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From: Andrew Roller <andrewroller@sprintmail.com>
Subject: Party Pussies part 3 of 4 (NND)
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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PARTY PUSSIES
Chapter Three
We drove along a dirt road in Robin’s limo. He had substantial
assets, I found, though he’d have to be careful in spending them for,
having sold all his drug routes to Jake, he would get no new income.
Now, after several years of hard work, he was intent on enjoying
himself. And Bethany and I were to enjoy ourselves with him too, as his
love slaves. I found that, with a man you admire (if not, perhaps,
love, for I wonder if I wasn’t still too young for love in those days),
being a love slave isn’t too bad. It certainly beat lying around at
home, fighting with my mother, and going to boring classes at school
every day.
The night had begun with dancing. Robin had danced with both
Bethany and I, at a small, exclusive club. The cover charge was high.
It permitted him to let us dance freely, with whomever we wished,
without fights breaking out over who might take us home. Everyone knew
we belonged to Robin, and they could only have us with his permission.
So I felt free to dance with other men, and even slowdance with them,
without provoking Robin’s jealousy. Bethany, despite her makeup and
lovely hairdressed hair, was thought too young by some, and left to make
figures in PlayDoh at our dinnertable, occupied by presents the club
gave to visiting children. She danced sometimes but, declaring herself
pooped, would then sit at our table and sip sodas and build PlayDoh
dinosaurs and Barbi’s, or color aimlessly in a coloring book about Child
Safety. Doing this, of course, though it was only her way of passing
the time enjoyably, scared away even more of the male dancers. So she
was left often to herself, though seemed not to mind it, drinking
endless quantities of soda pop, all the different flavors, while I
strutted my stuff on the dancefloor. Robin, meanwhile, enjoyed the
company of other ladies. He danced with them and I made the rounds of
the men. I think he was even given a quick suck by one female or two,
off in the darkness, but I could hardly blame him, for I sucked upon the
tool of a man I found especially wonderful, though I did it without, I
think, Robin knowing, and was careful not to make him cum.
In the limo, our dancing done, the moon setting low against the
Mexican hills, rode Robin and I, and Bethany, and another couple. (It
did not include, however, the man I’d blown; he’d gotten off, I think,
in the mouth of another female, and gone home with her.) Also in our
limo there was a woman. She had bright blue eyes but long, wavy brown
hair. She was wealthy, but young. She reminded me of Eveline. Her
name was Petra. We were going to her estate. She owned it outright,
not sharing it with any man. She had beckoned Robin to let her
entertain all of us there. We had never met before, except this
evening, at the club. I sensed we would be spending the night there.
It was far out in the country and, surely, we would have to sleep there,
for the midnight hour had passed and we could not make the journey back
to our beds at Robin’s before wishing for some slumber.
But, as yet, as we drove out to her estate, our bodies still
surged with energy from dancing and we felt a desire for adventure.
Petra wore a small gold chain around her throat. From it hung
an amulet. It was in the shape of a small, golden whip. I sensed it
served as warning for her interests, yet Robin had aquiesced in our
visiting her place, enjoying whatever it was she had to offer us by way
of entertainment. With us rode another couple she’d invited. Or would
the description ‘snared’ be better? Their names were Tom and Ginger.
He was tall and good-looking, she was young and lovely. She was in
college, I think, and he was just starting at medical school somewhere
on the east coast. They were in Mexico looking for pleasure before the
world of work and school captured them, back home, and put them to the
grindstone.
Behind our limo a plume of dust rose, but we were safe from it,
in the car. I heard the crunching of stones underneath the limo’s
tires. The road was unpaved; half dust, half crushed rock, all
intermingled. Perhaps at one time the road had been freshly laid with
rock but in the intervening years there had no longer been enough money
to keep it that way. I sensed Petra was from a wealthy Mexican family
whose fortunes had declined. Now she alone remained, inheriting the
family estate at a young age, living, perhaps, a life of gentility
still, but without the vast wealth her father may have possessed in his
day, before labor and land reforms were passed into law.
So the road, once paved with stone, was now mostly dirt, with
just half-forgotten patches of rock, remnants of the family’s former
glory. All this I speculated on, in my mind, asking just a little of
Petra, so as not to embarrass her too much. Our conversation was light,
noncommital, though we might be quite serious in our play with each
other in an hour or two.
Robin, unless he’d sprayed himself into the mouth of the woman
who’d favored him at the disco, was, I guessed, full of sperm. I felt a
little like his wife, speculating about that. But Bethany and I, though
we shared his bed, had been left alone in his house for the last week,
with only an illiterate, Spanish-speaking servant to tend to our needs.
He had been out making money, doing something, I know not what. But his
house had a backyard pool, and so we’d found ourselves quite well
entertained, Bethany and I, splashing like children in his pool while he
was out earning more money to provide for us. We kept our tops and
bottoms on, though, for he favored seeing our most intimate parts all
lovely and white, just as Malthus had, though we might tan our legs and
arms and backs and faces as much as we wished.
Malthus, he had given Bethany and I up so freely. Had he been
in on the bargain? I did not know. Perhaps Jake had been forced to
divvy up Robin’s routes with Malthus. Surely our former master had
gotten something for our bodies. Or perhaps not; spilling his seed,
perhaps his passion for us had dimmed. Men are strange sometimes,
especially when they are older, like Malthus. One minute they are hard
and pulsing with love. The next moment, having spent themselves, they
are old again, and do not care. Perhaps Malthus had given up Bethany
and I in the aftermath of spilling his seed, not really caring for us as
he had when he was hard and desperate. His little neices were coming to
visit. Perhaps, he’d decided, to clear the house of us so that he could
devote his full attention to them.
Yes, I knew that must be it. I shuddered. Even now they might
be stark naked, forced to serve him, or being served by him, whether
they wished it or not. Their bottoms might be tasting their first taste
of leather, sharply applied.
I squirmed in my seat. Robin, despite his lust for Bethany and
I, had yet to pierce our bottoms with his tool. He had been so busy
rodding our cunts, in the days when we first arrived at his estate, that
he’d had not had time yet to fuck us in that forbidden way. And the
whip, too, we had not yet tasted at his hand. I knew sometime we must.
It seemed to be a right of passage, a rite of love, down here amongst
the wealthy in Mexico. Yet we had been so frisky in the normal ways of
love that we had not yet gotten round it.
Now, though, Robin had been away from us a week, working to
earn more money. I knew his balls must be close to bursting. Petra, I
thought, must have known it too, for she looked at him slyly, as a snake
measures up a bird as it rises to strike it. Tom and Ginger sat across
from us, sipping drinks. Ginger stroked Tom’s thigh, rubbing her slim
fingers across his trousers. Bethany, sitting next to me, let out a
burp.
“Bethany, you’re drinking too much soda,” I said to her. She
was sucking on yet another soda pop, this one grape flavored.
“I know,” Bethany said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“We’ll be there in another minute or two,” Petra said. “Can
you hold it ‘till then?” It was a frank question. Our probings of each
other, in conversation, had not yet reached such a level as that
before. Ginger laughed, nervously. Tom cleared his throat.
“Yes, I think so,” Bethany said. She wiggled.
“And you, Lisa, do you have to pee too?” Petra asked me. Her
eyes were bright. The whip dangling from her throat glowed as a shard
of moonlight pierced through the window of our limo.
“I-- yes,” I answered.
“Good,” Petra said. “And you, Ginger?”
“Well I--” Ginger said. She stiffened, then relaxed. It was
silly to be affronted, I guessed, for we had all agreed, I think, to
surrender our privacy when first we stepped into Robin’s limo, intent on
going to Petra’s.
Ginger was the same age as Petra and finally the young woman,
looking at her, nodded quietly in agreement. We all had to pee.
“Fine,” Petra said. “We shall make a party of it, then. And
much else too.” She sounded like a widow who has been without her
pleasures and is eager to return to the marital bed. I had a feeling
we’d be accompanying her. Petra looked at Robin. “May I slip out of my
skirt?”
Robin nodded. He watched her as she reached behind herself and
undid the zipper at the back of her skirt. Petra raised her hips, doing
it, struggled a little, then got the zipper to go and it unzipped,
letting us all hear it, for it was quiet as the limo ground slowly over
the soft dirt in the road.
“You too,” Robin said to me. I gave a quiet gulp. “Do Bethany
first,” he told me.
I reached behind Bethany. She squeaked, clutching her soda
pop, as I made her lift her bottom off the seat. I found the zipper of
her dress and undid it, drawing it down. Tom, I saw out of the corner
of my eye, persuaded Ginger to let him undo her dress. Unlike Petra and
Beth, who wore skirts, Ginger wore an elegant full-length dress. She
had no bra on underneath and she would bare her bosoms in the process of
baring her hips. I wore jeans. When I’d drawn Bethany’s skirt down her
bare legs I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down to my ankles.
I wore boots over my pants legs. I reached down to get my
jeans off them somehow.
“No. Leave them,” Robin told me.
“Huh?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Leave your pants on. Just like that, wound around your
calves, with your boots holding them up,” Robin said.
“But they’ll hobble me,” I protested. I couldn’t walk too well
with my pants around my legs, down near my ankles!
“I know,” Robin answered. “Now pull down your panties.”
I was forced to obey. I felt my bare bottom make contact with
the leather seat of Robin’s limo. I gasped, wondering if it was a
portent of other leather I’d feel, touching my bottom, before the dawn
broke in the eastern sky. Petra eyed me with warm, possessive eyes.
Bethany laughed. Robin noticed that only her skirt had been removed and
ordered her to take down her panties.
Across from me, Tom helped Ginger out of her dress. He looked
like a man unwrapping a gift. Ginger was tall, elegant. Her bosoms, as
the dress fell away, were revealed to be sumptuous, melon-shaped, with
upturned nipples waiting to be sucked. Her hips were waspishly thin.
