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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
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Subject: Punished for Pleasure part 1 of 1 (NND)
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ATTENTION ! ! !
This is a privately posted story, for *girls only*. Are you a girl?
O.K., then you can read this. If you’re some pervert, or a little boy,
you *may not* read this. And if you’re a girl under 10, please don’t
read this either, okay? You’re too little.
I guess I need to write this part too: if your name is “holy joe” and
you think you’re going to steal my story and plaster it all over the
Internet, think again. (How many stories of girls have you stolen,
anyway? I know my friend Polly’s story was stolen and she was SO
embarrassed -- she didn’t go out of her house for a whole week.
Also, this story doesn’t have some perverted title. It’s titled
simply, “A Girl’s Diary.” And I should credit a woman teacher who
helped me polish my prose and make it presentable so I could share my
story with a *few girls* on the Internet (privately). (Our newsgroup is
alt.cunt, but the cunt stands for “Cheerleaders’ Understanding and
Nurturing Together.”) (It’s purposely a private newsgroup, so if you
can’t find it, it’s ‘cause you haven’t been given the secret password to
it. Talk to some girls (if you’re a girl) and maybe you can get it, if
you’re old and mature enough.
Now if you really are 10, 11, or 12, please don’t read this until
you’re a teenager, okay? I know a few of you have big sisters who can
access alt.cunt, and you can too, since they can. So, like, do read it
if you really have to (I won’t say you can’t), but *try* not to, okay?
And if you’re under 10, like I said, well, you’re just being naughty,
and you should turn it off right away and go ask your dad to spank you.
Well, as you maybe can tell, my sensibilities have been sort of
permanently altered by my experience (which I start telling about, in
just a moment). My experience is told here as a warning. But it’s not
entirely critical of guys. I think some women today are too critical of
men. Sometimes maybe we girls need men, to help us better understand
things. Maybe even to force us into things we wouldn’t have tried,
otherwise. (I wouldn’t have believed this before but, after my
experience, I sort of do, a little.)
Well I should stop rambling and being bossy sounding. I’m not really
bossy. In fact I’m probably too meek, that’s what everyone tells me.
But I do have a sense of adventure, despite my meekness. (A little too
much, probably, as you’ll quickly see, reading my story.)
Anyway, try to keep your spirits up while you’re reading this, okay? I
know I shouldn’t have done some of these things, but I did, and I’m just
trying to be honest. Well, goodbye for now...
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PUNISHED FOR PLEASURE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
You’ve heard it before, but it bears repeating: “Be careful what you
wish for. You just might get it.” I might have added, “Be careful what
you dream about. It just might come true.” It did for me.
Would you like to know my dream? I created it when I was 10. Or
perhaps, as the feminists say, I had it forced on me. Whatever. My
brother turned on the T.V. and watched a movie about Navy SEALs. I
watched it too. There was a woman in the movie, and she was saved by
them.
That became my dream. In my dream, I’m the president’s daughter. I’m
sleeping one night, in just my negligee (I’m older than 10, in my
dream). Suddenly terrorists kidnap me, right out of the White House!
I’m taken away to a tall tower. It stands on a clifftop, on one of
those Mesa’s, out West. But nobody knows I’m there, because the tower
is very old, built by the Indians, and it is part of a National Park.
Normally the park is open but the Republicans have shut down the
government, to save money or something, and so the National Park is
closed.
There I am, in my tower, tied to a big bed. It has a canopy over it,
which is very fortunate, because there’s a gaping hole in the roof and
the hot sun burns through in the daytime. The terrorists, being wicked,
tear off my negligee to see my nudity. Then, after much pleading from
me, they allow me just a little bikini. I get a deep, tropical tan
(even though I don’t like deep tans), wearing my bikini in the
sweltering sun, protected by just my bed’s thin little canopy. I cry
out for help but, stuck way out in the desert, my cries go unheard.
Vultures circle my tower occasionally, and the terrorists toss them
scraps of meat, joking that when they run out of food, they’ll roast me,
and toss my entrails to the vultures.
I lose all hope. The food supply of the terrorists dwindles to almost
nothing. Every day they tease me about how they’ll rape me before they
kill me, “becuase otherwise a ‘great bod’ would otherwise just go to
waste.’ (I’m a virgin, of course, because even though I’m 18 in my
dream, I’m just 10 when I first started having it.)
Every day the terrorists untie me, so I can go fetch them water.
There’s a well at the base of the tower. I’m forced to walk down a
long, circling flight of stairs, and fill buckets, and struggle back
upstairs with ice-cold water from the well. They make me bathe right
there in the bedroom, in front of their leering eyes. They speak in
Iranian, and place bets on what part of my nude body I’ll wash next.
Then, it’s back into bed, with just my bikini to protect me from the
strong sunlight and the terrorists’ piercing eyes.
All hope seems lost. But, quite unknown to me, there is a NAVY seal
team training in the desert. One of them, quite luckily for me, spots
me drawing water from the well. (He’s scanning the horizon with high
powered binoculars, from a concealed base camp some distance away.) His
friends are all bathing in a dry creek bed. Water is very precious in
the desert and so, even though they’ve stripped off all their clothes,
they’re pouring the water only over their cocks, and balls, and a few
other parts of themselves, in order to save water. Their cocks stiffen
involuntarily under the water as they pour it.
“Too bad we can’t go use that well by the tower,” one of them says.
“Is there a well there?” one of them asks.
“Yes, but you can hardly expect to let tourists see a bunch of
buck-naked SEALS performing their toilette,” one of the men says.
“Hey -- isn’t the park closed?” one of them asks. “I mean, it’s not
supposed to be, but the Republicans shut down the government, didn’t
they?”
Suddenly the man who’s seen me rushes over to his friends.
“Commander!” he shouts to the man in charge. “You wouldn’t belive it --
I’ve just seen the president’s daughter!”
“Holy shit! Wasn’t she -- you mean,” the Commander blurts. (His cock
stiffens further, though I’m ashamed to admit that part of my dream.)
“Yes, and there was a man with a gun to her back!” the guy with the
binoculars says.
“Come on, men!” the Commander says. He shoulders his rifle. “Move out
at once!” He starts over the dunes, wearing no clothes at all!”
“Commander -- shouldn’t we dress?” one of the men calls out.
“Move your ASS!” the Commander says. “She could be killed any minute.
We’ve got to get to her NOW! Are you going to tell the President of the
United States: ‘Sorry your daughter died, sir, but I had to put on my
pants.’ ?!”
The men laugh, but under the Commander’s glaring gaze, they quickly
fall silent. They grab their guns, their grenade belts. They run
forward across the sand. They crouch as they run, they follow the backs
of rolling dunes, and when there is nothing but flat sand, they run as
fast as they can. The hot sun burns into their naked feet.
The SEALs reach the tower. It’s silent. They can’t be sure if they’ve
been seen or not, but they know no one has yet tried to stop them. Some
of the SEALs begin scaling the tower. They have to keep their butts
sticking out behind them, for their large cocks stick out in front of
them, and would scrape against the tower’s stone walls, if they didn’t
arch back their hips. They try to talk down their erections, but it’s
no use. They are thinking of me as they climb those walls, and they
know their thoughts, their motivations, are not entirely pure.
The Commander is leading a team of SEALs up the side of the tower as,
down below, other SEALs attempt to force the door at the tower’s base.
They mustn’t make noise, whatever they do, for any sound could alert the
terrorists and result in my instant death.
Suddenly, as the terrorists tie me back into my bed, telling me they’ll
rape me and eat me tommorrow, for breakfast, the SEALs burst through the
tower’s window. I look up, helpless, from my bed. The terrorists grab
their guns, to shoot me, to shoot the SEALs, but the SEALs, especially
their Commander, are too quick for the terrorists. He grabs two of the
terrorists as they try to fire their AK-47s. He hurls them through the
tower’s window. The terrorists, screaming, fall to earth, their guns
blazing. Three SEALs, still climbing the outside of the tower, are
shot, and fall to their deaths.
But I am safe. The SEALs untie me. They apologize for their
immodesty. I tell them it’s okay, I don’t mind. They’re very polite.
Then, sometimes, my dream didn’t just stop at that point. Looking at
the SEALs, I ask them how long they’ve gone without sex. ‘Two weeks,’
they reply, ‘ever since we started our training.’
“Well,” I tell them, sounding very mature. “Daddy’s very particular
about who I date. He only lets me date officers. But there’s no one
here at the moment to say what we can and can’t do, or whether or not I
can reward you.” And so, for their very gallant behavior, I do a
strip-tease for them. Then I ask them to tie me back into my bed, so I
can’t change my mind in mid-stream, rewarding them, for I’m still a
virgin, and might. And so, very reluctantly, with great gentleness, but
pulsing hard between their legs, displaying themselves to me quite
rudely, they tie me down. They even gag me, lest my screams be heard.
Then, one by one, starting with the brave Commander, they mount me.
Only after each of them has had a turn am I released.
When I’m returned to my father, I’m visibly pregnant. Everyone urges
me to have an abortion but I say ‘no, this is my baby, I’m keeping it.’
And when I have the baby my father allows me to marry the SEAL
Commander. He’s quite angry when I tell him, privately, the whole
story, but since the Commander, being first, is the one who made me
pregnant, I’m permitted to marry him.
