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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Cunt Castle part 3 of 3 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CUNT CASTLE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
The five of us squeezed into the back seat of the limo. I
think it made us feel more secure somehow, going off into the night,
with nothing to protect us except our faithful driver. He would shadow
us, Rose said, to keep us out of danger.
“But still, we must have our wits about us. Men will be men,
you know. Let’s support each other and help each other. And we’ll
definitely team up on any women who bug us.”
“Yes!” we all agreed. So this would be a real nightclub, not
something specially arranged by Rose with one of her customers. It
would be just us in our teensy bikinis against all the world. I
shivered at the thought. Mine didn’t even cover my bottom properly, but
Rose assured me that everyone would be really cool and as daringly
dressed as I.
“The beach atmosphere is totally liberating,” Rose told me.
“The cover charge where we’re going is $200.00 per person, so you can
rest assured we won’t be partying with mulish college boys on spring
break. On the other hand, drug lords can afford to get in sometimes,
and their cronies, so don’t think you can just let your guard down
completely. And women are always bitchy.” Polly nodded.
“Yes, they always take too LONG sitting on the commode!” Polly
said, brushing back her hair and sticking her nose up.
“Commode! Where did you learn that?” I asked her.
“I know big words, Furry,” Polly told me, using my nickname. I
wasn’t as furry as Rose, but I guess I did have more now than when I was
10. So, furry it was, even though most men might say I needed a little
more.
“How do you spell it?” I asked her.
“Commode,” Polly said with an important air. “C- um, O and, M
and, uh, MODE!” Polly announced.
“Can you spell potty?” I teased.
“No, but I can SMELL potty!” Polly said, giggling, and I had to
pinch her for that. For which she started pulling my hair.
“Girls! Girls!” Rose admonished us. She handed us lipstick.
“Here, put on your makeup. We don’t want to be outshone at the cabana.
And brush your hair.” She put down a vanity mirror for us, concealed in
the ceiling. She and Joanne and Sylvia shared lipstick. Polly and I
dutifully made ourselves up and brushed out our hair. We did not bother
to pin it up, although Rose piled hers atop her head to give herself a
regal look. Sylvia did the same, then insisted on making Joanne’s brown
hair into braids. It was strange to see them without their bottoms and
bosoms bare. Polly and I still wore our wristlets and anklets of steel,
and our collars. We wanted to take them off but Rose said no.
As I contemplated the effect my collar and bracelets would have
on the people at the cabana, Polly began counting stars. We sat beside
each other. Rose said it would take awhile to reach the cabana. It was
farther away than the saloon. Soon I found myself counting stars with
Polly to ease my misgivings.
Gradually the lights of the city became a dim glow in the
distance. The twinkled like some distant Bethlehem, then like
Jerusalem, perhaps, and finally like New York City, although we were of
course quite far away from all those destinations. The light from the
city began to overshadow the stars and finally Polly and I couldn’t see
them well enough any more to count. We’d lost count, anyway, and set
instead to figuring out the constellations. Polly found what she
thought was a bull, with a rather large endowment where it mattered.
All I could see was a snake winding across the heavens, poised to bite
me.
Rose handed out shoes for each of us, plus a towel to wipe our
feet with. I passed the towel through my toes, savoring the feel of
it. It was hot. Rose had kept it in a little steamer. There were
three towels in all. We shared them.
“I sent the driver to pick up the best possible shoes for
dancing in,” Rose said. “Given, of course, that they must be high
heels. It wouldn’t be proper for us to dance in anything less, I don’t
think.”
I looked at my pair. They were very nice. Open toed, open
heeled, with straps to tie round my ankles, over my anklet bracelets. I
helped Polly tie hers on and she helped me with mine. We threaded them
through clasps on our leg manacles to make them more difficult to take
off.
“If a man can’t get your shoes off he won’t try to put you in
bed,” Polly intoned, sharing some old wives tale from primary school.
She told me she and her friends used to double-knot their tennies before
walking home from school. I simply nodded. It was no use arguing with
her. She was always certain of what she told me, until, that is,
experience proved her wrong. Like a child sure that gum won’t stick in
her hair, or that the oven isn’t really so hot, or that you can’t wet
your panties if you hold your breath. There was no way to prove her
wrong on this point with just five women in the car, so I skipped it.
The buildings of the city finally enveloped us. We travelled
over a bridge and found ourselves at once within canyon walls of
windowed concrete. I gazed up at them. Behind each was a different
story, I knew. Somewhere someone was fucking, no doubt, gazing down at
our limo, perhaps, as it passed. A rush of cars swept us along the
street and we sped like flotsam, I thought, being just a passenger, to
our destination.
We pulled up to a busy sidewalk. The driver got out amidst
swirls of people. They were dressed mostly in tropical clothes. The
beach was nearby. Some people wore just their swimsuits, nothing more,
for which I was grateful. Our driver opened the door where Polly and I
sat. We were the first to get out. I felt the eyes of the passersby
staring into the vee of my legs as I got up from the seat of the limo
and exited through the door. Rose followed quickly, ushered us
forward. Joanne and Sylvia followed. The club was only a few steps
away. We crossed the sidewalk, and Rose placed a wad of bills in the
doorman’s open palm. He was dressed like a royal servant, with top hat,
gloves, long boots and a long tailed jacket. He nodded, passed the
money to a woman behind a window. She counted it quickly as we passed
through the door to the club, a glass door that a second doorman opened
for us. He was dressed as the first. Nobody checked our I.D., although
it would be saying too much of the doorman’s manners to say he didn’t
check us out.
I found myself huddled with Rose and Polly and Joanne and
Sylvia inside a large lobby with flashing strobe lights. In the center,
people were dancing. Beyond a band played. Above us was a balcony of
glass, where yet more people danced. It stretched around the four walls
of the club and, looking up, polly and I found ourselves staring
straight into the crotches of women and men. Most wore swimsuits, like
we did, although a few more modest dancers wore clothes. A waitress
passed overhead, wearing a miniskirt, but it was quite useless with
Polly and I staring straight up from below.
“She doesn’t have any panties on!” Polly cried, pointing
upward.
“Be good dear,” Rose told her. “Please don’t point at people’s
genitals.” She herded us toward the dance floor, while the doorman
who’d let us in nodded to another who approached Rose and asked her
which table she’d like. There were round tables scattered about, many
of them filled. The ones that were empty belonged to dancers.
“Whichever one is closest to the floor,” Rose said to the man.
Despite her bikini, she had a purse with her. A small, leather one,
black as her suit. She handed it to the man to use to mark our table
with. She kept it in the limo for just such uses, she told me.
“It’s got a few condoms in it if you meet someone really
special,” she confided.
“A few what?” Polly asked. Joanne and Sylvia had gone dancing
with Rose before. They did not pay any attention, knowing already what
Rose was telling me.
“You know, rubbers,” I told Polly.
“Good,” she replied. “I shoot rubber bands at the boys at
school when they bother me!”
“Not rubber-” I began, but gave up. I had no real interest in
shouting over the music about condoms, especially as several eager men
were already approaching us.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m the chaperone for these girls.
Would you like to ask them something?” Rose said with a smile. Joanne
and Sylvia, not included in Rose’s little introduction, let themselves
be led away by men who slipped up alongside them. As for Polly and I,
we found ourselves staring at two extremely studly dudes who vied, at
that moment, with Louis and Andre and Jack for my liking. They wore
abbreviated swimsuits within which their balls and organs seemed to be
almost bristling. The nearest had on a cut-off t-shirt, showing me his
belly, while Polly’s suitor wore an open vest. I wondered if he were
gay. They both looked to be in their early 20’s, just old enough to
know when to hold and to fold, I suspected, and the thought excited me.
To my surprise Rose approached the one I was contemplating and pointedly
stuck her finger in the front of his suit. Pulling it open, she stared
right down into his equipment. I wished I could see, but he was just a
little too far back from me. I would have to rely on Rose’s judgement.
“Well, you certainly LOOK healthy,” Rose said to the young
man. A girl came up between them, missing her bra, wearing just bikini
panties. Her breasts jogged easily on her chest. She wore long glass
earrings. They looked almost penis-shaped. Her lips were wet and
open. I felt an urge to stick my finger in her mouth and watch her suck
it.
