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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Chambers of Love part 10 of 18 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CHAMBERS OF LOVE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Ten
Upon waking we were given RU486, to abort any pregnancy.
Despite the men's zest to inseminate us, it was for pleasure only. A
woman fed Julie and I the pills. I remember her large bosoms, just
covered across the nipples by a low-cut blouse. I fell back to sleep
then, shifting my aching thighs in the cool sheets of the bed.
It wasn't until early evening that I finally woke up
completely. We'd had only a limited sleep the night before, what with
the "grave digging," but now I was finally fully rested. I rose,
stretched, winced at the few remaining twinges of discomfort. Julie was
humming in the lavatory, applying makeup to a face that needed none. I
skipped into the lav and relieved myself on the toilet. She smiled at
me.
"Did you know that, except for what the count has provided for
us, we don't have any clothes? Or money? Or passports?" she asked. I
considered this.
"I suppose we can tell him at dinner that we want our stuff,
what little is left of it. Supposedly Mistress Pussy (we both laughed),
supposedly Mistress Pussy gave it to him when he..."
"Bought us?" Julie asked. She was standing on tiptoe before
the mirror, utterly naked, ravishingly beautiful. Her big bosoms swayed
gently with her every slight movement. She reminded me of Helga.
"Unwillingly," I said, meaning Julie and I. We had not put
ourselves up for sale. We were not whores, as she feared we might be.
"Are we unwilling now?" Julie asked.
"How much money do you have?"
"Nothing."
"Me neither."
"Then we are not trollops," she said, relieved.
"Do you think about Dan much?" I asked, curious. She had
always prided herself on being a faithful young wife. Julie thought a
moment. I couldn't tell whether she was considering whether to apply
more makeup or how to answer me.
"I do, now and then," she said. "But when he deserted us, and
I saw him with those little girls, well..."
"You sort of put him out of your mind?"
"Yes. It wasn't love, or hate. I just sort of put him away
for awhile. I guess when we get back to America Dan and I will pick up
just where we left off, as if nothing else ever happened."
"He might find you a slightly easier fuck," I said, my
tongue-tip sticking out sexily between my teeth in an absent-minded
display. Julie giggled. Her breasts wobbled.
"He might," she said, blushing. "If this keeps up." I stepped
up behind her and pressed my nudity into her bottom. I stroked her bare
flanks with my hands. There was no purpose to it, no meaning, just the
atmosphere of the moment, of our strange surroundings.
"The count hasn't had us yet," I said.
"He wants you badly," Julie replied, touching up her perfect
eyes with eyeliner.
"He scares me," I said.
"Me too."
From the bedroom doorway Burton called us to dinner.
"Girls, are you up?" Burton hailed us.
"Yes," we replied together, our voices happy, high-pitched.
"The count requires your presence at dinner."
"Okayyy," we called back. We were captive doves, song birds,
controlled by another. Yet I felt special, spoiled. Being a prisoner
wasn't entirely disagreeable. It all depended on who the warden was.
Ours, at least, strove to be a gentleman, though I sensed an inner
wildness in him, an uncontrollable passion and rage. It drew me toward
him even as every fiber of my body screamed at me to flee.
We skipped downstairs and flounced poutily into our chairs.
The count observed us from the head of the table, outfitted in an
expensive tux. A girl pranced out then, dressed in a tightly-stretched
tee that was stuffed into a daringly short miniskirt. She wore
sneakers.
"Hi! I'm your waitress for this evening! My name's Mandy!"
She oozed youthfulness and childish enthusiasm. Too much of it. "The
count is sooo nice. He gave his staff the night off and let me be the
serving girl! Would you like shrimp salad or antipasto as your
appetizer?" I didn't hear the question. My mind was reeling, confused,
still focused on the girl herself. I knew what she was, even if she
didn't. Competition. The count wanted her not for her serving skills
but for her body. Instantly I wanted the count for myself. I felt my
resistance to him melting. I would be his lover, not she!
"Whatever the count wishes I will have," I replied pertly.
"I also," Julie said, with a submissive glance toward our host.
"Very well," Mandy said, screwing up her features and writing
something on a pad with a number two pencil. She turned to the count.
"Sir?"
"The antipasto, please," he replied. He looked very pleased
with himself.
Mandy skipped back to the kitchen.
"You two proved yourselves most worthy this morning," the count
addressed us as we sat with heads bowed. "Outwitted even me, then
showed yourselves to be every ounce females."
"Thank you, sir," we said. We knew not what else to say, gazed
at our place settings. I hoped he would change the subject. Girls do
not like to boast of their sexual escapades as men do. After a
bit I looked up, felt a boldness overcome me. My mind had drifted back
to Mandy, my rival. "Did you enjoy yourself this morning, sir?"
