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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Bush League part 2 of 6 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BUSH LEAGUE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Two
We returned to the castle. Stepping out of the limo, I gazed
up at it. From a solid facade vine-covered spires rose up to pierce the
high, scudding clouds. The driver ushered us inside. Polly was still
playing Centipede. He had to guide her steps to keep her from stumbling
on the stairs that led up the castle door. He was like Lurch, our
driver. Tall, silent, tuxedoed, with big hands and a bow tie. I turned
my face up and looked at him but he ignored me.
“Are you gay?” I needled him.
“I,” he paused. “I serve,” was all he said in reply. Nothing
more. A mysterious man.
Inside we found Rose sitting in the parlor with Louis and
Andre. They were each reading a newspaper, she was knitting. I let my
eyes flit over their crotches but saw no sign of movement. Just as I
suspected. But they were hardy men. They’d be up for more antics soon,
I had no doubt. As for me, I was feeling a bit sleepy, despite the
sunshine outside.
“How was your visit to child protective services?” Rose asked.
She did not look up from her knitting.
“Fleury tried to take the world’s biggest prick up her bottom,”
Polly reported. Rose cocked her eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, still
knitting. “Was it bigger even than Louis’s?”
“Of course it was bigger than Louis’s!” Polly replied, as I
stood blushing beside her.
“What?” Louis asked, looking up for the first time from his
paper. He turned to Rose. “I thought you sent them to child protective
services!” He seemed jealous. Despite his thoroughly relaxed crotch.
“I did, darling,” Rose replied to Louis. She pulled the yarn
through her knitting and lofted it high, finishing off a corner of the
pouch she was sewing.
“You don’t have to insult my cock just because you don’t like
it,” Louis said to both Polly and I, thinking, perhaps, that we were in
cahoots in her comments.
“I like your cock, Louis, but this one was bigger,” Polly
teased. She sashayed past him.
“Where are you going, dear?” Rose asked her.
“Swimming!” Polly replied. She unzipped the back of her dress
as she headed out the back of the parlor. A moment later and there was
nothing but her dress on the floor. Beyond that, following just a
little, but not leaving the parlor, I saw her panties abandoned on the
rug. So much for being an innocent schoolgirl.
“I need a nap,” I said, sauntering over the couch on which
Louis and Andre were sitting. I guess a year makes a difference
sometimes. Either that or the sheer rigor of what I’d been through,
being anally probed, whipped the night before, fucked this morning.
“Don’t lie down here if you don’t like my cock,” Louis warned.
I plopped down beside him anyway and let my head fall back into his
crotch. It felt satisfied beneath me, though I detected perhaps a
slight bulging when I looked up at him, babylike and parted my lips.
“Goo,” I said to Louis. “You’re my daddy now. Please don’t
spank me for trying to take the world’s biggest cock up my ass.”
“Go to your room if you want to sleep, Fleury,” Rose told me.
“We have a party tonight and the men need to save up their energy for
it.” She looked up from her knitting. “Where it counts.”
“Oh, I’m too tired to get up now,” I said, yawning.
“Up! Scat! Or I won’t invite you to the party tonight,” Rose
told me. “I’ll lock you up in your room and who knows who might visit
you then? You’ll have to lie awake all night waiting, just to see.”
Somehow I found the energy to spring up from the couch. “You
are a bitch, Rose,” I told our hostess. I stalked from the room,
feeling quite mature and grown-up. I might be her guest, or, rather, a
female brought here by my boyfriend Louis to be trained to be a love
slave, but I didn’t like being ordered around. Not all the time,
anyway. I think I was getting grumpy in my sleepiness. Rose ignored
me. Louis and Andre went back to reading their newspapers. I ascended
the stairs, broad polished steps that made me feel like Scarlet at
Tara. Now I knew why I liked this place. Mingled with the sense of
submission was an extraordinary freedom. And binding it all was Rose’s
mindbending sense of elegance. I stopped to look at a Monet hanging
halfway up the stairs. Water lilies. It was a reproduction of course,
but it was still pretty. I proceeded up the rest of the stairs and down
the hall to my room.
