to fuck and that, indeed, was his
undoing. Had he been gay, he might have softened, and been able to
escape. But, being fully male and full of himself with seed, he was
captive to his own need, to his own desires. All about him was nothing
but firm, bouncing female bosoms and wriggly bottoms. We were all
beautiful; there was not one among us who could not have posed for
Playboy (although two of us were too young!) Brent seethed with passion
and, as a result, he was forced to stand trapped and watch as Leslie and
Missy laid evil plans for his penis.
Missy picked up the sugar thermometer. It was a slim glass
thermometer, like mommies used to take a sick child’s temperature.
Leslie had stuck a big rubber stopper on the back end of it to prevent
it getting lost inside Brent’s huge male organ.
“Now Missy, I want you to be the mommie,” Leslie, nurse-like,
instructed her little friend.
“Okay,” Missy murmered.
“I have been thinking, mommie, that our friend Brent here must
have something wrong with him. Look how big and swollen his penis has
become!”
“Oh, why yes! I don’t remember boys looking like this in my
anatomy textbook!” Missy observed.
“And see how he shakes--he is practically foaming at the
mouth!” Leslie continued.
“Mmmm, he must need his temperature taken!” Missy concluded.
“Indeed! But he is SO big and fierce! I wouldn’t dare try to
stick our little thermometer into his big mouth, would you?” Leslie
asked.
“Oh, no! He would bite it in two! Or he’d misbehave and not
hold it in his mouth like he’s supposed to for a full three minutes!”
Missy agreed.
“Then we must find some other hole to stick in it, Missy,”
Leslie mused. Her fingers passed lovingly along Brent’s giant organ,
caressing the shaft and circling the head and finally touching his pee
hole. “My, here’s a hole!” Leslie said happily. “We can put it right
in here, Missy, unless you’d rather stick it up his hairy butt?”
“Oh no,” Missy said. “Look how Brent is flexing his ass! If
we put this fragile sugar thermometer up his ass he’d break it in two,
just by squeezing it with his iron-hard cheeks!”
“Well, then we must slip it into this little hole,” Leslie
reasoned.
“Yes, his pee hole should be okay,” Missy agreed. She reached
out and touched his penis with her fingertips. It flexed, and she drew
her hand back, frightened a little, I think. Brent truly did have a
penis that looked like a venomous snake. Then, regaining her courage,
Missy poked at Brent with her thermometer. There was no need to grease
it. Brent’s cockhead was leaking gobs of precum. Leslie slipped a lace
doily under the head of his penis to try to catch some of the drips.
The lamp table was made of precious hardwood. There was no need to
stain it.
“Ooops! There it goes!” Missy said. Brent watched with
love-filled, horror-stricken eyes as the girl poked her thermomter into
his cock. Its tip slid into his pee hole and the rest quickly followed,
gliding up inside him like a needle.
“We must leave it there for at least three minutes,” Leslie
told Missy.
“Okay,” the girl replied. She let go of the thermometer. Its
end stuck out of Brent’s penis.
“Now, let’s assume he has a temperature. What shall we do?”
Leslie asked Missy.
“Hmmm, I’m the mommie, but I don’t know. Please tell me, nurse
Leslie.”
“Well, I have here some Binaca Breath Spray,” Leslie said.
“Would you like to see a trick?”
“Okay,” Missy said. Leslie picked up a Bic lighter and flicked
on it flame. Holding the Binaca next to it, she depressed the head of
the Binaca and flame shot out of its pin-like hole!”
“YIKES!” Missy howled. She leapt back from Leslie. The Binaca
had been turned into a miniature flame-thrower! Leslie drew closer to
Brent and squirted the Binaca again. More flames shot from its tip.
“Don’t!” Brent gasped.
“You don’t want your hot dog roasted?” Leslie asked.
“No,” Brent breathed.
“Wow! That’s some trick!” Missy said. “If I’m ever bothered
by boys I’m going to use it on them!”
“It works even better with WD-40,” Leslie said.