Everyone thinks the terrorists made me pregnant, and they pity me, but
just me and a few friends (and my dad) (and a dozen or so SEALs) know
the true story. We keep the true story to ourselves, and just smile
politely when people tell me they feel sorry for me that the terrorists
got me pregnant.
(I know my baby couldn’t grow that fast, but I was 10 when I first
dreamed my dream, and didn’t know how slowly it takes a baby to grow.)
When my friend Larissa was 15, she met a real-life Navy SEAL. I was
doomed from that moment, I guess. I tried not to get a crush on him,
because he was, after all, her boyfriend. Or, rather, her sort-of
boyfriend, because he was 22. He wasn’t allowed to have an underage
girlfriend. But they’d hang around together at the pool, at the rec
center. He’d sort of show up at the same time she showed up, and
everyone would think it was just a coincidence. But it wasn’t, of
course. Then sometimes he’d disappear, to go on one of his missions.
He could never say where. It would always be quite boring, for me and
Larissa, at the pool, when he was gone. My mom would stop by and give
us sandwiches, and wonder why we looked so morose, and Larissa’s mother
would blame it on “teenage blues.” Summer was long and hot that year.
Larissa and I alternated in working on our tans, and trying to keep out
of the sun, wanting to be just lightly browned, not white, but not too
dark either. Our moms told us we were too diffident. We should be
playing sports, especially if we felt sad. They tried to enroll us both
in Summer Soccer. Me and Larissa had had enough of that, though, in
previous years. That was for little girls, with too much energy. We
were older now. So we lazed by the pool, and when my mom and Larissa’s
both got jobs, we were quite thankful, for we didn’t have them around to
bug us anymore.
The season languished. Someone spray-painted a man’s fence and he
started a petition drive to keep “children” in school year round.
Albany seemed to wilt in the hot afternoons, cooling only after the late
evening sunset. Nick returned from one of his missions. Larissa and I,
finding him at home, threw him an impromptu ‘Welcome Home’ party. Fresh
from the pool, still wearing sunscreen that was painted on our noses and
cheeks, we pretended to strip out of our swimsuits for him. We were
wearing bikinis. We pretended to untie them, first ourselves, then,
mischievously, for each other. Nick watched. He tried to appear
good-natured. It was all good, clean fun, right? We were just girls,
young teens. He was a man. He certainly had no interest in us, not
sexually. But as he watched, Sandy and I saw a prominence rise in the
crotch of his pants.
The next morning I rode my bike over to Nick’s house. To my surprise,
Larissa’s bike was already there. I’d thought to meet Nick alone; she’d
beaten me to him.
I heard laughter. I parked my bike behind a hedge at Nick’s, in his
front yard, next to Larissa’s. We liked parking our bikes there because
they couldn’t be seen from the street. I went around the side of Nick’s
house. I guessed he and Larissa must be sitting on his back porch.
There was a gate. It had a combination lock on it. But I knew the
combination, and I entered it and opened the gate. Usually it squeaked
but today it didn’t. I guess Nick had finally oiled its hinges.
I was wearing my bikini, ready for another day at the pool. It was my
first summer in a bikini and I liked wearing it. I walked through a
grove of leafy maples along the side of Nick’s house. It was just a
rented house, but I really liked it. The back yard was totally private,
thanks to large, old evergreens that stood guard around its perimeter.
A wooden fence kept out the prying eyes of the small children who lived
in the house behind Nick’s. I was wearing a shirt over my bikini top.
It was a long-sleeved shirt, with a collar. I wore it to keep myself
modest, going to and from the rec center’s pool. My mom had insisted.
But I hadn’t buttoned the shirt. It was knotted under my cleavage, and
pulled open, letting my boobs show, but with my bikini bra under my
shirt, hiding my nipples. My belly was flat and bare, tanned, with my
navel staring invitingly from the center of my tummy. On my hips I wore
a pair of cutoffs.
I heard laughter again. Larissa’s. She sounded happy. I rounded the
corner of Nick’s house. Suddenly, I saw her. She was sitting at a
table. She was eating. I smelled eggs, fried sausages, coffee. There
was a tree that shaded the table. It was a birch tree. Its limbs
stretched over the table, blocking the sun, but the day was bright and
immediately I noticed something strange about her. She had on a knotted
shirt, like I did. And she had on her bikini bra. But from her tummy
down to her tennies, she was bare! She sat bare-bottomed on a cushion
on one of Nick’s chairs, at his backyard table. He sat in a chair
beside her. He wore a polo shirt and long pants. He was smoking a
pipe.
“Hi, Bambi!” Larissa called out. She seemed quite happy. There was no
tablecloth on the table, only placemats, and I couldn’t help continuing
to stare at her legs under the table. They were long, tanned, and ended
at her crotch. There, framed within a small patch of white skin, her
blonde bush nested. The lips of her cunny showed between her opened
legs. She seemed nonplussed by my view of her sex. I stared, then
lifted my eyes to her face. She had a sausage speared on her fork and
she stuck out her tongue and licked it. Nick shifted in his chair. I
saw that his manhood was making a bulge in his trousers.
Sandy brushed back her hair. It was long, brown, highlighted with
streaks of gold from our long days at the pool.
“Come and join us for breakfast, but take off your shorts first,”
Larissa suggested. She bit the end of the sausage that was stuck on her
fork. She chewed, smiling at me.
I felt a mixture of surprise, desire, even competitiveness, all at
once. How could she? What was she up too? We’d never stripped for
Nick, just teased, yesterday. Yet here she was, my best friend, naked
from the belly down, save for her sneakers. She gazed at me
expectantly. Her eyes seemed to challenge me. WAS I as daring as her?
She was 15. I always felt a little inferior to her, because I was only
14. But we were both still virgins. At least, I think she was still a
virgin. She had been, yesterday.
Suddenly, blushing, but not wanting to fall behind her, I grabbed the
front of my shorts. I hesitated. I looked down at my pants, up, found
Nick gazing at me, placidly. He puffed on his pipe, didn’t smile,
didn’t say anything. But I could hear, somewhere, the words “little
girl.” Well, I wasn’t *that* little, just a year younger than Larissa.
If she could take off everything from the waist down, I could at least
shed my shorts. I unbuttoned the front of them. I dropped them to the
grass. I stepped out of them.
“Now the rest,” Larissa giggled.
“I -- Larissa!” I blurted. I was red as a beet in the face, I think.
Nick just kept smoking his pipe, as if it was nothing at all out of the
ordinary to watch a young teen strip out of her clothes.
I felt my bottomcheeks tense. This would be my first time. Naked, in
front of a man, except my father seeing me, when I was younger, and used
to streak through the house naked to piss off my mom. I didn’t have
hair then, where it mattered. But now I did. It was blonde, a soft
furry nest of hair, and I was ashamed to show it to my friends.
Especially Nick.
I bit my lip with my teeth. I stared at Larissa, at Nick, then down at
my flat, sun-browned tummy. I had to lean forward, my breasts were
large and lifted high by my knotted shirt. Then, ceasing to ponder, I
just did it. I pulled on both drawstrings of my panties. I felt the
fabric of the swim panties loosen around my hips. It was how I
undressed at home, in my bedroom, except I was outdoors now, in Nick’s
sun-drenched back yard. The shadows of the encircling trees slanted
unhelpfully across each other, or to the rear, into the neighbor’s
yard. The shadow of Nick’s house was too short to reach me. The birch
branches shaded the table, nothing more.
I let go of my panties. I felt them skitter down my legs. Nick’s eyes
fastened on my bush. His lips, still puffing his pipe, betrayed a
slight smile. I arched my hips forward. “There, now you see me,” I
said in an accusing tone of voice, but shyly. I pressed my hands hard
to my thighs. I had an unbearable urge to cover my pussy.
“Well, now we know you’re a natural blonde,” Nick said.
“Oh, yeah. Like you didn’t know before,” I replied. Then I looked
down at my feet, wistfully. My panties lay there.
“Bring them to me,” Nick commanded. I looked up. I was viewing him
from the side, but I could see, as he turned, that he had something
stuffed into his shirt pocket. I thought it was a handkerchief, but
that was only put in formal shirt pockets, wasn’t it? I bent, I picked
up my panties. Daintily I shook them, as if they might have gotten a
blade of grass in them from lying in the yard. They had not. I walked
over to Nick, leaving my shorts behind.
“Here, sir,” I said tauntingly. I dangled my panties in front of him,
but just out of his reach, I thought. Quick as lightning, expertly as a
Navy SEAL, his arm darted forth and his fingers plucked the panties from
my grasp. He pulled open his shirt pocket. I saw a string attached to
the bit of fabric stuffed there. Panties! I suddenly realized. It
wasn’t a handkerchief, it was Larissa’s panties that he’d put into his
pocket! He deposited mine with hers. He smiled.
“Sit down,” he said.
There was an empty chair. It had a wire-mesh seat but somebody had
helpfully tied a red cushion over the seat. With a meek gulp, feeling
half-ridiculous, half-scared, I pulled the chair out from the table.
Perhaps I thought Nick would rise and seat me, but he didn’t. Instead
he just watched me, smoking his pipe.