"Indeed I did," he said. "However, I should like to have
disported with the guests of honor. But it would not have been seemly
for the host to deprive his guests of the opportunity."
"Meaning..." I said, sassy as ever. "That we were so popular
you couldn't get near us?" He cleared his throat.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. I'm very jealous about the
girls I like, actually. Events got out of hand, I lost control. I
don't like losing control," he said, his voice growing darker.
"Then you must find yourself stupider girls," I said
tauntingly. Mandy skipped out from the kitchen and I shot a knowing
glance toward her.
"Yes, yes," the count said, dropping his gaze to his place
setting, aimlessly fiddling with a fork. I had pushed him onto the
ropes yet again. How many more times could I get away with it, bearding
this lion? Not many, I knew.
Mandy brought in two plates, balanced precariously in her small
hands. She made to serve the count, but he gestured to Julie and I.
Then she did a little cheerleader's pirouette on her tennies and
scampered back to the kitchen. Her shapely bottom peeked out from
underneath her mini.
"Lovely girl, don't you think?" the count asked us, following
her ass with an admiring gaze.
"She's nice," Julie said. She sat with her hands folded in her
lap.
"If you like kindergarten girls," I said, poking at my salad,
not waiting for the others.
"Now, now, Kimmy," the count said with a voice of disapproval
that rang false. He was enjoying my jealousy. "Mandy is a full
fourteen years old, only a year younger than you. She showed herself to
be quite the Olympian this morning, in our outdoor games."
"I hadn't noticed," I said, forking lettuce and a strip of
cheese into my mouth. Julie waited for the count.
Mandy trotted back in, served the count, then set the remaining
antipasto at her own place and joined us. We sat on one side of the
table, she on the other, the count at the head observing all.
"May we play again after dinner, sir?" Mandy asked brightly
after forking down her salad.
"Why yes, dear, whatever you wish."
"Oooh, goody!" She leapt up and took her own plate, asked the
count for his.
"I'm not quite done yet, honey," he replied.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Does that make me a bad girl?" Mandy asked.
She made as if to prepare herself to go over his knee.
"No, no," the count said dismissively. Now was not the time.
"Bring forth the main course while we finish."
"Yessir!" she scuttled away, her skirt flipping up with her
every bouncy step. Her panties were white cotton and too small.
The dinner, at least, was delicious, roast beef sliced by
Burton and served with horseradish sauce; baked potatoes with chives and
sour cream; fresh, snappy string beans from the count's garden; and much
more.
"You'll make us into three fat little pigs," Julie laughed.
"Mmm, fatten you up, will I?" the count considered. "Indeed I
will if I don't start you girls on the pill." Mandy laughed abruptly
into her hand, like the little girl she still was.
"Oh, monseigneur, you can be sooo funny!" she said
delightedly. I longed to toss her over my knees and wallop her until
she cried. Smack that insufferable cheeriness out of her tight little
bottom, with its chubby cheeks that hung so alluringly out of her
undersized undies.
Desert followed, strawberry shortcake. Mandy gave herself a
creamy moustache just as I knew she would. Lustily she drained a full
glass of milk. Wiggling, she asked to be excused to pee.
"When the others have finished, dear," the count said.
"Oooh, but I have to go now," Mandy begged.
"Learn to hold it," the count said. His voice countenanced no
dissent. Mandy squirmed uncomfortably in her high-backed chair.
"Burton, see to the dishes," the count commanded finally,
indicating that our evening meal was at an end. He invited we three
girls to accompany him downstairs. There was no possibility of
declining the invitation.
The count took Mandy by the hand, ignoring her needful
gyrations. Julie and I held hands and followed. Down the hall we went
then, coming to a door, we were admitted by the count who locked it
behind us. Standing in darkness, we waited. He flipped a switch.
Torches burst into flame, gas fired. They illuminated a small landing,
upon which we stood. Beyond they glowed upon the walls of a descending
staircase. Tentatively Julie and I took the first step. The count and
Mandy followed, pushing us ahead by their presence. I had a sinking
feeling about where we were going. Julie and I exchanged glances. We
wore only short, collared midriffs, mine with sleeves and hers without.
Below I sported a pleated tennis skirt and she narrow-legged jeans. We
both wore our heels. Julie had a charm bracelet on one ankle. The
appearance of our dangling earrings teetered between sporty
functionality and dressiness.
Clip-clip-clip went our heels, businesslike, as we descended
the stone stairs. At last we came to the bottom, facing a wooden door.