Her pussy hair, matching her hair on her head, proved her to be a
natural blonde. She’d worn no panties to the nightclub and now, as her
dress was removed, she was left utterly naked, with only bracelets on
her wrists, earrings, and her shoes to keep her a civilized woman. She
shook her hair. It fell in gold ringlets down around her shoulders. It
was pretty hair. I did not know if it was naturally curly or that way
after hours of sitting in a chair at a beauticians. Ginger’s nails were
perfect, sculpted and long and painted red. She lifted her flute of
wine that she’d been drinking to her lips and I watched as she drank
nakedly from the glass. She was as elegant and cultered now as she’d
been a moment before, when she still possessed her dress. She would be
a formidable competitor, I knew, in the bedroom, if matters ever came to
that. I glanced at Tom. His interest had risen, visibly, for his
well-endowed crotch now actually stuck up within his trousers,
banana-like. He was looking at Ginger.
Tom glanced at me. I retained my top still, a knotted off
blouse that showed my tummy. I smiled. His eyes passed to Bethany.
She sucked diligently on her soda, through a straw passed up through her
lips, sucking on it, I think, rather sexily, or perhaps only childishly,
working her lips as she drank. She had on a little vest. Beneath it,
she wore a black, lacy bra. Like me, she was bare from the waist down,
showing her muff, her slit warmly tucked up between her naked legs. Yet
her feet were free to move. Mine were captured and held by my pants,
ringing my calves. One foot could not move wihout the other following
it, in unison. Bethany kicked her legs back and forth. Her feet didn’t
quite touch the floor of the limo.
The limo stopped. We stepped out, clad as we were. If the
driver noticed our nudity, he did not show it. He opened the door on my
side of the limo. I let Ginger get out first, then Tom. I needed help
myself, for my legs were bound by my pants. Bethany darted out in front
of me, climbing over me. Then Petra and Robin helped me out.
“Wash the limo,” Robin told his driver. He looked at Petra.
“There is a hose out back, behind the house,” she told Robin’s
driver. There is a small utility room there with sponges and buckets
and soap.”
“Yes,” Robins’ driver answered. He was Spanish, dressed in a
full uniform. He tipped his hat. He pretended not to notice the big
banana-like protrusion in the front of Robin’s pants. Tom sported a
similar protrusion. It was obvious, with my hips and legs bare, and
Bethany’s, with Ginger fully naked, and Petra bare from the waist down,
that we would be spending our night in the throes of passion, yet the
driver was proper in his manner, as if in the presence of well-dressed
partiers at a Governor’s ball. He retreated to the limo’s cab and
waited for us to get inside before starting the engine again. The limo
sat on the dirt road, there would be dust when it rolled forward.
We walked up a sidewalk to the front door of Petra’s house. It
was large, and dark, with only a single light glowing in one window.
Trees crowded round the house, though beyond lay only fields, with corn
softly rustling in them. I listened to the night sounds. An owl, the
sound of a cat, somewhere, meowing. The moon was passing behind the
hills far out in the fields, turning orange as it dipped below the
horizon.
“Oooh, pretty!” Bethany said, staring at the moon. The light
it cast was broken up by the trees, which covered our bodies in shadow.
Petra rummaged for her keys in her purse.
“Yes. Here they are,” Petra said. “I think my servant’s
sleeping. There’s no need to wake her now.”
Petra unlocked the door to her house. She went in first,
turning on a light. We followed. Bethany lingered a little, staring at
the moon. Petra went back out and fetched her in.
“Don’t you have to pee?” Petra asked Bethany.
“Oh, yes. I forgot,” Bethany said. But, remembering, she
asked to be taken right away to the bathroom. Her hips wiggled a little
as she spoke. Petra laughed, asked us if we’d like to go too. I needed
to pee, though not as badly as Bethany evidently did. Still, I wished
not to make a spectacle of it. But Robin, his hand pressing to my bare
seat, pushed me forward. I found myself impelled down a hall, Bethany
and Petra leading the way, myself and Robin following, Tom and Ginger,
holding hands, taking up the rear.
We entered a large, luxurious toilet. It was covered on its
floor and ceiling in blue tile. They made the room dark, though the
light from the vanity and the sink did its best to illuminate our
wickedness. There was but one toilet. Bethany sat down first, quickly,
as if to beat me to the potty, lest I make her wait instead. Still
sucking on her grape soda, clutching the bottle with both hands, she
pissed out her pee loudly into the toilet.
Petra took her bottle. “Now wipe,” Petra told her.
“In front of everybody?” Bethany asked. She looked up at
Petra, her bottle of grape soda, seemed to wish to take back the soda
and sit, drinking it, on the toilet, until it was finished.
“Wipe,” Petra said. “Or I will do it for you.”
“Ohhh, I don’t like being watched,” Bethany said. But she
unrolled the toilet paper and wadded up sufficient of it to put between
her legs and wipe away her pee.
I was next. I pissed, looking at Robin, then at Tom.
“Unzip yourselves,” Petra said pleasantly to Robin and Tom.
“You aren’t planning to pee in your pants, are you?”
“Uh, no,” Robin admitted. Under Petra’s watchful eyes he
unzipped his fly. His penis sprang forth from his pants, once he’d
parted his underwear to let it out. Bethany, silly girl, let out a
small cry, as if surprised by its length and thickness, though she’d
tasted the full throbbing of it up her cunt already, in his bed.
Tom unleashed himself. He was huge, big as Robin, and I found
myself gasping as I regarded him. I wiped away my pee, staring at his
member. Ginger saw me glued to him, with my eyes, but said nothing. I
felt embarrased. I rose from the toilet, put my hands over my dell, but
my eyes stayed on Tom’s penis.
Ginger sat down next. She peed, and as she did so Petra opened
a cabinet and drew out a long whip. She walked over to where Ginger sat
on the toilet and dangled the tip of the whip around Ginger’s boobs.
“Oh!” Ginger said, surprised. Indeed, I drew back myself, for
the whip had a knotted tip and looked long and ropy, sure to cause pain
if it was struck against one’s body, especially in the tender places.
“Tom, has your wife tasted leather before?” Petra asked,
looking at Tom, with his penis displayed, as she dangled the whip over
Ginger.
“She’s not my wife. Just my girlfriend,” Tom said.
“Oh, all the better then,” Petra said. “You might apply the
whip with more callousness then.” Briefly Petra lifted the whip and
then smacked it down, cracking the air just in front of Ginger’s right
nipple.
“Yeek!” Ginger said. Despite her lovely, cultured appearance,
the young woman stiffened. Her eyes widened in fright. Then, seeing
she’d not actually been hit, she relaxed a little. But her small palms
swept up to her bosoms and covered her risen teats.
“Your husband. I mean, you lover. Has he ever been
disciplined on his bottom?” Petra asked Ginger.
“No. No,” Ginger said. Yet she smiled a little as she uttered
the second ‘no.’ She looked with wanton eyes at Tom. She licked her
lips.
“Perhaps it is time he was,” Petra said.
“Perhaps,” Ginger agreed. I felt a flush of desire as I
imagined poor Tom, tied down over a trestle, with the women flaying his
bare buns. He had tight ones, so tight you might lose your finger if
you tried to pry your way into them. I felt a need to rub my pussy and
found myself doing so, before I could stop myself.
“BOTH men should be whipped,” Bethany said, beside me, sipping
her grape soda. Like me, she’d placed a hand on her dell and was
fingering her slit.
“And so should little girls who masturbate,” Petra said.
Bethany’s hand darted away from her loins. But I, having been using
mine to keep myself modest, kept diddling myself a little, hoping they
didn’t notice that one of my fingers was between my legs.
“Come, the moon has set but there are still a few hours left to
the night,” Petra said. “First we shall indulge ourselves, and
afterward give each other little tests, with the whip and otherwise.”
“Don’t you wish to pee?” Ginger said, wiping herself and rising
from the toilet.
“I do, but I’ve thought of a more interesting way to do it,”
Petra replied. “For myself, and the men too.” She looked at both Tom
and Robin. “Can you hold it, awhile? I do not have to go too badly.”
“Yes,” Tom answered.
“Okay,” Robin said. They were both intrigued by her proposal.
Ginger, deprived now of her own pee, seemed a little peeved that Petra
had tricked her out of it, while retaining her own. Yet she said
nothing.
“Take off all your clothes,” Petra said to me, to Bethany, to
Tom and Robin. “Then we shall have a little sit in the living room,
playing with ourselves. You will enjoy it. I shall have to wake the
maid, though, for we’ll need her services.”
Leaving us thrumming with desire, especially the men, whose
cocks stood out from their bodies like masts in search of sails, or a
flag, Petra left us. She pulled off her blouse as she walked, dropping
it in the hall. She called aloud for the maid.
“Wild,” Tom said to Robin.
“Yeah,” Robin agreed. They both pulled off their jackets and
shirts and undid their ties as Bethany and I got off the rest of our
clothes. Ginger, naked already, walked up to Tom and boldly began
stroking his cock. Then, seeing him fully erect, she went to Robin, and
frankly checked the state of his erection with her fingertips. I was
jealous, but too busy pulling my boots off my feet to interfere.
The tiled bathroom had a big mirror over the sink that
stretched past the toilet. It was one of those mirrors that, while not
a full-length mirror, was low enough to the floor to show one’s genitals
when one was naked.
We gazed at ourselves. I looked at the men in particular, for
they were both without pants now. Their cocks looked huge in the
mirror, big sausages both, and both, I was quite sure now, a full week
since their last spending. I walked up to Tom. I touched my finger to
the tip of his penis. I looked at Ginger. My eyes questioned. She
grinned at me knowingly, nodded. Yes, she said, sharing secrets about
her boyfriend without having to speak them. He was full. Quite full.
Her eyes widened. Her eyebrows lifted, questioning whether Robin was as
her Tom was. I nodded, silently. Yes, he was as full as her
boyfriend.
I shivered a little. I drew my hand back from Tom’s cock. I
was as nude as he was, and Robin. I knew they would both need to fuck
hard and long to relieve themselves of their spermy burdens. I touched
myself where my legs met. I would be sore there, in the morning. All
of us females would be.