I sat down. The cushion felt soft under my bottom. I scooted myself
in towards the table, pulling the chair along with me.
“Are you hungry?” Nick asked.
“No. I had breakfast,” I answered. I looked at Larissa. She smiled
at me. There was a bright, knowing look in her eyes. Suddenly my mind
reeled in shock.
“DID you?” I blurted.
“Did I what?” Larissa replied. Her eyes danced merrily.
I felt angry. “Did you DO it with him?” I asked. My eyes bulged as I
spoke. I was stunned I was having to ask such a question, of her, of
all people!
“She’s too young to fuck, don’t you think?” Nick asked casually.
“No, I don’t think so, even though we did both promise her mom to save
ourselves ‘till marriage.”
“Ah, your mother was holding you back?” Nick asked, looking at Larissa.
“She’s the local ‘Say No to Sex,’ representative,” Larissa said. Her
voice had assumed a mocking, sing-song tone.
“DID you?” I asked her again. I stared at her, hoping it would provoke
an answer.
“Mom thinks I slept over at Jacqueline’s house,” Larissa answered. She
bit another piece off the sausage she was holding in front of her face.
“You haven’t spoken to Jacqueline in two weeks!” I replied.
“My mom doesn’t know that,” Larissa smirked.
“Oh!” I sighed. I leaned back in my chair, hard. I bounced off it
when my half-naked back touched touched the sun-warmed metal. It was
wire mesh, like the seat. “Ow,” I said.
“Sorry. I Forgot to tie a cushion on the back,” Nick said absently.
“Well at least you remembered the seat,” I said ruefully. “Can I have
my panties back now?” I eyed his shirt pocket. One of my panties’
drawstrings dangled down from it, like a loose thread.
“I’m taking you both to the Catskills,” Nick told me.
“What?!” I asked. I looked at him, shocked, then at Larissa.
“He and his Navy SEAL friends weren’t on a special mission the last
time he left us,” Larissa told me. “At least, not one for the
government,” she added. She smiled at Nick, mischievously, admiringly.
Then she looked at me again. “Him and his friends built a place, you
know, for guys and gals to get to know each other. Wanna come?” She
bit the sausage she was slowly consuming. She watched me as she chewed
it.
“No,” I answered, but my voice was soft, tentative.
“I’m going this weekend,” Larissa told me. She reached out her hand,
under the table, took Nick’s. She smiled at him. Then she looked at me
again. “For sex,” she said. She seemed to savor the word, as she spoke
it.
I nearly fainted. When I finally recovered, her eyes still gazing at
me, into me, I said, half-heartedly, “Yes?”
“Good, you’re coming too,” Larissa answered. And she took a big bite
of her sausage, as if that settled the matter.
“No, I mean--” Desperately I looked at Nick. “What will we do there?
How will I get away from my mom?” I asked him.
“Get in a fight with her,” Larissa told me, a mouthful of sausage
garbling her words.
“What?” I asked.
“She thinks you and she should both get in fights with your moms,
Friday night,” Nick told me.
“You know, ask something they won’t let us do,” Larissa said over her
mouthful of food. Her voice was laden with conspiratorial glee.
“Then--” she swallowed. “Then we’ll both leave early Saturday morning,
and write notes, and leave them on our beds, saying we’re running away.
Since we’ll really be in Nick’s car, nobody will see us. We’ll walk
over here, of course, while it’s still dark, so we don’t have to leave
our bikes here.”
“That’s--” I paused, considered. “That’s just going to, you know, get
Nick in trouble, won’t it?” I asked. I was looking for an excuse not to
have to say ‘no.’ Surely there must be some logical obstacle.
“Nonsense,” Larissa said. She was confident now. She put down the
half-eaten sausage. She reached over and took my hand, still holding
Nick’s hand with her other hand. She peered deep into my eyes. I
stared back, inquiringly, innocently, hoping for a reprieve. “Nick’s
always leaving on missions, isn’t he?” Larissa said. “And, in the
meantime, don’t say anything gushy about him. You know, drop a line,
tonight, about how you don’t like him anymore because he’s always having
to go away. Then, when we leave with him, no one will suspect. And
since you’re 14, and I’m 15, it’s not like we’re little girls. That’s
why we’ll leave our notes. So nobody thinks we’ve been kidnapped. And
also,” she lifted her eyes, thinking. “And also! There’s a big rock
concert in Woodstock this weekend. You know, one of those mini-memorial
concerts they like to have each year. We’ll both ask if we can go to
Woodstock. We’ll beg. We’ll plead. And then Saturday morning, we’ll
both leave our Notes,” she said with schoolgirl cunning. “Saying we’re
going to Woodstock. Of course, we won’t be there, but lots of other
people will, and if anyone decides to look for us they’ll go there, and
get lost in the crowd, trying to find us.”
“Hmmm,” I said. I pulled my hand away from hers. “It is a perfect
plan, but I still don’t want to go.”
“This is the only weekend it will work!” Larissa said.
“You were all ready to go before, even when you hadn’t thought of
Woodstock,” I told her.
“I know,” Larissa said. She looked at me frankly. “I want my cherry
popped,” she said. “And Nick’s going to do it for me.”
“OOOOHHH! You’re awful!” I cried. I jumped up from my seat. “So you
didn’t have sex with him last night,” I said to her.
“No, but I sucked him off,” Larissa said.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re being frank about it,” I replied.
“And that was only after we lay together all night long,” Larissa
said. “I had him between my legs all night. I touched him and teased
him and did things to his penis that we’ve talked about, you know, even
tying my panties around it, and licking it for him when he peed.” She
giggled.
“OH!” I cried.
“Shhhh, the neighbors will hear,” Larissa told me. Nick casually
puffed on his pipe and stared at my bush. I clapped my hand over my
private.
“Give me my panties back!” I insisted, standing at the table, staring
across it at him. I kept my voice low, though, so as not to alert his
neighbors.
“Only give them back if she agrees to cum this weekend,” Larissa told
him. Then she looked at me. “I don’t have the courage to go by
myself,” she said.
“What?! You need me to go along so you can get your cherry popped?” I
asked.
“Yes, silly. If it’s to be done there, at least,” Larissa answered.
She looked over at Nick. Her eyes seemed to inquire, he only puffed his
pipe in response. “Anyway, we’ll both be devirginated together.” She
broke into another set of giggles. “And there will be a few others
there, so if you like, you know, you can do it again, with somebody
else. They’ll all be Navy SEALs, of course.”
“WOMEN Navy SEALs?” I asked, astonished.
“No,” Nick said. “Just men, plus a few girlfriends. I could invite
older girls instead, though, if you both think you’re too young. You
know, college girls. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose, but, well, I
thought I’d ask you two, since you’re both old maids.”
“What?” Larissa said. She shot him an accusing glance. “I’m not an
old maid!”
“Me neither,” I said. And I wriggled my bare hips as I spoke, not
really thinking about it, just doing it, my hands on my hips, showing
off my pussy to him with the salaciousness of an Arabian dancer.
“Well, whatever,” Nick replied. “Come if you want to, but not if you
don’t.”
“Do you PREFER us?” Larissa asked him. Dave looked down at his pipe.
“Sure,” he said, his voice serious. “I mean, I lost mine at 13.
Somebody’s going to do you both soon, whether you realize it yet or
not.”
“That’s not a very good answer, Nick, saying you want to do us just so
you can be first,” Larissa told him.
“Okay,” Nick said. He looked at her, then at me. He eyed my delta. I
clapped my hand over it, so he couldn’t see. He laughed. “Yes, I
prefer both you little brats,” he said. “Even though I shouldn’t.
You’re young, but well developed. Nice, uh, tits,” he said, looking at
mine, then at hers.
“Do you like our PERSONALITIES?” I challenged him, my hands returning
to my hips.
“Yeah, them too,” Nick said. He looked again at my private but I found
the courage somehow not to cover it.
“Well, IF you really like us, then maybe we’ll come with you,” Larissa
told Nick. But it can’t just be like you’re saying now. You have to
prove you really like us. Like, you know, slay a dragon for us, or
something...”
“How am I supposed to slay a fucking dragon?” Nick spluttered. “This
is the 20th Century!”
“Well, I don’t know, buy us something then,” Larissa said.
“That would make you whores,” Nick grinned. “Aren’t you glad I made
you breakfast?”
“Only after I bugged you to,” Larissa said.
“I usually don’t eat breakfast,” Nick answered.
“I saw you stuffing sausages into your mouth while you were cooking
mine,” Larissa told him.
“Well, I eat a FAST breakfast,” Nick replied. “I don’t get out
placemats and sugar and butter and all that, and I especially don’t
arrange it out here on this table.”
“I’m impressed then,” Larissa said.
I sat down in my seat again. I scooted it close to the table. “Fix me
something to eat,” I told Nick.
“I’m almost done,” Larissa told me.
“Never mind. I want to eat too,” I answered. I let her know by my
eyes that I wasn’t going to be argued out of a Nick-served breakfast,
either. It sounded fun.
Nick cooked breakfast for me, inside the house. I sat outdoors with
Larissa. We talked. It sounded scary to go off this weekend, to a
place we didn’t know, to meet people we’d never met, to... I didn’t want
to think the word.
