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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Love Child part 2 of 15 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Two
If anyone in the study had been promised my hymen, the offer
must have been withdrawn once Kimber received the note inviting us to
the Andes. Apparently a woman at the party, approving of my looks and
my demeanor, had telephoned a certain wealthy Argentinean general right
from Kimber’s study. And he had issued an invitation, which she had
passed along to Kimber. The remaining men who pumped me that evening
came without regret, spending within my mouth quite happily. They were
lined up three deep at one point, each determined to get his chance at
my newly debauched mouth. My lips were sore when it finally ended.
Several times more a woman came to my snatch, but tongued me gently so
as not to damage my hymen in any way. It had, apparently, some new
value.
A small private jet whisked us toward our destination early the
next morning. There was myself, Kimber, and Debbi on the plane, plus a
pilot, co-pilot, and a middle-aged woman who fed us and served us
cocktails. I asked Kimber if she was saving my virginity for someone.
"A little at a time, darling," Kimber replied. "I was eager to
see you lose it, but now, well, perhaps we can delay the ceremony a bit,
hmmm?"
"It's mine, isn't it?" I asked.
"Of course." She rose, excused herself and went into the
plane's bathroom.
"Don't think your asshole will be so lucky," Debbi smirked.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I hear the general we're visiting is an ass man," Debbi said.
"Oh, poof," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I only
accepted an invitation to come, not to, you know, cum."
I turned and gazed out the window. The fertile green fields
below were giving way to mountains. They rose powerfully up from the
landscape. Their tops were wreathed in clouds. This was, wasn't it,
the 90's? A girl like me could do as she pleased. I could tease men,
or not, as my heart fancied. There were rape laws to protect girls like
me. Even Mike Tyson knew that. So let some man invite me to his
mountain chalet. Janet Reno would protect me, and Oprah Winfrey too.
I'd do just what I wanted, when I wanted, and no more.
I pressed my nose to the windowpane. I watched as clouds
drifted by. Sometimes they obscured the view below, sometimes not. I
looked for Zeus in the darker clouds but did not see him.
Some time later we broke through an underlying cloud bank and a
vista of pure snow opened up before me. Where there was no snow, there
was rock. It jutted up from the blanketing frost, rude, thrusting,
certain of its destiny. The snow attempted to calm the rocks, it seemed
to me, soothe their passionate yearnings. And indeed one day the snow
would win entirely, submerging the once mighty precipices below the
all-encompassing sea. In their youth the mountains would reign, the
snow submissive, content to be mere icing, ornamental, amongst the steep
crags and cliffs. In old age the mountains would be reduced to sloping,
flabby hills, built upon by peasants, trod on by munching cows. All
would end as sand. The ocean would cover up the remnants. Crabs and
sea urchins would burrow in the residue, like worms infesting a corpse.
But I was in the mountains now. Here vigor reigned still. A
wrong turn of our gliding airplane would dash me to pieces against some
cliff-face. Alive one moment, dead the next. Bristling winds buffeted
our craft as the pilot carefully nosed his way amidst the enclosing
crags toward our destination.
“Oooh! Look! Santa’s Village!” I cried out suddenly. I
pointed at a cluster of tiny dwellings down below. As our plane banked
I saw more, here and there, across the snow. They were mansions, I
realized, as our plane dropped down. Toy mansions now, to my view, not
just dots. And then vehicles began to appear.
The snow came down around us in soft bits of flurries. We
descended as if into one of those round glass bubbles you see in stores,
shake them and see Frosty get his head coated with drifting flakes.
Down the plane slipped, circling, the buildings became more visible as
we flew lower. Different shapes, sizes, different types of
construction.
We bumped down on the runway. The plane taxied a bit, then
stopped.
“Time to get out,” Kimberly grinned at me. I collected my
purse, my teddy bear. The co-pilot came back and opened the door for
us, tipped his hat to us as we stepped out.
It was cold! I drew my fur coat close about me. Unsteady in
my boots after sitting on the plane, I clambered down the gangway steps.
A sleigh awaited us. Big horses, shaggy hoofed, with the
enclosing sleigh to protect us from the whistling, icy winds. I was
helped up into the sleigh by a uniformed footman. As I sat down on the
sleigh’s leather bench I felt my skirt, inside my fur coat, slip up to
reveal my pantied ass. Were it not for my coat, I would have been
sitting on the leather, and it was moist with fallen snow. My skirt was
short, miniscule, daring in its sexiness to the point of being obscene.
Kimber had insisted that I wear it, as a sexy treat for myself, feeling
my vulnerability even as I sat encumbered in the bulkiness of my fur
wrap. I was ambivalent. Sure, it was sexy to wear the skirt, but what
about when I took my coat off? Kimber’s dress was just as short. We
were twin “cherry-bombs,” she said, and the general had better watch out
if we went off in his mansion. Well, I was cherry, that was for sure.
Kimber just looked cherry, passing for seventeen, perhaps, if you didn’t
know her age. She liked toying with men’s minds, telling men she was
too young for them, when in fact I suspected that she was vastly more
experienced than most of the men in Buenos Aires, all put together. She
exuded sexuality. Her walk, the casual toss of her head as she
explained some finer sexual point to me, the swell of her bosoms,
taunting in their bigness, bursting forth from her waif-like figure.
Snowflakes drifted down onto my nose. I stuck out my tongue,
let one settle on it, savored the taste. Well, it tasted like water,
but clean, fresh water. Icewater, for a girl from a hot city. Our
horses stamped the snow, waiting for the whip to crack. They exhaled
into the morning air. They were impatient. They wanted to be made to
run, to feel their limbs working, to know that they were alive.
Wiggling in my fur coat, my tummy a little queasy, uncertain, I wanted
to feel alive too. Kimber’s party had awakened me. I felt a newfound
need for men, not just a curiosity about them. My womb felt delicately
empty, like a child feels when she wants something, but isn’t sure, will
asking for one thing necessitate dropping another? I used to pore over
my Christmas list, making sure I didn’t ask for one item to the omission
of something else. I wanted the best present, not one almost as good.
And I couldn’t ask for something so expensive that it would wipe out
three or four other things that I desired. Decisions, decisions. I
used to love the days before Christmas, in a silly sort of way, worried
that I might not be good enough, counting up my hoped-for booty,
selecting this, deleting that. I think sometimes the fun was in the
choices, weighing them. In my mind suddenly I saw a lewd picture of
myself weighing men’s balls. This sac has more in it, but his dick is
not quite as big, that one is heaviest of all, but he is so thick, can I
get him inside without splitting myself apart?
Kimber turned to me. There was a sly look in her face. Debbi
sat between myself and Kimber. Debbi too seemed devilish, her eyes
lively. “Open your coat a little, Barbi,” Kimber told me. I watched,
obeyed, as she and Barbi each slipped a hand within their coats. To my
surprise they began fingering themselves upon their spots, upon their
cunnies, rubbing their undies, not touching themselves directly but
massaging the fabric of their teensy panties. Right where it counted.
Debbi let out a soft moan, Kimber emitted a similar sound into the
snow-falling air. The footman, now our driver, turned himself briefly
about, saw the spectacle, showed no emotion. He was the only one in the
sleigh, save ourselves. Directly he brought his whip down upon the
horses’ rumps and set them off. We bounced upon the sleighbench as the
vehicle lurched forward.
I stuck my hand in my coat, Kimber glowering at me, lest I
should not participate in her game. Okay, I would play along, at least
a little. How often did a girl get to take a sleigh ride to a
mysterious mansion where a powerful man lay in wait for her? I touched
myself. I rubbed, little whisper-rubs, trying not to arouse myself.
Ah, I felt it then, in my rising excitement, my anxiousness. A
moistening. A soft wettening in the crotch of my panties.
With rising gasps of pleasure we crossed the snow. Behind us
the sleigh tracks defaced the freshly laid powder, ahead all was still
virgin, gentle hills and slopes, broken only by the sky-pointing thrust
of evergreens.
A bit later we arrived. It was a large house, old-looking,
made with heavy lumber. Much of the surrounding forest had been cut
down to build the mansions here, over the years. Now the whole place
was a kind of private ski resort. The remaining trees were preserved
for the pleasure they gave. They did not have to bear offspring any
more to make houses for men. A chalet, when built, used imported
lumber. But few new chalets were built now, Kimber had said, talking of
our destination as we rode on the plane. Only the wealthy could afford
to stay here now. The mansions were widely spaced, with acres of fresh
snow between them, to give privacy. Inside, perhaps, things were more
liberal, on the outside all was proper, with strict zoning and high
taxes to keep out less fortunate residents.
The footman helped me down. My gloved hand in his. I stepped
onto the snow. It crunched under my feet. He herded Kimber, Debbi, and
I forward. I wondered if he saw that my hips swayed more when I walked
now. My steps were pleasantly awkward. To the door he took us,
trembling with need, inspired by our fingers, unfinished yet, for
Kimberly wanted us only to tease ourselves, our host.
The door to the general’s chalet was huge. Perhaps it
betokened other sizes. Quickly we were let in. A woman let us in,
smiling. She had blazing red hair, as if her head were aflame, and
seeing that it was natural, I wondered about her thatch below. The
general himself stepped out to greet us, coming at us from a kind of
vestry, off to the side, surprising us. My face was flushed as I
greeted him. Graciously he took my coat himself, as the redhead
relieved Kimber and Debbi. He wore his uniform, with all his shiny
medals, as if he would look less virile in other attire. I smiled
slightly. He smiled back, but with a predator’s gleam in his eyes. I
was in his home, his guest, after all. I had come. (Well, almost.)
Suddenly I realized that my short skirt was rucked up around my waist,
my fanny showing in back, the skirt too high in front to block his view
of my moist panties. Grabbing my skirt by its hem I pulled it down,
flushed more deeply.
“It is warm in Buenos Aires?” he asked me, eyeing my thighs, a
little above.
“Yes,” I breathed. He knew damn well I had not dressed this
way because of the heat. My dress was too short, I could not bend
without showing off my undies. Yet he was courteous enough to pretend.
I liked that. Pretending was still my main game in life, dreaming and
pretending. I admired him for not embarrassing me. I turned, saw
Kimber and Debbi had got their skirts down.
“You will enjoy yourself here,” the general said to me, gazing
at me intently. His words had the air of a command. I nodded. I
wanted to stick my tongue out at him, I don’t know why. But I nodded
politely, and liked him then, though I felt determined to remain true to
my hymen for as long as I wished. I would lose it on my terms. Yes.
On my terms and no other, weighing the men’s testicles in advance,
cutting off the hopes of one male only to advance those of another.
“There is a bedroom waiting,” the general said. He spoke to
me. When I did not respond he glanced over my head to Kimberly.
“The girls need exercise after sitting so long,” Kimberly said
in reply.
“Oh, not me!” I piped up suddenly. I was recalcitrant, despite
my busy finger in the sleigh.
“Very well,” the general said. “There is a room for you three
girls.” His emphasis on ‘girls’ was derisory. “The footman will show
you. I am busy with another new guest, freshly arrived, as you are.”
