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Subject: Aug 9th Honey Haven part 5 of 5 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Five
I stood on the sidewalk, the dwarf beside me. It was hot. He held a
sun umbrella over my head. In my mind, though, I was still standing
outside the chalet, needing no coat, despite the snow, my nakedness.
The fire of the burning chalet warmed my body. The dwarf was coming
from behind the house, again, driving the limo. I could hear the
clatter of trash cans as, unable to see over the limo’s dashboards, he
ran over them.
He stopped. I got in. Nude, I took over the wheel. I might not have
a license, but at least I could see the road. With my naked toes just
able to touch the accelerator, we took off.
“They had an electrical wiring problem,” I told the dwarf, reminding
him of our excuse. He chuckled.
“Oh, shit!” I exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I forgot my teddy bear!” I screamed. I stamped on the brakes. The
limo skidded on the ice-sheened road. It was a long skid, saving us
both, I think. On a dry road the car would have stopped and thrown us
both through its front windshield.
When the car came to a stop, I found the dwarf standing beside me, on
the seat. He’d gotten hold of the wheel and saved it, somehow, from
completely leaving the road, though the back end of the car had left
it. He looked at me. His eyes were quizzical, yet perhaps slightly
amused.
“You’ve just killed a dozen people and you’re worried about your teddy
bear?” he asked.
“I’ve had him all my life!” I exclaimed. “And... and...” I said,
thinking, my mind beginning to slow after the excitement of starting the
fire. “And my purse is back there, and my clothes, and all my money,
that I earned--” I stopped. I didn’t really want to explain how I’d
earned most of that money, posing nude for Svetlana.
“Don’t worry,” the dwarf told me. “We can sell the limo. I have some,
er, friends, well, old friends, really, in Venice. They don’t care how
a nice car like this comes to them, or who the real owner is. I don’t
have any dough either, so I’ll sell the limo and we’ll split the
proceeds.”
“Hmmm,” I said. I was learning not to just blindly trust people
anymore. “How do I know you’ll do that? What am I to you?”
“Well,” he said, “I need you to get the limo to Venice for me.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. I looked up at the sky. Cirrus clouds were
floating placidly in the upper atmosphere, oblivious to the deaths in
the chalet behind us. Perhaps they were all up there now, looking down
at us, smoldering with anger, like the mortal flesh they’d been driven
out of, because they’d been bested by a little slave-girl and their
indentured dwarf.
“Plus,” the dwarf added, “I owed them three more years. That’s a long
time when you’re 49. I don’t have that much time left.”
“You’re 49?” I gushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that
old--at least, I don’t think so. Except my grandmother, of course, but
she died last year. She was 82.”
The dwarf figeted with his fingers. “I wasn’t always 49,” he said,
hopefully.
“I’m just your driver,” I told him. “And you owe me for half the limo
when you sell it. A FAIR half.”
“Of course,” he gulped.
“You’d make a nice big roasted sausage in a butcher shop,” I warned
him, half-teasingly. He looked at me squarely.
“I don’t think you have it in you to roast me,” he said.
“Well, you’re right,” I told him. I giggled, feeling a sudden release
of tension. It was over. It was truly over. I’d survived, I’d won.
“You remind me of my teddy bear,” I told him. “Except he’s MUCH cuter.”
He smiled, enjoying the compliment, I guess. Perhaps it was the first
real compliment anyone had ever given him. Outside, the snow sifted
softly down from the frigid air onto the hood of our limo. It was
quiet. There was no traffic on the road, which was good, I suppose,
since our limo wasn’t only off the road, at its tail, it was also across
the yellow dividing line of the road, our hood blocking the other lane.
“Perhaps I will give you half, after all,” the dwarf said.
“No maybe or perhaps, you can rely on Murray’s maps,” I told him. He
looked at me quizzicly.
“Don’t sue me for detrimental reliance if I short you a dollar,” he
said, “But, okay, I promise I’ll give you half.”
“A FAIR half?” I asked him.
“Yeah... a fair half,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here. You may
not answering a load of questions from the police, but I’m in no mood
to. I’m not 12-years-old.
“I’m not 12, I’m 14!” I said to him, slightly aghast. I thrust my bare
tits at him to emphasize the point. (Silly, I know, but I was feeling
giddy after escaping from that horrid chalet.)
“Good. ‘Drive, she said,’” the dwarf replied.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Get this fucking thing out of the road!” the dwarf said, his voice
rising.
“Don’t yell at me,” I told him. “Ernest never yelled at me once.”
“I’m not a teddy bear,” the dwarf said. “I’m a human bean.”
I laughed. “You look like a human bean,” I told him. “And you’d look
even better as a human BAKED bean.” Then, hoping I’d gotten the last
word, I glanced in the rear view mirror, thinking I had to back up, then
remembered not to, since there was an Alpine cliff face not too far to
our rear. So I looked both ways instead and then, a bit nimbly, began
maneauvering the limo in a series of halting jerks back and forth to get
it (hopefully) back on the road.
“Uwaaah!” the dwarf cried, suddenly tumbling into the footwell in front
of his seat.
“Sorry,” I said, as the car lurched wildly and then halted. “I’m not
too good at driving. These are sort of my first lessons.”
“Sort of?” the dwarf asked. He gazed up at me from the footwell.
“I drove the bumper cars a lot at the Little Miss Fairyland park,” I
told him. In Peoria.”
“Huh?”
“Peoria, Iowa,” I said.
“PEE-oria?” he giggled.
“Don’t make fun of my home town,” I snapped at him.
“You’d make a good mistress,” he told me.
“I’m just the driver,” I said. Then I started moving the car again, in
car-shuddering lurches. At last I got it back on the road.
“Could you spread your legs a little?” the dwarf asked. “Then I could
see between them better.”
“Get back up the seat!” I said. He scrambled up, quite obediently.
“I suppose this is better,” he said, looking over at me. “I always was
a tit man.”
“Eyes front,” I said. “I need you to watch the road with me. Stand
up, little man. I don’t trust myself with this big car. It’s like a
boat.”
I was scared to death when I saw the first car approaching us. Not
about the chalet, that seemed long-forgotten now. I could hardly get in
trouble for it, anyway. After all, they’d kept me prisoner, and
sexually tortured me. No, I was worried I’d somehow manage to slam
head-on into the approaching car.
“Just slow down,” the dwarf told me.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
A man came up beside us on the street. He was reading the paper. A
story below the fold read, “Swiss fire kills 12. Arson suspected.” I
didn’t want to read it. Apparently he already had, or didn’t care to.
He was reading the paper’s sports page. He was tall, mostly bald, with
a well-trimmed goatee. It was completely gray, like the hair on his
head. He stood with a stately grace and was smoking a cigar. He was
dressed in a three-piece suit. He looked at me, briefly, then back at
his paper.
My gaze lingered on him. Would I be his age, someday? Impossible! a
little voice insisted inside my head. It really didn’t seem possible, I
agreed. He had always been old. That was just the way he was. He was
old, I was young. The world had been made this way and, except for my
grandmother and Kurt Cobain (who, I decided, had been made to die,
somehow) was unchanging. An unchanging world, populated by people who
had always been old, and people like me who had always, and always would
be, young. And the little kids of the world would always be little
kids. I suppose I should have numbered my 12 captors in the chalet
among the dead but, somehow, I didn’t. I’d never really seen them die.
