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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Love Child part 9 of 15 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Nine
With my accomplishments in the dungeon behind me, I returned to
Gretchen a new woman. Wearing the same yellow dress I'd left in, but
vastly more self-assured and daring, I smiled at her confidently as she
let me in. Melissa was there, playing improbably with blocks on a
carpet in the middle of the room.
"Silly girl! Are you regressing to infancy?" I asked smartly,
teasingly.
"She's been spanked and she's moping," Gretchen smiled. "Come
and tell me all about your adventure." She strolled into the kitchen
and I went with her, Melissa leaping up and scuttling in behind us so as
not to miss a word.
Gretchen poured us all hot coffee and I shared the details of
my adventure with her and Melissa. They sat, attentive, even the
experienced Gretchen appalled at what they did to my tits. Melissa
shivered frequently, though I doubt that it was entirely from terror.
She had her hands pressed tightly between her closed legs. Her knees
knocked together almost rhythmically at the mention of each lurid new
detail.
"Well, that certainly was quite a story!" Gretchen said when I
was done. She rose, and I rose, and then we both looked at Melissa.
Eyes wide, she peered up at us, and a guilty look spread over her
features. "Melissa! Were you frigging yourself while Barbi told her
story?" Gretchen asked reprovingly.
"N-Nooo," Melissa replied, wide-eyed, but her teeth were
chattering as she said it, with uncontrollable girlish lust. "Come
then," Gretchen said, extending her hand. Wordlessly Melissa took it.
She stood up. Gretchen looked at me. "You come with me also, Barbi.
Telling such a naughty story as that! You should be ashamed to speak
such words!" With a rueful look on my face I followed her.
Gretchen led us upstairs and into her bedroom. It smelled
fresh, with a vase of daisies placed by the bedside. Gretchen ordered
Melissa and I to get naked and get in the bed. As we stripped off our
clothes she took hers off as well. Then Melissa and I turned back the
bedcover, exposing crisp white sheets that I knew would be damp before
the sun set. At the moment its rays streamed in the room, flooding it
with warm sunshine. Yet we were ordered to bed all the same. Sex in
the afternoon. It seemed especially naughty.
Melissa and I slipped between the sheets, not drawing them
above our thighs lest Gretchen scold us. We huddled together. Gretchen
stood looking at us for a moment, hands on her hips. Then she went to a
drawer and, her back turned to us, took something out. When she
returned to the bed, and got in it, I saw that she was bringing a riding
crop to bed.
"Now which of you do you girls think is the naughtiest?"
Gretchen asked sweetly, cuddling with us.
"Barbi."
"Melissa," I replied.
And I knew then that we were in for a unique afternoon, all by
ourselves in the bed. We kissed, little pecks at first, hesitant.
Then, growing bolder, our kisses became more passionate. We felt each
other freely. Then, mounting me atop Melissa, Gretchen began striking
me with the riding crop, giving my newly healed bottom fresh welts. I
screamed, I cried, but I never wavered in kissing Melissa, rubbing
myself furiously against her. I relished obeying. Even obeying a
mistress, I realized. I knew there would be many more adventures for me
in the days to come.
END
I was invited to a dinner, Gretchen said. Soon a limo pulled
up out front. It was empty inside, except for the driver. We drove
towards town. Sitting in the back, I tried the door once, at a
stoplight. I found I was locked inside.
We pulled up in front of a modest house. The driver let me
out, escorted me to the door. He rang the bell for me. A woman
answered. I smiled softly. I gave a little curtsey. I was dressed in
a short skirt and blouse, with white cotton panties. My frilly lace bra
was just visible through my blouse. I wore a bow-tie of ersatz
formality around my neck. Black, patent leather booties, matching the
color of my tie, encased my feet. They each had a shiny silver buckle
along the side.
The woman returned my smile. She was business-like and
efficient. She was on lunch break, it seemed, between important
meetings. Or at least she was dressed that way. She wore a loose but
imposing mauve double-breasted jacket. It had fabric-covered buttons,
side pockets, shoulder pads. There seemed to be no blouse underneath.
>From the bulge of her prominent bosom I guessed she might well have a
bra on, though, perhaps of black satin. Her straight skirt, dropping to
her knees, left her calves bare except for nylons. I thought perhaps
they might be held up by a garter belt, of black satin also. She turned
on the heel of her suede pumps and ushered me in.
I was met by a man in a tux. He indicated a chair to me, in
the living room, a chair where I could sit by myself. I took it
gladly. He sat on a settee with his wife. A servant came, a Spanish
man, and served us drinks. He left. My hosts chatted with me, asked me
about my life, shared with me some of theirs.
The man seemed in his forties, the woman was younger. But she
was elegantly mature. I hoped I might be like her someday. Confident,
self-assured. I fidgeted a bit, trying my best to be sophisticated and
well-mannered like she was.
The servant called that dinner was ready. We rose. Into the
dining room we went, then stopped. I found myself standing between the
man and his wife. Rebecca, I'd learned to call her. He was named
John. I felt their breath close. They were both taller than me. There
was a flash of silver and John snapped handcuffs on me, behind my back.
I started, gasped. I hadn't expected that.
Gazing at the lavish spread on the dinner table, I felt fingers
come to the buttons of my blouse, pop them open one by one. My blouse
was eased off my shoulders. There was a glint of steel. Scissors!
They were lifted to my bosom by the woman. She slid a point of the
sharp scissors underneath my bra. She clipped the center of my bra
open. The twin cups of my brassiere popped apart, my bosoms spilled
out.
