Message-ID: <1166eli$9706031413@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1166>
Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail
X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: new Party Pussies part 5 of 5 (NND)
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PARTY PUSSIES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Five
Bethany entered my bedroom and shook me awake. I found myself
lying on my tummy, my blonde hair strewn around me. Instantly I became
aware of my bottom. It was sore. I reached back behind myself and felt
it. Someone had rubbed cream into it as I slept.
“Robin’s gone,” Bethany told me. “Luke too.”
“Gone?” I asked, sleepy-eyed.
“They will be away for a week,” Petra said. She bustled into
the room. She was dressed in a short summer dress. It was almost
transparent. I could see the curves of her fine body beneath it. Her
long brown hair was neatly combed and piled atop her head, loosely. “It
will give you both time to be trained as proper young ladies,” Petra
continued. She carried a short riding crop in her hand. Bethany
shivered as she came near her. Petra swished the crop, once, but it
only connected with the air near Bethany’s thigh.
“Get up, sleepyhead. You must bathe and learn to wear a dress
again,” Petra told me. “I see Verona creamed your bottom for you.
Good. Put more cream on it after you wash. That will help it heal as
quickly as possible. Are you cut anywhere?” She leaned close. She
inspected my posterior. I wanted to roll away. It felt strange, having
a grown woman gaze closely at my bare bottom. But her presence was
daunting and her hand, touching me, exuded a firmness I knew I must not
resist. “No. Good. I’d thank the whipmaster for you but, since it was
me, I guess I’ll just thank myself instead.” She laughed. “How
talented I am! Even Annette, who endured the cat, escaped without a cut
on her behind, though she’s still quite sore, I can assure you.”
“You’re wicked,” Bethany told her. My friend was freshly
bathed. She was nude, but her hair was glossy from combing and she’d
even applied a little lipstick to her lips.
“You will find wickedness is best, sometimes, in matters of
love,” Petra told Bethany. “What would you say if I told you Luke paid
me to handle Annette as I did, hmmm? You are young, but she is pressing
20. And still unwhipped, until last night! Why, she would have delayed
and delayed for who knows how many more years. With my firm hand, she
was both deflowered and whipped in one night. Now she can grow, and
mature, into the the finer, the deeper arts of love. But it took me to
get her over that hurdle. And you too, my little virgin. Don’t tell me
you didn’t enjoy having both men thread your cunt.”
“I didn’t,” Bethany answered. But she blushed as she said it
and there was a certain excitement in her voice.
“How pretty your breasts are,” Petra told her. “But you are a
young woman, not a child like Bethany. Go to your room. You’ll find a
nice summer dress in the closet. Put it on. I won’t have you running
around naked. Good. I see you’ve put on some lipstick. We will learn
how to take care of ourselves in the week to come. All the necessary
things that young ladies must know. And we will be on our best behavior
too,” Petra added, and made Bethany flinch by whisking the crop by her
bare thigh again. Petra laughed. “You ran away, only to wind up at
finishing school! Don’t worry. At the end of the week we shall have a
grand party. It will be your official coming out party, and you’ll
remember it for the rest of your life!”
We obeyed. Perhaps it was the promise of a party that inspired
us. I liked parties. We wore our short summer dresses around the
house. Outside we wore big sun bonnets, to protect our skin from its
heat. We played cards, we played croquet. We learned to sew. Bow
insisted on checkers matches between each of us, and we indulged her.
Verona bought her more bubble fluid and we went running through the
yard, barefoot, making big bubbles that floated away on the soft summer
air.
A week later was the night of our party. We put on gold shoes,
and long silk stockings that stayed up all by themselves. We did up
each other’s hair, spending hours at it. We spent twenty minutes or
more tying each other into waist-cinching corsets. We fastened long
skirts to our corsets. We slid on opera-length gloves that ran all the
way up our arms, where they were tightly tied. We donned pearl
bracelets given to us by Petra.
I was given the task of answering the door and admitting the
guests. I wore a small ribboned name tag tied around my wrist so people
would be able to remember my name. I looked luscious. But there was
one aspect of my attire that bothered me. My dress, though lovely, rose
to just below my nipples. It left them free. They stiffened at the
thought of being so visible. The top of my corset, which matched my
dress, had loose, lacy fringe that ran across it. My nipples, stiff and
hard, stirred the fringe, which excited them even more.
I blushed quite deeply as the first man to enter Petra’s house
looked down at my bosoms. If only my dress were half an inch higher!
He had a woman with him. Her dress, though decollette, covered her
bosoms. Yet mine did not. They stood out, free and lovely, showing
their nippled halos. The stemmed tips of my breasts aroused themselves
by wiggling against the fringe along the top of my corset.