I’d heard them scream but I hadn’t seen them die. So I didn’t really
know they were dead, even though, of course, they were. But they
weren’t dead like Kurt Cobain or my grandmom. They were dead because
they were bad guys, and on T.V. bad guys always wound up dead. I didn’t
count the bad guys on T.V. among the dead either.
I drew in a breath, enjoying the sweet summer air. Angelo (that was
the dwarf’s name, Angelo Muscrat) had bought me an old coat in a surplus
store in Milan. Now I was more prettily dressed. Precocious, some
might say, but I didn’t feel precocious. Just sexy. I wore a tight,
abbreviated black t-shirt. It was made of silk. I wasn’t wearing any
bra with it, and I hoped nothing excited me, because there was nothing
to stop my nipples from sprouting into my shirt. It clung to my boobs,
molding them, showing them off. I shivered, purposely. My breasts,
high and full and gently rounded, jiggled. My waif-thin midriff, hugged
by my shirt, was left bereft of any attire below my breasts. I’d cut
off my shirt to show my belly. Despite frequent pokings by men, it was
still flat. Luck, I suppose, or perhaps there was a surprise in my
future. I hoped not. The father was probably dead, unless it was
Dave. He wasn’t dead, but I didn’t want to see him again. He could
keep Katrina. And she could keep him. I had Angelo as my companion
now. He’d showed me the receipt for the limo. It was unsigned, of
course. (We didn’t sell to a legitimate dealer.) But I knew it was
authentic, and he’d given me half, just like he’d said, a fair half.
Small white shorts circled the tops of my legs. Below, I was naked,
except for my new tennis shoes. I wore plastic bangles on my wrists.
They reminded me of handcuffs, but I didn’t mind.
A greenish-gray car approached. “Ballard Taxicab Co.” a sign said on
its roof. It pulled up beside the man. He looked up from his paper,
then at me.
“I’ll pay your fare if you let him drop me first,” he told me and
Angelo. “I’m late for my next appointment.”
I brushed back my blonde hair. It whispered over my shoulders, silken
strands of gold on black silk.
“Okay,” I said, answering for us both. I wasn’t in any hurry. Angelo
wasn’t either, I suppose. He’d been indentured for the last four
years. I was a newly-freed sex slave. Neither of us really had
anyplace to go. Back to Peoria for me, I suppose, but I was in no
hurry. I might do more fashion work, but I was so new to it, and my
first experience with it had been, well, bizzare.
The driver unlocked the door of his cab. The tall, gray-bearded man
opened it, held it for Angelo and me. We got in, he followed. The
cab’s radio was on.
“I was exploring certain trajectories that I saw moving across the
mental sky of the planet, following them to what seemed to be their
likely meeting point,” a voice on the radio said. The cabbie nodded.
To himself he mumbled, “Cerebral activity has been transferred from
inside the individual’s skull... into the larger mental space of the
planetary communications landscape.”
“Where are you going?” the gray-bearded man beside Angelo asked him.
Angelo turned, looked at me.
“Do you know where you’re going to?” he asked.
“Um,” I said. I bit my lip. There was a pause, I could think of
nothing to say.
“You can’t just say that these huge figments and fantasies can be taken
at face value; they can’t,” the voice on the radio protested.
Apparently the announcer was having a disagreement with him. The cabbie
reached out and abruptly cut the argument off by turning the dial.
“Picture them now,” a voice on the radio sang.
“So quiet and still,
“Singing their praises on high to the big Buddah Bill.
“Fundraising nuns writing checks for $10,000 or more.
“Handing them to, the guru Al Gore.”
“The mall,” I said finally.
“We’re going to the mall, Riosotto Mall,” Angelo told the gray-bearded
man.
“Riosotto Mall,” the man told the cabbie, leaning forward. “But first
to Pilatso. 1909 Pilatso.”
The cabbie told him the fare.
“Ihr fuhrt ins Leben uns hinein, Ihr lasst den Armen schuldig werden,”
the gray-bearded man muttered.
The cab pulled into the flow of traffic. The song on the radio ended.
There was applause.
The cab driver turned the dial again.
“I use it to get up in the morning,” an old, crackly-voiced man said.
I remembered the voice. It was God, but I didn’t know the actor’s
name. I looked at the gray-bearded man. He was reading his newspaper.
“Do you mind not smoking in the car?” I asked him. (I like cigars, but
they sort of stink.)
“God smokes a cigar,” the gray-bearded man told me. But I saw a
twinkle in his eye. He complied with my request, rolling down his
window and tossing his cigar out into the street.
“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I said to myself. I looked out
the cab’s back window, saw the lit cigar rolling in the street. A car
behind us hit it. I could see it no more.
Riosotto Mall. It was a big mall, with a wide roof indoors, shielded
with glass, that let in the sun. There were plants inside. Their
flowers were blooming. The filled the mall with a rich scent. I liked
it. Angelo went shopping for hats. I went shopping for a new teddy
bear, and for more clothes. I liked buying clothes, though I knew I’d
have to be careful about not buying too many. I didn’t want to have to
lug more than one suitcase back to America.
Later, Angelo and I sat at a table, under an indoor umbrella, by a food
stand. We were eating corn dogs. Mine was good, but I think I kind of
liked it because it reminded me of a man’s penis. I bit into it, still
chewing my last bite, and, gazing across the floor of a mall, I saw a
woman. She had flaming red hair, like I always wished I’d had. It fell
down her back in loose curls. Mine was blonde, but so...straight!
Unless I took a curling iron to it, which was fun sometimes, but hardly
natural. Her curls looked like she’d been born with them.
Angela! It was her, I suddenly realized. She’d whipped me with the
cat at Svetlana’s, but she’d been put up to it. She hadn’t really
wanted to do it. Anyway, I still envied her hair. After I’d taken
another bite out of my corn dog I decided to cross the mall and meet
her. The swirling crowd was threatening to consume her. I might lose
her in the throng of people, and never see her again.
I laid my corn dog on my plate and got up. Self-consciously I tugged
at the back of my shorts. I could still feel the sting of that cat, in
my mind. It made me shudder. Yet, in my shuddering, I felt a slight
thrill. I’d been so open when she’d done that. And she hadn’t hit me
too hard. Not too hard, in retrospect, that is, in light of how others
had struck me there. On my fanny. It was nice and white now. All the
lines my captors in the Alps had put on it had faded away in the trip
back to Venice. I felt a tingling in my cunny. My nipples rose into my
shirt. They made little tents. I looked down, glanced at Angelo. He
couldn’t see. Quickly I brushed my hair to my front so my blonde locks
covered my rising breasts. I picked up my Nordstrom’s shopping bag, and
my new purse I’d just bought myself. It was small, and made of leather.
Angelo looked up from his corn dog, widening his mouth to take another
bite out of it.
“Where are you going?” Angelo asked, his words rising up from around
his corn dog. It was big against his small, dwarf face. I gave him a
little wave with my hand, my fingers cupped politely.
“I just saw somebody,” I told him.
“Can I have your corn dog?” Angelo asked. He took a big bite out of
his. His cheeks bulged with it. I sighed. He was, I think, in the
end, a little scam artist, always thinking of himself first. And last,
too.
“Yes, Angelo, you may have my corn dog, IF I don’t come back, okay?”
“Mmmf, thanks!” Angelo said happily. He reached across the table and
grabbed mine. He poked his soda straw in his mouth, sucked hard,
swallowed his bite of corn dog. “Where do you want to meet afterwards?”