John whistled softly. My nipples wriggled stiffly. Rebecca
smiled, hinted with the scissors that she would be happy to snip my
nipples for me if I asked. I trembled.
With a flourish Rebecca plunged her scissors into my skirt's
waistband. I felt the cold steel against my belly. Rebecca cut my new
skirt right down the front. Shorn from me, it fell to the floor.
Obviously I would never wear that skirt again. Poor skirt. I'd liked
it.
Only my panties remained. Must these, too, be lost to the
scissors?
"Certainly," was Rebecca's crisp reply. She relished cutting
them off me. Her wicked scissors were stuck right down the front of my
panties. She sliced them open.
I thought at least they'd let me keep my bow-tie on. I rather
fancied it. But they cut this off as well. Finally my shoes were
brutally attacked with the scissors. I stood there watching as Rebecca
did her best to cut them to pieces.
Still standing atop the remains of my heels, I shivered as
Rebecca and her husband admired my utterly naked body. The scissors,
for the moment at least, were at rest on the table nearby, shining
maliciously under the glittering light of an overhead chandelier.
"So precious, so flawless, so delicate," Rebecca cooed. She
said she liked the fact that I was almost without any suntan. She
lifted each of my nipples. Her husband frankly palmed my bottom.
A collar was secured around my throat. It had little points of
steel on it. Softly Rebecca said it was time for dinner.
I stepped forward, bare feet padding on the rug. I made for
the nearest chair. But Rebecca turned me aside.
"No, dear, your meal is here," she said. She pointed to a
corner of the room. There were two bowls on the floor there. One was
for food, the other held water. They were dogfood bowls.
I was forced to my knees. The servant came. He dumped a
heaping pile of turkey scraps, mixed with stuffing, into my bowl. Steam
wafted up from the food. At least it was hot. The toe of John's shoe
kick-prodded my bottom. I dropped my face to the bowl, my hair spilling
all around me, golden-blonde, radiant. Wordlessly I began to eat.
John and Rebecca settled into their chairs at the table. They
sipped red wine and Chablis as I lapped water from my doggie bowl. They
discussed politics, religion, the arts. Finally I asked if I could have
more food. I was still hungry. Gretchen hadn't given me breakfast.
"You will have to come and beg, like any pet would," Rebecca
replied. I kneed my way over to John, as I guessed was expected.
Solicitously I knelt at his feet, gazed up at him. He took his linen
napkin and wiped my chin, around my mouth, where the remains of my bowl
meal had accumulated. I begged for wine. He let me sip some from his
glass.
"I shall not just give you food for free," John told me then.
If you want to eat you must perform...services. Can you handle a zipper
with your teeth?" I knew his meaning then. Handcuffed, I crawled
awkwardly beneath the table. He opened his legs for me. With my mouth
open, I sought out the zipper on his pants with my tongue. Finding it,
I clasped it between my front teeth and pulled it down. His dick popped
right out. He wore no underpants.
My mouth agape, my head weaved about as I sought to catch the
plum of his penis. It must have taken only a moment, catching the head
of his waving, newly liberated dick with my mouth. But it was so
shameful, I felt so humiliated, that it seemed an eternity to me.
Finally I got hold of it with my lips. I sucked on it. Rebecca,
sounding like God somewhere above the table, warned me to only pleasure
John, not to make him come.
And how was I supposed to do that? I wondered. Maybe a woman
like her, who had doubtless given thousands of blowjobs, could judge
something like that. But me? This was almost my first, and I couldn't
even see John. I was wedged under the table, my hands cuffed. The only
thing I had to judge John's responsiveness with was my mouth! And, I
suppose, my ears, I was thinking, when a rather loud record was abruptly
put on. It was symphony music.
Struggling in the darkness beneath the table, I tried to please
John without making him too happy. I wished dearly I had some way of
knowing how he was feeling, responding. Young men could shoot in a
moment, without warning. Older men might take longer, but then again
perhaps not, depending on how excited they were by the girl. This I
knew just as a matter of common sense. And I knew that older men, once
they came, might take awhile to revive. Rebecca might be quite pissed
if—
Ack! He was coming! Just like that! One moment I was
obediently slurping away, and suddenly a shower of semen flooded my
mouth. I drew back, instinctively, hoping somehow to avoid the accident
I'd just caused. Of course this let me get sprayed in the face, and did
nothing to undo my error.
Ow! A swift kick in my hiney. Rebecca's foot. "Get up!" she
ordered me. I obeyed at once, and hit my head on the underside of the
table. At last I kneed my way out from under the hanging lace
tablecloth. "Come over here!" Rebecca called.
I stood. Nakedly I walked over to where Rebecca sat in her
chair at the table. My hair tumbled over my shoulders, luxuriant but
bedraggled. A bit bedraggled. With stringy semen laced in it here and
there. The white stuff was all over my lips, on the tip of my nose. My
eyes were downcast. My body was pinkly white in the light of the
chandelier.
"You couldn't resist getting a mouthful of my husband's sperm,
could you?" Rebecca asked me harshly.
"No mistress," I replied. I thought it best not to call her by
her first name any more. She didn't seem to want to be on familiar
terms.
"We shall have to entertain John, the two of us, if he is to
get it up again," Rebecca said to me. I trembled before her in her
mauve business suit. "He likes to see girls abused. Sexually abused,
of course. You are lucky you have the body for it." Rebecca made to
rise. I was frightened. I grasped at straws in my defense.
"Ma'am, mistress, I'm still hungry," I said in a pleading
voice. I did not wish for dinner to be over. Dinner was safety. What
happened afterward promised to be the scary part.
