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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Love Lessons part 1 of 1 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE LESSONS
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
Mom always told me to stay away from older men. Naturally, I
didn’t listen. I was 16 when I met him. He was gorgeous. We made love
like wild things in the jungle. (When mom wasn’t home, naturally.) And
so it was, on the day before New Year’s, that I found myself chatting
with a woman about a New Year’s Eve party I planned to attend.
“Are you showing?” she asked. We were both young, she 19, me
just 16. We were going to different parties, comparing notes.
“Well, just a little,” I replied. I told her my dress would be
longer in front than in back. And the top would be cut so I might
“lose” it without being completely undressed.
“Ohhh, that’s even racier than I’ve planned,” she said
admiringly. And she told me about her New Year’s Eve dress. “It’s sort
of like a string bikini, but with lots of extra ties to make it into a
dress.”
We shared wicked smiles. We were young and naughty. We parted
with a hug and I found myself briefly clinging to her, for comfort. I
hadn’t actually been to a sexy New Year’s Eve party before and I had a
feeling I was getting myself into more than I’d bargained for. If she
noticed my fear she let a simple pat on my back be my sole consolation.
I was in uncharted water. Mom was away for a week, in Aspen.
She’d met a new boyfriend and suddenly her fears about my virginity gave
way to her own need for love. I’d been pushing against her, telling her
to give me more freedom. So she did.
My boyfriend picked me up after school. His name was Ted. He
was 24, an investment banker, and he drove a way cool Plymouth Prowler.
It was colored purple and it looked a little bit like a big purple penis
as it nosed through New York’s late afternoon traffic.
He took me to his apartment. I thought we might have a fling
on his bed before the party but, when he took me into his bedroom, there
was a stunning pink party dress laid out for me on his bed.
“Oh, Ted, it’s beautiful!” I gushed. I darted over to inspect
my first New Year’s Eve party dress (my first ‘adult’ one, anyway). As
I lingered over it’s satin bows and its soft, almost sheer folds a
Mexican woman stepped into the bedroom behind us.
“Juanita will see to your bath and your hair and will help you
dress,” Ted told me. “She’s a licensed cosmetologist, so listen to her
advice.”
“Yes, Ted,” I answered. I batted my eyes submissively. He
stepped out of the room and Juanita closed the door.
“Take everything off,” she instructed me. She was short and
plump and her dark hair was bundled up to keep it out of her eyes. She
wore a starched white blouse and an efficient knee-length skirt. Her
legs were swaddled in stockings, perhaps due to poor circulation. Under
her watchful gaze, feeling nervous, I peeled off my plaid schoolgirl’s
skirt and my collared white blouse and I even was made to take the
barrettes out of my hair.
She insisted on scrubbing me in the bath. When I was all
sparkling clean and she’d dried me she did up my hair, lingering over
it, telling me how pretty it was. I had blonde hair, like delicate
finespun gold. My eyes were blue and she gave them just a touch of eye
shadow, to make my gaze even more vivid.
Then she put my gown on. It was sexy beyond belief. There
were no sleeves on the gown. There was, indeed, no top. The gown
stretched from my toes all the way up to my bosoms, and then just
stopped, right underneath them. I looked at myself bare-bosomed in the
mirror. The gown was delicate, sequined, every little girl’s dream of
Barbie on New Year’s Eve. It simply had no top, that’s all. Juanita
tied up the two spaghetti-like drawstrings that met behind my neck to
keep the gown from falling off me. I felt the simple bow hugging the
back of my neck when she was done.
“This won’t come untied, will it?” I asked worriedly.
“Should you be concerned?” she asked. There was a touch of wry
disdain in her voice. Was she jealous? My young breasts stuck up from
my chest like twin cantaloups, already bare, ready for suckling. She
passed a fingertip over them and my nipples became erect.
I reached up and re-tied the bow behind my neck myself. I
intended to double-knot it but, as I stared at the dress, I was afraid I
might hurt the strings if I forced them into a double-knot. (A silly
thought, I know, but that’s how you feel when you’re 16 and going to
your first New Year’s Eve party!)