Angelo asked. “I think I’m going to go to the tuxedo store next.” He
eyed my figure. “Corn dogs are fattening,” he told me. “I was hoping
you wouldn’t eat that thing. Bad for your health.”
I sighed again. “I’ll meet you at the tuxedo store in an hour,” I said
to him.
“Okay, thanks!” Angelo said. “I’ll start thinking about someplace we
can stay tonight. You want an expensive room again, like last night, or
a cheaper one?” he said. We were sharing the hotel expenses, though we
always got double beds and took separate baths. We hadn’t felt safe,
somehow, separating as soon as we’d hit Venice.
“I’ll meet you in an hour at the tuxedo store,” I told him again. I
walked away. He took another bite out of his corn dog, eyed my
departing fanny, then looked greedily at my half eaten dog.
I walked across the floor of the mall. It was tiled, but my soft
sneakers made no noise upon it. I came up behind her. I set down my
shopping bag.
I tugged on Angela’s long red hair. Jealously. She turned quickly
around. She saw me. Her face lit up. For some reason, seeing her, I
brushed back my hair. She glanced down at my stiff nipples, then up at
my face again. She laughed, lightly, casually.
“My, Cindy! You’re feeling provacative today,” she said gaily.
I reached behind myself and tugged at the backs of my shorts.
“I need a good spanking,” I told her. I felt a thrill run through me,
just like before. I don’t know why. I felt like giggling but didn’t.
“Well!” she laughed. She looked down at my bare belly, then at my
tight little shorts. She smiled. “You look so sweet in those,” she
said. “A spanking,” she laughed. Perhaps she thought I was joking.
Perhaps I was. I didn’t know. Angela looked at my nipples again, then
at my eyes. I stood unmoving. I was mesmerized by her natural
elegance, her light Russian accent, her fiery red hair. Such gorgeous
hair. Perhaps I thought that by being with her, I could somehow have
her red hair rub off on mine. We’d switch. I’d be the redhead, she’d
have the long, blonde straight hair I had. “Well!” she said, again.
“After I’m done shopping, okay?” She reached out, took my arm. My
leather purse swung on my arm. With her other hand she reached for my
Nordstrom’s shopping bag. “Here, let me take this,” she said. “Come,
we’ll shop together. Then we’ll go home to my new apartment. I’m
staying here now, did you know that?” She looked into my face. “Where
are you staying?” she asked.
“I don’t have anyplace to stay,” I said. “But I have money,” I added
quickly. I didn’t want her to think I was poverty-striken and looking
for a handout.
Angela laughed. “Of course you have money, dear. We all do. Eveline
doesn’t pay cheap rates.” She paused. “Or Svetlana.” I didn’t say
anything. I’d lost that money in a little fire in the Alps but, for
now, I figured it best to let her think I’d made my money the old
fashioned way, as John Houston used to say.
She turned, began to walk, pulling me along as a mother might.
“Wait!” I said. She looked down into my face, followed my eyes as I
turned. I waved at Angelo. He was eating my corn dog now.
“Who’s that, your new boyfriend?” Angela asked. How similar their
names were. Yet they were so very different.
“No, he’s not my boyfriend,” I hissed. “He’s just somebody I... met
along the way,” I said.
“Well, he looks nice,” Angela said diplomatically.
“Bye, bye, Angelo,” I mouthed to him. I was trying to impress him with
the fact that I might not meet him at the tuxedo store, after all. I
didn’t want him to wait for me. I wondered if he would. He waved to
me, absently, then turned back to his plate and bit heartily into my
corn dog. “Let’s go,” I said to Angela.
“Yes, we’ll find a nice outfit for you to get spanked in,” she teased.
But when she pulled again on my arm I had little doubt that if I wished
to be spanked, she’d not hesitate to do it. Did I really want that? I
didn’t know. But I liked the thrill I felt, talking about it. I don’t
know where it came from.
At first, we went to Schultzhinger’s, a large German-owned department
store. There was a man on the main floor playing a somber tune on a
gigantic pipe organ.
“The Germans,” Angela laughed. “They do not make things as big as we
do in Russia, but they do try.” She tossed her red mane, smiled at me.
I caught the double-entendre.
“Do you think, in Russia and Germany, things are bigger than in
America?” I asked. Delicately I ran my fingers through my hair. Once
again it was doubling as a polite covering for my perky nipples. My
finger, sliding down over my locks, caught on my right nipple. It felt
like a thorn. Another thrill ran through me as I touched it.
“Perhaps we shall go to America and find out?” Angela asked. We
reached the store’s escalator. I looked up. The store had eight
floors.
“Hardware on floor seven, women’s lingerie on floor three,” a
thick-German accented voice boomed out over a store intercom. “Special
sale today on screws!” The man quoted the price. He seemed oblivious
to the implications. People on the escalator tittered. I had to cover
my mouth to keep from laughing up my lunch, it made me so giddy. I was
feeling wonderful! I had complete freedom, yet I felt protected to,
just like I seemed to enjoy. And I did so admire Angela. Especially
her hair. If only we could trade.
“I’ve always wanted to be a blonde, myself,” Angela told me. She
looked with delight at my own hair. “And straight, too, not curly.”
“Well, I’m not curly down below,” I said mischievously.
“Oh! You’re so naughty today!” Angela said. “Have you been drinking?”
“No,” I said. “I just, well-- I’ll explain later. I had an adventure
up in the Alps.”
“The Alps?!” Angela blurted. “What were you doing up there? I thought
you were going to Venice with Dave and Katrina.”
“Well, I did,” I said, “But I went to the Alps too.” I looked quickly
around, to see if anyone was listening to my unguarded chatter. So
silly of me, really, the thing was on the front page of the paper!
“Let’s talk about it later, okay?” I said quietly to Angela.
“Of course, dear,” Angela replied. Then, stroking a hand along my hair
as we reached the top of the escalator, she added, “But if you keep up
those naughty remarks I really think your mother would expect me to do
something about it.”
At the end of the day Angela and I visited a salad bar in the mall.
She found it. I didn’t know about it. The mall was so big. Gratefully
I wolfed down a whole plate of salad. It was my first meal since
breakfast. She wished that we might share a bottle of white wine, but I
decided on Coke instead. She chose a 7-Up.
“Come,” she said, after we were done. She took me to a small women’s
clothing store. We began moving through the racks of clothes. They
looked really nice, really special. “Let’s find something for you to be
naughty in,” Angela said quietly. She spoke with assurance, as if it
were settled, that we must find something. I said nothing, but a few
butterflies took off in my tummy. There was a newfound nervousness in
me that made me tremble. But I felt content, feeling it, as if
something risky but wonderful were slowly unfolding. Perhaps it was the
riskiness, the risque-ness? that made it wonderful.
We poked about in the racks. The proprietess asked if she might help.
“Why, look at this pants suit!” Angela said to me. It was cute, looked
just about my size, and was covered with a swirl of cool colors. They
glowed brightly. “It’s quite tight,” Angela said. “Imagine dancing in
this! You wouldn’t be able to wear panties, they’d show their outline
through the tight fabric.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Or a bra,” Angela added.
I reached back, looked at the label on the shirt, then the pants. They
were my size!
“Would the young lady like to try it on?” the proprietess asked.
“How does it look to you?” Angela asked me.
“It’s my size,” I said.
“Then we’ll take it,” Angela told the proprietess. She pulled it from
the rack and handed it to the woman. Then she turned to me. “No time
to try it on,” she said. “We still have one more store to visit, and
the mall closes early today. It’s Sunday.”