"Of course, dear," Mistress said, subsiding once more in her
chair, reluctant but intrigued. She opened her jacket, flicking the
buttons one by one with her long manicured nails. I stood, watching
curiously, expectantly. Rebecca pulled apart the halves of her
suitcoat. A pair of breathtaking breasts wobbled into view. They were
perched atop a tight corset. It failed utterly to contain them,
pressing against the undersides but leaving the nipples free, doing
little more than lifting her breasts and offering them like ripe fruit.
Rebecca grasped me by the back of the hair and pushed my head
down to her closest tit. "Suck," she commanded. With hesitant little
licks of my tongue I tested the resiliency of her nipple. It wiggled
playfully. "Suck it, I said!" Rebecca snapped. Fearfully I drew as
much of her teat into my mouth as I could and fed upon it. There was no
milk, of course, it was only pretend food.
"Such a sweet little mouth," Rebecca said, after awhile, and
began stroking my hair. I felt comforted. With her help I sought her
other breast, toyed with its nipple, suckled, nourished myself upon it.
When I'd fed from both breasts Rebecca allowed me to lift my
face. She licked the sperm from around my mouth. Only a little
remained. Most had gotten on her breasts and been licked off by me.
I wondered what someone would have thought if they'd walked in
just then. Rebecca, the successful business woman, with her jacket
open, her titties exposed, a young girl standing obediently and quite
nakedly beside her. My face sticky with sperm, her breasts wet with my
saliva. Would John rise, introduce himself to our visitor? Would he
zip up his fly before he did, or would he leave his sausage hanging out,
still large in its limpness. Would he speak quietly with the guest,
stiffening slowly? Male or female, it might not matter, especially if
they were young. He might pork either sex, I thought, just like
Gretchen's husband. Would the young woman, a secretary perhaps, try to
retain her composure? Would a male, an assistant maybe, mention the
member?
"Sir, you seem to be sexually excited. May I help you with
that?" my imaginary visitor asks. Or perhaps the visitor is older, and
quite shocked. Would Rebecca suffer repercussions in the business
world? Then again, was she a businesswoman at all? Perhaps she was
just a wife, playing a role.
"But you will not escape your punishment," Rebecca was saying
to me as my mind returned to the present. "There are many wicked
delights waiting for you, my dear, and you are going to boldly enjoy
them. I will not let you hesitate or hang back. No, we are going to
see just what this lithe little body of yours can take!"
She stood up then, cast off her jacket, reached behind herself
and summarily unzipped her skirt. It fell to the floor, revealing a
proudly displayed public mound, framed by the garters of her corset.
They kept her nylons tight, thigh-high nylons that I knew she didn't
want to get any runs in. I suspected she would be most delicate with
herself, while forcing me to undergo the most nasty torments.
Bravely I let them lead me into their bedroom. With a dismayed
gasp I saw it was "ready for business." The bed had straps hanging
above it, for reluctant arms and legs. Upon it lay a riding crop, and
beside the bed, quite matter-of-factly, were salves and unguents and
pots of cream to soothe abraded skin. A gag was looped casually around
one of the bedposts, untied, waiting. A blindfold lay nearby, upon the
pillow. A mirror, turned inward, reflected all the activities that
might take place upon the bed back toward its occupants, such as they
may be.
In a corner there was a rocking horse, perhaps a treat for
little girls. On the wall, beside it, a pony lash hung from a nail. A
hole in the handle let it hang whip downward. Did I see the tip twitch
expectantly when I entered the room?
An ostrich feather stood among the perfumed vials on the
nightstand. I wondered if other girls had been tickled by its tip,
their cunnies moistening pleasantly as Rebecca or John invaded their
most intimate parts. Unlike the business meeting, with its insistence
on modesty and decorum, this was a place where modesty was banished.
Penises were required to be erect, nipples to be rigid. Private parts
were not hidden but totally, mercilessly exposed.
The bed was rather high. There was a helpful staircase of
little wooden steps beside it. They had placed the little stairs before
the inward turning mirror, so that anyone walking up them would have her
bottom reflected even as she displayed her nudity in front.
I walked to the steps, graceful in my stride. I did not have
to be told. I knew what was expected of me. Giving my long hair a
casual toss, I regarded the steps. Then I mounted them. I stepped
mincingly up them, suddenly hesitant. Upon closer inspection the bed
seemed to loom before me as a kind of platform for sex, a sacrificial
altar, even. Rebecca had said she would show no mercy with regard to my
denouement.
Childlike I stood upon the bed, my feet sinking into the
mattress. My bottom seemed to loom larger as a result, my heels
negatively inclined, pressing down into the mattress more than my toes.
My legs were awkward, attractive in their awkwardness.
Innocent in my appearance I watched, wide-eyed, as Rebecca
advanced upon me. She had donned soft leather gloves. In her hands she
held a long white rope. Turning slightly, I gave Rebecca my wrists.
There was no hope of refusal. Frankly Rebecca bound my wrists, then
flung the rope over a beam high above the bed. She pulled the rope down
on the other side of the beam, yanking my arms skyward. I gasped. My
big breasts bounced on my chest. She pulled hard, again, nearly
wrenching my arms out of their sockets. Then she tied the rope off to
the black rail that formed the bed's headboard. Uncomfortably I
realized I had a sudden need to pee. The wine had found my bladder.