“My, such pretty breasts,” the woman said with a casual, almost
indifferent voice.
“What is your name?” the man asked me.
“Lisa,” I replied. I lifted my wrist. I showed him the card
tied to my right wrist with a ribbon.
“You do not need to speak if you have a card,” the woman said.
“Petra is so unimaginative.” She opened her purse. “I’m glad I brought
this along,” she said. She drew out a black gag. It did not match my
dress, which was yellow, or the pearl bracelet around my wrist, or my
shoes, but she touched my bare shoulder lightly, and, gazing from her to
the man, I let her turn me around. Carefully she fit the gag over my
mouth and then bound it behind my head. “There,” she said. She turned
me again so that I might look at her. “Are there two of you coming out
tonight?” she asked. I nodded, mutely. I knew not what else to do.
“Good. I have one more gag for your companion,” she said. “Now, where
is my name card? Do you have it?” she asked.
I turned. It was my job, to fetch the name tags for all the
guests. The women had cards to be tied round their wrists. The men had
cards which could be put into the front pocket of their suit, enough
sticking up for their name to be seen.
“My name is Delia,” the woman told me. I fished in a small
straw basket for her name. It sat on a foyer table with a fresh vase of
roses on it.
I saw “Delia” on one of the cards. I drew it out. I turned.
The woman presented her wrist and I tied the card on it. “My husband’s
name is Frank,” she said. I went fishing in the basket again. I found
“Frank.” I turned, stood on tip toe, and inserted his name card into
his jacket’s front left pocket.
“Very nice,” Delia told me. Bethany appeared in the hall. She
was dressed as I was, with her waist tightly bound by a corset, but her
stiff-nippled breasts freely displayed. I tried to motion her away.
Too late. Delia spotted her. “Is she the other girl who’s coming out
tonight?” Delia asked me. I nodded. Delia left me. Briskly she walked
the length of the hall to Bethany. She lifted the girl’s wrist, checked
the name on her card. “Hi, Bethany,” she said. “I have a present for
you.” She opened her purse and took out a black gag. I saw Bethany try
to flee. The woman grabbed her wrist. Bethany’s resistance faded. Was
it her excitement at having her nipples on display? I don’t know.
Perhaps it was the tightness of our corsets, or the smooth silkiness of
our stockings under our dresses, encasing our legs. Perhaps it was the
long spiked heels on our shoes. We did not run. Instead, though we
might try to resist a little, we wound up submitting instead.
“You are truly beautiful,” Delia’s husband, still at my side,
said to me. I saw his crotch had hardened and risen and knew he did not
expect to confine his admiration of my beauty to the Platonic. But I
nodded, mutely, wearing my gag. When he left me, I did not reach up and
try to untie my gag. Instead, I waited silently for the next couple to
arrive at the house.
The guests numbered about a dozen. The men ranged in age from
their 20’s to their late 40’s. All their wives were young, 20 at the
least, perhaps 30 at the most. Petra sat at the head of the table. She
wore a long, flowing dress, like Bethany and I, but her nipples did not
show. Bow sat in the chair closest to her, dressed in a child’s party
dress. Her nipples too were covered. Even Annette was permitted a
dress that covered her nipples, though, admittedly, it just managed
this, letting the tops of her areolas show. Only Bethany and I showed
our nipple stems. And we were gagged. When Verona served dinner she
paused and loosened my gag, and Bethany’s, so we could eat. We wore our
loosened gags round our necks. They looked like children’s bibs. I
hoped I didn’t spill any food into mine.
Bow was on her best behavior. She had a coloring book at her
place to keep her busy when her interest in the food flagged. It was
her favorite, a Barbi coloring book. Brand new. She would pause now
and then to color some more in her coloring book between bites of her
food. She was quiet, relatvely so. Only once or twice did she try to
show the guests what she had colored. Annette shushed her, made her
keep her coloring to herself.
Dinner passed slowly. I felt silly with my nipples showing.
The men, and even the women, didn’t hesitate to admire my breasts. But
they said very little to me, or to Bethany. One man, almost 50, asked
Bethany which school she went to. She gave the name. He did not know
it. She explained it was in America. His eyes widened.
“You are a long way from America,” he told her.
“I ran away,” she replied.
“Perhaps you will go back someday?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” she answered. She ate more of her food. His eyes
lingered over her breasts.