He turned his gaze to the redhead. There was wantonness in her eyes.
“We should not have interrupted your introductions, my pet. Shall we
continue?” She exchanged smiles with him and he offered her his arm.
In a moment they were gone.
The footman, grave as ever, moved us ahead of him down a long
hall. Our high heels clicked on a parquet floor, the boards creaking
sometimes, as if many females had come this way before, perhaps leaving
heavier than they arrived, with swollen bellies. We went up a
staircase, our bottoms peeking out from under our skirts, showing the
footman the color of our panties. Down a corridor we went, and he let
us into a bedroom. It was well-appointed, with cushions and a big
four-poster canopied bed, a bureau, and a lockable jewelry box. The
footman closed the door behind us and was gone.
I lay my teddy bear on top of the bureau, next to the jewelry
box. There was a pitcher of steaming coffee there. Debbi poured a cup
for herself, looking slightly melancholy. Kimber fluffed a pillow on
the bed. She dropped onto the bed and spread her legs. Her skirt was
up, showing her panties. Kimber raised her arms, put them behind her
head. She eyed me. I loitered by the jewelry box, checking out all its
little compartments.
“You are a little devil,” Kimberly said to me.
“I did not want to, that’s all,” I replied.
“I wonder if he’s fucking her now?” Debbi asked aloud. She
smiled at me. “In and out, in and out,” she teased.
“Oh, stop it!” I cried. I had never been fucked and she knew
it. She wanted to play with my mind and humiliate me over it.
“Perhaps we should have invited the footman to stay,” Kimber
mused. Her eyes were dreamy.
“I don’t want a foot man, I want a man who’s interested in me
right there,” Debbi said. She pointed to the place where little girls
fear being poked.
“Yes, right there!” Kimber laughed. She drew up her legs,
showing off her pantied cunt, letting her knees fall wide apart.
“Oh, you two need a lecture from Bill Bennett!” I cried. With
that I ran into the adjoining bathroom and slammed the door.
Within the bathroom, I moped. There must have been another
bathroom beyond the far wall, for I could hear water, laughter. We
three were not alone in our journey to the general’s. There were
others, many others, I guessed, for the house was huge and I had heard
sounds of distant parties as the footman led us upstairs to our
bedroom. I filled the tub and sprinkled in bubbles. I would be pure, I
would be Venus, enshrouded in the bubbles, a seashell over my pussy to
protect my purity. Cherubs would attend to me. I would stay in the tub
always, ordering room service, ducking below the bubbles when it was
delivered so the footman could not see me. I would nibble quietly, a
mouse. A mouse in a big house. And I would never, ever ‘party naked.’
I was a reformed girl now, a good girl. Let the others have their fun.
I would be the mansion’s attending nun, looking after their holiness.
They could consult me when the mood of penitence overtook them, when
they were bubbling-over with sperm and wondering whose child they might
have become impregnated with. Alas, the white-foam bubbles looked like
sperm to me suddenly. Naked, my clothes gone, I leapt in among them. I
could not resist. I found my finger busy once again, my lips soon
gasped. Somewhere in the distance, in the bedroom, I heard twin female
voices moan out an accompanying hymn. Kimber and Debbi were exploring
the comforts of the bed together, making a wet spot together on the
sheets, perhaps so the footman would have to come and change them. I
rubbed myself more energetically. I was getting my exercise after all,
as were they, though we all were as relaxed as could be. Dissolute,
recumbent, not busy with our legs, not running, but with our naughty
fingers only, skillfully touching. We had succumbed. I had succumbed.
I knew I could not last much longer, a day perhaps, maybe two. Then I
would have to give in completely. But would I surrender, or position
myself so that someone else would force my surrender? That was the only
question that remained, and it made me gulp hard, realizing
it.
****
With a flick of my head, confident and aware of my sexuality as
never before, I stood naked before the general. He sat in a chair, a
big, high-backed, padded number that resembled a throne. He sat along
the side of the large room I now found myself standing in. Ranged on
either side of me were girls and young women, as nude as myself. A
broad swath of plush carpet stretched out before us, wall to wall
carpeting. Opposite the general, across the room from him, was a
fireplace. It roared, giving off generous doses of heat to keep even us
bare girls warm. Every effort had been made to provide for our
comfort. We were to go crawling across the carpet, and wore long,
elegant leather boots that topped out just above our knees in front. No
rug burns would assail our knee caps. Our hands were gloved in soft
animal skins. But I knew when I knelt there would be one part of me
that might not be so well favored. My hiney had not been offered any
protection at all. I was to be a horsey, as were the other girls.
Already I spied several pony lashes in the hands of the spectators.
Fleetingly I wondered if I shouldn't back out. But then what would I
do, sit in my room, alone and bored? The general had been a perfect
gentleman so far.
We'd arrived at his chalet three days ago. He'd given us
sumptuous dinners, which he held every night for his assembled guests.
There were other girls there, as guests, almost as young and definitely
as pretty as I was. And there were some older women and men also. And
servants, of course; butlers, cooks, maids. Despite the sexual
goings-on in the rooms of the mansion the dinners were always polite,
restrained, as if the guests needed someplace where convention still
reigned, where morality was the norm, not the exception.
Every day we'd gone skiing. In clothes, of course, bundled up
against the cold, enjoying the purity of the snow and its overwhelming
whiteness. There'd been a party every evening, slightly risque, but
still with the ‘safe haven’ decency standard prevailing, though one
could easily slip off for more intimate adventures. I'd shared a hot
tub with two gentlemen the first night. They were young, randy, though
older than myself. College men. They seemed to like me for my affected
purity, blowing bubbles with my bubblegum to seem younger still. They'd
danced with me, then invited me to have a soak with them. We'd stolen
from the party and they’d led me to a tub where, after a moment's
hesitation, I'd undressed with them. We splashed about and kissed.
Then I had them both sit on the edge of the tub while I sucked them off,
weighing their testicles in my palms. That was all, nothing more. They
didn't seem to mind my hesitancy at going all the way. I was young,
after all. I could have been their little sister. They would have
wanted to ‘protect’ me if I was, driving off boyfriends their age,
making sure I only went out with my peers. But since, you know, I had
them by the balls, they let me play with them. It was acceptable for me
to date men their age, if they were the ones who would get to shoot in
my face. It was all relative. And my relativities were fast coalescing
in my womb.
We met again the next night and enjoyed a sauna together. Just
the three of us, hot and bothered, enjoying our agitations, our
perplexities. Amidst the billowing heat I sucked them off
again. Last night was perhaps the best, so far. We went
swimming in a heated pool, buck naked. Half of it was inside the chalet
and half outside, under the glittering stars. We'd had a snowball fight
on the decking next to the pool. I'd sucked them off at last, squeezing
their balls and pumping them with my little fists more furiously than
I'd ever done before. I wondered if I was turning into a little sexual
tigress. A virgin tigress still, to be sure. I amused my mates, I
think, my non-mating mates. They were veterans of frat parties, jaded;
I was young, sweetly hesitant, yet I gave them their reward each night.
We enjoyed each other. There were no commitments. They were both so
strong, they would have destroyed each other competing to see which of
them would pop my cherry. So instead they let me be in charge. And we
played together like children, on my terms, they enjoying my youth and
innocence even as I and they together set about corrupting it.
The general had not mentioned my reluctance again, seemed to
accept it. Or, rather, he accepted what I knew now was inevitable.
That, coming a virgin, I would not leave one. My cherry would be added
to his trophy case, symbolically, of course. In his mind he knew that I
would give it up here, in his home. To somebody. And I could not deny
that he was almost certainly right. It scared me to think of it. I
would be changed. I would be different. I would not be a scampering
little girl anymore. I wondered if Helga knew I was here. Deep down, I
guessed she did. There were secrets between her and Kimberly. Now I
realized that they’d both been my age once, and they’d accepted the
challenge at last, they’d stepped through the door of no return. And
they cherished the result. I wanted to cherish it too, to love and be
loved in the deepest way.
Today I'd awoken to a fierce snowstorm. There would not be any
skiing today. We'd all huddled at breakfast, more guests than usual
present for the morning meal. Usually we did our daytime things in
little groups, even the skiing, gathering all together only for the
evening banquet and the party afterwards. But this morning we sat
gloomily as the wind whipped round the building, keening and screeching
and trying to reach through to us. Snow splattered the big picture
window in the dining room. It drifted up against the pane, rising
steadily. Icicles drooped from the top of the window, outside, growing
by the minute, it seemed, intent on mating with the snowbank beneath.
The general had appeared, and proposed a day of indoor games.
We'd all thought this a great idea. Then someone, a woman no less,
suggested that the contestants compete as the ancient Greeks did in
sports, without clothes on. The general said he'd see if the heat could
be brought up enough to allow this. Sure enough, it was soon reported
by a butler that it could be. And that's how I wound up bare-assed,
booted, and gloved in a big room with a roaring fire.
A mature woman, about 40, with blazing red hair, strode out
from the group of spectators milling around the general's throne. I
recognized her as the woman who’d greeted us on our arrival, three days
ago. In her hand she carried a trio of birch rods, bound together with
a black bow. You would have thought she was a very attractive secretary
on her way to work, the way she was dressed. Perhaps she’d cut the
birch branches for a decorative item, one might muse, to spruce up the
office.
A blouse was stretched taut over the redhead’s generous
breasts. An open vest complimented the blouse, as did a scarf tied
fetchingly round her neck. She wore a daringly short skirt and high
heels. Yes, she was just a very sexy secretary, one might assume,
riding to work next to you on the morning train, or passing you on the
sidewalk on her way to work. Admittedly, there were a few signs that
something might be amiss: the height of her skirt, the length of her
heels, the way her breasts moved freely beneath her blouse. Yet,
perhaps, she merely worked for a permissive boss, an admiring male might
assume, hoping one day to secure a treasure like that himself. Then I
spied the short, slender whip stuck through her dress' slim belt. No
secretary of any firm would be allowed this accessory. And, sure
enough, no sooner did the woman lay down her birch on a chair than she
cast off her vest and, shockingly, ripped open her blouse. She told us
her name was Janet just before unleashing her boobs. Then, tits
bouncing, firm and high as those of any 20-year-old, she said, "Let's
get down to business, shall we?"
I gulped. I felt flocks of stiff-winged butterflies take off
in my tummy. I was stark naked before this woman, my blonde muff freely
displayed, itself no more or less special than the furred dells of all
the other females present. My boobs jiggled with my nervousness. I
tried to still them, tried to take slow, easy breaths. My nipples
perked upon my breasts like tiny Eiffel towers, red and stiff.
Janet glowered at each of us for a moment, ranging her eyes
over the line-up of nude, booted females that stood before her. Then
she matter-of-factly instructed us to kneel. I got down on all fours,
anxious and shivering. Janet was one hell of a no-nonsense woman! I
couldn't figure out whether I was trembling from the sexual thrill of
being naked, or of some arousal related to Janet herself. Or, perhaps,
the room was simply a bit too chilly. Of course. That was it. I could
hear the wind whistling in the rafters, let in through little chinks in
the walls where the joints had separated. My long hair hung down over
my eyes, hiding me. I would hide within it.