When I’d made sure the strings behind my neck were properly
tied I turned about and looked at my backside. My dress was lusciously
long in front but the seamstress who’d made it must have run out of
material. In back, there was simply no dress at all. The hem rose from
my toes in front all the way up to my waist in back. My dress wasn’t
just slitted in back, it was completely open. My legs, completely bare,
could be seen, as well as the full round cheeks of my bottom. It was
almost frightening to see my bare bottom sticking out so lewdly from
such a gorgeous dress. It was white and creamy and high-perched, with
my dress hanging uselessly above it, covering only my back. I reached
behind myself and tugged at the hem of my dress, futilely. It covered
me only down to my waist and left everything below quite enticingly
naked.
Juanita seemed to feel a touch of sympathy for me. No doubt
with Ted’s permission, though she acted grandly, as if doing me a
personal favor, she drew a small pair of panties out of a drawer. They
were white, in contrast to the pink of my gown.
“Here, put these on,” she said to me. Gratefully I took the
panties from her. They were so fine and small and delicate that I had
trouble figuring out which was the front and which was the back.
Finally I got it straight and she helped lift my dress as I stepped into
the panties and pulled them up. When I looked at myself in the mirror
again my bottom was half-covered by the white undies. They looked
ridiculous, I thought, being all white and not matching the pink of my
gown, and they only covered half my butt. But they beat having a
completely bare bottom, I had to admit. I gazed at the crack of my
plump fanny where it rose uncovered from the panties. I touched a
finger to my crack and then hooked my finger in the ‘waistband’ of the
panties and tugged them up. They didn’t budge. They were as high as
they could go. There was a crease in them where they dipped into the
part of my buttcrack that they did manage to cover. I smoothed the
panties as best I could, trying to get rid of the crease. But as soon
as I took a step the little panties dipped into my crack again.
“Don’t trouble yourself too much about them. I can’t think
you’ll keep them on for long,” Juanita said with a wry, self-satisfied
grin. She was meek and humble but she had a way, in her meekness, of
letting me know that she, at least, would spend a dignified New Year’s,
not sashaying around some expensive party in a gown that showed off her
bottom.
The last item of clothing that I was permitted was a small
bikini top. Jaunita tied it on me. It tied around behind my neck and
also behind my back, like an ordinary bikini top, but it (thankfully)
matched the pink of my gown. To the unobservant eye one might think my
gown was complete, once the top was tied on. But a quick loosing of its
twin drawstrings would reduce me again to my topless state.
“You are lovely,” Juanita admitted, checking my lipstick once
she’d got me fitted into the top. “Have fun at your party. And don’t
turn into a pumpkin.”
Dressed in my new gown, Juanita led me out of the bedroom to
Ted. He smiled at me and gave me a small gift. I opened it, as he
stood admiring me. I expected a ring or a bracelet. Instead, it turned
out to be a small, delicate gold chain. At one end was a little clip.
“What is this?” I asked. It was lovely but I had no idea what
to do with it.
“It’s a clit clip,” Ted said nonchalantly. I looked up at him
gawk-eyed, a 16-year-old schoolgirl with puffy, childish cheeks
confronting her womanhood.
“You clip it onto your labia,” Juanita interjected. Her
English was broken, laced with a thick Spanish accent, but I understood
her all too clearly.
“I’m not clipping anything to my labia!” I protested. Ted bent
and hoisted the front of my gown. He lifted it up until my belly
showed. Gently he lowered my panties. As I watched, my breath moving
my bosoms, my belly taut and frightened, Ted nudged my legs open and
placed the clip over one of my labial folds and let go.
“Yeeeech!” I gasped. My voice was high, squeaky. I was just a
schoolgirl but, suddenly, I was a schoolgirl with a clit clip!
“There. It matches your pubic hair perfectly,” Ted said. He
ran the length of gold chain across his fingers. Then he coiled the
thin little chain and deposited it inside my panties and pulled them up.
As Ted watched, Juanita helped me into the fur coat Ted had
given me earlier in the year. It was a lovely mink fur. It had the
dual benefit of keeping me warm and my bottom unseen.
Ted took my arm.
“Shall we go?” he asked me. I stared meekly up at him. Not
waiting for me to answer, he pulled open the door of his townhouse and
led me out into the street.
The wind had picked up. A flurry of snow hit us as soon as we
stepped out onto the walk. Ted held me close and protected me, lifting
his coat to shield me from the bitterness of the snow-laden breeze.
Inside my coat I could feel my pantied bottom rubbing against the fur
lining. It felt so soft, and yet, as he held me close, Ted whispered to
me,
“I shall want to whip you tonight.”