Dared I ask? I looked back over my shoulder, to where Rebecca had
retreated to. She was helping John out of his clothing. He was husky,
hard-bodied, unique for a man over 40. I saw that his cock had
stiffened. Not completely, for that might have saved me from
punishment. But pleasantly, as if to say, "I'll get fully erect when
the mood moves me." He was in no hurry. We were utterly at his
disposal. He had no reason for urgency.
I was the living centerpiece in a room specially furnished for
sex, I realized, and nothing else. This bed hadn't been purchased for
sleeping in. Ever. Beneath my feet, below the sheet, I felt the
crinkle of plastic. A covering to protect the mattress from all the
bodily fluids that would no doubt be spilled. This was a room for
activity! A playpen, playground, for adults. I wondered how often
cocks were freed in here, only to be titillated and thrust within
clenching orifices. Squeezed dry by female slaves. Or perhaps,
sometimes, the males were the slaves, their balls and dicks required to
serve female predilections. I remembered the book they'd shown me at
the other dinner party. Shocking things indeed could be done in the
name of sex, to both sexes. I'd been spared many of them so far, but
Rebecca, sensing this (perhaps even being told it by Gretchen) seemed
determined to make me breach new boundaries. She strode up to me again,
placed a gloved hand on my bare hip. Softly she caressed my heinie.
The leather felt smart, civilized, against my saucily nude rump. In her
other hand she held a riding crop, picked up from the bed. She seemed
to hesitate though, lingering over me, as if not wanting to damage such
a fine specimen.
Realizing perhaps at last that she only had me for the night (I
learned of this proviso later), Rebecca stepped back. She drew the
length of the leather crop across her palm. She sized up my bottom.
"Please, mistress, not too hard," I begged. My voice was soft,
lilting. A wicked grin spread across her face. Her bosoms brooded
above her corset, plump and white and lovely.
"It shall be exceedingly hard, dear," Rebecca replied. "Most
painful. You will relish each crisp stroke as I know you can, if only
you try. Each will be delivered with consummate skill, if I can manage
it, to bring out a sweet, exquisite cry from your little throat. And
when I am done you will have the most beautifully striped bottom of any
girl in London. You will be able to show it off at parties, and people
will say, "My, she's had a lot! She was a good girl, to let herself in
for such a punishment." Because you have, haven't you, dear? I mean of
course if I untied you now you'd leave, your bottom cheeks huddling
thankfully as you scurried out the door, but you aren't exactly staying
in a convent with Gretchen, are you?
Oh, you're going to be so aware of your bottom in the days to
come, thinking of it every minute! How naughty to want to think of your
bottom all the time. But it will be so sore, deliciously sensitive.
You'll have to sit down very gingerly at dinner, Robert will get hard
just watching you. And that's what you want, isn't it, you little
tart? You want to be the very picture of feminine delicacy, with even a
delicate ass!"
She struck me then, a bright, blazing brand of the crop right
across the summit of my bottomcheeks, and I cried aloud.
"Yes, dear, shout and scream all you like. No one can hear.
Your naughtiness in wanting your bottom sensitized is private now,
though later you will hardly be able to keep it so. If you go out to a
restaurant, people will whisper as they watch you flinch sitting down.
You'll have to request a cushion, too. Imagine that! "Please, Mr.
Maitre d', may I have a soft pillow to sit on? I have a very sore
bottom right now."
"If you go to the pool, in a fashionable thong swimsuit, there
will be no hiding it. People will remark to each other as they watch
you wriggle by. You might meet someone in a poolside bar, chat awhile,
then turn around. Oh, my! Imagine their shock when they see your
stripes. And imagine the temptation too. They'll want to add some of
their own. "This girl is incredibly sexy," a man will think as you
deliberately show him your bottom, in the seemingly innocent act of
turning around. "Wow! I must have her!"
She hit me again, and I hollered. My lungs expelled air,
refilled. I danced upon the sheet, lifting one leg, the other, trying
to cast off the pain. "How skittish you are!" Rebecca said, watching me
in my nudity as I leapt about. I was heedless of how the lifting of my
legs exposed the pouch of my cunt. "You want the marks but not the
pain, don't you, dear? Like wanting a baby without childbirth. I'm
afraid it's not possible." She struck me again. The crop seemed to
sweep up, lifting my bottom. I saw John in a mirror, stroking himself.
I was on display, a sexual mannikin. The model every man dreamed of:
gorgeous, stripped naked, existing only for his sexual pleasure. And
when he was through he would dispose of me, sending me back to Gretchen,
thinking of me no more.
WHACK! "Yeeeoch!" I wept at the laying on of this latest
strike, the tears flying from my face. Not crying, really, not yet.
That would come later; instead the tears seemed simply to be popped
right out of my eyes, like the erect nipples popping up from my breasts.
WHACK! WHACK! Two more burning strokes, placed neatly between
those that had been laid on before. She was skilled in the art of it,
that was for sure.
She let me feel the heat of it then, the heat suffusing my
bottom. Rebecca strolled over to John. She put down her crop and felt
his genitalia with her gloved hands. Clinically, like a nurse. He
seemed but a boy in her hands. Not by his size, certainly, which was
overwhelming in the fullness of its erection, but by his demeanor. He
stood looking down at himself, hands dropped to his sides, as she
squeezed and palped and felt him. I stood watching through the mirror,
my bottom a ripened tomato, radiating heat. A heat-seeking missile
would have found me and shot right up my ass. When at last my
squirmings subsided (I forced myself to stop dancing at last, wanting to
appear ladylike), I stood with my bare feet solidly planted upon the
bed. Tears ran silently down my cheeks. I was crying now, partly from
pain, partly from humiliation. Yet I seemed to hunger for humiliation,
I told myself, from that finger-wagging part of the brain that holds the
conscience.