Through my locks, I glanced over at Kimber. She smiled back at
me. She was confident, demure, bare as myself and kneeling beside me, a
horsey just like me. She gave her lovely ass a quick waggle.
Janet came along the line of kneeling girls and stuck a silver
spoon into each of our mouths, the handle between our lips. It felt
like a long, thin dick in my mouth, this silver handle, and I sucked on
it, thinking of my college men that I’d partied with on the previous
nights. Where were they now? I did not see them. Perhaps they were
watching me. I cast my head about, gazing at the faces that gazed at
me, that gazed at the other girls. Some of the eyes were open in their
admiration, others more clinical, doctors observing deviant behavior,
perhaps, or cynical, “been there, done that,” eyes. Who cares what
happens to those females, anyway? They’re just meat. Meat in the
slaughterhouse, their cunnies tingling, their boobies swaying, waiting
to be slain and fucked by the general. They would barbecue me
afterward, and eat me at dinner. “Would you like a leg or a breast?” I
could see myself, carried between mighty guards to the spit over the
fire, tied to it and turned, roasted, given an indoor suntan until I was
crispy, golden brown.
Janet deftly placed a ripe lemon in my spoon. She favored each
of the other girls with the same fruit, weighing down our spoons as if
with heavy weights of testicles, though I could still keep my spoon up
properly. “Chin up, old girl,” Admiral Halsey might say. “Chin up.” I
shook my hair from my eyes to better see the long expanse of carpeting
stretching away from me.
Janet told us we must crawl as fast as we could to the other
end of the room, where we must each tip our lemon into a bucket. Each
of us had our own special bucket, I saw; mine was waiting all the way at
the other end of the room, ranged in a line with the buckets of the
other girls.
“Drop your spoon outside your bucket.” Janet instructed us.
Simple enough, I thought. The lemon in the bucket, the spoon outside.
“And,” Janet continued, as if instructing children in a recess game at
school, “Give a blow job to the man waiting for you at the other end.”
A gasp went up from the girls at this. Sure enough, a line of men began
arranging themselves at the far end of the room and stripping totally
naked. Soon I was witness to the spectacle of a dozen wangling schlongs
swinging lazily or, in some cases, standing stiffly at the other end.
It was like a sausage factory! And I was the official sausage taster,
at least for the man assigned to me! A big blonde hunk, fresh from
surfing along the coast from the looks of his tan, spread his stance out
at the far end of the room from me. He was at least six feet in height,
with a dong to match. He stood casually, as if a lifeguard, patrolling
the beach for drowning girls. I imagined his radio playing somewhere in
the background, grinding out hit after hit as he whiled away the hours
of his duty. Well, I would be drowning soon enough on his sperm if the
game were to go as planned! His balls were huge! His dick stood out at
attention, a soldier on stiff duty, even if his shoulders and biceps had
a relaxed, ‘what’s happenin’ look to them.
“You may NOT use your hands,” Janet admonished us. “For that
would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it? Just your mouths girls,
such pretty mouths...” Her voice trailed off momentarily. A woman,
naked and beautiful as Janet, came down the line and touched up our lips
with lipstick. She asked which color I preferred, I chose to keep my
gloss, she matched it to a stick she had and brightened my lips with
it. Kimber smiled sexily at me. Her lips were a delicious red. They
would mark a man’s cock soon, ring him just as the scar from his
circumcision did, right around the shaft, a memento of her services
(perhaps her winning services?) upon him.
The blow job, Janet explained, actually served a wonderful
purpose. Each of us had to suck for thirty seconds on our partner's
penis, at the other end of the room. If I could make my hunk cum in
those 30 seconds, he would have to take my place! Otherwise he would
replace the spoon and lemon in my lips after 30 seconds and send me
scampering back across the room. There a second man would now be
waiting, and I must perform orally on him too.
Instinctively, I turned and looked behind me. I think all of
us did. There, waiting behind me with my tushy lofted up to him, was a
man! He was some distance back, as if in deference to the fact that our
game together had yet to begin. There was a man for each girl. Mine
was a tall, darkhaired guy. He looked like a student from law school,
too long behind the books, a little skinny, a little pale. But he had
broad shoulders and a penis throbbing with desire. His eyes met mine.
He seemed awestruck. I smiled sweetly back at him, liking him despite
his obvious eagerness, perhaps because of it. Yes, I will suck your
cock, you libraryboy, fresh from your studies. Don’t worry, I’m
experienced, I’ve sucked cock every night for three nights now, and the
night before that too, at a special party, a “coming” party, where I had
my coming out. You will be between expert lips, sir, I assure you.
Janet continued her lewd explanations, a dozen men before us, a
dozen more behind, their cocks fully bared and waiting for our
attention. We were like racehorses, all lined up and ready to go, but
with boobies hanging down, cows perhaps, but sleek and firm, with only
our udder-like titties likening us to milk-producing heifers. Back and
forth I would go between my two men until one of them finally
ejaculated. Having lost his load, he would have to take my place. The
first girl to get herself excused from the race this way would be
declared the winner, the last girl the loser. (And, Janet told us, a
special series of punishments awaited the losing girl, at the hands of
the general himself.)
"A small incentive," Janet smiled, "to keep your bottoms
rushing right along." We giggled, nervously, I at least not knowing
quite what to make of the awful fate promised to the losing filly. I
was here, though, in the room. I had chosen to participate. I flicked
my hair from my eyes and glanced at the general. He saw me, staring at
him through my veil of blondness. He grinned. I quickly looked away.
I needed a cowbell, that was all, to be his complete pet, his chattel.
I would scurry along the rug with the other girls, my cowbell clanging,
my big nippled boobs swaying beneath me, heavy with arousal. His men
would pump me until I brimmed with their milk. Nine months later I
would bear for him, and he would suck at my teats until they hurt.
“Fresh milk for breakfast, from our special cow,” he would announce to
his guests. They would celebrate. I would lie on fresh straw in the
barn, cared for, attended to, mooing for my lover, a bit in my mouth,
properly shoed with fresh leather boots and kid gloves. He would come
to me at night and give me my evening fuck, to keep me healthy and with
child. I would have all his children, each healthy and bouncy. My
breasts would squirt out milk until I was old and grey and they had to
send for the doctor to give me a hysterectomy.
Janet fastened a broad leather belt around each of our waists.
I felt her hot breath on my hiney as she did me. So kinky, yet so real,
so perfectly in accord with my daydreams. Janet told me I had a sweet
bottom and she looked forward to seeing it in action. I glanced down my
smooth belly at my newly acquired ‘clothing,’ so little, yet so
significant. Before I’d been as slick and free as an otter, my boots
and gloves my only clothing; now I had a halter, something a man (the
general, perhaps?) could grab on to. Big brass loops hung from my
belt. I glanced about, saw the other girls were similarly encumbered.
I wondered what the belts, the loops, were for, asked Kimber.
"Chains," she replied casually, sexily. Apparently someone had
clued her in on what the general had in mind. Or perhaps she had asked
him herself. Boldly, freely, sure of her allure, her hold on him,
perhaps she had asked him, at breakfast, maybe. “What game shall we
play, general?” “Oh, I will chain you, I think, bind you with a belt
and chain you up in it.” “If it pleases you, general,” she might reply,
with a bat of her eyelashes that warned him he might find her too
appealing. Her beauty would overpower him. He would spurt, lose his
virility, sign away his lands and his life to her. “Half my kingdom for
one such as you, my dear! And every drop of sperm I can ever from
henceforth produce!” “Of course, sir, I hope you’re up to it. If not,
I might have to replace you with the stable boy, such a fine young king
he would make in your place, with his balls swinging and bouncing with
his every step, off to the woodpile to cut us wood...I will rendezvous
with him there and he will bear my children, he will wear your crown.”
I wished to be like Kimber. I would wrap men around my fingers
like colored ribbons, putting them on, loosing them, wearing them
always, or only sometimes. I was a little like her now, wasn’t I? I
could claim a little credit, couldn’t I? Playing nighttime games with
my secret college boyfriends, my two male sperm-men, making them cum in
my mouth, sucking and squeezing them dry. Yes, I had risen up a little,
after all. I was still sweetly virgin but I knew now how to please a
man, how to make him beg. I felt wicked. My heinie wiggled an
invitation to whomever might be behind me to see. Come, student boy,
loose yourself in me and take my place in the race. Spare me from
whatever naughtiness they had in mind and serve valiantly in my stead,
my white knight, down on your knees. Would he have to suck the blonde
surfer dude if I was excused? The thought revolted, excited me.
Janet clipped steel manacles to each of our wrists. More
attire, but only just to imprison us, to make our nudity all the more
apparent. A loose chain ran between the pair of manacles, connecting
them. I wanted to protest but couldn't find the courage to. After all,
the same was being done to all the other girl contestants. Manacles
were put around my thighs then, right above the knees, with a loose
chain connecting them also. Finally a chain was run from one manacle on
one of my knees, to the other manacle on my other knee, but through the
brass loop hanging down from my belt on the way from my one knee to my
other knee. The purpose of this, I learned, was to keep any of us from
standing up. Still kneeling, I tried erecting my back and found that
I'd only got partway up when the chain running from knee to knee,
through my belt, became taut.
I had to admit to myself that the general was possessed of
quite an imagination. Naked games were as common among couples and
lovers as sex itself. Even a virgin like me knew that. But chains?
Manacles? Lemons? Surely not everyone played games like this. I found
myself wondering, in a serious way, what sort of punishments the general
had in mind for the losing girl. Certainly if I lost, there was no
escape now. I was chained to myself, unable to stand. I could not
count on my fleet feet to carry me away, as they had from boys at
school. If the general wanted me, he would have me. In my spiked
boots, belted, weighed down with manacles, I could do little more than
show off my naked bottom to him.
Janet's languid, slow shackling of us had one final effect, no
doubt intended by the general. We were all beginning to have to go to
the bathroom. He'd urged us to drink a lot at breakfast, orange juice
in particular, which he shipped in fresh-squeezed from the lower
elevations, the little villages which dotted the foothills of the great
Andean range atop which we were now cavorting. I'd unthinkingly heeded
his call to benefit my health, downing several glassfuls of juice. Now
my bladder was full, and I couldn't even stand up! A girl, no doubt
less prone to embarrassment than the rest of us (or having to go even
worse), asked if she could be let up to pee. Janet replied that as soon
as she'd freed herself from the race (according to the rules, with a man
replacing her), she could pee. But not before then. It was another
incentive to fire up our tushies...and our tongues, to make us really
RACE across the carpeted floor. My bladder tingling, I found myself
wishing I knew more about how to give a man a really good blow job. A
professional blow job. I turned to Kimber. She rimmed her lips with
her tongue.
“You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” Kimberly asked me.
“Not enough,” I replied, blushing. She knew my secrets. It
was hard to keep a secret in a place where everyone specialized in
getting naked.