The count pushed past us, unlocked the door, admitted us to an alcove
with yet another door at the far end. Reaching it first, he bid me open
it. There was naught but darkness inside. He urged us forward anyhow.
Following, he locked us all inside. A girlish gasp went up as he
flipped on the lights, torch-light.
We stood in an awesome chamber, dwarfed by torture machines of
every shape and variety. Racks, ladders, spits (for roasting what I
know not), crosses, and "seats" with upright dildoes placed menacingly
right where the bottom hoped to find purchase. Dan's little homemade
place looked like a sunday school compared to this dungeon.
"I thought you girls might like to see an authentic dungeon,"
the count said happily. He strode forward, gestured widely. "This was
actually used during the inquisition to procure confessions. I've added
a few items of my own, some actually of my design, built by carpenters
to my specifications." We stood stock still, huddled together like
three lost lambs. Even Mandy had ceased her wriggling. The count took
down a whip from an open-work wooden armoire. He turned it thoughtfully
on his palm. "Only the finest of implements are kept here," he assured
us. "All perfectly balanced. Precisely carved. They are all works of
art in their own right. As are the girls whom I invite to partake of
them." He eyed us. Was his look savage, or was it only my terrified
imagination?
"There are hooks on the wall behind you for your clothes," the
count said. "Disrobe yourselves, and I will show you around."
"Sir-" Julie began, plaintively.
"One cannot experience the true nature of a dungeon all suited
up and protected," the count gently explained. "You must be as they
were, naked and vulnerable. Come now, you wished to tour France, did
you not? You must get off the bus and experience it first hand."
Mandy danced an impromptu jig, spurred once more by her
bladder. "Do they have a bathroom here?" she asked plaintively. The
inevitable question of every tourist.
"All your needs will be attended to," the count replied. He
uncoiled his whip and it cracked the air. "Undress!"
Hurriedly we stripped ourselves of our clothes and hung them on
the hooks provided. The generosity of the count knows no bounds, I
muttered to myself as I hung up my skirt.
"Must we take off our panties too?" Mandy asked. Sans shirts,
we were instantly topless, for we all had taken to dinner without bras.
"Yes! Off with those too!" the count said crisply, as if
directing valets.
Soon we stood shivering in the cool air of the dungeon with
nothing on save our pumps and earrings. Julie had even taken off her
anklet.
"I'm chilly now, and have to pee more than ever!" Mandy piped
up. She'd put both hands on her pussy and was squeezing and grimacing.
"Follow me, girls," the count said.
With mincing steps we trailed behind as the count began
pointing out his favorite items in the dungeon. Gradually Julie became
an interested spectator. "Oooh, we have one like this," she'd say,
lifting the cuff on a particular piece of equipment, testing its
resiliency. I confess I myself saw some likenesses between Dan's
machines and those here, and the ones I couldn't figure out piqued my
interest. Mandy became increasingly miserable as she burned evermore to
pee.
Finally the count, with a touch of exasperation, ordered Mandy
forward. We turned down a side row of machines and came to a small
clearing with several posts in the middle of it. He ordered her forward
and told her to lean up against one of the shorter posts. Then, looking
at Julie and I, he ordered us to the posts also. I had begun to feel a
need to pee and was glad to go, but this seemed not the way. I balked,
the count clasped me by my bottom and urged me forward. I stood up
against the post, erect, found a small hump upon which to partially rest
the outer curve of my bottom. The other girls had posts of a similar
design.
The wine at dinner must have made me somewhat forgetful, for I
should have known then what I was getting into. I stood docilely as the
count took a belt affixed to the back of the post and buckled the wide
leather strap just underneath my breasts. The belt was tight and thick,
it had not quite cleared the underside of my bosoms and had the effect
of pushing them up, offering my nipples to the count or whoever might
observe them. Next my shoulders were drawn back and my wrists secured
tightly behind me, in manacles set in the rear of the post. The count
kicked my legs into a wide vee, my hips already thrust forward by the
odd shape of the post. Manacles set in the floor secured my wide-spread
ankles.
Mandy was attended to next, with a few admonitory slaps to get
her to hold still long enough to be bound. "But there's no toilet
here!" Mandy cried. The count only said he'd gag her if she didn't
shush.
Julie stood drowsily. She reminded me of a horse waiting to be
saddled. The count eased her into her bonds with a special tenderness,
almost deferentially. Finally we three stood trussed like turkeys to
our posts, tightly bound with no escape. Our bosoms high, hips thrust
out, legs boldly spread, showing off our cunts. He admired us a moment,
then took a stack of three china bowls from a table and placed one
underneath each of us, between our legs. He rang a bell and two men and
a woman entered from a side door.