I gasped. Had I heard him correctly? My thighs trembled. The
clit clip bit more vigorously, I thought, into the labial fold where
he’d affixed it.
Ted opened the door of his Prowler and slipped me inside. When
he closed the door with a bang I felt comfortable, cared for, yet what
had he said to me in the wind? Ted walked around the front of the car
and I thought his gait looked a bit awkward. When he slipped in beside
me (the top on the car was up, thankfully) he said not a word more. He
stared ahead into the street. I wanted to ask what he’d said to me,
but, as I looked across at him, and he started the car, looking so noble
and fine, I couldn’t bring myself to.
We drove downtown. Ted stopped in front of the Trump Plaza and
a valet helped me out of Ted’s Prowler and took the car. Ted escorted
me into the lobby. It was colored all in gold and a beautiful fountain
gushed up from the center of the floor. We stopped to admire it.
Tropical fishes swam languidly in the water. Silver dollars and pennies
and newly-minted quarters and dimes were sprinkled across the floor of
the fountain, like jewels. The fishes seemed oblivious to their wealth,
taking it for granted.
Ted bought me flowers in the lobby, a dozen roses. Then he
took me to the elevator.
“Floor 14,” Ted said to the bellhop in the elevator. He was a
young boy, all smiles, and he pressed the button for the 14th floor.
The lift ascended quickly. We exited with the bellhop staring after my
bottom as it jiggled within my coat.
Ted knocked at Suite 1401 and a woman answered. She smiled
first at Ted, then at me. She seemed a little suprised at my youth.
But if she had any questions, she refrained from raising them. Instead
she gave Ted a peck on the lips, then turned to me and asked for my
coat.
As she turned, as we stepped inside, I saw she wore a dress
identical to mine. Without a coat on her bottom was quite visible, and
she wore panties that matched the color of her dress. She reached for
my coat and slipped it from my shoulders.
“Ah, you are properly attired then, dear, very good,” she said
in a smooth, softly confident voice. A hispanic maid appeared,
outfitted in a typical maid’s uniform. Our hostess handed the maid my
coat and she disappeared with it.
“My panties don’t match my dress,” I said ruefully, seeing our
hostess’s.
“You have white schoolgirl panties on,” our hostess smiled.
“Be happy. They befit you. Over there, as you can see, some girls have
to do without any panties at all!”
My eyes darted to the party at large. A big room beckoned. I
stepped toward it to get a better view of it. Metallic balloons, some
grey, some pink, floated amidst tables packed with food. Partiers, the
men in suits and the women all in gowns like I and the hostess wore,
helped themselves to the food. They chatted and sipped drinks, all of
them quite decorous and content, yet the females all showed their
bottoms, some in panties and some utterly bare-assed.
“Let me take your flowers for you. They are so lovely,” our
hostess said to me. She eased the dozen roses from my fingers. “I’ll
see that their stems are cut back a little and they’re put in water.”
She gave them to the maid. I watched her take them away. Ted nudged me
forward. He was eager to join the party.
Ted and I drifted into the big party room. We were received
with admiring glances. A woman, acting perhaps as the hostess’ helper,
gave me a glass of chablis. Ted kissed her. A man approached us and
Ted introduced him as Rod. I smiled, blushing. Rod stepped behind me
and admired my ass.
Large glass windows provided a view of the city. We strolled
to the nearest. I’d taken a stalk of celery from one of the buffet
tables. The woman, Rod’s wife, sipped chablis and nibbled on an olive.
I dipped my celery stalk in a little paper bowl of cheddar cheese that
Rod offered to me.
I liked Rod. He was strong and handsome like Ted but dark,
with a mean, swarthy look, yet he treated me very politely.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jennifer, Ted’s wife, asked me. We
looked down on the city, its lights glowing and twinkling, the cars
moving slowly through the streets, snow drifting down in big flakes and
covering everything.
“Yes,” I agreed. She placed a hand on my waist, right where
the hem of my dress gave way to the swell of my bottom. I giggled. She
sighed and let out a little laugh. It sounded like bells tinkling at
Christmas.
I was introduced to everyone. Men smiled at me gallantly as I
sifted within the crowd, gazing at my bottom as discreetly as possible,
yet not hiding their interest in it. Women received me with soft kisses
and blandishments. The drinks flowed freely. I tried not to drink too
much, being still young and unaccostomed to it. I munched more celery
and tried bits of pink salmon and smoked, thinly sliced sausage.