I undressed slowly and carefully lay my schoolgirl clothes on a
chair. Someone would come and hang them for me, or iron them, or wash
them or whatever needed to be done, but I still wanted to be neater, at
least, than Polly. When I stripped to my panties, though, I tip-toed to
my window. I drew back the drapes. I took my underpants off and,
leaning out the window just a little, I dropped them. They fluttered
toward the ground. From a distance they looked like a handkerchief or,
when the wind briefly caught them, like a dove. I watched them until
they landed in the grass. Then I slipped into bed and pulled up my
covers and waited to see if anybody would find them. My door to my room
was unlocked. Perhaps he’d bring them to me, whoever he was, and
graciously return them. Or perhaps he’d just be Branson, whip in hand,
come with my panties and ready to scold me for tossing them out the
window. I shuddered and turned on my side and tried not to think of
that possibility. As I shut my eyes, sleep overcame me.
I had slept perhaps an hour or two when, just lingering on the
edge of sleep, I heard my bedroom door open. Rose entered. She had a
folded parasol in her hand which she laid down just inside my door, as
if she’d been out walking. She held aloft my panties that I’d dropped
from my window. She let them dangle from her finger, significantly, it
seemed to me. I felt a shiver run down my back to my tailbone.
“You seem to have lost these,” Rose said in a low, disciplined
voice.
“I-” What could I say? I should have put them away, I guess,
but I wanted to be naughty. I wanted to tease and taunt passersby under
my window. A man might have come to the castle to get closer to his
wife and then, strolling along with her on the castle grounds, he might
have seen my panties, the panties of a mere 14-year-old girl, and
suddenly his mind might be gripped with an insensate lust for someone
much younger than his wife. For me, Fleury.
Rose moved closer to me and her figure, fully formed and with
its dominant bust line, overshadowed me as I lay in my bed. Her
breasts, couched in a low cut gown, but with a series of straps leading
up to her neck where they formed a tight collar, loomed large and
impressive. Twin hindenburgs, filled with hot air and ready to burst
upon me. “May I remind you, Fleury, that while you are given many
freedoms here at my castle, you are in fact not free. You are expected
to behave as Louis’ love slave, especially when he is present. He was
not the least amused to find two young men eagerly inquiring as to the
possessor of these panties. They seemed to think they had a right to
return them to the ‘poor girl,’ as they called you, who’d ‘lost’ them.
A fight almost ensued right in my living room. I had the men ejected,
of course. They should not have been invited in the first place if they
are going to let their lust get out of hand like that. But I mustn’t
let you go unpunished for such an indiscretion, clever and sexy as it
might have been. Least because it caused me trouble, and that’s enough
of a standard for me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I begged her. I drew my covers tightly under
my chin.
“You are not Polly,” Rose told me. “You are older, and more
experienced. Do you wish to remain my guest at the castle, or should I
send you home now?” She took my covers from my hands, persuading them
out of my grip.
“No-- no I like it here,” I answered, truthfully, though I felt
my tummy all aflutter. She pulled down my sheets and my bedcover and
looked at my nude body. The panties, so important a moment ago, lay
dropped on the covers and got rolled under them as she drew them down.
“Look at you, you didn’t even bathe before getting into your
nice clean bed,” Rose said. Then, speculatively, she took both my
breasts in her hands and palped them, squeezed my tits a little, as if
she might be picking up where Glenda had left off. “Polly resists
sometimes, but I do not expect you to, Fleury. You are to obey. You
are old enough to understand this. I will have Joanne and Sylvia come
and bathe you. You are entitled to that, at least, as a prisoner. This
is not a real prison, as I sometimes have to remind Branson. It is a
prison of love. Your cuffs will be put back on after your bath, and
your collar too. Then you will report to me, downstairs, and I will
punish you for throwing your panties out the window.”
I felt my hands slip quickly beneath my bottom. “Oh, not on my
heinie!” I begged. “It hurts still from last night!”
“Wherever Louis wishes it, that’s where it will be done,” Rose
said. She bent low and kissed my forehead. “You are loved, my dear.
Never forget that. You are a captive of love. The men may mistreat you
sometimes, but it is only because they enjoy seeing your young little
body wriggling around, showing all your forbidden parts. There will be
time enough in life for your mind, my dear. Now is the time for your
body. We must awaken it to all the pleasures of life. Think of all the
dowdy girls who long for love, but find none or, worse, find themselves
shunned, ostracized by their peers because they’re too fat, or wear
glasses, or have stupid hair that just won’t set right.”
“I still don’t want to be punished,” I mourned.