He invited the men, dressed formally, to drop their trousers,
and simultaneously dispensed with his own. Three cocks disported on the
air, and all three men enclasped their pulsing rods with their right
hands.
"Like you, I find the sight of a girl peeing one of the most
alluring in the world," the count addressed his companions. "Let us
enjoy these three to the full, shall we? Erica," (the woman, in an
evening dress), "I see you have your wonderful ostrich feather. Help
along the cunny of any girl who cannot get her stream started." With
that the count told Mandy to relieve herself to her heart's content, and
Julie and I to release our water also.
"Oh I cannot go now!" Mandy screeched. She was looking down at
her lewdly displayed cunt, desperate. Erica strolled over and began
tickling her up with the ostrich feather, concentrating solely, of
course, on her puss. Mandy attempted to wriggle away from the tickling,
found she couldn't move an inch. Her thighs strained, flexed
desperately, her tummy heaved. With a plaintive wail she burst then, in
a flood that might have got even Noah's attention. The men began
rubbing themselves vigorously at the spectacle.
I looked at Julie, and she at me. I did not have to go too
badly yet, and neither did she. But we exchanged smiles and then, by
mutual consent, began pissing, if only for the men's pleasure. Anyway
who knew how long it would be before we would be allowed to pee again.
When one is naked as a jaybird in a dungeon it is best to take advantage
of any opportunities for relief, of whatever kind.
For the next minute or so the men must have been in heaven as
we three females made our water for them. Some of it splashed from my
bowl onto my ankles. The count said this was why he had tethered my
legs so wide apart. I didn't believe him.
A young man was one of the guests and he asked if they all
could fuck us when we finished. "No, for I am reserving them," the
count replied. "You shall have to satisfy yourselves at a distance.
Use your handkerchiefs to catch your seed so that you do not mess my
dungeon." Dutifully the two men drew their kerchiefs from their formal
coat pockets and put them over the heads of their penises with their
free hands. They increased their rubbing and worked their hips back and
forth. This was the first I'd ever seen men deliberately jerk
themselves off, as opposed to merely idly frigging their dongs. I was
fascinated. Their cocks were big enough that you could still see much
of the meatus. They wanted to come while we were still peeing so they
really went at it. Julie too seemed intent on enjoying this, Mandy was
busy suffering under the feather of Erica, who had decided to tickle her
wiggly titties.
"Please, don't," Mandy moaned.
"I'm helping them to grow," Erica replied cheerily.
"My mommie says they're too big already for my age," Mandy
protested.
"And where is your mommie? Why aren't you home?" Erica asked.
"I wan away," Mandy lisped.
"Then you must be made to feel happy so you'll go back," Erica
said, and tickled the girl into peals of tortured laughter.
Finally the tinkling in our bowls ceased. I looked down. Mine
was almost full. I felt a few lingering drops ooze out and splash into
the waiting urine. Droplets of gold, offered to the count and his randy
companions for their genital enjoyment. Julie too gave a final offering
of tardy droplets. The men gazed, fascinated, still hoping for
release. Then it happened. The young man first, followed by the
older. He jerked like a girl being pierced for the first time. I saw
his cockhead twitch in its soft covering of protective linen. Carefully
he collected his seed as it spurted out. His right hand worked on,
until every drop was deliciously released. This he did while staring
directly at my sweetly dripping cunt. Our eyes met and I knew I liked
him, despite his perversity right in front of me. Julie seemed to favor
the older man. The count had ceased rubbing his own member, for he
wished to hang on to his seed a little longer.
"May we at least rub their cunts?" the young man, finished with
his business at hand, asked the count. Erica came by and collected
their handkerchiefs from them. Then she slipped off to have the
handkercheifs saved, "as mementos."
"Yes, go ahead, it will make them more agreeable guests," the
count replied with a grand gesture, as if giving free rides to the men
in his new sports car. The men advanced upon us, our cunts unwillingly
but oh so invitingly offered. The young one greeted me first, as if
introducing himself to me at a party. Then, tenderly, he looked down at
my displayed pudenda and took it in hand. He fingered it, feeling its
feminine contours, began massaging. I tilted my head back and purred,
not wanting to but having to. Julie gave the same involuntary sound.
"And how are you?" the count asked Mandy, and did to her as the
men were doing to us, save that he gently massaged his cock while
attending to her slit.
Erica returned and remarked upon the beauty of our bosoms,
asked the count if she could take a turn at Julie and I. He readily
agreed, to my dismay, and I was soon lurching under the luring attention
of her feather. "Do not let them come, however," the count warned.