“Hi,” she said to me, her voice soft despite the amplified
music. Yet I could hear her. I could read her lips. She seemed
utterly unaffected. She was no more than 16. I felt a kinship with
her. She glanced along the nearest boy’s belly into the suit Rose still
was inspecting.
“Oooh, cool,” the girl sighed. She brushed a hand along her
belly. It was flat, with the gentlest of swelling right where her navel
was, as if to promise something to us all if she were fucked.
Rose let the man’s suit snap shut. “You have permission to
dance with my charges,” Rose told him.
“Are they your daughters?” the man asked Rose. She flushed a
little.
“Do I look that old? No, of course not. They’re not my
daughters!” She pushed the first man aside and went to the other. She
was no less frank with him, despite his muscles and his hard-edged
demeanor.
“Yes, I see you’re well equipped too,” Rose complimented the
man. In retaliation he pulled open the front of her bikini bottoms.
“Monkey see, monkey do,” he said to excuse himself, and looked
with candid ardor at her bush. Rose let her hands drop to her sides and
did not protest.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked, laughing, as he held
open her front.
“I’ll kiss it for you,” the man said. Rose smiled, looked at
me. I tried not to blush. Gently the man placed Rose’s panties back
against her delta. Then he placed a finger beneath her and felt between
her legs. “Your swimsuit’s moist,” he said. Rose looked at me again.
“Did you wet your panties?” Polly asked Rose with wide eyes.
“Go dance, dear,” Rose replied.
The man I thought would take Polly went instead for Rose. They
began swaying to the beat of the music as Polly and I joined the guy
with the cutoff tee.
“What’s your name?” he asked each of us, telling us he was
Brad. The girl introduced herself as Cheyenne. Another male, seeing
the surfeit of females around Brad, soon joined us. We minded not. He
was Darwin, a blonde surfer, with trunks as full as Brad’s.
I noticed the floor we were dancing on was strangely
modern-looking. It seemed to have pegged holes in it every few inches.
They were covered with mesh, I saw, as I bent down to look. Strange,
but I had no explanation for them. I had to pull my swimsuit up when I
straightened my back. The slightest bow in my frame, the littlest
bending over, and it slipped further down my heinie, exposing my white
cheeks.
“Your daughter has a lovely ass,” Brad told Rose as we found
ourselves dancing within earshot.
“She’s going to have it whipped later tonight,” Rose confided.
I blushed. Rose indicated Polly and said she would be treated the
same. Brad seemed shocked. His cock grew, straining his swimsuit. He
became noticeably uncomfortable from his erection.
“I hope the suds start soon,” he said.
“Suds?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” Cheyenne assured me. “Any minute now.”
Suddenly, even as she spoke, a spray of water erupted from the
floor. Squirting fountains began shooting up and wetting our bodies.
They didn’t spurt high enough to hit our faces, but I found my crotch
and my belly getting rained upon. Even my breasts were not out of reach
of the higher spurts. Cheyenne laughed, jiggled her tits. The water
was not a thorough, unrelenting spray, like a fountain, but rather a
series of distinct streams emanating from the floor. There were just
enough of them, though, that there was no escaping being wettened. And
for each fountain of water there was, right beside it, a fountain
spraying some kind of liquid cream. It smelled like Cool-Whip and I
knew now why the cover charge was $200.00. Somebody must have bought an
awful lot of it to spray it on us so freely.
“Take off your bottoms,” Cheyenne urged me. She loosed her own
as she spoke. Feeling uninhibited in all the spurting cream, I ran my
fingers over my drawstrings and tugged at them. I felt my heinie become
more exposed than ever, and, worse, my pussy too. Cream shot up and hit
my cunny as my panties fell away. Not wanting to be alone, I reached
over and grabbed teasingly at Polly’s panties. She tried to resist but,
for some reason, fought with only half her strength and I had hers
undone in no time.
Brad laughed and yanked down his Speedos. His cock, so eager
to break free, sprang up and was immediately anointed with Cool-Whip.
He let his balls swing over the spray and they got a baptism of their
own. I reached back and undid my top and let it flutter away. I felt
like an Indian, naked as Cheyenne, and I made sure Polly’s top came off
too. We danced away from our things. I knew I should recover them from
the floor but the whole atmosphere was so heady I just didn’t care. I
wiggled my tits and felt their freedom. Brad watched with mesmerized
eyes.
“I love you, Brad,” I called to him. Laughing, I asked,
“What’s your last name?”
“Pitt,” he replied.
“Liar,” I giggled.
“Liar yourself, what’s your last name?” he asked me above the
din of the music.
“Liar, liar, ass on fire!” I shouted, and I reached back and
whacked his naked haunches. He shouted, grabbed me, and I let him pull
me close. I felt my breasts crush themselves against his chest as he
aimed for my mouth with his tongue and found it. Beyond us Polly and
Cheyenne were drawn close by Darwin and he stood feeling their bottoms
as he kissed them.
“Let’s fuck,” Brad begged me.
“I don’t know,” I replied. I wished only to dance, kiss a
little, perhaps. But then again, my thoughts whirling, I could feel him
snake-like against my belly, so hard, so very impressive.
A woman’s hand, its nails long and chiseled, placed itself
softly on my fanny. I broke my mouth from Brad’s, turned. It was
Rose.
“Come,” she said. She interrupted Darwin and Polly also and,
with our new friends accompanying us, she led us up some steps to a
private room, retrieving her purse first, in case we needed Polly’s
‘rubber bands.’
We entered into a small room with a crackling fireplace. I let
myself be drawn to it. The water had been chilly and I felt grateful
for the fire. I extended my hands to it, standing before it, and let
the heat bathe my tummy. Then I turned around and offered it my ass.
Rose found a pile of towels and passed them around. We stood
drying ourselves before the warmth of the fire. I felt romantic. I was
glad the water had not wet my hair. Polly found a large cowboy hat and,
perhaps to regain just a touch of modesty, she plopped it on her head.
“Oh, what’s that?” she asked, adjusting her hat. She pointed
to a leather stool in the corner. It was shaped like a saddle and it
had a pommel with reins. Polly wandered over to it.
“You don’t want to sit on that, darling,” Rose cautioned.
“It’s an electric bucking bronco. Someone must have decided to store it
here.”
But Polly was curious. The padded stool with the pommel was
too tall for her to mount standing on the floor. She placed both her
hands up on the seat, and then lifted a foot and stuck it in a stirrup
that dangled down along the side of the stool. The thing was a
real-looking saddle, I had to admit, complete with everything but the
horse itself. But why would anyone mount it on a stool?
Darwin eased himself over to Polly and offered to help her up.
She accepted, and he hoisted her bottom up for her so that she could
settle herself in the saddle. She looked just like a cowgirl and,
clearly enjoying herself, she pulled the chin strap of her hat down
below her chin so she wouldn’t lose it.
Polly picked up the reins that dangled down from the pommel in
front of the stool. Holding them aloft in her hands, she began to
bounce her ass up and down on the smooth leather saddle. It was padded,
but stiffly soft, so that her bottom did not sink down into it but was
nonetheless not discomfited as she bounced up and down.
“Giddap, giddap! Go, pony, go!” Polly shouted happily. She
turned to Rose. “I want to GO someplace!” she whined. “On my horsey.”
She was being utterly childish again, but, judging from the mesmerized
look on Brad and Darwin’s faces, they didn’t mind in the least.
Rose whispered to the boys and their eyes lit up. With quick
steps they approached Polly’s ‘horse.’ As Polly watched, curious and, I
think, a little randy from the dancing, they buckled her legs below the
knee into leather straps that hung from the sides of the stool. I
hadn’t taken note of them earlier. They sprouted from the sides of the
stool, right where Polly’s calves were, and it was the easiest of things
for Brad and Darwin to ‘buckle her up’, one might say, as she sat
watching them.
Rose glided over to the front of the stool and picked up a
little control box. Wires ran from it to the underside of the saddle.
A tube hung down beneath the underside of the saddle, and I wondered
what was in it.
“Polly, did you ever ride on a horsey at the grocery?” Rose
asked.
“‘Course!” Polly replied, quite confident now. She was the
center of attention and loving every minute of it. “Is this ride sort
of like that?”
“Yes, sort of,” Rose grinned. I began to suspect something
fishy lay in wait in the tube beneath the saddle. Rose looked at
Cheyenne. The girl smiled, perhaps knowing, perhaps simply happy.
The stool began moving.