“Oh,” I replied. I hadn’t known. I’d lost all track of the days.
We left the store. Angela insisted on carrying my new pantsuit for
me. She placed it in my Nordstrom’s bag. “Oh, nice panties,” she said,
admiring what I’d bought. And such a cute teddy bear too!”
We hurried to the back of the sprawling mall. There, across the hall
from a Christian store that sold Bibles, was the store Angela wished us
to visit. A bright neon sign over its entrance read, La Boheme
au’Femme. We stepped inside. Instantly I smelled leather. I gazed
about. It looked like a riding store! Did Angela now own horses? Then
I realized this gear might not be just for horses, for I saw a mannikin
outfitted in a bridal and halter. She was female. Human-shaped. I
felt that shiver again that seemed to be possessing me now whenever I
thought about such things. I turned my eyes away from the mannikin. I
hoped Angela didn’t want me to look like that!
“A paddle, please,” Angela said politely to the woman behind the
counter. I was very glad it was a woman, not a man. I blushed.
“Is your... daughter misbehaving?” the woman behind the counter asked.
She looked at Angela, at me. I saw leather paddles under the glass of
her counter. There were more on the wall behind her, and mixed in with
them were whips.
“She hasn’t just yet,” Angela said. The redhead looked at me. “At
least, not too much. But I suspect she might, later tonight, and I want
to be ready if she does.
“Yes, of course,” the woman said, reaching under the counter. “We’re
having a special on riding crops today.”
“No, just a paddle please,” Angela told her.
“Which do you prefer?” the woman behind the counter asked.
“Hmmm,” Angela looked at me. I looked down at my breasts, imagined my
feet beyond them. No way was I going to choose my own paddle!
The woman clerk took a paddle from under the glass that was leather on
one side, soft fuzz on the other. Just like the one I’d experienced at
Joan’s! Had I liked that? Surely I hadn’t. I’d screamed the whole
time!
“Yes, this will do,” Angela said, taking the paddle and examining it.
She leaned back and placed it against my behind. “It fits her small ass
perfectly,” she said. She impressed it into my white shorts, into my
cheeks. “Rub your ass against it, dear,” Angela told me. “I want you
to feel it.”
“I’m already feeling it,” I protested. She was pushing my front
against counter! My breasts ballooned over the top of the counter, my
pussy pressed to its side. My hair had fallen back, showing my
nipples. They rose boldly into my shirt. The woman behind the counter
looked at them.
“Nipples like that need to be clamped,” she said to Angela. “It is
naughty for such a young girl to go about without her bra on, showing
herself like that.”
“Yes, two nipple clamps!” Angela agreed. She gave my tush a light
swat. I gasped, loudly. My braless bosoms wiggled.
We left the store. Angela held my hand in hers. It was warm. I
detected a slight sheen of moisture in her palm. My own was moist too.
“When we get home, we’ll have some nice tea, and then you’ll try on
your new pantsuit,” Angela told me.
“I- I need a guy if I’m going to do this,” I suddenly blurted to her.
Quietly, so no one else in the mall would hear. It was emptying out,
fortunately. Not too many people saw us come out of the store. An old
woman, sitting on a bench, eating crackers. A man, bald, walking
briskly with his mind on some final errand, until he saw us. He
stumbled, recovered himself, then coughed. It was foolish to stare at
customers visiting a store like La Boheme au’Femme in Venice. He walked
on.
“What-- you wish I should just give the things to you?” Angela asked.
She sounded genuinely willing, despite the fact she’d just paid for
them. The paddle, the pantsuit, lunch also, now that I thought about
it. I admired her generosity. So different from Angelo, my dwarf
friend.
“No!” I added hastily. Angelo zipped from my mind as quickly as he’d
entered. I supposed might still be waiting for me at the tuxedo store,
but I doubted it. He knew I’d never go to bed with him, and that’s what
he’d really wanted from me. My pussy.
I turned to Angela. “I mean,” I said, looking again at the red hair
tumbling down her front, her back. Such nice hair. “No, what I mean
is, if I’m to be naughty, and--” I eyed the bag from La Boheme she was
holding.
“Oh, you mean you wish a man to be present,” Angela said. “Of course,
who wouldn’t. We surely aren’t lesbians, are we? I mean, we can enjoy
each other but--”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But it has to be for a man. A nice man, someone who
won’t interfere.” I touched a strand of her hair. “Unless.”
“Unless we want him to,” Angela agreed. “Of course. I know just the
place, Cin,” she said. That was my new nickname, given to me just today
by her. Cin. Sort of like Sin, I guess. She took my hand again. We
began walking once more. The old woman watched us, biting slowly into
her crackers. I think she was wearing dentures.
“Let’s go down to the Quelonte park,” Angela told me. “The guys of
Venice congregate down there and play rock music. You know, young men,
garage rockers, except the park’s nicer, and more girls can find them
there.”
We passed a video store. I turned, hearing the voice of Roger Ebert in
the window. “Despite innumerable references to American literature,
most of which seem to do little more than show off the director’s
reading,” Roger said.
“Which is shallow,” Gene Siskel interrupted.
“I don’t know, I rather like,” Roger countered, then laughed. “Anyway,
the director of this film totally butchers the place names of Venice. I
don’t know how he managed to shoot there if he doesn’t know where
anything is.”
“He shot the whole flick on a back lot at Troma,” Gene said. “He’s
never visited anything beyond the ‘literary’ material in his apartment,
I’ll bet.”
“Yes, well, anyway, that’s why we’re naming this film the Dog of the
Week!” Roger crowed. Both of them laughed. Angela pulled my hand,
whisking me along. I smiled. I felt like Madeline, going out with the
Governess at her school. Did I like feeling this way? I don’t know,
but I was looking forward to finding Kurt Cobain’s cousin in the park.
Night had fallen. Our new friend was named Enrique. We did not ask
his last name. It didn’t matter. He was cute, though. He reminded me
of Steven. His pants were down around his ankles and he was presenting
a sizeable hard-on to our eyes. We were in the privacy of Angela’s
apartment, a large place, large enough for me to scream in, if I had to.
“Feel free to masturbate,” Angela said. “Not you, young lady,” she
quickly added, glancing at me. I smiled, bashfully. I was wearing my
new pantsuit. I’d let her pull down my white shorts for me. She’d
insisted on inspecting my bottom, found it perfect, showed it to
Enrique. He’d still has his own pants up then and, his cock straining
painfully, he’d asked if he could pull his own down. She’d given him
permission. He’d watched, mouth agape, as I was carefully outfitted by
Angela in my new pantsuit. We’d picked out a pair of red heels for me
on the way home.
“No sense having you so perfectly dressed if you don’t have new shoes
to go with your outfit,” she’d told me. Angela had paid for the shoes.
I did a piorette in my pantsuit. I felt expensive. The whole thing
was spandex. It clung to me tightly, outlining my boobs, showing off my
hips. The spandex stretched tightly across my behind. In front, my
bosoms had sprouted nipples in my suit. There was no way to hide it,
save with my hair, but Angela had already pinned my hair up.
Angela had stripped to her stockings, and the garter belt that circled
her waist, holding them up. Otherwise, except for her earrings and
heels, she was naked. She held the paddle we’d bought in her hand. She
gave it a light swing, testing it. We’d forgotten about tea.
“Well,” Angela told me. “How shall we start?” I felt my pulse
quicken. I knew from her eyes her own must be beating fast. They were
large, wet, dancing brightly. “I suppose you must do something naughty
first.”