There was no hurry in the matter of John's upcoming
ejaculation. And there was no hurry in my punishment, either. Rebecca
seemed to want me to enjoy every minute of it. A little later, with
John trembling on the brink but not quite lost, his penis quavering, she
returned to me. She used a paddle next, swatting me hard, crushing my
bottomcheeks with the inswiping leather. It was a ping-pong paddle,
small, easily handled, covered in smooth rawhide.
SPLAT! She did not wish to mark me any more with specific
stripes, but rather to impart a generalized stinging to my bottom.
Every inch of my naughty ass must be made to burn. I high-stepped in
place upon the bed, lifting my knees now, seeming to march. I was not
quite the skittering nude of before. My suffering had become somewhat
routinized. I was tiring. She would strike me and I would lift a
knee. I must have marched half a mile before she finally tossed away
the paddle. She was careless, carefree, the exact opposite of me. I
was a tormented soul, all too mindful of my sin. She was a free
spirit. Ariel and Caliban.
John received Rebecca's mouth around his penis this time. She
sucked him dreamily, worshipfully, a divine aristocratic goddess
submitting herself willingly to the male organ. I yearned to be in her
place. Let her take mine! She could have his penis always. I could
only have him tonight.
"Please, mistress, I have to pee," I called out. I was a child
in the third grade. Her lovely mane of hair just kept bobbing,
sucking. "Oooh, I have to pee so badly!" I said. She ignored me. John
looked up once, smiled, said nothing.
I think my asking to relieve myself only worsened my position.
As I bulged within, feeling my need ever more keenly, Rebecca remained
unflappable. She sucked steadily. John groaned, thrust his hips
forward, but held himself. A man does not reach 40, in the great shape
he was in, without learning to discipline himself.
Much later, hours perhaps (or so it seemed, I'd gone dizzy with
my overwhelming urge to pee), Rebecca stood. She let go of John's
organ, revealing a saliva-coated piston of muscle. It throbbed
mightily. He jerked his hips, poking at the air, moaning. Yet he
controlled himself. There was no emission, had been none.
I was not so well trained. As Rebecca advanced upon me I
suddenly, sickeningly, felt urine run down my thighs. I was peeing on
the bed! Mortified, I gazed at Rebecca, all a-tremble with the
shuddering release of my urine. I tried to stop it, couldn't. Rebecca
came up next to me and placed a gloved hand in the small of my back,
stroked me there. I shivered and peed even more enthusiastically.
"Yes, dear, there's no point in stopping it now. You've messed
your bed already," Rebecca said. The relief I felt was overwhelming as
my bladder emptied. For a moment I forgot even the burning of my
bottom! "Of course, you will have to be punished most severely for
this," Rebecca added. "And before you go home I'll make you wash the
sheets by hand. Somehow this last sentence relieved me. At least I
knew there'd be something left of me after this night was over!
Rebecca pulled off her gloves. Taking a perfumed phial from
the nightstand, Rebecca poured a stinging alcoholic solution over my
bottom. "Yeech!" I squawked. Her long, red-painted fingernails glinted
sharply in the light. With her palm she cupped my cheeks, each in
turn. She rubbed the scented oil into my scorched assflesh. I
wriggled, settled finally in her palm. She swept a finger up my
bottomcrack, sought my rose. I jerked suddenly as she sought within.
Her nail pricked me there. She laughed, sultry, husky, her big boobs
juddering atop her corset.
"I wish to do more to you than this room can afford," Rebecca
told me. "We shall go downtown and rent a dungeon for several hours."
I looked at her, shocked. "Don't worry, the ones on 9th street are
designed to offer complete privacy. Unless, that is, you'd rather be
watched?"
"I just want to go home," I said unconvincingly, though my
voice did have a very pleading tone to it. In the mirror John's cock
stood out from his hips, beckoning. I was hot, aroused. I knew I could
not go back from this state, only forward. Like when I was a girl in
bed, masturbating "just a little," until the rising ardor overwhelmed me
and I rubbed myself to frenzied orgasm.
Rebecca untied me. I rubbed my arms. The joints ached. They
had gone to sleep, strung up like they'd been. Carefully I made my way
down the steps from the bed. My head was addled, my bottom so very
sore. I could only think of John's cock, my desire for it.
Underpants. Rebecca handed John a white cotton pair of
Jockey's. Anything in the skimpy nylon variety would have been
impossible to wear. Eyeing his cock, Rebecca ordered John to stuff
himself into the Jockey's, somehow. "We are going downtown," she said.
"You must dress." Woefully John looked at her. Was he enjoying this?
Had it all been agreed to beforehand? Or did he just let her lead
sometimes, wherever she might? Couples, their relationships, were still
an unknown thing to me.
As John struggled into his shorts, Rebecca handed me panties.
They were teensy. They would fit very snugly upon my burning ass, I
knew, accentuating my hurt. "Put these on," Rebecca said. "You and I
will wear fur coats. Yours, perhaps for the best, only goes as far as
the waist." I spied a short mink coat hanging in an open clothes
closet, next to a full-length one. "But I cannot have you waggling your
bare ass around on the streets of London, much as you might like to.
You must wear panties at least."
"But," I protested, eyeing the panties ruefully. I didn't want
anything touching my flaming ass.
"This is a civilized country, not Africa, or Argentina, or
wherever you're from," Rebecca said. She gave me a scornful look.