“Of course you don’t,” Rose replied. “No girl does. I
didn’t. But a sharp slap on your beautiful fanny is nothing compared to
what those other girls suffer, the ones who waste their lives reading
Tiger Beat long after they should have outgrown it, because nobody likes
them and nobody plays with them.” Rose pulled down the front of her
dress and her tits bulged out, her nipples and tit flesh extruded up by
the bunched down gown. She offered me her nipples. They were
coral-tipped, like jewels.
“Lick my nipples,” Rose told me. “Suck them, yes, ah like a
baby you suck!” she exclaimed, as I, hoping perhaps to win a reprieve,
took her nearest nipple tip in my mouth and sucked on it urgently.
“Good, good,” Rose told me, encouraging my hopes. I let my eyes bulge
wide and I suckled her breasts as if my life depended on it for, indeed,
my bottom no doubt did! When I’d made one of her jug-like breasts all
wet at its tip with my saliva I went to her other one. I sucked on it
just as greedily. I was hungry for her forgiveness.
Rose seemed torn between lifting her dress and frigging herself
and desisting. Alas for me, her conscience won out. “Enough!” she
declared, and tore my lips from her bosom. “Go fill your tub. Joanne
and Sylvia will be fetched and in attendance on you. Obey them. Do not
fight them. Let them wash you and prepare you.”
“But-” I begged. I did not want my hard work to be wasted.
“I will put in a good word with Louis,” Rose replied.
“You fucked him this afternoon while I was at child protective
services,” I snapped at her.
Rose put her palm over my mouth. She lowered her teeth to my
right nipple. She clamped her incisors over it. Within the cold grip
of her teeth she let the tip of her tongue flick across my tender nipple
tip. “Do you feel this?” she asked, squeezing my nipple harder with her
teeth, making me really feel its presence. Her words were
understandable despite her clenched jaws.
“Yes!” I breathed.
“I am in charge,” Rose told me. I nodded, watching her bite my
nipple. She unclenched it. Smiling, she lifted her head, licked her
teeth with her tongue. Her hand found my other nipple and pinched it.
“Ow!” I said.
“One hour,” Rose warned me. “Then I expect you to be
downstairs and all ready for your punishment, whatever it may be. Tell
Joanne and Sylvia to keep track of the time.”
“Yes, mistress,” I said quietly. She unfolded my bedcovers.
She drew my panties out of them and inspected them. Then she reached
past my head and tossed them out the window.
“What-?” I began. Her breasts swung over my face like ripe
watermelon.
“Love is obedience, my dear,” Rose told me. She patted my
face. “You will make a good wife someday because I will have trained
you well.”
She turned and walked away from my bed, toward the door. I
watched as her hips undulated with a blatant sexuality. She did not
intend it, I think. She was just so perfectly formed, so fulsome, with
a waspish waist, that her hips could do naught but invite the eye, and
make men especially lust after her tail. I wondered if I might someday
take a whip to her tush. The thought made my spot tingle. I don’t know
why, but seeing her bent over and howling sent a shiver of pleasure
through my belly and up my thighs. Yes! Despite all she did to me, I
vowed someday it would be my turn. I’d show her how well I’d learned
all her love lessons. Her bottom would smart for days after from all my
learning.
I was presented by Joanne and Sylvia. I had a big pink bow in
my hair. I looked utterly precious. My long blonde locks were drawn
back in a ponytail that bobbed when I walked. I wore long white
stockings, the frail kind that get runs in them almost from being
touched. They were white, and held aloft by frilly garter straps hooked
to a garter belt. Pink little bows decorated the fasteners. I wore new
white patent leather pumps. Long white gloves hugged my arms. They
were tied off in little bows above my elbows, but remained fingerless
upon my hands, letting my fingers stick through as if I wore no gloves
at all. Otherwise, I was completely naked, save for my de rigueur
collar and cuffs.
I bowed my head. Perhaps in my submissiveness they would spare
me. My hands played over my bottom, apprehensive. I felt my cheeks
tighten and relax. They felt much better now. My weal was subsiding.
Soon it would be as if I’d never been hit on my behind. And yet, and
yet, they wanted more. More! I was just a schoolgirl. I felt a sudden
yearning for home. It was safe, if sexless.
I let my eyes lift up just a little. I looked at Louis to
convince myself I must stay here. Ah! He had not shaved all day. The
stubble on his face looked so manly. He was robust and tanned, wearing
a suit and slacks. I saw, tucked into his coat like a man’s
handkerchief, my panties. He’d retrieved them again and had put them
away for safekeeping. Rose and I would not be frivolous with them
anymore.