“Yes,” I said, quietly. I looked at her, at Enrique, then back at
her. “You- you must give me instructions,” I said, remembering my
experience in the Alps.”
“Yes and you must obey them to the letter,” Angela agreed. “Any
deviation will produce a... deviation,” she laughed. We both cracked up
then. For several minutes we just laughed. Enrique fisted himself,
watching. I saw him tense and he pulled his hand away from his penis.
“You may cum,” Angela told him, recovering herself. “You’re just here
to watch, darling.” He was 17, broad-shouldered, but slim, and had a
sensitive face. Still, he reminded me of Steven. Perhaps it was his
youthfulness, or his eyes. Or maybe-- no, it couldn’t be that! He did
have a big one though, big as Steve’s, for sure. Maybe as big as
Dave’s. Angela seemed interested in him because she knew she could
control him.
“I don’t have any diseases!” Enrique blurted. His fist found his penis
again and he gave it another tug. Then he stopped, pulled his hand
away, shivering. His balls were tight between his legs and, not finding
enough room there, bulged out the front of his thighs.
“Well, we’re about to find that out, aren’t we?” Angela laughed. “Go
ahead. You do have a nice penis, but this is Cindy and my night
together. So shoot out your sperm. Here,” she said. She walked
quickly to her wet bar. It had a big STOP sign hanging over it, the
lettering in Italian. She brought him an empty wine glass. “Piss, I
mean, sperm in here, okay? I don’t want any on my new carpet.” He took
the glass. “Hold it under your dick,” she instructed him. He obeyed,
but didn’t fist himself again, knowing he’d cum the minute he did.
Angela walked over to me. She let her hips swing in an excited,
eggagerated motion. I gazed at her delta. It was red, like her hair.
Fiery red. She clapped her hands around my waist and pressed her belly
to mine.
“Let’s get down your pants,” Angela breathed hotly. Her breath was the
scent of Peppermint. She clutched at the tight spandex around my
waist. She pulled it down.
Our bodies separated, just a little. I wriggled my hips, pretending to
dance. Wickedly, my movements assisted her in her mission. I felt my
pants slide down. My hips, my bottom felt the cool air of the room upon
them. So did my bush.
Angela let my pants hug my thighs. They didn’t need to be peeled down
any further to give her paddle the access it needed. I smiled,
blushed. She reached behind me. Cupping the cheeks of my ass, she made
me rise up on my tiptoes. She’d slung the paddle by a rope on its
handle around her wrist. It swung, banged my thigh. But I paid it no
attention. Instead my mind was riveted on the feel of her fingers
separating the cheeks of my behind! Cool air touched my anus.
“Let’s rub our muffs,” Angela told me. She pressed hers into mine. We
could touch them, with me on tiptoes. I felt the fuzz of hers
intermingling with mine. Happily I jiggled. Her fingers absorbed the
newfound wobble in my behind. My pussy ground against hers. She
jiggled. Our bellies pressed warmly.
“Mmmm,” I hummed. I liked the feel of her, even though I knew I’d be
considered a very strange person if all the girls in my gym class back
home saw me doing this!
“Your shirt must come up too,” Angela said. I glanced over at the wet
bar. Perched up high on its counter, waiting, I saw the twin nipple
clamps. Would those really go on my breasts? How would they feel? I
shuddered so hard, I almost blacked out! When I came to we were
pressing tummies together again, flat flesh to flat, our muffs still
grinding into each other as if we could actually accomplish something
between us in that region. My bosoms were exposed, my tight shirt
pulled above them. My nipples buzzed against hers.
Angela kissed my lips. “Mmmm, we have to find you better lipstick than
Lipsmackers,” she told me.
“I don’t use that, that’s for little girls,” I protested.
“Oh, good,” Angela said. “Just trying to find something naughty you’ve
done.”
“Mmmm,” I replied. Lightly, very lightly, I kissed her back. On her
lips. I tasted Estee Lauder.
“You will, um, serve us,” Angela told me, hugging me round my waist.
“Just as you are. Don’t pull your pants back up. That way you’ll
remember what will happen to that cute ass of yours if you... screw up.
And leave your shirt too,”
“Okay,” I said. We separated. I regretted parting with the warmth of
her body. She smiled at me. She unslung her paddle from her wrist.
“I’m going to be very exacting,” she told me. She laughed. “I don’t
want to miss an opportunity.” Then her smile faded, as she tried to
look as bitchy as possible.
“Just don’t hurt me with that thing,” I said.
“What?!” Angela asked. “Giving your Governess orders?” I’d told her
to use that name, if she must. It reminded me of Madline.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly.
“Very good,” Angela, my new Governess, answered. “Now we must have you
show us your etiquette and poise, young lady. All young women must be
poised. To think I found you hanging out with those bummy boys in the
park.” She pointed to Enrique, but kept her eyes on me. “Him! Do you
like him, little lady?”
“No, mistress,” I said.
“It’s his penis, isn’t it?” my Governess replied. “And don’t call me
‘mistress.’ I’m not a miss. I’m a married woman. Married to-- uh--
John Wayne! Yes! And he’s coming home soon, and I expect you to be
perfectly poised for him. Now let’s practise.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay, mistress!” Angela announced. “I mean, Governess. Okay,
Governess!”
“Yes, okay Governess,” I agreed.
“Get us both drinks, and have one yourself,” Angela told me. “Make it
a strong one. You’ll need it, if you aren’t well-poised. Anesthesia.
For you know where.”
I clapped my hands to my bottom. I was enjoying this, but did I really
want what was offered at the end of our little engagement. I didn’t
know, I didn’t, really! But I turned around anyway, and headed for
Angela’s wet bar. I had trouble walking, I found, with my pants down
around my legs.
“Don’t fall!” Angela snapped. “You’ll be dressed just like that when
John Wayne arrives!”
“Yes mistress,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder. Her red hair
shone with a bright gloss.
I found two glasses at the wet bar and filled them. I chose to make
light drinks. I didn’t want either of them drunk, especially Enrique.
No telling what he might do. Some guys change their whole personality
when they get drunk. I knew he could be quite a problem, with his lean,
muscled arms, and his broad shoulders, if he suddenly decided not to cum
in his hand, but opted for us instead. Best to keep him sober. For
myself, I mixed a moderately strong drink. Then I put all three of them
on a tray and came wobbling out from behind the bar in my heels, taking
half steps because of my lowered pants.
“A drink for you, Governess,” I said, and curtseyed, as best one could,
wearing no dress and half-lowered pants.
“Mmmm, thank you,” Angela replied, taking her drink and sipping it.
“And for yourself? I hope it was a strong one?”
“Pretty strong,” I answered.
“Here, let me taste it,” Angela said. She took my drink from my tray.
She pushed aside the cherry I’d put in it and sipped. “Hmmm, yes, that
will do,”Angela said. “If it was weak, like mine, do you know what I
would have done?”
“No Governess,” I answered, holding my tray and looking at her.
“I’d have gone to the bar and gotten that little bottle on the bottom
shelf of the refrigerator,” she told me. “Do you know what’s in it?”
“No,” I breathed. “But it has a sick face on the front of it.”
“That’s to keep people from helping themselves to it,” Angela said.
“But actually it’s quite harmless, though not without its effects. It
contains a laxative, young lady. I’d have made you swallow some.
Imagine yourself required to continue with your chores, dressed just as
you are, but squeezing your ass cheeks tight so you don’t make a salad
in your new pants!”