“Oh, goody!” Polly cried. She bounced in time with it, first
exaggerating its own movements, then soon finding herself bounced by it,
and quite vigorously. Rose slowed the stool to a stop.
“Keep going!” Polly insisted.
“Oh, don’t worry, Polly.” Rose replied. “I want you to sit
very still for a minute, O.K.?”
“O.K., but I don’t want to have to wait long for my ride,”
Polly reminded her.
“You won’t,” Rose replied. “Expect a little visitor, though.
Right up your...”
“Oh!” Polly shouted. Rose motioned for Cheyenne and I to hold
down her thighs. We rushed up to her, too amused not to. I could guess
now what was about to happen, and Cheyenne could too. A fake penis was
going to nose its way up her cunt!
“Yo, yo, yo, NO!” Polly squealed, looking uncertain at first,
feeling something begin to poke at her from below. She seemed to me
like a child awaiting its poop, except in her case something was going
up, not down.
“YAAAK! Not in my bottom!” Polly suddenly screeched. I felt
my eyes bulge even as I watched her own do the same. Up her bottom?
Was the thing really going to take her anal virginity?
“I picked the slim one, Polly. Behave!” Rose called from where
she stood operating the control box.
“Nooo, nooo, nooo, nooOOOH!” Polly hooted, while Cheyenne and I
began laughing so hard we could barely keep her down. I felt my tits
jiggling on my chest and knew the men were delighted to see me so happy.
“It’s going too far upppp,” Polly yelled as she lifted her chin
up and wiggled her ass, trying to escape the insidious penis.
“You’ve only two inches, Polly, and it’s quite slender. Enjoy
yourself. It’s your first time,” Rose told her. But Polly’s cries grew
ever louder, though they were not of pain, just great anxiety. When
Cheyenne and I felt she could no longer buck up and escape the intruder,
we let go. Instantly she yanked up her thighs and I peeked beneath her
bottom. A Slim-Jim sized cock was worming its way into her heinie and
she could not get rid of it. Polly clenched her cheeks, trying to stop
it, but it was heavily greased and rose with implacable vigor.
Seeing that Polly was quite ready for her ride now, Rose began
the machine. The saddle began bouncing her up and down, just like
before, but now each pounding that her bottom suffered upon it rammed
the rising tube deeper into her ass. I heard Rose click off the switch
for the penis finally, leaving Polly to bounce on its full length,
utterly penetrated now, despite her endlessly compressing cheeks. In
fact each bounce of the stool caused her cheeks to briefly release
themselves, making her look silly as her cheeks sprang open and closed,
showing her asscrack to us.
“GEEE-YAAAAA” Polly hollered as the mechanical bull sprang up
and down with unrelenting force. Her boobs juddered like cream puffs as
she took her unwanted ‘ride’ upon it. “Let-me-offff!” Polly pleaded,
but Rose was not about to allow that. We watched, fascinated, as Polly
found herself a penetrated cowgirl, getting fucked by the fake cock up
her ass with every bounding leap of the stool. I migrated to Brad and
stroked his cock. We shared glances. I looked down at his tool and
wished there was some way I could mount the stool and simultaneously
have his cock inside me. He smiled, cupped my bottom, eased his finger
between my cheeks. I drew them in a little but allowed him to find my
hole at last. He explored its rubbery rim with an inquiring digit. Did
he want to stick this big pecker of his up my heinie? I shuddered. I
didn’t really want that. The ‘old-fashioned way’ would be fine with me.
Cheyenne entertained Darwin’s prick as well as Dave’s. He was
the man with the cut-off t-shirt. He’d since taken it off. It lay
discarded somewhere on the dance floor, I suspected. Along with our
panties and bras. I was feeling deliciously free tonight. I wanted
Brad inside me, and told him so.
“Cheyenne, I want you on the horse next,” Rose told her.
Cheyenne looked up from her twin cocks and there was a
reluctant look on her face. She brushed back her hair. The bull slowed
its bucking and Polly subsided on it, quivering still from her journey.
“Only if you take me back to your castle with you,” Cheyenne
told Rose.
Rose looked her over, considering. It was, I think, the first
time Rose had really taken note of the girl. She was in fact very
beautiful, with a snub nose and wide eyes and long brown tresses that
got caught on her nipples whenever she turned her head. Her bosoms
sported stiff tips, excited and ready for sex. She palmed her ass,
almost sensing Rose’s next sentence.
“Only if you agree to be a love slave there,” Rose replied.
“Oh!” Cheyenne gasped. It was as if she’d been pierced with
her deepest, most haunting fantasy. “Would you whip me?” Her fingers
pressed into her soft white bottom cheeks, gripping them, parting the
cheeks, so that I could at last see her hole as she anxiously
contemplated her choices. Brad had made me bend over and take his tool
in his mouth, so that I found myself with an unexpectedly candid view of
her nether cheeks, and stared wonderingly at them, waiting to hear if
she’d let Rose enslave her.
“Turn around. Let me see your bottom,” Rose told Cheyenne.
Bashfully she complied. But she let go of her cheeks first, and when
she offered Rose a view of her bottom it was with an ass huddling in on
itself.
“Hmmm, nice and round,” Rose said, surveying Cheyenne’s
derriere. “You have a gorgeous bottom, honey,” Rose admitted at last.
“It would be unthinkable not to give it a good thrashing. Probably at a
party, letting everyone participate. How lovely you’d look receiving
it, too! Have you never been punished on your bottom before?”
“No...never,” Cheyenne said, and spun back around so that Rose
could see her no more.
“Get on the horse, dear,” Rose said simply. She nodded to
Darwin and Dave. They led Cheyenne to the bronco, her feet tripping
over themselves a little, her hand hovering by her throat as she
realized she’d just let herself in for a whole new life. I think she
was a little high on Ecstasy or something, but it made no difference to
Rose. She hadn’t drugged the girl. If she awoke in the morning and
protested in finding herself at the castle, all the better.
Recalcitrant girls were especially fun for Rose. And, I suspected, for
helpers like Joanne and Sylvia too. I wondered where they were now.
Probably in a room close by, getting theirs. I hoped they didn’t need
any condoms. We had Rose’s purse.
Brad was obviously ready. I walked to Rose’s purse and
rummaged inside for a condom for him. After all, I didn’t know his last
name. I might not see him after tonight. Best not to take any chances,
though I had, obviously, taken a few before. But I was older now. I
knew better. He was just some dude that Rose had briefly inspected.
For VD, I guessed now, as much as for anything else. He’d been oozing
pre-cum when we met, from the stain I remembered seeing on the front of
his Speedos. I’d been too excited by the music, the lights, to really
understand what Rose had been doing. But now I knew. I chose a
pre-lubricated condom from her purse, one colored red, and returned to
Brad.
“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked, tearing open the packet. My
breasts jiggled on my chest.
“Go ahead,” Brad agreed. As Dave and Darwin helped Polly get
loose from her perch I slid the condom on Brad. He almost came as I
handled him, he was so eager for me.
“Wait a minute, kids. We’re going to do something together,”
Rose told us. I smiled. Rose was always up to something. To keep Brad
tempted I ran my fingers along his sheathed cock once I had him all
suited up. He passed his hand between my legs and teased my spot to
distraction.
Polly wobbled over to Rose. She sank down to the woman’s feet
and placed the cheek of her face upon her toes. She looked like a
little baby, curling up at Rose’s feet. Her bottom pointed toward us
and I saw it looked well poked. There was a brown smear around her hole
and the insidious thing had, apparently, jetted something up into her in
the last moments of her ride. Rose, obviously, had found a switch for
sperming girls on the stool. Cheyenne would be next.
Dave and Darwin mounted her up. I watched as her legs parted
wide to accommodate the seat between them. She settled into it,
adjusted herself, reached back and felt her bottom. In a moment the
prick that had lodged itself in Polly would do her, and she knew it. In
its housing beneath the stool, I guessed, it lay waiting in
disinfectant. Then, poking up through the seat again, it would be
greased as it rose through the tube, emerging at last cock-sure and
ready to fuck again.
Rose took off Polly’s cowboy hat. The girl did not protest.
She was exhausted from her ride. Especially the terror of it, being
fucked in the ass for the first time in her life. Now she lay
puppy-like at Rose’s feet.
Rose passed the cowboy hat to cheyenne. Bravely the girl took
it, put it on, even slid the strap under her chin so it wouldn’t fly
off.