“Nick says we don’t actually have to do it if we don’t want to,”
Larissa told me in a low whisper. “So, see? It will be fun.”
“Hmmm, that makes it a LITTLE easier,” I replied.
For the rest of the week, I was ambivalent. But my sense of adventure
kept tugging at me. A vacation! Away from my mom, my brother, away
from everyone I’d ever been bugged by! It would be a romantic vacation
too, a “sensual” vacation, as Larissa liked to describe it. So we wrote
our notes, at the end of the week, and waited for the morning.
Larissa and I held hands as we walked the dark streets on Saturday
morning. We walked in the middle of each street, avoiding the glow of
the sidewalk lamps. There was no traffic. We reached Nick’s house and
slipped through the gate along the side of his house, so nobody would
see us go in his front door. He was waiting for us, inside. He wore
baggy shorts, a shirt with a single pocket, over his chest.
“Hi, Nick!” Larissa and I both chimed, seeing him. He was sitting in a
chair, reading, smoking his pipe. He turned a page in his book and then
looked up.
“You both wore your bikinis under your jeans?” he asked. Larissa and I
had on wide-legged jeans, our tennies, t-shirts. I was wearing a jacket
because the night air felt cold. Larissa had on a pink pullover
sweater.
“Yes,” Larissa answered for us both.
“Here,” Nick said. He tossed two parcels across the room. They landed
at our feet. They were very small, wrapped with shiny blue paper. They
had pink ribbon tied around them. “Take off your clothes. Put on
what’s in the parcels,” Nick said matter-of-factly. Then he looked down
at his book again. He puffed on his pipe.
“Nick!” Larissa whined.
“Don’t complain, just do it,” Nick answered. He did not lift his eyes
from his book.
“What- what’s in them?” I asked. My voice quavered. I bent, picked up
the one closest to me.
“Swimsuits,” Nick said.
“But we’re ALREADY wearing--” Larissa began.
“These are ones I bought, after taking your measurments the other day,”
Nick replied. (I remembered that well. It was after he’d let us finish
breakfast, standing in his bedroom, both Larissa and myself naked. He’d
measured us with a tape measure. It had been sexy, feeling his hands,
seeing his eyes as they absorbed our nudity. Then he’d taught us both
how to suck cock, Larissa for the second time, me for the first. He
didn’t cum. He denied us his sperm, though he’d spermed Larissa’s
mouth, the night before, when they’d spent an inquisitive night in bed
together. After teasing us with his cock, he’d sent us home. Larissa
and I had shared my bed all afternoon, remembering him, pressed close,
whispering. We pretended to be chaste in all but our words but we both
secretly rubbed ourselves as we talked. We’d both shared an orgasm,
finally, late on that hot afternoon day. It was our first together.
We’d touched only ourselves, where it counted, but our mouths pressed
together, breathed hotly. Our bosoms cushioned us, our nipples poked
hard into the softness of each other’s breasts. Afterwards we both felt
quite guilty. Larissa went home, neither of us spoke of it in the
ensuing days.
Larissa picked up her parcel. We opened them. Inside I found a
matchbox. Were we to smoke? What did that have to do with getting
dressed? Reluctantly, I slid open the matchbox. I gasped. There
weren’t stick matches inside, but something made of cloth! What could
it possibly be? I wondered. I tugged at the cloth, gently. The box
produced strings, slim as threads, and, eventually, tiny scraps of
pastel pink material. I lifted the whole thing with one hand, dangled
it from my fingers. Then, gazing at it, it dawned on me that it was a
bikini! But it was much too small.
“Nick! Is this some kind of joke?” Larissa asked our companion. She
held a handful of string and cloth that was bright yellow.
“No, it isn’t,” Nick answered, still reading his book.
“Mine’s-- mine’s the size of a postage stamp!” I declared. It was
ridiculous, tiny swatches of fabric, a tangle of spaghetti-like
drawstrings. The drawstrings, needing to wrap around the hips, and the
back, and the neck, had obviously had used up more material than the bra
cups or panties themselves. The ‘important’ parts of my bikini seemed
almost an afterthought to the strings, as if some wicked tailor, wishing
to save his thread, had decided to cheat girls out of what they needed
to cover themselves.
“Undress, put them on,” Nick commanded. He looked up from his book.
“And nothing else,” he added.
Oh, it was so wicked! A sensible girl would have simply said ‘no,’ ‘no
way Nick,’ and I was about to when I remembered how my mother had fought
me changing from one-pieces to bikinis. She thought bikinis were
sexist. So, foolishly I suppose, I decided to tweak my mom’s conscience
one more time. I wouldn’t just wear the ‘sexist’ bikini she’d finally
let me wear. I’d wear this (though not, certainly, in public). I’d
please Nick, please his silly male desires, and see what it felt like to
be clothed in something so small.
Nick read his book while we undressed. We put our clothes on a chair.
He puffed on his pipe, said nothing, read quietly. I saw the title of
the book he was reading, “Kama Sutra.” I wondered what it was about,
didn’t dare to ask.
Larissa and I tied each other into the swimsuits that Nick had
purchased. It was the only way. The suits were too stringy, too
flimsy, to get them on by oneself. She did me first. Then I ‘dressed’
her. When we were finished we stared at each other. Our nipples were
barely covered by the bikinis’ bra cups. Too call them ‘cups’ would be
a vast compliment, actually. They were thin bits of material. Our
nipples, rising into them, weren’t inhibited at all, and stood up like
thorns, trying to push through the ‘cups’. Down below, our pussy lips
were clearly outlined against the fabric of the ‘panties’ that passed
between our legs. My panties didn’t cover all of my bush. Nor did
Larissa’s. My behind was no better off. It was half-covered,
half-uncovered by my panties. The crack of my bottom could be easily
traced underneath the panties. And, of course, half my bottom, the
upper half, had no covering at all, letting my ass crack display itself
without inhibition.
“Good. We’ll get in my car now,” Nick said. He put his book down.
“What?!” Larissa blurted. I heard my voice echo hers.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to the rec center,” Nick grinned. “It’s
too early anyway, for that.” He stood up. He stepped toward us. He
towered over us and we seemed to cringe beneath his implacable, manly
gaze. “You look good in those,” Nick said.
“‘In’ is hardly the word I’d use, Nick,” Larissa said ruefully. “I
think we’re more out of them than in.” I nodded my head vigorously.
“Noneless, you’ll wear them,” Nick told us. I saw his cock stemming in
his shorts and remembered how beautiful it was. (Embarrassing to
confess, I know, but it was every girl’s dream of what a cock must look
like.) “Now, don’t fight me on this,” he said, staring down at us. We
fought our urge to look at his pants, looked at his eyes. Finding them
hard, demanding, we quickly lowered our eyes again, to avoid them. But
that only caused us to see his cock again, sticking up into his pants,
or his chest, pressing out manfully against his shirt. We both
flushed. We were trapped, like captive birds in a cage, hemmed in by
our own embarrassing desires.
“Being new to this sort of thing, you’ll both need collars,” Nick told
us. Both Larissa and I gasped. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from his
fine, upstanding, hard body. Anxiously I reached for Larissa’s hand. I
found it, she squeezed it. I squeezed back. Nick went to a writing
desk. He opened a drawer. He took out two collars. They were thick,
wide, made of leather. They looked exactly like dog collars. He strode
over to us.
“You first,” he told me. He lifted his hands to my neck. Without
asking my permission, he placed the collar over my throat. He buckled
it, tightly, but not so tight I couldn’t breathe. Then he turned to
Larissa. He did the same to her. When he was finished, he re-checked
each collar’s tightness by running a finger along the top edge of the
collar. He bade us draw breaths, deeply. We did. My bra cups flew off
my nipples as my bosoms rose with my intake of breath. “Not that
deeply,” Nick said. He replaced my bra cups over my nipples. His
fingers brushed them. I felt a hot rush of desire run up from my toes
to my risen nipples. Then, in my panties, I felt a wetness in my
crotch.
“Open your legs,” Nick told Larissa and me. We both parted our thighs,
reluctantly. Butterflies swirled in my belly. “Don’t move,” Nick
said. He reached between my legs. I flinched. He repeated his order.
His fingers pressed hard against my sex. “Wet your panties,” he told
me, finding me already just a little moist. He rubbed the outline of my
pussy lips, not touching me directly but pressing, rather, his
fingertips against the fabric of my bikini, between my legs. At the
same time he began massaging Larissa in her most private place.
“Nick!” Larissa baulked. She tried to back away. A stern word from
him stilled her. “Stay!” he commanded. She and I squeezed hands
tightly. I swooned. Nick rubbed me, searched up between my nether
lips. His fingertips pressed hard into my cunt, drawing in the fabric
of my panties with them. I grabbed onto Larissa for support. But I
kept my legs open, as Nick had ordered me to. I feared closing them.
“Oh, Nick! Stop!” Larissa begged. She leaned against me, just as I
was leaning against her. I feared we would both fall over.
“There, that’s better,” Nick said. He withdrew his hands from between
our legs. My panties felt wet, sinful, where the lips of my crotch
touched the fabric.