Petra returned with the maid. She was an older woman, too old
to show herself in the nude. Yet despite her age she was still trim,
and she bore herself with a regal aspect I had not expected. She was
Indian, I think, one of the old Incas, still pure in blood despite the
Spanish takeover of her country. I felt a bit like an interloper,
standing here nude, on her ancient lands, contemplating copulation. Yet
she only regarded me with amusement. As if to say, “Oh, a tourist girl,
come down here to enjoy the sights and have some excitement.” Yet there
was a slight maliciousness in her gaze, as if she were privy to things I
might experience that I did not yet know of.
The maid’s eyes turned to the men. They beheld her, as I did,
with some embarrassment. For their part, they were quite visibly in a
state of arousal. I only had my nipples to give me away, and a slight
sheen of dew where my legs met. The poor men, though, had their big
peckers, sticking straight up, throbbing eagerly, with their balls
hanging taut underneath, hoping to spend any moment. Tom, who was
Mexican, stiffened, tried to regard the Incan woman with the superiority
of the conquering race. But with his big dick hanging out, it was
rather difficult, and he succumbed to blushes instead. Robin, half
American, half Mexican, felt, perhaps, more like myself, an interloper.
He flushed as a man does who is caught peeing outdoors, in the bushes,
where he doesn’t belong.
“Ah, you’ve met my maid,” Petra said. She glided back into the
room. She was fully nude now, like the rest of us. “Take off your
shoes, men. I want you quite naked,” she said, in a teasing voice. Tom
beat Steve to the toilet and sat down on it and undid his shoes.
Two men entered behind the maid. They were both Mexicans and,
from their looks, sunbeaten and wrinkled, Mexican laborers. They were
both short. Robin’s eyes blazed. He was only recently out of the drug
business. He stiffened, like a man expecting, perhaps, to be rubbed
out, attacked when he least expected it. How heroic he looked, his body
moving into a position one step away from fighting, all his muscles
tensing, his eyes alert, his lungs full. Yet, except for his shoes, he
was bare as a newborn, with his big penis sticking out vulnerably in
front of him.
“Don’t worry, Robin dear,” Petra said. “They simply wish to
watch. They are my gardeners. This is Alfonse, half-brother to my
maid. And this is Rico, her nephew. My maid is quite industrious, and
so are they. They deserve this small entertainment. I wish, too, for
us to push ourselves a bit this evening. I do not believe in sex for
mere pleasure. It must be a challenge. So remember, men, other men are
watching you, and when they gossip with their friends they will report
on your performance.”
Tom kicked off his shoes and stood. He had a frown on his
face. Yet, I sensed, he was too hard and erect in his loins to refuse
anything now, even this new intrusion. And Robin? I looked to him. I
think we all did. (Though, I confess, I didn’t know whether I wished
him to say ‘yea’ or ‘nay.’ It was wicked, being watched, but exciting
too. Some couples photograph their doings, and share the photos with
friends, or even take films of themselves.)
“Alright,” Robin said. “But if you have any other relations,
tell them to butt out. I don’t intend to become a porn star.”
“Of course not, dear,” Petra agreed. She sidled up next to him
and let her fingers caress his penis, making me jealous. “Of course
not.”
I heard footsteps. They sounded small, like some little
creature slipping into the house from outdoors. And then, turning again
to the door of the bathroom, my eyes widened in astonishment.
A girl stood in the doorway, between the maid and her cousins.
She was no more than eight. She had long legs (some might call them
‘spindly,’ though that would be cruel). Her hips were narrow, yet with
just a slight flare to them, promising greater amplitude as her body
matured. Upon her chest her nipples were already rising, twin bee-stung
buds of pleasure. Her lips were puffy and full, as if made for
kissing. They were pink and matched the pinkness of her nipples. Above
her lips she had a button nose and above that, great blue eyes. Her
hair was blonde and matted from sleeping. It fell in long, curly
strands down almost to her waist. Cloaked within her long mane of hair
was a pair of diminutive shoulders. She looked so thin-shouldered I
feared she might snap in two if she moved. Yet, just then, she did
move, lifting a hand to brush back her long, unkempt (but lovely!)
blonde hair.
Panties ringed the girl’s hips. They were cotton, and white,
with teddy bears and hearts printed upon them. Children’s underwear.
She was quite a few years shy of satin panties and lacy thongs. Her
belly button was an innie and graced her slim tummy. Her feet were
bare. Despite the fact that I guessed she must live here, with the
maid, her skin was white, as if her aunt kept her indoors, to protect
her lovely white skin from the sun.
“Ah yes, this is Bow,” Petra said. She was still stroking
Robin’s cock with one hand, but lifted the other, waving it at the small
girl, as if making introductions at a debutante’s ball. “Her real
name’s Bianca, but her father, who’s since passed away, named her ‘Bow,’
because he wished to teach her to be an archer, like he was. He was a
bullfighter too, but smoking got him, not the horns of any bull. Yet
archery was his second love and, I daresay, men, little Bow here is
quite the cupid, with her arrows, and if you become disobedient she is
the one to watch out for, as I might have her fetch her arrows and shoot
them at you.” With two fingers Petra compressed Robin’s cock, right in
the middle of his long stem, until Robin let out a small gasp of
annoyance.
“Sure, I’ll bet she could shoot an arrow right up my ass,
couldn’t she?” Tom asked, in a mocking voice, looking upon the small
blonde child with a conqueroring race’s contempt in his eyes.
“Yes, she could, I’m quite sure of it. So be sure to ask my
permission before you leave my estate. Especially if you intend to do
it bare-bottomed,” Petra said. Still holding Robin’s cock, she reached
for Tom’s, and caught it, applying the same two-fingered pressure to the
middle of his long shaft as she was currently applying to Robin.
“Why don’t you whack me off while you’re holding me?” Tom
asked.
“Oh no, dear. You must hold in your seed all night, I’m
afraid,” Petra said. “Did you think I invited you here just to give you
the leisure of spending? Hardly. You can spend -- I have no doubt of
that. What I want to know is how long you can hold it.”
Tom glanced anxiously at Ginger. But his girlfriend only
smiled back at him. No doubt she’d endured long nights under him, being
plumbed by his cock. Tonight, it seemed, there would be a twist to
their lovemaking, and she seemed to relish seeing him tormented a
little.
“But girls,” Petra said, just as I, too, was looking forward to
the events of the evening. “You will not be spared. Your punishments
will be different, but just as dire. Are you conscious of your bottoms,
hmmm? By morning you will be. You’ll think about them all day,
tomorrow. But first we shall enjoy ourselves, don’t worry. I do not
propose to make the night entirely unpleasant.”
I felt like an explorer, on the edge of an uncharted
continent. What did Petra have planned for us? I couldn’t begin to
guess. Something awful, I feared, yet I was too curious, and too damp
between my legs, to turn away now. I drew close to Bethany and clasped
her hand. She’d been unusually quiet, ever since little Bow had
wandered into our presence. I think the littler girl made Bethany want
to seem more mature. She might have complained, on another night, about
the wicked things Petra had planned for us, but now, seeing little
wide-eyed Bow, she wished, I suppose, to not be a little girl in her
manners.
“Take off your panties, Bow,” Petra said to the girl. She left
the men and walked briskly over to the girl. She bent down. She caught
at the edge of the girl’s hip and yanked down her small underpants. Bow
gave a shriek. But she lifted her hands to her mouth, instead of
protecting her loins, and her panties were drawn rapidly down her legs.
“We’re going to party, dear. You won’t need your panties
tonight,” Petra explained. I thought it rather an inadequate
explanation. Surely an 8-year-old girl did not have to give up her
panties to attend a party? Yet Petra pulled off the girl’s panties,
leaving her hairless muffin exposed. I wanted to run and cover it with
my hand.
“Why is she so blonde?” Tom asked. He seemed to feel a need to
speak, perhaps to reprove the girl for being present, for his cock was
quite rigid. I suppose he feared being a pervert, seeing the girl
without her panties on.
“Her mother was an actress from Los Angeles, though her father
was a bullfighter,” Petra explained. “So she has her mother’s looks, I
suppose. But her aunt, my maid Verona, here, fears the girl may turn
brownskinned, and keeps her out of the sun as a result. She wishes for
her to go to America someday, and become an actress. Is that not right,
Verona?” Petra inquired. Languidly she passed her hands through the
small girl’s blonde hair.
“Yes, she is half Mexican, half Anglo, but not Incan. So I
keep her from the sun, my little white girl. Someday she will be
Marilyn Monroe,” Verona replied.
Bow, future star of the silver screen, squirmed a little under
Petra’s fingers. She looked up at Petra with wide eyes. “May I go to
the bathroom?” she asked in a high, squeaky voice. Her hands clasped
her hairless dell. Petra looked down at the girl, smiled. She had just
awoken. Hustled from her bed, she hadn’t been given a chance to visit
the bathroom.
“Yes, dear,” Petra said. The girl skipped from her grasp.
“Make way, men, lest you intend to be pedophiles,” Petra said. Tom and
Robin still stood near the toilet, which they’d used to sit upon to
untie their shoes. Now, seeing little Bow approaching, they both darted
away from it, from her, like timid soldiers making way for an empress.
Bow reached the big commode and lifted herself up onto it. Then,
sitting primly, her feet dangling and kicking back and forth aimlessly,
she released her pee into the bowl.