The hour moved from 10 to 11. Our hostess came round and began
removing the bikini halter tops of each of the female guests. She had a
party hat on, small and pointy, with streamers billowing out the top of
it, kept on her head by a chin strap under her chin. Gaily she snipped
off each woman’s halter top, using a scissors. The tops were not to be
retrieved or replaced. Gradually the floor became littered with ruined
bras as the hostess moved from one female to the next.
“Time to show your breasts,” she smiled brightly to me when she
reached me. As I watched, she cut away my top. It fell into my hands.
Ted brushed my elbow and made me drop the top to the floor. The hostess
stepped on it as she moved from me to Jennifer.
I watched open-mouthed. I could not believe the shamelessness
of it. Beside me Jennifer let out a little squeal as her big bosoms
spilled into view. They trembled and her nipples stood up immediately.
Ted reached up and cupped one of her breasts and palped it, like a
doctor examining a patient. Jennifer blushed. I noticed I was blushing
too.
“You have lovely breasts,” Rod said to me.
“Thank you,” I replied. “You’re the first person beside Ted to
see them.”
“How nice,” he answered. He reached up and palmed them. They
were heavy but because I was so young they stuck right up in his hands,
my nipples excitedly capping them, extruding themselves from the tips of
my breasts and demanding attention. Rod lightly pinched one of my
nipples. I let out a gasp between nervously gritted teeth.
“There will be dancing in a few minutes. Will you give me the
first?” Rod asked.
“Yesssss,” I answered. I didn’t want him to pinch my nipples
again.
Our hostess passed through the crowd again. This time she bore
a can of whipped cream. As everyone patiently waited, the females no
doubt as nervous as I, she sprayed whipped cream onto all of our
nipples.
“Your turn, dear,” our hostess smiled at me when she reached
me. And then, just like for the others, she spritzed out the cream. It
was ice cold and it made me squeal a little as it hit my warm nipples.
“And now you, Jennifer,” our hostess said, turning to her next.
Jennifer managed to suppress a cry as she was creamed.
“Now, gentlemen,” our hostess announced, ringing a little bell
when she’d finished applying the cream. “Your job is to lick off the
cream. But none to his own wife or girlfriend, for that would indeed be
a waste of opportunities. Lick the cream from some other female, and
one male each, please, no hogging.”
I gasped as Rod rudely seized my bosoms and bent his head down
and sucked them. Suddenly they were no longer on display, but things to
be mauled and sucked and eaten. With unabashed relish Rod gripped and
squeezed my poor breasts and savagely licked off the cream. All his
politeness was gone. I almost screamed, he was so direct in his lust,
so unflinching. Yet I managed to bite my lip, taking a cue from
Jennifer, and suffered in silence. Turning my head, I watched as my own
Ted sucked quite greedily upon hers.
At last, when all the cream that had covered our nipples was
long gone, the men felt satisfied and came up for air. Rod licked his
lips and made a pretence of straightening my dress. He hooked his
fingers into the material under my breasts and smoothed it. I gazed at
him. I wanted to be angry at him but I fear my eyes instead had a
dazed, loving look in them. I found myself licking my own lips.
Briefly Rod kissed me. I could smell his aftershave, Brut, as he put
his lips to my own.
“And now for the nipple clamps,” our hostess announced. I
nearly fainted. Rod stroked my bare arm and held me close. Slowly the
hostess began moving through the crowd again, this time attaching small
gold clamps to the (quite erect) nipples of each female. Some pretended
to be unaffected, casually trying to sip a drink as the clamps were
applied. Others frankly let out a shriek.
“Such new, lovely young breasts,” our hostess complimented me
when she reached me. As Rod held me tight, his arms encircling me, I
was forced to present my bare bosoms. The hostess nipped one of my
nipples. I shouted as I felt the clamp bite down on it. “Now for the
other one,” she said. She lifted a second clamp, connected to the first
by a shimmering golden chain, and affixed it to my other teat. I gave a
higher-pitched cry.