I let my gaze pass to Andre. He was as well-built as Louis, a
tad shorter, but with a cock that was wider, though not as long, like a
sausage made to order by a girl who stared at too many fireplugs. I
used to like watching male dogs pee against fire plugs. It was so bold,
somehow, seeing a dog simply lift his leg and pee while all the female
dogs had to squat. When you’re eight, such things are interesting, I
assure you.
Polly was not present, but Cheyenne was. She sat between Louis
and Andre. She regarded me with curious eyes, a little haughty (or was
I just jealous?), as if saying, ‘you must perform today, my dear, my
time is not yet come for this.’ Her breasts were bare. They hung
ripely from her chest. Her every movement made them jiggle a little.
She tossed her head to get her lovely brown hair back from her face. It
fell in clouds round her head and down over her shoulders. It seemed to
always be sneaking back into her eyes, making her toss her head again
which, of course, made her breasts jiggle anew. She wore her glistening
long jade-like penis earrings that I’d first seen on her at the cabana.
She had fingerless gloves like me and long stockings with a matching
garter belt. But there the comparison ended, for she was permitted
panties. I’d asked for a new pair upstairs but been denied by Joanne
and Sylvia, though there were plenty lying in my dresser. I gazed at
Cheyenne’s panties, with her cunny snug inside them, her bottom cupped
by them. They were simple drawstring panties, tied at the sides with
white bows, but for me they looked divine, for I had nothing at all to
protect me. Cheyenne had a small white purse in her hands, as if she
were sitting in church, waiting for the service to begin, or a wedding.
Her lipstick was moist and red. Her shoes were patent leather, like
mine. She had her slim ankles crossed demurely. But her thighs were
sweetly parted. Simply by glancing down, Louis or Andre could amuse
himself with the sight of her cunny offering itself softly within her
panties. She had her hips shifted forward on the sofa a little, despite
the erectness of her back, to display her little female pouch more
distinctly.
We were in the sunroom. There would be little privacy here for
whatever they had planned for me. My punishment would be in the nature
of a public entertainment. The sun was sinking toward the horizon but
it was still plenty bright to illuminate my suffering. I wished it was
night, pitch black, as it had been before, when Branson visited Polly
and Bambi punished me.
There was a raised dias in the center of the room. I glanced
at it suspiciously. The furniture had been pushed aside to accommodate
it. Twin poles, looking like mayfair poles, with white bunting winding
up them, stood side by side on the dias. They were about six feet
apart. Hanging down from the top of each pole was a slim silver chain.
It looked too thin and delicate to hold anything. At the end was a
clip. I looked down at my toes and saw that the clip would fit quite
neatly into my ankle cuffs, or my wrist cuffs, if they were preferred.
My head turned to Rose. She had something planned, I could
tell, no matter how good I tried to appear. She was dressed in a very
tight corset that was laced up her front and back, in the center, which
meant it had taken at least a half hour to put it on, and needed the
help of others to fit it, for it was just two unattached shells until it
was all tied together. Despite the exactness and prolonged effort
required to fit Rose into her corset, nothing had been done to cover her
breasts. The corset forced them up a little, hefting them, making them
more prominent than they usually were, which meant they looked now like
two overfilled blimps quivering at their ports waiting for takeoff.
Dangling over her breasts, held in her hand like my panties had
been, was a small cat o’ nine tails with knotted tips at the end. I
gasped when I saw them. Rose let them swing about a little, taunting me
with them. Moving closer to her, mesmerized, I saw that they were made
of the softest silk, tied at the tips of silk cords. Yet, applied with
sufficient force, they promised to make themselves felt most viciously,
or so I imagined, for I’d never felt such and didn’t want to.
“Where’s Polly?” I asked.
“She’s been engaged in a game of hopscotch out on the front
walk,” Rose said. “I do have some consideration for her age. She’s
probably drawing up all the squares and numbers right now, wearing
nothing at all, since she likes to swim that way, with the limo driver
keeping watch over her.”
“Lurch?” I said. I’d named him myself, in my imagination, and
Rose simply nodded. No name seemed needed for him. One was as good as
another. He simply guided, served, always on call, always ready for
duty.
“He said he wanted to see how girls play hopscotch, at least
that’s what I told him to tell her. Polly, sweet dear, was happy to
oblige, and happier still when I gave her a set of colored chalk to draw
on the sidewalk with. She had always used chalk rocks before, I guess,
having to find them first before she could play.”