PISSSSS! sounded in the bathroom, as the girl, daintily as she
could, peed in front of all of us. Tom looked at Robin. I saw him
swallow. Did he fear falling in love with this little waif? She looked
up at the men on either side of her. Her eyelashes fluttered, as if
flirtateously, though, indeed, on such a small child it may merely have
been an innocent gesture, perhaps an attempt to blink the sleep from her
eyes. The men’s penises stood out stiffly, as if they were truncheons,
used to guard a queen and keep her from harm. No doubt, if any other
men had entered, other than those already present, both Tom and Robin
would have leapt to protect little Bow from the interloper’s eyes. Such
a small girl should not be seen like this, sitting nude on the potty,
squirting pee from her lovelips. Yet it was too late for Robin and Tom
themselves to avert their eyes, and so we all looked at her, and she at
us, we as nude as she, though hopefully her thoughts were more innocent
than ours. Bow’s panties, removed from her legs, lay at the door of the
bathroom. Verona bent and picked them up, folded them neatly, pocketed
them in an apron she wore around her waist. Apparently she didn’t mind
letting her little actress be used in this way, as a spectacle to taunt
the men.
Petra let Bow finish her peeing. “Don’t forget to wipe,” she
advised the girl. “Unless, that is, one of you men would like to do it
for her?” As she spoke she walked to a mirrored cabinet over the
bathroom’s broad sink.
“No,” Tom said.
“Not me,” Robin agreed.
“Oh, you men are such sissies,” Petra scolded. “Are you afraid
of her? She’s just a little girl.”
“That’s the problem,” Tom said.
“We really shouldn’t be looking at her,” Robin agreed.
“Oh, really?” Petra said. She opened the bathroom cabinet.
“Do you men plan to go through your whole lives, without ever seeing
your own kind, in the nude? You see nude puppies, and kittens, and
lambs. Yet you may never see your own kind, at a young age, like little
Bow here, in the nude?” Petra asked rhetorically. I think she didn’t
expect an answer. The men gave none, blushing instead. Their cocks
wiggled in front of them, like lightning rods waiting for sparks.
Little Bow, looking up at both men expectantly, finally unrolled some
toilet paper from the roll next to the toilet and wiped herself.
Petra took a tube of toothpaste from the bathroom cabinet.
“Girls,” she said. “As you can see here, I’ve got some Close-Up
toothpaste. Classic Red Gel. The perfect color to match your nipples.
We’re going to put this on our nipples, to show that we’re not afraid of
a little pain. It will sting a little, and burn, but that’s okay,
because we want to show that we’re willing to explore new territory
tonight, in the nude, even if it might hurt a little.” Boldly Petra
squirted a glob of Close-Up onto the tip of her long-nailed finger. She
touched it to her own nipple.
“Here, let me,” Ginger said. She rushed up to Petra and took
the tube from her. I looked at Bethany. I had not expected Ginger to
give in so easily. Was she feeling excited? I knew I was, but not for
anything that might hurt!
“I don’t need toothpaste on my nipples,” Bethany said. If
Petra heard her, she did not answer, for Ginger was busily applying the
translucent gel to her nipples. It made them shiny. When Ginger
finished, Petra took the tube from her. She did Ginger’s nipples for
her. The effect, I saw, of the toothpaste must be delayed, for neither
woman showed any signs yet of feeling the least bit of pain.
“Bethany, you’re next. And you too, Lisa,” Petra called.
“Oh, let me do her!” Bow piped up. She hopped down from the
toilet and gazed happily at Bethany.
“No,” Bethany said. But Petra and Ginger came for me, drew me
into their arms, leaving Bethany bereft. The women kissed me quickly,
tickled my tummy with their fingers, making me giggle. One of them, I’m
not sure which, touched my slit. Then, the toothpaste tube was raised
to my tits. I watched as they squirted it on the tips of my bosoms.
“Ooooh. Mine are starting to sting,” Petra admitted as she
rubbed the red gel onto my nipples.
“Mmmm. Yes,” Ginger agreed. She bit her upper lip.
“Yeek!” Bethany called out, behind us. I turned. To my
surprise, my horror, little Bow was kissing Bethany’s nipples. Her
mouth came up just to the level of Bethany’s boobs, if she stood on
tip-toe, and she fondled the girl’s breasts as if she might be a baby
looking for nourishment. Bethany, usually looking quite babyish
herself, suddenly struck me as having the appearance of a mother.
“Bow!” I cried. I wished to reprove the little nymph. She was
only eight. She should not be playing such games, even with Bethany.
“Tell her to stop sucking my tits,” Bethany told me. She
looked at me, exasperation in her eyes. I think, at 12, she didn’t have
the heart to slap the girl, as she might have, if she were a year or two
younger. Instead, rather beleagered, she stood trying to push the girl
back from herself, but feebly, for the little blonde’s tongue must have
been a source of delicious pleasure as it lapped at her tits. We were
all excited, our cunnies thrumming. I wished to push Petra and Ginger
away, but couldn’t, for their fingering of my pointy teats, after so
much flirting, was welcome.
“Ah, let Bow have the toothpaste now,” Ginger said to Petra.
Together the women released me. I was left with my tits smeared with
gel. I trembled, knowing my nipples would start burning any minute.
Together the two women, their hips swaying wantonly, their bottoms bare,
walked over to little Bow and handed her the Close-Up.
“Yes, your titties must be put to the test toooooo,” Bow smiled
at Bethany. I think Bethany was not wishing to be left out now, seeing
we’d all succumbed, and so she let little Bow squirt Close-Up on her
nipples.
“Ooooh, will it hurt?” Bethany asked, watching as Bow rubbed
the toothpaste across her warm areolas.
“Yes, some,” Ginger said. She suppressed a wince as her own
nipples felt the sting of the gel as it sank into them.
“It’s supposed to,” Petra said. “Will you want some on your
nipples tonight, Bow?”
“Oh, I’ve never dared to,” Bow said, finishing up with
Bethany’s breasts. Her fingers were nimble, quick. She stuck a dollop
of toothpaste in Bethany’s bellybutton.
“Yeek! Not there!” Bethany said. She wanted no more of the
awful gel than the rest of us had on ourselves.
“Yes! And in your pussy too!” Bow cried. She tried to stick
her finger into Bethany’s slit.
“No, that would be cruel,” Petra advised the small girl.
“Stand still, dear. It’s time you had some on your own titties if
you’re so eager to rub it all over everyone else.”
“Ohhh, I’m not sure about that,” Bow said. But she let Petra
take the toothpaste from her. Then, she stood very still, quite
obediently, I thought, considering she was only eight. Perhaps she
thought going through all this was necessary for her to become an
actress someday.
“I’m going to be Marilyn Manson when I grow up,” Bow told me.
Petra smeared toothpaste over her small little nipples, turning their
pink to cherry red.
“Not Marilyn Manson, dear. Marilyn Monroe,” Petra said to the
girl.
“I don’t want to be Marilyn Monroe. I want to be Marilyn
Manson. He’s scary. All my friends like watching his videos,” Bow
replied.
“There,” Petra said. “Now you’ve got toothpaste on your
nipples, just like we do. It will hurt a little, so you can wash yours
off if you need to.”
“No. I want to be just like you,” Bow replied bravely.
“Well,” Petra said, blushing. “Not exactly like us, dear.
We’re all going to get cocks up us before the night is through, but
you’ll just have to watch that part, okay?”
“No! JUST like you!” Bow said. She darted away, and ran to
Robin, and clutched at his big penis before he could pull it back from
her grasp.
Bow looked up at Robin with her big, innocent eyes. “Put your
thing in me!” Bow commanded.
“No way!” Robin answered. “I’d split you open, anyway. You
wouldn’t want that.”
“I want this. Going right up me,” Bow said. She shook Robin’s
penis, up and down, as she might shake a man’s hand if she met him out
in the street.
“Bow! Don’t be naughty! You’re only eight years old!” Petra
scolded the girl. She walked up behind the girl and, bending, gave her
small bottom a quick slap.
“Yeeowch!” Bow cried. Her hands let go of Robin’s dick and
flew to her slapped behind.
“You’ll have more men than you can handle in just a few years,
my dear, but right now I want you to try just a little to be good and
behave, alright?” Petra told the girl.
Bow rubbed her bottom.
“Okay,” she said. A tear formed in her eye, ran down her
cheek. Petra wiped it away. “Now go stand with your auntie. God my
nipples hurt! Go stand over there with her. We’ve one more thing to do
before we can go enjoy ourselves in the living room.”
Bow wandered back to her aunt, the maid, whom I wished would
whisk her back to bed, but instead only stroked her blonde moppet’s
head, plying her long blonde hair with her fingers, as if to comb it
that way. It did need brushing. She looked like a little sleepy-head,
roused from bed to play wicked games, games that were far too grown up
for her little body.
“Men, I’m going to grant you a little reprieve,” Petra said to
Robin and Tom. She went to the bathroom cabinet again. This time she
took from it a tube of lipstick. She took off the top of the tube. She
walked over to me and placed it into my hands. I saw it wasn’t
lipstick, but “Natural Ice.” It was the original flavor, with spearmint
leaves painted on the tube. I’d used it once on my lips, to keep them
from getting chapped. But I’d used the cherry flavor. I hadn’t used
this one.
“This will ease the tension in the men’s penises,” Petra told
me. I winced a little as I listened, for my nipples were stinging. I
wondered if she’d let me put some of this soothing lip balm on my tits.
But, looking into her big, sadistic brown eyes, I knew she wouldn’t.
“It will make them a little chilly, and will make them burn, just a
little. But mostly it will be a relief to them, having this soothing
balm rubbed all over their dicks and their balls. Get to work, Lisa!
You will do Tom’s boner, and Ginger will do Robin’s, so that the
opportunity we have to explore new things tonight isn’t wasted on old
loves.”
I glanced at Robin. He seemed not to mind her suggestion.
Then I looked at Ginger. She only bit her lip. Her nipples were
stinging, as mine were. So I hurried up to Tom. I wished to get us
through this, quickly, for my nipples hurt too much now for me to enjoy
the lingering Petra seemed so fond of. But as I approached Tom, with my
little lipstick tube clutched in my fingers, I saw I had a big job ahead
of me. His cock was enormous, no bigger than Robin’s, surely, but
still, quite a big sausage-type thing, and my little tube of Natural Ice
would need many strokes back and forth to cover him in the soothing
balm. His balls, suspended between his legs, were another big job too.