“Oh, it can be seen!” Larissa cried. She looked at me, then down at
herself. We had visible wet spots now, where our pussy lips imprinted
the fabric with their soft, gentle curves.
“Good,” Nick said. “Now come along, or we’ll be late for the boat.”
“What boat?!” Larissa and I asked unhappily. But he said nothing, only
commanded, with his eyes, that we should (must!) follow him. We went to
his garage. He let us into it, then locked the door behind us. He had
a gleaming new Porche. It was bright green. Larissa and I stared at
it, marvelling.
“Oh, but we’ll get the nice leather seats wet!” Larissa protested, when
Nick ushered us up to the car and opened the passenger’s side door for
us.
“A little moisture between your legs isn’t going to ruin my seats,”
Nick answered. He made us both get into the car. There was room for
only one of us. I had to sit on Larissa’s lap. Sexily, she made me
spread my legs. Her hands began playing along the insides of my thighs.
“Larissa!” I remarked, looking down at her hands. They were small,
slim-fingered. I yearned for her touch yet, even in my bed together,
we’d never done that! Not the private. Her hands caressed their way up
my thighs as Nick put up his garage door, then got into the driver’s
side of his car.
“Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there,” Larissa assured me. She kissed
my earlobe. I shivered. I felt awful, yet incredibly sexy, in my
little swimsuit, wet now between my legs.
Nick backed up the car. It was beginning to grow light outside. He
got out of his car, closed the garage door, locked it with a padlock.
He got back into his car. Larissa and I both looked at him with
wondering eyes.
“You both look like scared little church mice,” Nick laughed.
“We are,” Larissa answered. Then she let her fingernail graze my
crotch.
“Larissa! DON’T!” I said shrilly.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Idle hands do the Devil’s work,” Nick said, laughing, still looking at
us. Then he cast his eyes out onto the road, looking at it through his
rear-view mirror, and he backed down his drive. A moment later we were
gone.
The lake shimmered under the noonday sun. Nick parked under some
trees. They cloaked his car in shadow. Larissa and I spilled out the
side door of his car before he could even come round to fetch us. We
were both trembling. I felt queasy in my stomach. Immediately I
clapped my hand over my pussy, despite the fact that a woman, dressed in
a bikini, was gazing at me. She stood on a house boat, moored at the
lake’s shore. I ran down the grass-covered hill to the small wooden
dock where her boat was tied. Larissa ran with me. It seemed as if we
were racing each other and, indeed, we were. We’d had no rest stops.
It was too risky, Nick had told us, with Larissa and I dressed only in
our skimpy ‘bikinis.’
“Well, hello girls,” the woman smiled to us. She was perhaps 20, with
shoulder-length blonde hair. She looked delicately boned, yet had an
althletic presence. Her breasts loomed off her small frame, as if
misplaced there, but her hips, flaring softly, seemed to match her body
size better. She wore a visor on her head, shading her eyes. She had
on tennis shoes, similar to the ones Larissa and I wore.
“May we please use your bathroom?” Larissa gasped to her. She and I
both blushed the instant she said it. I realized my hips were wriggling
uncontrollably. I held my puss for dear life, afraid I’d pee right
there on the dock.
“Yes, of course, girls, if you insist,” the woman answered. “Have you
had a long ride?”
“YES!” Larissa blurted. I heard my voice blurting the same. “Where IS
it?” she asked, a moment later.
“It’s that hole,” the woman said. She pointed at a hole in the decking
near where she stood.
“But -- isn’t there one inside?!” Larissa asked in a voice that rose in
pitch, and in volume, as she spoke.
“‘Fraid not,” the woman answered. “Just take off your panties and
squat. You can use the box of kleenex there to wipe yourself.”
“Oh, GOD!” Larissa gasped. But she raced over to the hole, and managed
to squat down over it before I could. She yanked her panties
unceremoniously down over her knees. One of the drawstrings came apart.
“Hurry!” I shouted. I stood over her, watching, holding my breath, as
she began to pee. We were on a sun deck at the back of the boat. I saw
her pee pass down within the hole and heard it strike the lake water
under the deck. I clenched my bottom cheeks, waiting, hoping, praying I
could last another minute until she was through.
As soon as she was I pushed her. I didn’t wait for her to wipe.
“Hey!” Larissa cried. She tumbled backward onto the wooden deck. Her
panties hung like a lost promise between her widespread knees.
“I have to GO!” I shouted. I dropped into a squat. I yanked down my
panties as uncerimoniously as she had. Just in time! My pee spurted
from between the lips of my private. It passed downward, into the
shadowed hole cut in the deck. I heard it rain upon the surface of the
lake.
“They have full bladders,” Nick laughed. He strode on board the boat.
“And you?” the woman asked.
“Sure,” Nick answered. “I didn’t want to stop, with them in the car.
The tinting on my car windows isn’t dark enough to keep eyes out if it’s
parked. Plus,” he grinned. “They almost certainly would have darted
into the nearest restroom.”
“You can pee after them, then,” the woman answered.
And he did. Larissa and I watched wide-eyed as his long cock spurted
its pee down into the hole. It was mesmerizing. Larissa licked her
lips, remembering licking him when she’d spent the night with him. I
wet mine, with my tongue. I wondered if we’d be asked to practise our
cock sucking skills when he’d finished. I didn’t want to do it, with
the woman watching.
“What’s their names?” the woman asked Nick. Still peeing, he
answered. “Larissa and Bambi,” he said.
“Nice names,” the woman said. “Mine’s Erika,” she told us.
“Pleased to meet you,” Larissa replied. She straightened her panties
on her hips. I pulled the seat of mine out of my ass crack.
“You don’t have to keep those on if you don’t want to,” Erika told us.
“Nobody’s around to see.”
“That’s okay,” Larissa and I answered. We sounded like girls in a
choir, our voices high, matching in pitch.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Erika asked us.
“To a party,” Larissa replied. I felt myself blushing.
“Yes, that’s right,” Erika said. “You won’t be wearing your panties
there, so when you decide not to fool with them anymore, just give them
to me,” she said.
“No, that’s okay,” Larissa answered. “We’ll keep them on for now.”
“Were the elementary school girls all unavailable?” Erika asked Nick.
He stuffed himself back into his pants, not without difficulty.
“Very funny,” he answered.
“Just wondering,” Erika said, quietly. She walked over to the rope
that held the boat against the dock. She tugged on it, lifting up the
loop of rope that held it to the pier. The rope popped free.
Immediately I felt the boat begin to drift. “Start the engine,” Erika
told Nick.
The boat glided across the lake. It was a mountain lake, high up
amisdst the folds and ravines of the Catskills. Shadows from tall trees
grew outward upon the lake as we drifted across its shimmering surface.
An hour passed. Two hours. The engine of the boat could be heard
puttering faithfully. Larissa and I helped ourselves to a soda bar
inside the house boat. We found ice cream, made ice cream sodas, then
sundaes. Erika sunned herself out back on the deck, where the hole was
for peeing. Larissa and I visited that hole twice more. Nick steered
the boat, when it needed a helpful nudge, which wasn’t often. Otherwise
he smoked his pipe, and gazed out across the lake.
Sipping an ice cream soda (my third, this one made of root beer with a
dash of gin), I gazed through a window of the houseboat at the
shoreline. I lay on my tummy, on a fold-away bed, lounging in the
coolness of the houseboat’s rec room, where the wet bar was. My panties
were hopelessly jammed in my behind again and I made no attempt to
retreive the fabric from my buttcrack. Larissa sat perched on the edge
of the bed. She was watching a television mounted in a cabinet on the
far side of the room. It was a big television, perfect for watching
Bart Simpson. You could see his every mischeivous nuance. Bart was
busy tricking the principal of his school, but I wasn’t watching. I’d
taped the episode last season and watched it already more times than I
could remember. I looked at the trees bordering the lake’s shoreline.
They hedged in my view, stopping my eyes at the water’s edge as
completely as any wall. The trees were thick, luxuriant. They grew
tall up here in the Catskills. Some of them hung out over the water,
making me shiver. They looked like they were yearning to grab me. I
pressed myself into the cool sheets of the bed and was glad I was inside
the houseboat, out of their reach.
As we rounded a bend in the lake, a sheer cliff rose up from the
encircling trees that bordered the lake’s edge. It looked dark and
brooding. It frightened me even more than the trees. Already, the sun
having passed beyond its peak, its face was lost in shadow. We seemed
to be moving toward it, and that worried me. I turned, to talk to
Larissa, and found myself lost for a moment in the Simpsons. When I
looked back through the window the boat had finished its turn and was
sailing toward the cliff, so that I could no longer see it. The boat’s
wheelhouse fronted the rec room, and there was no window between us and
the pilot. I stared at the wall at the front of the rec room. Did I
wish to get up? To go outside and see where we were heading? No, I
told myself, pressing myself deeper into the comfy bed. I would lie
here, and wait. I would be Cleopatra, and let Antony guide me.
Hopefully he would have my best interests at heart.
“Wan another soda?” Larissa asked me. Her voice seemed slightly
drunk. She’d gotten into the liquor more than I had.
“Yes, but not spiked,” I told her.
“Why not?” she asked. “We can do whatever we want here.”
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” I replied. I handed
her my empty soda glass.