Gingerly I put on the panties, drawing them up my legs, crying out as
they touched my scorched bottom. "Pull them up properly!" Rebecca
said. I'd tried to only cover myself a little with them. She yanked
them up so that they molded themselves completely to my fanny. I
whistled through parted lips at the pain, gave a little sob. "There.
You'll keep those on until I tell you to take them off!" Rebecca said.
She went to a closet, returned with a fur wrap. Gratefully I put it
on. My nipples felt warm and comforted inside it as I closed it around
me. But it only just grazed my bottom. My outswelling asscheeks,
properly pantied now, remained fully exposed. Below that stretched my
bare legs. Rebecca gave me boots and as she held them for me I stepped
into them. They came up to my knees. They were of fine black leather.
Then she gave me fur mittens, and I put these on and drew the hood of my
cloak up over my head. I felt strange, clothed and unclothed. I looked
at myself in the mirror. I postured, just a little, posing myself in my
new attire.
Rebecca donned a coat, mittens, and boots. Her coat closed
over her bare legs. They remained sheathed in stockings, secured by
tightly fastened garters. Unlike me, she wore no panties. Rebecca wet
a linen handkerchief and wiped the insides of my thighs. "There," she
said. "It wouldn't do for you to arrive smelling of pee." She touched
up my makeup for me and then did her own, quickly, before the mirror.
Behind us John dressed most reluctantly in a tuxedo. He would be our
chaperone, our guide. Only in the dungeon would it be revealed that he
was really just Rebecca's pet.
At last John regained his manly composure. His face was still
flushed, though. There was a lump in the groin of his expensive
trousers. From his face you could see that he ached, for what? one
might ask. Only we knew the truth, though others might guess. He
yearned to ejaculate, to spill his seed immediately, at once, in his
pants if allowed to. Yet he contained himself, struggled down his
need. Commandingly he beckoned us. "We shall to the limo!" he said in
clipped British.
With quick steps we hurried across the sidewalk upon our
arrival in town. Pedestrians turned, looked. This section of the
street was dimly lit but there was no denying the flashing of my bare
white legs. No doubt they thought me a specially expensive whore. John
strode with all the authority of a british gentleman, though ladies
might have detected an awkwardness in his stride. Rebecca did not want
to make too much of a scene, though she delighted in my embarrassment.
Into a modest brownstone we dashed, leaving the spectators behind.
The quaint interior, with a narrow hall and victorian lamps,
belied the true purpose of this building. We were met by an Asian
woman. She was lovely, her hair piled loosely atop her head, golden
hoop earrings dangling from her ears. She wore a long flowing dress,
modestly covering whatever she might have on beneath.
The Asian mistress of the building saw our need and hurried us
to a room. We walked past doors within which I could only guess what
obscenities were transpiring. Arriving at our own chamber, she unlocked
its heavy wooden door, pulled it open with some effort. "Candles or
electric?" the Asian asked sweetly.
"You can just flip on the lights, we aren't feeling terribly
romantic this evening," Rebecca said. Indeed not. On the trip into
town she had put me over her knee, to keep my bottom warm, as she said,
and spanked me. The Asian saw my tear-stained cheeks and smiled. My
walk was not the most graceful, though I tried to make it so. Bottom
wiggling, I stepped with Rebecca and John into our new abode.
For a moment I stood in shocked silence as I saw what awaited
me. Exercise machines, modified, waited to receive my little body, with
straps to tie me down. It seemed I could be transfixed into all sorts
of positions. The room was pure wickedness. There was, indeed, no
romance here.
"May I take your coat?" the Asian woman asked me brightly. I
stood unsure, unsteady. Assuming the initiative she drew my coat off
me, standing behind me, and my boobs spilled nakedly into view. My
titties were as stiffly pointed as ever, excited with the dread of my
new surroundings.
Her own sharp tips upstanding, Rebecca let John take off her
coat. John and the Asian hung our coats in closet. It was a big,
walk-in closet, running the entire length of one side of the room.
Obviously, this room had not always been for sex play. At one time the
closet had no doubt held an entire wardrobe, but now it was mostly
bare. Sex partiers had taken over what, I guessed, must once have been
an apartment for a dignified English lady, a spinster perhaps, with
racks and racks of dowdy dresses. Or a gentleman maybe, with endless
varieties of dull dark suits, all lined up in the closet like soldiers.
Rebecca ordered me to keep my boots on but take my panties
off. I whisked them down off my blazing posterior, like some child
eager to jump into her bath. But I had to bend and struggle to get them
over the tops of my boots. It felt silly, sinful, taking off my panties
but leaving my shoes on. When I'd got the panties off me, dropping them
to the floor, I stood and stretched impulsively. I still had my mittens
at least. Sheathed in them, and in my boots, I felt curiously exposed,
more naked than if I'd not been wearing anything.
And this was not the place to be naked, that was for sure, from
the looks of the equipment they'd installed in here. I shrank back
suddenly, feeling very vulnerable. John reached out and grabbed me by
the arm.
"And just where might you be going, in the altogether?" the
Asian asked me sweetly. "Would you like to inspect our other rooms
also?"
"N-No," I replied.
"She is such a darling little toy, one of the prettiest I've
ever seen brought in," the Asian said, complimenting me to Rebecca.
"And I see she's not above being a little naughty," she added with a
glance at my reddened bottom. "Just call for refreshments when you
desire them. We aim to please in all aspects. If you should require
sleep there are beds upstairs, where you can snuggle up with others or
enjoy a room by yourselves."