Janet strolled behind us, inspecting her handiwork, as we
waited tensely for the race to begin (and end!) She gave each of our
bottoms a teasing flick with her pony lash. I flinched as she saluted
my heinie. She openly admired it by saying aloud that she thought it
the prettiest in the room. Except, she called me “Lisa,” instead of
“Barbi.” She didn’t even know my name, yet already she’d gotten an
intimate look at my fundament. Below it my cunny pouted, waiting for
Mr. Right to shove his lance in and undo me once and for all.
The general asked us if we were ready. We nodded, growing more
desperate each minute for the race to begin, our bladders complaining
inside us. I shifted my hips back and forth with my need, uncaring now
of the rudeness of my display, wishing I'd never agreed to participate
in this silly sport.
And then the starting gun went off, fired by the general. At
once I leapt forward, kneeing my way frantically across the carpet, the
other girls neck and neck with me. With clenched teeth I hung on for
dear life to the lemon perched in my spoon. Janet ranged along behind
us, birch rod at the ready, to admonish any girl who spilled her fruit.
Volleys of whipped cream streamed into the air as we crossed the middle
of the room. The shock of this unexpected tribute nearly lost me my
lemon. Spectators on either side of the race course, I saw, were firing
randomly up at the rafters, letting the shooting cream settle where it
may upon us scuttling girls. Cream landed on my back, leaving a white
trail across it.
On I raced, eyeing now the man who waited for me. His cock was
stiff as a pole and shockingly large. I wondered if I could even fit it
in my mouth! This again nearly lost me my lemon. A girl somewhere
behind me squealed as Janet fustigated her for dropping her fruit.
Kimber beat me to her man and neatly tipped her lemon into an
iced bucket, then spat out her spoon. Rising up, like a stallion
rearing, she grabbed her paramour's penis with her mouth. It was one of
my college boyfriends, one of the two I’d played with just last night!
Immediately she began bobbing her head upon his shaft, swallowing him
deeply, sucking ferociously, possessively. She would have his seed
tonight, not me. Did he like her better? He looked at me, grinned a
twisted, crooked grin. His eyes seemed to challenge me to do better.
Or to say, ‘begone, little girl, I have a REAL woman now.’ I looked
again at Kimber. So perfect, so self-possessed, obedient to him yet
undeniably in control of his most precious possession. One bite would
seriously impair his future performance. I felt vengeance, wanted to
claw her, but could not. She was a goddess, my idol. Her lovely blonde
hair streamed out behind her, swaying and loose. Her breasts jiggled
heavily. The nipples at their tips were like thorns, as dangerous as
the teeth she used to lightly graze his cock, tease him with her power.
A bee stung my bottom. I bucked.
“Lisa!” Janet yelled. She was right behind me. She did not
know my name, only my figure, my lips, my bottom. A tear welled in my
eye. I tried to rub away the sting of her pony lash, found my chains
prevented it. “This is not a spectator sport for you dear,” Janet
said. “Perhaps when you are older,” she added thoughtfully. “Now SUCK
COCK!” She gave my ass another nip, more lightly, as if admiring my
bottom too much to strike it as deeply as she might. She was in awe of
my ass, I realized. I lived in a crazy upside-down world now, more wild
than any wonderland Alice had ever slipped into.
I plopped my lemon into the bucket reserved just for me. My
valuable lemon, which spared my fanny from a whipping so long as I kept
it aloft. I dropped my spoon on the floor beside the bucket. I hoped
the floor was clean. It looked clean. I gazed up at the cock which
loomed over me. My new boyfriend grinned down at me. My lifeguard.
What was his name? Would I ever know? My hands pressed to the carpet
between my knees, I lifted up as best I could and enclosed him with my
lips.
"Mmm," I said, sucking on his cockhead, hoping to inspire him
to cum. I was mindful of Janet right behind me, watching my every move,
judging my performance. The lifeguard just kept grinning, as cool and
calm as any suntanned god guarding the beach. He was seemingly
unaffected by my ministrations. Janet passed back and forth behind me,
impatient, her pony lash aimlessly flicking the air. Vigorously I began
blow-jobbing the man. I imitated Kimber as best I could. Silently I
prayed for him to release his seed.
"Thirty seconds!" a woman keeping time behind my boyfriend
yelled. There was a woman for each man, serving as judge, like at a
swim meet. Reluctantly I let go of the lifeguard. His cock quavered
wetly before me. I looked at his balls. They were tight, but he was
contained. He would not cum on this round. He helped me get my spoon
and lemon back into my mouth. I turned around and once more raced back
across the room. More whipped cream assailed me as I passed through the
middle. The partiers were aiming more directly now, even stepping out
into the racecourse to hit each girl squarely. I had to dodge one of
them who stood in my way. He was spraying another girl. I'm sure they
weren't supposed to block our path but, with all the people involved,
there were bound to be a few mishaps. I raced on, whipped cream
splotching my bottom, fired from somewhere behind me. I reached my
second eager boyfriend, also a stranger to me, and began suckling away.
My second paramour proved as sturdy as my first, able to
withhold himself despite my best efforts. Back across the room I went,
and this time the guests were to give each of us a lash across the
bottom. I howled and nearly lost my spoon as a woman struck me quite
smartly right across my seat, a perfect hit for a girl who was proving
to have a less than perfect record in the blow job department. Some men
were already filling in as replacements now, and they got the same
treatment as we girls. I shot an admiring glance at their dangling
pricks and balls, which no doubt would hurt even more than my bottom if
they met with a whip.
The job of each man in the race, each horsey man, was to eat
the pussy of the woman at either end who had kept time, there being one
woman keeping time for each man. When he finally made one of the
timekeepers orgasm, the man could leave. The man himself had to keep
time of his own efforts. Janet, though, was never far off, making sure
that no cheating took place. Armed with a birch and a whip, she was not
to be messed with.
Suddenly I dropped my lemon. I was out in the middle of the
rug, not near the ice bucket that calmly waited for me at the other
end. Janet was upon me instantly, giving my poor tushy two brisk swats
with her birch rod. Ah! That was cruel. Those little buds were much
worse than her whip, stinging me all across my bare seat. Tears burst
from me as I fumbled my spoon and lemon back into my mouth. My chains
clinked, my manacled wrists were heavy. With trembling hands I restored
my spoon and lemon. Then I scurried off again, my bottom flaming. I
sniffled, wet cheeked. An unexpected sense of eroticism washed over
me. My clitty budded in my cunt. My breasts felt deliciously alive,
full and ripe and dangling down from my chest. My bottom felt enormous,
my every movement seemed to flex my hot hind cheeks in sensual new
ways. I reached my lifeguard and sucked him passionately. I was aware
as never before of my nakedness, stiff nippled, my clitty burning. I
wanted to rub myself there but was too shy.
Back across the room I went, still sniffling from my brush with
Janet’s birch. A whip stung me twice on the way back, wielded by yet
another avaricious woman. Two swift cracks through the air, bringing
just the tip of the whip into contact with my hiney, yet they impelled
me ever faster toward the safety of the far side, the waiting cock of
the law student.
As luck would have it, I eventually found myself the second to
last girl in the race. A petite brunette, about my age, still struggled
on, all the other females were gone. By now I'd been hit in the face
with whipped cream, and my hair was sodden with the stuff. My bottom
burned from being swatted and stung by the gleeful partiers. I hurried
between my men, milking each in turn, but neither would come. All of a
sudden the petite brunette began crying loudly. I looked over and saw
her peeing in the middle of the room, right on the carpet! Janet was
livid with rage, lifting her birch rod, about to strike as never
before. And then, just as suddenly, I was aware of a sprinkling between
my own legs as well. I looked down between my heavy breasts, saw a
stream of urine gushing forth from my own dell! Before Janet could
castigate either of us the general called a halt to the contest and said
he'd take care of us naughty girls himself.
Men with freely displayed cocks and balls came to us and lifted
us and carried us bodily from the room, our pee still spritzing out all
over the place. We were taken, just the two of us, down a long hall.
Paintings on the wall stared out at us as we passed. Ancient relatives,
smug in eighteenth-century attire. They would not approve of buck-naked
girls scampering about in front of their son, the noble general. I felt
like a trollop, disgraced. I wanted to hide my eyes from the haunting
portraits and call 911.
We were carried through a door. It was big, heavy, made of
sturdy wood, banded with iron. It slammed shut behind us. The men
hauled us down a flight of stairs into a cold, dimly lit cellar. They
put me down, put down the other girl. I felt the cool flagstones
beneath my feet. They were hard, uncompromising. I was in a prince’s
dungeon. He would force confessions from me. I would tell all. I
would keep nothing from him. A drop of pee liberated itself from my
cunny and plinked upon the floor.
Our masters stripped everything off us, hastily, as if tearing
down a pair of horses after a long ride. I was afraid. I thought for
sure they intended to rape us. But instead they re-shackled our wrists,
and did the same to our ankles. I felt some relief at this, knowing
that they probably wouldn't go to this extra trouble if they were eager
to get their cocks up us.
We were turned about. Twin girls, our wrists and ankles
chained, completely naked. I saw two cages. They were such as a child
might stand in, but not an adult. They had long slim bars of wrought
iron.
Our guards pushed us forward, stuffed us into the cages with the wrought
iron bars, one for each of us. The cages were too small to stand up
in. I crouched, found a velvet cushion to sit upon. It was sprinkled
with rose petals. It had been placed there intentionally, just for me,
for my naked bottom. Amidst the perfume of the petals the guards left
us, still nude and shackled, shivering. I saw a coarse woolen blanket
in the corner of my cell and pulled it up around me.
I was so scared I sat right on my hiney, ignoring the flaming
pain in my tush. As I sat, stunned, for what must have been many
minutes, the stinging in my ass began to be transformed into a kind of
deep warmth. Slowly I started to enjoy the feeling. It was nice, in
such a chilly dungeon. I felt like a naughty mare who had been
punished, no doubt deservedly, by her stern master. He would train me
and use my bottom to teach me lessons I needed to learn. I touched my
clit and shivered. I touched myself again. Swearing silently at
myself, I began to masturbate. Thankfully the other girl began to do
the same.
When the general arrived we were both in the throes of
self-inflicted passion. We were swooning in our cages, bursting with
repeated orgasms. Our breasts shook; our legs, bent, opened and closed
like scissors, scissoring thighs, wishing to clamp upon the torso of a
man. He got a cold bucket of water and threw it on each of us, through
the bars, to cool us down. Ashamedly we paid attention to him then,
sitting contritely as he told us of his plans for our young, errant
bodies.
He spoke of the army, and how he learned as a soldier in it of
the need for discipline. He said it must be applied fairly but firmly.
He said we were fortunate to have him, for he had served as a boot camp
drill instructor. Once we were trained properly we would not cum at our
own whim, like little girls, but would behave as proper young women and
cum only when our "paramour," as he put it, told us to.
The general ordered a hose brought and we were sprayed with it,
still in our cages, by the same men who had brought us down into this
dank cellar. Like little girls at a pool we screamed, were we happy?
“Stop screaming, girls!” I heard my mother admonish me, in my mind.