“Ohhhh, it hurts!” I complained. Rod stroked my shoulders, so
frail and small in his big hands. He lofted up each of my breasts in
turn, feeling their plumpness, admiring the jeweled gold clamps that
held my nipples so tightly. My eager nipples were contained,
constrained, within metal holders. I shivered. Rod led me out on the
dance floor and music began to play. A curtain lifted and I saw a
white-suited ensemble, a quartet. They gazed at their music and
pretended to take no notice of the state of my bosoms. Other guests
followed us out onto the floor. In a whirl of skirts and jacket tails
we began to dance. Out beyond the big picture windows the clouds
parted. A late moon began to rise.
At midnight the music stopped and we gathered round the
hostess. Bare-bosomed as the rest of us females, with clamps stuck on
her nipples, she raised a little alarm clock. “At twelve, all the
females are to have their panties removed, if they’re wearing them.
Toss them into the air so we can see them! And men, when you’re done
with that duty, but not before, please unzip yourselves, and show us
your strength. Then you are free to do as you please. The night is
yours. Enjoy the rest of the food, drink yourself silly, dance your
hearts away, as you like. There are two bedrooms in back for the very
eager. They are not big enough to accomodate more than a few of you,
though, so I trust the rest of you will find some other way to pass the
time. Leave when you like, no later than 9 tomorrow, to give the maid
time to clean up a little before I return the room.”
The clock struck 12 just as she finished. The hostess’s alarm
went off as, against the wall, a big grandfather clock began striking
out the hour in deep sonorous chimes. A cheer went up. Confetti spewed
from the ceiling. The ensemble struck up “Ald Lang Sine.” I felt hands
on my bottom and, giving a shriek, turned to see Rod hustling down my
panties. My clit chain unfurled. It tugged at my labia, making its
weight felt. I was scared to death that in his haste to remove my
panties Rod would yank on my chain and somehow tear my cuntlips. I
breathed a sigh of relief when he managed to get my tight little undies
down to my ankles.
I felt male, with the leash-like chain dangling between my
legs. Yet I was utterly female, with a tight little cunt and a full,
womanly bottom. I felt the cool air of the room wash over the underside
of my bottomcheeks. Then, a moment later, I felt Rod’s hot breath,
blowing against my fanny as he made me lift my feet so he could get my
panties off. As demurely as I could I lifted my feet for him. In his
haste he almost made me trip on my own undies. I emitted a cry of
alarm, barely caught my balance. At that moment I don’t think he would
have cared if I’d fallen. Ridding me of my underpants was all he could
think of.
Jennifer let out a cry and I saw her panties, pink to match the
color of her dress, go flying into the air. My own quickly followed. I
watched with dismay as Rod tossed my dove-like panties high up into the
air. He wickedly lofted them in an arc so they’d fall too far from
where we were standing for me to retrieve them.
Yellow panties, matched to the gown of another woman, fell from
the sky and hit Jennifer in the face. She squealed. She blew at them
with her mouth, where they draped down from her nose. Then she shook
her head a little and they fell off her, dropping to the floor. She
placed a heel over them and ground them into the dancefloor, laughing.
We walked out onto the balcony. There was a rush to our walk,
the men hurrying me, and Jennifer. Rod still had possession of me and
Ted still had Jennifer, but they switched us at the last moment, and I
fell into my own Ted’s arms and kissed him passionately. His hands
grabbed my fanny and squeezed it. His fingers were like steel grips
pressing into it. I was soft. I was open. He spread my cheeks and let
my bottomhole feel the cold night air upon it.
Suddenly I was spun around. Ted bent me forward over the
railing of the porch. It was cold outside, apart from his arms. Ted
pushed me into a deeper bow. My clamped nipples offered their
shimmering chain to the passing cars far below. The city loomed under
me, beckoning. As I gasped in my bent over position, scared of being
toppled over the railing, I felt a sudden stab between my legs.
“Ted! Nooo!” I cried. He shoved himself into me, rudely, not
asking permission or anything. There were no words of entreaty, just a
rough, hard entry, splitting me up between my legs, making me take him.
Beside me, Jennifer was bent over the railing.
“Oh, God!” she gasped. Rod’s hips lurched forward and he
rammed himself up into her.
With lusty abandon the two men fucked us. Ted moved within me
like a Jaguar, fast and lean and full of spirit. My clit chain waggled
helplessly under me. Its weight pulled on me, teasing me, annoying me.
Beside me Jennifer received Rod. He was as ruthless as my boyfriend,
perhaps more so. Jennifer and I gasped at the moon and the street below
and the buildings across from us. Were they watching? Could they see
us? I did not know, did not care a moment later as I felt a rush of
desire well up within me.