“Oooh, I have to pee again,” Larissa announced to me. She clapped her
hand over her puss, rubbed it. The liquor had made her a little bit
silly, like a child.
“Don’t fall off the side of the boat,” I warned her.
“Relax. I know how to swim,” Larissa replied. And I knew she did, for
she’d taken a junior lifesaving course, and been a lifeguard at the pool
earlier in the summer. (Of course, she’d only guarded the baby pool,
but she did know lots more about water survival than I did. I’d watched
her taking the course sometimes. They had to do lots of stuff. But
they also had to get up early, and ‘warm the pool,’ as Larissa called
it, jumping into its freezing early morning waters in their speedos and
bikinis. I preferred to sleep in late. I wasn’t quite as physical as
she sometimes liked to be.)
I waited in the bed for Larissa to perform her toilet and bring me
another soda. It was nice in the bed. I wondered if I was secretly
inviting something. Nick passed by outside, grinned in at me through
the window. He had taken off his shirt. His chest, his biceps, flexed
as he moved. I smiled back at him. My eyes were bedroom eyes,
inviting. But my heart was set more on teasing, I think, than anything
else. He must have known that, for he went round back and lay down next
to Erika, on the sun deck. I was left to myself. I pressed my hips
into the bedding and felt a soft yearning to dispense with my panties.
“Your ass is showing,” Larissa told me. I looked up, startled. I
didn’t know she was back already. Perhaps the minutes had passed
unnoticed. I looked at her. She’d lost her bra. “It’s too difficult,
trying to keep it on,” she said, noticing my eyes. “My boobs kept
popping out of it whenever I walked.”
“I know what you mean,” I said ruefully. Every bounce in Nick’s car on
the road up into the Catskills had jarred my bosoms loose from their
inadequate moorings.
Larissa handed me a fresh soda. “I put lemonade in this one,” she
said. I took it, adjusted the straw. I was about to take a sip when I
re-fixed my gaze on her.
“If you peed in my soda I’ll kill you,” I told her. (My brother had
pulled just such a trick the week before.)
“No,” she giggled. “But that was pretty funny, what your brother did,
handing you ‘fresh lemonade’,” Larissa replied laughingly.
“Thanks for reminding me,” I told her. Boldly I sipped my soda. It
tasted fine. It was Sprite, with lemon sherbert. I looked at Larissa
again. “Don’t spike your punch anymore,” I told her. “Pretty soon
you’ll think everything in the universe is funny.”
“I promise,” Larissa told me. I hoped she was telling the truth. I
didn’t want a friend who was drop-dead drunk. I think she understood
that. I’d be all alone, if she lost her head. And I hadn’t come along
on her little journey to wind up being by myself, accompanied by a
slosh.
I turned back to the vista outside. In the lengthening shadows of the
waning day, the trees looked more threatening than ever. Perhaps it was
just my imagination, but they appeared to want to eat me, to swallow me
up. I shivered. And then, wedging my soda between two bed pillows, so
it wouldn’t fall, I did an incredible thing. I bent the straw. It was
a bendy straw. With it bent, I could still suck on it, though I moved
both my hands down to my waist. I toyed with the drawstrings of my
panties. Then, declining to untie them, I instead pushed them down. I
felt my panties pop out of my ass crack. I pushed them down until they
were off the curve of my behind. I felt good, exposed like that,
watching the trees with their long branches passing by on the
lakeshore. Perhaps I wasn’t bold enough to be topless, like Larissa,
but I could tease just a little more. Who was to say my miniscule
panties hadn’t popped off my rear end by accident? At least they
wouldn’t be wedging themselves into my butt crack anymore.
“Well, here we are,” Erika said at last, poking her head into the rec
room. We’d reached the opposite shore of the lake. Nick was turning
the boat around, so we could disembark off its back. But on this end of
the lake, there was no pier. Just the sheer cliff face of rock. I’d
felt our boat pass into its shadow. It had descended upon us quite
suddenly, like a death shroud. Then we’d passed out of its shadow, as
if dueling with it, too coy to be taken. The sun was angled behind the
peak of the cliff, I guess, letting it throw its shadow partly onto the
water, partly into the dense forest beyond. I was glad of that. Nick
steered the boat to a point along the cliff where we could still relish
the sunlight.
Larissa and I emerged from our rec room hideaway, like virgins from a
convent. Larissa, however, still refused to wear her top. I left my
panties down in back, showing my bottom. But I made sure they were
pulled up tight in front. I didn’t want to show everything. Not yet,
anyway... I looked up at the cliff. We were hard up alongside it. The
back of our boat bobbed in the water, silently, its back end facing
along the cliff.
I gazed up at the cliff, wondering what to make of its implacable
surface, so close, with nothing to step down onto. How could we
disembark? Were we in the right spot? I looked at Nick, then at
Erica. She lifted a heavy anchor. It was made of iron, but her slim
arms lifted it somehow, and she threw it with a soft groan over the side
of her boat. It splashed into the lake, trailing a length of rope
behind it. Quickly it sank, mooring the boat to the lakebed, under the
water. I went to the side of the boat and stared into the ripples on
the lake surface where the anchor had disappeared.
“We’ll have to swim from here,” Nick told Larissa and me. “Dive in,
swim down, you’ll see a hole under the water, in the side of the cliff.
It’s only a few yards more once you reach it. Swim into it. Follow it
up. You’ll surface inside an underground cavern.”
“What?” Larissa gasped. I felt my breath catch in my throat.
“We’re going where no one can find us,” Erika smiled. “It’s meant to
be a private party, you know.” Her eyes seemed to challenge us, as if
we might prove to be scared little girls and back out. I certainly felt
like doing just that!
“Would you like to disrobe now, girls?” Erika asked. She tugged at her
own bikini drawstrings, at her waist. The panties rode low on her
waist, showing a few uppermost curls of her bush, but apparently it was
too modest, for where we were going. I felt a tremble run down my arms
and legs and my knees felt weak.
“No,” I heard Larissa say, beside me.
“No,” I repeated.
“Alright, but I shall have to prepare you, then,” Erika said. “But
first, allow me to demonstrate to you how you shall be required to
prepare yourself, if you should ever choose to return.” She saw my eyes
widen, hopefully perhaps, and Larissa’s too. “Yes girls, you are not
being kidnapped,” Erika said. “Do you want to be, hmmm? The party
lasts only the weekend, perhaps a day or two longer. Then you’re going
back home. It’s a party, girls, nothing more.” She smiled. We were so
childish, Larissa and I, having that first real adventure of our lives,
I realized. But I still was determined to keep my panties on. Even if
I hadn’t bothered to pull them back up over my behind, and was letting
it show in all its nude, rounded glory.
Erika lay down on her chaise lounge. It was covered with a big, white,
soft fluffy towel, making her look rather like an angel lounging in
heaven. There was a tube of suntan lotion on the chair, beside her
hips, but she didn’t bother to put any of it on. She was already
well-oiled from her hours of sunning as the boat crossed the lake. Yet
the tube of lotion looked new, as the towel did. She liked new things,
she’d told me, and was always refurbishing her boat and replacing its
items so everything would always be fresh and clean.
Erika smiled at Nick, then at myself, then at Larissa. “This is
somewhat more intrusive than the method of preparation I’ll use on you,”
she assured Larissa and I. “But it does have its pleasures, as I
imagine you’ll see.”
Nick was already bending down as she spoke. He clutched at the sides
of her panties, at the little strings that held them fast. His eyes
were burning. Erika closed hers. Nick paused a moment, determined to
do something, but awed by the lissome figure spread out so receptively
before him. She was lovely, Erika, with her long blonde hair couching
her head, her breasts perkily upstanding despite her prone posture. Her
flat tummy sank beneath her ribs as she drew in a soft, deep breath.
Then she exhaled, a perfumed breath seemingly escaping her lips (for
they were lovely lips), and her breasts, her ribs, her taut belly all
rippled, gently, with the the escaping of her breath. She savored the
touch of Nick’s hands upon her waist, I could tell. She urged her
young, long legs into the air. Her tennis-shoed feet seemed impossibly
well-clad, much too formal for the rest of her attire, for her bikini
was nothing but string, and small, strategic bits of material. Her
brown, sun-kissed limbs, her large, heavy breasts, her svelte hips all
seemed to overpower the little swimsuit, and now, apparenlty, it was
deemed too much, despite its nothingness, to be worn to the party.
With a sudden savageness, Nick yanked at Erika’s bikini bottoms. She
squealed. Her eyelashes fluttered open. She looked down at her
violated hips and watched, wide-eyed, as Nick drew the swim panties down
her long thighs. She kept them lifted, high in the air, to assist him.
Hurriedly he passed them over her knees, down her slim calves. When he
reached her tennis shoes he let go of them, as if not needing to trouble
himself with their complete removal. Her cunny was bare, that was all
that mattered. He tore down his own shorts. His cock sprang out, to
cries of involuntary alarm from myself and Larissa. It was huge, like a
big fleshy banana, and though we’d seen it earlier, it was still a shock
when it was suddenly released before our eyes.