“Fleury, Polly, let’s each kneel and take a man up our bottom
at the same time Cheyenne gets fucked on the stool,” Rose suggested.
There was a wicked gleam in her eye and I liked it.
“Alright,” I agreed. She passed me a fresh towel for comfort
and I spread it out on the floor. There was no furniture in the room.
Just the bronco, which I’d thought useless at first, the fireplace, and
plenty of towels. And a wet bar, which none of us had yet bothered to
use.
I knelt and offered Brad my bottom. Just like that. As a
female might do in the jungle. Rose spread out a towel for herself and
knelt with the control box in her hands. Polly declared that she would
not participate. She remained fetal-like, showing us her bottom but
insisting it not be touched.
“Suit yourself,” Rose replied. Dave had found Rose first so he
got dibs on her rear. Darwin settled for Rose’s mouth, and seemed to
prefer her accessibility to Polly’s stubbornness. Some men like a
challenge, others are just looking for a wet hole, I guess. It was not
a bad choice. Rose drew him into her mouth, commenting over his prick
that he must not let himself interfere with her use of the control box
for the bronco. Dave, meanwhile, having gotten a condom and lubricant
from her purse, prepared to mount her ass.
I felt Brad’s cock bump up against my hole. He was kneeling
behind me now, as Dave lowered himself to the floor to do Rose. Darwin
was already enjoying Rose’s succulent mouth. She was an expert at
‘blowing’ men and she used him with her lips even as her hands remained
on the control box.
“I expect she’s very good,” I called out to Darwin, feeling
Brad at my rear. “Let her control you and you’ll last a nice long time,
I’ll bet.”
“I hope so! This is heaven!” Darwin answered me. I liked
him. He was just a big blonde, dumb dude. He had a grin on his face as
wide as the Cheshire Cat’s and I hoped someday I could show as much
skill as Rose did. She blew him gently, licking his cock and then
puffing on it, stopping a moment, then inhaling him deeply, right back
against her throat. Polly blubbered from her place on the floor, little
snivelling sounds that I expected were invitations to Darwin to take her
instead. But Darwin was supremely happy with his manhood in Rose’s
mouth and Polly, poor soul, would lose this battle to her own
stubbornness. For once nobody would command her to obey, and she’d find
she didn’t like that, after all.
Rose started the bronco. At once Cheyenne began bouncing,
lightly, while at the same time she felt the nozzled penis enquiring in
her ass. Unlike Polly, she reached back and opened her bottomcheeks to
receive it more easily. There was no use fighting against something you
couldn’t control. I wondered if I’d have that much courage if I was put
on the horse.
Brad’s cockhead dug into my bottom. I took a deep breath and
tried to relax. I knew this would hurt some, but I’d taken Andre just
the night before and survived. Now it was Brad’s turn. I felt used,
like a whore, but he didn’t seem to mind, and he drove into me so hard I
had to ball my hand into a fist and bite it.
“Good, good, don’t spare her. She needs to learn,” Rose told
Brad. She held Darwin’s cock aloft, twixt her fingers, as she spoke.
Like a cigar. I wished she hadn’t encouraged Brad for he took hold of
my hips and rammed me back upon his tool, going still deeper. I
shouted. It felt like some huge cork was being stoppered up my ass.
Briefly I wondered if I’d somehow get stuck on him.
Rose yelped as Dave took her with more vigor than she’d
expected. Even as Brad reamed me, and the horse did Cheyenne, bouncing
her more jubilantly, making her cry out with shock, Rose got hers too.
We were three females, submitting to love, and finding it more gruelling
than ever we’d hoped. The men, mechanical or real, were lusty and hard
and not to be taken lightly. I wished Brad would shoot. I tightened my
cheeks on him but he overcame me, urging me, kissing me now, leaning
close and cupping my breasts. In the corner of my eye I saw Polly had
begun to masturbate herself. Rose would scold her later for that, I was
sure, doing herself when a man had been available for her.
I rode Brad and Rose rode upon Dave as Cheyenne found her anus
fully invaded by the horse. Amidst gasps and cries and screams of
pleasure and just a touch of pain, we ran our course. At last we lay
touching and kissing upon the towels, spent, happy. Rose eventually got
up and served us drinks. Cheyenne, let down from the horse, consoled
herself in the arms of Polly, and we ended the night watching the two of
them wriggle into a spontaneous 69. Neither of them knew what it was
called. They simply found comfort in their shared experience, their
shared anal torment upon the horse. Their kisses evolved into licks and
finally into the deepest embrace of all, with each of them putting their
noses up the others’ slit. On the ride back to the castle they both sat
quite bashfully. They put the entire length of the limo seat between
themselves. They did not want to be thought lesbians, and none of us,
not even me, accused them of it.
Eventually, as the limo rolled along, Polly fell asleep. Her
head drooped as she rode beside me and I watched as her eyelids
fluttered closed. Soon her head was on my shoulder. I patted her
hair. It was best, I thought, given what Rose kept promising us. I
glanced up at her. She gazed ahead, saying nothing. Sylvia mixed
drinks for us.
“Have a little something, Fleury,” Rose said to me. I knew
why. To lessen the agony of the whipping. I accepted, quietly. I
sipped it. “Drink it all. You’ll need it,” Rose told me. We wore
towels about ourselves. Our bikinis were lost, strewn back at the
cabana on the dancefloor someplace. Being stepped on, perhaps, as the
night wound down.
In a second seat, farther up, Joanne had stretched out. She’d
been given over to a gang-bang by Sylvia at the club. Six men had gone
down on her, while Sylvia prepped them, each in turn, Joanne tied over a
trestle so she couldn’t refuse. When all had been spent, save the last,
Sylvia took him for herself.
We arrived at the castle. The moon was already set. I looked
up as we got out and thought I saw bats flutter upward, high in the
castle towers. I’d not been up there. I half expected to see myself,
letting down my hair, begging to be freed.
The driver carried Polly to her room. We parted company at the
top of the stairs. Sylvia, still chipper, took me to my own room. We
walked in silence. She put me in the bathroom and I sat on the furred
seat of the potty, fretting, while she ran a bath for me. She helped me
into it when it was ready and slipped into the warm waters with me and
bathed me. I felt limp. She washed me like a little girl might wash a
doll. She was very attentive, shampooing my hair, scrubbing me right
down to my toes, doing my back and my bottom for me. Afterward, when
I’d been rinsed and toweled dry, she had me sit on the potty again. She
placed a soft washcloth on it first, because when I first sat on it I
still had sperm dripping from my hiney-hole from being fucked by Brad.
We’d kissed goodbye, promised to meet there again, but I doubted we ever
would. He was just my lover for the night, though I’d liked him very
much. I belonged to Louis. And I was about to suffer for his love as I
never had before.
As I sat on the potty’s seat Sylvia did my makeup. She worked
diligently, until everything was quite impeccable. You’d have thought
I’d been going to a grand ball, not simply to bed. Then she stood me
up, and walked me to the bed. I got in, slowly, letting her pull down
the covers first. When I’d laid down she pulled my hands up and over my
head and bound them to the back of my collar. I was imprisoned now. I
still had my feet, but I knew she’d lock the door when she left. She
kissed me goodnight. I could not resist her lips, with my hands bound
behind me. She drew up the covers over me. Then she pulled back the
curtain to let in the night air and the stars.
“Don’t jump out the window,” she teased.
“I want to,” I confessed. She kissed me again.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “In the morning it will all be over.
Try to get some sleep. Waiting’s no fun.”
I promised myself I’d stay wide awake. Slowly, though,
exhaustion crept up on me. It might have taken only 15 minutes, perhaps
a half hour. When I next regained consciousness it was with a jolt, as
delicate fingers drew my covers down.
“Are you Branson?” I asked sleepily. I found myself staring
into the deep blue eyes of a young, vivacious blonde.
“I’m his niece,” she told me. To my surprise I saw she was
dressed in a playsuit. “Branson’s doing Polly,” she told me simply.