Snow sprinkled onto my lovely chignon. The flakes bit at my
cheeks and stung the snowy hanging gourds of my breasts. Behind me Ted
made me buck to his thrusts. I gasped and keened and protested again,
but there was no stopping the fucking. I felt like a pet, captured and
loved. A captive bird. Caught by a bird of prey.
“I cannot train you properly. I love you too much,” Ted said
to me at the party’s conclusion. And with that, Jennifer gazing at me
anxiously, me even more fearful, Ted exchanged me. I went to Rod, she
went to Ted. The men promised us that each of us would be trained by
him, each by the man who loved her less. He could be more dutiful with
the whip.
It was a totally new development. It had arisen unexpectedly
in the wee hours of the morning, at least from my point of view, as we
dallied again over the food, drinking more, dancing a little. But I
think the men had planned it all along. And so, at 3 o’clock, in the
dead of night, Ted kissed me goodbye and handed me over to Rod, and Rod
gave Ted his wife. They were newlyweds. They had been together only
two months. He promised her she would be more faithful to him after a
week of training.
“But I’ve been utterly faithful to you!” Jennifer said to him.
I could not tell if she was going along with the swap or complaining.
Perhaps we were both too excited to really complain, our nipples stiff
and freed of the clamps, the men hard and erect again.
“Then you can show your faithfulness to me by fucking whomever
I tell you to,” Rod replied. “Make her submissive, Ted. I want no
backtalk from her when you return her to me a week from now.”
“Of course,” Ted nodded. “And do the same for me, would you?
Beth is still wilful at 16, a spoilt little schoolgirl sometimes, if you
know what I mean.”
Rod hugged me. “You’ll have no trouble from her, a week from
now, I assure you.” He pinched my bottom. I shouted. None of the
other guests heard, or cared. Moans emanated from one of the bedrooms.
The quartet played lazily. The violinist was a little too friendly with
the maid who gave them drinks.
I rode with Rod in his Lamborghini to his apartment. It was
conveniently close to Trump Plaza. Perhaps he’d been to other parties
there, and driven other girls to his place afterwards, I mused. Perhaps
it was a regular thing of his. I looked across at him but he was
scowling at the late night traffic so I looked quickly away.
It was drizzling when we parked. He helped me out of his car
and sheltered me under his coat. We mounted a flight of steps to an
entryway and were within, then took another flight of stairs up to the
second floor. Our breaths were puffing by the time he got me upstairs
and into his apartment.
It was a small but well decorated flat, tastefully male, with a
touch of the female, no doubt provided by his newlywed wife.
“Do you have anyplace I could put my roses?” I asked Rod. I’d
fetched my roses back again on leaving the party.
“No,” he said. He took them from me. He laid them on a
table. “Undress.” He stepped back from me and began undoing his suit.
Seeing me hesitate, he added, “Don’t make me rip it off you.”
With butterflies in my tummy I removed my dress. I hadn’t
dressed myself and so I first had to orient myself. Reaching back, I
found the zipper to the gown high up, behind my neck.
“I can’t get it,” I complained to Rod. He snarled, and for a
moment he would simply grab my dress and tear it. Instead, perhaps
softening under my 16-year-old schoolgirl eyes, gazing at him balefully,
he turned me around and got hold of the zipper. Quickly he zipped it
down, baring my back. A moment later the gown fell away from me and I
caught it with my hands.
“Now, let’s go to the bedroom,” Rod said. He guided me
forward, still wearing his pants, but with his zipper open again (after
he’d zipped it up, upon leaving the party). With his thing bobbing
beside my thigh he guided me quickly into his master bedroom. A dollop
of pre-cum deposited itself on my thigh and I brushed my hand down to
get it off me. As I did my fingers met the big head of his penis and,
sheepishly, instinctively, they darted away from it. Rod laughed. He
shoved me into his bedroom.
A big canopied bed awaited us. I stood stock still, admiring
it. I’d always dreamed of making love in a canopy bed since I was a
little girl. Behind me Rod got off his pants.
“Kneel down on the floor,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Down on the floor!” he barked.
Reluctantly, wanting to be in the bed and not on the floor, I
knelt down on a soft fuzzy throwrug that laid on the bare wooden floor.
I heard Rod’s belt being drawn from his pants.
“Face on the floor, down on the rug, bottom high,” he ordered.