"Toy with them at the brink if you like, but I wish for them still to be
in need when I take over."
Julie soon received Erica's special attentions also, writhing
and pleading with every whisking touch of this most gentle of
instruments of torment. I watched the twistings of her nude body, her
nipples so stiff, her clitty, hidden from my view but doubtless utterly
extended also. It was so unusual, our being here. Who would have
guessed, or believed? I wondered what I'd write for my paper, "How I
Spent My Summer," for school.
Finally the count, seeing Julie and I gasp with ever greater
urgency and frequency, called a halt to the proceedings. He thanked his
guests for their attendance and bid them goodbye. Erica, however, he
asked to remain, with her feather. Quickly he unbound Mandy, who stood
rubbing her wrists while I and then Julie were released. Then he
ordered us forward in a further tour of the dungeon. "Now that your
needs have been attended to, we must continue our exploration," he said
commandingly. "Erica, see that they do not fall behind." With winking
eyes Erica urged us forward with tickling strokes of her feather on our
bare bottoms.
We had little choice but to traipse around behind the count,
Erica constantly at our tails if we showed the slightest recalcitrance.
Every so often she'd tickle up one or another of us just to see us
flinch, hands flying back to protect our bottom. Between her and the
count I felt quite captive.
Gazing at the machines, I wondered which if any of them I might
find myself tied to. Did the count have more difficult tortures in mind
for us? More painful trials? At Madam Persephone's he'd sworn to
torture us. Was that mere boasting? He had proved such a gentleman, I
was at a loss to say. Julie walked about mutely, a politely earnest
look on her face. Her arms were crossed musingly just under her
breasts, her shoulders raised slightly, as if she were a student at some
college seminar, observing dinosaurs. Save that her breasts were
judderingly bare and the rest of her naked also. Mandy, with childish
glee, found little things here and there that enraptured her attention.
A certain buckle, a ribbon left over from some prior girl's constraint.
She asked questions both insightful and silly, thoughtless of her
nudity, of her own possibility of being the subject of some future
torment. I tried to ignore Mandy's inquiries. I was neither
contemplative student nor immature busybody. Rather I did my best to
appear attentive to the count while avoiding the feather, mere survival,
no more. Unlike the lure of Dan, whom I'd yearned for in my puppy
dreams by the pool, watching him like a cat as he did laps in his
Speedos, the count was still an enigma to me. And a dangerous enigma at
that. There seemed something in him that even he could not control. It
beckoned me, repulsed me. I tried to shut him out, talk down any
interest my mind had in him or his awful, morbid toys. I felt a
whisking up my bottom crack and leapt forward.
"Pay attention," Erica admonished me. I brushed my nether
cheeks with my palms and attended to the count's lecture more closely.
Eventually we rounded through all of the count's favorite
appliances, and I hoped we might be allowed to dress. But then he asked
for volunteers to try some of the equipment. We looked at each other.
Erica hovered, feather at the ready. It would boil down to her, to
which bottom she liked best. Mine. I bolted forward, spurred by a
devious stab of the point of her feather right into my crack where my
anus was.
"Ah, Kimmy, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me," the count
smiled. I had both hands over my tushy as I approached him. I had put
him off last night, flirted mercilessly with him this morning, cheated
him of a mud wrestling victim, but I knew he could be denied no longer.
Be brave, I told myself. Bring out the best in him, not the worst. My
titties quavering, the willies fluttering in my stomach, I stopped
directly in front of him and stood erectly. I tried to focus on his
ruggedly handsome face but my eyes were lured downward to his raw,
exposed cock, stiffly displayed beneath his tuxedo coat. (He had never
put his trousers back on after our urinating at the posts.)
The count stroked my neck. He fished a dog collar from his
coat pocket. It was studded with gems. I gasped at its beauty, its
value.
"You will wear it always while you are here, unless I say
otherwise. Even in your bath," the count said. Gravely he buckled it
around my neck, checked that it was snug. He locked it with a little
key. When I looked up a woman was standing next to me. She had
lustrous blonde hair and wore a nurse's cap. A collared vest was
buttoned tightly about her midsection, straining to keep closed over her
heavenly cleavage. Below she wore only panties. Her long, bare legs
ended in small feet shod with spiked heels. Her arms were bare, her
vest had no sleeves. She wore a stethoscope. On a piece of wood
jutting out from the nearest torture machine she'd plunked down her
purse-like medical kit.
"Ah, you're here," the count acknowledged her.
"Sorry, delivery and labor was hell today," she apologized.
"Are you a nurse?" I couldn't help asking.