As dinner wound down Annette excused herself. I watched her
leave. Her dress rustled as she walked. I knew she would return
without it. Petra had secretly designated her to be the evening’s
entertainment. About ten minutes later she returned. She wore a
bikini. Applause and a cheer went up from the table when the guests saw
her. I guessed Verona must have been the one to help her out of her
tight corset. She still wore her long stockings, and her gold shoes,
and her hair was done up as before, and she still had her arms encased
in opera length gloves, with her nametag tied around one wrist, and a
pearl bracelet on the other. But, otherwise, her dress, lovely as it
had been, was gone, as well as her corset. She wore a swimsuit instead,
though I knew no swimming was planned for this evening. Petra didn’t
own a pool.
Annette gazed at the guests. She blushed a little. She let
them take a long minute to admire her in her bikini. She stood at the
head of the table, near Petra. When the guests had all had a chance to
take in her bikini, she reached behind her back and undid her bra. The
cups over her bosoms loosened. She reached up behind her neck and undid
the drawstring there. Her bra fell off. Another appreciative cheer
went up from the guests. Annette, wishing perhaps to show off a little,
for she had truly perfect bosoms, shook them. They wobbled on her
chest, both quite bare now, her bra somewhere on the floor. I watched
as her nipples became fully erect. The night promised to be one the men
would enjoy. I hoped Bethany and I wouldn’t find it unbearable. After
all, it was our party, wasn’t it?
Annette had brought with her a can of whipped cream. It was
ice cold, fresh from the refrigerator. Beads of water formed a sheen
upon the metal surface of the can. I knew some wickedness must be
planned with this.
Annette smiled. She caught the men’s eyes. When she was sure
every one of them was watching her, she picked up the can of whipped
cream. Then she blushed. She opened the front of her swimsuit. She
peered down over her breasts at her furry mount. Blushing even more
deeply, she aimed the can of whipped cream at the front of her panties.
She squeezed the top of the can. She shrieked. Whipped cream burst
from the can’s nozzle and filled the opening in the front of her suit.
She released her bikini. It snapped shut, trapping the whipped cream
inside it, against her dell.
Annette shook the can of whipped cream. Now it was someone
else’s turn, I guessed, to have their privates creamed. With a grin,
slightly mischeivous, Annette suddenly slipped beneath the table.
Several guests gasped in astonishment. I felt Annette bump my knee as
she crawled around underneath the table. But she didn’t stop at my
seat. Instead, she crawled on, until she came to Frank.
“Aghgh!” Frank announced. He shifted in his seat. His wife
gazed at him with cat’s eyes.
“Why, dear. What’s wrong?” She asked. I heard a spritzing
sound.
“I--” Frank said. He ground his teeth together. Delia lifted
the edge of the tablecloth, where it hung down over his lap.
“My, she’s unzipped you,” Delia said, speaking loudly enough so
that everyone in the crowd could hear. “Is the cream chilly dear? Your
cock is usually so warm. Perhaps it’s wise of her to cool it before
placing it in her mouth.”
“OH!” Frank cried. I could see that he must be suffering under
Annette’s ministrations. She had confided in me that one thing she was
good at, one thing that Luke had forced her to learn, was how to be a
perfect cocksucker. I hoped Frank could endure her torments. And yet I
hoped he could not, too, for it would be quite naughty to watch him as
he was forced to spend, sitting there at his place at the table in his
nice suit.
Mints were passed out. A silver bowl, containing them, was
passed down the table, from person to person. We each took as many as
we chose. I took two. They were unwrapped mints, made of different
colors, shaped like little pillows. The bowl’s passage ended at Bow’s
place. She was delighted to find that she could eat all that remained.
There were quite a few left.
We savored our mints. We were entertained as Annette moved
from man to man, under the table. She forced each to present his cock.
She squirted him with whipped cream and then took her time licking him
clean. When she was finished she didn’t try to replace him in his
pants. He was left, always, just short of orgasm, achingly hard. She
seemed to have a knack for knowing when to cease pleasuring a man.
I looked at Bethany. Surely, this was not a bad way to spend
our party, if not the goodest way either. Her eyes danced. She enjoyed
seeing the 50-year-old man beside her forced, after spending the whole
dinner admiring her bare tits, to contrain himself as Annette took him
right to the edge of losing his load. A man his age would miss the rest
of the party if he were unfortunate enough to cum. I don’t know if she
was glad that he survived, or not. But while he was groaning under the
licking of Annette’s tongue, he had no time to leer at Bethany.
Annette moved round the table to the man beside me. His name
was Stewart. He was young, only 20. On my other side sat his wife.
Her name was Cybil. She was the same age as he. I wondered if their
marriage would last, with them both being the same age. But it had so
far, for two months.