“Step up on the dias,” Sylvia urged me. There would be no more
conversation. All was in readiness. Polly could not be kept occupied
forever. As if to hurry things along Sylvia pushed me up onto the first
step of the dias. There were four more. Each was lined with felt, in
case a barefoot girl might have to mount the dias, I supposed, to give
her as much comfort as they could. Louis stood and walked over to me.
He drew my twice discarded panties from his pocket. They were slightly
damp, as if someone had washed them for me while I was taking my bath.
“Polly washed them, at the sink, in the kitchen,” Louis said.
“She’s the one who found them the second time. She was racing around
the castle trying to see how fast she could run while Lurch? is that his
name? timed her. I watched her while she washed them for you. She was
quite jolly doing it, wearing long yellow gloves to protect her hands
and arms but with nothing else on, of course. She delighted in seeing
the small stains from your bowels on your panties. I must say, watching
her crow over your stains and sing and wriggle her nude bottom about, I
was pleasantly entertained. Another good mark in your column that will
mitigate your punishment.”
“Thank you,” I said. He responded by parting my lips with his
finger and stuffing my panties into my mouth. I resisted him at first.
I stuck my tongue against his protruding finger. We battled, much as if
our two tongues were jabbing at each other. His finger beat my tongue,
of course. I was forced to retreat. I accepted my panties with as much
equanimity as I could muster. They were mine, after all. I shouldn’t
have thrown them out the window. Sylvia brought a soft canvas gag to my
mouth and fitted it between my teeth. To give the gag extra bulk, after
it was tied behind my head she drew both ends of my panties out around
my gag and tied them to the gag itself. This forced my tongue back very
far, and I choked, shaking my breasts. She stroked my slim throat and I
at last accepted my new condition. With a kind of sardonic glee Sylvia
then offered me her hand and encouraged me to mount the remaining steps
of the dias. I put my hands protectively to my hind cheeks and let her
guide me up. She palmed my bare belly, her other hand pressed to the
small of my back, while I concentrated on protecting my bottom.
The top of the dias was sheathed with a covering of white fur.
It was short, very soft. Sylvia guided me to the center of it, between
the poles. There I saw, on the floor of the dias, a bolster taken from
one of the couches. It was made of white vinyl, businesslike, but it
had a silk cloth draped over it, as if to catch spillings.
I was made to kneel. Sylvia kneed her way onto the platform,
not using the steps. I hoped to just crouch in my new heels next to the
bolster but she made me lie down with my bottom perched atop it. Joanne
joined her and stood over me. Sylvia drew my hands over my head and
behind my neck and affixed them to the back of my dog collar. Joanne,
standing, lifted each of my long legs and fastened them to the end of
the short chain that dangled down from the festive poles. I found
myself spread-legged, my arms virtually immobile. My graceful, slim
legs were in a wide vee, showing off my bare pussy as if I might be
posing for Penthouse. My ass cheeks, partly unsupported by the narrow
bolster, hung mostly free, jiggling in their nakedness and making me
feel like I must be the Great Pumpkin, rising from the pumpkin patch for
Linus to see.
Joanne and Sylvia got off the dias, using the steps. When they
had departed Rose very sexily came up the little stairs, swaying her
bottom, which was naked, letting me see her thatch from below, and her
long legs which were sheathed in black fishnet stockings. Except for
them, her corset, and matching gloves, plus a bondage collar tightly
circling her neck, and earrings, she was naked. Of course she wore high
heels, but nothing else, and she carried the small silk whip.
“This is a special treat few girls receive, and never from a
man, for they don’t know how to do it,” Rose told me. With jolly eyes
she dangled the knotted tips of her whip right over my cunt! I was
helpless, like a spread turkey waiting to be stuffed. I wondered if
Cheyenne would loan me her panties but I couldn’t ask, with the gag in
my mouth.
WHICKCK! I heard, and I felt myself lurch. My smooth belly
rippled and my clamlike cunt smarted under the blow, my lips hungering
to close, but wrenched wide with my legs all tied up straight and tall
to the mayfair poles. My bare fanny bounced atop the bolster.
WHICKCKCK! Again the silken whip rained down on my cunny. I
felt the silken tips land smartly all round my spot. She would find it
soon.
WHICKCK! Oh! She hit me! Right on my tenderest, most
vulnerable spot! I screamed into my gag but there was no mercy for me.