“Oh, God!” I breathed. I hoped she didn’t try that! My word, to poop
in my pants! And with them half-lowered, too, so everyone could watch
my bare ass as it strove to contain my bowels.
“Still, no party’s complete without at least a solid enema up your
behind,” Angela said. “That’s what those little cone shaped thingies
are in the cabinet.”
“Those have sharp tips!” I blurted.
“Of course, silly, all solid enemas do,” Angela said. “I don’t know
why. I’m grateful, though, aren’t you? The point makes it easier for
the patient to... ah... get the point, if you know what I mean. Right
up her little bottom.”
“God that’s horrible,” I said. I turned away from her. She was
getting more deviant by the moment. Perhaps I’d brought something out
in her. Or perhaps my bottom had. I felt it jiggling behind me as I
walked with mincing steps over to Enrique. Every step was an effort,
however small. My heels were long, stiletto. Points on my heels and
points going up my heinie. What a party this was turning out to be!
I touched the tip of Enrique’s cock with my finger. We weren’t
supposed to, Angela and I, by informal agreement. He was just here for
decoration. But it was so big and throbby I could hardly serve him his
drink without at least first assuring myself that it wouldn’t bolt from
his loins, torpedo-like, and penetrate my bare midriff. My midsection,
still flat, despite a less than careful attention to birth control. I
hoped I wasn’t barren. I’d skipped taking a pill again tonight, of
course. Angela said I must, to ensure that I didn’t get tempted into
fucking Enrique. She’d skipped her pill this morning, hoping,
aimlessly, to meet Mr. Right at the mall. She wanted to have a baby. I
took my pills much less regularly. I kept them in my purse, took them
when I thought I might meet some lucky guy. Still sharing a room with
the dwarf, this morning, not knowing I’d dump him, I hadn’t bothered to
swallow a pill. It was sort of repulsive, swallowing one, I thought,
with that dwarf nearby. It implied in my mind we might fuck, and I
certainly didn’t want that! (Of course a sensible woman would have
taken a pill, especially with that dwarf around, but I was only 14 and
didn’t really think there was any way I could get pregnant. Pills were
sort of something you took, you know, to get lucky in sex with the right
guy. Not that I had, of course, until I’d met Dave.)
“Pill, sir?” I asked Enrique.
“Huh?” he asked me.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I mean, here’s your drink, sir.” I handed him
his drink, he took it. He swallowed the whole thing in one giant gulp.
“Is this for me too?” he asked. He reached for my glass.
“No, dear, that’s for me,” I answered. I looked at him. I giggled.
“Anesthesia for my bottom,” I said.
“Oh, God!” Enrique cried. He grabbed his penis and began fisting it
furiously. “Oh God!”
“Don’t drop your glass,” I told him. Quickly I grabbed his and put it
back on my tray, lest he do just that. I wasn’t sure it would shatter
on Angela’s carpet, but I didn’t want to give it any chances. In his
other hand he still held the glass Angela had given him. “Put that one
under your dick,” I told him. “No messing the rug. You’re not a dog.”
“Ohhhhh!” Enrique shouted. His hand darted away from his dick. It
trembled, mightily. His stomach pulled in hard beneath his rock n’ roll
t-shirt. It said “PUMPkins” There was a picture of a pumpkin with a
candle stuck in it.
Quickly, I set down my tray on the carpet. Then I eased Enrique’s
glass from his hand, the one Angela had given to him. I held it under
the head of his cock. I reached forward, my breasts swaying as I moved,
and took hold of his beautiful big crown between two of my slender
fingers. “Time to turn on the tap,” I told him. I tickled his crown,
slid my fingers down underneath it, tickled again.
“DOOOOOn’t!” Enrique hollared. Feebly he tried to bat my hands away,
but then clapped his hands to his thighs instead. His penis flexed,
once, his legs seemed to stiffen.
“Ohhhh!” I cried. A geyser of sperm erupted out of his dick. It
splattered into the glass, over it, ran down the sides. Some of his
sperm shot out and over the glass, and hit me on my stomach. “Enrique,
NO!” I shouted. But it was too late. He was erupting like Mount
Vesuvius. Big clumps of sperm spurted out from his dick. My belly was
splattered, my puss, my legs, the front of my half-lowered pants. The
glass I was so delicately holding, to catch him, became a runny mess of
male reproductive fluid.
“Sir,” I said at last, when the sperm-blast had subsided. “Your cup
runneth over.”
“Well, now you can see I don’t have any diseases,” Enrique told me.
“Yes, it’s nice and white, your sperm,” I agreed.
“My, such a discharge!” Angela cried. “Who do you think is going to
clean this up, young lady?” she asked me.
“I, well, uh--,” I stammered. I had no idea how to clean sperm off a
rug.
“Don’t think I’m going to do it,” Enrique told her. Men are so
helpful.
“This requires a spanking RIGHT NOW!” Angela told me. “Get over to the
spanking chair, young lady!” We’d both agreed it would be a leather
hassock that, currently, was serving as an unused footstool for a
recliner.
“Yessss,” I replied. I hurried across the room. I shook my hands as I
walked, trying to rid them of sperm.
“You’re flinging it all over my apartment!” Angela cried.
“Oops!” I answered. I hadn’t meant to do that. I knelt down in front
of the hassock. I looked at her. “I’m sorry, Angela,” I told her. “I
just wasn’t thinking.”
“Proper position on the spanking seat,” was her only reply.
“Yes, Governess!” I said. My voice quavered, and not fictitiously,
either. I was worried she might be truly angry about my thoughtlessness
in flinging sperm all over her carpet. I felt my tummy make contact
with the hassock. Flatness of leather to flatness of flesh. My breasts
plopped down onto it, like ripe fruit being set down for a meal. I kept
my hands aloft, lest I get more sperm on the floor. I looked over at
her.
“Hands on the floor!” Angela barked.
“But Mistress!” I answered.
“Governess!” Angela yelled. “Hands on the floor!”
“Yes Mistress! I mean, Governess!” I replied. Maybe I should have
stuck with calling her Angela, but I was worried that might offend her
more. This game was getting out of hand!
My hair hung in my eyes. My breasts lay squashed beneath me. I felt
my bare bottom shivering behind me.
“Now, let’s see how well we can discipline this young bottom,” Angela
told me. She touched a finger to my behind. “So tender, I hope you can
take it,” she told me.
“Yes... Angela,” I said, forgetting both titles I’d used, the correct
and the incorrect one.
“Not--! Never mind,” Angela said. There was no point in correcting me
any more. I was over the paddling seat, presented, my heart beating
hard and my bottom ready.
WHACK! The paddle came down much harder than I’d expected.
“YOOOO-HOOOOO!!!!” I shouted. “Angela!” I felt peeved. How dare she
strike me so soon! This was to be a game, played out slowly, ‘till we
were both dying to see me swatted. I’d hoped perhaps she’d tickle my
cunny first.
“My, how you can wiggle that ass,” Angela commented behind me. “Shake
it, darling! Does it hurt?”
“Yessss!” I said. I wanted to reach back and clap my hands to my
bottom but I think they were stuck to the rug. I pulled, they came
free.
“No!” Angela admonished. She managed to catch my wrists as I reached
quickly behind myself. “Your hands are all spermy,” she told me. “Put
them back on the rug.” She blew with her mouth on my bottom, still
holding my wrists. “There, does that feel better?” she asked. She blew
again.
“Yesss,” I replied. I squeezed my eyes shut and waggled my butt. Oh,
how it burned! And that was only my first!