"You are so very helpful," Rebecca replied courteously. And
then I seemed to sense a flashing between their eyes, a quickening
passion. They were birds of a feather, those two, and suddenly they
wished to flock together.
"May I play with you?" the Asian asked Rebecca. She seemed to
reach back for the zipper of her dress even as she spoke, as if
permission had already been given, silently.
"Please do," Rebecca replied. "I need all the help I can get
with this little dickens." She gave me a meaningful glance. I felt
small and vulnerable. Not one mistress, but TWO? The thought was
unbearable. And a master to boot!
The Asian's dress dropped to her ankles. She stepped out of
it, in naught but a garter belt and stockings. They were black,
fishnet, and I realized for the first time that the flowing sleeves of
her gown had modestly concealed fishnet mittens on her hands. They were
fingerless, which is why I hadn't noticed them before. Thrust through
her garter belt, ready for use, was a short-tailed, short-handled pony
whip. It was tilted at a jaunty angle.
John disrobed quickly, eager to get his cock free of his
clothes. The women stood admiring him, along with myself, as he
undressed. Before we could even help him he was already naked. We
closed in on him, our hands eagerly seeking his febrile rod, his taut
balls, his tight ass. For a moment John stood there just relishing our
attention, letting his head tilt back. Then he lifted his hands and
palmed our bottoms. I had to squirm out of the way of his roving hand.
My bottom was too sensitive. We introduced ourselves to each other,
standing there, enjoying the closeness.
"You have made Barbi marvelously aware of her bottom," the
Asian, Danielle, said to Rebecca and John. "But what about her
nipples?" I shuddered. "I have little clamps, with bells. May I put
them on her?"
"Why not?" Rebecca replied.
A moment later I stood watching with great trepidation as
Danielle lifted a small clamp to my nipple. My buds were already
sticking out, deliciously stiff, but Danielle tickled them up anyway,
her fingertips light, feathery. Then she squeezed the peak of my right
breast, extruding the tip through her clamping fingers. I winced, cried
out. A moment later and a bell was affixed to the tip of my tit.
Danielle decorated my other nipple with a twin of the first device.
The ornaments weighted my uptilted breasts, pulling on them,
yet my bust remained as out-thrust as ever, the fleshy spheres jutting
forth. I drew in my breath deeply, glad at least that I'd survived this
latest torment, and the bells tinkled softly. I looked down at them,
surprised. My hosts laughed quietly. I shook myself, trying to shake
them loose, but they remained firmly upon my teats.
"I think we have our own cow, dear, and I don't doubt she'd
like to milk you," Rebecca said merrily to John.
"Now she is even a sweeter ornament than before," Danielle
smiled.
I did not know quite what to do with myself. My every movement
made my titties ring as if they were welcoming Christmas, or New
Year's. "She shall ring quite loudly when we whip her, I'll bet!"
Rebecca said. I shivered, sending the bells pealing forth again.
"Come, dear," Danielle said, a welcoming smile pasted on her lips. "I
think its time we introduced the machines to your cunt!"
I allowed myself to be drawn foot-draggingly towards the
closest machine. It had a small saddle for a seat. Drilled through it,
both near the front and the back, were two holes, penis-sized. Danielle
plopped me down on the saddle and I saw, fearfully, that I was ideally
positioned to receive something through those holes right up my pussy
and ass!
"There was a girl who, when she delivered her first baby, had
her pelvic bone split apart by the baby's head," Danielle cooed. She
drew my thighs gently apart. Jutting out along either side of my saddle
were twin horizontal posts, covered in leather. When my thighs were
quite wide Danielle hoisted each of them, in turn, over one of the
posts. Reaching under the post, she drew a strap over each of my white
thighs and buckled it securely. I gazed down at myself, spread-legged,
but with my knees still bent and my feet hanging towards the floor, no
longer able to touch it. I felt like a little girl sitting in a chair
that was too big for her, feet dangling idly, aimlessly.
"I always thought it was such a shame for that girl to go
through such pain, such misery, with her childbirth, when a goodly
amount of fucking beforehand would have opened her right up. That's why
my dungeon is well equipped with big dildoes, to get a girl opened up
properly so she can have a very easy childbirth. I hear you were
pregnant for a little while, hmmm?" Danielle asked me with glowing
eyes. I gulped, nodded. "But I'm told that you're still very tight,"
Danielle said. She wet her finger in her mouth and inserted it with
clinical detachment right into my dell. I shifted uneasily, felt flames
lick up my injured bottom cheeks and squirmed even more.
Danielle fitted a dog's collar around my neck and drew me
back. Somewhere behind me she found something to fasten it to. I could
no longer move my head. I could only swivel it back and forth like some
bodiless creature whose head was kept in a box. Below the collar,
beneath my softly tinkling boobies the swell of my flat tummy curved
outward. My back was arched, offering my belly, as if it were begging
to be swollen with a man's impregnating seed.
"You won't be so tight after this, darling," Rebecca said to me
solicitously, patting my stomach. It hollowed with each of my indrawn
breaths, letting my ribs show. "Ah, how I'd love to see you with a big
belly, nine month's pregnant, with your tits swollen, ready to give
milk!" Rebecca added.
Danielle, who had slipped off for a moment, reappeared with a
silver serving tray. On it stood a range of dildos, like mighty
missiles, and to my shock and horror I saw that the biggest among them
were as huge as deli sausages! "It's for your own good, darling,"
Danielle assured my stricken eyes. Delicately she set down the tray.
"Do you wish her opened both fore and aft?" she asked Rebecca.