She struck me again, and was lucky again. I squeezed my eyes shut and
begged her to stop. For answer, she lifted her whip and stung my
wobbling titties. Then, feeling perhaps a little pity for me, she
summoned Joanne and Sylvia.
“Come and lick her parts between my whippings,” she told them.
“It will ease her pain a little. Nothing can be done to abate the
strokes, but perhaps immediate treatment will help her bear them.”
“Yes, we’ll make them better,” Joanne offered. Her voice was
sincere. But I think Sylvia had more wicked intentions. She simply
wanted to tongue me and make me feel her lust. She truly enjoyed seeing
me suffer. Joanne, I think, would have stopped it at once if she’d been
in charge.
Rose halted a moment and let Joanne and Sylvia, clad in their
‘offering dresses,’ as I thought of them, offering their bottoms and
tits and cunnies to all who cared to see, knelt down beside me.
Greedily Sylvia took possession of my wounded cunny with her mouth.
Joanne tended to my nipples. I felt my breasts roll around beneath the
probing of Joanne’s tongue. Sylvia intruded her tongue penis-like into
my slit.
“Oh, how delicate these stockings are,” Rose said to me,
stroking my thighs. “You shouldn’t have worn these, dear. I’ll have to
be extra careful not to hit them with my whip. I’d hate to put runs in
them.”
“Ruin them,” a male voice declared. Louis. My captor. “I’m
enjoying this. Don’t spare her.”
I managed to tip my head slightly to one side. There, on the
couch, sat my lover, with Cheyenne sitting primly beside him. She was
still clad in her panties, but Louis’ cock reared up through his pants
fly. Andre’s was similarly displayed. Cheyenne was playing her
mittened fingers underneath their cocks, very lightly, as if preparing
them for something herself.
“Oh, how I would love to trade Fleury for one of you!” Rose
declared, seeing Cheyenne entertaining the twin cocks. Suddenly, in my
mind, I saw Louis tied in my place, with his cock stemming high, waving
like a third pole, but without the bunting, and the little silken whip
raining down on his balls and his glans. I felt a rush of excitement
between my legs.
“I’ve struck oil!” Sylvia announced for all the world to hear.
My essence was secreting itself. I heard a laugh and turned my head and
blushed as I saw people outside, looking in, some nicely dressed, others
just in swimsuits. They stared at my gagged face. But they looked more
intensely at my breasts, or especially between my legs, where a lifting
of Sylvia’s head to catch her breath allowed the guests outside to see
my slit. Wide open, yielding, quite wet now. Rose eased Sylvia’s head
aside and brought her whip down once more.
I howled. My breasts shook. Joanne lifted her face and let
Rose strike my titties. Then my cunt again. Then my titties. After
each blow my twin girlfriends immediately attempted to soothe me with
their tongues. On and on it went. In the distance Cheyenne kept
fingering Louis and Andre’s cock, very discreetly. They undid her
panties at last, slipping the drawstrings. They got up and urged her
toward the dias. She cried out and dropped her purse.
“Yes, you must be next dear. You are too pretty to pass up,”
Rose said. I was untied by Joanne and Sylvia. I was shunted aside like
a toy from some Christmas past and Cheyenne was fastened down in my
place. They did not bother to change the silk cloth on the bolster.
They stuffed her panties in her mouth, skipped the gag, and began
beating her with the whip.
I lay curled in a fetal position nearby. My cunny stung, my
nipples stung, my bottom was still sore from last night. All my
tenderest places, which should have been properly clothed, were nude and
stinging. They made Cheyenne suffer just as I had. Joanne and Sylvia
tongued her to give her a little respite from the blows. Louis and
Andre watched, standing over her, ignoring me, letting their pricks
stand out like hard locks, but not touching them, for Rose insisted they
must not.
“Now for you, Andre,” Rose said when Cheyenne’s turn was over.
Bawling, she was rolled over to me and Louis laughingly tied his friend
down. Joanne and Sylvia helped, as well as Rose. Andre was resistant.
But he did not use all his strength to prevent his fate, and so at last
Louis won, and to my heartbeating surprise I found myself staring at
Andre’s big sausage-like pecker, sticking straight up and showing its
glory. Even Cheyenne stopped her sobbing to admire such a glorious
sight.