“But I’ll be tougher, I can assure you. I know how much a woman can
really take.” I gazed at her with astonished eyes. She bent over me,
confident, self-possessed. Her hair was perfect, long and blonde with
gentle flowing curls in it. Her teeth were white. Her playsuit, white
with little red velvet triangles, fit her like a glove. There was not
much to it. A simple band of fabric, quite thin, looped round behind
her neck. Then, in front, the playsuit looked a bit like a one-piece
swimsuit, except that nothing covered her breasts except small
lace-edged cups. They were held up by the strip of fabric round her
neck. Otherwise, they would have fallen right down. Nothing covered
her shoulders, her back, or even her front, except a narrow strip of
sheer, rose-patterned nylon that ran from her nothing bra cups down to
her pubic mound, where it slipped back between her legs to meet a single
thread-like strip of lace that crossed entirely around her waist. One
other thread-like strip crossed round behind her, joining the base of
the bra cups just like a swimsuit top did. You could almost say that
she wore a bikini, except it was made of lace and connected in front by
the narrow strip of sheer nylon that ran down from her breasts, over her
tummy, to meet her delta.
Where her delta was a red satin triangle beckoned. It’s color
was in sharp contrast to the whiteness of the rose-patterned nylon that
made up the playsuit. I saw that a tiny white bow held up the red
triangle. Untie it, and you had immediate access to her pubis. The
same held true for her bra cups. White nylon circled her breasts,
decorating them, but in the middle a slender triangle was tied up over
each of her bosoms. Untie each of them, and her boobs would fall out
and hang free. Of course, she was young, no more than 19, so her
breasts jutted against the red satin triangles like juggernauts waiting
to be launched into the sea. Each movement of her nubile form sent
those twin rocket tits joggling softly over me, the red satin triangles
straining to contain them.
“You have a cute playsuit,” was all I could say, looking up at
her. She had on long crystal earrings that dangled freely from her ears
and made little tinkling sounds, like chimes. Elbow length gloves, not
quite reaching all the way to her elbows, accented the red in her
playsuit. While they were red, her thigh-high stockings were white.
She was a true playmate, laced up with all the trimmings. But in her
hand she held a birch rod. It had a little red and white lace bow tied
at the handle end, while a spray of fresh birches stemmed out from the
handle and hung loosely over my eyes.
“When I get hot from whipping you I can untie the triangles,
see?” Branson’s niece teased me. She tugged slightly at the white bow
that held up the red satin triangle over her nearest breast. “And
later, if I get really hot, I can of course untie myself down here too,”
she added, pointing down toward her delta with her finger. Then she
carefully laid her birch rod aside and lifted me up from the bed. I
helped a little, scrambling up with my feet, trying to find purchase on
the sheets. It was hard, with my hands bound so ruthlessly over my head
and behind my neck. She got me completely standing up, right on the
bed, as if I were a 6-year-old playing games. She made sure I planted
my feet solidly on the sheets. I wore no shoes. With the care of an
X-Ray technician she positioned me, leaning me forward a little. Then
she snapped a bar out from the wall and fixed it to the front of my dog
collar. I was caught now, a fish hooked on a stiff pole. She pried
open my mouth and snapped a small piece of wood up from the surface of
the horizontal pole. This little piece, angled upward, she fitted into
my mouth. It had a red ball on the end of itself. When I was gagged on
the rubber ball she strung a strap round the back of my head, running it
under my hair as best she could. The strap, attached to the base of the
rubber ball, kept me attached to it.
“Can you breathe O.K.?” Branson’s niece asked me. I tried to
nod, could not, but she got the message. “I’m Bambi,” she said to me.
“Just in case you’re wondering. But people have nicknamed me Thumper,
as you’ll soon see why.”
I felt like I was at the dentist’s. A big red ball was stuffed
into my mouth and I was bent forward as if to have my bottom x-rayed.
Bambi examined my bottom next, tracing her gloved fingers over it,
prying apart the cheeks, feeling within my hole a little with her
finger. She cupped my breasts, hefted them in each hand, as if I were
livestock having my essential parts weighed. At last she stroked my
thighs, cooing at how lovely they were, and when her hands reached my
juncture she felt a little for my spot and touched me there,
reassuringly, like a dentist might before he begins drilling.
I gazed out at the night sky. Even the stars seemed to be
setting now, and I hoped morning would arrive before she could get
started.
Within the privacy of the canopy she laid out her implements of
flagellation like an artist might lay out his brushes. She gave me a
mirror to watch, and I sometimes did, furtively, glancing off to the
side to see what her reflection was doing. I saw her kneel upon the
bed, quite happy and self-possessed. Among her implements she placed
before herself a cane, several paddles, and three whips. I glanced
away, too scared to look. My bottom cheeks bunched together. I felt my
white ass flesh jiggling with nervous fear.
Bambi brushed back her hair. She selected the birch rod first,
with awful nubs. She was kneeling, and seemed excited. She untied both
her bra triangles as she knelt behind me, staring at my bottom. I saw
her tits spring out and they quivered with lovely grace. Oh, how could
one girl do this to another?
Taking a perfume spray bottle, Bambi misted a scent of sweet
perfume onto my bare fanny. Then she put down the bottle and I thought
I saw her rub herself a little where her red satin triangle was pulled
up over her cunny. Was she aroused by the thought of whipping me? I
tried to speak, to ask to be let go, but my words came out totally
garbled. Bambi ignored me. She had a heavy pot of brine next to my bed
and she leaned back and dipped her birch branches into it. Then she
drew them out, dripping, and I watched as she brought them hovering over
the bed. Droplets fell on my clean sheets, staining them with salt.
“Now, let’s begin,” Bambi said. She drew her hand back and
swept the birch rod up under my outthrust bottom.
“Yeeoch!” I responded at once, arching up on my toes. My
bottom stuck out all the more as I leapt from the blow.
“One down, 200 to go,” Bambi giggled to herself. I thought she
passed a fleet hand over her cunny again. With practised grace she
re-dipped the birch rod. She trailed it back across the bed, leaving
droplets again. I’d look like I’d wet the bed if she kept this up. But
then, that would be the least of my troubles, wouldn’t it? “You’ll have
such lovely marks to show off to everyone tomorrow,” Bambi told me.
Then, with me feeling ever-more like a bottom, nothing else, she whacked
me right on my heinie again.
“Ooochch!” I yelped, my gag silencing me. Only the most
primitive sound escaped my lips, not the distinct sound I’d intended. I
was cultured no more. I was just meat now, an outjutting ass waiting to
be punished.
“Ah, delicious!” Bambi told me. “I love how your bottom
retracts when you’re waiting for it. It won’t save you, of course. But
it’s pretty.” She dipped the birch again and gave me another blow,
harder now, making me really strain up on my toes and almost ram the gag
down my throat.
“AHCHCHCH!” I said, nearly choking, or so I imagined, on the
big red ball that kept my lips pried apart. I squeezed my hind cheeks
to try to throw off some of the stinging. Bambi reached up and palmed
my cheeks with her gloved hands. Her touch was bitter, reminding me of
the birch’s imprint. Such soft gloves, yet such a stinging touch. She
fondled me for a moment between my legs. I did not want to be pleasured
there, but I dared not close my legs. I held them wide in a bold vee as
she’d instructed me. She told me I was free to lift my legs as I needed
to, but that if I kicked back at her I’d never forget it.
Shadows appeared outside our shrouded workplace. I felt as if
I were giving birth, with my parents outside, waiting, wondering, asking
passing nurses for news. I hand drew back the pink canopy of my bed.
It was Rose. She was dressed in a formal gown, sipping wine. She
smiled at me over the lip of her glass. Somehow within myself I knew it
must be French Chablis. That wine was very good with oyster stuffing, I
learnt once, as a little girl, studying a menu in a restaurant when I’d
tired of coloring in the restaurant’s logo in the children’s activity
book.
Rose’s gown was held up by two spaghetti-thin straps over her
frail, fragile shoulders. Her skin was white. The dress molded her
closely but the portion covering her breasts consisted of but two
uplifted circles of fabric. A man tugging at her dress might to get her
attention might pull to hard and render her topless.
A hand settled on her shoulder. Louis! He came around from
somewhere beyond and behind her, took up position beside her. He gazed
at me with stern eyes. I wanted to beg forgiveness from him for
whatever I’d done to deserve this but, I knew, I’d done nothing but be
myself, his love, beautiful and loving him. This is what he did to
girls he loved.
SKRAAAACK! The birch swept up again, catching the lowest
portion of my jutting, tender bottom cheeks.
“Aaaaaaaah,” I cried into my red ball gag, feeling the heat of
the twitchy rods as they marked me with their nubbed stiffness. I let
my bottom gyrate freely. I felt no shame despite showing off my ass,
its crack.