I wondered if there was enough lip balm in this small tube for the job I
had ahead of me. I hoped there was, and guessed Petra would find
another tube for me if this one was insufficient.
“Hi,” I said to Tom. I flushed, looking at him, then at his
dick, the object of my mission. He did not smile. Instead he gave me
the look he’d given the Incan maid, the look of a conqueror, gazing down
on a conquered subject. Timidly I dropped to my knees. I felt it was
necessary, to spread the balm over his penis properly. My knees hurt a
little as they banged against the tiled floor. Tom’s penis jabbed into
my face. I gasped. I had not known he was THAT big. I was close-up to
him now, my breath teasing his erection whenever I exhaled. Was he
bigger than Robin? I feared he might be, after all. I lifted my hands,
holding the lip balm between them. I screwed up the bottom, forcing the
stick of balm to extrude out of the casing.
I touched him. Not with my fingers, but with the tip of the
balm. I heard him sigh. His big knockwurst of a penis wobbled away, I
had to catch at it with my fingers and hold it. It was like holding a
live snake. Then I touched him with the balm again. I stroked it along
his big, meaty shaft. He breathed, I felt my own breath caught in my
throat.
Up the shaft I came now. I glanced at Robin. He was watching
intently, his own dick bereft, untouched. No doubt he ached for the
pleasurable attention I was giving his rival. Down the big shaft I
went, again, stroking along Tom’s penis as a small girl might stroke
back and forth on a chalkboard with her small chalk. Up again, down.
The big purple crown of his penis waited, tensely, for me to coat it,
when at last I finished his shaft. A dollop of cum oozed from his pee
slit. I tried not to notice. It would, I knew, fall upon my breasts in
a moment. I could do nothing. My job was to keep applying the balm
until he was thoroughly coated. I prayed he did not spend the whole
load of my seed on me as I worked.
At last I finished his shaft. I touched the balm next to his
crown. I kept having to screw up the bottom of the balm’s casing, for
his big cock was quite a large surface for the little stick of balm to
cover.
The pre cum fell from his dick. It dropped onto my right
breast. I wished it had hit my nipples, for they were burning horribly,
making me wince. My breasts, nude and free, wiggled in the air, the
tips on fire from the Close-Up. It felt as if they were reproving me
for ever letting them out of their bra.
I felt Tom’s slimy pre-cum roll down my right bosom. At last
it reached the tip of my breast and I sighed. Perhaps his sperm would
wash away some of the toothpaste. I prayed it would. I could barely
stand it on my nipples now.
“Mmmmf,” Tom breathed. I suspected he was beginning to feel
the chill from the lip balm. His penis was beginning to freeze, my
teats were on fire. What a pair we made! Yet I rubbed the “Natural
Ice” all the more vigorously on the crown of his penis, even passing it
over his pee hole, as if to punish him for what had happened to my
breasts.
Next I was faced with the task of doing Tom’s balls. I
extruded more “Natural Ice” from the tube. I hoped it would hold out.
I wanted to finish this. If I had to ask Petra for more, who knew what
new wickedness she might choose to add to my task?
I cupped Tom’s balls. They were big, heavy with a week’s worth
of sperm. I touched the “Natural Ice” to them and began working. How
his balls rolled in my hands! It was like trying to grease a seal,
rubbing the stiff lip balm all over his roly-poly sac. The testicals in
his sac would move first one way, then another. I followed them, best
as I could, rubbing them through the skin of his sac. I rubbed the balm
underneath his balls, and round behind them, and in front of them. At
last I felt I was finished and I stood up.
“Thanks for not shooting in my face,” I said to Tom. I was
truly grateful. I would have looked absolutely ridiculous, with a
faceful of sperm, in front of Verona and her nephews and little curious
Bow.
“Sure,” Tom said. He gritted his teeth, sighed. I wondered
how close I’d brought him to spending. He was erect as a mule in heat,
with a cock the size of a mule’s, and pre-cum oozed anew from his
peehole.
“Now give the stick to Ginger,” Petra told me. I felt Ginger’s
hip bump warmly to mine. I turned. She was waiting, her palm
upturned.
“I don’t think there’s enough left for the two of them,” I told
her.
“I’ll use this one up,” she said. She seemed to like using a
stick that had already been used on her husband. She turned, though, as
she took the balm from me. “Do you have more?” she asked Petra. “Lisa
thinks this one’s almost used up.”
“Yes, of course, dear. But apply what’s left first,” Petra
replied. She looked at Tom. “You do not have any sexual diseases?”
“No -- of course not,” Tom replied.
“Whoa. How do I know that?” Robin asked.
“Robin, come here,” Petra said. She crooked her finger at
him. Robin, walking awkwardly, for his cock was quite stiff, trooped up
to Petra. She put her hand behind him and clasped his buns. She drew
him close, then past herself, until the tip of his penis butted against
Tom’s. “That’s it. Share your seed,” Petra told the men. “We’re all
going to be getting to know each other quite well tonight, and tomorrow
too, I imagine. Let’s get over any needless inhibitions we have right
now. I suspect none of us would have agreed to this if we harbored some
illness, hmmm?”
“No,” Robin said.
“Unhh,” Tom answered. His penis was, by now, I was sure,
feeling the deep chill of the lip balm, all along his quivering shaft,
and upon his balls too.
“That’s it, wiggle your penises together, let the tips rub,”
Petra advised the men. She held both of them by their bottoms now, and
made them joggle the crowns of their cocks against each other until
pre-cum from both had surely intruded into the other’s urethral hole.
“Very good. And as for ourselves, ladies, we must be equally
adventurous,” Petra said to myself and Ginger. “Put a finger up your
snatch. You’re wet enough for that, aren’t you? That’s it. Right up,
Ginger, Lisa.” I obeyed, following her example, for Petra slid a finger
into herself, teaching us. Then she drew it out. It was wet with her
juices. She advanced upon me and, spreading her own thighs, that I
might finger-fuck her in turn, she jabbed her wet finger into my slit.
“Oooh!” I cried. Simultaneously I sinfully stuck my own finger
into her twat.
“Ah!” Petra said. Quickly we rubbed each other’s insides with
our juiced fingers. Then Petra slid her finger from me, turned to
Ginger. She did Ginger, Ginger did her. Then I and Ginger, wincing at
the intrusion, shared a quick finger fuck with each other.
“There. That’s done now,” Petra said. “We’ve no more
inhibitions about that. “Now, Ginger, it’s your turn to ice up Lisa’s
boyfriend. Go to it, for Tom, I see, is already suffering under the
balm Lisa smeared all over him.”
“Oooh! EEEE! Ooooh! EEEEE!” A small girl’s cries reached my
ears. I turned. To my utter surprise, I saw Bethany on her knees,
tonguing Bow’s nipples.
“Bow! Bethany! What are you two doing?” Petra asked, alarmed.
“I’m washing off my nipples, just like you said I could,” Bow
replied. And, indeed, as she sighed and screamed, Bethany’s quick
little tongue licked upon her breast buds.
“Oh, those silly girls,” Petra sighed. “I suppose Bethany will
have her nipples licked next, by Bow, but I can’t intervene every time
those little girls decide to get into some mischief. As for us, though,
we are a foursome, and I intend for us to show unflinching resolve. Get
to work, Ginger!” Petra came to my side, took my hand, and with a quick
glance at my nipples, assured me there’d be no relief for them. We
stood, side by side, and let our nipples burn as we watched Ginger drop
to her knees in front of my boyfriend. It was awful, but at least the
agonized sighs of Tom kept me a little sane, knowing he was feeling a
teasing, burning chill all along his member. Behind us Bow and Bethany
continued their own naughtiness.
It was soon after that we stepped out into the night air. I
had heard Petra speak of us going into her living room. Now, however,
we were being taken outdoors instead, into the dark of the night. The
moon was set. The trees swayed above us, close to the house, like
Shades rising from Hell. I felt frightened. I heard an owl hoot and
hoped it didn’t mistake me for a mouse as it went looking for prey. My
feet were bare, pressing into the soft, cold earth. I was glad for my
long hair. It offered my body a little protection from the chilly night
air. My nipples burned, warmly. The men, their cocks already cooled by
the “Natural Ice,” must have felt worse off, I guessed, as their
genitals felt the night breeze blow against them. I held Ginger’s
hand. Behind me, Bethany and Bow held hands. The servants followed,
deferentially, Petra led the way.
We walked round to the side of the house. Petra stopped before
a pair of shuttered wooden doors, built into the earth. She bent
down. She held a key in her hand, plus the whip from the bathroom.
She undid an iron latch that kept the shuttered doors locked. Her hair
fell about her shoulders and breasts as she unlocked it, making her look
quite dainty, though I watched her with my hands clapped to my bottom,
fearing the worst. When the latch was undone, Petra raised one of the
doors. It creaked loudly as she raised it. I hoped there were no
neighbors living nearby, who might turn on a light and see us.
When the door had been drawn back, Petra beckoned to me. I
approached her, nervously, my hands still firmly placed on my bottom.
Tom laughed as I passed him, knowing what I was thinking.
“Who has the flashlight?” Petra asked.
“Bethany,” I answered. I felt a little relieved to find that
she’d only wanted something to see by. We had some starlight, but now
the shuttered door, drawn back, exposed only an inky black hole in the
earth.
“Bethany, turn on your flashlight!” Petra said.
“But somebody might see me!” Bethany squeaked.
“Never mind, Bethany. Nobody’s here except us. Turn it on, no
one will see your nude little body. Lisa’s going to lead us
downstairs.”
“No, I’m not!” I replied. For all I knew there were rats down
there, hordes of them, and spiders and snakes.
“Tsk, dear. Holes are what this night is all about, don’cha
know,” Petra replied. “Don’t make me whip you.”
I saw her meaning. We would be fucked down there, apparently,
by the men with their big iced penises. I let myself be given the
flashlight.