Rose licked her lips and began the torture. At once Andre
shouted. It hurt far worse than he imagined. Rose eased up a little
and played over him awhile. She stung his cock all up and down its
length. Andre asked her to spare his nuts but she did not. Despite her
wishes to see him be a father, she bounced the cruel tips all over his
bulging sack with its precious twin testicles. Andre bellowed like a
steer being neutered. The guests outside laughed. It was not their
genitals on display, suffering under the cat. “Cum, cum, cum,” Joanne
and Sylvia began chanting. Cheyenne joined them. Rose chimed in,
timing each “cum” with another blow of her cat. I could not speak. I
was still gagged.
A recess was called. Joanne and Sylvia were permitted to
tongue and soothe our bold hero’s loins. Andre whimpered like a dog.
It was so pleasurable, feeling two young females attend to his stiff
groin, and yet the whip was such agony, its sting lasting even as Joanne
and Sylvia did their best to make him feel only pleasure.
“What? The girls didn’t make you cum? After all that work?”
Rose scolded Andre when Joanne and Sylvia stopped to catch their
breaths. They had really given him their all, hoping to make him cum so
Rose would release him. Andre seemed confused. To cum was often a
crime here, spoiling our pleasure. Yet now it seemed to be required.
But for Andre, cumming was now a more distant option, for instead of
letting the girls please him again Rose beat him instead.
WHICKCK! WHICKCK! came the silken, knotted cords down on poor
Andre’s shaft and balls. I was feeling quite sorry for him now, knowing
how much Rose’s torture had hurt me. Still gagged, but with my hands
free, I suddenly leapt up and crawled to Andre and grabbed his cock with
both my hands.
“No! No more!” I cried. My words were mangled but there was
no mistaking my desire. My breasts wiggled freely beneath me. My
bottom stuck out in back, impudently, and I had no doubt Louis felt like
kicking me in the ass with his sharp pointed shoes. Andre’s pants,
removed and discarded, lay dangling off the edge of the dias. He was
helpless. Only I cared enough to save him. I put my cheek to his penis
and, despite the gag, I rubbed my cheek up and down his meaty pole.
Rose relented. She let me have Andre all to myself. Joanne
bent down and untied my gag for me. I spit it out as soon as I could.
Awful thing. It had my saliva on it and would have had my blood on it
too if I’d been allowed to bite as I’d wished to. Hungrily I stuffed
Andre’s poor organ into my mouth. I did not care about anything except
getting as much of his injured tool safely into my mouth as I could. I
rammed him down my throat. I gagged on his penis but I did not try to
stop myself.
Louis gazed down at me. Sylvia watched with amusement. Rose
let her cat dangle, unsure how to proceed, or whether to proceed at
all. I felt like a little rabbit, hunched down, my eyes attentive, my
mouth gorged on Andre’s manhood. For at least a minute all remained
like this, the crowd watching, Cheyenne watching, Louis watching. And
then, deep in my throat, I felt a sudden spurting. Andre shouted like a
boy having his first spurt. His mouth gasped. The crowd outside
erupted into laughter and then, after a moment, applause. I let Andre
jet deep into my throat. I worked as best as I could to swallow all he
gave me. It was too much, though, and it came oozing and then rushing
out of my widespread lips, running down the length of his sausage that I
hadn’t been able to fit into me.
After an especially long ejaculation, my palms palming his
balls and feeling their swelling ease, Andre sighed. I felt his huge
worm lose some of its hardness within my mouth and throat. Down he
slipped, retracting on his own. At last I spat out his cockhead,
regretfully. I gazed at its saliva slicked surface, a sheen of his own
sperm mingled with my eager spit. I kissed his softened cockhead and
stood. I grimaced as, in standing, I felt the torture anew upon my
cunt, where Rose had beaten me. I stumbled backward and Louis caught
me.
Cheyenne crawled to me and placed her mouth upon my bush. I
stood hanging in Louis’s arms, my legs akimbo, my cunny pulsing.
Oblivious to her own pain, Cheyenne began tonguing me. Then, lightly,
carefully, she put a hand to her own slit as she licked mine. It was no
use, I saw. She could not touch herself with her fingertips. It was
too painful. But a tongue would be just right. She desisted, taking
her fingers away from herself, but nobody came to her aid. Joanne had
gone down on Sylvia, the two of them entertaining each other, while Rose
found herself consoling Andre and, eventually, lying with him on the
dias and kissing him again and again, running her hands over his chest,
toying with his cat-kissed member.