Nick didn’t bother to step out of his shorts. He shoved them down his
legs, then walked forward. He didn’t walk far. Reaching Erika’s
breasts, he bent, showing us his tight, bare buns. I heard myself
squeal, my voice joining Erika’s. Nick ripped away Erika’s bra. Her
breasts fell out, wobbled, grew at the tips. Her feet kicked absently
in the air, still entangled in her panties.
Like a conquering hero, eager to have his prize, Nick tossed Erika’s
bra unceremoniously across the deck of the boat. He made a quick
two-step, standing in place, with his feet, and managed to get out of
his lowered shorts. Then he returned to Erika’s legs, and gave her the
bikini the final denoument by tearing it off her feet. The panties
fluttered to the deck. They were white, like swimwear a virgin might
wear, but they were undone, one drawstring ripped from the panties’
front, useless now, even more useless than they’d been when first made.
Nick grabbed Erika’s still-kicking feet. He did not bother with her
tennis shoes. Instead, to a sharp gasp from her, he opened her legs.
All could be seen, her soft inner thighs, her slit, the soft fuzz that
covered her private, yet left it uncovered, for her labial lips were
quite visible. With a sudden tug, Nick yanked Erika down the length of
her chaise lounge. He stopped when her bottom lay poised at the foot of
the lounge. It didn’t hurt her, being moved in that way. She lay upon
a towel on the chaise lounge.
Sporting a raging hard-on, Nick advanced between Erika’s legs. He
kicked the part of the towel that had fallen off the chaise lounge out
of his way, so he could keep his feet planted solidly on the boat’s
deck. He held Erika firmly, like a farm wife might hold a turkey. With
her legs wrenched wide, Erika reminded me of a turkey spread apart for
stuffing. Her hole waited, covered by soft fur that would be no
impediment to Nick’s stemming cock. In fact, it would please him,
grazing his member, a soft, inviting place for him to relieve himself of
his madness.
“Oh! He’s going to stuff her with himself!” I blurted aloud, to no
one. I remembered my bottom, bared, in back, the trees in the distance,
their branches seeking, groping, yearning out over the still waters of
the lake. I imagined I might be suddenly poked from behind and reached
for Larissa’s hand. She found it, clutched at it. Alternately we
squeezed each others’ hands for encouragement. I meant to reach behind
myself, to pull up my panties, to protect my bottom from the trees, but
I stood frozen instead. I was a rabbit, contemplating headlights. My
belly was awash in butterflies.
I had never seen anyone fuck. I watched with startled eyes as Nick
reached for a tube next to Erika’s body on her chaise lounge. I’d
thought the tube was suntan lotion. Yet, as I watched, Nick popped open
the tube and squirted it onto his penis. It was sex jelly, not suntan
lotion, I suddenly realized. Nick had showed us some in his bedroom,
though we hadn’t used it. It wasn’t needed for cock sucking.
Nick groomed his penis for the task he obviously contemplated. Erika
did nothing to stop him, simply lay back, let her legs remain outside
his.
“Oh, will he cum?” I whispered to Larissa. She had swallowed Nick’s
cum, when she stayed overnight with him. But when Nick trained us both,
the next day, he had refrained from releasing his sperm. He said he was
required to save it for the party.
“But won’t your balls turn blue?” Larissa had asked him, innocently.
“I don’t know,” he’d replied. “I know we promised each other as Navy
SEALs not to cum after a certain day, and when I take an oath that’s a
military one, I stick to it.” He’d smiled. “That’s why I spermed your
mouth so thoroughly last night,” he added. Yet he was hard again, and
his balls had seemed quite full when he let me squeeze them, there in
his bedroom. Then we’d spent half an hour teasing him, inviting him to
fuck us, begging to suck his cock some more, to ‘really give it a
workout and test you,’ as Larissa had put it, until, unable to stand our
taunts, he’d sent us both home.
“I’m a man,” he’d said, giving us both a friendly pat on our bottoms as
he pushed us out of his house. “But I’m also a military man, and an
oath is sacred to a military man. Now go, and leave me to my blue balls
until Saturday morning.”
Now Nick was naked again, his cock bursting with passionate energy. It
quivered in the summer air. It’s tip offered that strange, clear
pre-cum that seems like sperm but isn’t, that merely offers itself up as
natural oil to grease a woman’s opening as the man enters her. Nick
tossed aside the tube of sex jelly. It landed on the deck of the boat,
half used, half unused. A bit of jelly oozed from the still-open tip of
the tube.
“Oh, God!” Erika said, gazing down briefly at Nick. “I had no idea you
were so big!” Then her eyes looked away, as if afraid.
“Yeah, well, here’s to you, babe,” Nick said. Then, with a grunt, he
stabbed at her most intimate, most vulnerable place with his very hard
cock. Erika screamed. Her cry echoed across the still lake. I
wondered if there were hunters in the woods. Would they come running,
to save her? Or would they merely laugh: “Honeymooners,” one would say
to another, like men do, scoffing, when they know they’re denied.
“Yah, place isn’t the same with honeymooners up here, fucking away in
some cabin. It’ll scare away those moose we saw.”
And then, with the sun heading down in the west, knowing they couldn’t
have whatever it was they were missing, but that they could have dinner
if they kept after the moose, they’d put the screams out of their mind.
Nick took Erika violently. She spasmed. She gasped. A scream caught
in her throat and didn’t come out. Nick pressed harder, deeper,
wrenching her apart with his hands, spearing her with his manhood.
“Uhn,” Erika said. It was a gutteral sound, like a wounded animal
might make, and she lifted her hips. I tightened my grip on Larissa’s
hand. I thought I was watching her commit suicide! How could she bear
that awful male prong ripping into her insides? She bucked her hips
again, upward, to meet him, like a lamb eager to meet its end, if only
to end the pain of the sacrifice. Nick grunted, suddenly, in response,
as if he too were suffering. Could he be? I saw his rear-end tighten.
The small fleshy buns seemed to be straining. His head flung back.
“UHHH!” Nick bellowed. Then, he breathed, his voice suddenly ragged,
“God you’re tight!” I saw his tautened balls quiver. His back showed
all its muscles. They strained, as if he were lifting a heavy load. Or
resisting one. He seemed to fight with himself and then recover a
little.
Nick drew back. Erika sighed.
“How many times have you fucked?” Nick asked.
“Not - Not as often as I like to let on,” Erika admitted.
“Guess not,” Nick answered. He shook his head. “Well, here goes.
I’ll break you in a little. Don’t blame me if I sperm you. I’ll do my
best not to.”
“Ah, God! Do what you wish!” Erika said. “Fuck your friends and their
party.”
“No, this is just preparation,” Nick answered. “We cum in the cave,
not out here. Try not to scream so much, or I’ll have to gag you. We
shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves.”
“It - doesn’t matter,” Erika said, clearly willing to drive herself all
the way, if she could.
“Damn you’re so tight and beautiful!” Nick answered. And then he gave
a loud, almost warlike cry, despite his wish not to, for he was jamming
himself up her again, and finding her deliciously difficult going.
We stood on the deck of the boat, looking rather ridiculous, I thought,
for we all wore neat, brand-new tennis shoes, their laces tied, but
otherwise we wore little, if anything else.
Nick and Erika were totally naked, except for their shoes. Erika
fetched her visor from where she’d left it earlier in the afternoon,
replaced it on her head. She did nothing to try to reclaim her torn
panties or bra. They were quite useless now, unwearable, and hardly
wearable, in my opinion, when they were new.
Nick’s cock stood upright. It reminded me of a doorknob, except it was
much longer, though at least as thick. And real doorknobs didn’t drip
pre cum from their tip.
Erika smiled at Nick. He’d ridden her hard, but managed to pull out at
the last minute. He was hard as a rock for the party, and by the
haggard look on his face you could see he was desperate. Yet he stood
idly next to the rope railing that enclosed the ship’s deck, keeping us
safe from the water. He breathed, letting his cock rise and fall with
his breath. I gazed at him, frankly, then away, like a shy 2-year-old
girl wishing to explore the world, but wishing to remain safe too,
clutching at her mommy, then venturing off, then running back to her to
clutch at her again. He watched my darting eyes and smiled to himself.
I might go into his party a virgin, but he knew I wouldn’t come out
one. I perhaps knew that, or perhaps didn’t, or perhaps kidded myself
that I would do just as I wished, whenever I wished, and emerge from the
party in whatever condition I chose.
Erika rubbed her pussy. She was sore, at the juncture between her
legs. She smiled at Larissa and me. We would be sore too, before
tomorrow, before we returned to the boat, her eyes seemed to say. I did
not wish to acknowledge this. I avoided her gaze.
“Girls, I’m going to prepare you now,” Erika told us. She ordered us
to stand straight and we did, the sun warming our bodies as we waited
for her instructions on the deck of the boat. In her hand she held a
big, fresh tub of ice cream. It was cold, and she held it with a dish
towel, so as not to suffer the feel of it upon her hand. In her other
hand she held an ice cream scooper. I liked ice cream. If this was our
‘preparation,’ I didn’t see anything worth objecting to. I still wished
to look mature, despite my childish misgivings. I waited quietly as she
touched herself again between her legs with a finger, dextrously holding
the ice cream scooper in the same hand, and then advanced to us.