Would she mind, now, I wondered? But mommie, big men with big cocks are
spraying me as I sit in my little cage. Then it was a pretend cage,
formed by two chaise lounges. Now it was real. But how real was it?
How captive was I? I seemed very captive, but was I really only
captivated by my own desires? No, surely not. A nice girl like me did
not have desires. Oprah Winfrey could tell you that, any day of the
week on T.V. Teenage girls did not have desires. Certainly not for big
men with big cocks. Maybe for the pimply boy next door, sure, still
waiting for his cock to grow. But never for men. We had chastity belts
locked round our minds. Except, somebody had unlocked mine, I feared.
The men’s stiff cocks wiggled all about as they vigorously
directed the jet of their hose into every crevice of my body. The
brunette received no less thorough a cleansing. The men then opened our
cages and yanked out our drenched cushions. I thought of trying to bolt
free but the general was standing right there, tapping a leather riding
crop aimlessly against his leg. I remembered my bottom and thought
better of the idea. I didn't necessarily enjoy being imprisoned like
some zoo animal, but my poor hiney absolutely insisted that I not do
anything that would get it into further trouble. Today was not the day
for this little urchin to play ‘chase me,’ no indeed. New cushions were
placed in our cages. The men closed the wrought-iron doors once more
and locked them. We were each given a battery operated blowdrier and
told to dry off our "lovely hair," by the general, "both on top of your
heads and between your pretty legs. You must expect from now on to be
admired equally in both places." I must confess that by now, having
cooled off from my orgasm, I was much more circumspect about my
prospects at his hands, but I did as I was told.
The general left then, with his well-hung servants right behind
him, their cocks still at attention. The brunette and I gazed after
them with dreamy eyes, admiring their sculpted, compact haunches, which
were as bare as their genitals. When we had dried ourselves we used the
hot air from the blowdriers to keep ourselves warm. The brunette seemed
to be particularly chilly between her legs. Finally I asked her her
name.
"Mandy," she replied, with a Spanish, south-of-the-border
drawl. I told her my name was Barbi but otherwise we did not speak.
Despite her accent her skin was as white as mine. It glowed softly in
the dim light of our dungeon.
We had been alone for about an hour when a woman appeared. She
was blonde, with a haughty demeanor, and dressed in an evening gown.
She held a pony whip in one hand, trifles of silk in the other. I
wondered at them. They were pretty.
"Here, put these on," the blonde said to each of us. She
passed a pair of panties through the bars of each of our cages. "You
are to be seen in polite company," the woman explained. Hunched in my
cage I struggled into my new undies. They were shockingly brief. I
couldn't get them up over the half-way point of my bottom cheeks,
wincing as I strove to pull them higher. They were luxuriously soft,
made of some fine white lace, but my red bottom still burned from the
horsey race. My pussy hairs curled springily, naughtily, out of the
so-called "waistband" of my panties in front, which should more properly
have been called a "pussy-band." The woman then unlocked our cages and
beckoned us out.
Gratefully we stood up and stretched, relishing our new freedom
outside the cages. We were nymphs, fawns. We were free of our trappy
cages, though still captive. The hunter would make pets of us. He
would keep us for our beauty. My chains clinked coldly against my
skin. I felt fresh, alive. I wished to run naked in the snow outside
and climb upon the nearest peak and sit on it.
The woman barked at us and ordered us to stand at attention.
Shiveringly we obeyed. I was lost in myself, lost in my body, young and
pulsing with the heat of my naughty desire. I could feel my young,
weighty breasts upon my chest. My nipples were unbearably stiff.
Between my legs I was aroused again. It was the dungeon, its
chilliness, its certainty. I was still a virgin but I knew I was in
perilous straights. I was at the mercy of a male, virgin for only so
long as he kept me so. He could impale me at the slightest whim. This
woman would take me to him and he would spread me out on his bed and
fuck me.
Our blonde commander surveyed us all about with an examining
eye. I was grateful for my miniscule panties. They kept her from
prying into my special places. I wished for a bra to hide my stiff
nipples from her.
“You have one more piece of attire to put on,” the woman
intoned. I felt a wave of relief. A bra! Yes! What else could it
be? I would be restored to as much modesty as I had on any beach. I
would be pure again. I would slip away in my little silken bikini and
return to my high school virginity. I would tease boys again, and be
teased by the girls for holding out. So what? It didn’t matter now.
I’d been to the general’s, and my hymen had survived. Could they say
the same? Could they say as much? Had they been horseys in a race,
little rabbits, surrounded by wolves with big, bad penises? I would
boast that I’d bearded the lion and made off with my innocence intact.
To my glum surprise, the woman produced a pair of blindfolds.
My breath caught in my throat, audibly, but I said nothing. I was still
captive. I was still manacled, barely clad. I was still Pauline. I
stood at attention, trying not to shake, as the woman wrapped the
fearful band over my eyes.
Another appeared. I could not see who. A woman, a friend of
the blonde. She put a collar on me, on the brunette beside me. She
leashed us together. Following the click of her footsteps, listening to
her voice, I felt her line up the brunette behind me, position herself
in front of me. She would draw us forward, pulling on a leash that ran
from my collar to her hand. The brunette would stumble after me.
Speaking from behind, I heard our blonde commander. She would follow,
whip in hand. Our obedience was assured.
A walk ensued, just as I’d predicted. It was made rather
difficult by our shackled hands and feet. Mercifully, the blonde did
not insist on a fast pace. She walked behind us, controlling all, the
small pony whip in her hand flicking the air.
We went upstairs, trod some distance on a soft carpet, and were
finally made to halt. The blonde told us we were back in the chateau's
dining room. Sure enough, as our blindfolds were removed we found that
we were. There was just the general, though, in his uniform, plus two
men, wearing tuxedoes. I guessed that they were his special guests this
evening, invited just to see us. Myself and Mandy, special treats for
their evening meal. The woman who’d led us into the room disappeared.
She was not needed, apparently. Only the blonde remained, our blonde
commander, elegant in her evening gown.
The general, sitting composed at the head of the table, bade
Mandy and I to sit. The two men in tuxedos rose and drew back our
chairs for us. I noticed that my chair had an extra cushion on it for
my bottom. Nonetheless I let out a little cry as I sat my poor butt
upon it. The men smiled broadly at each other. Even the woman who’d
brought us seemed amused. The three of them sat and the general called
out for dinner. It would be a spaghetti dinner, with meatballs, sauce,
and red wine. Candles were lit. The lights were dimmed.
As the meal was brought forth by servants I began eating as I
had here before, but my status was clearly different now. I was no
longer the casual guest. My wrists were chained together. I could not
kick my feet back and forth like a school girl as I had before. Or,
rather, I still could, but the noise from the chains would be too
obvious. It would get me a scolding. I must eat daintily, quietly,
keeping my chains from clinking as much as possible. This I knew
without being told. The meal was to be decorous, civilized. We were to
be polite young ladies, Mandy and I.
Unlike the others at table Mandy and I were practically nude.
I ate with lowered eyes, accepting for the moment at least my new role
as slave. A love slave, I had no doubt, yet I was still a virgin. I
wondered if the general actually knew. Of course, he had to, that was
why I was here. Yet I felt that I had been chosen somehow, over the
other girls. Myself, and Mandy too. Was she a virgin also? Briefly I
looked up at her. She ate submissively, as I did. Yet, did I sense a
certain pride in her manner? She twirled her spaghetti on her fork and
lifted it to her lips, her soft, full breasts jostling one another as
she moved. All eyes at the table were on us. Proudly I lifted my fork
to my own mouth, feeling my own breasts move as I did. I felt a ripple
of excitement run through me. My nipples, already hard, seemed to
stiffen further. I might have gotten straight A's at school, but that
was not what I was wanted for now. I felt safe and, despite the whining
of my bottom, I was comfortable. I knew the general could and would
protect me from every danger in the world, save those he wished to
impose on me himself. Yet, is that not every girl's fate, to be
protected from all harm except that wrought by her lover's lust? The
bloody piercing of the hymen, the fierce rodding of the cunt, the mouth,
the bottom; the swelling of pregnancy and the pain of birth?
Only the general, the woman, and the two new gentlemen guests
were present at table. I wanted no one else. I did not wish to be seen
like this by everyone, just by the special few, the chosen. The
gentlemen had a satisfied air about them, like two cats admiring
captured canaries. They remarked on my beauty, analyzed my breasts as
if they were fine art, compared them to Mandy’s. The woman too
evaluated our looks, spoke a little jealously perhaps. She was our
chaperone, not to protect our virtue but to divest us of it. How much
more could we be divested, though? Alas, I knew. Had we been but
children, 10-years-old perhaps, or 8, female children, perhaps this
little naked presentation of ourselves would be enough. “Their teats
are budding nicely,” the men might say. Or, “such an angelic face, I do
hope she keeps it past puberty.” But with older girls, sleek,
well-formed, there would be more. Such men would not permit us to
simply show off our charms. They would have to test them, to mold them
perhaps, to squeeze and feel us...and to stick their things in us.
I glanced at the general. My hair was perfect. Not combed,
but youthfully perfect, carefree. Such men must like it this way, I
knew, hanging down, loose. My eyelashes fluttered, I sucked in a strand
of saucy spaghetti. I felt a droplet of sauce fall to my breast. I
lifted my gourd, my bosom, licked off the sauce directly with my
tongue. I looked at the general as I did it. The men complimented my
boldness. But the general just gazed at me, half-watching, half-not,
seeing through me as much as anything. He seemed ambiguous. Probably,
he had entertained so many young ladies that he was now rather jaded.
He’d probably spent in the party room. He was waiting to refill. We
would eat and he would fill his balls and want to come again. At least
I hoped so. I felt emboldened by his diffidence. He would love me
above the rest. He would remember me, though he forgot all the other
girls.
I flicked my eyes toward the woman. She seemed spoiled. I
admired her gown out of the corner of my eye. It glittered, moulding
what promised to be an amazing figure. I had little doubt I might see
her naked before the night was out. But--I thought of the lash--would I
be watching her mainly from between my legs, with my head upside down?
Kimber had told me of such things, being strapped to a trestle, legs
apart, blonde hair falling, touching the floor. The tender bottom your
highest point. Your ankles, wrists pinioned. The lash would fall
smartly. It would make me hurt much more than our games in the party
room had. The thought made me tremble and I put it out of my mind.
Again my eyes returned to the general. I must not be too free
with my eyes, I knew. Perhaps I did not want to be. I would be coy. I
kept my glance surreptitious. As I appraised him a sense of recognition
dawned within me. Had I not seen him before? On T.V., perhaps? Those
jowls. That goofy haircut. Was there a hairpiece atop that goofy
haircut? And the gut. He tried to sit straight and tall, but you could
not deny the gut. Omigod! Yes! I realized it now. He was no
general. He was Senator Exon, from America. Down from the Capitol to
take his vacation here. A junket, paid for by taxpayers. Could I be
sure? Was it really him? I looked again, more boldly. He seemed to
shift under my gaze, wish I might look less perceptively. I returned my
eyes to my meal. Yes, it was him. I ate quietly. I dwelt within my
thoughts. Mandy slurped up her spaghetti noisily. “Eat properly,
dear,” the woman scolded her.