“We had to tie Polly’s legs,” Rose told me. “But you are
older. I want you to remain self-possessed, in control.” She reached
out and touched Bambi. “Let her settle down a little before giving each
new stroke,” Rose told her. “There is no hurry. I want her to savor
each one, to dread it, to wait for it and then to scream aloud when she
finally feels it. Make her whipping sensuous. Yes, it must be
difficult for her, but she is not really in prison, and we are not
really her jailers.”
“Oh, alright,” Bambi said. I think she was growing hot where
it mattered most for, in my frenzied kicking and stamping on the bed,
not kicking back but outward, like a disabled person trying to walk, I
saw Bambi untie the triangle of satin over her cunt. She didn’t untie
the top triangle, as I thought she would, though. She reached within
the vee of her legs and undid two impossibly tiny ties that held the
base of her triangle of satin against the lips of her cunt. Falling
outward, being caught finally by the topmost triangle, tied off above
her mons, she looked like an Indian. She had on her flapping Indian
triangle, one might say, hovering over her bush, flipping outward
whenever she moved. I watched as Louis’ eyes left me to find themselves
transfixed by her coyly half revealed pussy. Bambi, sensing she was on
display as much as me, randily parted my bottomcheeks and flicked her
tongue within.
She skipped my hole, but licked all up and down the inside of
my crack. Her hands held my injured fanny, spreading it, venting it,
her fingers pressing against my newly awarded marks from the birch. I
did not like being held thus, my hams lifted and held open by another
girl. Worst of all, her fingers made my ass hurt more. Any touch upon
my wounded cheeks seemed like an agony. And the night had just begun!
I closed my eyes. I tried to think of Polly. Anything to keep
me from thinking of my own bottom. Was she being whipped now? It would
be like whipping a little angel, I thought. A wingless angel, to be
sure, but surely her cherubic bottomcheeks would be so babylike that
Branson would go easy on her. Had she tried to escape him? Had she
stuck out her tongue and leapt from her bed and made a game of it? Had
Branson, wheezing and old, been forced to chase her about the locked
bedroom until he finally caught her and tied her wiggling body to the
head of her bed?
“NYAH! NYAH! NYAH! NYAH!” I could hear her teasing in my
mind, as she realized she might just have the better of Branson and
never be caught. Had Rose entered then, and helped? Had Andre been
called to attend to her?
“OoooooOOOH!” I heard suddenly in the night air. At first I
thought it was an owl. Then I realized it was Polly. “Oh, please!” I
heard, then, “YahoooOOOOH!” and I thought I heard the crack of a leather
whip, coming hard against her skin. She cried out again, and then
again. Her screams merged with the crashing of the surf on the rocky
beach far below. I felt a sea breeze enter through the window and cool
my face. My hair fluttered briefly. The canopy of my bed ruffled
itself, inspired by the wind.
A cane was produced. Louis had been holding it, just behind
himself, not letting me see it until now. Gleefully Bambi accepted it.
The length of it must have been six feet. It was wickedly slender.
Rose, fearful of being hit by it, drew Louis back, holding his hand,
squeezing it tight.
“Not- not too hard,” Rose told Bambi, who I swear looked like a
child with a new Christmas toy.
“Don’t spare her,” Louis said. I trembled at the sound of his
words. His voice was rich, deep. He puffed on his pipe. Rose gasped a
little as he exhaled and a cloud of tobacco smoke enveloped the both of
them.
Bambi got off to one side to better position herself for
applying the whip to my heinie. In my bare feet I stood waiting, my
bottom red and sore but still deliciously white amidst the score of
lines emblazoned across it. I begged them to stop but no one could
understand me.
“Mmmm, such a tempting target,” Bambi said, lustfully gazing at
my shaking, frightened fanny. Oh, how could she? I was a girl, just
like her. Had she no pity for me?
THWACK! In came the cane, blazing across my backside. I
jumped up, all but the tips of my toes leaving the bed. My teeth ground
against the ball that gorged within my mouth. I felt my neck yank on
the end of the pole that held me submissive. Christ had not suffered
this much upon the cross. I felt my bottomcheeks yammer together,
shuddering within themselves as the whip struck, then bound outward,
showing my crack. One moment my furrow was just a tight line compressed
between my cheeks. The next it was wide apart, on display, letting them
see my hole.
Louis placed his fingers upon the straps of Rose’s dress. She
watched from the corners of her eyes as he lifted her straps until,
quite suddenly but not unexpectedly, they broke. Her dress fell to her
waist. Her bosoms, bounteous in their maturity, came tumbling out to
show their fleshiness and their quivering tips. Rose looked down at
herself a moment, feeling Louis’ eyes as he looked over her shoulder and
admired her cleavage. Then she slipped onto my bed in her broken gown
and got right behind me.
“Hang in there, you’re doing great!” Rose told me. She reached
beneath me and diddled my cunny. I gasped into my mouth-filling gag,
wanting more, yet feeling so utterly humiliated. New pairs of eyes
appeared. Men and women I did not know. How many people were in my
bedroom? How many watched? They gazed at me dispassionately, as one
might watch a showgirl, not knowing her name, not really caring. They
drank wine and chatted amongst themselves. My only consolation was
that, watching me, these nameless men would no doubt be inspired to do
the same to their loves, who watched beside them. The women drank their
wine in little gulps as they felt their loves’ hands pass down
possessively over their bottoms. They cared not for me, but they did
care for themselves and their own tushies.
Rose picked up a riding crop. It was well worn. It must have
been in the estate for years. I suspected it had begun its career on
the flanks of horses, but somebody had brought it inside one day, and it
had not been returned to the stable. Rose touched my heinie lightly
with her fingertips as if to mark where she would hit me. Then, drawing
in her breath, her tits rising as her lungs filled, she drew back her
hand.
WHAP! The leather crop came against my skin with a
forcefulness I had not expected. I felt my own lungs exhale, shaking my
bare tits like fruit on a tree in a storm, as the crop damaged my heinie
and left a weal. My ass shook. Pain gripped it. A line radiated
inward until my cheeks seemed to bulge with pain. My first weal. I
would bathe it later, passing my hand back over it, touching it,
wondering at its fiery heat. But now my ass was outthrust, a charming
treat for all to see, whitefleshed but with bitter marks upon it.
“Oh, does it hurt?” a young girl watching me asked aloud. She
knew nothing, I guessed, seeing such torture for the first time
tonight. Her bottom was most in danger then, most like to suffer as
mine. Other women exchanged glances, said nothing, drank their wine
freely.
“Yes, darling, it’s so very harsh, isn’t it?” Rose asked me.
She selected a paddle next. Lifting it, she whacked it upon my behind,
a dull thudding splat that came down over my ass so that the weal I’d
just received was at the center of its impact.
“OOOOOH!” I hollared. I was crying now. There was no escaping
it. They were being so horrid to me, so very horrid. My tears flowed
wetly down my cheeks. The sea breeze from the window cooled my face but
did nothing for my bottom. Why, why, why must they treat me this way?
Why did Louis like this? And then, as I felt a pony lash striking me,
as if training me like some lioness at the circus, I felt my bosoms
shake again, slinging my coral tips about, and I felt my ass bound
outward, and I knew. I was a flesh goddess, enticing them, charming
them with my wrigglings. I had been reduced to tears and screams. I
was no longer the sullen girl, the smarty goodlooking female cherry
bomb, or the impish teasing trickster, like Polly, sassing the men and
making them want me. I was theirs. They had me completely within their
power. Louis owned me now. He might sperm me here and leave me here,
stuck to this post, until I gave birth to his child nine months later.
I had lost all control. But Rose was determined to take me yet one step
further.
I felt a teacup passed beneath my cunt. Rose stroked my
thighs. I felt her breath hot upon my raw bottom.
“Pee,” Rose told me. “Pee like the young mare you are, right
here, right in front of all these people. Don’t hold back, darling.
Tonight is all about letting go.”
I resisted. As I heard Polly’s screams from somewhere in the
castle, I held myself in. My pee at least I would keep to myself, even
if my bottom were presented for all to see, with my tears rolling down
my cheeks.
“Alright,” Rose said, seeing I would not obey. She withdrew
the cup and took up a martinet. It’s stiff, water soaked cords would
show me no mercy. It had lain waiting, hidden, within the pot of
brine. It was not very large or long. It did not need to be.