“Go forth, adventurer!” Petra told me, sounding rather like
John Luc Picard, except she gave my bottom a slap, which John Luc would
never have done. With a small yelp I let myself be made leader, and
stepped into the hole.
My foot touched raw wood. I worried I might step on a
splinter. But I shone the beam of the flashlight into the cellar and
made my way down. Stairs creaked under my weight. I went lower, lower,
the others watching as first my hips, then my chest, and finally my head
disappeared into the storm cellar. For a moment I worried that Petra
might slam the door shut above me, trapping me, making me a true love
slave. But then I heard her tell Bethany to go next, and knew she at
least would share whatever fate awaited me.
“Ooooh, it’s spooky,” I heard Bethany say on the stairs above
me. Her feet made the steps creak, as mine had. I heard little Bow
ordered in next by Petra, and she seemed as eager as Bethany to go
exploring, though Ginger, told to go next, protested.
“Eeeek!” I cried.
“Waht is it?” Bethany gasped, behind me.
“It’s -- it’s a spider web!” I said. I’d felt it brush my nude
breast and now I pushed it away, cringing from it.
“EEEEEEEEEK!” Bethany shouted. She ran back up the stairs,
turning Bow around too, but a crack of Petra’s whip, over their heads,
stopped them in their tracks.
“DOWN, girls!” Petra ordered. “You too, Ginger. Off you go,
girl. Down into the cellar.”
“Oh, this is so awful!” Ginger whined.
I heard Tom laugh. “I don’t mind holes, do you, Robin?” he
asked.
“Not in the least. My dick’s always ready to go into a hole,”
Robin answered. Stupid men. They didn’t understand that girls didn’t
like things like this, exploring dank cellars, especially in the nude,
on dark nights, when there wasn’t even any moon out. We should be
asleep in our beds, not down here, all naked, cold (though it was
warmer, I had to admit, in the cellar), and shivering.
I felt earth below my feet and realized I’d reached the
cellar’s bottom. I passed the beam of my flashlight out into the
darkness. I gasped. I thought it fell upon a gynecological table and
then, sweeping on, a cage, and a rack, where one might be strung up and
tortured. This was noplace for me, or Bethany, or little Bow!
“Whoa, this is like Dungeons and Dragons,” I heard Tom announce
from the top of the stairs.
“A dragon’s going to eat your penis if you don’t quit banging
it into the back of my head,” Ginger answered. She sounded peeved,
upset. I could hardly blame her. I wanted as little of this as she
did. But Bethany and Bow, little eagle scouts both, (though in truth
both were too young to join), slipped past me and wandered out into the
room.
“I sometimes play down here. There’s lots of neat stuff down
here,” Bow told Bethany.
“Do you ever torture boys down here?” Bethany asked.
“Sometimes,” Bow answered. I saw they were holding hands
again, now that they were off the stairs, and past me. I still stood at
the base of the stairs, hesitant to go beyond their relative safety.
“Girls,” I called. “Don’t go out there. It’s not safe!”
“And do you cut off their penises?” Bethany asked, oblivious to
my warning.
Bow laughed. She gave no answer, but drew Bethany farther
still into the room’s darkness.
“Girls!” I called again. I felt slim fingers clasp my
shoulders. I yelped. There was a kiss at my neck. Ginger!
“Hi,” she whispered. Her hips touched warmly to my bottom.
“You go first,” she said. “I’ll follow.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said. “If there’s something sticking out into
this darkness, it will poke my belly, not yours.”
“That’s right,” Ginger agreed. She giggled. I think she was
enjoying her fright, now. Then she let out a yelp, as Tom, with his big
prong, stepped up behind her.
“Forward, ho!” Tom announced. I felt myself impelled forward.
There was nothing I could do except be leader, with little Bow, smallest
of all, leading all of us to our doom.
As we padded into the room, all of us barefoot, save for the
servants, we came to a wall of bars. The flashlight beam could pierce
through them, but we could not, for they were bars just like those in a
jail cell. Even little Bow, curious as she was, couldn’t get past them.
“When I was littler I could squeeze between them,” Bow confided
to Bethany, trying to get between the bars, but not quite able to,
because, apparently, her head and her pert bottom had gotten a bit too
big. She relented, drew back from them. Petra, guided by my light,
advanced past me. She still held her key, plus her whip. She told me
to aim my light a certain way, I did. I saw a keyhole revealed, in a
metal plate, along one of the bars. Petra slipped her key in and
twisted it.
Silently, a portion of the bars swung open. A door! The
barred door, looking just the same as the wall it was a part of, opened
outward to admit us. Bow slipped in first, then Bethany. I followed,
Ginger behind me, then Tom and Robin. The servants entered and Petra
came last. Earlier I’d heard her shut and bolt the door that had
admitted us to the storm cellar. Now, closing us within the cell, she
locked that door with her key.
Somebody flipped a switch. Perhaps it was one of the
servants. Suddenly the room was illuminated. Within the larger cellar,
we were in a barred cell. It was quite large, though, and included all
the awful equipment my flashlight had earlier fallen upon. We all
gasped, seeing our surroundings. Even Bow, apparently familiar with
this place, emitted a small gasp, as all its awful devices were suddenly
revealed.
Just as I was ready to bolt, however I might, from this cage, I
saw a pleasant living room in its middle. It was just living room
furniture, actually, but it looked safe and pedestrian compared to the
items of torture all around us.
“Yes, this is my party room,” Petra said. “We’ll sit first and
enjoy ourselves a bit before we get started seeing what agonies we can
put each other through. Take your seats, everyone! None with their
lover, though, for that would indeed be a waste of opportunities,” she
added, with a glance at myself and Ginger.
The furniture was covered in vinyl. I worried that others
might have sat upon it, before me, spending themselves here, but it
looked freshly washed. So, casting my cares aside (as best I could,
given my surroundings), I plopped my bottom down onto a sofa. It sat
facing another sofa. Clearly we were meant to see each other’s nudity
as we sat here, even right between each other’s legs. I kept mine open,
knowing I might be scolded if I tried to block an intimate view of
myself. Tom sat down beside me. With his hard penis, he had no choice
but to expose himself. It stuck up like a flagpole and I wished dearly
to simply sit atop it, getting all this over with, but I knew I’d feel
Petra’s whip on my backside if I did. (That I might, in any event, feel
her whip, did not, however, inspire me to break what I knew were her
rules of conduct.)
“No touching, Bethany,” Petra warned, even as I speculated as
to what I myself might get away with. Bethany sat down next to Tom and
appeared to wish to yank on his tool. Bow, I guessed, had inspired
her. The girl was only eight but she seemed eager to see what a man’s
penis could do. She peered past Bethany, seated beside her on the same
couch as I, gazing at Tom’s penis and urging Bethany to take hold of
it. “Be good, Bow,” Petra warned. “You’ll do just as I say, and no
more. I intend for you to leave here tonight with all your parts
intact. And that includes your itchy little hymen.”
“Oooh, I want his big thing to go right up me, just like it
does to you!” Bow replied. She placed a hand on her pussy and seemed to
insert one of her fingers into herself.
“No, Bow!” Petra replied. “We don’t even know if Tom will fuck
me. And he certainly won’t be fucking you, little girl. My God, do you
think I’m that wicked? Sit still. I should dismiss you right now, but
I want you to get at least a little education. I’ve heard you’ve been
bringing boys down here, and making them drop their pants for you.”
“Just Freddie,” Bow replied. “And Billie,” she added.
“I should never have let you know about my parties,” Petra
said.
“You didn’t. I sneaked into the first one. Remember?” Bow
asked.
“Yes. I know. I thought you were safely in bed, and then you
came streaking naked, right through the dining room, when I was up on
the table being threaded by two men at once.” Petra looked at me. “It
was her first orgy. Age six,” she said.
“I got to squirt whipped cream on EVERYBODY!” Bow said happily
to Bethany.
“I even had whipped cream on the ceiling,” Petra said, to no
one in particular, for I’d frowned at her when she’d told me she’d let
Bow see an orgy. Yet tonight, would she see anything less? I
wondered. I knew not what awaited us down here.
I gazed across the rug at Robin. This portion of the room was
carpeted, where the twin couches sat, though elsewhere the cellar was
cement-floored, or even hardpacked earth. He gazed back at me. There
might have been a coffee table between us, but it had been omitted,
perhaps for fear that our sexes, so freely on view, might be less easily
seen. Side tables served for the placement of decorations and
refreshments. The servants did not come down with us empty-handed.
Verona brought with her a big ice bucket, made from silver, laden with
fresh ice from the kitchen. Within it, sticking up straight and tall,
was a bottle of champagne. The men, armed with machetes, which they
still carried, had cut flowers as we walked through the yard to the
cellar door. Now Verona, setting down her big heavy ice bucket on a
side table beside our couch, took the flowers from the men and placed
them in vases on the table. Already the fragrance of the flowers was
noticeable in the room. Roses, pink and yellow, daffodils, a spray of
daisies. As she placed the flowers the Mexican men squatted down onto
the rug, at its very edge, as if not permitted to enter any further into
our nude sanctuary. One of them took an oiled cloth out of his back
pocket and absently began polishing his big machete. Robin and Tom,
with their stemming cocks, glanced at the Mexican’s mens’ knives. It
was obvious that the two Mexicans, though smaller than our loves, and
hardly poster boys as Tom and Robin were, could nonetheless weild their
knives most expertly. A single leap forward, followed by a whack, and
either Tom or Robin would be Bobbitized forever. It would happen just
as easily as the big-headed roses had been cut from the bushes in the
yard. Easily, swiftly. And Verona, with her Incan ways, would hardly
protest, I imagined, if Petra gave the order. The Incans had practised
human sacrifice, both of men and maiden girls.
Petra smiled at Tom and Robin. Her eyes were warm, yet
commanding. She let them linger over the men’s cocks. Her gaze had a
possessive air to it.