Time slipped by. Naked, like little animals, Mandy and I
devoured our meal. We were hungry. The running, crawling on our knees,
the fright, the cages, the whips. The sense of unease, uncertainty, yet
within it all the Senator’s hand, guiding us, toying with us. Two weeks
ago I had been but a girl, excited by a log ride. Now I was something
more. I was love, erotic feeling. My bottom was cupid’s bottom. My
hands played on the bowstrings of the men’s hearts. Summer pastures,
ripe and lush, were the milk-white wineskins of my breasts. I would
nurture herds of children with them.
After dinner Mandy and I were blindfolded once more. My tummy
was full. I felt slightly tipsy from the wine. My breasts wobbled
nakedly on my chest as they blindfolded me. My hiney felt comfy. I did
not want it to be spanked again.
My chair was removed. I was made to rise. I felt my asscheeks
sticking out on both sides of my panties. They were jammed in my
buttcrack from my sitting. I tried to fix myself in behind, but my
hands were slapped away. I could not reach all the way back anyway. My
wrists drew the chain between them taut against my thighs. But I could
have got my panties out of my cunt, bent, flexed my knees, tried. “We
like you as you are,” the woman in the elegant evening gown told me,
Mandy.
With my ass cheeks hanging out, my little panties bunched in my
crack, I was led down what seemed to be a long corridor, Mandy
following. The woman guided us. The men followed. The carpeting under
our feet gave way finally to wood. Eventually, passing into a room, we
were on carpeting once more, especially plush and squishy. I heard a
door close behind us. The woman unwound our blindfolds.
Mandy and I gasped as we took in our surroundings. We were in
a huge master bedroom, with an equally large bed. There could be no
doubt that it was the senator’s. The bedcovers were already turned
back. The bed had gleaming brass posts with twin pairs of scarf ties
already looped about them. Next to the bed hung a single black whip,
and beneath it was a nightstand busy with vials of ointment and cream.
A vase held colored condoms, arranged like the spreading petals of a
flower. Mirrors reflected our youthful beauty back at us. Behind us
stood the two men, the senator, and the woman.
"You may remove your panties," the woman intoned. "You won't
be needing them here." I did not know what to say. I guessed a verbal
response was unneeded, unwelcome. A part of me wanted to go ahead, to
get it over with. I’d teased and been teased. It was time to fuck. I
did not know what to make of the whip. It scared me. Mandy looked like
she might wilt. But, boldly, we both made the same decision. Did we
have a choice? We did not ask for one.
Apprehensively I drew down the wisp of fabric that passed for
my panties. They were so delicate, so chic, I hated to lose them. But
they were in the way, weren’t they? Of what? I could only hope nothing
bad would happen to me. Looking in the mirror, I saw the men waiting.
They were bulging, down where it counted. The senator too. Ah, he
liked me now, did he?
Of necessity, my wrists still chained, I drew my undies down by
tugging on them in front. As they passed snappily off my bottom I
fearfully clenched my soft cheeks. I looked over my shoulder at the
senator. His eyes were fixed on my ass. The two gentlemen's eyes
seemed pasted to it. In a mirror I saw that the stripes from the horsey
race had faded, leaving my butt mostly white. Twin snowy globes, eyed
by vultures. I did not know what to do. I slid the last morsel of my
modesty down my thighs and stepped out of them, leaving them on the
floor. Mandy did likewise.
"A pretty pair, are they not?" the woman asked the gentlemen
with a toss of her blonde head. For a moment I thought she was speaking
of our discarded panties. Alas, they were forgotten, except by Mandy
and me. The gentlemen eyeballed our asses, nodded.
"Perhaps an enema would help them to sleep?" one of the men
asked hopefully.
"It is still a bit early for sleep," the senator intoned.
"Quarter to midnight," the man replied.
"But they are big girls now," the woman said smilingly. "I'm
sure they're eager to stay up late and play with us adults."
A magical moment ensued then, seemingly timeless, where we
stood simply staring at one another. Mandy and I were raw naked,
trembling deliciously. We exchanged glances. I knew only her first
name, yet I felt sure that before the night was out I would be
intimately acquainted with her privates, forced to lick and titillate
them while she did the same to me. 69, it was called, wasn’t it? You
go down on me, I go down on you. Each is captive to the other. With
our guardians standing all around us. Indeed it was then that the woman
asked us to show our tongues. Giggling we opened our mouths and stuck
them out, impishly. The men, eager for more than a mere view, unzipped
themselves. In their case I did not even know their names, yet I was
about to be forcibly introduced to their manhood. I hoped they would
prove worthy of the attention I knew I would be required to lavish upon
them.
And they were! Mandy and I gasped as their twin pulsing rods
of flesh sprung from their flies and wiggled temptingly in the open
air. Only the senator remained zippered. A slightly bored grin had
settled on his face. He'd seen all this before, too many times,
perhaps. It had become nothing more than a nightly ritual for him, a
Packwood ritual, yet one he might as well partake of, for lack of any
better sport.
"Come girls, I'm sure you will prove most delightful," the
woman said, stepping forward and cupping us by our bottoms. She turned
us around, so that we faced the men directly. Giving us each a gentle
squeeze on our fannies she urged us the few paces forward toward our
suitors. Then, as if not wishing to waste a moment, she lifted her
hands and pressed down upon our tousled heads. We dropped to our knees
upon the floor. Our breasts jiggled. Our mouths opened. We had only
to lean forward slightly to complete the lewd contact. The men, randy
and eager, thrust forward their hips and forced their bristling members
twixt our lips.
My paramour drove himself in a full four inches, hitting the
back of my throat and even driving down it a bit, causing me to choke.
The woman grasped him by his swollen balls and eased him back, letting
me catch my breath. I swirled my tongue around his rod to get the feel
of him. Then I sucked him encouragingly, and he pushed himself in
again.
"She is a virgin," the woman whispered to the man, pumping his
testicles in her palm. He started, his cock quivered, he nearly lost
himself, uttering a startled groan. Beside me Mandy was paying tribute,
and her lover nearly lost his load. She looked up at him with an
admonishing glance. I giggled at the misfortune I'd nearly caused. My
man groaned again, practically a torture victim at this point. And it
was his penis which was the focus of such exquisite torture.
Soon both men were properly wettened by our saliva. It was
time for the gentlemen to be oiled, the senator said. “So that you will
meet as little resistance as possible.”
“Doing what?” my suitor asked. His voice was haggard. What
answer did he hope for?
“In a moment both of you must display your manly vigor...up
within my girls’ bottoms,” the senator said. My breath caught audibly
in my throat. I rose, a bit shakily, a foal newly born. This would be
the last night of my anal virginity. My bottom cheeks tightened at the
prospect. Debbi was right. Our senator was "an ass man." He eyed the
two gentlemen with their finely displayed, hair-trigger cocks. Could
they hold themselves? Both of them were desperate. I guessed they had
not had virgin girls before. Was Mandy virgin? I did not know. She
was my age. The senator’s eyes fixed on the gentlemen’s cocks like an
eagle, eyeing prey. “It will be a tight fit, boys,” he said. “I’ve
been known to do a Bobbitt on boys who can’t make the grade.” They
shivered. Were they to master me, in my virginity, or was I somehow to
be master of them? I might wiggle, resist, make them cum when they
might not have. Did I hold the key to their continued virility? It was
strange, playing virgin goddess like this. I glanced at Mandy. She
caught my eye. We felt a rush of giddy power. Yes, boys, have your
little virgins, but beware. We might be naughty. The senator might cut
off your offspring if you don’t please us.
I remained politely receptive. The senator had Mandy and I
offer up our palms. The woman poured oil into our cupped hands and told
us to grease up our stallions. Laughingly we obeyed. Sleek-limbed,
naked, we were graceful, tossing our heads, smiling sweetly. The men
with their hairy chests and tufted groins, cocks sprouting, balls
clenching, stood like soldiers in service to the Queen. They relished
our touch at first. Soon, though, to their astonishment, the oil began
to take on a burning warmth. I could feel it upon my own hands. They
protested as more of the oil was poured into our palms and we were told
to apply a second coat. Chuckling to himself the senator watched. The
men became torn between the pleasure of our ministrations and the
dastardly effect the oil was having on their loins. They gaped down at
their stiff members, eyes wide, confused.
"It burns," Mandy whined, for it was all over her hands as well
as my own. We both drew back our hips a little to avoid spilling any of
the nasty stuff on our own privates. The men, who at dinner had been
quite certain that Mandy and I were there just to be used by them,
seemed shocked. We were their torturesses now. With every loving
stroke of our hands they stiffened all the more, agonizingly, the oil
streaking their cocks with fire. Mentally, I’d been preparing myself
for the fate of a pet. A slave, nothing more. Used, perhaps abused. A
living love doll. Yet now the refined taste of the senator had exacted
a price from the gentlemen themselves. We were all in this together.
No one, it seemed, would escape without some sacrifice. Mandy and I,
our wrists still shackled, chains clinking, worked our stallions with
ever more enthusiasm.
The woman undressed herself, proving to be as stunning as I'd
imagined. Sumptuous bosoms rose startlingly up from her chest. Above
them her shoulders were waifishly frail. Below them her ribs could be
seen, each one, ready to be counted. Her waist was waspishly thin, but
her hips full and developed, ready to birth as many children as any man
might desire. Long slim legs stretched down to her feet. I stared at
them. They were as small as any Japanese Geisha's. Her toes wiggled
with pent-up enthusiasm. Ten little piggies, going to market, across a
plush carpet. Truly I would not be deprived by having to go to bed with
such a beautiful female. The senator thanked her for undressing and
came round and tapped me on the shoulder. I thought then that I must be
made to pay obeisance to this woman. My eyes showed a little fright at
the prospect. She was gazing at me sternly. She was an Amazon, not to
be crossed. I might play with the men, my Tarzan gentlemen. But Jane
was another matter.
"Anoint her nipples," the senator said to the woman. She
poured a little oil on her fingers. She applied them to my stiff
titties.
I cried out, shocked. The oil did not burn yet, indeed her
touch was tantalizingly pleasant, but I knew what soon would follow. I
kept on frigging my lover, my Tarzan-man. His eyes took on a pleased,
vengeful look, even as he still suffered under my oiled touch. “What’s
good for the gander is most definitely good for the goose,” he
muttered.
I bit my lip. Both my nipples glowed with the awful ointment,
and I began to feel an itching upon them. The woman pressed her pussy
against mine. She rubbed my muff with her own. Our curls intertwined.
Our cuntlips sought, each of us indrawing, neither satisfied. It
happened all in a moment. Jiminy Cricket told me to draw back but I
remained fixed in place. She whispered soothing words, baby sounds,
lover's nonsense. I gurgled a half-audible reply, loving her touch as
she worked my nipples like combination knobs on some safe with treasure
inside.
I threw my head back then, as tongues of flame seemed suddenly
to spring from my teats. They were on fire! In my mind I saw them as
they'd been when I was 8, budding churlishly, to the dismay of my
mother. Swelling, puffing, now they seemed consumed by the devil
himself. The woman twisted them now, almost severely, making my
suffering yet worse. The man opposite me, whose cock I still held,
laughed grimly.