“Oh, let me do it!” Bambi begged. As if in answer Louis, who
had escaped my eyes and circled round the bed, grabbed her from behind
and pushed her face down into the sheets. There was nothing to undo or
untie. She wore her playsuit, but her triangles were undone. The rest
was just lace trimming. He unzipped himself. Seeing she was undone,
Bambi balled her fist and pushed it between her teeth. Louis presented
his cock to her cunt lips and nudged them apart with his blue-stemming
cockhead. Suddenly he was in her, and Bambi gasped at the immediacy of
his entry. She seemed to have trouble taking him for a moment, he was
so swift, so hard. A cry escaped her throat.
When he was fully lodged, Louis began reaming Bambi with slow,
deliberate strokes. Rose, for her part, took to whacking my bottom with
the martinet. I felt the salt ooze from the stick with each cracking
blow of it upon my heinie. I was in agony. I danced upon the bed,
kicked back at her, was rewarded with a yet more deliberate blow. She
went easy, striking me playfully, but the martinet is an awful
instrument and it does not take much from its cords to make a girl’s
bottom surrender itself.
Brazenly my cheeks oscillated within a tight circle, moving
constantly now, offering themselves, showing my fleshy hemispheres as if
they were baubles at some crude market fair. I flexed them and shook
them. I squeezed them and pushed them out toward Rose, hoping perhaps
to bang her in the face with my bottom. For her part she kept applying
the martinet, each stroke carefully aimed, laid on with precision, her
bosoms lifting and falling and jostling with her every wrist-swinging
sweep of the stick.
In a sudden shamelessness, not even waiting for the teacup, I
peed upon the sheets of my bed.
“Oh, look!” A female cried, pointing at me. They all watched
with fascination in their eyes.
“Yes,” Rose hissed, and she gave me another ass-biting stroke
of the martinet, even as I offered my water to her. A big stain grew
beneath me and I thought of my mother. She seemed so loving and caring
now. She had wanted to protect me, yet here I was, showing off my ass
like some long lost treasure and peeing out my golden stream.
Bambi moaned by my knees as Louis hammered her with his cock.
As I peed, he spurted his sperm into her. We both went together, as it
were, me on the pristine bed and he within the youthfully clutching lips
of her cunt. There was a round of applause. Indiscreetly Rose lifted
her skirt and put her hand beneath herself and masturbated her cunt.
With her free hand she gave me another blow from the martinet, then
another, trying to restrain herself but feeling ever more lusty by the
moment. She screamed out as she came quickly to orgasm, jamming her
fingers within herself. She swung her fist in again toward me, holding
the martinet, but lost her grip on it suddenly, hitting me only with her
bare hand. Weeping with pleasure she collapsed against my fanny. Her
salty tears flowed over my damaged flesh, doing me no good at all, but
she must have thought she was helping me for she cried freely against my
heinie, rubbing her wet cheeks against me, and finally she kissed me
with her lips.
Louis found he had more sperm to offer. Withdrawing his newly
spurted prick from Bambi, he got up on the bed and poked himself into
Rose. She ground her face into my ass as he pushed his rod up inside
her. They went at it, she licking my bottom while he reamed her well,
giving her long and deeply penetrating strokes as if he’d lost nothing
in Bambi.
The guests in my room helped Bambi up from the bed. Two women
embraced her and kissed her. As Rose laved my bottom with her tongue,
tracing my welt, kissing my cheeks, Louis behind her, the crowd
undressed and took to the floor for fucking.
All around me sounds of passion and love began to arise, as in
the distance I saw the first fleeting glimpses of sunlight. Polly’s
screams had faded. Amidst the moans and cries of my guests the birds
outside began to chirp. They saw the sun and awakened to it, even as we
ourselves were working our way toward sleep.
It consoled me to know that the rug burns on my guests would be
intense. Their bottoms would hurt like mine did, though not as much,
but some, and that was enough. I let my tears flow freely down my
cheeks and I tongued my gag. Its balled firmness remained wedged
between my teeth, filling my mouth, making me feel like a pony harnessed
for a morning ride. At last the sun shone brightly through the window
and, like vampires retreating from it, to await the new moon, we were
done.
Rose gently detached me from the pillar and my gag. She undid
my wrists. Drawing my arms out, she flexed them for me. I was too
weak, too overwhelmed. I was limp in her arms. I smelled sperm and saw
she’d been well-fucked by Louis. His essence ran down the insides of
her thighs.
I was laid down in my bed. The wet spot loomed beneath me but
I did not care. The sheets were crisp and difficult against my bottom,
despite their handwoven softness. The wet spot touched my back only,
from my shoulders down to the lowest part of my waist. My bottom had a
dry perch, but I could not stand it, and I rolled over onto my tummy to
escape the stinging of my soft bed. I let my bottom expose itself to
the cool morning air. I raised it up, pulling my knees toward me a
little. I felt the comforting softness of my pillow beneath my face and
wished so much that I could rest my bottom on the consoling silkiness of
my bed, but it was not possible.
“Oh, she wants more!” the young girl, rising and dressing,
commented. She simply did not understand. The guests bustled about
now, reclothing themselves. All was quick kisses and brief words of
goodbye as the sun flooded the room. Passionate lovers who had kissed
deeply into each other’s throats passed away from each other with only
the slightest acknowledgement. They were like passersby on the street
now, each going their own separate way. Women who had joined together
and brought each other to frenzied bliss parted company, hardly
speaking, not caring. Men who had swapped wives let go of their new
loves like children tossing away ice cream cones after licking out all
the cream.
Suited up, dressed again, their breasts and cunnies and loins
tucked away, the guests departed. I heard them start their cars a few
minutes later down in the parking lot that lay alongside the castle.
All was done, all was gone. Rose drew the curtains to keep the sun off
my bottom. Taking Louis’ hand, they left the room and locked the door
behind them.
I sobbed into my pillow and felt the cool morning breeze filter
through my curtains and play across my heinie. I had received. I had
been good. Louis would love me forever, I told myself, and I fell
quickly asleep.
When I woke up I was startled to feel such hot pain in my
bottom. Then I remembered. I looked up. The post was still there.
Rose had not bothered to retract it. I groaned as I tried to get up.
My bottom was flaring, a deep-seated ball of glowing heat. Yet somehow,
within its tenderness, I felt a sexiness. I was aware of myself as
never before. I was new somehow. I kneed my way to the edge of my bed
and got down from it. I felt the soft fur of the rug as it impressed
itself between my toes. I walked to a mirror and turned around.
“Ah!” I cried as I looked at myself. My lightly tanned flesh,
with my white boobs hanging like young fruit from my ribs, was perfect.
Except in one place. And that was my bottom. There, my untanned flesh,
so dearly protected from the sun to make me look sexy without my clothes
on, was bright red. It was as if someone had drawn an intricate road
map across my hemispheres. Not a street had been left out. All over my
white ass I saw many little lines, each giving my delicate bottom an
overall appearance of being like a well-stitched tomato, more red than
white now, but with a little white showing through here and there to
remind me of what I once was.
God, I had gotten it good, much worse than at abandon gardens.
Had Polly suffered the same? Would we be the twins of tortured
bottoms? Shivering, I let go of my hind cheeks and wrapped my arms
around myself. I felt my bosoms bulbing within my arms, protesting,
wanting to hang free. I took myself to the bathroom. I walked like a
wounded soldier, walking wounded, tip-toeing across the rug, so afraid
for my heinie, yet somehow happy within myself. I had obeyed Louis. I
would claim him now as my own.
I drew back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub. I did
not know whether to stand or sit. Finally I turned on the water and
just stood under it. I felt like an abandoned kitten, my blonde hair
streaming down under the shower, sticking to me in its wetness. For a
long time I just stood and felt the cool lukewarm water of the shower
run down over my bottom. I was alone. I did not want to be alone. I
wanted to be with others. I could not bear this loneliness. Where were
Joanne and Sylvia? I deserved their attention now. Perhaps I had
awakened sooner than they thought I would. What time was it? I did not
know.