"Why yes, some men are probably too big for her bottom right
now. What a shame that the very finest men should be denied any part of
her lovely body. She must be able to receive everyone," Rebecca said.
Carefully she was stroking John's penis, not wishing to make him come
but obviously preparing him for some impending duty. An uncontrollable
tremor washed over me, jangling the bells on my breasts, sending shivers
of pain through my scorched bottom.
"John," Danielle said sweetly, turning to him, her eyes
admiring his fine erection. "Barbi must be lubricated. I think you can
fit in her in front. Would you be so kind as to fuck her until you
spend, so that I have a nice juicy twat to work in?" Poor John, who had
been fighting back a release of his sperm since the bedroom, walked
quickly over to where I sat. Without even acknowledging me, he seized
my thighs with his hands. Brandishing his penis as if it were a spear,
he thrust it boldly up me.
I yelped, nearly split apart by the sudden intrusion. John
rodded me as if I were some inflated doll. With glistening eyes I
looked up at him, hoping to find some tenderness in his face, some
appreciation of all I was offering him. My boobs, sexily clamped, my
slim, concave belly, my girlishly narrow hips, my tight twat. But,
sadly, he treated me as if I were just his latest fuck, one girl among a
whole line of girls over the years that his wife had provided for his
pleasure...and her own. I was furniture, like the stool on which I sat,
nothing more.
Wincing at my tightness, he nonetheless got himself fully up
me, needing only several preliminary, probing strokes to do it. They
were hot strokes, lusty, borne solely of his need. Deeply he burrowed
into me. And then, quickly, he came. His seed flooded my womb. He
held himself within me for a moment, relief showing on his features. He
flexed his hips, making sure he'd gotten every drop of boiling sperm out
of his desperate cock. Then, deflating, he withdrew himself. I hoped
for a kiss but he turned away.
"Poor girl, you didn't have much of an orgasm, did you?"
Danielle asked me mischievously, patting my head. Like some swimmer
gasping for breath my open cunt gaped, unsatisfied. My eyes, wide,
hopeful, gazed back at her. She knew I could not deny her dildoes now.
I needed them. I had to have them. Even if they seemed big enough to
split me in two.
Selecting one of the larger members, though, thankfully, not
the biggest (not yet!), Danielle spread the lips of my twat. Rebecca
stroked my hair and uttered soothing, nonsense words.
"There, there, baby, you're about to receive your first one,"
Rebecca whispered, as if consoling a virgin on the bridal bed. Danielle
managed to lodge the head of the big thing within me. Then she began
pushing, mercilessly. Wordlessly, mouth agape, I screamed silently as
the giant organ made its way up my tight passage. I felt like Tarzan
himself or, worse, one of his Apes was fucking me. Danielle twirled the
dildo, drilling me with it. Coaxingly Rebecca put both her hands to my
pussy and pulled me wider. Danielle pushed. Hard. Women are always
unsympathetic, I’ve found, to other females, despite their many
utterances of “poor baby” and “let me kiss it for you.” The words are
almost taunts, it seems, given how little pity they show when actually
inflicting the pain or watching it inflicted.
Rebecca ran her hands over me, as if assessing my physical
well-being. She slid her hands along the insides of my thighs. My legs
were fixed in place but she stretched my smooth, soft skin with the flat
of her palms, as if dragging her hands over my sleek body would open me
more.
The thing was jammed up higher. I bucked in my straps, wishing
I could dislodge the sturdy intruder. But the ladies weren't about to
see me walk around in the dungeon with a pussy tighter than theirs was,
I told myself. Danielle pulled back a little, to my vast relief, then
began hammering at me as if drilling the street with a jackhammer.
“Aack!” I cried, tears springing from my eyes, streaming down
my cheeks. All my little girl fantasies about being fucked by huge men
with giant pricks, men you’d see alongside the cement walk with hardhats
on and mustaches...it was all coming true at the determined hands of two
ladies! Were they trying to ruin me? Destroy me? Was my cunt to be
turned into a giant tunnel for the Tokyo subway to glide through? Yet
nature kept me from pleading for mercy, washing me again and again with
waves of pleasure. Bouncing, bucking in my little saddle, I unwittingly
played jingle bells on my boobies.
To my horror the ladies found themselves so stimulated by my
ordeal that they began masturbating. Danielle tucked a finger within
the lips of her cunt and began rubbing herself, even as she continued to
impale me on her hand-held sausage. Unlovingly Rebecca gripped my
breasts, stilling their music so she could squeeze and palp them with
selfish, sex-crazed hands. Danielle ran her tongue over her lips. She
looked intense now, self-absorbed, hardly thinking of me as she
concentrated on her own pleasure. I was merely an object for their own
delight. I mattered not, only the pleasure in their cunts mattered now.
Rebecca pulled my chin back and welded her lips to mine. My
eyes gazed up at the ceiling, glazed, unseeing. There was only the
physical world now, no thoughts or ideas, no emotions save those
teetering back and forth between pain and pleasure, need and greater
need.
I swooned, I passed out. All was darkness, sweet darkness, my
snatch spread as wide as possible, a phallus filling me, breaking me
open. My tits squeezed, nipples endlessly sucked by clamping infant
mouths of steel. Amidst the aroma of love I passed away to a softer,
kinder, unknowing world, a place of regained childhood innocence, of
night.
Later I felt them lifting me. I did not open my eyes.
Mercifully the jangling bells were removed from my boobs. Someone
carried me. Someone with strong, manly hands. A bed received me and I
slept.
30
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