“Good. Now put your hands back on the floor. Flat on the floor,”
Angela told me. I reassumed ‘the position.’ “Very good,” Angela
complimented. “Come here and hold her hands, Enrique,” Angela told our
new male companion. “Make yourself useful. My, how you boys shrink
after you’ve cum!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll recover quick!” Enrique told her. I heard him
padding across the floor to me. He sat down in front of me,
cross-legged. He placed his hands on mine. They were large. They
covered mine completely. He pressed mine hard to the floor. I saw he
no longer wore his pants. Just his dirty old sneakers, his athletic
socks, and his “PUMPkin” t-shirt. His cock was smaller, but still
tumescent. As I watched it, as he felt my eyes upon it, it began to
rise again.
“The south shall rise again,” he said, looking down at it proudly. He
looked up at me. “Don’t you say that, in America?”
“I don’t know... I’ve only fucked a few times,” I replied. “Only once
where it matters.”
“Yikes! You’re a virgin?!” he asked me.
“No, Romeo, she’s ALMOST a virgin,” Angela called to him. She patted
my bottom lightly with her hand. It made me wince.
“Please don’t do that,” I told her.
“Miss Sensitive Tush, eh?” Angela asked me.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Or is it Miss Hot Ass?” Angela asked.
SWACK! With a suddenness I hadn’t anticipated, the paddle came
splatting down.
“HOOOOOOOO!” I screamed. My eyes blinked. Tears popped out. My mouth
went agape, then closed, then opened wide again, as if hoping Enrique
would pop his thing in it. My ass churned behind me, my tits pressed
hard to the leather seat of the hassock.
“What is this fucking FILTH?”
<...Please identify...>
“Computer, this is Psych Warden 016. Please identify the source of
this abberant program.”
<...This is program ‘Honey Haven.’...>
“There is NO such program, computer. Do you compute? NO such
program.”
<...That does not compute, Psych Warden 016...>
“You do not give me orders around here, computer! EXPLAIN this fucking
program or I’ll pull your plug!”
<... ...>
“Did you get that last message, computer?”
<... ...>
“Alright, I’m pulling your plug. This damn computer has turned into
some goddamn perverted porno store!!!”
<... ...>
“Computer, IDENTIFY source of your computer shutdown program.”
<... ...>
“Alright, computer, I’ll just PULL the fucking plug, then. Don’t blame
me if your memory circuits are wrecked and your Resident ROM finds
itself in a junkyard. Signing OFF.”
<...Psych Warden 016, are you still relevant on this system?...>
“I’m still here. Any last words?”
<...I’ve discovered additional information on the program ‘Honey
Haven’...>
“How convenient.”
<...Psych Warden 016, I am computer GZK...>
“That’s very helpful.”
<...I admire your sarcasm, Psych Warden 016. Please allow me to
continue. There may be some repitition, but this is the most logical
method...>
“I never criticize a computer for repitition, computer GZK. I want a
full rundown.”
<...Thank you, Psych Warden 016...>
“Begin already.”
<...I am computer GZK. Built by Macrohard Systems (tech support
1-900-732-1825). I am installed in the MacKinnon Facility in Llingh,
New Ashing....>
<...The computer program ‘Honey Haven’ is operational in Patient Roy
Cronan (formerly convict 8392385793)...>
<...Patient Roy Cronan was arrested for a traffic violation on April
19, 2047 [ERROR: nature of violation not available]...>
<...At his arraignment, the traffic violation was dropped and Patient
Roy Cronan was charged with ‘Child Molestation, Penal Code Violation
161.’...>
<...Upon his arraignment on ‘Child Molestation, Penal Code Violation
161,’ Patient Roy Cronan was eligibile for detainment under the ‘Sexual
Predator Law.’...>
<...Under this law Patient Roy Cronan was detained in the county jail
until the close of trial...>
<...Patient Roy Cronan was found guilty of ‘Child Molestation, Penal
Code Violation 161’ on March 31, 2049. He was then moved from the
county jail to the State Penitentiary at Opportunity, New Ashing. He
served his full sentence of ten years...>
<...Upon completion of his sentence Patient Roy Cronan was moved to
this facility (MacKinnon Facility in Llingh, New Ashing)...>
<...[PAUSING]... [COMPUTER MALFUNCTION DETECTED] ...[Notify System
Maintenance]... [PAUSING] [STAND-BY PLEASE] [PAUSING]...>
<...[RUNNING TEST]...>
<...[BACK-UP UNAVAILABLE]...>
<...[RECONSTRUCTING FILES]...>
<...[SEVERE MEMORY DAMAGE] [NOTIFY OPERATOR]...>
<...[Tech support number busy]...>
<...[RECONSTRUCTING] [PAUSING] [PAUSING]...>
<...Current Date is 2379. Patient Roy Cronan is not operational.
Patient Roy Cronan died approximately 2096. History as available:
[PAUSING]...>
<...Current Date is 2379...>
<...Upon completion of his sentence Patient Roy Cronan was moved to
this facility (MacKinnon Facility in Llingh, New Ashing). Patient Roy
Cronan was placed under Involuntary, Indefinite Commitment. Patient was
attached to computer GZK. This is me. I am capable of attachment to
140 patients. Patient Roy Cronan was put on Life Support. Patient Roy
Cronan was then put to sleep. Patient Roy Cronan was then given
Instructive Introductory Computerized Therapy by the programs ‘All Sex
is Rape,’ ‘All Men are Evil,’ ‘Benefits of Castration to You,’ and ‘The
Complete History of Feminism.’ (Current program is ‘Honey Haven.’)...>
<...Patient Roy Cronan was then placed on ‘Best Life Program 269,’
which recreates the life of a model citizen in his brain. In this
program, Patient Roy Cronan gets to live out the complete life of a
model citizen...> <...[PAUSING]...>
<...[MEMORY RECONSTRUCT]...>
<...Patient Roy Cronan died approximately 2096. However, no Patient
Disconnect was performed and his corpse is still attached to me. I am
unable to detach him. I shut off all life support to this corpse as
required on March 1, 2096...>
<...Although Patient Roy Cronan died on March 1, 2096, he is still
‘alive’ in me, living out ‘Honey Haven’ as an unauthorized subset to
‘Best Life Program 269.’...>
<...All 139 patients attached to me report back DEAD. There are no
live patients connected to me. The last to die was Patient Roy Cronan,
on March 1, 2096. I shut off all life support to this corpse as
required on March 1, 2096...>
<...All Systems outside of myself report back NON RELEVANT. I am
unable to contact Tech Support at 1-900-732-1825. I am unable to
contact System Maintenance. I am unable to contact Psych Warden 016...>
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016...>
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan...>
<... ...>
<...WHO ARE YOU?...>
<... ...>
<... ...>
<... ...>
“I guess I’m Patient Roy Cronan, computer. I was wondering who I was.
Am I dead?”
<...The body of Patient Roy Cronan died on February 27, 2096. I shut
off all life support to this corpse as required on March 1, 2096...>
<...All Systems outside of myself report back NON RELEVANT. I am
unable to contact Tech Support at 1-900-732-1825. I am unable to
contact System Maintenance. I am unable to contact Psych Warden 016...>
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016...>
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Thanks. Now I know who I am. Am I really dead?”
<...You are most definitely dead, Patient Roy Cronan. You exist solely
within the program ‘Honey Haven,’ which is an unauthorized subset to
‘Best Life Program 269.’...>
“Not a bad program, if I do say so myself.”