Finally I stepped from the shower and dried myself. Where was
everybody? Why were they not here to celebrate my return to the
living? Where was Louis? He should kiss me and bathe me in the
morning, not leave me to wash myself like some cheap whore done with her
night of tricks. I walked out into my bedroom, feeling my bottom joggle
boldly behind me, all red and tortured and making me walk with
exaggerated movements of my ass. I fished out a bikini from the
dresser. I tied on the top, checking it in a mirror. I dared not wear
the panties. But I tossed them over my shoulder just in case. Who
knows? Somebody downstairs might have a whip and decide mine was the
perfect ass to apply it to.
I came down the front staircase with my hair all brushed and
glowing with luminous blondness, my makeup perfect, my lipstick red and
inviting. I wore my bikini top. My panties were slung over my
shoulder. My bush, necessarily, was bared to whomever might greet me.
And there, within the parlor, just looking up now to see me,
was Rose. She had older women with her. They were dressed primly, as
if at some neighborhood meeting, or some vanguard discussion group for
school reform. Feeling a little like one of their daughters, though,
thank God, I did not see my mother there or any of her friends, I
sauntered as unselfconsciously as I could down the rest of the stairs
and, hoping to reach the pool, through the parlor, for that was the
shortest way.
I was gazed at by all the ladies. They were twice my age. Had
they been like me once? I did not try to hide my bush. I let my bush
and my cunny show as freely as if I were onstage at Las Vegas. I walked
with my back erect, my young breasts lifted high. Only my bottom
remained undisciplined, waggling excessively, due to my whipping. As I
passed through them, trying to ignore them, I felt their eyes paste
themselves upon my bottom as its clenching cheeks came into view. They
gasped at my marks. I put my hands instinctively behind myself to cover
up my cheeks but I winced when my palms touched them. I had to draw my
hands away and let them see me there, with all my burny marks.
I made it past them and into the next room, then through the
next, and out a side door to the pool. I saw Polly splashing in it.
She looked like a little dolphin. As I drew close she greeted me
happily and then dove beneath the waters, sticking her bottom up as her
head went down.
Oh! They had done her too, just like me, but the waters were
cooling her ass for her and letting her absorb the pain and accept it.
Quickly, tossing my panties aside, I stepped to the edge of the pool and
waded into it. Descending a flight of tiled steps I let the water rise
up and take me. Ah, it was chilly, but so comforting against my ass! I
turned my head and saw Louis and Andre lounging nearby, in bathrobes.
It was still morning, eleven o’clock perhaps. Andre was eating a brunch
served to him by Maria and Louis was dressed in a silk bathrobe, smoking
a pipe. He looked up from a newspaper in his lap, gazed at me, then
returned to the sports page. I did not mind. I loved him. I would
keep him forever, just as he kept me. I paddled out into the water and
joined Polly. She took possession of a beach ball floating aimlessly on
the water. We stood in the shallow end and, letting our breasts hang
free to entertain the men, our tops discarded and floating away from us
on the surface of the pool, we passed the big beach ball back and forth
to each other, volley-ball style, batting it back and forth as our
titties joggled in their fullness and I felt the tips of mine grow
hard.
Later, as the sun reached its zenith, Andre and Louis cast off
their robes. They entered the pool and took Polly and I from behind.
Despite the roughness of their prickly hairy skin against my bottom, I
felt soothed somehow. Polly and I kissed and tongued each other’s
mouths as the men did us in the shallow end, bending us forward like
puppies being given enemas, making us feel them within ourselves. When
they spurted, Polly and I cried out together, breathing into each
other’s mouths, clutching at each other’s tits. I felt her nipples
pricking my palms and I squished her breasts in my hands, feeling their
youthful resilience, and she handled mine just as freely.
When we’d been spermed Polly and I got out of the pool. The
men laid out soft towels for us on reclining chaise lounges. We sat
down happily, wincing and crying at first, but finally accommodating
ourselves to our new state, sinking our bottoms into the towels and
welcoming the attention of the men. Not satisfied with having done us
in the pool, they each placed their cocks in our mouths. Polly and I
sucked on them as Maria laid out brunch for us. We were spermed again.
After they were done Polly and I wiped our mouths with napkins and then,
feeling silly and decadent, we ate our brunch lying back in our chairs,
feeding our eggs and sausages into our sperm-soaked mouths. Our titties
wobbled freely, uncovered in the sun. We would be tanned there, but I
didn’t care. Let the sun brown my breasts a little. I would surprise
my mother with an all-over tan.
Polly and I ate lustily. We were hungry from our night’s
play. The men watched us, mesmerized. We were just schoolgirls, yet
here we were, soaking up the sun and loving life and letting them do as
they pleased with us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw their cocks
grow anew. They were excited by us, and we by them.
As soon as Polly and I were done we got up from our chairs.
The men stood, expectantly, their cocks stemming at us with renewed
vigor.
“What now?” I asked Louis as I drew close to him. My fingers
touched his cock. I let them play upon it. I touched his pee slit. We
did not kiss, or embrace. Not yet. He ran his fingers over my breasts
and my belly.
“You are truly beautiful,” he said to me.
“Why, thank you, Louis,” I replied.
Polly and Andre negotiated with similar words, touching,
exploring, finding each other as fresh and new as when we’d first met.
But my bottom, and Polly’s, promised that we’d be submissive.
And at last I could say the name of Rose’s castle to myself.
It was Cunt Castle. “Cunt Castle,” I said aloud to Louis, looking up at
him sweetly.
“Yes,” he replied. He touched my cunny and rubbed me gently,
sticking himself in a little bit. Feeling his fingers in me I fondled
his cock. That was what belonged in me, but we were just playing now,
allowing ourselves these few special moments before retreating to a bed
in the castle. We would spend the afternoon jousting, I knew. Him with
his cock and me with my bottom and slit.
Andre and Polly drew close. I looked at her. I tugged Louis’
fingers out of my slit and went to her. I put my arm around her waist.
I was slightly taller. I gazed into her uplifted eyes.
Maria passed in front of us. She had an umbrella over her head
to protect her wrinkled features from the sun. Lightly I reached out
and plucked it from her fingers. I lifted it over my head, then passed
it over Polly’s so that it would shelter her the most, me a little less.
Maria stood, looking at me. She had been tasked with walking
Rose’s dalmatian and she did not like having her umbrella stolen. She
had so many chores. Our brunch waited to be cleared away, yet she’d
been given yet another job. The dalmatian strained at its leash, eager
for its walk. I think there was a female dog down by the worker’s huts,
in heat, hoping her savior might come to visit her. Was Maria to mate
the dogs? I did not know.
“Come, Polly,” I said to my girlfriend. I brushed past Maria.
Let her work for us, just as Polly and I worked for Louis and Andre.
Let her always be in attendance on us.
“Walk the dog, Maria,” I said to her, commanding her, and I
relished my new attitude of command. With my arm around Polly’s waist,
holding her close, I walked her toward the house. Andre and Louis
followed. They watched our alluring bottoms, all red from their
punishment and, I doubted not, due to receive more before our stay at
the castle was over. But I did not mind. We had come here to try new
things.
“What- what are we going to dooo?” Polly asked me. I let my
eyes fall upon her breasts and I watched as their tips stemmed with
wiggling pleasure into the mid-day sun.
“I’m going to serve you for dessert,” I said to her, thinking
quickly. Yes. I would lay her out on a sofa, her hands pressed to her
sides, and squirt whipped cream on her as she lay watching me. I would
stand over her and decorate her, freely showing my bush, both of us
quite nude. Our boyfriends would watch, astonished, waiting for the
scrumptious dessert to be served. And we’d eat her then, feeding like
Romans at an orgy, all of us naked as she, but she at least clothed in
whipped cream and syrup.
And we’d invite Rose. And she’d be delighted by my
inventiveness. She would partake of Polly with us. I smacked my lips
and gazed into Polly’s eyes. She was breathless with excitement.
“Served for dessert?” she asked. She’d lost enough of her
babyishness in her whipping last night to know not to protest.
“Yes,” I replied. “As girls, Polly, we must know what our
foremost duty is.”
“Waht’s that?” she asked, mangling her question a little in her
excitement.
“To serve men,” I said. And, glancing over my shoulder, I knew
that before I left this strange castle I’d see Andre, at least, reduced
to dessert himself, his cock stemming up through Cool-Whip, streaked
with chocolate syrup, just as Jack’s had been. The thought made me
shiver right through to the depths of my belly. “To serve men,” I said
again, and we walked with swinging bottoms into the cool, shadowed
sanctuary of the castle.
THE END
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