His voice was absolutely no-nonsense.
“Rodddd,” I whined. A sharp crack of the belt somewhere in the
air behind me made me quickly obey. I pressed my childish right cheek
into the rug. I checked the pool of spittle that instantly began
forming in the hollow of my cheek by swallowing.
“Up with your bottom more,” Rod commanded. I felt myself lift
my heinie. The air in the room was cool and as I spread my thighs,
showing all of myself to him, I felt an involuntary shiver. Dangling
down from between my legs the clit chain still taunted me. As I moved
it wiggled, pulling at my labia, reminding me of my female sex even as
it vaguely hinted at the male.
“Now, keep your hands down on the rug,” Rod said to me. I
pressed my palms flat against the rug opposite my face.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. My voice sounded silly
and childish coming out of my floor-pressed cheeks.
“You’ll see,” Rod answered. “Or, rather, feel...”
There was a sharp crack of leather and I felt a sudden searing
of heat across my bottom. I screamed and bounced forward on the rug.
My palms flew up behind me and clutched at my wounded heinie.
“Ow, that hurt!” I gasped when I’d recovered myself. I rubbed
my bottom ruefully.
“I’m going to have to cuff you to keep your hands out the way,
I see,” Rod sighed. “Extra strokes for that, I assure you.”
“Rod, don’t!” I protested, but he didn’t hear. He’d locked the
bedroom door upon our entering and there was noplace for me to run. I
was just a slender 16-year-old girl. He was a grown man.
Rod took a leather collar out of a dresser drawer along with
two wrist straps. A pair of his wife’s panties fell from the drawer as
he hastily took out the cuffs and straps. I wondered at that. They
kept her panties and dog collars and straps for her in the same drawer?
Did she wear them everyday, as often as her underwear?
Kneeling down in front of me, Rod made me kneel up and face
him. He was utterly, gloriously nude, and despite the stinging in my
bottom I couldn’t help admiring his broad shoulders and hairy chest. He
saw the admiration in my eyes and took advantage of it to quickly fit my
throat into a collar.
“Mmm, Rod, it’s tight,” I complained. He paused and loosened
my collar a notch. When I was properly collared and he let go of me I
looked down at his penis. It was huge and throbbing, every high school
girl’s fantasy and every little girl’s nightmare. I fondled the big
purplish head of his dick with my little fingers. My nails were
polished, sharp. Yet he was in command, I was submissive.
“Oh Rod, just put me in your bed and DO me,” I begged.
“That would be too good for you,” he answered. “That is my
wife’s bed. You are just a slave. Although a very pretty one,” he
admitted. Quickly he lifted each of my wrists and fitted them with
leather wrist straps. Then, lifting my hands, he snapped them securely
into rings hanging down off the sides of my collar.
I found myself staring at him, at his big chest and penis, with
my hands cuffed to my neck. He admired me for a moment, toyed with the
nipples of my breasts. Then he kissed my nose and bent me slowly and
carefully over so that, kneeling I was face-flat on the floor again,
with my bottom high in the air.
“Now I’ll give you the training you need, without your hands
getting in the way,” he said to me. He patted my head solicitously but
I felt no better for it. Then he rose up, like Samson rising with his
final strength to bring down Dagon’s temple. His pillar-like penis rose
up with him, sticking out from his groin, promising much but delivering
nothing.
Rod walked behind me and picked up his belt again.
“Don’t scream, or I’ll have to gag you,” he warned.
But the first stroke, falling hard and fast and wickedly across
my soft bottom, made me cry out like a cat sprung from Hell.
“You are totally undisciplined,” Rod growled. As I knelt
whimpering, wanting to rub my bottom but unable to, he got down beside
me again and fitted me with a gag. His penis made love to my hair,
sticking itself in my chignon, but it was uncaring love, made
accidentally due to the very long length of his organ.
He rose up again, taking himself away from me.
Gagged, cuffed, collared, I received the belt again. It burned
as it slashed across my girlish heinie, and I screamed at each blow.
Finally I could take no more and I threw myself belly-flat on the throw
rug.
“Damn!” Rod swore. He watched as I writhed on the rug, trying
to throw off the pain from my bottom, at the same time enjoying the fuzz
that stuck up between my hot thighs. He grabbed my clit chain and
yanked it hard. I screamed louder, only my gag keeping the neighbors
from hearing. I pressed my thighs together to try to keep him from
pulling the chain, but he pulled it again, having lifted it up so that
it stuck out the back of my thighs, right where they met my bottom.