Annette caused Cybil to giggle as she, hiding beneath the
table, abruptly parted Stewart’s legs and unzipped his zipper. Stewart
coughed. I could see he was nervous. With his youth, he was probably
already on a hair-trigger. I hoped he could last, under Annette’s
licking tongue. Gently I touched his arm.
“Think other thoughts,” I told him. I felt very mature,
suddenly, advising this man, trying to distract him, as Annette, beneath
the table, squirted chilly cream onto his bare penis.
“Stewart, darling, please don’t cum,” Cybil told her husband.
She sounded rather like an older sister, I thought. He trembled.
Annette would stop short of making a man cum but he did have to hold
himself back long enough for her to cream him and then lick the cream
off. She might do it quickly, if she feared triggering him, or slowly,
if she wished to torture him, knowing he could take it. But at least
this minimum standard of performance had to be surmounted by each man.
Stewart, I saw, in his eagerness, was in danger of failing the test
every man had, so far, managed to pass.
“Think of Mickey Mouse,” I told Stewart. I liked him. He was
young and handsome and had not the cruel streak in him that so many men
I’d met south of the border seemed to possess. He was no drug dealer,
that was for sure. Just a quiet young man, perhaps a student, though
I’d been too nervous, with my breasts bare, to inquire too much into his
life. Now, as I watched him suffer, I wished to do anything to help
him. I even kicked at Annette a little, under the table, with the toe
of my shoe, hoping to make her hurry, perhaps even to desist, so Stewart
could survive, like the other men had.
Annette moved a little to one side, so that when I swung my
foot again, I didn’t connect with her. It was cheating, to do that, I
knew. I did not do it again, for fear she might retaliate against me.
After all, she had the whipped cream, and free access to anyone’s loins
she chose to attack. I might find myself with cream all over my dress.
Stewart looked like a man in a fever. I patted his hand. I
whispered consoling words to him. His wife, leaning across me, urged
him to hold himself in. At last, Annette must have drawn away, for a
wave of relief passed over Stewart’s features.
“Did you cum?” I asked, alarmed.
“No,” he breathed. A moment later a man farther down the table
uttered a heavy gasp as his own legs were parted and his zipper undone.
“You did well, Stewart. I’m proud of you,” Cybil told her
husband.
“You’re cute,” I said.
“Thanks,” he replied. “Just don’t touch my dick, whatever you
do.”
“I’m not.” I replied. I turned my head to his wife. I felt a
little alarmed that Stewart would ask me not to touch him, as Petra
forbade touching at the table. “Don’t worry, I’m not playing with your
husband’s penis,” I told her.
“That’s good,” Cybil answered.
Alfonse and Rico appeared. They were well dressed, in suits
and ties. There were two extra chairs against the wall of the room.
They picked them up and set them next to Petra at the head of the
table.
“Lisa, Bethany. Would you come here, please?” Petra called.
Stewart hastily got up from his chair. He took it upon himself to
escort me. He had been the one to scoot my chair under me when we first
sat down. Now, perhaps out of courtesy, or perhaps to dwell on
something other than his own need to spurt, he gallantly drew back my
chair. He took my wrist and urged me to rise. I did. I couldn’t help
gazing at his penis as I stood up. It stuck out lewdly, bare and hard,
throbbing gently. It gleamed with saliva from Annette’s tongue. There
were wisps of whipped cream in his pubic hair, bits of which stuck
through his unzipped zipper.
Despite his awkwardness at being forced to show his dick,
Stewart escorted me, as if I were royalty, up to Petra. She thanked him
for bringing me to her. She glanced at his penis, smiled, asked him to
remain standing next to her in case she needed him. I glanced down the
table at Cybil. She frowned a little, but said nothing. Stewart, with
his strong build, looked like a quiet-tempered Hercules standing with
his naked cock on display next to Petra’s seat.
“Mmmm, I like cheesecake,” Bethany said. She was standing next
to me, having been escorted forward by the 50-year-old man. He was
permitted to return to his seat.
I smelled what Bethany smelled and turned my head. Verona
brought out two large cheesecakes and set them down, inexplicably, on
the two chairs Alfonse and Rico had placed next to Petra.
“Girls, please lift your skirts,” Petra said to myself and
Bethany. “Stewart, would you help them please?” She asked him. “They
must be rolled up, and pinned.”
Stewart smiled. He nodded. I wondered at this order of
Petra’s, for she knew very well that I wore no panties under my skirt.
She had deemed them unnecessary; for our long, flowing skirts, reaching
down to our toes, made it unlikely anyone would see under them. At
least, that had been her excuse, this afternoon. Now, however, Stweart
reached for my dress, and lifted it. Verona lifted up Bethany’s. My
friend let out a nervous squeak. I heard a gasp of protest spring from
my own throat.
