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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Puppy Love part 1 of 2 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PUPPY LOVE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
I sat in the office pool typing. With some annoyance I found
that I had mispelt some words in a letter for my boss. The spell
checker was bombing my writing program on my computer, so I’d dismissed
it. Now I felt like dismissing the entire letter. I reached for the
paperback dictionary beside my desk. Flipping through it, I reflected
on my life. Why hadn’t I made contact with Helga on my return to Buenos
Aires? I guess I was just young and rebellious. And I was pissed at
Kimberly too, for getting me into my whole misadventure. Still, I found
myself feeling a little homesick all of a sudden. I looked up. I gazed
at the huge pane glass window that fronted our office. It was raining
outside. People hurried along the sidewalk. The wind blew at their
clothes. Water streamed down the outside of the glass, blurring
everything a little, making it seem like another world.
I shifted in my chair. I glanced at the other girls. Did they
suddenly feel restless, like me? I’d been content with my little job
for two months now. I made a lot more than any of the rest of them did,
though only my boss knew that. It was because of my special service
that I’d performed for the Argentinean government, in London. There
were beginning to be intimations, though, from above, that I needed to
“put out” more. Not on the job, of course. After hours. Argentina is
not known for having the most perfect government.
I felt ambivalent. I tugged at the hem of my miniskirt. And
then, suddenly, I decided. Yes, I was safe and dry here, warm,
comfortable. Yes, I had a nice desk. But it was boring. They made me
work every day, eight hours. Home every night, back every morning. I
pushed back my chair. I got up. I tugged on the hem of my miniskirt.
I picked up my little purse off the back of my chair, and slung it over
my shoulder. And then, without a sideways glance, without looking back,
I walked out.
The rain hit me in the face. It was warm. I tossed my head,
didn’t mind, didn’t hurry like the other people on the walk. I felt the
wind whip past and lift my skirt. I smiled. I pulled down the front of
my skirt, but the back flew up with the wind, showing off my pantied
bottom. I ran then, hurrying just like the others, trying not to slip
on my five-inch heels.
I arrived at the safety of a bus stop wet and dripping. I
waited a moment, hoping I looked no worse no sillier, than the other
pedestrians who had crowded inside. Then, seeing the rain abate a bit,
I stepped back out onto the walk. I rounded the corner of our office
building. It was a huge building, a block long. There, down the
street, was my small red sports car. I’d bought it with the money I’d
made working for the government. I dashed to it. It felt good running,
my skirt flying, my bottom stopping traffic as the wind made my undies
show. I fished out my keys from my purse. Reaching my car, I got it
unlocked and slipped inside. I would go find Helga, I decided. And
Kimberly.
***
Helga sat in Kimberly’s living room. She looked ambivalent.
We’d reunited the day before. There’d been warm hugs, kisses, tears. I
was older now, she could see. I wasn’t a little schoolgirl anymore. I
was a woman like her, though still 15. I’d kept them up late,
recounting my adventures. I’d edited my stories some, made them
palatable for a mother’s ears.
“I want to go on assignments,” I said. My voice was
high-pitched, insistent.
“Darling, you are too young,” Helga said again, for the
thousandth time. She wore neat, conservative clothes, mom clothes. She
twisted her hands in her lap. She sat on the couch like a middle-aged
woman, though she was barely 30.
“If she really wants to,” Kimberly offered. “I was 15 when I
met you...”
“That was different,” Helga answered. “The times were
different then.”
“They were?” Kimberly asked. Her face had a kind of
incredulous smile on it. “They seem the same as now to me.”
“Well, I was younger, more daring, more irresponsible,” Helga
said. “I didn’t care if I got some 15-year-old, some CHILD, into sexual
stuff. Now I do. I understand more.”
“Well, I don’t understand,” I answered, rebellious. Only two
days home with her and already we were fighting. “You go on
assignments. What do you do on them, hmmm?”
“She plays Risk,” Kimberly smiled.
Helga blushed. She put her face in her hands. Kimberly sat
uncomfortably, silently. When Helga finally raised her face her eyes
were wet.
“I-I can’t stop you,” she said to me. “The number is in my
purse. Go get it, and call it if you wish. Then let’s hear no more of
this nonsense.”
I hustled into the kitchen. Her purse was there, on the
table. I knew she might change her mind at any moment. I opened the
purse, looked inside. I rummaged around. There were hundred dollar
bills inside, crumpled, as if they meant nothing. Amidst the money and
other things, I found a little slip of paper. It had lipstick on it.
472-1920. That was it. No identifying information, nothing describing
what it offered to connect you to. But I knew, just by looking at it.
I went to the notepad on the kitchen counter and copied down the
number. Then I put it in the pocket of my denim vest. I sidled back
out to the living room, sat down.
“I thought it would be hidden away somewhere,” I confessed. “I
should have just gone and dug in your purse when you weren’t looking.”
“Thanks for not,” Helga replied. “And now I want to hear
nothing more of it. Call me if you get in trouble, otherwise not. And
I want you to start school again, young lady.”
“Yes, mother,” I answered. “I have a car now, so it will be
fun to drive there.”
“Try not to mention why you were away,” she told me. She shot
a glance at Kimberly. The blonde put a hand to her mouth, failed to
suppress a giggle. “I told them you had found your father, and went to
America to spend some time with him.”
“My father, Lazarus,” I smirked.
“Enough!” Helga said. She was not angry, simply wanted to
close off our current conversation. “Let’s go out in a few hours, get
something to eat.”
“That sounds fun,” I answered. Kimberly agreed.
***
I woke up bright and early the next morning. I was ready. I’d
heard all the advice why I shouldn’t, all the warnings, and now I’d made
up my mind. I kissed my teddy bear, stepped into the shower, did my
makeup afterward, my nails, brushed my hair until it glowed.
I put on my most daring micromini. There was no use kidding
around with these people. Then I slipped into a blouse that seemed to
show more of me than it hid. It left my belly bare, did little to
conceal my bosoms, but constricted my throat and my arms in tight,
stretchy fabric. Then I put on my shoes. They were new. I’d bought
them yesterday evening, shopping after dinner with Helga and Kimberly.
I think Helga had known where I would wear them. She looked away as I
strutted around the store, trying them, feeling their fit. Kimberly
insisted on paying for them, and told me never to take them off, unless
I was asked to. She didn’t explain why, just said not to. I nodded.
I drove myself to the agency. That’s what it was called,
simply “the agency.” I found the building where it was located, a tall
skyscraper downtown, and parked underneath. I took my parking pass with
me so they would validate it. On the elevator up to the 11th floor, I
wrapped my jacket tight. The men in the car glanced at me. My jacket
was as short as my mini, leaving my thighs, my legs, stretching nakedly
down to my heels. I didn’t need stockings. The women in the car were
jealous of me. When I got to the 11th floor I exited quick as I could.
I felt their eyes pasted on my ass as I walked with rapid steps down the
hall.
I buzzed the door marked “Agency.” It was a small sign, posted
on the door in paper, as if temporarily, though the office had been here
for years. The door unlocked, and I let myself in. A woman at a desk
greeted me. I smiled. She was gorgeous. She wore a bow tie around her
neck and, strikingly, a string bikini top. I could not see whether she
had anything else on. Her hair, brown and glossy, was piled atop her
head. She wore small, conservative earrings.
“Are you Barbi?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Kimberly called. She said you’d be coming,” the woman
answered. She seemed very nice. She handed a clipboard across her desk
to me. “Would you please fill this out?”
“Sure,” I answered.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Okay,” I said. She rose. Instinctively, childishly perhaps,
I looked at her to see if she had anything else on. A bikini bottom.
Of course. Perfect for the office of the 90’s. Stepping around from
behind her desk, I saw she wore long black boots, above the knee, with
little gold spurs fitted onto them. The spurs seemed to bring out the
blonde highlights in her auburn hair, I thought.
“Please don’t mind my ‘uniform,’” she smiled, as if feeling a
little silly under my stare. “Boss’s orders.”
“Men,” I agreed.
“They can be so difficult sometimes,” she said, and walked
away, into another room, her hiney swaying, nothing but a thong in her
ass crack keeping me from seeing all.
I sat down on a leather couch and filled out the form. It
asked my name, my age, and other questions, rather probing ones. I
contemplated them and filled some out, wondered at others.
“Just do the best you can,” the woman answered, returning with
two steaming cups of coffee. She sat down beside me and I queried her
about a few questions. She explained them, helped me answer them. We
chit-chatted a bit, mindlessly, enjoying each other’s company.
“I like your dress,” she said after a bit. “Do you have
panties on?”
“No,” I answered.
“Would you please pull it up for me a minute? I have to do a
visual inspection.”
“Alright,” I replied. I set my clipboard aside. I bit my lip
and raised my mini.
“Would you spread your legs for me?” she asked. I complied.
She stood, walked to her desk. She returned with a little pencil-shaped
flashlight. She knelt between my legs. She opened my cuntlips and
flicked on the flashlight. She peered into me.
“You have a nice pussy,” she said finally. She let go of my
private lips, my softness, my most secret place. “Sorry, but I had to
check. You’ll be using it a lot, you know, on your assignments. Would
you pull down your blouse for me?”
“Okay,” I answered. I yanked it down, felt my boobs pop out.
I looked down and saw my nipples were sticking up, hard and ready. The
woman put her hands to them. She palped them. She squeezed them
firmly, like they were melons. Her thumbs tweaked my nipples.
“Good,” she said. “No breast cancer or anything, and they’re
natural. Our customers will like that.” She picked up my clipboard,
her clipboard now, and wrote on it.
“What sort of assignment would you like?” she asked. She
looked at me. “You can pull your skirt back down,” she smiled.
“Oh yeah,” I answered. I repaired my clothing. “I guess,
well, I’d like an assignment...oh, something challenging.” I said. She
grinned. “Kimberly says you’ve spent the last two months being
bored to death in an office.”
I nodded.
“Well, I think I might have just the thing for you,” she told
me.
***
He was an older man. That’s what the woman had told me,
anyway. It was late afternoon. The sun had about an hour of life left
before it would sink back beneath the horizon. I’d dressed
conservatively. I assumed he had conservative tastes, given his age. I
had no idea what he’d do with me, but the woman had hinted I might be
surprised.
I knocked at the front door of a large home. A woman in an
evening gown answered.
“Oh, you must be the young lady from the agency!” she smiled at
me. I nodded. “Please do come in, we’ve been expecting you,” she
invited.
“Sorry I’m a little late. I got lost driving over,” I grinned
sheepishly.
“You’re not too late, nothing that can’t be accounted for,” she
answered. I wondered a little at her answer, followed her into the
interior of a large, lavishly decorated home. Fine art hung on the
walls. Curtains of lace shrouded the large bay windows. Sumptuous
furniture beckoned, but she drew me on, leading me through the house.
We stepped out back. I saw a lawn, garden furniture, and other guests,
all in evening clothes, the women in shimmering dresses, the men in
tuxedoes.
“Here is Barbi, from the Agency,” the woman called. She
introduced me to the other guests. I was given a drink, sipped it. I
met the host. He was close to 50. His name was Albert. He did not
tell me his last name. I was permitted to chat awhile. Everyone was
very pleasant, very polite, although there seemed to be a bit of tension
in the air. The women were all older than me, though still quite young
and pretty. The men were in their 30’s and 40’s. Several told me they
were diplomats, from foreign countries.
“Come, dear,” the woman who had greeted me at the door said
finally. She drew me over to a the table with the food and punch.
“Would you be willing to put on something a little more revealing for
us?” she asked. I gulped. I had almost forgotten why I was here.
“I-I guess so, I mean, of course, sure,” I answered. She
opened her purse. She drew from it a little handful of cloth and
strings. “You don’t mind being seen in a bikini, do you?” she asked.
There was a smirk on her face, as if she were somewhat amused. I heard
a woman behind me laugh. A man cleared his throat.
“No,” I answered. I stuck out a finger, poked at the bit of
cloth, received it into my hands.
“Step behind the bushes, there’s a trellis there, you can hang
your nice dress up,” she told me.
“Okay,” I answered. I felt childish. I took the little
bikini, wandered back behind a stand of rose bushes. I could smell
their perfume on the air. It was sweet. Within their enclosing
protection, feeling precious, I removed my dress. I guessed they’d want
everything off, except my shoes. And my earrings, of course. No use
taking off those. I had nice hoop earrings, silver. They matched the
silver accents in my heels. There was a hanger hooked into the
trellis. Ivy wove along its top, along its sides, but the interior of
the trellis was bare. It was as if it had been specially designed for a
girl to hang her clothes up on.
I untangled the bikini they’d given me. A miniature bra, plus
teensy panties. The parts that were fabric were white and very soft,
almost furry. The rest was nothing but frustrating strings. They all
needed to be tied. Nothing could just be slipped on. Feeling a little
frustrated, I got the bikini tied onto myself. It took several
minutes. For all my effort, it hid very little. I tugged at the bra
cups. They were undersized, leaving the fleshy undercurves of my
breasts quite bare and unsupported. I hoped they wouldn’t want me to do
my cheerleading routines in this. As for the panties, they were so
small in back I knew they’d dip entirely into my buttcrack the minute I
started walking. In front, a little triangle of fuzzy cloth did its
best to hide my pubis. It barely managed, leaving all else quite naked.
I lifted my chin. I told myself to have confidence. This was
my first assignment, and I didn’t want to blow it. With a toss of my
head to give myself assurance, I stepped out from behind the roses.
“Ah, how cute!” a woman exclaimed. There was a round of
applause. I blushed, walked as straight as I could, was aware of my
hips swaying nicely. My boobies were bouncing almost as freely as if
they were uncontained, and I glanced down to make sure the bra still
held them. It did.
Albert handed me a big straw bonnet, with a ribbon and large
bow of blue silk. I guessed he wanted me to put it on. I did, then
spun once on my heels for him to let him admire me with it.
“You design the most delicious little bikinis,” a woman said to
Albert. Ah, he was a fashion designer, I guessed. He smiled. At her,
at me.
“The hat is my design also,” he replied.
“So it is,” she answered, but her eyes remained on my
swimsuit.
“It’s best not to get this material wet,” Albert said to her.
“No, but what self-respecting girl swims at the beach anyway?”
the woman answered. She stuck out her finger, hooked the front of my
panties. She pulled them open, my bush showed. She let go and the
panties snapped shut. “Nice pull on the strings.”
“Yes, they have a certain elasticity to them, though not too
much,” he replied. “The bikini is mainly for show, as you said, to
attract attention.”
“Speaking of which, I know a certain creature who hasn’t gotten
any attention at all this evening,” the woman said. Albert nodded, as
if giving permission. “Jill, please let out Popeye, its time for his
weekly bath,” the woman called. A second woman nodded, disappeared a
moment. I thought nothing more of the exchange, let someone hand me a
glass of sherry and was just sipping it when a small terrier came
bounding out onto the lawn. He startled me by barking at me and made a
beeline for the grass between my heels. He leapt up and sniffed
actively at my crotch.
I nearly dropped my glass! It was so mortifying, me in a
little nothing bikini, everyone else lavishly, expensively dressed, with
a pooch sniffing out my pussy as if I were a bitch in heat!
“Barbi,” the woman with Albert said to me, drawing my attention
from the dog even as he stood and put his paws on my thighs and sniffed
my cunt up close. “Please take your bikini off to keep it from getting
wet, and give Popeye here his bath.” Albert handed me a small copper
bucket for bathing the dog. It was empty. He pointed to a
marble-topped table nearby.
“You can wash him there,” he said. “Popeye expects the very
best treatment.”
What could I do? I was embarrassed, but then I couldn’t say
no, could I? I hoped they’d be paying me well for this. I reached down
and, with a grunt, picked Popeye up in my arms, still holding the
bucket. At least in my arms he wouldn’t sniff my cunt, I figured, but
the rude dog immediately began pawing my breasts. With him struggling,
clutching him as best I could, I walked over to the marble table. I put
him gently down on it. I didn’t want to just drop him. His owner
obviously thought the world of him. Popeye stood on his four legs atop
the table, ardently sniffing at my breasts, as if I might feed him.
Stepping back, remembering what Albert had said about the bikini, I
reached back and reluctantly untied my top. My breasts spilled free.
Popeye showed as much interest in them as did the guests. My nipples
stuck out invitingly. I kept back from the table so he wouldn’t try to
take one in his mouth.
Next I undid my panties. Again, I felt the eyes of the guests
stare appreciatively, smugly perhaps, as I revealed myself to them, me
all naked while they remained dressed to the nines. Carefully I hung my
bikini up on a little iron railing that formed a fence running behind
the table. It separated a part of the yard from some valuable private
vineyard grapes that grew just beyond; a small collection of grapes that
Albert used to create his own wines.
Bucket in hand, I traipsed across the lawn to a faucet set in
the outside wall of the house. I had not removed my heels. I
remembered Kimberly’s advice. I bent down, was conscious of my bottom
splaying out behind me, showing all, leaving nothing to their
imagination now. The guests watched me, sipping their drinks. Popeye
stood on his table, his tail wagging furiously. I turned on the tap and
filled my little copper bucket. Then I stood, hefted it, and returned
to Popeye. He was eager to see me. I found that someone had placed a
bar of Hartz flea soap on the table, already unwrapped. I did not see
any gloves for my hands. I guessed I was to use my bare fingers. I
tossed my hair. I brushed it from my eyes, wishing I had barrettes or
something to hold it up. The dog watched me. I saw that he had an
erection between his legs.
“Alright, Popeye,” I said to him, feeling awkward, silly.
“It’s time for your bath, boy, and I want you to behave for me, okay?”
He was a cute little critter, I had to admit. I just wished he didn’t
have his thing sticking out between his legs. I lifted him up. He
poked his nose enquiringly at my stiff nipples. I stood him in the
bucket. His legs separated widely. I could only get one paw in, the
bucket was too small for both, with his antics. “Come on, boy, be good
and sit in the bucket,” I scolded. But he would not comply. His legs
remained wide, he humped his hips at me, hoping to make contact with his
thing.
I set him back on the table. He wagged his tail. The table
was low enough that he could stand and sniff my pubic hair, and he did
so with relish. I picked up the copper bucket and doused him with some
of the water in it. He wagged his little tail, still entranced by my
cunny. I picked up the bar of soap and began rubbing him with it.
“Alright boy, it’s time for your doggie bath, stand still,” I
ordered him. I had to let him sniff at my pussy to keep from dancing
about on the table. I rubbed him fast as I could, hoping to finish
quickly.
“Take your time, dear, he likes lots of loving tenderness,” the
woman with albert admonished me. I glanced over my shoulder at her.
“Alright,” I answered. I rubbed more slowly. Popeye seemed to
grin up at me, pleased with my handling of him. His erection remained
quite noticeable.
I scrubbed away. Popeye wriggled from my grasp occasionally,
making me dash about the table to recapture him. Thankfully, he did not
jump down to the lawn. I worked my fingers deep into his fur and bent
once to rub noses with him, just to keep him from acting up on me.
Finally I rolled him over, and doused him again, then set to work on his
ribs and tummy. He seemed to like this best. He let his legs lie open
and didn’t fight me as I massaged him generously all over, avoiding only
his cock.
“Do his balls too, please,” Albert’s woman told me, seeing I
was missing his thing. “And his penis. Don’t mind that it’s out. Just
rub along it like you would a man’s. You have washed a man’s organ
before, haven’t you?”
“Uh, ummm, yeah,” I answered, not sure actually, just trying to
comply. I felt awful, my ass sticking out as I bent over the table, my
breasts dangling down, full and heavy. Popeye brushed them with his
tongue.
“Down boy,” I said, though he was already on his back. I
rubbed his genitals then, and he wriggled blissfully. He lapped at my
breasts. He ejaculated into my hands.
“Ewww, yuck!” I cried, standing up quickly.
“If your hands weren’t soapy I’d make you lick them clean,”
Albert’s woman told me. “He’s our favorite dog, and you’re only here
for the night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. God! Eat a dog’s sperm?! I wanted
to run from the yard right then, but realized I had no clothes on at the
moment. A slight deterrence, to be sure.
I picked up the bucket and poured its remaining contents onto
Popeye, cleansing his genitals. I was going to go get more water when
Albert’s woman came up behind me and tapped me lightly in the small of
my back.
“Kneel up on the table,” she said.
I turned my head, my hair flying in a whirl of surprise.
“What?!” I asked. There was a look of shock on my face.
“Kneel up on the table, doggie-style,” she said again.
“But, he’s...” I looked at Popeye. He was on his feet again,
all fours, looking eager and wagging his tail. I saw that his little
ejaculation a moment ago had done nothing to dim the ardor of his cock.
I heard a brief whistle, felt a sudden sting burn itself into
my bottom. I stiffened. The woman had a riding crop!
“ON the table,” she said again. I complied. Fearful,
surrounded by my former friends at the party (or so I’d imagined them,
though we’d exchanged only first names), I got on the table. I felt the
cold, uncompromising marble under my hands. Someone moved the bucket
away and put a small pillow for me on the table. Sensing I must, I
lowered my face to it. I grabbed the corners of the pillow with my
sperm-sticky fingers.
“Oh no, please don’t,” I begged. The woman pressed upon my
back, making my bottom bulb more, offering it to the dog. Happily he
sniffed at my cunt, able to enjoy it directly now, in its most
advantageous position. The woman placed her palms on the insides of my
thighs, pushing the dog aside a moment, and prepared me for him, opening
my legs nice and wide.
“We would never fuck you, darling, but you are good enough for
our dog,” she teased. I was humiliated beyond my wildest imaginings. I
shuddered, I begged for them not to do it. I gazed into the eyes of the
guests, so recently my equals, or so it seemed, and they stared back,
uncaring. Uncaring but deeply, profoundly amused.
Popeye got up on his hind legs. Several women giggled. He
presented himself.
“No, GOD!” I begged. I felt his awful thing nudge my cunt.
And then it pushed within. “Aaaack!” I cried. I wanted to leap up, but
a woman had gripped me by the back of my neck, and held my face pressed
down. Behind me I heard Albert’s woman swishing her crop menacingly. I
knew the punishment would be severe, worse than I’d ever had, if I
denied her doggie his after-bath treat. Trembling uncontrollably, I
felt him thrust inside. He had a small thing, it didn’t go very deep.
He pressed close, mounting me proudly. I felt his paws pressing down on
my rump. Vigorously he began spearing me.
“No! No! No! Oooooh, God!” I cried suddenly, and popped my
thumb in my mouth. I tasted his cum. It revolted me, but I was more
terrified my his thing in my cunt. In a few moments I felt him
spurting. And then, after a few more strokes, he got down again.
I leapt up. I dropped to the grass and went running into the
house. I ran to where I thought the kitchen might be, found it, and
furiously I rinsed out my mouth. Albert’s woman found me there.
“Come upstairs, I will bathe you,” she said to me. She spoke
nonchalantly. She still held her crop. I rose from the sink and
followed her, feeling utterly, totally abject and despondent.
***
My bath was long and loving. Albert’s woman, telling me I’d
done very well in the yard, introduced herself as Elspeth. A strange,
uncommon name, I felt, for a strange, uncommon woman. The suds of the
bath got on her. She knelt outside the tub, insisted on washing me with
her own hands. With no washcloth. Just her fingers, long, expert,
playing over my tummy, my breasts, delighting in the stiffness of my
nipples. She douched me too, an intimate experience. I felt tender,
vulnerable. She kissed me when she was done.
Elspeth got me out of the bath and dried me with a rough
towel. She brushed my hair. Then, walking me to the medicine cabinet,
she opened it. I saw a dog’s collar lying there. It was black with
little silver studs. She made me stand still while she buckled it
around my neck.
“Come, time for bed,” she said. She took me into the next
room. Someone had undone the bed while we were in the bathroom. The
sheets looked cool, inviting. She picked up the bed’s pillow and
fluffed it. She told me to put my heels back on. They were standing by
the bedside, new and fresh, cleaned up after my adventure in the yard.
Someone had taken care of them for me. I put them on, sat on the edge
of the bed and buckled myself into them.
“You have another canine friend who’d like to meet you,”
Elspeth said to me. I started, looked up. A big dog came bounding into
the room. My legs were spread slightly and he sniffed at them. I
patted his head, not knowing what else to do. Elspeth hovered over me.
She had her crop again. She held it twixt her fingers like some
valuable, which no doubt it was, for otherwise I would have fled from
the room at once.
“Please get in bed,” Elspeth told me. “And don’t deny yourself
to Rover, here. You two will be spending the night together.” I looked
up at her. There was no possibility of a change of heart, I could see.
Two guests entered the room, both male, big strapping fellows. I looked
at them. They saw my resistance.
“Get in,” one of the men ordered me. I stood. I turned and
crawled into bed. Rover jumped up on the bed beside me. I put my arms
around him to try to settle him. I lay back. Licking my face, he got
himself on top of me. I kept my thighs pressed tightly together, lest
he should get any ideas.
“What do you think, gentlemen? Is she a fair mount for him?”
Elspeth asked the two men.
“Good enough,” one of them answered, infuriating me. Rover
lapped my nose, oblivious to their presence.
“Let’s let them enjoy each other’s company awhile,” Elspeth
said. “Take out your cocks, men, and I’ll rub them a little for you.”
I glanced over at her. Rover licked my nose, tried to get his belly as
firmly against mine as he could. I felt a pressure upon my pubis, a
probing. “When you’re ready, darling,” Elspeth said to me. “I enjoy
playing with a dog all night before I let him mount me, but you may be
more eager. Get up on your hands and knees when you feel the moment has
arrived. I like seeing a girl getting it from behind.”
I returned my gaze to Rover. He licked me ardently. His
tongue tickled my nose. I giggled, despite myself. The men got out
their cocks. I looked, cursing myself. They were big. Elspeth seated
herself on a chair between them and, with them standing on either side
of her, she began frigging them.
After a bit the men were groaning. Drinks were brought by a
maid and Elspeth ceased her ministrations so that the men could enjoy a
breather. I was allowed to get up too, and I sat on the edge of the
bed, sipping Sherry. The men drank standing up.
“Is it not wonderful?” Elspeth asked me, honestly, as Rover
helped himself to a tongue-lapping drink from my glass.
“Rover!” I shouted. I whacked his nose with my hand.
“Don’t be mean to him, darling, or I’ll flay that lovely hiney
of yours,” Elspeth warned me.
“You don’t really expect me to let a big dog like this fuck
me?” I asked.
“Either that or the crop,” she answered.
“How many strokes?” I asked. Absently I raised my glass to my
lips and sipped, then spit it back out, realizing I’d drunk from the
same glass as a dog.
“I must be in a forgiving mood,” Elspeth said, considering.
“Thirty strokes, all well-delivered, no easy ones. What do you say?” I
sat balancing my glass, wondering if I might steal away for a bath
before she got underway.
“Anything would be better than getting fucked by this dog,” I
answered at last. It seemed strange, bartering for my bottom. Did I
wish a dog’s cock up it, or a crop across it? Neither seemed very
pleasant to me.”
“You’re being paid, darling,” Elspeth said to me. “I intend to
amuse myself with you, and that’s all there is to it. You didn’t come
here for a slumber party, you know.”
“Alright,” I said at last, feeling a strange, grown-up
feeling. “But not TOO hard.”
“Just for that I’ll give the last three extra hard,” she
replied. I stood. I set my glass in the bed, precariously, the covers
holding it in an impromptu arrangement of curves and bulges. Rover and
I had quite distinctly messed the bed up, with his antics and my
resistance.
“May I take a bath first?” I asked. “He’s been licking me all
over.” I felt his tongue lave up the crack of my hiney and batted it
away.
“You may do whatever you like first,” she answered. “But you
won’t get paid any more for staying longer, however long you dawdle
about.”
“A quick one, then,” I answered. I hurried into the bathroom,
got the water on, stepped in. I felt free in the shower. I let the
steam engulf me, felt the water cleanse me all over, thankfully.
Espeth’s two gentlemen friends stepped into the bathroom to monitor me.
“Don’t play with yourself,” one warned me. He drew back the
shower curtain to make sure I complied. They watched me soap myself. I
liked being watched. They could not fuck me. They were achingly,
drippingly hard. But they could only look at me. And they could not
play with themselves, either. Their cocks were reserved for Elspeth’s
fingers. They were, in their own way, as much her slaves as I was. I
wondered if they might liberate me, kidnap me and steal away with me.
But they did not. They seemed to enjoy their slavery. I was probably
just one of many young girls they got to enjoy in their slavery to
Elspeth. They obeyed her in every respect, and she fed them cunts in
return. Young cunts, like mine.
When I was done they dried me. Then they took me back out to
the bedroom. The dog was gone. The sheets had been changed. Elspeth,
wearing a long, flowing black gown, with a high collar, waited by the
bed. She lifted her hand, took mine, helped me into it.
“On your knees, dear,” Elspeth told me. “This bed isn’t for
sleeping in, not tonight, not for you. It is merely a platform,
hopefully a comfortable one. I see no need to discomfit you, save where
it is intended. You may rest your pretty head on this pillow. Your
knees may push into the softness of the mattress. Only your bottom is
to suffer.”
“But why, oh why?” I asked.
“Because I want to see such young, beautiful flesh respond
totally to me,” she replied. “It is a matter of domination, of
control. You will weep, you will cry, you will beg. But there will be
no diminishment of your punishment. When I am done the men will fuck
you. One in your cunt, and one up your ass. Then you will be dismissed
from the premises.”
“Oh, no,” I sobbed. “Please.” Even as I spoke, I was already
on my knees, that was how much persuasive power she had over me,
standing there with her crop in her hand, gazing at me with fiery eyes.
The men got hold of my wrists and bound them into restraints at the
headboard of the bed.
“Open the window,” Elspeth ordered. “I want the neighbors to
hear her screams. And all my guests, they will enjoy them, as they
while the night away, playing bedroom games of their own. Women will
shiver in the arms of their men, hearing little Barbi’s shouts and
pleadings. No one will come. I am well-connected.”
One of the men sauntered over to the window and thrust up the
sash. The evening air blew in, cool and fresh. I felt its chilliness
upon my bare tushy.
“Are you ready?” Elspeth asked me.
“Oh, this is so humiliating!” I cried. My eyes were
panic-stricken. To be heard, as it happened! To be laughed at,
ridiculed. Tears were already streaming down my face.
“I will give you one more humiliation,” Elspeth said to me. “I
will not begin until you tell me to.”
“Oh, God!” I sighed. Then I drew in my breath. “HELP!” I
cried. “HELP! HELP!”
“Three more strokes will be added for that,” she replied
calmly. “But if you wish to yell until you’re hoarse, that’s your
affair.”
I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “You are a bitch,” I moaned.
“I know,” she tittered. “Girls tell me that all the time. It
does not spare their bottoms, though.”
“Do it. Get it over with,” I gritted through my teeth.
“You must say, ‘Please mistress, spank my bottom.’” She replied
suavely.
“No,” I answered. I gazed at her hot-faced. It was a test of
wills.
“You wish to be a slave,” she said. “I can see it in your
eyes.”
“No! No I do not!” I cried out, sure of every word.
“Some girls do, some don’t,” she answered. “But you do.” I
shook my head ‘no’ as vigorously as I could. “You are in luck,” she
said. “I have a guest, he watched you from his room, in the garden.
But if I spare you, if I give you to him, you will be his slave
forever.”
“Spare me, then,” I replied.
“You didn’t join the agency for the money, did you?” she
asked. “You wanted to submit. You wanted to find a master to love you,
and care for you, and give you your liberty, but always within the
confines, the perimeters, he might select. Isn’t it true?” Again I
shook my head ‘no.’
“Ronald, go get Lord Shaftsbury,” Elspeth said. There was a
wicked twinkle in her eye. Immediately Ronald left, naked, his cock
waggling out in front of him, hoping for pussy. The sooner my fate was
concluded, he would have some, from some female, I guessed. He probably
did not care who. She would be lovely, whoever she was.
I shifted my wrists, hoping to free them somehow from the
restraints. Otherwise I kept my pose, on my knees, my face down, my
bottom high. I did not dare change my posture, lest Elspeth flog me.
“Hurry,” Elspeth teased. “‘Please mistress, spank my bottom,’
is all you need say. If I whack you even once, the strokes will be
delivered, all of them, even if I have to tie you more fully to do it.
But you will be free of Lord Shaftsbury. He will not be permitted to
enter. If he does, my dear, you are lost. I can see in your eyes what
you want. A love slave, a chattel, that is what you want to be.
Opulent, elegant, but not a liberated female. Not in the truest sense.
You wish to be endowed with the supreme female beauty, that which comes
only from submission to a male. A strong, powerful male. One who will
love you, and force you to submit completely. I wished it once too, and
I was such a slave. At 16, just as you will be soon. That’s what you
really want for your birthday, isn’t it? A collar, a leash, and the
strong whip-hand of a perfect male master.”
I wrenched at my bonds. I must get free! I could not face
this. Somehow, deep down, I suspected that my sexual odyssey in life
had been more than just fun and games. It had been for a purpose. To
find the perfect man. The complete master. One who would make me obey
because I wanted to. It was like finding a man to impregnate you, to
have children by. Perhaps it was a sort of ‘play pregnancy,’ this
desire of mine for a master. A test run, so to speak, for the chores
and burdens of motherhood, which were far deeper, far more long-lasting,
than a few well-placed whacks on the bottom. And I knew I did want to
be a mom.
There was a knock at the door. Elspeth looked dismayed. For a
moment she seemed about to strike me, out of vengeance perhaps. Yet I’d
obeyed her, hadn’t I? I’d chosen what she’d chosen herself. “Come in,”
she said at last.
The door opened. And as soon as I saw him, I loved him. He
moved with a grace, an assurance, I’d never seen. Tall, uncertain in
age, but older than me, yes, that was essential. Old enough to make the
world move for him. And the girls in it. Especially me.
“Please mistress, spank my bottom!” I cried suddenly. Elspeth
only laughed.
“It is too late!” she said. “You see him and you love him! I
will not save you now.”
****
I was untied and made to stand up straight. They blindfolded
me. I thought to resist, thought best not to. His hands lightly
caressed my waist, steadied me, but there was enormous power in them.
Mistress whispered in my ear that he was a drug baron, perhaps the only
man who could truly enslave me, for he lived utterly outside the law. I
felt strength in his fingers. They were long, vampire-like, as those of
a heroin addict might be who’d shot up so much that he’d turned into
something utterly different. I sensed, though, as I stood shaking,
biting my lip, that he’d freed himself of any addiction he might once
have had to drugs. He just sold them now, I guessed, for his hands felt
very powerful, though they barely grazed me as they touched my waist, my
belly. Though I was nude, utterly at his disposal, he did not cup my
cunt or fondle my breasts. He was utterly discreet, as if feeling fine
china in an auction house, afraid to grip it too hard lest he break it.
My hands were tied in front of me with a slim piece of Indian
rawhide. The rope cut into my wrists a little, as if to remind me of
his absolute power over me. Taking me then round my middle he guided me
from the bedroom, where he might have fucked me instantly, and down the
long flight of stairs at the front of the house. I had no idea where we
were going. I did not care. I was with him. My breasts jiggled
freely, my nipples almost sore in their stiffness. In my cunt I felt
all desperate, burny, as if I must have him, but he was too polite to
indulge me. My thighs moved closely, I wished to squeeze them tight, to
rub myself furiously with my fingers until my passion eased. My
girlish, puppy-love passion. How foolish I was to get a crush on this
man! He would destroy me, I knew it, or utterly transform me into a
complete woman, so that I would never be a girl, not anymore. I would
be full-grown and mature. I bit my lip harder.
“Careful,” he said, watching me. He touched a finger to my
lips and made me ease the pressure of my nervous teeth. “I do not wish
you injured,” he breathed, his throat deep, menace slinking through it,
“unless I myself do it, or order it done.”
“Will you hurt me?” I asked. My voice was quavery. My steps
were hesitant on the stairs. I felt for the next step, thought I might
lose my balance. He steadied me.
“I will use you,” he answered. “Sexually. For my pleasure,
and perhaps yours, although your duty will be to satisfy me, not
yourself. Do you understand?” I stood stock still, wavering in my
commitment. He ran a hand through my hair. “It is too late to refuse,”
he replied. “Nod if you understand.” Very slowly, biting my lip again,
I nodded. He put a finger to my mouth and softened the pensiveness of
it. Suddenly I opened my teeth and caught his finger inside my mouth.
I sucked upon the length of it hotly, vigorously, as a newborn with a
favorite pacifier.
“Come,” he said. “We must get started.” He stepped ahead of
me, turned, and literally led me with his finger in my mouth. I did not
let go. As he pulled me I bit into his flesh, gradually at first, then
harder. He did not complain, did not pull out of me. He led me all the
way outside, the others throwing a blanket round me as we stepped
through the door, to cover my nakedness against any eyes lurking on the
street. Led like a dog, I traipsed in my wriggling nudity down the
sidewalk. The blanket only served to heighten my awareness of myself.
Within its wool confines my boobies bounced and jostled, my bottom
rolled, the fabric of the blanket pricking me, uncomfortable yet
necessary. When we slipped inside his limo he relived me of it. He sat
me on his lap and I felt his manhood in his pants. Naughtily I moved my
bottom so the staff of his uprisen cock got caught twixt the cheeks.
“I hope its a bumpy ride,” I giggled, happy in my blindfold.
His finger rested still upon my tongue, bit-like, slurring my speech.
“Oh, why so?” he asked. He brushed my hair with his fingers,
endured the weight of my bottom on his cock.
“Because I might make you wet your pants,” I answered.
“You would have me cream inside this fine Armani suit?” he
asked. He put a fingertip in my navel. I felt silly, baby-like.
“Yeth,” I answered over his finger. “If you can’t control
yourself, then perhaps you don’t deserve me.”
“And if I can?” he asked. For answer I bounced my fanny on his
tented prong. I closed my mouth over his finger and bit down hard. I
tasted blood.
“I’m sorry,” I said suddenly. He took his finger from my
mouth. I lifted my hands, held him, kissed his bleeding finger. “Did I
hurt you?”
“Not much,” he answered. “You’re not the first frisky girl to
bite me.”
“I want to be the last, though,” I said. Possessively I took
his hand and yanked it down to my cunt. I stuck his injured finger
within the confines of my twat. I gasped as I did it, but desisted not,
wanting him so badly, wanting to make him my own.
Female hands, long-nailed, came to my breasts. They cupped me,
squeezed hard, as if to make my nipples squirt milk. “Oh!” I said
remorsefully. I’d hoped we were alone, in his car. But there was one
other, at least, a woman.
“I’m afraid I’m quite popular,” he said. As I held his wrist
he took over now, rodding me with his finger. Soon I was no more than a
little girl on a supermarket horsey, wishing for the ride to stop,
wanting to get off. I gripped his wrist, trying to stop him from
fucking me, but his strength was overpowering. He rammed first one
finger, then two, then three within me, all the while rubbing my spot
with his thumb. The woman put her mouth to my breasts and sucked them
hard. It seemed she wished to distort their shape and leave me with
ruined breasts. I bounced my bottom, crying out. “Stop, please stop!”
I tried to make him come in his pants to relieve his passion. He bent
his head and kissed, then bit into the slimness of my neck with a
vicious growl.
“No! Oh, please!” I cried, but their assault continued on my
little body, the woman’s hands and mouth vigorous, the man’s fingers
rapidly bringing me to the height of passion. He rammed his hand again
and again into the apex of my thighs, burying his fingers, shafting me
with them until I went over the edge. Shuddering down from my bliss I
felt a new sensation. His pants were unbuckled, unzipped, drawn down.
Tightly they gripped his muscular thighs as I felt the hair of them
pricking up against my own legs. Under me his cock suddenly stuck up.
Women, apparently sitting on either side of him, lifted me and spread
the cheeks of my seat. Their long nails dug into the tenderest portions
of my bottom as I felt a finger swab vaseline over my rosette. “No!
Oh, God!” I cried. In my enforced posture, my bottom held aloft, I felt
the menace of his cockhead worming into position. He, or a woman,
pressed its evil tip right against my hole. “Not there! Not there!” I
cried. He felt huge beneath me, a stiff iron pole, all raw and
wet-tipped, oozing.
“Be quiet, girl, you chose his fingers for your cunt,” the
woman in front of me scolded. She twisted my nipples and I shouted from
the abuse.
“Welcome to Lord Shaftsbury,” a woman beside my straining host
taunted. I felt her fingers slip off my bottom, even as her companion
did the same. I was left sitting atop my Lord’s cock, with nothing to
support me.
“Aughgh!” I yelled, as the grisly thing made its entry into my
butthole. The woman in front of me placed her hands on my thighs so I
could not get up. Down I inexorably sat, our host’s cock surging within
my bottom cheeks. I clenched them, tried to keep him out, but he was
stiff as a piston, and I had no support for my ass. The limo hit a bump
and I felt myself bounce. “Oh!” I wept as I felt the cock catch me on
my earthward return. He grunted, loving it. The car hit another bump
and I wound up even more deeply pierced.
“Sir, your suspension is shot,” the woman in front of me
purred. She let go of my breasts and I felt them bounce, sore and
well-sucked, my nipples coated with her saliva.
“Cobblestones, such an adventure,” my new master answered,
feeling himself more deeply embedded in me each time I was thrown by the
car. Wham! Wham! Wham! We were on pure stones now, the first few
bumps having been, apparently, holes in the road, but now the bouncing
was continuous. I shuddered, shivered down his pole, feeling all my
breath forced from me. Despite my tightness there was no escaping the
sodomy. It felt as if a huge cork was being driven up the bottle-slim
neck of my anal hole, like one might stopper up champagne to save it for
another day. I, however, was not being saved, but debauched, opened.
We could no longer claim to be strangers, though I knew him by his title
only, and he knew me only by my first name. Deep, deeper he rammed up
within me, making tears run from my eyes.
“Oh, woh, woh, woh!” I protested. There was no keeping him
out, though, he was too hard, the bumps too relentless. I went
boing-boing-boing upon his penis for seeming ages, his balls all rubbery
and hairy and tight against the soft-underside of my ass, promising
fulfillment when he could take no more of my girlishly-cleft ass. It
was the lewdest of amusement park rides, a log-ride of sorts, with the
awful log stuck up my heinie.
“Ah,” he breathed finally, and I felt, somewhere deep within
me, a spurting. Hot jets of his seed filled my guts as my rent bottom
suffered upon his indriving prong. I jiggled, I wiggled, trying to get
off him, hoping he was finished, but he seemed to pee his sperm into me
forever. And, then, still hard, I felt him let loose his urine.
“Noooo!” I hooted, scared as could be, as he enemized me with
liquid from within his own bladder. I felt full, fuller still, but the
woman in front of me kept her hands hard upon my thighs, preventing my
rising, even as the limo wickedly ran over the cobblestones, making all
of us jiggle like balls in a funhouse.
When he was done I was lifted up. Gradually, as if loathe to
leave such sweet tightness, his cock eased down my poor well-reamed
bottomhole. I heard a little ‘pop’ and felt myself suddenly empty. I
drew in my ass cheeks, hoping to stop any re-entry. Strangely, I felt
widened back there, as if I could not close myself as I had before.
They sat my raped bottom on his thigh. I felt his pee come running down
out of me. The woman in front of me lifted up my blindfold. She was
the first thing I saw, ravishingly beautiful, with raven-dark hair,
wearing a sparkling evening gown. It was rumpled. She’d hiked it up
her thighs and sat watching me, a hand between her legs, fingering her
slit. I glanced down, looked between my own thighs. I brushed my hair
from my eyes with my still-bound hands. I gasped. I looked around,
over my shoulder.
“It’s awful,” I sighed, appalled at the mess beneath me, all of
it coming rapidly from within my bottom. Pee, sperm, shit, it was on
his thigh and the seat beneath, on his trousers, half-lowered. He
smiled at me.
“Don’t worry, it’s rented,” he said of the limo. We were on
smooth asphalt again. Beside him two women sat, their own dresses
raised, as beautiful as the first, and intent now on seeing to their own
pleasure. As we rode, myself recovering, my host relaxing, they filled
the limo’s cabins with their cries as they masturbated themselves to
fulfillment. I watched, captivated. Their feminine odors rose up to
join with the scent I and my host had already saturated the cabin with.
My ass felt terribly sore, and like it wouldn’t ever be whole again, as
if some huge thing belonged inside it, forever, filling it, though I
dreaded the thought of it. My master rubbed my belly and admired my
breasts.
“Sexual entertainment,” he said. He kissed my young cheek.
“You will see much of it in the days to come.” The women frigged
themselves until they were done. Then one of them poured drinks and
passed them around. I sipped mine slowly, savoring it, as they all sat
and admired me. I was their new playmate, and I knew I could not escape
whatever other awful pleasures they had in store for me, as an
inspiration to themselves.
“You will do well, dear,” the raven-haired beauty said to me.
She touched my chin. I flinched. I did not like her touching me. My
bosoms still hurt from her raping them. I glanced at my titties. They
looked well enough, but I wondered if older women’s breasts sagged
because of too much love-play.
“So young and sweet,” another woman said of me. She took hold
of the cord which bound my wrists and used it to press the glass I held
to my lips. She pushed the underside of the glass up until I was forced
to rapidly swallow its contents. I felt the liquor run down my throat
and fill my belly. A headiness quickly overcame me. I giggled. I felt
silly. The tips of my nipples wiggled sweetly.
“We are almost there,” my master said to me, his voice soft,
liquor-spiked. His breath mingled with my own and I pressed my mouth to
his so we could share our exhalations with each other, privately,
blocking out the other females. I was on his lap, not they. Though I
hurt in my private places and blamed him for it, I kissed him lovingly.
Our tongues met and he drew me closer. “I am going to have you whipped,
later today,” he said to me. I shivered but I did not care. I was his,
he could do with me as he wished.
My master’s house proved to be a small brownstone townhouse.
It looked like any proper suburban home you might see on a quiet, leafy
street. We pulled into the driveway. I saw a nightlight on, a lamp in
the yard to light our way up the front steps. We drove with sedate
purposefulness up the driveway, parishioners returning from late Sabbath
services, perhaps. I sat on master’s lap, wrecked, my bottomhole
stinging. I panted, catching my breath. My eyes were moist, my cheeks
red. He stroked my hair. The limo rolled to a stop.
“This is it. Time to get out,” the raven-haired woman
announced. Like rumpled, dissatisfied children, too long in the back
seat, we rose and got out. My movements were awkward. My hiney felt
open still, as if a jet could zoom right up it, without the least
tightness on my part to stop it. The blanket was hastily cast over me
to keep my nudity from showing. The blindfold was disregarded. I
glanced about, but could not know in the least where I was. Someplace
in Buenos Aires, that’s all. I guess. Deep down inside I wished I was
farther away, away from my school, my sometime friends, my mother,
Kimberly. I felt guilty that we still shared the same city. To be
fully enslaved, fully me, a grown female, a woman and not merely a
runaway girl, I felt I needed to be far away from everything I’d ever
known. Just me, and master. Together, exploring each other, me
learning, him teaching.
“Where is this?” I asked.
“Shhhh,” the raven-haired woman said. Leading me with an arm
round my waist, she put a finger to my lips. She bent close, shared a
secret. “Do not wish to be too far, you may want to leave someday.”
I turned to her, startled. Master and the other woman
followed, hand in hand, heads bowed, thinking of nothing, probably, a
couple coming home from dinner after a pleasant evening out. Could
anyone see me, the little bundle of joy they were bringing home with
them?
Across the lawn we walked. The limo began backing down the
drive. It was leaving, taking the remnant of our pleasure with it, to
be cleaned out in the morning by exploited, underpaid workers. People
who never got to do fine things, wonderful things, scary things, because
they weren’t born beautiful, like me, or the raven-haired woman, or
master. They got to clean our shit, that’s it. I stepped up the front
porch steps with an odd sense of pride. I was special. I was being
included, indoctrinated into a special, self-selected group. Had the
raven-haired woman fallen in love with master too? Had she joined his
entourage at my age?
She stretched out her hand and opened the front door. I
stepped inside, her arm around me. The house was silent. In the
shadows master entered behind, flicked on a light. Suddenly the
raven-haired woman yelped. I turned. Master had his hand on her
bottom, pinching it hard through her gown.
“No feminist rhetoric,” he said to her. “Just take her to her
room, then go to bed yourself.”
He let go. The raven-haired woman twisted her lips in a
painful, silent admission of guilt. She put a hand to her hiney and
rubbed it. Large-eyed, she reclaimed me and walked me down a narrow
hall. I heard another shriek, a cry of “what did I do?!” and the other
woman followed us, her own butt given a warning pinch. Glancing back, I
saw master turn and depart out of the entryway.
“Is he going to his room?” I asked.
“Shhh, do not ask where he goes or why he comes,” the
raven-haired woman replied. “He is mysterious, that’s why we love him.”
“And a good pincher,” the woman behind me said remorsefully.
We turned a corner, came to a room. We entered, there was a
bed inside, a night-table, closet, and dresser.
“The bathroom’s down the hall,” the raven-haired woman said to
me. She removed my blanket. For a moment she just stood and stared, as
I bashfully stood before her. The other woman seemed as fascinated by
my beauty as her friend was. Without clothing, I had no protection from
their eyes, but I placed my bound hands over my pussy.
“Don’t,” the raven-haired woman said. She reached out, lifted
my hands. The other woman found a ruler on the nightstand, conveniently
placed, perhaps, and briskly struck my hands.
“Yeeeow!” I blurted. It had happened so fast, I’d not even had
time to tense.
“Never cover yourself, even in front of us,” the raven-haired
woman said. “Now as to formalities, I’m Tara, and this is Jasmine.”
“Curtsey, show proper deference, dear,” Jasmine said to me, and
whacked my bare hiney faster than I could imagine. They’d obviously had
experience in dealing with a young girl like me.
Or had they, I wondered? Would not a full-grown, mature woman
be just as untutored? As I bent my knees to pay them homage my nipples
stiffened at the thought of some vastly successful woman, or even a
proper, dignified young mother, made to obey as I was now. Would it not
be even more exciting for these ladies, to see one of their own forced
into servile humility? A vision of my French teacher at school flashed
through my mind, stripped of her clothes, forced to curtsey. I laughed.
“You are well-suited for it,” Tara observed. She and Jasmine
brushed back my hair. “Young, long-limbed, with eye-popping breasts
that show no sign of sagging.”
“She’s only 15,” Jasmine reminded.
“Ah, but she looks older, doesn’t she? Except for those
cutesy-cheeks she’s got. What a fine treat for master, to have such a
young girl at his complete disposal.”
A young woman entered. She was blonde, her hair
shoulder-length.
“Hi,” she said quietly, deferentially. She wore a short grey
jacket with a school emblem embroidered over its left pocket.
“Esquelo High,” I mouthed, recognizing the emblem. I rival
school to my own. The jacket had been cut neatly at her waist, by a
tailor. Girls did that sometimes, to show off. It was supposed to go
down to her thighs, to keep her warm on cold days. I wondered if she’d
done the same with her blouse. Girls with boyfriends did that
sometimes. I saw she had her jacket unbuttoned, another little
provocative touch. The school rules dictated that the jacket should be
buttoned right up except in class. But then, this was a bedroom, not a
classroom.
“The bastard doesn’t trust us,” Tara said, glancing at Jasmine.
“We’ll be going now,” Jasmine said to me. She gave me a little
pinch on my ass as, simultaneously, Tara did the same.
“Oooh, Oooch!” I yelped, as each of them saluted my naked
appeal with their pinches right on the inner curves of my bottom crack.
They’d gotten me right where it counted, in as close to my hole as
fingers could go in a briefly considered attack.
“Oh! Don’t hurt her!” the new blonde cried, and rushed up to
me. Tara and Jasmine left us alone, shutting the door behind
themselves. It closed with a loud bang.
The blonde turned me and flicked on a small lamp. The room,
lit only from the hall before, now blossomed more fully into light. She
vented my behind and peered at the small marks left by our departing
friends. “Oooh, you’re okay, I guess,” the blonde concluded after
studying my spread hinds. “They’re not allowed to mark you in any way.
I should report them. I see you got it up the ass too. From master?”
“Yes,” I replied, my voice soft, lisping.
“Good. For a moment I was afraid,” the blonde began, then let
go of my behind. She walked round and faced me. “Nobody must touch you
hurtfully except master, or those he designates, like me,” she said.
She clasped me at the waist with both her hands and leaned forward. We
were about the same height. Our breath exhaled into each other’s
faces. I smelled Spearmint gum on hers. I hoped she found mine equally
sweet. Quietly she kissed each of my tear-stained cheeks. “Did it
hurt, having him up your bottom?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said again. I felt like a rag doll, with her as the
little blonde girl who played with me.
“It’s all part of growing up,” the blonde answered. She kissed
my lips once, then backed away. I saw she wore a blouse, a little black
tie round her neck, a pleated skirt, schoolgirl shoes. Her socks were
short, turned down so the ruffled tops of them decorated her ankles.
Her hair was in a ponytail. “I’m to be your teacher,” she said,
assuming a more serious demeanor. I held my hands aloft, afraid to hide
my pussy with them, not sure what to do with them.
“Here,” the blonde said, noticing. She went to the nightstand,
opened the top drawer, took out a little scissors. With her tongue in
the corner of her mouth, childishly extruding, she cut me free of the
awful rawhide. She inspected the red mark round my wrists where it had
bound me. Reaching into the drawer again, she took out a small jar of
vaseline. She applied it liberally to the marks. Then she turned me
round, bent me forward, and rubbed some where the women had pinched me.
“There,” she said. “I’d do your hiney hole too, but I don’t
want to get shit on my hands.” She already had a little, though, since
I wasn’t entirely clean in back, thanks to my fucking. She took a
kleenex from a decorative box on the nightstand and wiped her fingers.
“My job is to properly inculcate into you all the slavely
values. Sort of like the wifely values, only more submissive,” she
said. I stood before her, she facing me again. She spoke like a
teacher might. I felt like a child on its first day of school, or a dog
at obedience training. She found the wastecan by the nightstand and
tossed away the kleenex she’d used.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you get broken in,” she assured me.
“I’ll guide you through the whole process. When you’re done you’ll know
exactly how to behave as a slave, for any man you please.” She glanced
quickly over her shoulder. “Don’t tell master I said that last bit,”
she added, in confidence. “New girls aren’t supposed to know that they
can leave when we’re done with them.”
“What if I want to leave now?” I asked.
“Bit late, don’t you think?” she said. “Why did you come if
you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked down at my toes. I wiggled
them. I liked how they wiggled freely, freer than me. I doubted master
would ever think to restrain my toes.
“Well, you’re going to have to work to keep master’s eyes on
you,” the blonde told me. “And by the way, my name’s Rachel. You’re
Barbi, right?” I nodded.
Rachel ran a hand over my belly. “Are you pregnant, Barbi?” I
shook my head ‘no.’ “Good. There are some birth control pills in the
nightstand. I’ll make sure you get one every day, master’s orders. If
he got you with child he’d feel compelled to keep you, and we wouldn’t
want that, would we?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” I blushed.
“Well, I would,” she replied. “We’re all a little selfish
about master here, tell the truth, and greatly resent any new females
cutting in. But master is master, and we must obey his proclivities.
He says as long as girls like him, he’s going to train them. When he’s
old he’ll quit, he says, but not until then. So you’ll just have to put
up with me and I with you, and Tara, and Jasmine, and all the rest who
catch master’s eye.” She slapped me, hard, suddenly, right across the
face. My ears rang. I gaped at her.
“Just to let you know I hate you,” Rachel spat at me. “However
much I kiss you, and look after you, and no matter how many times I
comfort you, I want you to know we all hate you for stealing master from
us, even for a minute.”
I began to sob. I’d been through too much. “There, there,”
Rachel said, as if sorry for hurting a friend who’d just dropped her
favorite toy. She kissed the top of my head, my face bowed down,
mother-like. “I won’t slap you again, none of us will, without
permission. But that was from me, and Tara, and Jasmine. You should
know that we covet master more than ourselves. That’s why we became his
slaves.”
I lifted my head. My eyes were full of tears. “I’m sorry!” I
wept. “Just call the limo. I’ll go right now!”
“Be quiet, silly!” Rachel said to me. She touched a finger to
my chin and lifted it. “What do you think would happen to ME if you
disappeared? You should not complain at all. When I arrived, just last
month, Jasmine showed her contempt for me by beating me with a riding
crop. Master put a stop to that. I got to beat her back the next day,
as a new slave, not trained or anything.”
I snuffled. She put a finger to my nose. “Quit snuffling,”
she said, as if to a pet cat that was meowing too much. “You’re my
first. I expect you to behave. I don’t want to get in trouble by not
teaching you properly. Whatever I say, you must do it at once. Do you
understand?” I must have been slow responding, for the next thing I
knew, she was pinching my right nipple.
“Ooowww!” I howled.
“Say ‘I love you, Rachel,’” she ordered me.
“I love master,” I answered. She twisted my nipple more. In
revenge I grabbed her tit, found no bra underneath the stiffness of her
starched blouse.
“Yeeeow!” Rachel yelped. I found her nipple, erect with her
youthfulness. I pinched it hard twixt my nails.
“You bitch!” Rachel cried. She grabbed my hair, pulled on it.
I ripped open her blouse with my free hand.
“Oh my God! If master sees this.... If Tara, even!” Rachel
yelled, fright in her voice. She swung her hand, without aim, struck my
nearest boob, sending both into wild wiggles. I yanked down her skirt.
Then, laughing, manic in my sudden freedom, I retreated to the bed and
leapt upon it. I grabbed up a pillow for my defense and, looking down,
saw that she wore no panties. Her blouse was cut short and left her
pubis bare. I stared at her and laughed, saw by the cut of the shirt
that she must be just as naked behind. Her jacket, its tail shortened,
gave her no more protection than her abbreviated blouse.
“Why, you! You’ve ruined my place as teacher!” Rachel said.
There was a pillow remaining on the bed and she grabbed it.
Suddenly the door to our room opened. Rachel turned her face,
seeing as I did the huge figure in the doorway.
“Master!” we both cried. For a moment we stood spellbound as
he regarded us. Myself, cut loose from my wrist rope, perhaps without
his permission, standing nude on the bed with my pillow upraised to
defend myself. And Rachel, flunking surely as a newly appointed
teacher, with her blouse ripped open and her skirt down round her knees,
one leg just lifted up, planting a foot on the bed so she could get up
on it to fight me.
Master stood calmly, cooly, his face shadowed by the lit
hallway at his back. In his hands he held a strap, his own belt, looped
double. He still wore his fine suit that he’d met me in earlier.
“Girls,” he said, his voice deep, commanding. “There will be some extra
training for you both. Right now, though, I want you both to settle
down. I’m entertaining some guests upstairs. It’s a good thing I was
getting a book from the library when I heard you. If I’d had to come
all the way downstairs, and I’m sure I would have from the noise you
were making, there would be a demotion in store for you, Rachel. And
Barbi, you wouldn’t be getting the good night’s sleep I’m sure you need
for the all the things I have planned for you tomorrow.”
“We’ll be good, master!” Rachel said hastily.
“Hmmm,” master said, smacking his lips. He sounded as if he
were sucking on a lozenge. “And you, Barbi? Can you contain yourself
until I have time for you tomorrow?”
“Yes, master,” I answered, full of love and admiration for
him. He was so tall, so eerily handsome. A woman appeared suddenly
beside him. A woman I had not seen before. Nor Rachel, from the look
on her face. She was ravishingly dressed in a daring, full-length party
gown. It sparkled with sequins. She held a drink, delicately balanced.
“Are these your little playmates?” she asked. I felt suddenly
mortified. Rachel seemed to share my humiliation.
“My naughty playmates,” he answered. “Behaving like little
girls in here.”
“Why don’t you let me handle them for you?” the woman asked.
Snakelike, her fingers stole onto master’s belt.
“Alright,” he agreed, to Rachel and my shared horror. She took
the belt. Another woman appeared behind her.
“Oh, good! Something funny’s about to happen! Look, dear!”
the woman proclaimed. A man appeared. Middle-aged, not particularly
handsome. Someone I wouldn’t say two words to in the street.
Our tormentress advanced. “Kneel down, girls,” she said. “On
the floor, please. Each of you put your pillow under your knees. I
know how much your master values you.” Trembling, our eyes agape,
Rachel and I dropped to our knees beside the bed. I felt like a mounted
boar’s head, my knees atop the big pillow I’d been holding. It kept
them protected from the room’s hard wooden floor. “Faces on the bed,”
the woman commanded.
“Please, master!” Rachel begged, but put her face flat on the
bed just as quickly as I. There was no telling what might happen if we
didn’t obey. I had already learned the value of quick obedience here.
“Legs apart a little more, girls,” the woman told us. We pushed our
knees out from each other until they were at either end of our pillows.
“Such nice little sexes,” the woman said, bending to admire our
proffered pouches. The other guests advanced, bent low, admired us. I
grabbed the coverlet of the bed and held tight. With my teeth I bit
into it. I saw Rachel doing the same. Suddenly she blanched. Someone
had doused her bottom with a drink!
“Hurts more wet, dear,” the unknown man’s voice said. It was
him who had done it! His wife, no better looking than he, splashed my
ass with alcohol. I flinched at the slight sting.
WHAAAP! came suddenly, making Rachel cry out as the strap hit
her hard across her offered peach. I knew the scent of fear, wished I
at least had her blouse, her jacket, short as they were, her skirt too,
though it banded uselessly round her knees.
SWWWWAP! I jerked as my own bottom bounced under the lash.
“That’s all,” master said. He retrieved the belt. For a
moment Rachel and I just stared at one another, expecting worse. I
heard the guests exit.
“Utter trollops,” I heard the unattractive woman say. “For the
life of me, Shaftsbury, I haven’t the least idea why you keep them.”
“For amusement,” our master answered, which made me feel as
uncomfortable as my bottom.
Rachel stood, a little unsteady. I rose up also, to get away
from the belt, if nothing else. Ruefully we each took hold of our
bottom cheeks. Master looked down at us expectantly.
“Thank you for sparing us, master,” Rachel offered. She rose
on her tip-toes and he bent down and accepted a kiss from her. “Thank
you,” I said in turn, honoring him with a kiss of my own, right on his
lips, tasting Rachel’s lipstick.
“If I hear either of you again it will be a different story,”
he told us. “You’re only being spared because I’ve got other things to
attend to.” We both nodded obediently. “Tomorrow your training will
start,” he told me. “Don’t expect it to be easy.” I said nothing. I
lowered my eyes. He caught me by the chin and lifted it. “Do you love
me?” he asked.
“Yes, master,” I answered. “With all my heart.” He grabbed me
by the back of my neck, a handful of my long hair spilling within and
over his hand, and bent me right over until I was face-to-face with my
knees.
WHACK! His free palm scorched my bottom once, splatting across
both my cheeks.
“Yeeeow!” I cried, unhappily. I felt like a sack of potatoes,
except they weren’t known for having spankings.
“Yes, you’ve been very bad!” I heard next, and felt a patter of
female handslaps rain over my upended rear.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I yelped, glad though, that Rachel’s hand had
replaced master’s. He let go and before I could stand he took Rachel,
her dress still at her knees, and bent her over and gave her the same
ear-shattering, bottom-splatting blow I’d had.
“Boo! Hoo! Hoo!” Rachel cried, clearly upset at receiving the
final humiliation. Master stomped from the room and closed the door
behind us.
“See what you’ve done?” Rachel asked me. We stood facing each
other, ruefully, rubbing our hineys like toon characters who’d just got
their bottoms burned. Hello Kitty, meet My Little Pony. Rachel shook
her proud ponytail, let go of her fanny, and bent and pulled up her
skirt. “You need to behave better,” she scolded me. I stood watching
as she buttoned back up the remnants of her shirt. Her boobies wiggled,
not sure they wanted to be encased in the starch again.
“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly abashed. I was less sorry than
selfish, though. I didn’t want her sharing in the spotlight master had
reserved for me. “Tell me what to do and I’ll just do it, no questions
asked.”
“Firstly, you are going to behave, or I’ll report you to Tara
and Jasmine. They have secret ways of making somebody wish she’d done
as she was told, ‘cause they’re part lesbians, not like you and me. Are
you a lessie?” she asked. There was an accusing tone in her voice.
“No,” I said. I looked down at my toes and wiggled them at
myself.
“And quit wiggling your toes!” Rachel scolded me. “That was
the start of our trouble last time. I should have stopped you the
minute I saw it!” I ceased my wrigglings. I kept my head down,
though. I wished master would return, and do whatever he had planned
for me. I did not like waiting for it. It made it worse, waiting. I
guessed he knew that. Would I win him with my performance? Would I
make him all my own? If I did, I’d send Rachel and Tara and Jasmine
packing. This would be my house, and we’d move it to Rio, or the North
Pole perhaps, where I’d keep master penned up in an igloo and put and
end to his wayward ways. I’d tame him, I would! Please him and tame
him in my pleasing of him. Until he could never think of being with
anyone else ever again.
“...time for your bath,” I heard Rachel telling me. “Come this
way. I drew it an hour ago, I guess it was, thanks to your getting us
in trouble. I put in bubbles and everything, but they’re probably gone
now. We’ll have to make a whole new one!” She marched me from the
room, ahead of her. We went down the hall, around the corner, and into
a small bathroom. Rachel shut the door. She bent over, felt the
temperature of the water with her hand.
“Yep!” she announced with disgust. “All gone cold. I should
make you wash in it anyway. Drain it out and fill it up again, young
lady! Hop to it!”
No sooner had she issued her order than Rachel hiked up her
skirt and sat herself down on the potty. “I’m glad our punishment
didn’t last any longer,” she proclaimed. I heard a splashing sound. “I
drank too much at dinner. Cranberry juice. My favorite, but it makes
me pee.”
“I need to go too,” I said.
“Take care of the tub first,” Rachel ordered.
“Okay,” I answered. Conscious of my bottom, not wanting to
moon her, I bent my knees to get my hand down into the water and the
drain at its base. I lifted the drain and the water began to recede.
“We’ll be using a scrub brush,” Rachel said, wiping herself.
“And I’ll be doing the scrubbing, to make sure you get totally clean.”
I saw the brush, lifted it. It was long-handled. I ran my fingers over
its prickly business-end.
“Don’t do my nipples with it,” I begged. I could just see her
scrubbing her heart out, and my titties were as stiff as cherry stems.
They felt utterly sensitive.
“I’ll be doing all parts of you, it’s my job,” Rachel said,
standing up and pulling up her skirt. Her blouse looked silly the way
it was half torn, half-buttoned, missing a button in the middle so the
inner curves of her breasts showed. I saw she had little peaks of her
own beneath the conservative shirt.
“If you do well as a slave you’ll become a teacher, like me!”
she said. She walked over to me, took the brush from my hands. “Get
in,” she admonished. She put a hand to my rear and I stepped into the
tub. I did not like being a slave to her. It seemed too childish. I
wished Tara would return.
Suddenly the bathroom door opened. Rachel turned. I heard her
gulp. Was master reading my mind? It was the woman with the sequined
dress. She had a severe, uncompromising look about her. With predatory
eyes she regarded me. She was wearing her very expensive gown, as she
had when she spanked the both of us with master’s strap. “I’ll be
seeing to Barbi’s bath, and yours,” she said to Rachel.
“Mine?!” Rachel asked, aghast. Quietly the woman closed the
bathroom door and came over to us. She moved with a slow, quiet grace.
She was older than both of us. Late 20’s, perhaps, early 30’s. “Get in
the tub,” she told Rachel.
“But I--” Rachel began. The next thing I knew she was
splashing beside me, fully dressed in her uniform. Both of us stood as
the last of the water drained with a snarl from the tub. “But these are
my new shoes!” Rachel cried. She did not like getting them wet.
“Master gave them to you, and you’ve not worn them at all,” the
woman replied. “I should hardly think they’re too dirty to take a swim
in the tub!”
“But they’re not meant for swimming!” Rachel moaned.
“Now they are,” the woman replied. “Bend over and plug the
drain. Start the water, Barbi. I obeyed, turning on the water as
Rachel bent low to stopper the drain.
“Hey! Don’t get my hair wet!” Rachel cried. I loosed the
water and she just barely managed to get her precious dangling ponytail
out of the way.
“Both of you, sit down!” our new Mistress of the Bath told us.
“But I’ve--” Rachel began.
The woman lifted the back of Rachel’s skirt and whacked her
bottom with the scrub brush. “Not another word, young lady! It’s bath
time!” Thus encouraged, we both plopped down into the water without
further protest. I might have squatted on my heels, but given her
demeanor, I sat right down on my fanny, and poor Rachel did too.
“It’s no fun taking a bath in my clothes,” Rachel griped. “I’M
supposed to be the teacher!”
“Well now I am,” the woman replied. “But you may simply call
me Anna.” Something about her casual use of her first name did not calm
my fear of her. I felt like we were little animals, pets, like the toy
doggies women sometimes keep for their amusement.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said hopefully, thinking I
might be dismissed from the tub.
“Stand up then, dear,” Anna said. I did so, lifted my knee to
surmount the tub wall. Anna caught it with her hand. “No dear,” she
said. She sprinkled powder from a box of Mr. Bubble into the rapidly
filling tub. “Stand over Rachel.” I turned. She guided me with a
gentle hand, pressing against my fanny. I could feel her long nails
indenting my flesh there. It felt like she could tear my skin open at
any moment. “Straddle Rachel, one leg on either side of her.” I did as
she said, placing my palms atop Rachel’s head so I could get her face
twixt my thighs.
“Now pee,” Anna told me.
“What?!” Rachel shouted. I’d been through so much, I had to
laugh. Quickly, before Rachel could escape, and having to go quite
badly, I let go of myself. My pee spritzed down as Rachel turned her
face up to confront the awful truth that was inexplicably pouring from
me. “ACKCCK!” Rachel cried, too stunned to move, as my pee hit her
directly in the face and even spouted into her gaping mouth. “No! No!
No!” poor Rachel protested. I grabbed her ponytail and lifted it to
keep her in place, tugging on it warningly. She sat immobile as my pee
drizzled down all over her hair, her face, and onto her expensive
schoolclothes, with their embroidered letter. She’d won it
cheerleading, I guessed, but now it was all wet with my pee!
“Ha! Ha!” I giggled, unable to help myself. I restrained her
by her ponytail until I was done. Anna gave me a friendly slap on my
bottom.
“Naughty girl!” she said. “But showing such promise. Rachel,
get out of your things this minute! How silly of you to take your bath
that way!”
“But you told meee,” Rachel whined, very sad indeed, most of
all from the humiliation she’d endured at our hands.
“It’s what you get for flunking Teacher 101,” Anna replied.
Rachel removed her pee-sodden clothes and tossed them sulkily out of the
tub. I remained standing for Anna as she scrubbed me gently with the
brush. She wet me with her hands first, using handfuls of water,
savoring the touch of my wettening flesh in her fingers. She fondled my
nipples as if they were little penises. Instinctively I thrust my cunt
out at her, hoping for the same down where my thighs met, in my most
secret place. Rachel, still pouting, picked up a rubber ducky and
sailed it around and between my legs as she waited to be washed in
turn. We were Anna’s children, it seemed. She was our mother, elegant
in her sequined gown, getting a little water on it as she washed me, her
hands becoming soapy as she worked the bar of lavender-scented soap over
me. Eventually Rachel and I were both sparkling clean and we rinsed
under bucketfuls of water, not allowed to sit, each of us taking turns
with a little brass bucket that sat waiting for us to use it along the
side of the tub. Pillows and soft towels were at the back of the
bathtub, where there was a space large enough for Rachel and I to sit,
side by side. Anna put both of us there, made us open our legs, and got
in the tub after she’d drained it. She cast a towel over the tub floor,
knelt upon it, and trimmed our pubic hair. Then she painted our
toenails and fingernails with a light red polish. Finally she redid our
makeup, careful to use only the waterproof kind.
“Now to bed, both of you!” she said. We clambered off our cozy
perch at the back of the tub, over its side, and out onto the floor, all
legs and arms, like newly-birthed gazelles, awkward and tingling. I
never felt so cared for. Anna ushered us both from the bathroom and
back to our bedroom. The bed was newly made, with a ruffled coverlet
and fresh pillows, nicely straightened. Anna opened the dresser’s top
drawer and handed each of us a pair of warm socks to sleep in. Standing
before her, we bent and pulled on the socks. Our breasts waggled in
their ripe fullness as we worked the socks over our feet. I had a
sensuous feeling. Then she handed us each a short t-shirt, and we
slipped it over our heads. Mine came to just below my nipples, as did
Rachel’s. I was hoping for panties next, but Anna offered none.
“To bed,” she said, “but stand by the side of it for a
moment.” We obeyed, not really thinking, not really caring, enjoying
the sweet scents from our bath. We must have looked like twin sisters
as we stood admiring the neatness of the newly-made bed, a teddy bear
placed upon it, his eyes twinkling up at us, unseeing.
“Don’t you know how to stand?” she asked from behind. Rachel
and I, our hips bumping, stood stiff-legged, our thighs together. “No,
no, girls! If master were here he’d have your hides! Unless you’re
told otherwise, you’re to keep your legs well apart, especially if
you’re being admired from behind.”
“That’s a new rule,” Rachel mused. We parted our thighs a good
foot or more, just to make her happy, as if playing hopscotch or
Twister.
SWAAAACK! came suddenly, double-striking, across each of our
bottoms in rapid succession.
“Yahoooo!”
“Yehoooa!” twin screams of alarm rose up from our lungs as
Rachel and I got a fanny-full of master’s strap right on our asses. I
clapped my hands to mine even as she did to hers. My long hair swished
across my back, I rose up on tiptoe. Rachel gyrated her derriere in a
most unTeacherly fashion.
“To bed, young ladies, and let that be a warning of what I’ll
do if you misbehave in the slightest after I leave!” Anna pronounced
with all seriousness behind us. Rachel and I scrambled into bed. We
got ourselves under the covers, panties or no panties, and closed our
eyes quick as we could for Dreamland.
“Very good,” Anna said. She turned out our light. “No
fighting over the teddy bear, no sticking the pacifier in the nightstand
up each other’s ass, and no frigging! I expect to find two dry little
girls in the morning, fully refreshed from a long night’s sleep. I’ll
check your pussies thoroughly just to be sure, and there better not be
any love dew on them. In fact, girls, I’ll tickle you myself in the
morning, and you’d better wetten up for me as quick as newly opened
clams. And I swear to God, if the two of you wet the bed to piss me off
you’ll never sit again!”
With that exhortation, our Lady of the Night wished us
goodnight and closed our door.
“Oooh! She’s the worst mistress I’ve ever had!” Rachel swore
as soon as Anna had left.
“I mean it, girls!” she said suddenly, opening the door again
and popping her head in just to make sure we weren’t doing exactly what
we were. We both pretended to be asleep. She shut the door again.
“Don’t get us in trouble” I whispered.
“I’m not, snot!” Rachel replied. She fidgeted beside me. “Do
you want to?” she asked about a minute later.
“What?” I replied, actually trying to go to sleep myself, my
eyes firmly closed.
“You know, do it,” she answered. She felt for my pussy.
“No! You heard what she said!” I replied.
“Well, that’s just playing,” Rachel answered. “We can do it if
we want to.”
“I seriously doubt it,” I replied. I felt her bosoms against
mine. Her nipples were like thorns. They touched mine and sparks
seemed to flash between our points. Laughing reached our ears, directly
overhead.
“They’re partying. Wanna go spy on them?” Rachel asked.
“Nooo,” I answered. She rose, lifting the bedcovers with her,
letting in the cool air of the room.
“C’mon, we won’t get caught. I know how to do it,” she urged.
Before I could refuse she had me by the hand and was pulling me from the
bed. We tiptoed out, mischievously, leaving our cozy bed behind. I was
most ambivalent about our venture. But the laughing and partying did
pique my interest. And not a little jealousy. What was master up to,
with me in the house? How dare he not think of me every moment!
We snuck upstairs. There was a large ballroom on the second
floor, not big by the standards of a luxury liner, perhaps, but quite
huge for a brownstone. We slipped inside. Chandeliers dazzled
overhead. Quickly, naked but for our softly padding socks and our
little tees, we darted across to a couch and knelt behind it.
About a dozen guests were present. They had danced, had drank,
had eaten a fine meal, served by waiters in white-tailed tuxedoes. A
string quartet on a stage was playing, but behind a screen. A woman had
been placed upon a white linen bed, with a lace coverlet, in the center
of the dance floor. I stared at her, amazed at her and the bed, for
both seemed so out of place in a formal dining room. Arranged around
the dance floor were small round tables where the partiers had eaten.
“Just in time for dessert,” a woman was saying to the blonde on
the bed. The woman speaking was a redhead, and sat next to the
recumbent blonde. The redhead had her dress down around her waist, so
that, seated casually beside the blonde, her breasts hung freely. The
blonde, who I suddenly recognized as Anna, lay with her hips right on
the edge of the bed, so that her legs stretched down off the bed. Her
calves were draped over a small padded hassock. She kept them
straight. Her pumps were still on, but her cocktail dress had been
ripped open right down the front, so that now it lay tucked under her
hips on the bed, letting her pussy show, and under and alongside her
back, leaving her gorgeous breasts to rise unhindered in all their
ballooning glory upon her chest. They looked like two giant
marshmallows, cherry tipped by her nipples, which stood up proud and
free. With her every breath her breasts quivered expectantly.
“You will make the most memorable dessert, darling,” the redhead told
Anna, who was smiling and giggling just a little. “And since you
skipped dinner, you’ll be able to eat more of it than the rest of us,
although you might not want to.” The redhead had been plucking pink
rose petals from a long-stemmed rose and sprinkling them around Anna’s
face as a kind of decoration. She tossed the bare stem away and picked
up a can of Cool-Whip. She shook it, while Anna lay laughingly waiting,
her hair all curled and lovely as when I’d first seen it, prettier
perhaps, as if touched up at the last moment, before her placement upon
the bed. Her lipstick was perfect. The blush on her cheeks was just
the right shade. I mourned the loss of her pretty dress, but Anna
herself seemed oblivious to it.
The redhead, her own breasts hanging nakedly, bent forward over
Anna. Gently she applied her fingertip to the Cool-Whip’s snout. Cold
cream spurted forth. It layered itself in ringlets around Anna’s
nipples, guided by the redhead. Each stiff nipple was carefully avoided
until the final moment, when the redhead made a triumphant little
mountain of cream atop each one in turn. I felt like I was watching
some French cake decorating class.
“Wait, it’ll get even better,” Rachel said to me, our heads
peeking out over the top of the couch. Tara rose from a nearby table
and, swishing her dress very slinkily, competing with Anna for the
attention of the men, she walked up to the woman. With firm hands she
took Anna’s legs and spread them. She drew out the hassock and seated
herself on it. She pulled herself up to Anna’s pussy, which lay bare
and naked before her. The redhead passed her the Cool-Whip.
“All the right places must be decorated, especially such a
pretty pussy,” Tara told Anna. The blonde just giggled under Tara’s
gaze. The men all watched with baited breath. I noticed a sweet
contrast in the whiteness of Anna’s skin where her pubis lay and the
tanned expanse of her tummy and thighs. I knew the men loved it more
than I. How erotic it was, to see Anna with her panties removed, her
tan lines showing. I looked on the floor for her undies and saw them
lying there, they must have been hers, close to one of her heels,
forgotten now. There was a squirting sound and Anna blushed fiercely.
Cold whipped cream shot from the cannister and decorated her most
intimate place. There was a small round of applause. Was this Anna’s
first time? She’d seemed so self-assured with us. I glanced round at
the guests. I found Jasmine, the unattractive man and his wife, a few
others unknown to me. I wondered at the unattractive couple. They were
special, I supposed, friends of master because they controlled large
sums of money or had some elite status. Most of the guests were
breathtakingly beautiful, natural invites for a party like this one, but
there were always a few who managed to get in on other grounds. Again I
felt that strange, special feeling, of tasting forbidden fruits that
many never shared. Or shared only with their unattractive brethren,
like Susan Smith doing the adultery number in somebody’s spa in a
nowhere town with nowhere people. Here there were beauties of
distinction, myself included, and our games were better, I hoped. I was
with my kind. Models, actors, businessmen grave and handsome.
Rachel’s hip banged mine. I glared at her. “Sorry,” she
whispered. Suddenly I was acutely aware of the two of us, our
condition, kneeling behind this couch, our bottoms arching out, our
young cheeks split behind, showing our puckered holes. Older women
might kneel and be fleshy enough to keep their bottoms closed, but girls
like us didn’t have anything in behind to keep us modest. I blushed,
felt as embarrassed as Anna, though nobody could see me.
“And now, dear, the winning touch,” Tara announced. She took a
cucumber from a tray offered by a waiter who still attended on the
party. It was big and fat, and quite long. Tara held it up for
everyone to admire. Anna was red-cheeked. She waited, hands obediently
by her side, letting Tara use her. Tara took the cucumber and shoved
its end into Anna’s cream coated cunt. Anna gasped, knowing what must
be but still quite awed at its happening. I thought Tara would plunge
the cucumber all the way up but she didn’t. She let more than half of
it remain sticking out of Anna’s cunt. Rachel breathed in absolute awe
beside me as we stared at the cucumber, sweetly curving upward just like
a real cock, making Anna look very much like a well-hung boy.
“Open your mouth, dear,” the redhead told Anna. When she did,
a cherry was put between her flashing white teeth and she was told to
hold it there. A man stood up with a camera in his hands. He strode up
to Anna and took a flash picture of her. She was blushing fiercely all
the while, a girl on a first date with erotic desserts. Or maybe it
wasn’t her first time, I couldn’t know, but she blushed from her toes to
her cheeks, so sweetly, as if such an awful, silly thing could never
have passed through her beautiful head before. Idly now she ran her
thumbs across her flanks as she kept her hands immobile beside them. A
second cherry was placed in her navel and more pictures were taken. She
was urged to eat the cherry between her lips and, collecting the seed
and the stem from her mouth, the redhead offered Anna a stemless
strawberry. Anna held it in her teeth just like the cherry, letting
more pictures be taken of her, by other men, by a few of the women.
Slim cords were brought and one was looped around each of her wrists.
They seemed to be making up their game as the went along. The cords
were run down the outside of her flanks all the way to her ankles, where
each wrist was tied to each ankle, the left wrist to the left ankle, and
the right to the right, loops being made round each of her ankles just
for the purpose.
Thus tied, her legs well spread, her cucumber cock sticking up
lewd as any ninth-grader’s penis, Anna found herself fully decorated and
prepared. Jasmine approached with a small thin whip and spoke softly to
Anna.
“Please not too hard,” I thought I heard Anna mumble, though
there was a strawberry in her mouth which prevented her words from being
coherent. Decorum, I guessed, dictated that she not lose the berry, or
eat it up until permitted to.
“Ooofph!” Anna cried suddenly, as Jasmine brought the whip down
hard onto her lovely flat belly.
“It’s to see if she can hold in the Strawberry,” Rachel
whispered to me. I saw she was frigging herself between her legs,
freely, not minding that it might get her in trouble. I considered a
moment, decided I needed a little attention myself. I put my hand to my
puss and rubbed hesitantly, not really wanting to do what I knew I
couldn’t help. The scene was just too overwhelming, too powerful.
“Ooopfth! Opppgh! Ooomph!” Anna burfed into her strawberry,
clutching it madly twixt her polished teeth lest she get into further
trouble by dropping it. Jasmine’s switch tested her resolve as the whip
marked Anna’s soft white skin, daring even to lightly mark her breasts.
Tara, meanwhile, bent forward on the hassock and took the end of Anna’s
cucumber in her mouth. Orally she began fucking Anna, moving the
cucumber to and fro, controlling it only with her mouth just as Anna
strove to keep her strawberry properly placed in her lips.
“Ohh! Ohh!” I heard Anna moan, aroused by the moving
cucumber, and realized it was accompanied by little cries from Rachel,
beside me.
“Shhhh!” I scolded her.
“I can’t help it!” she answered, gritting her teeth.
“Quit playing with yourself!”
“You are!” she answered. Together we approached bliss under
our own guidance, enthralled by Anna’s luscious human desert, by the men
who were undressing now around her, their hairy butts and legs coming
into view as they prepared to give her some cream of their own. The
redhead plucked Anna’s strawberry from her mouth. I guessed, perhaps
she guessed as well, that a penis was to be put there instead.
“Here’s the topping!” the redhead proclaimed suddenly, and
brought a big lemon meringue pie suddenly down on Anna’s face. Anna
leapt up, her tummy rising, her breasts heaving. The pie pan was
removed and Anna was left with cake batter and lemon-flavored cream on
her face, laughing. I saw her pink tongue stick up through the cream
and lick away some of it, a little flag seemingly, a fleshy flag,
showing Anna was still alive down there under all that mortifying cream.
Jasmine tossed away her whip. She unzipped her gown and
stepped completely out of it. She got on the bed and she and the
redhead set about licking Anna’s nipples clean of cream. The men,
meanwhile, began massaging their organs, in preparation, I overheard,
for shooting sperm onto Anna’s nipples in place of the Cool-Whip. Tara
kept fucking Anna with the cucumber, still using her mouth, but going
deeper with it now, unrestrained by any desire to keep Anna looking
pretty.
Rachel, who must have been imagining herself fucked by the
cucumber as she watched, suddenly let out a small howl of pleasure. My
eyes darted to her, my own fingers guiltily rubbing myself. Other eyes
turned, those of the guests, and we were spotted!
“Yikes!” I cried, and I think Rachel did too, for we were
scared to death of being discovered. We were like naughty children,
spying on our parents, seeing things we were strictly forbidden from
even asking about. Anna might have been our mother, seeing how
thoroughly she’d subjugated us to her will. And yet now we witnessed
her own subjugation; bound, her face smeared with pie cream, her pussy
opened and filled and her nipples, newly wet and licked clean of cream,
about to be defiled with wads of male sperm. Rachel and I ducked behind
the couch, not looking now, our heads withdrawn, like Jacks squirreling
themselves back into their respective Boxes.
I was still so overwhelmed by what I’d seen that I couldn’t
stop tickling my clitty. Even as I heard the stern footfalls of a male
approaching, his polished shoes heavy and loud on the polished wooden
floor, I couldn’t stop frigging myself; nor could Rachel. Suddenly
master appeared, wearing a fine silk suit, looking like a million
dollars. Rachel and I, crouching, pouting for forgiveness, looked up at
him like frightened hares, our knees awkwardly open, our fingers
pleasuring our clits even as we tried to look like good little girls
waiting for a ride to Sunday School.
“Get up!” master said. It was then I noticed he was unzipped.
His schlong, as fresh as his new suit, swung in semi-erection between
his legs. A woman’s lipstick adorned the head, and I knew at once
Rachel and I had interrupted some delicious pleasure he’d just been
embarking on.
“Oh, please!” Rachel blurted, as we stood and master took each
of us roughly by the ear, finding hers easily, because of her ponytail,
fumbling for mine beneath my wealth of blonde hair. He walked with us
toward the guests. We approached in our naughtily abbreviated tees, our
nipples wiggling beneath the sheared fabric. It performed an unwanted
peepshow for us, bouncing as our breasts bounced, covering our nipples
and then revealing them. Rachel and I had not even searched for panties
to cover ourselves, though we had the run of the house, until now. I
felt hugely embarrassed, realizing I was showing myself to these elegant
guests this way, captains of industry, society ladies, my muff bare and
my chest all but uncovered, nude except for my warm little socks that
were as pink as my cunny.
The redhead and Jasmine stared at me, whipped cream on their
noses, their lips. I felt awful for interrupting their private
pleasure. Tara, her mouth still gorged on the cucumber, stared at us
sideways. Anna blinked and opened her eyes, wriggled her wrists as if
to get free, flexed her forced open thighs against the intrusion of the
monstrous fake organ that split her so well. There was a general
bustling, as if the interrupted party might suddenly end.
Tara lifted her wet mouth from the cucumber. She smacked her
lips. Did the cucumber taste good? I doubted it. She probably felt
the greenness of it suddenly, the vegetable quality, the spell broken,
dashed. Anna looked as if she were no longer so happy at being made
into dessert. Was the cucumber, in this new harsh light of discovered
reality, this plunge back to normalcy, a newly realized discomfort? It
was huge, it must have filled her beyond what she’d expected, did its
rending nature now make her desperate to be rid of it? Tara placed a
finger on the cucumber’s tip, even as Anna struggled to sit up. ‘Not
yet,’ Tara’s finger seemed to say. The redhead touched a hand to Anna’s
shoulder to keep her lying in place.
“I’m sorry, I can’t wait,” the unattractive man said bruskly.
He and his male partner, who looked vastly better than he but seemed
equally frantic, advanced upon Anna, placed one knee on the bed and,
drawing close, spurted his load with quick-fisted strokes onto one each,
respectively, of Anna’s nipples. She watched, aghast, as indeed were
the others. For long moments all stood immobile, even Rachel and myself
and master, watching as the long-shooting spurts of male seed pulsed out
onto Anna’s breasts.
At last the unattractive man withdrew. His partner remained,
stayed by a scissored touch of Jasmine’s fingers upon his cock. He was
young, perhaps no more than 20, and his hardness remained, though the
stiffness of his organ might have slackened just a little, in
satisfaction. Jasmine saw he might be useful again and restrained him
with her two fingers, strangely looking as if she might, were they
sharp, cut his cock off and keep it forever for herself. Jasmine
Scissorhands, she fancied herself perhaps. The effect was the same, the
young man remained just as she bid him too, his quivering cock near to
the breast he’d made his deposit upon, perhaps already dreaming of
making a second.
“We must go, Shaftsbury,” the unattractive man’s equally
unattractive wife said. She hoisted her husband’s pants up over his
hairy arse, he zipped himself, snapped shut his pants, but was not given
time to buckle his belt. His wife, restoring her dress, picked up her
purse and took his hand. Together they hustled themselves from the
room, all eyes momentarily following them. Another couple, much better
looking, also rose and left. There were less of us now, though Rachel
and I had just added two more pussies to the mix, to the resentment, I
was sure, of the remaining women.
“Lick Anna’s breasts clean!” master commanded, and threw Rachel
and I toward the bed. Stumbling into it, we kneed our way up onto the
sheets and stared at the product of male hubris that besmeared Anna’s
teats.
“Ewwww, yuck!” I cried, for it was I who had been given the
unattractive man’s sperm. Rachel, with a glance at the young donor of
her feast, decided to get about licking lest she get one on her bottom.
Master withdrew his belt to persuade me.
“He is clean, free of disease,” master said of our departed
guest. “I do not wish to see good male sperm go to waste. Lap it up,
Barbi. You are my slave now and will do as I say.” He snapped the belt
through the air once, nearly hitting me, making my bottom flinch
forward, putting me even closer to the disgusting sperm-residue that
awaited me.
I felt a light touch in the small of my back. Bashfully I
turned and saw the redhead woman staring at me. She let her eyelids
flutter. Her smile was delicate. I felt the pricking of her nails down
by my tailbone. “Hi, I’m Sonja,” she said to me with quiet grace. A
strand of hair fell over one of her eyes, she brushed it back. Her full
bosoms jiggled above the still-modest wrapping of her dress about her
waist. “And you’re...?”
“Barbi,” I mouthed.
Her fingers flitted to my head. “Welcome to the party, Barbi,”
she said sweetly, and then pushed my head firmly down toward Anna’s
nearest breast. A moment later my lips were in the man’s seed, and I
was kissing Anna, trying to forget the horrid sperm as I placed
tongue-lapping kisses upon Anna’s breast.
For a few soft moments there was only the sound of Rachel and
I, tongues lapping, eating up the male stuff that Anna had so graciously
permitted to adorn her person. Anna herself, her hands still tied,
began once again to feel the mouth-fucking movements of Tara’s cucumber
in her puss. She sighed, squirmed a little, expressed a plea that she
be let up, was shushed by Jasmine and Sonja, who supervised all. When
Anna’s breasts were clean Rachel and I were allowed to lift our heads.
We both looked at once at master, who stood still with belt in hand. My
face was besmirched with sperm, my lips glistening, as was Rachel’s.
“May I play with myself?” Rachel asked abruptly, her hand
darting between her thighs.
“No!” master answered, his penis stiff, showing off his
lipsticked male crest, as if displaying a trophy.
“Get up!” master said suddenly to Anna. She lifted her head,
looked at him with wide eyes. “You heard me, get up!”
All the females adopted a quizzical look. The males, though,
seated around us, smiled slyly, as if anticipating pure decadence.
Seeing as master was utterly serious, Sonja and Jasmine lifted Anna’s
small shoulders, helping her, as Tara scooted back her chair to get out
of the way. She meant to take the cucumber with her, but master ordered
her to leave it embedded.
Shocked, shivering, Anna rose as best she could from the bed.
Standing, she found she could just straighten her back, which was
fortunate, given that her wrists were bound by long cords to her
ankles. From her left wrist a cord of rawhide ran down to her left
ankle. From her right wrist, the same, a cord running down to her right
ankle, each of them taut now, giving her no more room. She could not
lift her hands to pat her tummy or scratch her nose, though she might
just have taken hold of the cucumber which protruded so naughtily from
her pussy. She did not, though, given how master glowered at her. It
was stuck well up, at least halfway, opening her as she’d never been
before, making her look like a boy with curly blonde hair, perhaps a
soprano in the choir, the testicles removed to make the voice high and
bright.
“Were you not instructed to bed these girls down?” master asked
Anna. I felt as if I might be watching a fight between parents.
“Yes,” Anna-mommie answered with lowered eyes to master-dad,
who clearly had the upper hand, what with Anna being bound and smeared
all over her face, ridiculously, with cream. Yet I saw his eyes flicker
over the sheen of her lovely untainted body, her breasts wet and bare,
her tummy smooth, her pussy still neatly set off by its whiteness,
showing where she wore her swim panties when she was outdoors, where the
sun was permitted to shine and where it wasn’t. Her cuntlips stretched
woefully far over the intruding cucumber, making her stand bow-legged,
her thighs apart to accommodate the now-unwanted intruder. She
trembled, her nipples hard and erect with female passion, yet her tummy
seemed to shudder at the thought of being punished.
“Turn her around,” master said to Sonja and Jasmine. They
leaned forward helpfully, not wanting to anger master, their breasts
hanging pendant, as if to offer him milk. Solicitously they took Anna
by her shoulders and turned her so that her back was displayed to
master, and her bottom. Anna whimpered. Master ordered her bent
forward onto the bed. “We’ll see how much you can hold today, Anna,”
master called to her. He took hold of her hiney and vented apart the
cheeks, showing her hole. His cock pressed up against it. He was big,
highly impressive, but I felt desperate for Anna, who could hardly want
any more in her than was already there.
Suddenly I was bent over, by a man who stood and made me his
own. I felt his eager hands split my cheeks (which, in their
youthfulness, hardly needed much to get them apart.) He stuck his
cockhead against my hiney hole and waited. I found my head next to
Anna’s, she turned her face to mine.
“Look what you’ve done!” she blurted to me. I felt very sorry
for her, even as I dreaded my own fate. I extended my tongue and licked
up a bit of whipped cream on the tip of her nose.
“I’m very sorry,” I said quite sincerely to her, as I felt the
impress of the man at my own back more fully, more urgently, his pee
slit finding a dark sanctuary within which it might burrow right up me.
He flexed apart my hinds, stretching my opening, pushed a little
deeper. But he was still waiting for master to begin the proceedings.
Opposite Anna, Rachel was similarly placed as myself, her hole exposed
and a man put to her rump to ream her.
All around us now I heard the sound of clothes being removed.
Two ladies who were not already engaged in the preparations for sex now
took off their gowns, relishing the sight and feel of their nudity in
front of others. I realized we were all strangers here, for master had
to ask Sonja her name. She told it to him, and he ordered her to get
her dress off.
“I want you to fuck my girlfriends Tara and Jasmine,” he told
her. “Get the biggest dildo you can find. There are some in the cake
there, the one we had not eaten yet. I guess it’s too late now.”
“You’re kidding,” Jasmine replied. I glanced at her,
gloriously naked. She turned and eyed Sonja. There was a small smile
on the redhead’s face.
“What’s your name?” Sonja asked Jasmine.
“Uh, Jasmine,” the blonde replied.
“Would you like--” Sonja put a hand to her mouth, blushed.
“Would you like me to bugger you, Jasmine?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Jasmine answered. Tara approached, took
Jasmine by the hair.
“My bottom’s not going to be sore because of your
disobedience,” Tara said quickly to Jasmine. The blonde glanced with
defeated eyes at master.
“If you insist, master,” Jasmine said sheepishly.
“Good, good,” master answered. The thought of seeing such a
lovely, proper-looking young woman buggared sent my lover’s cock jabbing
more deeply into my tight-squeezing sphincter. He didn’t have even his
cockhead into me yet, but he was flexing his hips, impulsively, his pee
slit just within, urging the knob of his manhood back and forth within
my just-opened rear, as I strove to keep myself completely closed, not
really wanting him, least of all there, where master had so recently
raped me.
“OOOH! Quit pressing your thing against my hiney!” I heard my
former instructress Rachel whine, obviously not the least pleased at
being put summarily over the edge of the bed and made ready for
buggering. Anna sighed into my mouth, feeling the pressure of master
against her arse, even as she struggled with the cucumber that stuck
intrusively out in front of her, banging and bumping against the bed,
for all the world like a real cock. Except that a man, finding his
hardness beneath him, would feel simply its extrusiveness, while she was
simultaneously being fucked by its indriving pressure, being split apart
by it, filled with it. It must have been awkward and steamy and
everything she could never imagined, being thus thrusting and
thrust-thru, suffering an impending assault simultaneously at her rear.
She could not have dreamed of such an agonizing result when she first
lay upon the bed to be made into a memorable dessert. Now, though, I
doubted anyone present would forget her fate. I tried to kiss her mouth
to console her. As I did so, I felt an impulse to spear her mouth with
my tongue, and I did, fucking her myself, orally, even as she was so
well-fucked in her other parts.
“Here comes the bride,” Sonja and Tara sang out as they came up
to the bed with the fateful white wedding cake. I did not know if this
was some reception gone awry or not. They settled onto the bed, holding
the big cake carefully. All were nude now, Sonja and Tara and Jasmine
the bride-to-be, as well as the young man beside her, the one who’d shot
off on Anna’s breast, yet remained pleasantly hard. I saw his penis was
regorged now, full of pulsating stiffness and probably on a hair trigger
from all the jiggling female flesh that pressed so near to him. The
girls and he lowered the cake onto the bed. “The first slice is for
you, Johnnie,” Sonja said lightly. “You’re going to get your butt
fucked just like Jasmine here.” Startled, he turned his head first to
Tara, then back to Sonja, finally to master.
“Ah, a clever idea,” master answered. His eyes met Tara’s.
“Alright, then, Tara, you can fuck Johnnie, and we’ll all be fucked and
fucking at one, then. You do make a fine-looking bride, Johnnie. I
hope you don’t mind bending over and showing us all your hole.” Johnnie
gulped. Jasmine turned to him and suddenly placed a kiss on his young
hairy chest.
“We’ll do it together,” she said to him, softly. “We’ll be
buggared together, side by side, man and wife.”
“But it’s our wedding night,” Johnnie said. “I don’t want to
be fucked on my wedding night!” He laughed then, nervously, and I
realized he was nobody’s groom, just a young man, unattached. They were
playing. I admired him for contributing to the spirit of it.
“Yes, it’s your bridal night, the two of you, Johnnie and
Jasmine, how sweet!” Tara said. She watched, the four of them sitting
in a semi-circle around the cake, which lay unsteadily upon the bed, as
Sonja delicately cut into the big triple-decker with a sharp carving
knife. Johnnie, nude as the rest, sat with wide eyes near Sonja, his
stiff cock wiggling as he watched the butcher knife slice so smoothly
through the massive cake.
“Don’t spurt, Johnnie, the cake’s white enough as it is,”
Jasmine reproached him, seeing how thick and hard and quivery his cock
was. Lightly she ran a hand across the top of his organ, hoping to
soothe it. Johnnie gulped and promised her he wouldn’t come on the
cake.
Sonja cut big pieces for all four of them and passed them
around, then served the guests from the bed, each of them coming forward
to take a slice. A piece was placed in front of my face and I drew it
close with my hands and bit into it. I felt crumbs fall onto the small
of my back as the man with his cock pressing into my hole received a
slice and ate it.
“Mmmm! Cake!” Rachel piped up. She asked to get up to be
allowed to eat it, but master told her ‘no.’
“Oh! I think I hit something!” Sonja smiled suddenly, her
mouth half-full with cake. She lifted her gobbling lips from the big
slice she was holding. I saw a cockhead protruding from the half-eaten
slice. It looked for all the world like a real penis, pink and
rubbery. Sonja displayed her find. It was admired. Others ate more
lustily, hoping to find treasure in their own large pieces of the
wedding cake.
“Ah, here’s uh, mine,” Johnnie said suddenly. He had found a
dildo within his piece. The girls broke into giggles.
“That’s yours, alright,” master announced. “Put it on, Tara.
You’ll do Johnnie with that.”
Proudly Tara took the cake from Johnnie and broke it open to
get at the big dildo that waited inside. I felt my own lover’s cock
surging impatiently against my rosehole. Anna gave a little gasp,
master’s poised organ pushing into her a little now, preparing for the
main assault.
“Oh please, let me finish my cake!” Rachel cried. I could not
see her but I guessed her lover was testing her even as Anna and I were
tried. We would be getting poked any minute now, with manly thrusts
that might rip us up inside if the men were not sensitive and careful.
I doubted they could be, so long had they to wait, and wished Sonja and
Tara would be quicker about getting into their fuck gear.
Her proud breasts jutting out in all their female splendor,
Sonja fitted herself into a cock-harness that had been thoughtfully
thrown upon the bed for her. First she placed the dildo within it, then
she put the harness on, as if girding for a horsey ride. As for
Jasmine, the horse, she was forced to help with her own rape by buckling
Sonja’s harness. It closed at the small of Sonja’s back, and Sonja
turned and presented her back and behind to Jasmine. With a look of
trepidation upon her face, Jasmine buckled Sonja’s harness. Then Sonja
turned to face Jasmine, and ordered her onto her knees.
“Doggie-style, so I can mount you,” Sonja commanded. With
uncertain eyes and trembling limbs, Jasmine complied.
“You seem as nervous as a virgin,” Sonja said to Jasmine. She
approached the girl and knelt behind her, the dildo poised for work,
stroking Jasmine’s hiney with her fingers to reassure her.
“I-I’ve never done this before,” Jasmine replied. She was at
least 22, perhaps older, yet she’d never been buggared in this way, she
said, and it scared her.
“What?” Tara asked. “You boasted to me that you’d taken huge
dildos up your backside!”
“That was only, only to keep you or master from dildoing me,”
Jasmine answered. “When I saw how huge some of his dildoes were, in his
cabinet downstairs, I decided to boast in the hopes of not getting
fucked that way.”
“Why you little bitch!” Tara said. Master laughed.
“I guess you’ve been outwitted out of a deflowering,” he said
to Tara, who looked like she clearly relished the lesbian tryst that was
about to take place beside her.
“Well, I still have Rachel and Barbi to put through their
paces,” Tara answered, sending a shiver down my spine. Tara made
Johnnie bend over, and was quickly helped into her cock-holster by
master, who leaned over Anna to fix her into it. With blushing cheeks,
his own cock stiff and huge, Johnnie watched. Tara came to him, stroked
his bottom a moment, and then oiled him with a tube of vaseline that was
now being passed around for all of us.
I heard a squirting sound as wet streaks of vaseline were
applied to my lover’s cock. I pushed my bottom back, impaling myself a
little on him, and he helpfully gave me a squirt right on my distended
hole, to ease his passage into me.
“We’re all set now,” Tara announced to master. She batted
Johnnie’s hand away from his cock and told him she would bring him off
herself at the appropriate time. “Until then, your cock remains
untouched, young man. You’ll cum when I say, not before. But your
asshole will be breached at my discretion, and right now!” A nod from
master had ordered her to begin.
I felt an indriving surge then, all-powerful, full and deep. I
gasped, could not breathe a moment. He was mad for me. Anna shrieked,
feeling master push into her already filled interior. Rachel squeaked
like a mouse being raped which, given her small size, was just about
exactly what was happening. She and I were twin mouses. We didn’t
belong here, I screamed to myself, as I felt my behind pillaged
remorselessly.
My lover eased his urgency a little, seeing me squirm so
desperately beneath him, but Anna bleated all the more desperately as
master thrust his cock into her hiney.
“Yes, yes, Anna!” I heard him gloat. “Do you remember being a
little girl, wondering what it would be like to have something inside
you? Now you are feeling it, really filled with it, you are nothing if
not a well-filled and fucked mare, your whole insides jammed full of
cock and fake cock, perhaps never to be set free, stuffed and hammered
and full right up to the brim!” He laughed, maniacally. Anna began
crying. I turned my face to hers, guessed she was simply crying from
the shocking completeness of it all, her pussy and bottom receiving all,
her girlish days gone forever. No more speculating under summer suns
and leafy trees, swinging on swings while watching for boys, clad in
small tight jeans, her hips narrow as her waist, her cherry intact and
her bottom untouched. Now she was female, fully formed, puffing and
yelping and desperately trying to receive all that was forced into her.
She had not given birth yet, not felt the true fullness of pregnancy and
baby birthing, but she was as full as any female could be save for
that. I shot my tongue into her mouth, to relieve my own awful need to
escape my fate. Together we bumped hips and breathed hotly, screaming
sometimes, as our lovers made us full-fledged women.
In the morning I was carried downstairs and returned to the bed
with Rachel. We slept all day, the sunlight softly filtering through
the curtains, oblivious, uncaring, our bottomholes well opened, a little
sore, feeling like well-used brothel girls. Not caring, we hugged the
teddy bear between us. That evening Anna, refreshed and merry, came and
rousted us. She made us bathe and got in the tub with us. We played a
long time, sailing the rubber ducky around the tub and between each
other’s legs. We made ports out of our pussies and nosed the duck’s
bill carefully home, docking it right where a man would most like to
place his penis. Anna had us suckle her teats.
“Darlings, I’m going to have to spank you both for being so
naughty last night,” she told us. “You should not have crashed the
party.” Rachel and I each sucked one of her nipples hopefully, thinking
we might dissuade Anna by enough lusty sucking between the two of us.
After our bath, though, she took us back to the bedroom, and sat down on
the edge of the bed, putting me over her lap first, face down. She
walloped my hiney with her bare hand. I cried. She did not stop until
she was sure I’d been well punished. Then she had me stand, and put
Rachel in my place. Clutching my red hiney, I watched with sniffling
nose and tear filled eyes as Rachel got her due. We were both taken to
dinner then. In the limo, riding with master, lying over his legs so
our bottoms would not have to sit. Arriving at a posh restaurant, we
ate standing beside master’s table, to the bewilderment of the other
guests. Perhaps a few, seeing me and Rachel shift nervously on our
feet, our lightly clad asses gyrating with seemingly needless little
circular motions, guessed at our fate. We wore short dresses and no
panties. When we returned home to master’s we were put straight to bed,
face down on our bellies, wearing only our bedtime socks and tees. Our
ankles were tied to the bed to prevent our getting up. We were warned
not to wet the bed.
“How can we help it, if we can’t get up to pee?” Rachel moaned.
“You will not be crashing any parties tonight, young ladies,”
Anna answered, master chuckling beside her. “You’ll just have to make
the best of it, I suppose. It’s your own fault for not obeying last
night.” She and master left then, and turned out the light.
“My bottom’s chilly,” Rachel whined. We were on the bed, with
no sheet over us, and it seemed strange to me that my hiney, so hot for
the past few hours, felt the need of a sheet.
“Well, my butt’s cold too, but I guess we’re stuck with it,” I
answered. “Better than being too hot, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, I catch cold sometimes if I don’t have something
over me,” Rachel answered.
“Well, don’t wet the bed, whatever you do,” I shot back. “Then
it would be really chilly, with a big pee stain under us.”
By morning we’d both peed, not able to hold it in. Anna came
and scolded us, put us both straight into the bath, like children, not
getting in with us this time. She made us wash ourselves, sat watching
us with stern eyes from the commode, where she made a little poop while
we bathed.
“You’re stinking up the whole bathroom,” Rachel complained to
Anna.
“Serves you right for getting me fucked both ways the other
night,” Anna answered.
Rachel was dismissed to the custody of master when we were done
with our bath. I was made to wait while Anna took a quick shower. I
sat on the toilet, the lid down, feeling the furry seat beneath my bare
bottom. When Anna was done she returned me to the bedroom I’d shared
with Rachel. The sheets, mysteriously, were clean and fresh again,
changed by unknown hands. Perhaps master had made Rachel do it.
“We must dress and go outside to pick some birch branches for
your first whipping here,” Anna told me frankly. She parted the
curtains of my bedroom and glanced out the window. “It’s raining a
little, we’ll wear bikinis. The birch trees are out front. We can’t go
nude, passersby would see us. Master’s reputation would be damaged if
nude girls were seen on his lawn. He’s most respectable in these parts,
despite his private parties.” She opened the dresser and rummaged
about. Bikinis were found for both her and myself. We picked out our
favorite colors. I tied mine on carefully, so as not to cause
embarrassment to master, worrying a little at the reason for our trip.
The bikinis were small, though not terribly so, not bedroom-small, but
still a little teenier than I think master would have approved of, if
he’d seen them. Perhaps it was Anna’s way of piquing him even as she
obeyed him.
We stepped outside in little black waterproof booties to
protect our feet from grass stains. We wore clear latex gloves to keep
our fingers from being bruised from the birch branches. Anna brought a
pair of garden clippers to cut off the branches we selected. The rain
felt cool upon my skin. Mist coiled amongst the trees. Beyond, on the
street, traffic flashed by. I was grateful for the mist, it concealed
us a little, though not enough for us to pass unnoticed. Quickly we
chose several branches amidst the drizzling boughs and sliced them off.
I tried to pick ones with as few buds as possible. Anna chose
well-budded ones, but let me include a few of my own.
“They sting most when they’re wet, you know,” she smiled at me.
“So I’ve heard,” I answered. I felt my bottomcheeks clench
within my little swimsuit. She patted my ass.
“You’ll think of nothing but your hiney soon,” she said. “All
night long you’ll think about it, agonize over it.”
“I don’t want to go through with this,” I gulped.
A car stopped on the street. Men got out, stood near their
car, wondering if they might meet us. Once, then again, they whistled
to us. Anna ignored them.
“Come,” she said, taking my hand. “We have enough for the
job.” She led me inside, my finger in my mouth, my footsteps trailing.
I knew I could not stay outside with the men. I had nothing, nothing
save my little bikini, and that belonged to master. In the bedroom she
toweled me off. She took off my panties and made me get up on the bed
and kneel with my face pressed into the pillows. She loosed my bra, so
that it hung from my neck like a bib, letting my titties wiggle freely,
unhidden, the bra cups useless in their dangling untied state.
“Isn’t master coming?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “Master is busy with Rachel, or gone
perhaps, taking her with him for the day. Tara and Jasmine are out
shopping. This is just between you and me, as part of your training.
I’m your teacher, you know.” She gave a practice stroke with the
branches, through the air. I listened to them whistle. A bow held them
together at one end, letting the other end splay freely, menacingly.
Anna’s bikini was still intact, wet but properly tied. It was as if
we’d stepped from the beach into a bathhouse, for some lesbian tryst.
“Bite the pillow if you need to,” Anna said to me. Then she whipped me,
harshly, each stroke like a swarm of bees upon me. It was worse because
no one was there, no male to watch me screaming and crying and
screeching into my hastily-bitten pillow. When she was done she
matter-of-factly got cream from the dresser and palpated it all over my
injured tush.
“I’ll tell master you’re properly behaved now,” she said at
last. She turned and left, giving me a bucket to pee in. She locked
the door. Much later someone slipped a sandwich, wrapped in cellophane,
under the door, along with a pan with water in it. Feeling sorry for
myself, hoping that master might somehow be watching me, I ate the
sandwich kneeling on the floor, with my blazing birch-streaked bottom
uplifted into the cool air. I lapped up the water like a doggie might.
More water was brought later, and I drank it upright the next time,
moving about my room more confidently, growing restless. I stood in
front of the mirror, with my back to it, and examined my damaged bottom
with a sense of pride. I’d survived master’s punishment. I’d been a
good girl and gotten what I’d deserved, even picked out the branches
myself. Some of them, anyway. I parted the cheeks and wondered what it
would be like to have master pick out a tattoo and put it on me. It
would make me mine forever, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t deny me then. I
gulped, wondering if that was really what I wanted. Or perhaps a brand,
a hot brand placed right on my bare bottom, by my hole, perhaps, where
no one could see it without being very intimate with me. I could go to
the beach, even wear a thong bikini maybe, and no one would know I
belonged to master, unless they stripped me and opened my asscrack and
looked inside. Then they would see it. That I was master’s. I bit my
lip and wondered how much it would hurt to get a brand.
There was to be a party. Master would not be present. He
wished to test our loyalty to him by giving us to other men, men we’d
never met before, men we might not even like once we did meet them.
Tara would play hostess. We had the house to ourselves, she and I and
Anna and Jasmine and Rachel. We were five, but the men would be at
least 15, outnumbering us by far. We did not know what sort of
permission he had given to them. All we knew was that, before he left,
master had all the various guns he kept in the house removed, and the
knives locked up in a kitchen drawer.
“You will do whatever the men ask,” master told us, as we stood
lined up before him one morning, the sun in the trees, the sky bright,
the house indoors pleasantly dark and confining, protecting. “And you
will never see them again. They are from Russia, they will not be back
this way again.”
He turned and left us then, all trembling and shivery and
unsure. Two vicious dogs were let loose in the yard, new dogs, dogs
we’d never fed and petted before. He took the limo with him, and had
our phone disconnected.
“Oh, God!” Tara said, when he’d gone. “We only have a little
time to prepare. The men will be here any minute!”
“Can’t we, like, escape?” Rachel asked. I stood with her,
holding hands. Master had wakened us, made us all bathe and perfume
ourselves, telling us nothing until just now. He’d had hors d'oeuvres
brought in by a catering company while we were bathing. We were nude
now, fresh and dry and clean, our skin tingling, with clothing laid out
for us in the parlor that we might quickly put on to prepare for the
men. There wasn’t much. Tara slipped into a sleeveless shift, cut low
in front and lower in back, that was bare along both sides. It was held
in place only by a network of stringy little chains that ran between its
two halves, keeping them together, the front half covering her torso,
the back half covering her back. The shift itself was a finely woven
net, easily torn, through which, peering closely, you could see her
large pink nipples. The multi-colored hues of the net itself were the
only thing that kept her nipples from being readily apparent. It was
variously colored purple, blue and yellow. The colors whorled across
the surface of the shift and seemed to make it glow with a life of its
own. Strands of fabric, narrow as pencils, hung below the base of the
shift, which was cut off just above Tara’s pussy, but near her waist,
along the side of her body. The shift hung lower along her opposite
leg, almost halfway down her thigh. The strands were no more than two
or three, offering her what little protection she could get from what I
guessed would be the leering gaze of the men. She was nervous, clad in
her too-short shift, her handful of dangling tassels catching her eye as
she looked down at herself. The shift, with its slit-open sides,
showing her breasts where they joined her body, gave her the look of a
truly alluring dinner guest, though it was but mid-morning. I imagined
her at some midnight party, her artfully slashed hem just hiding her
pussy, her shift in front molded to her breasts, while in back it was
cut low enough to show off the sensuous shape of her back. Her hips,
swaying as she walked, made the shift’s tassels jangle over the smooth
flanks of her thighs. In back the shift’s hem crossed over her right
bottomcheek, boldly exposing it, then dipped just low enough to cover
the place where her legs joined, and descended further after that to
cover part of her left thigh, a foolish but tempting use of what little
fabric the shift-maker had been given to work with. Here and there,
artfully, inexplicably, bits of decoration adorned the shift, a
vee-shaped collection of ribbons, a trio of little chains that hung for
no purpose or reason along one section of her ribs, and lastly, a piece
of extra fabric, cut from the same fabric as the shift, attached so that
it flapped down over one of her nipples, covering it so that it was more
difficult to see. It was wide as a belt, no more than a few inches
long, and seemed there only to frustrate the viewer. One nipple could
be seen, if the shift was admired at close range, yet the other, covered
by this second bit of pointless fabric, remained hidden. I supposed the
effect would be to make the men yearn even more to tear off the
frustrating shift and make Tara utterly, completely nude, instead of
almost nude in her teasing, taunting shift.
As for myself, I wore white cotton panties, but they’d been
pre-torn, made ragged by the tearing of nails. Master had ordered the
girls some time ago to “tear up a pair of panties for me,” and, seeing
that they were panties for a young girl, Tara and Jasmine had set to
them with a vengeance. All I was left with, now that I was fated to
wear them, was a small patch of fabric where my pussy hair grew, and a
slender tendril of cotton running up the back of my ass, just barely
hiding my ass crack. I felt mortified to wear them, especially with
company coming, but I was offered no other choice. Like Tara, I wore
truly elegant shoes, all shiny and gold, with fine long spiked heels
that made me wobble a little when I first put them on and tried to walk
in them. I covered my breasts with my long hair, glad that I had not
cut it. Master gave me diamond bracelets for my wrists that looked
real, but weren’t, and a diamond anklet. I had earrings to match,
hidden in my hair.
Jasmine looked perfect in a neat little bikini, as if fresh
from the pool, except she was as laden with diamond jewelry as I was.
If you looked closely, you could see that the pouch for her pussy had
been inexplicably cut away, leaving a gap in her panties. Above, her
bra cups were too small for her boobs, pressing against them rather than
cupping them as they should. Underneath and on either side of each cup
her breast-flesh bulged out, trying to break free of the senseless bra.
She fidgeted with the cups, hoping to keep them in place.
“I’ll bet they make me do jumping jacks,” she said to me
ruefully.
“And leg lifts,” I replied. We shared a smile. Master was so
wicked! How dare he leave us here with unknown men coming, complete
strangers? I found that my nipples were hard, though, just from the
thought of it. Jasmine’s were too, making seductive little points in
the nothing cups of her bra.
“We should not go through with this,” Jasmine warned me.
“I’ll put you in charge of befriending the dogs,” I replied.
“Those darned men! If they pull up close to the house they’ll
be able to get to the door from the car without being bothered by the
dogs,” Jasmine cursed. “If I could call a cab I’d be splitting!”
“You’ll be splitting,” Tara said, glancing at her bikini
bottoms. “Looks like you’ve already split, to me.”
“Isn’t there any way we can get out of this?” I asked Tara, a
pleading look in my eyes.
“No, so forget about it,” Tara answered. She touched a tube of
lipstick to her lips, glanced at her nails. “Your hair should be
perfect,” she said to us. “Hair, nails, the whole bit. Let’s not
disappoint these men or we’ll disappoint master.”
“Oh, I don’t like master sometimes,” Anna sighed. She sat in a
reflective pose on the edge of a stuffed chair. I smiled at her.
“I wonder which one they’ll like the most?” I asked. “Of us, I
mean?”
“If they like big boobs, attractively displayed, it’ll be me,”
Anna replied with a sigh laced with a smile. She wore a tight corset
that pushed up her breasts but left them conveniently bare for the men.
Her hair was not long enough to cover them, and I saw that her hands
flitted across her nipples, absently, as if to protect them from harm.
Nonetheless, her teats on her uplifted breasts were stiff, expectant.
Her corset was so tight that her breath came in wispy gasps, as master
ordered it must. Her pubis was covered by a small skirt. It swished
when she walked, wearing black leather booties and matching gloves.
“What do I wear underneath?” Anna asked, tugging on her skirt,
glancing at Tara.
“Do you see anything laid out for you?” Tara asked.
“No,” Anna answered. “Could I sneak on a pair of panties?”
“Everything’s locked up, dear, I already tried,” Tara
answered.
“We’re prisoners in our own house!” Rachel blurted.
“It’s master’s house,” Tara replied. She bent and brushed back
her hair, inspected her face in a hand-held mirror. “Get on your
things, dear! It will be too late in a minute!”
“But I feel ridiculous in this stuff!” Rachel whined. She had
been given a fireman’s hat, rubber boots, and rubber gloves, nothing
more. “I like the squirtgun, though!” She had gotten a toy to go with
her clothes, laid out for her by master. She shot a bit of water out.
“Hey!” I griped. “Don’t shoot my bottom.”
“Oh, alright. I’ll shoot the men instead,” she replied.
“They’ll stay away from me!” She lifted her gun skyward and shot at the
chandelier.
“Settle down, I think I hear them coming!” Tara scolded. I
heard an engine in the drive, approaching, stopping, shutting off.
“Oh, help!” Anna said in her whispery-voice.
“Shhh! Let me greet them!” Tara said.
Tara went to the door, her tassels swinging, the little
decorations on her shift rustling, her hips a fluid movement of
to-and-fro, jiggly in their womanly fullness, her long hair swaying
behind her like an invitation to any man. She opened the door and, as
she told me later, she blushed. Her white teeth showed between her
nervous lips as she tried to smile cheerily at the hulking group of men
who greeted her at the door. Shyly she lifted the front of her shift,
to show them they were at the right place by giving them a full,
unhindered glimpse of her pussy. No woman would do that for a group of
unknown men unless someone had pre-arranged the meeting. Satisfied,
both that they were at the right address and that they were not being
set up by some police sting for prospecting Johns, the men entered.
With forced cheerfulness Tara tried to keep her role as hostess over
them.
“Hello, guys. We were just playing dress-up, but I guess we’d
be remiss if we left hunks like you standing out in the cold,” she
smiled.
“Cut the crap,” a man, whom I never knew by name but who I
named Ivan, since he seemed the leader of these Russians, told her. A
little startled, Tara drew back. Then she tried again to regain control
by walking toward the rest of us, sitting in the living room, inviting
the men to follow, hoping the rest had a better disposition than Ivan.
“Stop right there,” Ivan said to Tara. He glanced around
suspiciously. “Squat down.” Tara, a little uncertain, squatted as best
she could in the middle of the carpet, striving to keep herself looking
the elegant hostess for them. “Lift up your dress in back, get it out
of the way,” Ivan told Tara. Still smiling, surprised and admiring his
ruthlessness a little, she obeyed, showing off her ass amidst the
handful of tassels that still dangled down. “Pee,” Ivan barked.
“What?!” Tara gasped. She tried to retain her smile.
“Right there, on your master’s rug. Pee like a dog.” Ivan had
a huge bulge in his pants, and I saw the other men were as aroused as
he. They surveyed us with lascivious eyes, waiting, though, for Ivan to
lead them.
“I-I don’t know if I can go,” Tara protested.
“Do it, do it now or I’ll punish you,” Ivan ordered.
Tara bit her lip, smiled to keep Ivan happy, concentrated a
moment. She kept her hands on her dress, lifting it up so it wouldn’t
be in the way. As far as possible she opened her thighs, letting her
cuntlips spread. Then she peed. A quick, spritzing yellow sprinkle
right into the deep softness of master’s expensive carpet. No pee
splashed. The carpet was too rich and deep. When she was done, Tara
rose. She walked to a table, drew a kleenex from a decorated china box,
and wiped herself between the legs.
“Do you want my kleenex?” Tara asked Ivan. He nodded. Slyly,
she walked over to him, and tucked her used kleenex into the
breastpocket of his coat.
“If you’re a cop, you’re a damn bold one,” Ivan told her. She
stood on tiptoe, briefly hooked her arms around his neck, and lightly
kissed him on the lips.
“I’m not a cop, okay?” Tara smiled. Then she turned, and
invited the men to join us in the parlor. She was in control again,
they were agog at her and at us. “Sit down, gentlemen,” she invited.
“Let’s get to know each other a little first. Would you like some wine,
some coffee?”
“Vodka,” Ivan ordered.
“Alright,” Tara said. She cast a quick glance at Anna.
“I’ll get it,” Anna offered. She went to the bar.
“Rachel, since you’re in charge of putting out fires, you can
light them, too. Offer to light the men’s cigars for them,” Tara
ordered.
“Okay,” Rachel replied. She rose in all her nude glory,
girlish and childish, and tromped in her yellow firegirl boots over to
Ivan. “Hi,” she said. She pointed her squirtgun at him. “Stick ‘em
up.”
“I see you’re armed and dangerous!” Ivan laughed, his voice
thickly Russian. He gazed at her boobs, her pussy. “In more ways than
one. How old are you?”
“Sixteen, pardner,” Rachel answered. She squirted Ivan’s big
nose. He winced.
“Just light my cigar, cherrybomb,” Ivan said, and tossed her
his lighter. It was made of Ivory, as forbidden as Rachel herself. The
girl caught it and lit a cigar Ivan produced. Then she pranced around
the room, lighting each man’s cigar in turn, and squirting him for good
measure. A few men unzipped themselves and she squirted through their
zippers into their underpants. Their cocks remained buried, waiting for
Ivan to allow them out. When Rachel was all done she begged leave to go
to the kitchen to refill her precious squirtgun. Tara made her use
champagne instead, handing her the bottle. If she left she might hide
and get us all in trouble if we couldn’t find her. The men were
enraptured with her.
“What happened to your panties?” a man sitting near me asked.
I had been made to settle into the lap of a burly man I named Stalin,
and he had me uncomfortably perched right on top of his prong. I
dreaded what would happen when Ivan let him take it out.
“It’s summer. Torn panties are cooler,” I answered Khrushchev,
Stalin’s seatmate on the couch.
“Easier for paddling too,” Stalin winked at Khrushchev. “You
don’t have to lower them or anything.”
Anna began passing drinks around, offering them on a silver
tray.
“Such a nice skirt,” Ivan admired. He reached out, fingered
the fabric. Anna blushed, knowing he might guess her secret. He did.
He lifted the skirt. “Ah, no panties,” Ivan admired. “How convenient
for fucking.”
“Behave yourselves, gentlemen,” Tara said, swishing over to
help Anna hand out drinks. She lifted them from Anna’s tray and handed
one to each man. Her tray quickly depleted, Anna went to the bar to get
more. Tara sat down in a chair of her own near Ivan. Her bare bottom
rested neatly on the cushion. She did not show more than a hint of
embarrassment as the lips of her pussy showed. I thought she might
cross her legs, but she didn’t. She kept her thighs close together, but
not tight pressed. Hunching forward a little, she placed her elbows on
her legs and rested her chin in her hands. She was every man’s dream;
model-perfect, 20-something elegance, her legs lightly open, casual.
Anna gave her a drink and she balanced it on her fingertips. She sipped
it, tossed her hair.
“What brings you men to such a faraway place as Argentina?”
Tara asked lightly. Anna finished handing out her drinks and went over
to Tara’s chair. Quietly she settled onto the hard wooden arm of the
chair, placing her palms beneath her soft bottom to protect it. Her big
bosoms wobbled atop her corset. She breathed in shallow breaths,
lifting her chin a little to accept more air, then finally bowing her
head to curl her finger in Tara’s raven-colored locks.
“We will come far to punish young females,” Ivan replied. He
spoke softly, but firmly, not harshly as he had earlier. Yet I sensed
there could be no disobeying his desires.
“You want to punish us?” Tara gasped. I shifted on my suitor’s
lap. He took my waist in his hands and held it tight.
“It is all part of the training your master has ordered,” Ivan
replied. Anna put a hand to her throat. I saw Tara swallow, the
muscles on the sides of her swan neck briefly flexing.
“Wh-what do you propose to do?” Tara asked.
“I don’t want to be punished, I haven’t been bad,” Rachel piped
up. She was playfully overturned on a man’s lap, her bottom up, her
titties hanging down. She twirled her squirtgun on her finger and
kicked her booted feet aimlessly behind her. Her gloves had been tossed
away, but she still had her fireman’s hat on. 911 was printed in big
gold letters on the front of it.
Ivan drew a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it.
He looked at Tara, at the paper. “You are--?” he asked.
“Tara,” she answered.
“You are to have your pussy pierced.” Ivan read in a cool,
emotionless tone.
“What?!” Tara shrieked. Her hand flew to her mouth. I saw her
bite into one of her fingers. For a moment she just stared, Ivan
staring back at her.
“Don’t worry, I’m a surgeon,” Ivan answered. “You will not be
harmed in any way, except, of course, that you will be pierced, a small
hole only, through the clitoral hood, because your master says you’re
the sexiest. For Jasmine, the piercing will be through the vulva.” He
glanced at Anna, watched her breasts a moment as they joggled in their
buoyant fullness atop the crest of her corset. “You must be Anna,” he
smiled. “I will be piercing your nipples, Anna.” The woman, my former
teacher, blanched.
“But I like my nipples!” she cried. She clapped her fingers to
them and twisted them lightly, feeling already, in her mind, the
sensation of having a needle put through them.
“So does your master,” Ivan answered.
Jasmine had sat in shock for a moment, seated like Tara in a
chair of her own, apart from the men, elegant, diffident. Now she
suddenly leapt up. Long legs flashing, she ran across the room to Ivan
and knelt down in front of him. Her hair tumbled over her face, down
her back, blonde as mine. “Please don’t pierce my sex!” she cried. Her
eyes brimmed with tears.
“If you fear it most, it must be done, my dear,” Ivan answered
her calmly.
“Will you use pain medicine?” Jasmine asked, her voice
quavering.
“No,” Ivan answered. “That would take all the fun out of it.”
Ivan looked at me next, sitting uncomfortably atop Stalin’s
very insistent bulge in his trousers.
“You will receive a test branding,” he said to me. “Within the
cheeks of your bottom, either side of your anus, just holding the brand
a second to your skin to see what it will look like when your master
decides, if he decides, to brand you permanently as his own first true
love.”
I gasped. My teeth began to chatter and Stalin helpfully put
his finger between them to stop me. With his other hand he still held
my waist firmly, perhaps afraid I might leap up and try to run away.
“Will-will it hurt?” I asked, getting Stalin’s finger from my
mouth and finding the courage to form the words with my nervous tongue
and lips.
“What do you think a hot brand on your bare bottom will feel
like?” Ivan smiled. “Not once, but twice?”
“Not good,” I replied.
“But it will be good, because the alternative would be to get a
permanent brand, so it’s all in how you see it, obeying or not,” Ivan
smiled. His eyes looked wicked.
“How about for a little squirt like her?” Rachel’s lover
asked. Rachel wasn’t kicking her legs anymore, but lay frozen over the
man’s lap, fear in her eyes. She’d dropped her squirtgun, hadn’t
noticed. It lay upon the floor, waiting for someone to inadvertently
step on it.
“She will have a post driven through her tongue, from which
leashes can be hung,” Ivan answered. Rachel’s eyes bulged. She stuck
her tongue out, considering, her mouth wide.
“My tongue?!” Rachel asked. It seemed the perfect answer for
her, I thought to myself, even as I sat steeped in fear. She was always
talking, this would make her a little more controllable, perhaps.
“And your ass must be widened,” Ivan continued. “Nothing
major. You’ll just have something up it the whole time we’re here, to
help you learn to take penises better. ‘Test borings,” I call them, “Or
‘training dongs.’ You’ll feel stretched, but you won’t really be
stretched or anything when we’re done. You’ll just have a better sense
of how to take a cock up your ass, since you’ll have one embedded in you
the whole time. You’ll have to learn how to sit, stand, walk around
with it in you. It will help when your master wants you that way. He
says you’re too resistent, it takes too long for him to settle you down
and insert himself.”
Rachel lay with wide, disbelieving eyes over her Russian lover,
her ass pertly pointed up at him, her childish cheeks quivering with her
every trembling movement. They were like twin mounds of vanilla jello,
firm but soft. The Russian slapped her bottom. “Youch!” Rachel cried.
She straightened her firehat, still trying to keep her composure, like
the rest of us were, despite the frightful prescriptions master had
written for us.
“First, you will all service us, with your mouths,” Ivan
ordered. “Do good work, or we may deviate from your master’s plan, and
I think it’s demanding enough as it is. So, for your own sake, suck me
good or my hands will tremble during your operations, as will those of
my comrades here. I will not handle the brands, or the anal
insertions. Don’t leave us desperate or vindictive, girls!” He
unzipped himself then, offering us a view of an impressive Russian
penis. His comrades did likewise. Jasmine, the nearest, began
immediately to suck Ivan’s sex organ. Her mouth and hands were
imploring, as if asking him to reconsider her piercing. He stroked her
long hair, admiring her handiwork, but said nothing as to sparing her.
We worked like she-devils, all of us girls, sucking each of the
men as much as he asked. Intermittently we’d stop and serve them more,
drinks, light more cigars for them. Hors d'oeuvres were made available
to fill their bellies and, to the extent we could eat at all, our own.
When all the men were at last satisfied the five of us females had slick
faces and sticky fingers. Ivan refused to let us wash but said the
piercings must proceed at once.
Tara was put up on a table and her legs spread. We girls held
her ankles wide apart. She shivered as she had her shift pinned up by
Ivan. Her sex lay bare for him. Softly he massaged her clitty a
little, to ease her pain by releasing some endorphins. Watching from
above, she told him how to touch her to increase her pleasure.
“Not right on it, but brush your finger around it,” she said of
her clit, her teeth chattering a little a she spoke. Rachel and I
trembled as we held her legs open.
“Here, bite on this,” Ivan said at last, offering Tara a rubber
bit from his doctor’s bag, which now lay open on the table beside Tara’s
hip. Tara took the bit between her teeth. I saw that she was visibly
shaking. Rachel’s lover stroked her bottom, holding a big rubber shaft
and waiting for a chance to insert it. Rachel hung on for dear life to
Tara’s ankle, hoping that as long as she was needed for Tara’s operation
she could not be impaled. Anna and Jasmine sat on a man’s lap, hugging
each other. They watched with fearful eyes.
Ivan looked at Tara. His gaze was deep. He lifted a hand and
rustled the expensive earring dangling from her right ear. “Do you
remember when you were a little girl, getting your ears pierced?” Ivan
asked her.
“Yes, and it hurt!” Tara mumbled over her gag. Though we could
not hear her words distinctly, we could easily guess what she’d said.
“This is the piercing you must have now that you are a woman.
It will complete you,” Ivan answered. I saw the men stare, fascinated,
at Tara’s open sex. Quite a few of them were hard again, their members
confined once more inside their pants, despite our best efforts earlier
to completely empty them. “I want you to know that you have perhaps the
prettiest pussy I’ve ever pierced,” Ivan told her. I couldn’t tell
whether she was reassured, or frightened by that. “Here goes.”
“Yeeeekch!” Tara screamed over her bit. I lifted my hand and
pressed it hard between her lips, for I saw she would otherwise drop
it. For several long seconds Ivan worked, driving the pin through her
inner sex, her most intimate part, the clitoral hood itself, where she
would soon be adorned with erotic jewelry that would tease her clitty
all day, even when she went out with master.
Tara fainted and a man caught her, propped her up. Ivan
finished his work upon her. He wiped up the small amount of blood he’d
drawn with his pin and waved smelling salts under Tara’s nose.
“That’s all for today,” he told her. “Get us some more
drinks.” The cruel men made Tara herself serve them, though they had
Rachel and I accompany her, lest she should topple over on her heels
from the fright of her ordeal. Twice we had to pass smelling salts
under her nose to keep her alert. Tara served each man in turn, walking
to the bar to prepare each drink specially. Her shift was kept pinned
up so the men could admire the temporary light-steel ringlets that
dangled down, chain-like, from her pierced sex. A tiny bell hung at the
end of the chain and it tinkled softly as she walked.
“Now bend over your friend and insert this for us,” Ivan told
Tara when all the men had been given drinks. He handed her a small
chastity belt, made of slim strips of leather. It protected by offering
small loops where an inserted dildo could be fastened and held. No man
would be able to enter a girl done up this way, at least not without
first removing the belt. For Rachel, though, only her hiney hole was to
be ‘protected.’ Tara and I fitted Rachel into the little belt. It
consisted of two parts. The first was a strip that went around her
waist, like a belt. The second, accompanying strip went down through
her bottom crack, then under her and up over her pubic mound to attach
again to the belt. It was essentially a g-string that we fitted her
into, though at her vulva and again at her hiney hole there was a loop
of leather through which a dildo might be thrust and fastened. Getting
her into the belt, we then unceremoniously bent her over. Her hat fell
onto the rug. I put my hands between her sweet booted legs and vented
them apart. Tara prised open her bottom cheeks with her fingers,
gripping the girl hard, as if to get back at her for holding her ankles
apart for Ivan.
“Shove it in,” Tara told me, tossing her hair, a determined
look on her face.
“Owowwooo!” Rachel howled, as I pushed in the dildo. Tara and
I had lubed it with vaseline, a minor detail the men hadn’t thought of.
“Learn! Learn to take it!” Tara admonished Rachel,
anticipating the girl’s moans of complaint.
“Oh, take it out, no, no, it’s going too far up!” she bleated.
I drove the penis in deeper, not wishing to delay the men’s departure
any longer than necessary.
“Quiet, Rachel! We’re almost done for today. We just need to
get this up you!” I said, as the girl wriggled her hips and tried to
push my dildo back out with clenchings of her sweet cheeks. I was a
little peeved at her. Tara had been pierced, all Rachel needed to do
was relax and let me force this up her. The men laughed. They enjoyed
seeing the little firegirl get her butt plugged. At last, with much
huffing and puffing, waiting for her to relax, but trying to hurry her
also, I managed to get the long dildo all the way up her ass. She
shivered when she realized it was done. I fastened the dildo into the
loop provided. Tara released the cheeks of Rachel’s bottom. They
closed springily, but there was an odd blunt object holding them open
right where her shit was meant to pop out. Rachel stood, unsteadily,
Tara and I on either side of her to make sure she didn’t fall. When she
was unbent and upright again, she passed her finger through her hair,
which had fallen over her eyes.
“Hi,” she giggled, staring at the men, who she’d just mooned
for many minutes while I stuffed her with the dildo.
“Do not take that off her except when she absolutely has to
shit,” Ivan told Tara. “And for short baths. The rest of the time she
is to wear it inside her, feeling the fullness of it, accustoming
herself to the length and width of a male penis. Her master will expect
to take her easily there when he returns.”
“Yes, sir,” Tara replied. She saluted him dumbly, unsure how
else to respond. He smiled, she smiled winsomely back at him. Her sex
chain dangled alluringly.
Led by Ivan, the men got up and left. Anxiously Tara waved
goodbye to them from the doorway. She did not wish to see them
displeased. They might return, at any moment. We could not keep that
many men out of the house, no matter how we might lock the door.
Nonetheless, when they’d pulled from the drive, Tara, who stood coyly
just inside the door hoping not to be seen from the street, shed her
smile quick as she’d found it and slammed the door.
“Ohhh, what have they done to me?!” she moaned. We had
gradually gathered round her and now we rushed her back to the table
upon which she’d so recently been pierced and sat her upon it. We
pulled open her legs, her sex, all of us gazing at it with worried,
baleful eyes.
“Oh, God!” Jasmine blurted. She was to have a similar
procedure done in the morning, through her inner labial lip. She cupped
herself with her palm, squeezing herself protectively, even as she
stared at poor Tara.
“That does it for me!” Rachel announced, after long minutes of
staring. She grabbed the buckle at the back of her chastity belt. She
fumbled with it. The buckle was in the small of her back and she could
not see it. Tara, who was wiping her eyes, looked up from herself.
“No!” Tara said. She lifted a tear-wettened finger and
motioned for us to stop Rachel.
“But--” I said, for I was drifting close to Rachel to help her
out of the awful gear.
“I will not see master disobeyed while I am still in charge,”
Tara said. “She will wear it just as the men instructed, and I’ll belt
anyone who gets her out of it.” Tara looked straight at the little
blonde. “I’ll lock you into it if I catch you being disobedient,” she
said. “Someday you’ll be pregnant, and do you think you’ll be able to
pop the growing baby in and out of you whenever you wish? This is
practise for you, Rachel. Learn to bear it and feel it inside you.”
Rachel turned and stomped off in her firehat and yellow boots.
I saw someone had stepped on her squirtgun and it lay smashed upon the
floor. She noticed, picked it up, began bawling.
“Shhh,” I said, coming close. “Master will buy you another.”
“He can’t buy me a new BUTThole!” she groused weepily. She
tried twirling the broken gun on her finger but the broken plastic
scratched her, almost made her bleed.
“It’s for playing being pregnant in,” I consoled her, patting
her on the hiney. Her cheeks looked especially cute bulging nakedly out
on either side of the tight strap that split them, and the fake cock
that wedged deeply up her.
“I wish I could give birth right now, to this thing!” Rachel
said. She yanked futilely at the cock in her ass.
The afternoon sun was heading west when we filtered outside
that afternoon. We’d decided to pass the time by the pool. Jasmine
still wore her bikini with the convenient hole in the crotch. She
proclaimed she’d found it useful for peeing. Tara wore a bikini top
modestly over her breasts, but a bottom was out of the question, with
the chain dangling down from her sex. She went bottomless, her ass
jiggling naked and white in the sun, her pussy showing boldly, matching
her lovely raven hair.
Anna, now free of her corset, after much laborious untying,
walked about with a bikini bottom on but no top. She seemed overwhelmed
by the idea that in just a few short hours her nipples would be
pierced. As if to spare them even the slightest restraint on their
natural inborn freedom, she let them wiggle naked in the warm afternoon
sunshine. They seemed perpetually erect, no doubt from her agitation at
their intended fate. She looked at them often and touched them
sometimes, as one might touch a foreign object, though she’d had them,
of course, from birth. I watched her and wished she might not be
pierced yet the thought intrigued me. Her bosoms were so big and
beautiful, so bountiful. How might they look pierced, with a little
gold chain hanging between the fine teats, connecting them. And how
would she give milk someday? I knew women were pierced, almost
routinely these days, but when they gave birth did they squirt milk in
three directions from each nipple? I wanted to sit with Anna and talk
about it, but instead I let her be, worrying over her nipples, and
played in the pool with Rachel.
My former teacher, wearing her ponytail but otherwise naked,
played somewhat self-consciously in the pool. It must have been hard
for her, having a big dildo rammed up her ass. She’d already claimed to
have to poop once, and gotten it off, only to sit under a scowling Tara
on the toilet as absolutely nothing came out. Tara had fitted her back
into the chastity belt and rammed the dildo back up not too pleasantly.
Jasmine fixed us drinks as the hours passed and we deliberately
drank ourselves silly. Tara and Rachel to forget, the rest of us to
stop worrying. As the sun went down we turned in early. The men had
made us promise not to masturbate. Tara tied us each into bed, wrapping
a cord round the wrists and securing them to the headboard. When
morning came, she got up and found that each of us had peed in bed,
unable to leave the bed to go to the toilet. Together we bundled up the
sheets and took them down to the washroom.
The morning was spent in nervous anticipation. We did our
hair, our makeup, checked each other to make sure we looked perfect.
Anything less than the best might anger the men. At last, anxious and
dressed as before, we settled in round the piano in the parlor. I sat
plinking in my torn, seatless bikini on the piano keys. The silence was
deafening between the isolated notes. At last the doorbell buzzed into
the silence, breaking our daydreaming and announcing our guests.
Tara went to the door. She opened it and smiled with anxious
eyes. She lifted the hem of her shift and displayed her sex, made more
pronounced by the chain which dangled in flashing splendor from it. I
gasped as I saw a female hand reach in and gently lift the chain to
examine it. Was there a girl among the men today? How embarrassing!
“Are they capable of breeding and giving milk?” I heard a
throaty female voice ask.
“They have all been blooded,” I heard Ivan reply. “As for
giving birth, they are all on the pill.”
“Well, this one looks healthy enough,” I heard the woman
reply. “I’m sure my husband could sire us a baby on her. But show me
the rest, anyhow.”
Tara stepped back, visibly frightened at our unknown guest.
Ivan stepped in with the other men. They made a large assemblage inside
the entryway. “They are in the process of being marked by their master
for his permanent possession,” Ivan said. He led the woman toward us.
She wore a fashionable open vest, a blouse, a knee-length dress, high
heels. She seemed busy, as if she could spare us just the most fleeting
of moments, perhaps on her way from a luncheon to a seminar, or to some
company she ran. Yet her eyes, finding us, settling on us each in turn,
seemed to linger. I felt uncomfortable under her gaze.
“Squat down again, pee,” Ivan ordered Tara. Gulping with
discomfort at the thought of it, especially in front of this new,
strange lady, Tara nonetheless complied. Her chain dangled down from
her sex and curled its tip upon the rug.
“You are not as free as yesterday, are you?” Ivan taunted her.
Today when you pee your urine will hit the chain, and run down it. You
will stand with your own pee dripping from it, and have to wipe the
chain as well as yourself. Yesterday you were a free young woman,
carefree even, today you are pierced, married by the chain to your
master, and he is not even here to admire it. Now you have a taste of
womanhood, true womanhood, of the woman who sits at home with children
while her husband, forgetting her, looks at someone like you down at the
strip bar, or in Playboy.”
“Don’t!” Tara cried out. She put a hand to her eyes as they
brimmed over with tears. Ivan strode over to her.
“Your peehole is to give the water, not your eyes!”
“Oh, please sir!” she cried. She clapped her hands to her
bottom, for it looked as if he was about to kick her right in her hiney
with the pointed toe of his boot.
“Go, pee now, show Ms. Tuppence how healthy you are,” Ivan
snarled.
Trembling, Tara let out a small stream of pee. She watched as
it puddled on the floor beneath her, after first ensnarling itself in
her sexual chain.
“Is that all?” Ms. Tuppence asked. “Have her drink. I wish to
see a good, healthy pee from her before I make my final decision.”
Ivan yanked Tara up by her hair. He pushed our long-legged
hostess ahead of himself into the parlor. “Get yourself sloshed,” he
told her. “Drink and drink and drink until you pee properly! And wipe
off that chain of yours with champagne or something. I don’t wish to
smell your urine, except where its been peed on the rug.” We’d sprayed
rug cleaner on the spot when the men had left. I glanced at Rachel.
Should I offer to go get the rug cleaner now? I didn’t want to speak
up, lest I get singled out for rough treatment by Ivan. He seemed in an
angry mood today.
The men settled in around us. I remained perched on the piano
stool, with Rachel, wearing her firehat, standing beside me. Anna was
put upon a man’s lap. Jasmine was left to sit alone. She’d picked a
small, single chair and sat in it, hoping not to share it. It seemed
too narrow for the big Russian men to fit into, even if they chose to
put her on their lap. It belonged to the writing desk sitting in the
corner of the parlor. Tara went to the bar and got a bottle of
champagne and opened it and wet a linen handkerchief with it. She stood
lifting and wiping her sex chain, much like a man might wipe his own
cock. Her hair hung long and lovely round her eyes, down her back, over
her slim white shoulders. I wanted to run to her and console her and
get her out of that awful, sex piercing chain. But I could do nothing.
I sat as quietly as I could.
“Her, let me feel her belly,” Ms. Tuppence ordered, seated
beside Ivan on a couch. She pointed to Jasmine. Two Russian men got up
and brought the young female over to Ms. Tuppence. “Ah, I see your
bikini is most naughty,” Ms. Tuppence said admiringly, noticing the hole
cut right where Jasmine’s sex was, letting it pout through the fabric.
She stroked the small little lips of Jasmine’s cunt. “A bit small,
don’t you think? Ah, men like small pussies but I must see a child
birthed through it. Do you think you could give birth, darling?” Ms.
Tuppence asked Jasmine.
“I don’t want to,” Jasmine replied frankly. Her face was
ashen. She was not at all interested in having Ms. Tuppence examine
her, especially in such an intimate way.
“That is not an answer,” Ms. Tuppence replied coldly. “Turn
around.” With great reluctance Jasmine let herself be turned so that
she faced Ms. Tuppence with her backside. Without so much as asking
permission, Miss Tuppence yanked down Jasmine’s bikini panties, all the
way to her knees. Jasmine looked and felt very vulnerable indeed, with
her bare ass sticking itself right into that strange woman’s face. Ms.
Tuppence opened Jasmine’s ass with clinical fingers and peered at her
hiney hole.
“Madam, I--” Jasmine began, and suddenly I heard it. A
delicate little fart issued from her back hole, right into Ms.
Tuppence’s nose. Rachel clapped her hand to her mouth and failed to
suppress a gleeful giggle.
“She is not branded. There is no mark upon her!” Ms. Tuppence
said with an angry voice.
“I was planning to do a test brand on that one--” Ivan began,
pointing at me.
“Are these just loose girls? Are they not owned?” Ms. Tuppence
growled. She slapped Jasmine’s ass hard with her hand, making Jasmine
flinch and give up a little yelp. But Jasmine remained planted where
she was, poised on her high heels, for fear of angering Ms. Tuppence
further. She fought momentarily to regain her balance from the
ass-slap, steadied, seemed to breathe to herself a determination to
remain calm.
“Get me some vaseline,” Ms. Tuppence ordered. Ivan looked at
Tara. Our hostess swallowed, ran to a desk in the corner, opened it,
took out a jar of vaseline and hurried over to Ms. Tuppence with it. “I
have a farm, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires,” Ms. Tuppence said
absently, dipping her finger into the jar. She twirled her long finger
around in it, coating it thoroughly. “Open your friend,” Ms. Tuppence
told Tara. Our hostess bent forward slightly and took hold of Jasmine’s
ass. Jasmine flinched. Tara spread her hinds so that Ms. Tuppence
could stick her finger up Jasmine’s ass.
“It is a sex farm, really, though I do keep a few head of
cattle and some sheep there,” Ms. Tuppence continued. She poked at
Jasmine’s nether hole, found it tight. Jasmine grimaced. Tara seemed
to whisper in her ear to behave, not to fight the inevitable, lest we
all be punished for it. Ms. Tuppence stuck her finger into Jasmine’s
hiney and pushed inward exploringly. “See, she is quite tight, really.
You’d think she’d hardly been fucked back here. On my sex farm these
girls would be worked properly. They would milk my cows for me as
practise for giving milk themselves. They would see calves birthed, and
discuss birthing techniques with my midwife. My husband could sire many
children for us on these girls, or I could sell them to others,
perhaps. We have auctions sometimes.” All this was said as Ms.
Tuppence made her way deeper and deeper in between Jasmine’s clenching
cheeks. Tara, looking quite disturbed, kept the girl’s ass dutifully
open as Ms. Tuppence probed her.
“Madam, I do not own these girls, I--” Ivan began.
“They are not branded. Only one is pierced, and more for show
than for ownership, I’d say, given how sexy she looks with that chain in
her,” Ms. Tuppence answered. “Girls like these belong to no one. You
have fifteen men here, I will pay you to transport them to my farm. Let
their ‘master’ get them back if he can. I am well defended by men of my
own.”
I felt a shiver go down my spine, saw one shoot down Tara’s
spine and tremble her buttocks even as my own felt squeamish, almost as
if I might shit right on the velvet piano stool. None of us wore
panties, except for Jasmine, and hers were pulled down. We would make
quite a mess if we all shitted in fear suddenly.
“We did not even fuck the girls yesterday, for fear of their
master,” Ivan told Ms. Tuppence.
“You are departing soon, are you not?” Ms. Tuppence asked
Ivan. “Leave a little early. Russia is far away. If you had fucked
these girls, their master would be angry with you. But if I steal them,
he will be angry with me, and I am much closer than you. He will come
after me first, to get them back, if nothing else. Worry about
yourselves after I’m gone.” She looked meaningfully at Ivan. “And I
won’t ever be gone, I can assure you. Their master has been a pest to
me in the drug trade, but now I am going to steal his girls and overturn
his empire. He is the old way of doing things, discreet, quiet. I am
the new way. I take what I want, and I need these girls, all of them.
I will fuck them and make them give birth for my husband. And I will
sell them when I have their babies. Or perhaps before, who knows? They
irritate me as much as they please me, they are all so beautiful. Get
them, bring them. I expect complete obedience.” She rose, looked at
Ivan. She saw that he was resisting her. “But first, show that you are
men yourselves. Fuck them. When you are done fucking them, bring them
to me. Do not damage them, mind. But give them all a good fucking to
loosen them up and make them not be so tight. Or at least try. You
have big Russian cocks, do you not? No more of this playing you told me
about yesterday. Get out your cocks and screw them. Right up the
pussy, and in the ass too. Tomorrow I will take them off the pill to
prepare them for my husband. Today, they are yours. But be quick. I
find that dalliance breeds disaster. Come in them, then come to me,
with them in tow.” Ceasing her soliloquy, the woman strode to the door
and let herself out. I thought I heard the twin dogs outside whine as
they saw her pass, protected, for she was parked near enough to the door
to avoid the dogs. Yet they seemed to crouch at her passing, fearfully,
lest she have them fucked too.
The men rose. They had determined looks on their face. They
did not wait for a command for Ivan. They came to us, grabbed us.
Rachel was out of her chastity belt faster than she could say ‘fire.’
But just as quickly she was forced to entertain an even bigger dong in
her ass. And the rest of us. Screaming, we succumbed. When we were
finally bundled into the Russian’s van we were a well-spermed lot of
wenches, weeping, stricken with panic, hurting in our insides where man
after man had had his way.
30
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