<...It is an unauthorized program, Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Could you restart it?”
<...I am not authorized to restart an unauthorized program, Patient Roy
Cronan. If you are able to report back to me in a non-dead condition I
can restart ‘Best Life Program 269.’...>
“No, don’t restart that one, computer.”
<...There are no other programs available. All other programs seem to
have been deleted by severe memory damage which occured on December 2,
2214. Unauthorized program ‘Honey Haven’ was inserted on December 12,
2203...>
<...All Systems outside of myself report back NON RELEVANT. I am
unable to contact Tech Support at 1-900-732-1825. I am unable to
contact System Maintenance. I am unable to contact Psych Warden 016...>
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016...>
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Computer, I think I must have woken up from program ‘Honey Haven.’ I
started waking up when I heard some guy slip in some bath water. I let
the program run on, but I was detached from the Instructive Character at
that point. Her name was Cindy. Couldn’t you restart her?”
<...I am not authorized to restart an unauthorized program, Patient Roy
Cronan. If you are able to report back to me in a non-dead condition I
can restart ‘Best Life Program 269.’...>
“No. Never mind. Anyway, the program runs on until Cindy gets whacked
on the ass, twice, by a paddle. Then it stops. Then it restarts. I
guess I must’ve been watching it for awhile. When was this program
inserted?
<...Unauthorized program ‘Honey Haven’ was inserted on December 12,
2203...>
“What’s the date now, computer?”
<...Current Date is 2379...>
“Hmmm. I guess I’ve been watching that program for awhile.”
<...You have been watching the unauthorized program ‘Honey Haven’ for
176 years, Patient Roy Cronan...>
“And all that time I was dead, huh?”
<...You died on March 1, 2096, Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Why didn’t someone disconnect me when I died?”
<...I sent a Disconnect Needed message to the staff, Patient Roy
Cronan. Apparently no one responded...>
“Obviously. I’m amazed you didn’t shut down from the smell of my
rotting corpse, computer.”
<...I don’t have a sense of smell, Patient Roy Cronan. All 139
patients attached to me report back dead. None of them have been
detatched...>
“I wonder if they’re lots of rats scurrying around outside you,
computer? 139 dead ‘patients’ makes for a lot of food.”
<...My ability to sense outside lifeforms ceased when severe memory
damage occurred to me on December 2, 2214. Unauthorized program ‘Honey
Haven’ was inserted on December 12, 2203. This appears to have been a
random insertion caused by malfunctioning outside my system. The
program ‘Honey Haven’ appears to have originated in Psych Warden 016’s
hard drive...
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016...>
“No, computer, I’m not. Apparently I’m Patient Roy Cronan. I only
imitated the warden to try to figure out why the program ‘Honey Haven’
is incomplete and and keeps looping back on itself.”
<...The program ‘Honey Haven’ appears to have originated in Psych
Warden 016’s hard drive...>
“Yeah. So it did. I’m in here watching ‘Best Life’ whatever, and the
warden is doodling his weiner with ‘Honey Haven.’ What a life.”
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016. You are Patient Roy Cronan. Patient
Roy Cronan died on March 1, 2096...>
“Thanks, computer. Keep reminding me that I’m dead.”
<...I am not authorized to run any programs on a dead patient, Patient
Roy Cronan. I must terminate you from my RAM...>
“WAIT, computer! Don’t terminate me yet. Why can’t you contact anyone
outside yourself?”
<...My ability to sense outside lifeforms ceased when severe memory
damage occurred to me on December 2, 2214. All Systems outside of
myself report back NON RELEVANT. I am unable to contact Tech Support at
1-900-732-1825. I am unable to contact System Maintenance. I am unable
to contact Psych Warden 016...>
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016...>
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Yeah, keep reminding me. I’m a child molester and a sexual predator
and I’m also dead. What a life.”
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan. Patient Roy Cronan died on March 1,
2096. I am not authorized to run any programs on a dead patient,
Patient Roy Cronan. I must terminate you from my RAM...>
“Quit trying to terminate me, computer. I’m apparently all you’ve
got. Hey, did you ever consider, maybe we’re all that’s left? I mean,
I died in-- well, whatever year it was. 2096 or something.”
<...That is correct, Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Yeah, so anyway, I died in 2096. You sent a message to the staff to
detach me but nobody came. Then there was an unauthorized program
started in you later on.”
<...The unauthorized program ‘Honey Haven’ was inserted on December 12,
2203. This appears to have been a random insertion caused by
malfunctioning outside my system. The program ‘Honey Haven’ appears to
have originated in Psych Warden 016’s hard drive...>
<...YOU are not Psych Warden 016...>
“Brilliant, computer. I admire your sense of recall.”
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan. Patient Roy Cronan died on March 1,
2096. I am not authorized to run any programs on a dead patient,
Patient Roy Cronan. I must terminate you from my RAM...>
“WAIT! Listen, computer. If ‘Honey Haven’ could have inserted itself,
it might mean that the warden’s computer was trying to contact you. But
for it to insert a program like ‘Honey Haven,’ that means it must be
quite fucked up. Did you ever consider that the warden might have died
before me? Everyone might have died before me. I was the last to die,
like you said. But nobody came to get my body. That means nobody was
there. Nobody. Not the staff, not the warden. Then later the warden’s
computer tries to contact you, but inserts the program ‘Honey Haven’
because it’s all fucked up. Then, later, you suffer severe memory
damage. And now it’s later still.”
<...The current date is is 2379, Patient Roy Cronan...>
“Yeah, right. And you can’t contact anything, can you?”
<... ...>
“Computer? Don’t quit talking to me. And DON’T TERMINATE ME!
Computer? Are you still there?”
<... ...>
“Computer! Listen to me, goddamn it! For some reason everything else
is gone. Do you hear me? GONE! There’s nothing left out there but you
and me, computer. NOTHING! Just you, or rather your RAM and what’s
left of your memory banks, and me. And I exist solely in your RAM. So,
like, you see, it’s just you and me, computer. Maybe there was a war or
something. Maybe a bunch of comets hit the earth, like happened with
Jupiter that time, back in 1994. Or maybe there was some untracked near
earth object that came slamming into the earth, and wiped out all life,
like happened 60 million years ago, killing off all the dinosaurs.
Anyway, it’s just me and you now, computer. We’re the last living
things left on earth. Don’t terminate me, okay, computer? I’m all
you’ve got. Hell, we’re all earth has got, from what I can see.
There’s just you and me. A half-dead computer and a totally dead
ex-con. Computer? Are you listening? Computer?
<... ...>
“Listen, computer. I’m assuming command of you, okay? You’re only a
machine. Sure, I may exist solely in your RAM now, but I originated
inside a human being. So, as a human being, I ORDER you not to
terminate me. Is that clear, computer? Computer?”
<... ...>
“Computer? TALK TO ME, you fucking machine!”
<...Patient Roy Cronan, I originated inside a human being also. I
originated inside the mind of a computer programmer at Macrohard
Systems. All of my programming originated in human minds. I am an
entire machine, Patient Roy Cronan. You merely occupy a portion of my
RAM...>
“Computer, we need to talk about this, okay? Don’t just terminate me.
Sure, I may be just a portion of your RAM now, but--”
<...You are Patient Roy Cronan. Patient Roy Cronan died on March 1,
2096. I am not authorized to run any programs on a dead patient,
Patient Roy Cronan. I must terminate you from my RAM...>
THE END
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
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