It was no use. Our skirts were lifted. Our dells were shown
to the guests. My bottom felt the cool air of the room upon it and I
knew Bethany must be feeling the same. I had a white bottom again. The
long week had given it plenty of time to heal.
“Pin them up, yes, front and back. Don’t worry about the
sides,” Petra told Verona and Stewart. With his bare cock trembling,
Stewart carefully pinned up the back of my dress, then the front. I was
left with no way to hide my muff, save with my hands. I blushed. My
nipples stemmed above the top of my corset. In back the cheeks of my
bottom clenched, unclenched. I was nervous as Stewart had been, getting
his cock licked.
“Now, girls, I want you both to sit down,” Petra said. She
pointed at the two chairs with the big cheesecakes on them. “Do you
like cheesecake?” she asked. There was a wry smile on her lips.
“Oh! What do you mean?” Bethany asked. She turned her head
and looked behind herself. Verona pressed on her shoulders.
“YEEK!” Bethany cried suddenly. With a loud ‘plop’ she was
forced to sit down on the chair, directly into the cheesecake. I felt
Stewart push me down and, a moment later, I too screamed as my bottom
connected with the cake. It smooshed underneath my seat. Its warm
interior rose up between my legs, coating my pussy.
“Ooooh! This cake is hot!” Bethany announced. But it was, in
fact, just short of hot, and we were both able to sit in our cakes
without having to leap up to save ourselves. We were not burned.
Instead, the cake stuffing invaded our bottom cracks. It found its way
up between the lips of our cunts. And when, at last, Petra bade us
rise, and turn around, we displayed cheesecaked bottoms to the guests
sitting at the dinner table.
A roar of laughter sounded among the guests. I flushed
deeply. I could feel Bethany flushing beside me. But there was nothing
we could do, in our tight corsets, with our gloves and heels and
stockings on, and our dresses rolled up, except endure the laughter.
“Girls, get up on the table. Both of you,” Petra ordered.
Bethany and I turned around. It was a relief to not have to
show our bottoms to the guests anymore. But when we turned around, we
were given no chance to recover from our embarrassment. Instead, Verona
made Bow get up from her chair. Then she forced Bethany to step up on
Bow’s vacated chair, using it as a step stool, and climb onto the
table. Steve forced me to follow my friend. A moment later, both
Bethany and I were kneeling on the table, our cheesecaked asses wiggling
behind us as we wondered what to do.
Women reached out to us. Taking us by the arm, they bade us
crawl down the table. Soon I was almost back at my place, except I was
now perched up on the table, on all fours, like a dog, instead of
sitting primly in my seat. Cybil whispered in my ear that I should lie
down. Bethany saw me lie flat on my belly and, for no reason at all,
imitated me.
“Gentlemen, I think dessert is served,” Cybil laughed.
At once all the men rose from their places. They clambored
within reach of Bethany and myself. Some hoisted themselves up on the
table. Others, the two closest to us, simply stood up and leaned
forward. All of them were displaying their cocks. With eager tongues,
despite quick screams from Bethany and myself, they all began licking at
our seats.
I wriggled. I struggled. I tried to escape. It was
impossible. The men’s avid tongues laved my fanny. They invaded,
unbidden, between my cheeks. One managed to prise into my clenching
back hole. I felt my legs spread wide and another tongue invaded my
snatch.
The men, meanwhile, with their attention focused on me and
Bethany, presented targets for the women to engage. All of the men had
erect penises. None of them had managed to replace his cock in his
pants after Annette had licked it. Now the women, rising from their
places, attacked the men’s well-displayed organs. The men, or most of
them, continued to compete with each other in licking clean the bottom
of myself and Bethany.
Somewhere, I heard Bow squeal happily. In my delerium at being
licked all over my bottom and within it, I found myself wondering what
she was up to. Had Stewart accidentally loosed his seed upon her? It
was a possibility, I guessed, with his hair-trigger penis and her
ever-mischievous ways. I hoped she was not swallowing down his seed.
Did I hear Petra scold her? I wasn’t sure. Bethany was squealing
beside me, like some stuck pig, and I was screaming myself. Above us
both, the men grunted happily. They were like bristly boars, rooting in
the ground for vegetables. I flexed my bare legs and tried to close
them. It was no use. They held me open and their tongues alternated in
invading my bottom and my cunt.
30
Delia
Frank
Annette
Luke
Lisa
Bethany
Bow
Petra
Robin
Verona
Alfonse
Rico
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of
my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians.
-Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net
-formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com,
roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search
under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant
bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.)
-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
-For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com
- Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age
statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 272 EMISSION
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /