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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Private Places part 6 of 7 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PRIVATE PLACES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Six
The surface of the swimming pool was a sea of wavelets, each
competing with the other, each the result of all the adults and children
cavorting within its tiled walls. Summer was here, with its deep, lush
heat. I lay upon my tummy on a chaise lounge. Wickedly I’d thrust my
wrists through the waistband of my swim panties. Boys, younger than me,
would pause a moment in their cavorting, stare with unsure eyes, then
resume their playing, a little less innocent, I think, and not a
computer in sight. Just their own minds, wired by God, inspired by me
with my plump, curvacious 13-year-old bottom, already experienced,
tested. It was wet from the pool. I let my thighs lie apart a little
to give them a view of myself. My cunny nestled like a small plum twixt
my legs, the split visible. I wore a ‘lingerie style’ swimsuit, newly
in fashion. They looked just the same as an ordinary one, with a simple
exception. The protective gusset, the extra layer of padding over the
girl’s sex was missing. There was only a slim continuation of my
panties down thru my thighs, front to back, with nothing to save me from
the prying stares of men and boys. The sides of my swimsuit were tied
up in bows, of course. No elastic for me, please. Tug on my bows in
the pool, boys, and I’ll be your victim, naked suddenly, and you’ll be
in such trouble! Will your mom paddle you for ‘undoing that girl’s
swimsuit’? Ah, but you’d thought it had some elastic, didn’t you? That
the bows were just decorative, sewn on after the fact. And for the
first time in your life, having tugged the bows of other little girl’s
suits, you’d find that this girl’s panties could actually be undone!
A 3-year-old boy, still confident in his toddlerhood,
approached me. He did not suffer under the preteen anxieties of his
older brothers.
“VROOOM!” he announced, and ran his dumptruck right up my leg.
“Eeeek!” I cried. I turned, my hands were caught in my
panties, self-imprisoned. The boy completed his task by backing his
dumptruck onto my butt and raising its bed, dumping a clump of mud on my
heinie.
“Ho! Ho! It looks like doo-doo!” the boys’ brothers
chortled. The 3-year-old erupted in laughter along with them.
“Boys! Please don’t bother us, we’re sunbathing!” Jill told
them, smiling. She reached down and, with a cocktail napkin, carefully
scraped the mud from my ass. “Here’s your load back,” Jill told the
3-year-old. “Please deposit it elsewhere.”
“Hokay,” the 3-year-old replied, reaching out with his infant
hands and repossessing the mud.
“Haw! You just picked up doo-doo!” the boy’s older brothers
laughed at him.
“Wah!” the 3-year-old, suddenly insulted, invited his mother’s
attention.
“Honey, what’s the matter?” mama, diverted from some gossipy
conversation in the shallow end of the pool, queried.
The boys took off, the brothers jostling their younger sibling
and taking him to his mommie.
I went back to my snoozing, drying in the sun.
“Invasion of the proletariat,” Jill said to me. She went back
to reading her Cosmo.
“Hmmm?” I asked, sleepily. I was back in my daydreams again,
feeling my back dry under the sun. Sam rose from the pool, sauntered
over. He dumped a mouthful of cold pool water onto my fanny, hitting me
right where my legs met.
“Aaack!” I cried out anew, violated again!
“Hi kids,” a woman’s voice said easily. In looking up I saw a
conservative woman, about 30, fully dressed in business attire. She
settled into an empty chair beside me. Jill stood up and let Sam sit
down in her chair, then settled onto his lap. Slyly she ran a quick
finger over his groin. It was one of the best at the pool, filling his
briefs to bursting, despite not being aroused. I think it woke up a
little when she touched it. Fortunately she was mostly blocking the
view of the other bathers, her legs across Sam’s.
“You three are such a pair!” the woman said. I knew her as
Emily. We’d lunched with her twice, gone dancing a few times. She’d
promised to have us over for dinner. “Really, I’ve been thinking,”
Emily said. She owned a business conglomerate, into lots of things,
started by her father. He was dead now. She took out a Virginia Slims
and poked it into the end of a cigarette holder. She lit it herself,
not asking for help. Sam liked to smoke sometimes. He was rummaging in
Jill’s purse for a lighter, just to be gentlemanly, but Emily showed no
interest in dated chivalry. She was a thoroughly modern woman,
controlling her own affairs, opening her own doors, lighting her own
cigarettes. I trifling gesture, but it showed she bowed to no man, not
even Sam, not even just to let him please her in front of his wife. She
could have teased Jill, letting Sam light the cigarette for her,
implying a little hint of unfaithfulness. Sam would have fallen for it,
of course. He was most gracious, always looking out for his wife, me,
other ladies.
“Why don’t you three get married?” Emily asked suddenly. Talk
about popping the question! I was in love with Sam but, except for our
few excursions together, we’d never shared intimacies in the condo.
Somehow it had seemed, perhaps, ‘too close to home.’ Now Emily was
suggesting a change to all that. I felt a shiver run up my spine.
Surely she was just jesting? We spent a lot of time together, sure, the
three of us, but Jill and Sam were already married and wasn’t bigamy
illegal? My bottom quivered. I could still feel, in my mind at least,
the whipmaster’s hand on it in the jungle, wielding his weapon.
“We’re already married, didn’t you know that?” Jill asked
Emily. Her eyes danced, as if saying, ‘Why, what a silly question!
Can’t you see my ring?’
“Just for fun,” Emily answered. She looked down at me, back at
them. “You do believe in fun, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but-” Jill began.
“Sam, you won’t mind,” Emily said. Her eyes darted
meaningfully to his trunks. She could see what the others could not.
His cockhead was impressing itself most distinctly into the nylon. I
hoped the little boys didn’t come back. “It will be a three-way
marriage, all three of you, getting married at once, together, on the
same day. I’ll pay for it. It would be a pleasant diversion, I think,
and quite proper, since you’re such friends. And I’ll provide the
bridal bed too, and the gowns, and people to be your bridesmaids and
bridegrooms.”
“You mean, in front of...” Jill began, her voice trailing off.
I saw her glance around. Was anybody at the pool hearing this? A woman
seemed absorbed in the National Enquirer nearby, a man sat intently
reading Portnoy’s Complaint.
“Yes, some of your friends, and some of mine, but people you
don’t know too, making it more fun, I’m sure. It’s settled then. Sam,
please restrain yourself! I can see you approve just by the, ah,
presence of your ambition,” Emily finished, seeing that she might indeed
be overheard as the woman with the newspaper looked up, and at us. “You
will both have to be measured for it,” Emily said to Jill, glancing once
at me, as if I were an afterthought.
“I have no idea that I’m going to go through with such a
thing!” Jill whispered loud as she could, but hoping nobody would
overhear.
Sam looked up at his wife. He put a finger under her chin,
making her raise her face. “Open your mouth,” he said. She glanced
down once at him, refused. “Open your mouth, say ahhh,” Sam told her
again.
Jill parted her lips. “Wider,” Sam ordered her. She opened
her mouth more. “A nice pair of teeth,” he said. “All wives should
have good teeth. Hmmm, the tits. Yes, I think I approve of those too.”
“Sam!” Jill scolded. He hefted one, feeling its weight. She
brushed his hand away as the man with the book took an interest in us.
He gazed at us, as did the woman.
“Wives must be obedient to their husbands,” Sam said. “You
agreed to that on our wedding night, and I’m holding you to it.”
“Now, about the prenuptial period,” Emily continued. “There
must not be any prior, shall we say, ‘arrangements.’ I want you all to
be on your best behavior between now and your wedding day. I’ll try to
schedule it as soon as possible, of course. I understand human
nature.” She stood up. “Jill, may I see your hand, please?” Jill, a
confused look on her face, held out her left hand, just by chance, I
think, given what happened next.
“Thankyou,” Emily said, and slipped Jill’s wedding band from
her third finger. She left her diamond engagement ring behind, letting
Jill keep it. “You’re just engaged now, my dear,” Emily smiled. Her
eyes turned to Sam. “I hope you aren’t kept up at night thinking about
your brides to be,” she teased. “Then again, given how ‘up’ you are
already, I must say I’ll sleep uneasily tonight, knowing there’s such a
‘stand up’ guy around, lying by himself, stiffly attentive to his
impending bride’s needs. Give me your ring, young man, and do keep to
the couch tonight, okay?”
Reluctantly Sam held out his hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it
back!” Emily laughed, taking his ring. “In fact, I could give you two
at your wedding, one for your finger and one for your organ.”
“All weddings do need an organ,” Sam answered, clearly
enthralled by this mysterious woman’s sexual frankness. I’d pulled my
hands from my swimsuit, rolled on my back, and lay retying my loosened
bows. She leaned over me, her heavy breasts pendant, held within her
blouse and bra yet full of obvious promise. I wanted to reach open and
liberate them, just to embarrass her as she was embarrassing us.
Instead I lay quietly, feeling imposed upon as they hung over me.
Still stooping, Emily put a finger into my navel. She kept her
eyes, however, on Sam. “She is liberated?” she asked him.
“Vaginally, anally too, she says, though I’ve yet to be given
my chance,” Sam answered.
“What?!” Emily asked. “Such prudes you three are, but it’ll
make it all the more exciting!” She stroked my belly once, then tugged
on the hem of my panties, pulling them up, though they were as far up as
they would go, she seemed to be straightening them, as if to ensure my
modesty.
“No more birth control for either of you,” Emily proclaimed,
though quietly, standing up straight. “I want both you females to be
‘at risk,’ shall we say, the wedding real, everything real. We’ll
provide you with pills later to undo the damage.” The ‘royal we,’ I
wondered? Was Emily our Father, Son, and Holy Ghost now? Or would
there be others, not just onlookers, but ‘controllers,’ as it were.
Emily’s shadow lay over me, protecting me from the sun. “If worse comes
to worse my husband performs abortions, though I shouldn’t think it will
come to that.” She turned then, her skirts swishing, twirling under her
hips, her dress down to her ankles, yet such thoughts in her mind!
“Sam,” Jill whined, as Emily left us, her figure retreating.
She had a regal bearing, this woman of commerce. I watched as her ass
undulated with practised grace. I knew Sam was watching it too, even as
his wife sat complaining in his lap.
“Sam, are you going to make us do such an awful thing?” I
asked, turning to look at him when Emily had disappeared.
“What, marry me?!” Sam asked.
“Yes!” Jill said. “I don’t want to marry you, Sam!”
“Me neither,” I pouted, but my eyes drank in his huge, hairy
chest, naked and still dripping from the pool, even as I claimed to deny
him.
“What are you looking at?” Jill asked me.
“My new husband,” I answered. I would not let her have him,
no, not unless I could too!
“Looks like you’ll both just have to marry me!” Sam replied.
The room was hushed. I entered. I wore a full white wedding
gown, a woman holding up my train behind me, walking slowly. She held
it too high, I thought, showing my calves, my ankles. People could see
my stockings.
I held flowers. The group was small. Sam stood at the altar,
two candles, a Bible lying open. A nightstand was our alter. A small
linen cloth had been placed over it for purity, and to catch the
candles’ drippings. Emily stood beside the alter. She wore a black
dress, low cut, too low for a minister. Yet a white and black
minister’s collar was snapped around her bare throat. Sam did not seem
to mind the minister’s decollete dress. It was slit up the sides,
though Emily stood still now, stiff and righteous, with a small smile on
her lips. Her figure was slim, but for her breasts. She gazed through
me, seeing, but not, watching I knew for Jill, who emerged behind me.
Together we trailed our dresses up the aisle, me in front, her behind.
Our long gowns swished along the floor, except in back, where a woman
held up each of our gowns, one bridesmaid apiece for each of us. I felt
my gown rising higher and higher as I advanced up the aisle. I hoped
she didn’t lift it too high! I wore no panties. Emily had provided
none, declaring them unnecessary.
Chairs arranged in neat files stood on either side of me. The
congregation sat, perhaps to better see under my dress. I walked
nervously. I felt my bottom rolling, and more and more air upon it with
every advancing step of my feet.
“Ah, what a bottom!” I heard a man ejaculate behind me. A
woman sitting beside him murmured her approval. My face grew red. I
gulped. Yet I kept walking. There were perhaps two dozen people in the
room. It was a large dining room, long and formal, but with the dining
table removed, so that we could have our little ceremony. With every
step I wished I’d declined Sam’s engagement more and more. I fingered
the ring he’d given me. It was wonderful, a dream ring, diamond, with a
gold band, but I knew who’d paid for it. Emily. I stared fixedly at
her. She looked beyond me to Jill, savoring the woman’s apprehension as
she felt her dress raised behind her.
“Ah, now there’s a true woman’s ass!” I heard a man declare.
“And such pretty legs!” his wife added. We were exposed in
back, both of us now. Sam stood with a frank erection in his trousers.
He wore a tuxedo, but with the sides of the jacket cut artfully away so
that nothing would be hidden. I knew half the ladies in the room must
be staring at the projection in his starched pants.
With a somewhat glum look I took up position beside Sam. Jill,
arriving after me, stood on his opposite side. He seemed to mind not
the least that his wife’s bottom was being shown off to the audience.
“Unzip the brides, please,” Emily said. I felt the woman
behind me take hold of the zipper at the back of my dress.
Simultaneously Emily reached forward, cupped Sam’s bulge, and unzipped
his fly.
“Nooo!” Jill cried. Yet she stood stock still as her dress was
undone, pulled away, and Emily rummaged in her husband’s pants to pull
out his cock. A moment later and I stood in just a frilly bra and
garters before the alter, with patterned lace stockings running down my
legs to my pumps, everything white, pure, yet so utterly sinful! My
bridal veil still hid my face, despite my bare heinie. Jill stood
similarly revealed on Sam’s other side. I looked down at my muff, saw
it reflected in a mirror near the alter. How dare they! All of me
could be seen, I realized suddenly. A mirror on the other side of the
alter made sure Jill’s pussy was as visible to the congregation as
mine.
Between us, Emily now drew out Sam’s penis. It dripped with
pre-cum. She tutted, displeased to see her hands sullied. Yet she
stroked him several times to make sure he was at his full length. Then,
not wiping her hands, she turned and picked up the Holy Bible. Ashes to
ashes, I guess, and pre-cum to the Maker who created us all.
“Do you, Sam, promise to take Jill and Fury with all your
might?” She used my real name, I saw. I liked hearing it. My real
name I’d given myself. I’d told her that was my name, and she’d
remembered it. I felt happier. She might look through me when I came
up the aisle, yet she did not ignore me entirely. Jill and Sam called
me Flurry, but to Emily I was Fury, an independent girl, with my own
name, even as she joined me in marriage to Sam and his wife.
“And do you, Fury, promise to have Sam with all your love?”
Emily asked me, turning to me, meeting my eyes for the first time this
evening.
“I promise,” I answered.
“Say ‘I do,’ silly!” Jill hissed at me, bending forward
slightly. When she heard a whistle from the audience she remembered her
behind was bare and quickly straightened herself again.
“I do,” I smiled, then looked at Sam, but he stared straight
ahead, his eyes in line with his dick.
Emily moved to Jill. Inspired suddenly, she reached up and
touched the front clasp of Jill’s bra. She released it. Jill’s breasts
popped into view, quivering, her bra falling away to hang uselessly
under her arms. Emily touched a finger to each of Jill’s nipples. They
responded, rising quickly. I think her shyness had kept them from
standing up sooner. There were so many people behind us, we felt so
vulnerable, much worse than at Ms Lalique’s dinner party.
“And do you, my darling Jill, take this handsome man to be your
husband?”
“I do,” Jill whispered. Emily bent, caught one of Jill’s
nipples between her teeth. “I do!” Jill exclaimed, afraid, unsure.
“That’s better,” Emily answered, and lifted her head. “May I
kiss the bride?” she asked Sam.
“Sure,” Sam answered, surprised, but not displeased. Emily
dropped the Bible to the floor and grabbed Jill round her neck, embraced
her, kissed her hard.
“Ohhh!” Jill responded, trying to back away, failing. I saw
her hands flutter, rise. Her bouquet of flowers fell to the floor.
Jill probed her mouth with her tongue. For the first time I saw Emily
had a riding crop stuck through the sash of her dress. It was black,
matching her dress and sash. Sam saw it then too. His eyes widened.
Ours was a most unconventional minister!
Jill pulled her mouth from Emily’s. The woman held her by the
neck still, close-pressed to her own body. Emily could not escape.
Jill regarded her, tucked up her bridal veil so that it would no longer
hide her face.
“Go to the altar, bend over it. There is a cushion there for
your tummy,” Emily told Jill. I looked, saw the Bible had indeed been
resting on a small red velvet cushion on our nightstand altar. Now the
holy book was on the floor, forgotten. But the cushion remained,
properly placed, waiting to receive a soft female tummy over it.
“And if I refuse?” Jill asked. She seemed not to want to
participate.
Emily drew out her riding crop. Jill gave an audible gasp.
“To the altar!” Emily said, and pointed with her crop.
Jill glanced once at Sam. He smiled back, pleased at the show,
not the least minded that his wife should be made to display her sex in
public. Jill walked forward, mincing steps. Emily whacked her bare
fundament and she shrieked, hurried the last steps, bent over the altar
quite sheepishly.
“Part your legs. Let us see your bride’s cunny. Has it been
deflowered?”
“What?” Jill asked. She was blushing most visibly. Somehow
she managed to find the courage to open her legs, but was rewarded with
a quick jab of Emily’s crop right in her fig.
“Has anything been up here yet?” Emily asked.
“Why, yes it has, and you know it!” Jill answered. She seemed
on the verge of tears. I stood, my veil still hiding my eyes, but my
bottom jiggled nervously behind me as I shifted my weight from foot to
foot.
“And here?” Emily asked in a commanding tone, intruding the tip
of her crop into the inswirl of Jill’s anus.
Jill shrieked again. Then, settling down, still hunched over
the alter, she answered, “Yes, I’m ‘anally liberated, if that’s what you
mean.”
“Good. Come right out and tell us. Don’t make a mystery of
it. Precious little remains mysterious about you anyway, my dear. Such
a proud bottom!” Emily remarked. Jill did indeed have a royal
fundament, with queen bee cheeks, well-fatted, yet her legs we
breathtakingly slim, as was her midsection and arms. Her large bosoms
impressed themselves into the linen altar cloth.
WHACK! Emily struck Jill’s bottom hard with her crop.
Immediately a slim red mark appeared, puffing just a bit, showing where
she’d been hit.
“Owwww!” Jill shouted. Her hands flew behind her. Tenderly
she touched the spot where her skin had been marred by the crop. Yet
she somehow remained bent over, fearing, perhaps, that to rise would
earn her a second assault.
“I am jealous, my dear, as most women in this room probably
are,” Emily answered. Openly she admired Jill’s well-displayed peach,
though, in truth, I thought she bore an equally proud pumpkin herself,
be that it remained under her dress.
Emily glanced at me. She smiled. She walked behind the altar,
and returned with a small stool, covered in red velvet. She placed it
down between Jill’s parted ankles. Jill touched herself still,
examining the puffy welt across her bottom with delicate fingers. Sam
seemed to guess what Emily wanted and reached down and unclasped my
bra. My boobies sprang out, loose at last, my nipples fiercely hard,
despite my anxiety.
“Get up on the stool, get on top of my wife,” Sam told me, his
voice trembling.
“Yes, it will be a double fuck, though I wish it for display
purposes only, Sam,” Emily pronounced. “We want to enjoy your erection
all evening long. A few shafts, nothing more, in each of them. Up,
girl! Onto the altar!” I scurried to comply. I did not want to feel
that awful crop of hers zinging down on my bottom. I put my foot on the
stool, awkwardly kneed my way onto the counter. All the while I was
aware of the congregation behind me, watching, seeing me display my sex
so rudely as I scrambled to mount Jill.
“Oh, no,” Jill protested. I settled on her, bearing her down.
I straddled her, opening myself up in a wider vee than even she was in.
I bent forward, pressed my breasts into her back. I felt so exposed!
The insides of my thighs pressed against the outside of hers. Sam
stared, delighted at seeing my heinie, so long denied to him, now a
wide-open target for his cock, not to mention my sex, which clenched in
virgin purity, atop Jill’s tush.
“Here’s one for the road,” Emily said, drawing up her arm and
then delivering a sharp WHACK! to my bare buns.
“YEEEEOOOCH!” I yelped. I squirmed atop Jill as she rocked
under the blow which had struck my peach. My palms flew back and cupped
my childish bottom. I felt a bright heat across it, and knew at once I
bore a welt as long and perfect as Jill’s.
“You’re injuring my brides,” Sam protested, though I detected a
humorous note in his voice.
“I’m breaking them in,” Emily answered. “Please drop your
pants. I want to see your hind cheeks flex as you get yourself inside
your new wives.”
“Can I keep my coat on?” Sam asked. I sensed a slight
nervousness in his voice now.
“No. Take it off. Everything but your bow tie. And your
boots, of course. Such fine riding boots, I understand, if you’re
wearing what I ordered for you,” Emily said. “But unzip me first. I do
not wish to be too prudish at your wedding, even if I am your
minister.” She turned to him, presented her back. Sam paused, admired
her, touched her shoulder, even as Jill and I rubbed our heinies with
frank movements of our hands.
I heard a rustling of clothing in the congregation. Glancing
over my shoulder, I saw cocks suddenly spring into view, thick and hard
as Sam’s, all veiny and pulsing with manly desire. I wanted to spring
up, was afraid to. Sam embraced Emily from behind. They kissed. He
massaged her breasts and ground his pelvis into her bottom. His cock
was naked against her expensive dress, staining it, no doubt, with his
early cum drips.
A few minutes passed and all were naked behind us, or as naked
as they wished to be for fucking. Sam approached. I tensed. He patted
my bottom. He arched himself, stuck his prong to my butthole.
“Sam! Please!” I cried. I did not want it there.
“Shush, girl!” Emily answered me. She whacked the drum tight
skin of my bottom, making me hollar, even as Sam pushed his drippy
cockhead against my hole.
I felt a deep, strong pressure, I fought it. It pushed at my
little hole, indriving.
“Do let him take you,” Jill whispered beneath me, being pressed
down as I tried to keep Sam from intruding into my butthole.
“No!” I gasped. His cum-smeared head pushed inside, his
peehole entering my a-hole. And then more, and yet more, filling my
little peephole anus with his ever-widening flange, his cockhead,
surging, indriving, and then I was popped!
“Aughghg!” I cried. Emily stuck her crop into my open mouth,
length-wise, and made me bite down upon it. I was bitted. Now I would
be saddled. Hopefully I would not be ridden.
Sam pushed harder. I felt myself giving way. In he went, then
more. I could not stop him!
“Nooo, you’re going too far up!” I cried. Emily took both ends
of her crop in her hands and drove it deeper into my mouth, forcing my
head up. I felt like my whole body was being pushed backward by her
even as Sam fucked his way up my hole.
I heard laughter. Bridesmaids were helping Sam, putting
vaseline on his dick even as he poked it further and further into my
near-virgin hole. “More,” they urged him. “She can take more.” They
wanted to see, that’s all. They wanted to see his big long cock go
somehow all the way up me, whatever the cost to me, whatever the price.
“Now in and out, a few easy strokes,” Emily called from where
she stood at my head.
“He’s not all the way up yet,” one of the bridesmaids replied.
“He has three inches to go at least!”
“He is too long for her,” Emily replied. “Sam, contain
yourself. I know she’s quite tight, but have sympathy for her in your
strokes, and please don’t shoot your sperm up her butthole. I don’t
want her enemized, just fucked a little, for pleasure’s sake, though I
daresay you look like you’re suffering now.”
“I am!” Sam grunted behind me. “She’s wonderfully tight. I
can barely feel myself, she’s bearing down so hard.”
“My, what a filly you are,” Emily cooed to me, even as she bore
me backward. “I should love to keep you for myself and train you. I
have dildos that would kill you, they are so big. But we could start
small. You would need to be stretched and widened if you weren’t so
young. It is much too hard for him, I can see. As it is you must be
permitted to grow more, first. But Jill, how are you, sweetie?” Emily
gazed down beneath my own agonized face. “Do you need to be widened in
back, made more accessible for your husband’s pleasure? We shall have
to see, won’t we?”
Manfully Sam rodded me, each indriving, hard-fought stroke
bringing a croak from him, as if he were sodomizing a newborn with his
pecker, or some female equally small in back. Tears welled in my eyes.
I could not stand it, yet I could not rise. The bridesmaids pressed
down on my hips, watching them squirm, laughing.
He relented at last. A goblet of wine was brought. His member
was carefully bathed in it by the bridesmaids. I lay sobbing atop Jill,
too violated to get up.
“Good girl, good girl,” Emily told me. She bent and kissed my
face, stroked my hair.
“Which hole do you choose this time, sir?” I heard behind me.
Merrily the bridesmaids presented Sam with his options. They fingered
my nest, then Jill’s, and her little hole too, lest he wish to torture
himself some more inside her own tight-clenching back tube.
“God, I just want to ram myself in and shoot!” Sam said. I
guessed he was fondling his wife’s nest as she whimpered beneath me.
“Be a good boy and just give her a few little jabs,” Emily told
Sam. “Or, rather, a few big jabs, long and deep, but control yourself
so you don’t sperm her too quickly. I wish for her to be impregnated on
the bed.”
“And we must have our reception first too,” a bridesmaid piped
up. “I’m hungry! And they have yet to cut their cake.” Her mate
agreed that we must all eat before Sam could cum.
“Ahhh,” I heard from behind. I knew it could only mean Sam was
pushing into his wife, into her nest, his beloved’s entrance to her
deep-hidden womb, where one day she would conceive children for him.
And then I remembered our pills. We’d been skipping them for three days
now. If he loosed his load, she would be impregnated now, right here on
the altar, before the reception even.
Jill jerked beneath me. “Do me, please, Sammy,” she begged.
“Forget this bitch Emily!”
“What?!” Emily laughed. “Such insolence, and at such a pretty
wedding!” Indeed, the room was decorated with flowers. Their aroma was
sweet. A chandelier glowed down upon our naked bodies. The linen cloth
beneath us, draping the altar, smelled of starch, though it was soft to
the touch.
“Ah! Yes!” Jill cried. She did not feel so embarrassed now.
She let her pleasure show itself.
“Fuck her!” A bridesmaid urged. She slapped Sam’s muffin-like
buns.
“OW!” Sam answered. The bridesmaid’s companion inquired
between his asscheeks. “Hey! Don’t sodomize me!” Sam called out.
“What’s good for the goose is most definitely good for the
gander!” the bridesmaid chuckled. She found what she was looking for
and poked him with her fingernail.
“Ah, god!” Sam groaned. He shafted his wife quickly. Then he
withdrew, and batted away the bridesmaid’s hand from his rear. “You
need to go back to school and learn ‘Good Touch, Bad Touch,’ he told
her.”
“It doesn’t apply to girls, silly,” the bridesmaid answered,
quite seriously.
“May I please get up now?” Jill begged Emily.
“Only if you promise to eat all your cake!” Emily laughed.
Sam lifted me bodily from his wife. I kicked my legs,
infant-like, as if I were just being delivered, and indeed I was, I
thought, feeling the hot stripes of Emily’s crop on my bottom and the
newfound openness of my bunghole.
My heels were returned to the floor and I stood unsteadily.
They were spiked, platform heels, hardly a sure footing for a girl who’d
just been buttfucked! Sam held me lightly ‘til I’d regained my balance.
Jill pushed herself up from the altar, the bridesmaids helping,
lifting her shoulders, straightening her back. They patted her bottom
affectionately. Jill moaned as their palms touched her single, blazing
welt. I had two. For extra naughtiness, I guess.
“Come, sweet brides,” Emily beckoned. We dared not disobey
her. With a most embarrassing, awkward gait, clutching our wounded
heinies, we followed. Sam came along, his cock stiffly standing up as
he walked behind us. It was wet with his wife’s juices. The
bridesmaids escorted him. They watched his schlong as it bobbed up and
down with great promise. His balls hung taut below, a caress away from
spilling their seed. They dared not touch it. Only their eyes grazed
it, hungrily, wishing they could be his wives too. Perhaps, before the
night was out, all of us would be husbands and wives, each to the other,
I thought, and the moistness of my bottomhole made me wonder if I could
handle so many suitors. I guessed not, hoped such a result would not
come to pass. Mine was the only 13-year-old hole here, but there were
many others, within fine female bottoms.
I glanced about. Everyone was nude now, proceeding with
unlikely grace and dignity after us, into the reception room. I spotted
many cocks, all of them hard. They were borne by young men who I’d have
died for hours earlier. But now, having barely managed Sam’s penis, how
could I possibly entertain more? I’d eat all my cake, and theirs too,
if it would spare me any more cocks up my ass! As I walked I felt their
eyes on my bottom, once I’d turned away. They were discreet at least,
in their looking. ‘But please, please, don’t put those enormous cocks
of yours into my little ass,’ I begged the men behind me, whispering to
myself. I would get down on my knees and kiss their feet if I had to.
My bottom was too small, too childish still, I knew, just feeling its
contours. I let my hands roam over it a little, examining it. I could
feel it wiggling, knew what an invitation it must be offering to the men
behind me. I strove to keep it as still as possible as I walked. I was
hopeless. It stung too much from the crop, and from being drilled by
Sam’s cock. If only I had my one-piece. I’d shimmy into that in a
minute! My mom had been right. I was too young!
A room opened before me. It took my breath away as I found
myself confronted by it. White ribbons hung from the ceiling. Amidst a
spread of food, just being laid out by maids, stood a triple-layered
wedding cake, with a little statue atop it.
I walked closer to the cake. The maids flitted about, dressed
only in heels and bikini panties, swimsuit panties, tied neatly with
drawstring bows.
“The maids are only here for the reception, and are not
available sexually, without their permission,” Emily announced to us.
“Men, I expect you to admire them from a distance. We girls don’t need
any more competition than we already have!” There was laughter. The
maids blushed, kept their eyes lowered, so as not to directly observe
our nudity.
I went up to the cake and stared at it. It was beautiful!
Thick icing lathered its sides, with pink candy flowers embedded in it.
But the most surprising thing was the statue on top. A little groom,
with two brides. Sam came up behind me and cupped my bottom. His
thumbs grazed my welt.
“Sam, don’t!” I said, and turned slightly, to brush him away.
“It’s your reception,” he answered. He lifted my hand and
slipped a wedding band onto my third finger before I could even realize
what he was doing. When I did, I spun about and embraced him.
“Oh, Sam!” I cried. We kissed, and I felt Jill come up beside
us and share our kiss. We each probed each other’s mouths, standing
there, kissing slowly and lightly at first, just on the lips, then much
more deeply. Our hands traveled freely over each other’s bodies,
touching whatever we wished, exploring. Sam was careful not to touch
the welts on my bottom, or on Jill’s.
We parted at last. I found the crowd was gathered all around
us. They clapped. Emily beamed at us, then glanced down to make sure
Sam hadn’t become too excited and lost himself. He hadn’t.
“Now for a quick bite to eat!” Jill said. “Then it’s off to
bed for you three.” Taking Sam carefully by his cock, she led him over
to the seat of honor. Jill and I walked in lock-step with him, beaming
up at him, our boobies bobbing nakedly as we walked, our asses wiggling
easily now, carefree. We were uptight no longer.
I saw there was only one chair at the head of the table. I
wondered a moment where Jill and I would sit, was about to break away to
find a chair of my own when Emily told me to sit on Sam’s knee. Of
course. Sam sat down, his cock sticking up with delightful rudeness
between his legs. Then Jill sat on his one leg, and I on the other.
The guests took their seats. The maids cut a big slice of cake
for Sam. They brought it too him, waggling their hips too salaciously,
I thought, being his jealous new bride. They laid the cake in front of
him. Sam picked it up, whole. He made me take a bite of it. Then
Jill, finally himself. We chewed, looking at each other. Jill wiped a
crumb from my lips. I brushed a crumb from the corner of Sam’s mouth.
I saw a crumb on Jill’s breast and brushed it away. She giggled despite
her mouthful of cake.
We sat on Sam’s lap wearing just our stockings and spiked
heels. I knew Sam loved the feel of our soft, bare bottoms on his
thighs, up close to his groin, his huge pecker sticking up between us.
We vyed with each other a little, Jill and I, touching his pee hole and
wiping icing and crumbs from our fingers onto his cock.
“What a nice napkin-pole,” Jill exclaimed. “I think I’ll call
that ‘Inventor’s Hotline’ and tell them all about it!”
I laughed. I’d seen the commercial too. “You’d have the man
on the other end using his own pole for a napkin, a making an even
bigger mess before you were through,” I said. I could see even now the
man in his neat sweater, everything so perfect in his little workshop,
his nails trimmed, his moustache combed, his bald head gleaming with his
thoughts of glory at inventing the electric screwdriver, or some such
nonsense. And then Jill would call, and he’d have to sneak past his
wife in the living room a few minutes later to go upstairs and clean out
his underpants and change his trousers. ‘Did you hurt yourself, dear?’
his wife would call out. ‘Uh, no dear!’ he’d hastily reply, too hastily
for her tastes, and he’d turn on the tap upstairs to keep her from
hearing toilet paper being quickly run out from the roll. Musn’t let
the wife know he’d shot off in his pants, must he? Sure, when they were
first married, he might get so excited from just the thought of doing
her that he might have a little accident. But now, in the fulness of
their marriage, such indecent arousals were unthinkable. If she
discovered his accident she’d go looking for his Playboys in the
morning, out in his workshop, and throw them away. Careful, so careful
he must be in his later years of life. What had happened to turn his
lovely bride into an old maid, and himself, the groom, into a too-neatly
tailored husband? And then there was the girl next door, in her tight
jeans, worn in back from too much sitting on the sidewalk, growing
taller every year, and more bosomy. Such frustrations in tranquil
suburbia! Sometimes, I’m sure, he longed to play Unibomber and bomb
everyone back to the stone age, where fertility rituals were held every
spring, and winters were spent in a cave passing the long nights in
group sex. Yes, he’d be strong and muscled then, even at this advanced
age, not plump. He’d hunt mastodons all day with the men, and at night
they’d have some sport with the women and girls, who’d collected berries
for their pleasure while they were gone. No Oprah, that would be the
best part of it. The men would rule, the females would obey, and they’d
eat fresh meat every night, and ripe fruits, and watch the stars come
out.
But for Sam, at least, he was enjoying the benefits of nylon.
I lifted my feet and placed my spiked heels on his opposite thigh,
careful not to poke Jill. Bending forward, letting him enjoy the
pendency of my dangling breasts, I undid the elaborate straps that kept
my heels bound to my ankles. When my feet were free I churlishly rubbed
my stockinged toes all over Sam’s dick. “You’re so drippy, sir!” I said
cheerfully to him. “Can’t you keep all that pre-cum properly bottled up
in your balls?”
“No,” he groaned. Ah, to see such a huge, muscular man put
into agony by my little feet! He was desperate to cum, but we were just
as eager to see him hold back so we could tease him even more.
“Please, Flurry,” Jill said at last. “Don’t torture my
husband! He’s only human, you know. Let’s allow him to rest a little,
and regain control of himself.”
I put my feet down. I kicked them aimlessly back and forth
between Sam’s open legs as we ate our cake, feeding each other, Jill and
me mostly, Sam just happily watching, trembling as he strove to lay
claim again to his trembling member, lest its seed burst forth and spoil
our fun. I studied his balls, all full and bulgingly spread upon the
satin seat of the chair. How strange he must have felt, with his bare
buttocks on rich, pure, womanly satin. Boys were always trained to
‘tough it out,’ sitting on rocks, or wooden benches, or those awful
bicycle seats that smashed their balls. Yet now Sam could feel the
luxury of satin beneath his fundament, his balls resting gently, if
desperately, upon the silky material. Yes, his testicles still would
have preferred some sort of depression in the seat to fit themselves
into, instead of having their fullness scrunched up, but it was Sam’s
own fault, mostly. He simply was carrying around too much sperm at the
moment. His balls would rest much more easily on the seat once they
were empty. He was literally ‘full of himself,’ and I so wished to see
him shoot, as I know he did too, yet we both hoped to see him delay it
as long as possible too. How strange sex is! Wanting both to cum and
not to cum, lingering on the treacherous precipice. As for myself, my
clitty buzzed with excitement, yet I discreetly avoided rubbing it.
Jill too, I could see, with her nipples as stiff as mine, wished to cum,
yet we all waited, trying hard not to breach the protocols and decorum
of Emily’s wedding party. Even though we were, in fact, the guests of
honor!
Jill and I had shed our bras walking into the room. The
bridesmaids, I guessed, had picked them up as mementos of our ceremony,
to be kept and displayed, perhaps, at home. ‘These are from a mock
wedding I attended, where a man married TWO females!’ they’d boast.
What a pleasant way to introduce a group of guests to the topic of sex.
Show them your little souvenirs of life, snapshots of the grand canyon,
a vase from Paris, and a frilly wedding bra from a naughty ceremony
you’d been persuaded to attend. Perhaps the bridesmaids hoped to be
married next. I glanced about. Everyone was seated now, enjoying their
cake. No doubt someone else would be happily married next week. Would
we be back, to observe it? I didn’t know. Sam was in charge. Right
now he could barely control his own penis, but he was master of Jill and
I. She was still opposed to the whole thing, though obviously enjoying
herself at the moment. But when she’d married Sam for real she’d
promised to obey him in all things, and those tables had not yet been
turned. Perhaps in a few more years, but not yet. She was still the
obedient young bride, and he her demanding (yes, demanding!) husband.
I felt the hair of Sam’s thigh pricking me in my bottomhole.
Jill squirmed on her husband’s leg, loving the rough feel of his raw
flesh. No satin seats for us, alas! I wouldn’t have minded a chair of
my own, rather than being perched awkwardly atop Sam’s thigh. I guessed
it was better than sitting in the center of his lap, though, with that
cock of his making ‘sit on it’ rise to a whole new level of discomfort.
I longed to simply lie back on the table, perhaps, in front of him, and
let him take me. With both Jill and I competing for him, though, and
Emily arranging all to her tastes, it was unlikely I’d get my wish
soon. I looked at the twin rows of bare bosoms lining the table. With
most, you could see the whiteness where their bikinis usually protected
their mammaries from the sun. A few girls preferred an all-over tan.
And then there were the handsome men, with their deeply tanned, hairy
chests, where a girl might rest her head all evening, spilling out her
sins and stories, while having her bottom caressed and toying with his
member.
Emily came up to our chair. She’d shed her clothes and I
looked in awe at her. She was tall and slim and her breasts seemed as
imposing as ever. A juggler would have longed to handle such sumptuous
boobs, perhaps cut them off and toss them before a cheering audience. A
friend of mine worked for a day in a hospital, where all the removed
body parts were sent. She’d said she saw a woman’s breast, just that,
not the woman herself. It was brought in from surgery, laid down
amongst the other items. It had horrified her to look at it, all wobbly
and free of its owner. Yet she’d stared, and felt her own growing
breasts with her hands as she stared at this mature one. Just one, too,
where was the other? The hospital had been horrified to find her in the
body parts lab. They’d intended to send her to pediatrics, to read
stories to the sick children. But, I think, despite the shock of it,
she did better going to the body parts lab, seeing what might happen to
her when she was older, with breast cancer and all. I gazed at Emily.
I picked up a knife from the table, one with a rounded end, and
aimlessly traced it round my own nipple as I stared at hers, long and
large, hard and coral-like. My eyes fell to her waist where her
swimsuit usually was. There was nothing there now, just her bush,
freely displayed, its curls neatly trimmed, her cuntlips just showing,
and the band of white flesh where her panties ought to be, but weren’t.
Emily stood opposite me. Jill, sensing her presence, turned and looked
over her shoulder at her.
“It’s time for bed,” Emily said simply. She rested a hand on
Jill’s shoulder. Jill made to rise. “No, the bed will be brought out,
and something else also,” Emily said.
“What, you mean here?” Jill asked. Her bare breasts trembled
visibly, as if from surprise, and I guessed she was taken aback a
little, at the implication of Emily’s remark.
“Yes, you will enjoy your bridal night right here in the
reception room,” Emily continued. She played her fingers through Jill’s
hair. Jill was blonde, did Emily envy her? Blondes have more fun, or
so it’s said. Emily turned, called to one of the maids. “Bring out the
bed!” she ordered.
A hush descended over the guests. They ceased playing with one
another’s privates and feeding each other cake. A moment later a
sumptuous four-poster bed, high so everyone might see what happened upon
it, was rolled out by the maids. They retained their bikini panties,
the drawstrings with their pretty bows dangling like fringe as they
pushed the bed. They were the most modest amongst us, though they’d
have been arrested in public. Their youthful bosoms hung like ripe
fruit on swaying branches, caught in a storm. The bed was big and heavy
and they had to exert themselves to get it out into the middle of the
room, pushing it from some storeroom where it had been sheeted up and
prepared. The coverlet was turned back already. It was quilted, with
little embroidered tufts, as if a great aunt had sewn it herself just
for our wedding night. The pillows were plumped and fluffed, ready to
receive our heads, or whatever part of ourselves might be placed over
them. The sheets were clean and crisp and new. Carefully laid upon the
bed were several condoms for Sam’s penis, and lubricant for me and
Jill. It promised to be a long night, and I guessed Sam would find the
energy to work Jill and I until the dawn upon that big, dauntingly high
bed, where everyone could watch and judge our performance.
“Really! I cannot!” Jill protested, seeing the bed. She
seemed shocked that we should not be able to enjoy our night together in
private. Being mounted at the alter seemed okay to her, a simple
ritual, she not even facing her husband when it happened, being taken as
an animal might be. But to be seen all night long, sharing intimacies
with her husband, made her blanch. I confess I too did not want to be
watched, if I could help it. I’d longed to make love to Sam, and been
frustrated in my desires. Now I wanted to share myself with him, with
just Jill there to guide us. I did not need two dozen merrimakers
looking on! Not to mention the maids, who still kept their panties, as
if specially holy, above us all, forbidden even to consort with us,
unless they themselves approved! Yet they would watch too, I imagined.
I could not see Emily dismissing them. They provided too much delight
for the men, prancing about, and were eminently helpful too, getting
whatever the guests asked, taking it away when finished. They wiped
their brows from pushing the bed out and began clearing the table.
Emily stopped them. “Bring out the bench also,” she told
them. They left the room again, and the next item they pushed out in
front of us was a low bench, made of wood, with a hump in the middle of
it. The maids locked the wheels of the bench when they’d put it before
us. I felt uncomfortable. Like the bed, the bench was only a few feet
from Sam and Jill and I.
“Stand up, Jill!” Emily told my best friend. The blonde rose
reluctantly. She kissed Sam goodbye and walked over to the display of
bench and bed. I think she thought she was to be installed upon the
bed, but instead Emily guided her to the bench.
“You must be whipped first, my dear,” Emily said. She put a
hand to Jill’s bottom and traced the lone welt across it with her
finger. Emily seemed docile. Was she too aroused to protest? Had
there been something in our cake, or in the bubble champagne we’d sipped
with it? I felt myself a little heady, as if I might be put over the
bench too and not whimper about it too much. It was covered with
velvet, but the fabric was worn down, as if many females had been placed
over this bench, and had done to them what Emily now proposed doing to
Jill. My blonde bridesmate touched a finger to the velvet.
“It’s so old,” she said. Her voice was soft and reverent.
“Yes, it’s from the nineteenth century,” Emily whispered. “We
use it here on wedding nights. To teach the bride she must submit to
her husband. Men of old used to put their wives first over this, in the
bridal chamber, to teach them obedience before giving them their reward
in bed. I know your own marriage would not be complete without this
ceremony. It requires only your husband’s approval for you to submit to
it. You have no choice, my dear. You are married.” Emily looked
toward Sam. He had scooted me from his leg, forgetting me almost, and
turned his chair so that he could face the whipping bench. I stood
between Sam’s legs, fingering my bottom as I watched Jill’s own heinie
being stroked by Emily’s soft hands.
Sam was beyond hope. I don’t know if he would have allowed his
wife to be so distressingly presented and whipped in front of strangers
if he was in his right mind, but he wasn’t. His cock stuck up all red
and sore like a post, longing to spurt out its seed. His balls churned,
scrunched under his huge dick, with the chair pressing up against them,
and his thighs squeezing his nuts tightly, despite the fact that his
legs were open enough for me to actually stand between them.
“Yes,” Sam said, his voice strangely high-pitched, like a choir
boy about to be castrated by a wayward monk. His throat was
constricted. His adams apple worked in it as he tried to swallow, found
the passageway to dry for him to manage it. His throat was bone dry,
but his penis was iced with trickling precum.
“No, Sam!” Jill cried. Her eyes seemed frightened as she
realized she would indeed be put over the bench, that it wasn’t just a
teasing game, and Sam wouldn’t save her.
“Please, Sam!” I begged, turning to him, clutching my bottom,
feeling my boobies tremble nervously on my chest. I would be next.
There was no question of that.
“Mark her,” Sam said simply. Jill shuddered, hearing the
words. The tips of her breasts quavered. Emily passed her hand over
them, hoping to still them. She patted Jill’s well-fatted bottom.
“You heard your husband,” Emily said to Jill. “Get on the
bench. Be good and do it now or it will be worse for you. We have even
lathered girls with cream in the past, and let them run around the room
and try not to get caught. But they always do, you know. And then they
find themselves over the bench, their eyes wide and their bottom stuck
up high, ready for the whip. Fury we might chase, she’s so young. But
you, my dear, are a properly married woman, fully grown and mature.
Don’t demean yourself by insisting on racing about the room like a wet
child. Get down on the bench, and be graceful about it. Show your
husband you know how to obey him, no matter how much it might hurt you.
One day he will want you with child, and you will have to endure morning
sickness then, and the pain of delivery. What will he think of your
ability in doing that if you can’t even stand a little disciplinary
spanking? Get right down on that bench! You are a young whore, all
wives are, and you need to be whipped to keep you in line! Show the
other women here that you can take it, that you know how to obey. Set
an example in obedience for them to follow.”
“Who-who will whip me?” Jill asked. Her voice was tremulous.
Her body shivered as she contemplated the bench, Emily caressing her
seat all the while, to comfort her a little, and explore the contours
that she soon would thrash.
“I will at first,” Emily replied. “To warm you up a bit and
make you more compliant and receptive. Then, when it is time for the
really hard strokes, Sam will take over, and whip you hard as he likes,
or not. It is each husband’s choice. My job is simply to get you
ready.” She pushed lightly on Jill’s back, urging her down. Awkwardly
Jill lifted her leg and straddled the humped bench. I saw her eyes
observing the freshly oiled straps. Nervous as a new filly at the
rodeo, she settled onto the worn fabric that covered the top of the
bench, feeling her pubis come into contact with the hard hump, letting
the air caress her in her bottomcrack as her mature fanny spread open
behind her. She held her hands under her chest but Emily drew them out
now, and pulled them gently down to the legs of the bench, where she
quickly buckled them into place, before Jill could change her mind.
Then she moved to the girl’s legs and secured each of her ankles to a
leg of the bench, one on each side, leaving poor Jill spread like a
Thanksgiving turkey about to be stuffed. Emily patted her bottom.
“Imagine the men at work seeing you like this, Jill!” she teased the
woman. “You’ll cry and sweat and burp and probably even fart, too, as I
apply the whip to you. Think of how silly you’ll look in your agony,
weeping and begging, and how stupid it was for you to walk down the
aisle of the church, all dignified, as if the work of the wedding night
would never arrive! Your guests will see you beaten, and then fucked,
and what a mess you’ll be by morning! All for your husband’s pleasure,
of course, seeing you broken in for your lifetime of wifely duties. How
Sam must wish he’d done this to you right off the bat, when you were
first married. Yes, it takes someone like me, Emily, to train husbands
on how to properly handle and deal with their wives.” She ran her
finger along Jill’s exposed cunt and on to the dimple of her asshole.
“Please don’t pee while you’re over the bench,” Emily said. “I’ll make
you clean up after yourself if you do. Do you have to poop?”
“No,” Jill said, staring straight ahead.
“Good,” Emily replied. She beckoned one of the maids. The
girl hurriedly ran up to her, knowing she must not show the slightest
hesitancy in obeying her mistress. Either that, or she was just
playing, to show her complete subservience, in case some other woman
might wish to hire her for the evening, and have her perform duties at
her behest. I imagined the girls were well paid, and even contemplated,
momentarily, seeking some similar employment. How fun it must be to run
about all night in just bikini panties, teasing men, and not letting
them touch! I remembered my schoolgirl days, walking home from school,
learning to wiggle while I walked, like a woman does. Cars would slow,
I’d see a man staring, I’d give him a pouty sulk and glare, and pretend
to memorize his license plate as he drove away. Some men even had
little hearts on their license plates, to protect the children! No
doubt their wives ordered the plates, paying the money into the state
fund, perhaps with their husband’s full approval. And then he’d be
driving home, certain of his beliefs, swearing as he listened to news
stories about molesters on the radio. And, just as suddenly as Saul on
the road to Damascus, heaven would open, and he’d see my jiggling little
bottom, and the world would never be quite the same for him, ever
again. “Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, what? THAT! The girl
in the squeezingly tight jeans, or the too-short shorts, skipping home
from school, all innocent and virginal, but with a copy of Seventeen
stuffed in her binder. Hello Kitty emblazoned on the outside of her
binder, and Seventeen inside, or Cosmopolitan even, telling her how to
date boys or have better sex with men. Yes, don’t touch my wiggly
bottom, sir, though your son might have his way with me, or that no-good
boy who lives down the street, and slashed your tires last summer and
egged your car. He is good enough to fuck me, but you’re not. No, you
CAN’T have that, sir. Only boys with half-grown peckers can have me,
though I must dream at night in my bed of really big pricks, mustn’t I?
Who would want a half-pint size when she could have the real thing?
I glanced to my right. Sam had shut his legs, imprisoning me
as I stood naked between them, his hairy thighs gripped against my thin,
childish legs. I was only 13. Sam put his hand out and squeezed my
bare cheeks. “They’re so soft,” he mused, even as he watched his wife’s
bottom elevated by the hump, and the oiled straps holding her so she
could not be spared from having it spanked.
“I’m going to put a little alcohol on your bottom,” Emily said
to Jill. “In case it bleeds from being struck. Does it sting a
little? That’s why I like applying it, not just for sanitary reasons,
to keep you from being infected if your bottom is cut by the whip, but
also because it makes each stroke that much more impressive. Don’t
worry, my dear, you’ll be well gagged, to keep you from grinding your
teeth. I do actually believe in treating a girl well who is over the
bench.” She stood over Emily, applying handfuls of alcohol with swirls
of her fingertips to Jill’s fanny. As she worked, she called to one of
the maids. She told her to comb out Jill’s hair and touch up her face
with makeup. It was an odd sight, seeing Emily prepare Jill’s bottom
for punishment while a maid knelt before her and did her face, making
her as lovely as she ever could be, here on her wedding night, with her
husband looking on.
When Jill’s face was all painted and her bottom anointed, the
maid gagged her mouth with a rubber bit. “Bite down. Let it get seated
properly,” Emily told Jill. The maid pushed it back as far as it could
go in Jill’s mouth. The ends of the bit stuck out on either side of her
lips, making her look almost grotesque, like a horse too harshly
harnessed by its master. There were cords trailing from the ends of the
bit, and these were bound behind Jill, in the softness of her blonde
hair. She turned toward me, lying over the bench, and gazed at me with
eyes filled with fear. I could do nothing. I simply stared back, a
hand at my throat, praying to God that I would somehow not have to go
next. Sam ran a finger down my spine, perhaps to reassure me that I was
loved, and would not really be tortured, but it only made me shiver
visibly, like a child seeing a ghost on Halloween.
Emily whispered to the maid who had just finished doing Jill’s
makeup and forcing her into the bit. The maid got up from in front of
Jill and scurried off, only to return moments later with a wide belt.
No pants were being worn by anyone in the room, so we knew immediately
its nefarious purpose. Jill did too. When she saw it, she started, and
yanked upon her bonds with her arms and legs. It was unavailing. A
moment later she could only lie quietly over the humped bench and watch
as Emily stalked about her, circling her white body, her ass raised and
her legs wide apart. Jill seemed to mouth something, but I could not
make it out, nor could anybody else, the bit so constrained her.
“Ah, I love seeing the little shivers of a girl about to be
whipped,” Emily taunted. “Such a lovely white body, with your fanny
whiter still, screened from the sun by your panties. Where are they
now? Did you lose them? Or did you forget to put them on for your
wedding? How naughty a bride can be, hmmm? You’ll wish you’d
remembered your panties in a minute, I swear.” Emily let the lash drop
its tip onto Jill’s bottom. She caressed the girl’s seat with it,
drawing it finally through the open crack between Jill’s springy
cheeks. “Are you ready, my dear?” Emily asked at last. “Nod if you
are.”
Jill didn’t move her head. Her neck was rigid. Her eyes
stared, then fluttered a little, then stared again. She looked some
animal about to be slaughtered, and Emily seemed to know this and savor
it. Did Jill savor it too? All eyes were upon her. No one spoke,
everyone watched.
“Let it begin,” Sam uttered suddenly, startling me.
Emily brought the strap smartly down upon Jill’s seat. The
blonde bucked as the leather struck, then howled through her gag.
“It is only the first of many, my dear,” Emily told Jill. She
stood watching the blonde as she jerked again in her bonds, and squeezed
her asscheeks, trying to squeeze away the pain. At last Jill’s cry died
away.
“Again?” Emily asked Sam. She would let him call out the
strokes, to make his wife even more aware of her need to obey him.
“Again, and harder this time. Make her squirm like a fish,”
Sam croaked. His cock was really in control of his mind now, I guessed.
“Why, Sam. You are so horrible, but it’s your wife!” Emily
said. She saluted him and then Jill’s bottom, bringing the lash right
down, hard across the cheeks, and bringing a shriek from Jill. Her
bottom wobbled upon the hump, like jello being brought out for eating.
A red stripe formed.
A maid approached me, something in her hands. I received it,
cupping my palms, taking my hands from my nervous fanny to allow her to
give it to me. “What is this?” I asked. Three metal rings, with the
ability to be snapped open and shut. A wire connected them, and ran on
to a little box, which the maid kept. “It’s for Sam’s penis,” she
answered. Curious, I turned about, Sam actually letting me, for he was
as curious as I. At the maid’s behest I bent and attached each of the
rings to Sam’s cock. He was eager for anything that might pleasure him,
anything Emily would permit. He did not stop me. Emily seemed to have
arranged this in advance. She waited, standing beside Jill, who fought
back tears as she tried to squeeze away the sting of the second slash
she’d been given. The belt dangled aimlessly from Emily’s fist, so
quiet now and harmless, like a gun lying dormant in a drawer, children
playing nearby.
I closed each of the three rings over Sam’s cock. They were a
bit on the small side, and indented the flesh of his organ as they
snapped shut upon it. “Now with each whip-bite, the maid will pass a
small electric current through the wire, from the box, and zap your
penis, Sam,” Emily told my new husband. “This is a wedding night, after
all, where the groom is bound in to matrimony as surely as the wife.”
Sam looked up, shocked, as one might say, at the purpose of this device
newly applied to his penis, but a second maid had arrived on the scene
and was coaxing his big arms behind him. He did not resist, so aroused
was he by the closeness of all this young female flesh, the maids just
in their panties and me inspecting my handiwork as I checked to make
sure the rings didn’t grip his cock with excessive tightness. I heard a
click and realized the maid behind him had just cuffed him with
handcuffs. Then the maid with the box took my hands, lifting them from
Sam’s cock, and pulled them behind me and cuffed me as well. She turned
me and sat me upon Sam’s thigh. I felt his hairy leg on my bottom once
more. At least it was better than feeling the strap!
My legs were opened. I saw that the box had a second wire
running from it. The maid bent and taped this to my clitty.
“Please don’t,” I begged. I watched, looking down between my
trembling bosoms, as she delicately taped the wire to me, pressing to
make sure the tape stuck properly, trying to cover as little of my pubic
hair as possible with it, for obviously it would have to be pulled off
afterward. Next wires were plugged into the box and run up to my
nipples, which she carefully wrapped with the ends of the wire. Sam was
made to stand up a little and the maid behind him stuck the end of a
wire into his asshole, then taped it there and made him sit back down.
Fortunately, perhaps because I’d already been fucked there this evening,
my butthole was spared.
“Now Sam,” Emily said. “You were so brave and eager to see
your wife thrashed before. I hope you do not show any cowardliness
now.”
Sam gulped. “Okay,” he said at last. “But how can I keep from
cuming?”
“It is not too pleasurable, I don’t think, having your cock
shocked,” Emily laughed. “Do your best, Sam, or I might put even you
over this bench.”
“Do it,” Sam said finally, meaning the whipping of his wife, I
think, not the subjugation of himself in the selfsame position, over the
bench.” And then both he and I jumped as a current attacked our loins,
even as Emily whacked his honey’s heinie. She bleated, he and I
yelped. It continued unabated then, Emily flaying poor Jill’s tushy,
striping it hard and fast, while Sam and I were jolted in our privates
by the evil little maid with the electronic box.
“Oooh! Oooch! Owooo!” I blurted, Sam shouting out his own
agonies, as Jill was made to cry where she lay over the bench. Mightily
Sam strove to keep from ejaculating. I alternated between being
absorbed in myself and watching him, seeing his chest strain, his arms
bound behind him, his neck muscles bulging.
“Don’t, please don’t cum, Sam!” I urged him. For one thing, if
he did, and his cock shrank, the metal rings would simply fall off,
leaving only me to be tortured as Jill rang out her shrieks with each
new biting fall of the lash. I know Sam had a wire up his butt,
however, it wouldn’t be the same, in my opinion, as having both his dick
and his ass hot-wired. I guessed he might even manage to dig the wire
out of his butt with his finger, once the pain/pleasure response of the
current was no longer being applied to his cock. He played along for
the moment, trying hard not to leave me bereft, the only one suffering.
Then suddenly I felt a wetness upon my leg as I turned to watch Jill,
and, looking back at Sam, I saw for the first time in my life his cum
actually shooting out, spraying like a firehose against my 13-year-old
thigh. “Sam, no!” I begged, but it was too late. He grinned happily as
he realized all was lost, and the battle was over for him. When he was
done, the last of his cum shot out only on my leg, he lifted his
haunches slightly from the satin chair and ripped the wire out of his
butt with his finger.
“Whew! What an adventure,” Sam marvelled. For the first time
he seemed to see normally again, relieved of his lust. I watched
unhappily as his penis shrank and the coiled rings fell off, one by
one. “Get me out of these handcuffs!” he shouted. A maid glanced
quickly at Emily. She nodded, reluctantly, her approval. Sam was
unlocked, he tore his arms from the girl and the cuffs at the first
opportunity and rose from his chair in all his manly glory. Even as he
stood his cock became erect once more, so aroused was he by the sight of
his wife bent over the bench, her ass open and smarting. I was knocked
off his leg like a forgotten toy. He walked away from me and his chair,
cocksure now, eager to have his wife right where she lay. Emily dared
not resist him. He was a loin in full roar, and boar charging down upon
its prey, a leopard running in fast for the kill.
Sam straddled the bench. He prised apart his wife’s asscheeks,
savoring their already well-spread state even as he opened them more.
Standing over her like Genghis Khan over a victim, rippling with power
from his toes to the tip of his cock, he licked his lips, and his eyes
took on a predatory gleam. Jill mewled behind her gag, tried to twist
her hips away. He slapped her bottom hard.
“Be still, girl! It is time,” he said. Behind me I heard a
shuffling and rearranging as couples prepared to have their own amorous
combats in accompaniment with the bride and groom. A man approached
me. He sat down in Sam’s chair and, without even having the grace to
unhandcuff me, bent me right over in front of him so that my cunnylips
were presented to his naked cock. He clasped me by my arms, drew them
in hard against my bent-over back, and in this way pulled my legs up
close to his loins. He shoved his dick right into my nest, spearing me
in my bent-down position, with my hair tickling my toes as my face was
made to observe my ankles. I wanted to watch Sam and Jill, but it was
not to be. I was fucked from behind, rudely and without compassion, by
this man, as my own groom did poor Jill up the ass. All was gruntings
and bleatings and screams of pleasure around me, as I myself began to
cry out at the swift and pounding intrusion of the man’s prick up my
cunt. I fought him but it was no use. His powerful arms held me in
place and he reamed me repeatedly. I succumbed to him in the end,
spasming with orgasms upon his hard pole, until he at last jetted
himself into my womb. He would father my child, absent an abortion, I
realized, and then I understood that Emily had let the night go its own
way, finally, letting her plans be spoiled so that she could enjoy
instead the raw urgency of the guests, each taking pleasure as he or she
saw fit, with the exception of Jill and myself who, in our bonds, had to
suffer whatever depredations others wished upon us.
Sam’s raping of Jill’s bottom did not abate her whipping. As
soon as he was done, Emily began again, letting her out of her gag
momentarily that she might sip some wine before her punishment began
anew. When Emily finished at last with Jill, I was put in her place,
implacably, the man who had bent me over tying me down himself. Then I
was bitted and whipped just as thoroughly as Jill had been, Emily
delighting in my torment, giving me smelling salts when I fainted,
feeding me bits of food to keep my strength up. I peed on the bench in
my misery, and was thrashed for it. At last Jill and I were put upon
the bed and, weeping at our fate, were raped by whichever men might have
us, both of us tied down so that we could not resist. Sam, for his
part, amused himself with other girls, though at last he shot the
remnants of his seed into us, to lay claim to us at night’s end, so that
other men might not take us home with them instead.
30
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