“Don’t get stupid on me,” Brent declared. His chest expanded
and he glowered down at the girls. “That Binaca could explode right in
your face!”
“Yes, daddy,” Leslie said.
“Daddy’s right,” Missy agreed.
“I’m glad our big Daddy’s here to tell us when we’re being
truly bad,” Leslie said to Missy.
“He’s just trying to protect us. Let’s not play with the
Binaca anymore,” Missy said.
“Well, I won’t make it into a flamethrower, that’s for sure.
It’s silly, anyway,” Leslie said. “Binaca is meant to soothe and cool
your throat. It can make your temperature go down if its used properly,
did you know that?” Leslie asked.
“Noooo,” Missy said. “Maybe Brent needs some on his penis?”
“Yes, that would be a good idea,” Leslie said. “I can’t find
Peppermint in my purse. I hope this Spearmint flavor works just as
well.”
“Well, let’s try it,” Missy said.
I’d had a little experience with Binaca (not as a
flamethrower!) and I knew Brent was in for a painful experience.
“Oh, please don’t squirt Binaca on his dick!” I begged. Tears
ran down my cheeks and I squirmed as I stood flat-footed in my chair.
Kerri, who had licked my honey-coated nipples clean, was now tongueing
in my belly button, cleaning my tummy of honey and chocolate drips. Her
fingers probed my slit and tickled my clitty. I was hungry to mount
Brent and didn’t want to see his glorious penis abused.
Leslie turned to me and laughed. “You’re in no position to
give orders,” she said.
“But Brent’s MY boyfriend!” I sobbed. I really did love his
penis. She was a lesbian!
“He may be your boyfriend, but WE own his dick,” Missy said.
She was forever a brat, always finding some way to taunt me, to ruin my
lunch with Brent, to keep his attention on the limo ride back, and now
to prance around him, Indian-like, playing naughty games with his penis.
I heard a little spraying sound and Brent groaned. As if he
were in need of perfume, Leslie began squirting Binaca all over his
cock. The head, its tip and its flange, the shaft, all over the many
veins that ran through it, and along the underside, the most sensitive
part of any man’s penis, especially where the shaft met the head.
“Mmmm, wow. Whoa, that stings!” Brent shouted, as the
sprayed-on Binaca transformed itself into a stinging, biting gloss.
“Yeeech! That is REALLY stinging now! Wipe it off!” Brent begged.
Leslie touched the tip of his cock with her finger, just
underneath where the sugar thermometer poked in his peehole. “You’re
being prepared for surgery, sir. You need to be circumcised,” Leslie
said.
“I already AM circumcised!” Brent holwed. He tossed his head
back as the Binaca worked its will on his dick. He was used to whipping
out his dick and plunging it into a girl’s soft pussy. Never, I think,
had he been clamped and presented in this way, made to wait and to
suffer and to admire his hardness even as girls played tricks on it.
Was he proud of his manliness? I knew, deep down, he must be. Despite
the Binaca, or the awful thermometer. We were just girls. He alone
posessed a penis. All of us stared at it like children, aware of it
every moment, of its hugeness, its power, and its potential for spurting
at any moment, of flooding the room with the scent of male seed
released, into this parlor where, without Brent, we would just be girls
having a tea party.
The stinging gradually transformed itself into a rich, warm
glow. Brent gazed anew at his cock, watching it, looking at it, feeling
the strangeness of having it bathed in breath spray. “Wow, that’s some
shit,” he grunted.
“Wait til you feel it on your balls, love. It stings quite
awfully there, I’m told by men, much worse than on their penises,”
Leslie said. She bent down and reached underneath Brent’s shaft. She
eased her hand back until she was between his thighs. He could have
shifted his legs closed and crushed her hand, but he left them open. He
felt bold.
“Ready?” Leslie asked.
“Damn, now you’ve got me curious,” Brent said.
“Be a man,” Leslie warned. She sprayed. Brent waited, then
felt a sudden, prickly stinging on his balls, grimacing, baring his
teeth at the pain. Leslie looked up at him. “It’s just breath spray,
darling. Keep your legs apart.”
“Unnngh!” was all Brent could manage to say in reply. But,
courageously, he kept his thighs open. Leslie squirted him again, on
another part of his balls. Then in a third place and a fourth, until
his big hanging testicles were gleaming with Peppermint spray. Missy
had found the Peppermint in Leslie’s purse. They agreed that was the
better choice; it was reputed to sting more than any of Binaca’s other
flavors.
“How does that feel?” Leslie asked Brent. She withdrew her
hand from under his balls and gently stroked his big prick. Brent
tossed his head and clamped his jaw.
“It feels... terrible...” Brent breathed.
“Well, you’re getting it shot up your butthole next,” Leslie
said.
“God, NO!” Brent begged.
“Poor boy, if you’d shoot you might escape from my vise,”
Leslie offered.
“Stroke me! Make me cum, please! I’ve suffered enough, you
bitch!” Brent told her.
“My, such naughty language. I do declare he sounds like he’s
talking out his butthole when he speaks like that!” Leslie said to
Missy. “Here, darling, which flavor do you prefer for his a-hole?
Peppermint? Spearmint? Wintergreen, or Cinnamon?”
“Which one hurts the worst?” Missy asked. Four little Binaca
sprays were laid out on the hardwood table now, each tempting her
fingers.
“Probably peppermint, although spearmint’s almost as bad,”
Leslie said.
“Well, I’ll try Wintergreen,” Missy said. “That’s my favorite
flavor!”
“Okay,” Leslie said. “Spray his ass and wherever else you
think he needs it. I’m going to get some Mountain Dew for his final
treatment.”
“Alright,” Missy replied. Leslie walked to the door of the
parlor and let herself out. It was strange, watching her leave, her
hips moving with an ethereal, jiggly motion, her legs long and walking
swiftly. She looked like a businesswoman going on break, yet she wore
only a shirt and her heels, nothing else. She had the perfect job
description, I guessed: “To torture men’s penises, especially the
boss’s. Skills needed: blowing, sucking, knowledge of Binaca breath
spray, and the ability to teach younger girls how to do same.” Jasmine
kept me busy with more slicing blows to my bottom while we all waited
for Leslie. Kerri’s mouth descended to my bush and began licking up all
the little droplets of honey that had collected there. I was caught
between pain and pleasure. The pain bit into me from behind while the
pleasure circling around my button in front never gave me the
satisfaction I wished. Missy, her hands free, played with her clitty.
She was no stranger to frigging herself, I guessed, and she did it with
a freedom that made me weep. I was so hungry! I prayed God to loosen
my hands and let me down from the chair and put me on top of Brent’s
hole. But it did not happen.
“Hmmm, it’s kinda smelly back here!” Missy observed, prying
apart Brent’s ass with her fingers. “This place definitely needs some
breath spray! Take that, you big smelly a-hole! And that! And that!”
She squirted Binaca into Brent’s ass.
“Yeeoooch! Stop!” Brent pleaded. He flexed his hind cheeks a
little, but Missy was so small and her fingers so childish, I think he
feared injuring her. Despite the burning heat of the Binaca, he let her
probe and shoot inside him. He was a true man. “God, that burns!”
Brent gasped.
“Well, I suppose maybe Binaca isn’t the best thing for lowering
your temperature after all,” Missy mused when she’d finished spraying
him. She replaced the Binaca on the table. “Let me see how your
temperature is, sir.” Gently she withdrew the thermometer. She lifted
it into the air and examined it. “Four hundred and Twenty-Two,” she
pronounced solemnly.
“Don’t you know how to read a thermometer?” Brent asked.
“Nope,” Missy replied. “Would you like me to stick it back
into you and try again?”
“No,” Brent said. “Throw that thing away! And those stupid
Binacas too! I don’t think anyone’s going to want to spray that in
their mouth now.”
“Why, I do!” Missy said. She picked up the Peppermint, which
had been used on Brent’s balls, and put it into her mouth and sprayed
her tongue. “Mmmm, Peppermint Blow, with a Taste of Testicle,” Missy
observed. She smacked her lips. “Let’s try this Spearmint! Oooh!
Cock flavor! Yum! I think I’ll skip the Wintergreen Butthole flavor,
though. Maybe Kelly would like to try it?” She looked at me. Jasmine
gave me another sizzling whack with her crop.
“Kelly’s busy right now, dear,” Jasmine told her. Missy looked
sober and reached back and cupped her bottom.
“That whipping you gave me still hurts really bad,” Missy said.
“Yes, dear, it’s supposed to,” Jasmine answered. “Go to the
bathroom and get some carpet cleaner and spray it on the place on the
rug where you peed.”
“Okay!” Missy said. She ran from the room. She was a child
speeding to recess. A few minutes later she came wandering back. She
held up a can of carpet cleaner. “Here it is!” she announced. “I peed
while I was in the bathroom, so I don’t go on the carpet any more!” She
walked over to where she’d had her accident and sprayed a generous pile
of foam on the rug.
“Now go put it back, dear. I don’t want you spraying carpet
cleaner all over everything,” Jasmine told her. There was a gleam in
Missy’s eyes as she contemplated other uses the carpet cleaner might be
put to.
“Don’t you think Brent needs a little on his dick?” Missy
asked.
“No, darling. S&M doesn’t mean you can just do anything. The
carpet cleaner might hurt him. Put it away, please,” Jasmine said, and
swished her crop in Missy’s direction.
“Okay!” Missy declared. She arched up on her tip-toes and then
leapt for the door. She didn’t want to feel that crop anymore, and
neither did I.
“Please, Jasmine!” I screeched. I stood with bare huddling
cheeks upon the chair, sobbing, groaning, feeling like a girl who’d sat
in nettles. I was beside myself with pain and pleasure and a thousand
other passions. She kissed my hiney. Her mouth was cool and moist but
my bottom was so tender that I hissed and rose up on my toes.
“Let’s take her down, Kerri,” Jasmine said. “But first I must
give her two welts to show to her friends. Ones that will last until
she gets back to L.A.”
“Ohhh! I don’t want any welts!” I cried.
“Yes you do, dear. You’re going to meet your girlfriends and
you’re going to want to tell them all about your adventures. And they
won’t believe you, of course. Unless, that is, I give you a little
trophy to take with you. When you bend over and yank your jeans down
for them, and they see your marks, then they’ll belive. Here goes!”
She swatted me hard, slicing right into marks I already bore. I howled
and jumped up on my toes and shook my lovely delirious hinds. She
struck again. My bottom churned and my cheeks bunched and then released
and then bunched together again.
Jasmine placed her hands upon my bottom. As yet her fingers
bore no oil. Just her bare slim fingers seizing and grasping my hot raw
bottom.
“Ahh, so sweet and young you are,” Jasmine hissed. “Such a
fine, plump bottom! I love feeling the heat of the lash in it. Don’t
fight me, dear. Let your bottom sag into my hands.”
I bit my lip and sank back, letting her hold me. She
controlled my squirmings with her seeking fingertips. I was hers. We
were both females but she had found a way to make me submit. I might
have given her more of my weight but Kerri held me up by my breasts.
She squeezed them as if they were gourds at market, bought to be broken
open and crushed and eaten. My nipples stuck up like little buttons and
Kerri bit at them with her teeth. I swooned. I could not stand all the
feelings that flooded me. Pain lapped at my nipples as soothing but
insistent fingertips probed the fleshy halves of my pumpkin. I gasped,
lost myself. I peed on the seat like a mare. Jasmine tutted but did
not reprove me. She was all womanly tenderness now, though her fingers
sought, male-like, at my rosette. Jasmine breathed hotly on my back.
She licked me.
“I must have you, dear. Right in your ass. Do not deny me.”