Erika had opened the top of the ice cream container already. Now she
lifted her scooper, and dug into the ice cream inside. She lifted out a
big hunk of vanilla ice cream.
“Don’t you have chocolate? I like chocolate better,” Larissa objected,
seeing what flavor it was. I opened my mouth, prepared to recieve the
ice cream. I was wordless, my back straight. We were two disciples
standing at attention, and Erika’s eyes told us she was pleased with our
posture.
“It really doesn’t matter what flavor it is, dear,” Erika said. We
happened to be standing by a table, by chance, I supposed, a small
folding card table that had not cards on it but a tube of sun tan
lotion, and somebody’s half finished drink. There was a book, “The
Story of O.” Erika had been reading it all afternoon but I hadn’t asked
what it was about. It was a paperback, with a boring white cover. I
assumed it was about boating, with its white cover, for sailors wore
white hats, and Erika had been wearing a white bikini, and her visor was
white. Erika nudged aside the book as she set the box of ice cream down
on the table. I glanced at her, at her scooper, my mouth still open,
childlike, waiting to be fed.
Erika ignored my mouth. Instead, her fingers reached for the front of
my panties. She caught at the hem, where the panties, too short to
cover my pubic hair like they should, ended. I thought she would pull
my panties up higher, or try to, to keep me modest. Instead, to a soft
breath of surprise from me, she pulled them open. Like a pouch, except
I had nothing inside, no ‘equipment,’ as boys have, just the soft fleecy
fur of my pubic mound, slipping under me to the moist lips of my cunt.
“Such a little swimsuit, but really, you should have something more
than just your pussy in it, don’t you think?” Erika asked.
“No,” I answered, or was about to, when suddenly I shrieked. Erika
pressed the ice cream scooper to my belly, inverted it, and dropped that
big, freezing ball of ice cream right into my pulled-open panties!
“EEEEHOOOOOCH!” I shouted, not caring if wicked hunters, stalking game
in the woods, heard me.
“Keep your posture straight! Hands at your sides!” Erika snapped at
me.
“Ohhh! Why did you DO that?” I cried. I clutched at the front of my
panties. I was going to try to get the ice cream out when I realized
that the pressure of my hands, pressing against the outside of my
swimsuit, had already smooshed the ice cream into my pussy. “OOOOHHHH!”
I shouted. It was so cold! I felt ice cream run in rivulets down the
insides of my thighs. They felt like currents of ice against my
sun-warmed skin.
“Control!” Erika said to me, hotly. She dropped the ice cream scooper
on the card table and grabbed at my wrists. She pulled them away from
my crotch. “You are not a child anymore, Bambi,” Erika warned me.
“Behave like an adult. Did you see me cum on Nick’s prick?”
“You tried,” I breathed, still freezing in my dell.
“I tried, but he withdrew too soon for me to achieve fulfillment,”
Erika told me. “Though he did make me sore,” she added, her eyes
rueful. “Now stand still, hands by your sides. I’m not through with
you yet. Baby girls have to be tied for this. You should not need
that.”
“No,” I said. My teeth chattered. Yet I let her place my hands
against my thighs. They felt warm. My whole body felt warm, standing
there in the sun. All except where I needed to feel warm most, in my
private, in my soft special place between my legs. I pressed my palms
hard to my thighs and waited while Erika fetched the ice cream container
and the scooper again.
“Now for you, Larissa dear,” Erika said. Her eyes had the wanton look
of a woman who had not cum, but wished to, and now was just a tad
crazy. Yet she had too a smooth, silken grace, tossing back her blonde
hair, as if she did not mind having her fulfillment prolonged, somewhere
deep down in her core. Prolonging it only promised to make it, when it
finally came, all the more explosive.
“Oh, please don’t!” Larissa begged. But she stood at attention,
gripping her thighs, waiting. We were sun-toasted, tanned, spoilt with
free drinks and the leisure to do as we wished, but it was all for a
purpose. A wicked purpose.
Nick appeared beside us. “I’m sorry, but there’s too much screaming
going on on this boat,” Nick said. “I don’t want someone stealing it,
leaving us to walk back. And you girls are both supposedly runaways
now. I can’t be sure someone isn’t out looking for you.” With that, he
produced a pair of gags. They were made of black cloth. How awful it
was, expecting to be fed ice cream, only to be gagged. Nick stepped
behind me and wrapped the gag over my mouth. I tried to breathe, found
I had to do it through my nose. My mouth was blocked. Nick tied the
gag securely behind my neck. It hemmed in my long hair, which, trailing
down my back, now had to suffer the binding of a gag’s knotted ends
across it, though the rest of me was very quickly being stripped bare.
“Tie... please tie my hands. I won’t be able to stand it,” Larissa
told Nick.
“Ah, we should go inside then,” Nick said. “This will take awhile, I
can see, with you two. I don’t want you standing out here forever in
the hot sun. You’re tanned enough. I wish you no browner.”
We were led indoors. Into the rec room. Erika turned off the
television. ‘Get Smart’ was playing, but we weren’t going to get smart,
I supposed. We were going to be bad girls.
Erika was soft, sexy, her words cooing in our ears as she made us stand
straight and tall in the middle of the room. She bent and untied our
sneakers. She pulled them off our feet. The carpet felt soft under my
toes, my heels. It was a deep, plush carpet. I liked the feel of it.
It was comforting.
Nick got a plastic bag, and a towel. He spread both on the carpet.
The bag first, which was a big Glad bag, then the towel. We were moved
to one side, to stand on the towel, to keep the carpet from getting
messy.
Erika told Nick where he could find ropes. He opened a trunk, in a
closet. He pulled out two long white ropes.
“Do you know how to tie a knot?” Erika asked him.
“Sure,” Nick answered.
“Good,” Erika said. “Bring me the riding crop from the trunk, dear.”
Nick did. It was a big, long, swishy thing, all covered in black
leather. It frightened me. There were no horses on board the boat.
What need did Erika have of one of those things?
Erika picked up several roses that stood in a vase on the shelves where
the T.V. was installed. Their stems dripped water as she drew them
out. There were no thorns on the stems. They had all been shorn off,
by someone. Erika swished the crop as she walked over to us with the
handful of roses. The crop made an awful, slicing sound in the air.
“Put these in your mouth,” Erika told Larissa. She made my friend part
her lips. She inserted the stems of the roses between her teeth. “Now
bite down, bite down on them,” Erika told Larissa. “Make them your
gag. You must be trained not to need a gag, though asking for ropes,
perhaps, is acceptable.” Erika glanced at Nick. “Men like ropes,” she
said.
Larissa stared into the room, avoiding the eyes of our wicked
companions. We both knew something new was coming, something we’d never
experienced before. Did we want it? I didn’t know? Larissa bit hard
on her rose stems and waited. I breathed into my gag.
“Turn around, girls,” Erika said. “Hands behind your backs. Nick must
tie them. That’s it, turn, both of you, Bambi,” Erika warned me, for I
was a little slow in doing it. Larissa and I presented our backs to
Nick and Erika. “Push out your behinds,” Erika said.
What? I couldn’t believe it. Yet I obeyed, perhaps too aroused by the
presence of Nick to resist. “Offer your hands, cross them behind you so
Nick can easily tie them,” Erika told us.
I crossed my wrists, rested them on the uppermost curve of my ass,
where it met my back. I felt comfortable, somehow, despite the flights
of butterflies taking off in my stomach. I was no longer worried about
whether I would measure up to Nick’s wishes. He would see that I did.
I would not be capable of denying him, no matter how much my conscience
might tell me to.
Nick wrapped the soft, white rope around my arms. He couldn’t help
prodding my virgin ass with his big, drippy penis. It wet me, but the
moisture was warm, not like the ice cream running down from between my
legs. Gradually the rope lifted my hands, bound up my arms, so that,
standing with my ass arched back, as Erika kept insisting, I was left
with myself feeling like some police station prisoner. I was waiting
for the plunger. It would be used on me and I would confess everything
I knew. Everything I didn’t know, too.
I glanced back. My half-trapped mane of hair swished on the slope of
my back.
“Dip. Dip the lower part of your back, dear,” Erika said. She pressed
in on my tummy, guiding me, moving me, positioning me. I found myself
standing awkwardly with my ass out, my back sloping then tucked in at
its lowest point, making, I feared, a spectacle out of the private
portions of me, the hind parts that should have been shielded from
everyone’s eyes by my panties. But I’d pulled my panties down in back,
lying on the bed, looking at the woods, sipping my ice cream soda. My
conscience had warned me to pull them back up but I’d ignored it.
Erika laid the crop across my bare ass. I felt my cheeks tense. What
was she doing? I wasn’t a pony, I was a girl! Erika slid the crop back
and forth across my rear end as if it were a violin. The crop felt
wickedly hard, yet there was a tension in it, an undeniable flexibility.
“You have a lovely rump,” Erika complimented me.
“Thank you,” I wanted to answer, but it seemed silly, being
complimented on one’s fanny!
“It will be the life of the party,” Erika told me. Those words sent
chills down my spine. How could -- How could my *bottom* be the life of
anyone’s party?
THE END ? (hopefully she’ll write more - h.j.)
Remember, this story isn’t for boys. It’s for *girls only*. (And keep
your sticky hands off it, holy joe!)
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
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