"Find her clitty," the senator said.
"No!" I cried, but it was too late for resistance now. My feet
clanked with the chain that ran between them. I lifted first one foot,
then the other, thinking of fleeing, but I could not with such a
cumbrous weight upon my ankles. The woman's hands dove between my legs,
sought my button, found it. Beside me Mandy still stood with her bottom
slightly back, to keep oil from splashing her pussy in front. She
looked over at me with frightened eyes. She gripped her paramour’s
penis. It was a thick vine. He would use it to swing with her to
safety.
"Ooh, yes!" I sighed helplessly. I gaped at the ceiling, the
woman. My eyes roved round the room. My tongue lolled. The woman's
fingertips brushed my aroused clitty. Lightly she fingered it, pouring
more oil on her digits. The ointment was applied ruthlessly, making me
squirm and wriggle. My spot soon burned within. I groaned at my
misfortune. Nothing else was touched save my clit. She was precise,
skillful. Like a girl needing to pee I stomped, danced on the carpet.
But I could not relieve myself, even in the toilet. I was truly in the
hands of a master sadist, a senator who knew tricks beyond the Marquis’
fondest imaginings.
The woman moved to Mandy next, who stood like a fawn caught in
the headlights of an oncoming car. Slowly I was able to conquer my own
agony and turn my head to watch her. She shivered, nakedly, a child in
a chilly bathhouse. My lover and I grinned knowingly as Mandy succumbed
to the oil. When the deed was done the woman stepped back and admired
us all. The senator complimented her handiwork.
"Now they know what it means to sprout nipples and cocks in the
house of the senator," he said laughingly. "Such audacity must not go
unpunished."
"May I play also?" the woman asked. Her eyes were wanton. She
loved the game. Her hips weaved a little, seeking.
"Of course. The girls will do you while I have the men present
themselves to me for inspection," the senator said.
Mandy and I were taken from our lovers and the bottle of oil,
so wicked, was given to us. We held it together, sharing it, afraid of
the genie within. I rubbed the bulbous base of the bottle. It had a
long stem, fluted, made of purple glass.
Like Hera, queen of the gods, the woman presented herself to
us. Her full breasts bounced on her chest. She wriggled her bare
hips. Her legs were apart, letting us glimpse her cunny. She offered
us a better view, thrusting forward her fleecy pubis.
She seemed to expect a kiss from us. We each pecked her on the
cheek, then set about doing to her what she'd just done to us. She
squirmed under our touch.
Meanwhile, behind us, the senator announced, "Men, present
cocks!" The men stood stiffly at attention as best they could, given
the fire engulfing their randy penises. The senator strode about them.
He ordered them to drop their pants. I sighed as I saw their haunches
come into view. Mandy looked also, gave a little breathy gasp.
Ceaselessly the men flexed their buns, so terrible was the fire burning
along their shafts. It was a sight to behold, such muscular butts, all
ready for service. Gallantly the men thrust their lances at the
senator.
“Do you wish to impale me?!” the senator cried.
“No, sir!” the boys answered, and I knew they were utterly
truthful. Yet the sizzling of their cocks left them no choice but to
repeatedly urge their members upon him.
Mandy and I returned our gaze to our mistress. We cooed
appreciatively as we applied the awful oil to her, knowing what it would
do to her. We tweaked her nipples and complimented her figure. Like
fish on a dock Mandy and I wriggled with our own need, perpetually
burning, our own nipples and clitties afire with the same oil she now so
bravely received. For her part she ran her fingers through our
luxuriant manes. She did not feel the oil’s sting yet, only its slick
wetness. She was calm, Queen Antoinette before the guillotine’s fall.
I was told I was wonderfully blonde, and Mandy that she was the perfect
brunette. Indeed we suffered not a bit in comparison to our mistress,
for although younger and skinnier, still growing, we already had a charm
that surpassed our years. And our boobs were glorious, such as any full
grown woman would envy, though our mistress, being older, had bigger
ones.
"Will mine be as big as yours someday?" I asked mischievously
of mistress. As I said it my mind thought of some little boy, perhaps
my lover in younger years, addressing the senator about his cock.
Surely that must have been my motive, to speak in fact of what was going
on between the men. My tits were not all that much smaller than
mistresses'. She sensed my true intent.
"Big enough to squish a nice sized cock between them," Mistress
answered. Mandy and I giggled. Behind us the senator ordered the men
to play with themselves.
"You must remain hard for the night's festivities," he said,
"Which I'm sure you can do but I'll take no chances. True soldiers keep
their weapons presentable at all times, ready for duty. Polish them up,
boys!"
"Yes sir," the men mumbled. They clapped their hands to their
cocks and rubbed them. The senator made them repeat their answer, and
repeat it again, until they shouted it lustily. Mandy and I glanced at
each other, a little worried. The men were getting ready for battle!
Meanwhile Mandy and I had moved to mistresses' clitty. She
swooned. Her nipples felt raw, burny. Below, between her tender
thighs, our hands were causing her to feel the first pangs of the
ointment there.
"Hurry up, girls!" the senator shouted. "These men cannot be
kept waiting forever." We finished up. We left mistress in agony. She
stood sleeking her hands down her thighs and bucking her hips. She
dared not touch herself without the senator's express command. I did
not touch myself either, though I longed to do so, as did Mandy.
It was then that the senator showed himself to be a true
connoisseur of perversion. Mandy and I resumed our posts at our lover's
cocks. We touched them uncertainly. I looked at the general. Was this
it? Was I to get down on all fours now, was the act to be consummated?
He smiled, sensed that I wanted the night prolonged. Actually, I simply
dreaded the loss of my virginity, though I desired it now, hotly. But
in my mind I teetered, Jiminy Cricket on one side, nature on the other,
supplemented by the oil. The senator grinned at Mandy and I. He bade
us desist. We let go of the men. They would have to wait. I glanced
at them. Haggardly they stared back.
“Such eager boys, aren’t they?” the senator asked me.
“I’m sure they can hold on a little longer,” I replied. My
voice was sassy. “Surely they are picked troops?”
“Picked on,” one of the men groaned.
“Silence, men!” the senator shouted. Then, with gentle hands,
he took out a key and unshackled us. Mandy and I felt like little
children as he got the iron cuffs off our wrists, our ankles.
Grandfather helping us down from a pony, or out of our snow boots.
Stepping from the irons I brushed my hair from my eyes. My belly felt
suddenly empty, despite my dinner. Did I want the shackles? I did not
know. Delicately I drew my toes from them. They lay like broken
promises on the floor. I stretched, trying to enjoy my newfound
freedom.
“Be good, now, or I will replace those with little
shackles...on your nipples,” the senator told me. I nodded. My eyes
were wide.
The senator beckoned mistress from where she stood, dancing
like a snake, cherishing her torment. Her sexual parts were afire. She
could think of nothing else. None of us could. We were just our
nipples, our clits. The men were reduced to their penises. All
thoughts amongst us four naked jaybirds centered entirely on our
“private” parts. But the senator had more games in mind.
He had mistress call on the phone for a servant. It turned out
to be a middle-aged woman. I felt terribly embarrassed when she opened
the bedroom door. Here I was, buck naked, oiled, and obviously aroused,
a love slave in attendance on Senator Exon. But the woman’s eyes passed
over me as smoothly as those of a librarian, monitoring properly behaved
children busy with homework. She had seen girls like me before. We
came, we left. The senator stayed, or flew back to Washington perhaps,
only to return for a new round of parties. And girls. The senator
ordered the woman to bring furs. The servant must have known what he
meant, for I certainly did not.
A rack of clothing was wheeled in by the woman a few minutes
later. Senator Exon ordered us to dress. I thought at first, with a
kind of sinking relief, that we all must be going home. My clit was on
fire. Although I would accept an offer to leave, I knew my body didn't
want to.
The clothing brought for us was all made of soft animal skins,
trimmed with fur. Mistress smiled, realizing the senator’s plans. I
guessed they did not involve chastity. She was not a woman who favored
leaving cocks stiff and unspent, though she might play with them awhile,
testing their virility. And, I thought, she was not one to leave frisky
girls unhappy either. So it was with a sense of deep, awed curiosity
that I obeyed the senator’s orders to dress. Mandy too was cowed,
tantalized. We tugged on fur boots that came halfway up our thighs, and
long-sleeved fur jackets. But the jackets could only be buttoned over
our tummies, leaving our titties sticking lewdly out, bare as ever. And
while the jackets cinched themselves tightly about our waists when
closed, almost like corsets, they left our bottoms and pussies totally
exposed. They were too short to cover us where it counted, down below,
and too meagre to contain our breasts. What good were these jackets, I
wondered? At least mine kept my back warm. But I had long hair. I
wasn’t worried about my back. My bare bottom, though, could have used
some warmth, or at least some protection.
Little fur caps and earmuffs completed our ensemble. There was
nothing more to put on. No skirts, no panties, no bras. The men put on
leather boots and leather jackets, after first removing their shirts and
ties. They too were left with bottoms bare and loins fully exposed.
Finally they put on earmuffs. The senator said we were going outside
then, "to enjoy the air," and brought a riding crop with him.
Ah, how crisp and delicious the air outside was, though my
bottom instantly got goose pimples. We drew in long breaths, exhaled
them.
“Look, I’m smoking!” Mandy cried, delighted. She tried to make
smoke rings with her lips. Mistress bent and made a snowball and tossed
it at the senator. He ordered us to form up then, just as we'd been
inside, except mistress took my place. The two soldier-boys faced off
against Mandy and mistress. Across a space of a few inches the two
genders stared at each other, the boys rudely sticking their cocks out,
the girls admiring, their pussies hungry, not minding the display.
Senator Exon drew me aside and gave me four black blindfolds.
He told me to bind them over the eyes of our friends. Mistress,
meanwhile, produced the bottle of horrid ointment from a pocket in her
jacket. It had not been left inside, alas. She said to the men that
they must have yet another coating. The men flinched at this, but
Senator Exon ordered them to behave. Mandy, cupping her hands, received
her share of the oil from mistress. Together they began once more to
lave the prized members with the insufferable ointment.
I set about blindfolding the four as soon as mistress and Mandy
were busy applying the lotion. They did not need their eyes anymore.
They could feel where the men’s cocks were. When I'd finished, Senator
Exon handed me his riding crop.
"While their loins are warm, especially the men’s, their
bottoms are cold. Apply a little heat to them,” he said solicitously of
our friends. “But don't hit them in any regular order. Let them be
surprised." I smiled. How wicked of him! With trembling hands I took
the crop, not really wanting it, yet mesmerized at the thought of
hitting the men right on their butts, their lovely butts, even as
mistress and Mandy tormented their throbbing, aching cocks. And, of
course, mistress and Mandy must not be spared, the senator assured me,
for their burning nipples and clits must enjoy the complimentary warmth
of the crop as well.