She helped me down from the chair. My pee puddled in the seat. It was
forgotten, forgiven. She put me down on my knees on the floor and made
me assume a doggie position. “Put your face on the floor,” she told
me. “I must have that adorable ass of yours as high in the air as you
can make it.”
I wished for a handkerchief, a shirt, or something, under my
face, but she offered me none. With her hand she guided my head to the
floor and I was forced to press my lips to the carpet. Kissing the
floor, I felt my bottom raised high by her hands and held there. Kerri
knelt beside me on the floor and put her palms under my tummy. The air
of the room felt cool on my tushy. Knowing I was only inviting more
trouble, I stuck my hiney up and let my cheeks open to the air. It felt
wonderful. My burning ass felt its first taste of relief. But Jasmine,
wicked as ever, took a dildo from a drawer and began greasing it.
“This will be shoved up your ass and then, when its right up
you, I’m going to give you a treat!” Jasmine laughed. With spooky
thoughts in my brain I waited for her to ream me. Kerri tickled my
clitty. She promised to make me cum when I was full.
Jasmine parted my ass cheeks. I felt the head of the dildo
knock at my anus. I stab. I gasped. It went up inside me, hard,
Jasmine pushing it. Missy walked into the room just then. She stopped
cold and her hands flew to her bottom. She watched with big scared eyes
as my fucking proceeded.
I was reamed. I was opened. When Jasmine had probed me to my
depths and stabbed me repeatedly with the dildo, she gave me a new
sensation. It was terrible. The dildo was hard but its hardness was
due to its being filled with water, I was told. Jasmine whispered its
secrets in my ears. More water could be pumped into the tail of the
dildo with a simple hand pump. Jasmine sent Missy back to the bathroom
and the girl returned with a cup of water. It was a child’s cup;
plastic and patterned with cartoon hearts. She gave it to Jasmine. The
water was poured into a big plastic syringe. It had a rubber squeeze
ball at its end, but otherwise was just a big plastic tube, with a
penis-like shaft and a small tapered point.
Jasmine flipped open a little flap at the back of my dildo.
The dildo was stuck upright into my offered bottom, no water could
escape it. Jasmine put her syringe into the flap in the end of my
dildo. Then she squeezed the squeeze ball. More water was pumped into
my dildo, and it expanded in my ass.
I gasped. I was being widened! I tried to contract my cheeks
but Jasmine slapped my fanny and told me to keep them wide as I could.
All the while, Kerri played her fingers over my spot. My tiny clitoris
hungered for love. She promised to give it to me if only I’d accept the
widening of my ass.
My anal ring, gripping so tightly, could not sustain the burden
of the inflowing water. It opened, opened more, stretched to the
limit. I felt as if I had a huge turd rammed up my butt. I wept on the
carpet. My tears flowed fast and freely. I kissed the floor with my
lips and hoped my bottom survived intact.
I tried to move, tried to crawl forward. The very act sent a
shriek tearing from my lungs. I was filled beyond capacity. From my
butthole into the depths of my body I now had a huge giant penis up me,
hard as nails and uncompromising to a fault. There was no escape.
Jasmine laughed. Missy squealed in horror. Kerri played with me and
made me cum again and again in her hand.
“God, what are you doing to her?!” Leslie asked. She trotted
into the room with a 12-pack of Mountain Dew in her arms.
“She must be made more accessible for her lover,” Jasmine said
bluntly. I cried and shook my hiney, hoping to somehow get that awful
huge prick out of me, but she showed me no mercy. She kept a finger on
it to make sure it remained completely embedded. Any movement I made,
even the slightest breath, sent a shiver of horror through me. I was
rent and broken, I was sure, by the awful thing that Jasmine had sent up
my ass, feeling it right to my belly-button and unable to escape it.
Jasmine kissed my face. She ignored my pleading, self-pitying
groans. I was her prisoner. I could do nothing. She could leave me
like this til the end of time, if she wished.