Cheyenne remained kneeling disciple-like before me. She
tongued me until my chest heaved and my bosoms bounced, my breath coming
in quick gasps and then fretful moans and finally blurting out orgasmic
screams. As soon as I’d had my turn, I let Louis drop me and I licked
Cheyenne between her own legs. She trembled under my tonguings. Louis
watched with fascination. He began stroking himself. He warned us he
would spurt all over our lovely hair but we didn’t care. Cheyenne gazed
up at him, her breasts bare, her nipples hard and her eyes soft. Her
mouth mouthed out gasps of increasing pleasure. At last, under my
helpful tongue, she cried out in alarm and felt herself go over the
edge. As soon as she did, Louis hosed us both down with his sperm.
“Louis!” I cried, my mouth buried in Cheyenne’s cunt. I didn’t
really think he would do it, perhaps, but he did, and I knew I’d have to
spend an hour in the tub now getting all his stickiness out. He spurted
over me, then, showing enormous restraint, he waggled over to Cheyenne’s
face and gave her the rest of himself, squirting her right on her nose
and then decorating her lovely brown hair as if it were a chocolate cake
in search of vanilla icing.
“Oh, Louis!” Cheyenne breathed, but she was otherwise to
pleasurably entertained by my mouth to protest. I finished her, then
lifted my face and kissed Louis’s leg. He smiled at me. There were
drippings left, and he turned and offered to sprinkle them over me. I
let him. It was too late now. I was doomed to the bath anyhow.
After all of us were spent we went our separate ways. Louis
and Cheyenne, and I, however, agreed to take our bath together. As the
sun set outside, we all spent the next hour in my bathtub in my room.
We soaped each other’s privates, Louis doing Cheyenne and I very
tenderly, so as not to hurt us. Then Cheyenne and I did him. We washed
our hair, too, Cheyenne and I, and it took awhile to get Louis’s very
virile sperm out of our hair, but Louis helped a little, massaging our
scalps and kissing our eyelids.
Afterwards, standing outside the tub and patting each other
down with a towel, Cheyenne made a suggestion. “Let’s go downstairs and
get a bite to eat and then come back up and start all over again, in
bed,” she said. Her eyes glowed. Despite my whipping I felt renewed
somehow within my cunny lips and along the tips of my tits. My bottom
felt better, my weal sinking back down flush with my skin. I looked at
her. She looked at me. Louis gazed at us with a male’s possessiveness
and we both giggled as we watched his cock begin to rise.
“Just tongues this time, no whip,” I said to Cheyenne.
“Yes, please,” she answered.
“Okay,” I agreed. We leaned into each other, our hands at our
sides, and let our tongues touch, opening our mouths to let them out.
Louis caressed our bottoms.
“Come on! I’m hungry!” Cheyenne said suddenly, breaking our
kiss. We couldn’t continue or we’d wind up going all night on empty
stomachs. She turned and took my hand and we walked together to the
bathroom door. Cheyenne beckoned for Louis who was beside us like a
hound in heat, and she took his hand also. Together we marched
downstairs, quite naked. Nobody minded seeing us munching in the
kitchen. Our bodies were lithe and tanned. Our boobies were cute and
full and white, a nice contrast to our limbs and tummies, and our
bottoms matched our boobs, with even my marks from my whipping by Bambi
almost gone. Cheyenne’s bottom had yet to feel the lash. Louis, of
course, was a real attention getter, with his giant organ sticking
straight up by now, an open invitation to any female within 200 miles.
We found ourselves joined by curious spectators in the kitchen, and the
recipients of many offers, but we declined them all. When we were done
eating we retreated upstairs, where some kind soul had changed my
bedsheets yet again. But we knew they’d soon require changing yet
again, for as soon as we hit the sheets Louis was already dripping
pre-cum on them. Cheyenne and I quickly set about getting each other
moist also. We spent the night tearing the bed apart, moaning and
crying aloud and loving each other til dawn. No whips, no punishments,
just the sensuous torture of delicate tongues and probing fingers and,
amidst it all, Louis’s powerful cock.
“It’s morning, time to go to sleep,” Cheyenne said to me at
last. She giggled and took my face in her hands and kissed me.
“Yeth,” I answered. Louis’s groin was against my bottom but he
was utterly spent now. There was a wet spot under my hip. My cunny and
bottomhole ached with his comings and goings. Cheyenne was as ravaged
as me. I felt down between her legs for her slit and she winced as I
touched it.
“Oh, please don’t,” she begged.
“I’m worn out too,” I admitted. And, speaking in hushed tones
like that to each other in the fresh light of dawn, we fell into a deep,
exhausted sleep.
30
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