"Please don't insult me," she said directly to me. "This is
just a costume the count wishes me to wear. I am a fully trained
gynecological doctor, with other associated degrees."
"I-I'm sorry," I apologized. She definitely had the ego of an
M.D.
"I'm here for your safety. And for other reasons. To
periodically check your condition while you're in the dungeon, revive
you if necessary, check the size of your cunt to ensure that the very
widest implements are used on you." My eyes nearly popped from my
head. "Given your natural cuntal limitations down there, of course,"
she explained helpfully. "Which no doubt will be expanded over time by
diligent efforts on the part of the count and his guests."
I shook visibly with fear. I could not run, nor hide, I was
locked behind double wooden doors in a room from which not even my
screams could escape. With cruel efficiency Dr. Elle (as I was soon to
know her) ordered me through the paces of a quick physical.
"Now open your mouth, say AHHH!" she ordered. I did as she
asked. I knew not how else to respond. Fifteen years old and about to
embark on a nude journey through sadism's deepest agonies. Eyes, ears,
nose, blood pressure, temperature, pulse, all were diligently checked,
as if I were a horse about to be auctioned. At the end she knelt before
me, probed my cunt briefly with a small light, then stood and went
around back and had me touch my toes. She made me open my ass with my
hands and examined my anus with her light. "You'll find her tight," she
warned the count. I was still bending over, not knowing she was
finished. "God, what a derriere!" she exclaimed admiringly. "I hope I
get a piece of it!" She laughed and, blushing, I realized she was done
and stood upright.
"Kimmy, the doctor must be paid for her services," the count
advised me solemnly.
"Yessir," I acknowledged, an eagerness creeping into my voice.
I'd been aroused right to the brink of orgasm at the pee post. I still
trembled unwillingly with sexual need.
"My boobs need some air," Dr. Elle instructed. "Would you open
my vest there, just over my bosoms?" I stepped up to her and complied.
The count fixed his eyes on my bare, nervously clenching bottom cheeks,
so soon to feel much more than just the coolness of the dungeon air. I
left the vest snugly buttoned round her tummy, pulled with some effort
to get the undone part of her vest open, over her breasts. At last her
cones popped out, hitting me in the face. Startled, I backed away. Her
big nipples joggled before me. The tall woman told me I was not
finished. "I wish to have them stimulated, with your tongue," she said,
heat in her voice. Slowly, unwillingly, I stuck out my little tongue
and then, carefully, touched it to the vermilion tip of her right
breast. I circled the pap once, twice, again. Her nipple erected
itself. Then I proceeded to the other breast. The count liked my
posture in this, for I was forced to lean forward and stick out my naked
tushy at him.
Hopefully I withdrew my face and tongue from her newly
stiffened nipples. "Very good," Dr. Elle said calmly. "She is all
yours," she said to the count.
Gently the count placed a hand on my back and led me to a
massive contraption of wood, the centerpiece of which was a buttery
black leather saddle resting over a long, broad beam of wood. Stirrups
dangled down. Small ankle-high cowboy boots with real spurs and a red
neckerchief waited. Perhaps unable to resist participating, Dr. Elle
joined us. As I surveyed the mute horse she asked me if I'd ever played
cowboy. I said I had but not like this. She took a key from the count
(who seemed to relish her presence), and undid my dog collar. Then she
tied the red scarf about my throat. She bade me slip off my heels and
step into the boots. I complied. "Those are all the togs you'll need
for indoor riding," she said. "Up now, mount!"
I got the toe of my boot in the nearest stirrup but, perhaps
because of fear or the height of the horse, I could not fling my leg
high enough to get it over the top of the saddle. Finally, amused, Elle
pushed me up by my soft hiney and I plopped down atop my ersatz steed.
I sat catching my breath, lifted the reins. The joggling of my proud
tits subsided. Looking down, I put a finger to the saddle and lifted my
hips slightly off it. Sure enough, I found a nubbin underneath me. I
settled reluctantly back down.
"She seems familiar with your ways," Elle said to the count.
"Julie enjoyed a ride on the rocking horse last night," he
replied.
"This is not a rocking horse, dear," Elle told me. "Be a
creative girl and find a way to accommodate the count's wishes." I sat
puzzled, looking at her, at him. Then a thought occurred to me. The
"horse" had no neck, no head, no legs. It was all saddle, supported by
a beam of wood. I leaned forward, placing my hands on the horizontal
beam where it ran out from under the front of the saddle. Then I kicked
my heels up in back and hooked a toe on either side of the beam. I
twisted my heels inward so their spurs would be safely underneath the
rear flange of my saddle. This whole movement had the effect of
upturning my ass, presenting its satiny surface fully to the air.