“When I send you home, I will give you a business card,”
Jasmine told me. Her words purred into my ears. “It is the name of a
man. He will treat you much crueler than I can, or than Brent ever
would. Much crueler. He is utterly demanding. He allows a girl no
rest, no reprieve. He trained me and I suffered much at his hands. I
can only start you down the path tonight that he will take you on. But
you must call him. Tell him your age. He accepts no one over
eighteen. When he gives you his address, and you go to him, you must
take a whip along. It is the only way. He will not accept you if you
forget it. And you cannot come again, only once, and you must do it
properly, just as he says, bringing the whip with you.”
“Where--where would I get a whip?” I asked through my tears. I
knew where to buy CD’s in L.A., but not whips!
“Any store that sells things for horses will have them,”
Jasmine whispered. “I will not give you one. You must go and buy it
yourself. Pick it out, present it at the counter. Yes, Kelly! It is
that bad! He is that bad!”
I came again, into Kerri’s seeking fingertips. I was all honey
now, my moistness filling my empty cunt, my thighs wet and loved and
caressed and parted and delved between. Jasmine stroked the plump
cheeks of my bottom and began easing out the hard dildo. She drew some
water back into the syringe so the dildo could move in my bottom. I
felt it slide slickly back, slowly, so as not to hurt me and also to let
me have the feel of it, the penetrating effect of it as it let me go
only ever so slowly. At last, gleaming with the juices of my well-oiled
ass, it was removed. Jasmine laughed and set it aside on the carpet. I
felt open. I felt remorseful. In my relief, crazily, I wanted the
dildo back. And I wanted Brent where the dildo had not gone, in my
cunt.
“Stand up, girl,” Jasmine told me. She and Kerri hauled me to
my feet. I stood dizzily. I palmed my poor ass with my hands. It was
hurt, it was pried apart and then left to dream of past penetrations,
wishing for more. “Come, we must give Brent his final treatment,”
Jasmine said. Happily she led me over to my lover so I could watch his
destruction.
Brent was hard as a rock. His penis looked like one of those
stone phalluses in Fiji. Yet, soon, it would all be over. He would be
made to cum and cum in buckets until he was soft and withdrawn. I
stared at him.
“Hi,” I breathed.
“You took quite a dildo up that fat little ass of yours,” he
said.
I touched his cock with my finger. “You’re going to be small
soon,” I told him.
“I know,” he answered.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Leslie said. She freed his cock from the
vise. Brent let her handle him. He did not resist. He was beyond
resisting. He quavered in her small palms, his organ hard but wanting
to lose itself now, to let its seed spring forth and be gone. He no
longer cared whether he shot in or out of a girl. He wanted to be rid
of his tormenting seed.
“Brent, I know you want to cum, but try to hold it,” Leslie
told him. “I would really like to see you pork one of us, even if you
don’t care.”
“Okay,” Brent gasped. “Just finish this game of yours. I’ve
got to pee badly.”
Leslie turned her head and looked at Jasmine. “It’s okay if he
pees now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, let him. I want him thinking of nothing but his hardness
and his sperm,” Jasmine agreed.
“Which one of us do you want to pee on?” Leslie asked Brent.
“Which--?” he asked, stunned.
“Yes, pick your favorite pee partner. You may just go on her.
Don’t worry about the carpet. We’ve spilled a little pee on it already,
I’m afraid. Now it’s your turn to go. Which of us do you like the
best?”
“Missy,” Brent answered firmly.
“Brent!” I shouted. Missy hollared that she did not want to be
peed on.
“I’m sorry,” he told me. “I like you, but I can’t get enough
of Missy. Bring her over here, ladies! I’m going to pee right on that
cute belly of hers!”
“Noooo! I don’t want him wetting on me!” Missy cried, but
Jasmine and Leslie brought her over to him. Brent presented her with
his cock. He aimed so that his penis would go on her belly button.
“Well? Let’s see it!” Leslie told Brent. She tickled the
underside of his cock. A minute passed. Then another.
“I, I can’t!” Brent gasped. Leslie bent and kissed his shaft.