With a determined look on my face I set about sizing up my
intended targets. I felt a sense of newfound power. I was a child with
a brand new squirt gun, eyeing my older sisters. Mistress' bottom was
full and firm, a juicy target indeed. She wiggled it slightly in
anticipation, yet I knew she must dread it as much as she wanted it.
Ah, little Mandy, how I yearned to sting her ass, so trim and saucy,
just like my own. How dare she compete with me for the attention of the
men, flaunting her ass all about. No doubt she hoped to lure both men's
big cocks up her fore and aft, leaving me with nothing. My mind made up
allegations, just to punish them. I did not need proof. I had the
crop. They had only their naked bottoms. It was then I drew back the
crop and struck, but found I'd hit only very lightly, for I was totally
new to this game.
"Harder," the senator said. "Or I shall put you in mistress'
place and have her hit you doubly hard." With this encouragement, as it
were, I assumed a more serious demeanor. Certainly I didn't want any
more stripes on my bottom than I'd already had earlier this evening.
Poor Mandy, she must be made to suffer once more. I drew back the crop,
stood poised for a moment, my breasts displayed to the senator's
watchful eye, heaving their heaviness as I fearfully let my breath out,
drew it in.
WHACK! Mandy squealed, gyrated her hips helplessly. A bright
red streak appeared across her pretty ass.
"Very good," the senator said, even as the blindfolded Mandy
wailed out a protest.
"Oooh! Not so hard, please!" I left her then, my heart
beating hard as I contemplated doing the same to the gorgeous haunches
of the men. To see them work their hips under the searing pain I would
inflict, just the thought made me flush. I felt warm, yet I was outside
in freezing snow.
The morning’s blizzard had stopped, leaving only a few flakes
to occasionally drift down. The moon caught them as they drifted. They
settled on our exposed skin, providing a moment's relief to those areas
so wickedly heated. Not just by my crop, but by the dastardly oil too.
The men prayed for snow to settle on their cocks, but the girls rubbed
just as quickly, eager to cool their hands. I felt a snowflake fall on
my nipple. I savored it. It was cool, icy. Welcome relief. I wanted
to dive into the snow, grab handfuls of it and shove it up my twat. But
I was well-behaved. We were all well-behaved. And well punished, too.
The senator played our bodies like harp strings, never touching us.
Only words, only words. Yet we obeyed him, doing horrid things to each
other. Would he have forced us to? Would he have punished us with the
crop himself, if we’d refused? I did not know. I was having too much
fun with my riding crop!
I strutted from person to person, lifting my boots high,
dealing out sizzling blows with my crop. Angie Dickinson had nothing on
me. Linda Hamilton, Signourney Weaver, all amateurs. I was Miss Bitch,
the Ice Princess, and these were my shuddering slaves. Beautiful,
trembling, all nude for me where it mattered, suffering royally. I gave
each one of them something to think about, something to remember me by.
I prayed none of them would have the opportunity to repay me. The
senator surveyed all, bidding me to hit harder when my stroke faltered.
I obeyed as faithfully as I could. I did not want to be made to stand
in mistress' place. Her bottom began to take on the appearance of a
road map, though few of the stripes were more than pinkish lines, soon
to fade.
In their extremity the two couples began to kiss. The women
worked the men harder as their mouths joined with them and meshed. I
wondered if I was but spurring them, complimenting their ardor.
Certainly, though I might be flaying them alive in my mind, I was too
weak-wristed to give them absolute punishment. Instead they were just
getting what they wanted, needed. Cold...heat...an extra ‘kick in the
pants’ to startle them to peaks of arousal. Blindfolded, only able to
grope, their senses were heightened further. Only the girls could
touch. The men had to stand stiffly, though they bent to kiss, but
nothing more. The senator warned the men that they were on duty. Like
White House Marines, they could not turn, or reach out. They were
ornamental only. They must endure the teasing of the females. Little
girls asking curious questions, prodding perhaps, poking. Unzipping a
zipper. Did Chelsea ever unzip a marine? “Excuse me, sir, but your fly
is up.” Would that break his concentration? His single-minded devotion
to duty? “Excuse me, sir, but when do you pee? No matter, I’ll help
you. Just let me get your thing out. You can pee in my purse, no one
will notice. Your commander will think you have an excellent bladder.
He’ll give you another medal.”
I admired the four of them. Trembling, they skittered from
peak to peak of passion, always so close, the men closer, but the women
not too far away, though they lacked the tactile attention the men got.
I know the men would gladly have traded places. But it is the man’s lot
to be teased sometimes. So strong, you men are, well now you can prove
it. But the females, flexing their thighs, endured their own private
agony. They wished to be fucked, had the means in their hands, yet the
senator would not let them. Not yet. They must play the game out, and
they wished to. Little Mandy, virginal, unsure. And mistress, loving
every second of the awful game. She could find no other like it, I
guessed. The senator was a master at it. He held us captive. We
obeyed his commands. We were among strangers, each of us, the men
nameless, we girls only known by our first names. All our most
precious, most private parts were exposed to pillage, to plunder. There
was the tenseness of the unknown. It hung in the air like the northern
lights. The senator had threatened to Bobbittize the men. Mandy and I
had been shackled. I gazed at them, their skin white, bared to me.
Their silly costumes covered nothing. They were kept warm enough, I
suppose, but how ridiculously! To wear clothes that left your bottom
bare? What sort of attire was that? With schoolmarmish indignity I
swept the crop in again, slashing their reddened bottoms, loving their
squirming response. The black night enclosed us. Snow-filtered
moonlight made our skin glow.
The flakes came down heavier, faster. They powdered my
breasts. They sprinkled themselves nicely across the curved upper
portions of my victims’ fannies. All four were moaning now, the men on
the brink of orgasm and the women wishing they could be. The senator
told the men that they could caress the women's breasts. They responded
eagerly. “Momma!” one man breathed, though his hands actually found
little Mandy’s breasts. Perhaps he lusted for the Virgin Mary. Mandy
and mistress cried out at the new attention, grateful for it. I
watched, amazed, stunned that the men could hold themselves in for this
long. They were quite a pair of troopers. I longed to give them
relief.
"Ah, to suffer so gloriously, so valiantly," the senator said.
"I am indeed impressed." We all looked at him hopefully, the men
tearing their mouths from the women, looking like beggars starving
before a feast. "Yes, you have all earned your keep this evening,
including you, dear Barbi." He had me take off their blindfolds. They
stood like sheep, the girls holding the men by their cocks, the men
grasping Mandy and mistresses’ breasts. Senator Exon led us inside
then, each of the females leading her man by his prick, while I
contented myself with holding hands with Senator Exon. He felt large
and manly beside me, imposing, sure of his every move while I trembled
under the scourge of the oil and my own arousal.
The bed waited. Gratefully we tumbled into it. We drew the
cool sheets up around us. The senator watched, seemingly only
half-interested, retreating to a chair and lighting a cigar. He had not
told us we could hop in bed, yet we seemed to know it instinctively. We
had shorn ourselves of all our clothing as quickly as if we were naughty
children. We rolled and groped and sought each other's bodies as if
possessed of some fever. Hotly we clasped each other's most intimate
parts, held them tightly, rubbed them, sought to impale and be impaled
by them.
I lurched at the first knocking of a cock upon my cunt.
Quickly I spread my legs, opening myself up as wide as I could for his
entry. Who it was I did not care, so long as he was quick. He grasped
my thighs and found his purchase, lodging his head sweetly twixt my
clenching lips. My girlish tightness, my skittishness, only encouraged
him. Suddenly his flaming rod was breaking through and I was lost,
saved, both at once. Deeper he plunged and I heard Mandy cry out even
as her own cunt was violated. Amidst the swirl of teasing tongues and
clutching fingers mistress played the ringleader, ensuring that both
Mandy and I got fucked just as Senator Exon intended, firmly and without
pity or remorse. I cried as the lance thrust up within me, opening me,
bloodying me. Mandy too proved to be virgin, and suffered her own sweet
demise at the hands of her lover. Nameless they took us then, humping
us fiercely, riding us like the stallions they had proved themselves to
be. At last I swooned in a pure bliss of emotion, passing out as the
world seemed to spin out from under me.
When I awoke I found myself nestled in the crook of mistress'
arm, her fingers idly straightening my blonde locks. Mandy was on her
other side, where mistress tried a similar feat with her pubic hair, the
springy curls of that private place proving much less receptive.
Mistress brushed my hair from my eyes and asked me if I'd
enjoyed my first fuck. I lisped something in response, a babyish
gurgle. The men were in the bathroom, I heard then, peeing lustily into
the toilet. I looked over my shoulder and saw the senator watching all,
satisfied, smoking his elegant cheroot. A wreath of smoke curled round
his head, making him look not unlike Santa Claus. I had just received
my first present from him.
"Well girls, now that you're unwrapped, so to speak, I think
perhaps we should consider spending the next several days trying out
your new talents, hmmm?" the senator asked. I took the question to be
rhetorical, as did Mandy. We would no doubt stay just as long as he
wanted us to, no longer, and no shorter either. "In any event I imagine
your cunts are going to be on fire soon from those oiled cocks unless
you get yourselves into the bidet," he laughed. It was then that I
began to feel a burning sensation all the way up my vagina, right into
my uterus.
"Yeek!" Mandy cried, and I leapt up along with her. We
scrambled off the bed and raced toward the bathroom. Behind us mistress
and the senator laughed, eyeing our hastily retreating bottoms. "Make
way! Make way!" we cried upon seeing the men, who seemed to hope that
we were running into the bathroom to have them fuck us again. We found
the bidet and awkwardly plopped down together on it. With manly
generosity the two lovers who had put us in our present state helped us
get the spray nozzle going. They directed it with loving care into our
cunts, spraying us deeply as we twisted and gyrated under the jet.
Gradually we were soothed, and finally we arose from the ceramic potty,
brushing back our hair like schoolgirls done with our homework. The men
were hard again. Mandy suggested we let them complete our denouement,
so we turned and bent forward, clasping our knees and presenting our
bottoms to them. Happily they oiled themselves up (this time with an
ordinary lotion) and, with encouraging sighs and breathless grunts from
us, they forced their way up our hineys.
I felt as if all the air were being driven from me as my lover
worked at opening my backside with his rod. "Oooh, no, maybe I
shouldn't, you're too big," I breathed, but this only made him spread my
cheeks wider with his gripping hands and drive his cock forward more
eagerly. Mandy too expressed second thoughts, which only encouraged her
lover.
Moaning and gasping, trying to pull our bodies forward even as
the men yanked our bottoms backward, we suffered the penile assault.
Mistress and the senator came to the door of the bathroom and watched
with contented eyes. I puffed and shuddered, my heavy breasts swinging
beneath me with every in-driving thrust from my lover. Mandy's titties
swung like ripened fruit; together we must have looked quite the pair
for anyone with a passion for hooters. When the men jetted at last, we
both got the enemas of a lifetime. Their balls seemed not to have
suffered the least depletion from their forays up our cunts. Drippingly
they finally withdrew themselves, and after a round of kisses between us
they left Mandy and I to clean out our asses upon the bidet.
30
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