"Is this what you want?" I asked him, frowning slightly, tongue
stuck musingly in my cheek. Elle and he acknowledged it was by suddenly
producing handcuffs and buckling my wrists together. Then, with a
second pair, they clipped together my ankles.
"Perfect riding weather, don't you think?" Elle said, testing
the air with a wetened finger.
"She needs a companion," the count said. Julie was quickly
examined and placed on the same bar, on a saddle facing me. She wore a
pink scarf and the same well-tooled boots. Our mouths were close enough
to kiss. Softly, we did, and wished each other luck. Mandy scuttled
about placing heavy blankets on the floor beneath us lest we should
fall. Erica, stepping out of her evening gown, took up position at
Julie's rear with a supple cane. Erica wore brief panties, a garter
belt and stockings suspended from it.
"We should be the ones with panties on," I said pleadingly to
the count as Elle selected a cane for herself. He dismissed my remark
without comment and Elle positioned herself at my pumpkin.
Julie and I, remembering our morning together, kissed again.
Our breasts were very close. We brushed them against each other. Our
sharp nipples scraped fleshlily against each other's proffered globes.
Behind us the women began caressing our bottoms. The beauty of our
asses was remarked upon; their suitability for caning. I must admit at
this moment I felt incredibly sexy, I have no idea why. All the
perversion swirling about me day after day must have altered my sense of
decency, propriety, of pleasures permitted, and those forbidden.
Pleasures in which one should only feel shame. I wriggled atop the
intrusive nubbin. It felt good. Elle drew the tip of her cane through
my clenching bottom crack. I shivered. Erica did a bit of exploring
with her own cane, into Julie's anus. Her tight ring resisted the
entry.
Erica lifted up her cane. My darting gaze must have let Julie
know she was going to get it. She tried to flex her ass cheeks wide, to
buy more time, more exploring caresses. Too late.
"Mmmfph!" Julie cried, biting her lip, as the first stroke
flashed down. I engaged her in a kiss to assuage the pain.
"Let's not forget our other beauty," the count told Elle. I
braced myself.
"Remember the Hippocratic oath!" I cried to her. It was no
use.
"Owww!" I yelped, eyes bulging, as I met with my first taste of
the cane in the dungeon. I rubbed my breasts harder against Julie's,
"rode" with my slit atop the nubbin, as a searing bar of heat spread
across my virgin-white ass.
The whippy canes came down again, burning new lines across our
bare wiggling tushys. Julie and I rode like true caballeros on our
nubbins now, wondering when their inevitable, excruciating erection from
the saddle would begin.
Slowly my salacious ass was crisscrossed with sizzling lines of
pink and red. Agonizingly I strove to hang on and not fall from the
horse. I was scared I might suffer a worse fate if I did, like breaking
a bone (not to mention facing the count's wrath). I bounded up at a
particularly wicked stinger from Elle.
"It's nothing you can't take, dear," she said reassuringly.
She waited while I churned my hips under the blow, trying to shake off
the sting. "Ready?" she asked, and smartly delivered its brother. Some
doctor! I bit my lip, then drove my tongue into Julie's mouth in
desperation at the burning.
Poor Julie! Her sweet ass had barely recovered from last
night, and now here she was on another whipping horse. Little did we
know then that the count had at least one other variety, a sawhorse over
which a girl was made to drape herself. All was bleary pain now, mixed
with jolts of pleasure as we furiously applied our clits to the
nubbins. My saddle was slick beneath me now.
I heard a humming sound. Suddenly I found my nubbin was not so
small. Like some rocket on Thunderbirds it began rising from its
saddle-silo. Its duty was not to fly, though, but to burrow. Throwing
my weight on my hands, balancing with the toes of my boots, I attempted
to rise. I lifted my arcing thighs up to avoid the ascending cock.
Julie did the same. We looked down at the menacing rods, growing ever
longer inch by inch.
"Oh, you must want them at their maximum extent," the count
said gaily. We gasped, horrified. Erica and Elle took advantage of our
elevated, deliciously flourished bottoms and set to flaying them with
even greater vigor. Smartly they brought down the cane on each of us,
whip! whip! whip! We wriggled, brimming with tears. There was no let
up, no mercy.
Finally, overcome by exhaustion, Julie settled herself on her
unwelcome seat mate before it could grow any bigger. I held out,
watching it between head-snapping licks of the cane. Eight inches,
nine, ten inches!!
"You'd better sit down," Elle warned. Even my doctor didn't
advise my little body to take any more than that.