You could see, quite easily, where the men usually wore
swimsuits. There was a white patch of skin traversing each man’s
waist. Smack in the middle of it was his pubic bush, with his naked
cock rising a good ten inches (or more, I had not measured them!) from
his bush. The cock was rigid, pulsing. Judging from the pre-cum
dripping from its tip, I guessed that each man’s cock was already past
the point of mere erectness. The men were broiling with sperm, inside
their organs. Their balls were aching to cum. Indeed, Robin tossed his
head a little. He was younger than Tom. His face seemed to have a
slightly feverish flush to it. His eyes seemed to plead with me a
little. Yet I could do nothing. Petra held her whip lightly but firmly
in her hand. I knew she would be happy to crack it across bare skin,
leaving her mark upon anyone who disobeyed her.
Tea had been brought downstairs, in a silver tea kettle. Petra
spoke to Verona. The woman finished arranging the flowers in the
vases. She rummaged in a small bag, made of burlap, brought down by one
of the Mexican men. She took from it a handful of fresh bars of soap.
They were small bars, the kind you find lying about for free in a hotel
room. She broke each bar in half. We watched her, wondering, then let
our eyes return to the display of one another’s privates.
Tom squirmed his buttocks upon the vinyl seat. He reached out
his arms. He clasped me round my thin shoulders. He pulled me toward
him, so that I leaned against him. His body was warm. He caressed my
blonde hair where it fell spreading across my back. His other arm
captured Bethany. She squeaked as he drew her to him, then relented.
Her one knee fell inward, against her other, blocking the view of her
sex.
“Legs apart, Bethany,” Petra warned. The woman gave a toss of
her long curly brown hair and slapped her whip’s tip absently against
the vinyl seat between her own legs. The whip gave off a loud SMACK! as
it cracked against the couch. Bethany started. Her eyes widened.
Hastily she opened her legs, moving her bottom forward on the couch as
she did it. As Tom caressed her long hair on her head, tousling it, she
showed off her newly growing pubic hair to Robin and Petra and Ginger.
I sat with my own thighs splayed wide. I looked at Ginger, she
at me. We both had the marks of our swimsuits upon us. My waist was
adorned with a triangle of white flesh, showing where the crotch of my
suit covered me when I went swimming. A pale line banded my waist. It
showed where the waistband usually lay. For Ginger it was the same.
Now, of course, sitting without our suits on, our bushes were
displayed. I looked freely at her slit, she at mine. Robin put his arm
about her. She smiled at him, at me. I wished I had Robin’s arm about
me instead of Tom’s. Or rather, perhaps, I wished I had both Robin’s
and Tom’s arms around me. I was jealous, I suppose, I wanted both men
for myself.
Tom kissed my forehead. I drew my face back from his. He
leered at me. He sat with his hips well forward on the couch. He
displayed his virility proudly. His eyes dropped to my breasts, passed
over my smooth, indrawn tummy, came to rest upon my muff. Unabashedly
he dropped his arm to my hips. His big hand circled round my waist and
I gasped as I felt one of his big fingers stab into my sex.
“Not yet, Tom,” Petra said. She added “please” to be
deferential to him, yet I suspected that if he had continued she would
have gladly let his penis taste her whip. Tom, reluctantly, unspeared
his finger from my slit. I drew my thighs closer, feeling tense. I was
awkward now. I did not know what I wished for anymore. He had been so
rude, so bold. So crass. As if to spite Petra he raised his hand to my
tits and yanked freely upon the nipple of my right breast. I gasped
again. Robin looked a little peeved, but said nothing. Stealthily
Ginger passed her hand across her lap and then over to his. She stroked
his cock, using just one finger, careful not to let Petra see what she
was doing. Robin suppressed a groan, shifted his ass forward on the
couch. He felt relieved, yet inspired. I feared she might make him
spurt out onto the floor.
Apparently the Mexican men were not strangers to this room, or
to seeing others like ourselves entertained inside it. One of them went
to a shelf along the back bars of the cage we sat in. He took down a
bucket and a length of rubber tubing. The bucket was made of tin. It
was dented. The tubing was wide, big enough for putting around the end
of a big knockwurst sausage.
“Men, I want you to pee before we go any further,” Petra said
to Tom and Robin. Alfonse will put the tubing he’s holding around the
end of your penis. Then, pee. He’ll take care of emptying the bucket.
When you’ve both peed, I guess I’ll go too, because we’re all going to
be a bit soapy in a minute.”
“Huh?” Tom asked. He was growing impatient with her silly
games. But Robin, secretly pleasured by Ginger, seemed not to mind. He
tossed his head, apparently more concerned with holding back his seed
than anything Petra might be plotting.
The tubing was put to Tom’s penis first. Bethany and I
watched, wide-eyed, as Alfonse fitted the tube to the end of Tom’s
dick. His sunbaked hands worked expertly. Tom’s throbbing penis had
its crown captured, stuffed into the tube.
“Okay, piss. Piss, Anglo,” Alfonse said to Tom. Reluctantly,
gripping my right tit and its nipple as a boy might cling to some part
of his mother, Tom released his bladderfull of pee. I watched as his
piss went shooting down the tube and began to fill the bucket. Bethany,
impressed, let out a little sigh. He jetted out his fluid with ease,
yet vigorously, in full command of his person even as Alfonse leaned
over him, watching that the tube didn’t pop off.
When at last Tom had emptied himself, Alfonse removed the
tube. He tore open a medicated wipe pad and, without asking Tom’s
permission, passed it over his pee hole.
“Hey!” Tom said.
“Just cleaning you, Anglo,” Alfonse said. Then he stuffed the
used pad into his back pocket and tore open another. He wiped the
inside of the tubing, at its end, where it had been fitted over Tom.
Then Alfonse picked up the bucket and walked with the tube over to
Robin. Ginger drew back her hand. Petra, leaning out, saw Ginger’s
hand retreating.
“Come here, Ginger,” Petra said. Her voice was low,
commanding. Soft yet firm. Ginger looked at me, swallowed, rose from
the couch. Her hands darted back to her bottom as she stood. She
walked over to Petra as Alfonse bent and fitted the end of the tube over
Robin’s cockhead.
“Ginger, you must do as I say,” Petra said to the young woman.
“Turn around, please. Take your hands from your derriere.”
With a guilty shiver Ginger turned around, facing me, her
bottom facing Petra. She drew away her hands, did not know where to put
them, finally settled them like butterflies over her naked mount.
“Yes, you have a lovely bottom, Ginger,” Petra said. She
stroked the girl’s ass. Ginger looked at me with woeful eyes, knowing
what must happen, fearful of it, yet, I suspected, a little enthralled
by it, for we were all impatient in our private places to get on with
deeper things. I felt my own hand stray between my thighs and I stroked
my slit. It was wrong, I might be punished if Petra caught me, yet I
could not help myself.
“The skin of your bottom is so perfect, so pale in its color,
like a soft pearl,” Petra said to Ginger. It was silly, one girl
praising another’s ass. Yet I felt aroused by it, and found my clit
with my finger and stealthily rubbed it. Robin began peeing. His pee
trailed down inside the tubing and mixed with what Tom had already put
there.
“Ginger, I’m going to help you behave,” Petra said to the young
woman. Bethany and I watched with rapt attention. Little Bow clapped
her hands to her face, over her eyes. Yet her fingers were splayed.
Her eyes peeped out between them. “Do you understand, Ginger, that I
love you, but have to teach you?” Petra asked. She loved, I think,
drawing out what we all knew was inevitable. Ginger’s large lovely
breasts began shaking like fruit on a windswept tree as she stood, bent
forward, her bottom offered to Petra. She drew up her arms, clasped
them round herself, yet she did not cover her breasts with them.
Instead she squeezed her breasts within her clasping arms, letting us
still see their ripe fullness, their stiff nipples.
“Bend over more, dear, let your ass protrude fully to me,”
Petra told Ginger. Robin ceased peeing and Alfonse removed the tube
from his penis. He opened a medicated pad and wiped it across the tip
of Robin’s dick.
“Ohhh, I don’t want...” Ginger moaned. But she leaned forward
more, as Petra ordered, until she was bent almost perpendicular to her
toes. Petra passed a hand all around Ginger’s nude bottom, savoring its
softness, the plumpness of her hemispheres.
“Are you girls comfy on your bottoms, hmmm?” Petra asked
Bethany and I. Her question, I think, didn’t include Bow, but the
little girl piped up “Yes!” as if to insist that she be included in the
question too.
“You and I will talk later, Bow,” Petra said. Then, with a
sudden, unexpected whack (in that she had just been addressing herself
to little Bow), Petra brought the tip of her whip down hard against
Ginger’s bare ass.
“YEEEEOOOUCH!” Ginger yelped. She straightened up like an
arrow. Her hands flew around to her behind. She rubbed it,
vigorously. Her long hair bounced aound her shoulders as her hands
worked to soothe her tushy. Apparently she thought she’d received all
her just desserts, for her face paled when Petra told her to bend back
over again.
“I’m not finished,” Petra explained. “I’m in charge here, dear
Ginger. Not you.”
With trembling breasts and a panic-stricken face, Ginger bent
over again. I pressed my finger deeper into my slit. I liked watching,
though I would never have admitted that openly to myself. I sensed
Ginger had never tasted leather before and had defied Petra out of
curiousity. Now she was getting more than she’d bargained for.
The maid began serving tea. She poured the tea into tiny
little china cups and gave one first to little Bow, then to Bethany,
then to Tom and myself. I sipped mine, watching as Petra touched the
mark she’d made on Ginger’s fanny. The tea was Japanese green tea. I
did not mind. It was hot, had a soothing flavor to it. The steam from
my cup tickled my nose. With my free hand I diddled my slit, openly,
not caring if Petra caught me. I sensed we all had to be punished
before we would be put to the men. Tom stroked my right tit again. I
pushed my breast forward, letting him take its tip, encouraging him to
take more of it in his hand. Bethany, on Tom’s other side, squeaked as
he found one of her breasts and pinched at one of her nipples.