Suddenly, as her lips mouthed him wetly, Brent’s cockhead exploded with
pee. It arced across the space between himself and Missy, falling, and
splattered on her belly. Missy howled her disapproval but Jasmine and
Kerri, laughing, held her tight between them. Droplets of pee hit them
as Brent’s powerful stream gushed onto Missy’s tummy.
Too soon, he was spent. He had no more pee to give. Missy
stood sobbing, pee running down her belly, nesting in her pubic curls,
trickling down to her cuntlips and dripping to the floor.
Leslie popped open a can of Mountain Dew. Quickly she poured
it into a dark green Tiffany glass. Coca-Cola was stamped on the side
of the glass, molded into the glass itself. I watched as the foaming
bubbles of Mountain Dew rose up to the hand-blown lettering and then
beyond, right to the rim of the glass.
I was urged to take hold of Brent’s penis. “Grab the shaft,
point him toward the floor,” Leslie told me. I did as she asked. My
fingers barely fit around him, but I managed it, and then held him down,
with difficulty, so that he could be put into the glass.
Leslie brought the glass of soda water under his dick. She
lifted the glass, sinking Brent’s cock into the brimming soda. Brent
shouted as his penis, already coated with Spearmint Binaca, was plunged
into the bubbling soda. His arms, bound behind him, ensured he would
not resist. He might have run, or course, or dodged away, but he stood
his ground, bravely, and watched as his cock was defiled.
It’s amazing what a glass of bubbling soda can do. I’m told it
burns, the bubbles exploding against a man’s cock and causing him true
pinpricks of pain. “Yahoooo! Mountain Dew!” Leslie cried, and Brent
was forced to join in, watching his own cock’s denoument. I held him in
the glass, despite his flexing attempts to lift himself out of it. I
made him take it all.
When at last Brent surfaced, we took his dripping cock and
stuffed it deep into Mindy. She shouted as she was forced upon him. He
was big, she was nothing if not small. They merged like fire and water,
sizzling, hungry but dueling, she a captive between Jasmine and Kerri,
he guided by my own hands.
It took a long time to work Brent fully into Missy. She was
too young for him, really, but we made her take him anyway. She must
learn sometime, Jasmine said. She cannot just play little games
forever. Remorsefully, but wanting to see my friend fucked, I
deflowered her with my lover. Her blood stained the carpet. Jasmine
said she would save the stain as a memory of little Missy’s virginity.
It was gone now. She was impaled on him. We rammed Brent into her
belly again and again. When Brent was fully lodged, deep in her womb, I
put my hands under his balls. I lifted them and I squeezed them hard.
“Give her your sperm,” I said in a hushed voice. “Go ahead, I
don’t mind. She’s my friend. It’s my gift to her.”
“Yessss,” Brent gritted. He tried to fight his need but it
exploded suddenly from him. Missy wept and shivered upon his huge
cock. We made her take every last drop of him.
“You have been a good girl, Missy,” Jasmine whispered. She
kissed the girl when it was over. We lifted her off Brent. We took her
from the room and walked her back to the West Wing. When we arrived,
the DAs were gone. We tucked her into my bed. I slipped in after her,
I was so exhausted.
Kerri remained in my room with me. The others left. They went
back to Brent. I was past loving him now. I loved myself instead. I
lay in bed kissing Missy, not becuase I liked her but becuase she was
there, and I wanted her softness against mine. She did not matter, only
the pillowy softness of her breasts did, her little gasps, her rising
and falling tummy. I felt womanly and I wanted to be a woman with her,
the two of us survivors, suffering together and passing through fire.
Kerri pampered my bottom. She soothed lotion all over it. I
felt loved, needed. I cared no more about Brent. I would leave in the
morning, I told myself. Back to L.A. and the things I knew. I’d had
enough adventures, for now. I’d grown up a little more. I yearned for
familiar things, not whips or chains or huge phalluses, but simple
dresses, and homework, and sensitive, gentle teachers.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
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