"She's keeping her ass up so I can fuck her there instead," the
count told Elle. That did it. I took in a deep breath and plopped
down.
Gratefully, Elle caught my bottom in its descent. "Slowly,
slowly little girl," she said. The prick stopped moving. Gradually she
eased me down onto it. I shuddered, bottom hot, cunt splitting wide to
receive this most unwelcome visitor. Its greased length slid up me,
flexing naturally to adjust to the shape of my passage. Finally I
settled, wide-eyed, in my saddle. Julie purred and kissed my cheeks.
Sitting atop our artificial pricks, the caning began anew. It
was lighter now, as if we had passed some milestone. Yet each cut had
its special little sting. Elle gave me a flurry of them, as the prick
began moving up and down within me. Julie gasped, said that the rocking
horse had not done this. Manfully we were rodded by the robot cocks. I
tried to avoid orgasming on such a ridiculous contraption, found myself
drawn perilously closer and closer. I shivered as my climax finally
drew near. Then, keening into Julie's ear, I cried out with the first
tearing rush of orgasmic pleasure. She broke into a scream of her own.
We humped ourselves upon the moving penises. We were captive songbirds,
singing erotic cowboy songs. Elle and Erica whacked our spirited
bottoms with loving strokes of the cane. My golden hair, lustrous and
beautiful as ever, swirled in a mass of curls about me. Julie bobbed
her svelte auburn mane, writhing and twisting as I was, atop her
merciless mount. Our scarves flapped, wishing to fly away.
Lovingly, laughingly, we were pulled off the thick spires at
last by Elle and Erica as the count lowered them. Each cock gave up our
snug cunt with a little pop. Gratefully we gained our footing on the
hard floor. I fell against Elle, unable to stand. She helped me
upright. With throbbing fannies we approached the count, briskly
rubbing ourselves as we took mincing, baby steps toward him, our legs
akimbo. Hair still glossy, makeup smeared but still on perfect faces,
earrings aglitter, we presented ourselves boobies first to him. There
was no fight left in us. We wished only to please.
"Thank you, master," we said in unison, our voices ragged but
sweet.
"Yes," he said, regarding us, cherishing our still flawless
figures, our breasts so nicely turned up, hips outcurving smoothly, legs
slim and tapered. "This is your playroom. Where you can hoot and
holler as lustily as you please, often for the mutual pleasure of
others. Enjoy your young bodies. Relish the feelings that course
through them. Work hard to please your masters, and they will reward
you with new delights. I have made young females my life's study, from
the sacrificed maidens of the Incas to the nubile witches burned at
Salem, to girls in ancient Athens trained in the rights of the
bacchanal. There is nothing about your bodies I do not know. Their
possibilities, limitations, yet I learn more with each trial, each
experiment. Upstairs you will be treated as royalty, your every need
attended to, your every wish instantly answered. Down here is where the
vestments will be stripped away, your natural selves delivered forth
into the hands of the revolutionaries. Nothing is free. Everything
must be paid for. But you will find your payments a kind of homework,
designed to improve. Cherish them. Savor each biting stroke of cane or
whip or tawse or paddle...or martinet or cat with nine delicious tails.
You will experience them all, my sweets. Much, much more than Madam
Persephone could ever provide, yet, unlike her, each calculated
precisely so that it makes you grow in knowledge and an awareness of
your own precious bodies. You will become intimately acquainted with
your flesh as it is brought sparkling to life by the many implements of
agitation. Your bottoms will veritably bloom under all the attention
they are given, like hothouse roses in winter. Your nipples will be
plucked at and tested and sucked upon remorselessly, yet not without
thought for their continuing beauty, their perkiness, their stiff
loveliness. And your mouths, and your cunts and ah, yes, especially
your tight little assholes, how they will be tested! We shall just see
what they can take and what they cannot. But you need not fear. Many
girls have passed this way before. And when you are busy with the
grown-up chores of wife and mother (the real grown-up chores, Julie, not
just newlywed trysts with your husband), other girls will be following
in your footsteps, young maidens with untried cunnies and bottoms."
Julie and I heard all this in a daze, drunk with both our
lingering pleasure and pain, and the alcohol from dinner still with its
hold upon us. For all we knew he could have been reciting the Bible,
albeit the juicier parts. He then urged us into the hands of Elle and
Erica, saying that it was needful that our bottoms be quickly attended
to. We were led away as he found Mandy, huddled in a corner, balling
herself up as small as she could. She, no doubt, had heard his oration
better than we.
"Come, Mandy! And bring your naughty bottom with you!" he
roared. He grasped her by the hand and dragged her gently from her
hiding place.
30
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