He tortured me with the chain. My labia felt sore. He yanked
and yanked on it, not as hard as the first time, but firmly and surely
and awfully, reminding me each time of my place. Lying flat on my
belly, with a gag stuffed in my mouth, my wrists bound uselessly to my
face, I could only grind my body against the soft carpet and wish all
the world were as soft and fuzzy and friendly as it. My bottom burned
in the cool air of the room.
I heard a key in the door of the bedroom. I glanced up. I was
shocked, fearful. Rod turned, equally surprised, I think, for we were
both quite naked and compromised, me gagged and him visibly erect and
aroused, no doubt close to coming.
The door opened. I saw black stiletto heels and lifted my eyes
to see a dark-gowned woman enter the room.
“Elsa!” Rod groaned.
“Why Rod, did you forget about me?” she asked. She had jet
black hair and eyes like a witch. She put her slim white hands on her
narrow hips. “It’s been a year, I know, but I thought you might like a
visit from me on the anniversary of your kicking me out!”
“I didn’t...” Rod gasped.
“I know, you didn’t manage to take back my keys to your
apartment.” She smiled at him. “And being a man, of course, and me a
woman, you never bothered to change the locks, did you? Who’s this?
The pretty new wife you told me about? A bit young, isn’t she? Did you
marry her as soon as she graduated from elementary school?”
“She’s 16,” Rod said, recovering himself a little, but still
wide-eyed, though not as wide-eyed as me!
Elsa reached out and clasped Rod’s stiff penis with her bare
hand. It was soft and white, and I think it felt creamy against his
skin, like the over-creamed hands of an aunt or a grandmother sometimes
does. He flinched, but her sharp nails indented his cockhead where they
rested. He dare not try to remove himself from her spider-like grip.
“Put the belt down, dear. It is too slow. A riding crop is
much preferable. It marks the skin more deeply and quickly,” Elsa
said. “Do you have a riding crop? I don’t feel like going back to my
car to get mine.”
“No,” Rod said. She squeezed the head of his penis hard,
letting her nails bite into his flesh. “I mean, yes! Of course! I
still have ours that we used last year.”
“Get it, darling,” Elsa said to him in a whispery voice that
sounded, nonetheless, like the Voice of Doom.
“Right,” Rod answered. He managed to free himself with a
backward yank from her grasp. He hurried over to his chest of drawers.
His big cock bobbled lewdly with his every step. Bending over, showing
his ass and his bouncing testicles to my gazing eyes, he opened the
bottom drawer. Up he rose with a riding crop. It was short and
workmanlike, but with a big decorative leather loop at the end.
“Yes, that will do quite nicely,” Elsa said. She strode over
to him and took it from him.
“Now, let’s see how this little dear’s bottom responds to the
crop,” Elsa said. She bent over me. I felt a quick impress and shouted
as a burning line made itself felt across my seat.
“Yes, that’s much better,” Elsa said. Rod could only stare at
her and watch. Again she struck me, lying flat on my belly on the rug,
and again I bleated like a sheep within my gag. She waited while I
twisted about on the rug, my ass burning, my cunny hot and hungry and
the fuzz of the rug endlessly rising up into the aperature of my legs
and teasing me.
“What’s this? A little chain. My, aren’t we naughty?” Elsa
asked aloud. She reached down between my thighs where the chain had
fallen and lifted it up. “Hmmm, I wonder what it’s connected to?” she
asked with feigned innocence. She pulled hard on it and my labia tugged
under it and I screamed anew. “Ahh, the cunny. A cunny chain. How
cute. How obedient this little lass will be now that I’ve got her sex
on a leash!”
I pressed my thighs tightly together but it was useless. She’d
already drawn the chain up and away from me, holding it up over my
bottom. Only the very tip, the business end of it, with the clamp,
still dipped between my legs, at the base of my bottom. There my thighs
actually separated a little, giving it room, despite my squeezing,
keeping me from controlling it.
I was whipped repeatedly with the crop. After each blow Elsa
waited while I squirmed like a fish on the carpet. I squeezed my hind
cheeks together to try to throw off the pain but it only seemed to make
it worse.
“Yes, you need training,” she told me simply. And she hit me
again, right on my fanny, marking me with the crop.
30
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