“Yes, Ginger, you have a perfect bottom for whipping. So nice
and round, and you offer it so proudly,” Petra teased. She gave the
bent over Ginger another sudden whack. The young woman squealed, shot
erect, darted back her hands and assauged her naked hiney with them.
“Sit down, Ginger, I must pee now,” Petra told the girl
dismissively. Still rubbing her bottom, but with her hips swaying quite
salaciously, Petra returned to her place beside Robin on the couch. She
gasped when she sat down. Robin smiled at her. He arched his hips
farther forward on the couch and invited her with his eyes to reclaim
his cock. She kept her fingers to herself this time. The maid served
her tea.
Petra scooted her ass forward on the couch. She moved forward
until her sex was off the sofa, and most of her bottom, leaving only
just the smallest portion of her behind on it. She spread her legs and
called for the tin bucket. Alfonse had just emptied it, down a
drainhole at the back of the cell. There was a faucet there. Briefly
he turned it on, washing out the inside of the bucket. Then he dumped
the rinsewater down the drainhole. Petra spread her pussy lips, waiting
for him.
Alfonse walked over to Petra. He knelt before her. He placed
the bucket between her legs and scooted it forward on the carpet until
it was under her spread-apart slit.
“Ahhh, thank you, Alfonse,” Petra said. Studying the bucket,
carefully opening the flower of her cunt, she peed. Her pee squirted
from her cunt and fell splattering into the bucket.
“Damn! That’s beautiful!” Tom roared. He took his arm from
Bethany and clapped it to his cock. With his eyes glued to Petra, he
began to furiously fist his penis.
“Tom, bad boy,” Petra said. She continued to pee.
“I don’t care,” Tom replied. “Whip me if you must! God, how
lovely you look, peeing like a mare in heat!” Tom cried. Ginger looked
at me glumly. We’d already peed, upstairs. Perhaps the Oriental tea
would help us make new pee, so we could be admired by the men too.
Robin was, I think, too close to spilling his load to indulge
himself in a fisting of his cock. He watched Petra with dreamy eyes,
following the arc of her pee as it sprang from her cunt like water does
from a balloon that’s sprung a leak. We were all inspired. I frigged
myself, didling my slit with my small finger. At the same time I drank
my tea. The maid watched me empty my small cup. Without being asked,
she came silently over to me and offered to refill it. I let her.
Petra ceased peeing. Alfonse broke open a medicated pad.
“That will not be necessary, Alfonse,” Petra told her Mexican
servant. “We’re all going to wash our genitals now.” Alfonse nodded.
I felt a shiver run through me. Wash our genitals? Just our genitals,
sitting here on couches in this well-appointed (if well barred) living
room? I could not quite believe my ears. Then I remembered the
soap. The maid returned to the side table next to our couch.
She replaced the tea kettle on a small hot plate. She picked up the
handfulls of broken soap. She began passing them out. First to Bow,
then to Bethany, then Tom and me, and then to Ginger, Robin, and finally
to Petra.
“Rub your private with the soap,” Petra told us. “Just your
private. Not your breasts, or your tummies, or your legs. Just your
sex. That’s it. I know the soap is dry, but rub it anyway. A little
will rub off. My your penis is big, Tom. Rub it all down the length of
your cock. Bow? Put it into your slit and rub it all about. Good
girl. I may yet let you taste a little pleasure on this night.”
“It isn’t doing anything,” Bethany whined. She always liked
immediate gratification, even in something silly like this.
“Just rub,” Petra told her. “Rub your slit. Enjoy the feeling
of your soft bottom on the couch, not stinging from the whip as Ginger’s
is, and the openness of your legs, with two big men so hard and ready
right beside you and in front of you. Look at Robin’s cock as you soap
the inside of your slit. Yes, Bethany, he’s going to poke that big
thing of his right into your soapy little slit. And who knows where
else? Are you not a virgin in your bottom?”
“Oooh! You’re scaring me. I only want him in my pussy,”
Bethany said. Eagerly, though, she rubbed the soap up and down her
slit, and through her pubic hair. Her bare butt squirmed on the couch.
I suspected if she’d been told to soap her bottom she would have done so
just as eagerly.
The maid drew a dripping wet squirt gun from the ice bucket
that held the champagne. She passed a soft cloth over it to dry it. It
was just a small gun, as a preschool age child might be given to play
with. The maid walked over to Ginger, and handed it to her. Ginger
accepted the gun. How silly she looked, a grown woman holding a small
child’s squirt gun!
“Squirt your dell with it,” Petra told Ginger. “Your pussy
needs water, doesn’t it, for the soap to bloom? Squirt your slit with
the gun. That will give it the water it needs.”
Grinning rather nervously, feeling embarrassed, Ginger turned
the gun on herself. We all watched avidly as she depressed the trigger
of the gun. A stream of chilly water squirted from it. She gave a
shout. The water was cold as ice. Yet I think she shouted more from
the silliness of it all, squirting her sex with the little pistol, for
the stream was thin as a thread.
“That’s it. Give yourself several good shots with the squirt
gun,” Petra told Ginger. The young woman obeyed. She squirted her
pussy, wetting it, causing the soap to bubble up from it. As she
squirted herself she applied more soap to her dell. She rubbed the bar
over the ridges of her sex and delved between them. The bar invaded her
pinkness, turned it white as the squirtgun wet the residue of the soap.
“Ooooh! Ahhhhh!” Ginger cried. She threw back her head.
Clearly she was enjoying herself now, able to masturbate herself even as
she pretended to be merely cleansing her ripe cunt. The men watched her
with particular interest. Their big cocks thrummed. She was sending
them maddening signals, toying with her slit right in front of them,
bringing herself to the brink of orgasm.
“Try not to cum, Ginger darling,” Petra advised. “Certainly
the men must not cum. What a waste it would be, for them to spill their
seed on the floor. Verona, Ginger is wet enough now. Give Robin the
gun. He must wet himself next.”
Robin accepted the gun from Verona. We watched as he squirted
his cock. The stream from the gun was small, his penis was big. It was
like watching a man try to put mustard on a big hot dog, except the
stream from the water gun was much thinner and smaller than a stream
from a mustard bottle would have been. Yet Robin squirted away, doing
his cockhead first, then down one side of his shaft, then down the other
side. He squirted along the top of his penis, then bent and squirted up
the underside. Finally, for he was eager to soap his balls as well, he
squirted the gun upon them.
The gun ran dry. The maid took it from him. Languidly she
returned to the champagne bucket. The ice was melting. She thrust the
gun into its depths. It filled with melted icewater. She lifted it
out, toweled it dry. She came to me. I saw she was avoiding Bow,
Bethany. There was too much risk that those two little girls, armed
with the gun, might go on a squirting spree.
I squirted myself. I gasped at the chilliness of the water.
Fortunately the stream from the gun was pathetically thin, though it did
jet out quite briskly. I squirted my pubic curls, my labial lips, then
within my cunt. At the same time I rubbed myself with the soap. The
stream from the gun found my clitoris. Wickedly I squirted the stream
right upon it. I shuddered. I longed to explode in an orgasm. My
belly trembled. The maid took the gun from me and gave it to Tom.
I sipped more tea. I swallowed with difficulty. I wanted to
cum, yet knew I should wait. I watched Tom soap himself. His organ
bloomed with soap. I longed to bend over and lick it clean.
Bethany soaped herself next, and finally Bow. The maid
squirted their pussies for them. She did not let them have possession
of the gun. Finally, Petra was given the gun. She bathed her sex in
its thin stream. Bubbles blossomed on her dell.
A cloth was passed around. We were told by Petra to just wipe
our hands with it. When that was done, she gazed at us all with
admiring eyes. We felt like her disciples (or at least I did), all of
us with our sexes soaped, waiting for her orders.
“Indulge me yet a little more,” Petra said. She looked at
Tom. He was the most dominant of the two males. He nodded, agreeing
silently to her request. Robin, tossing his head, yearned to cum. He
could think of little save his trembling penis. Rubbing himself with
soap had taken him right to the edge.
Boots were brought out by the maid and the two Mexican men.
Long, thigh length boots for us females (including even little Bow!).
The men were given shorter, knee length boots.
At Petra’s request, I tried pulling my boots on. They were
very tight. I thought they might be too small for me but Petra assured
me they were the right size. The maid helped me get on my boots. When
they’d been drawn all the way up my legs they almost reached to my
crotch. I felt odd, clad in long leather boots, with my pussy all
soapy. The maid told me to stand. I did. She had me turn around and
she tied the boots with laces to the backs of my thighs. My boots had
long, steepled heels. I wasn’t sure I could walk in them. I felt
captured, held by them. Yet I also felt a desire to rub my slit. But I
didn’t, for my fingers would get soapy and give away my masturbating.
The men managed to yank on their boots. Theirs, like ours,
were lined with soft fur. They were easy to wear, soft and comfortable,
but (especially on me and the girls) quite binding. They inhibited the
bending of my knees. I wished to kick them off, to be barelegged again,
for I still was quite nude, with all the rest of me displayed. Why wear
these silly boots on my legs? But I knew that, without the maid’s help,
I was probably doomed to keep them on. I didn’t think I could get them
off by myself. Trying to would have gotten me in trouble with Petra.
Petra stood up. She walked around to each of us, swinging her
whip, admiring our boots as we sat like obedient mice on the couches
before her. The men offered their penises to her, ramrod stiff and
aching. Bethany and Ginger and I offered her views of our soaped
pussies, between our legs, and our stemming nipples on our bosoms.
“Very good, very good,” Petra said, murmuring. “I see I chose
well, at the night club. Excellent. Please remain seated. We’ll put
on gloves next.” She sat back down. The maid distributed gloves. She
gave black opera length gloves to the females. To the men she gave
tight, wrist-length work gloves. I slid on the gloves I was given.
They were black, like my boots. They were made of soft rubber. I
pulled them on with some difficulty. When at last I got them on, they
stretched all the way to the tops of my arms. My shoulders were left
bare, but my arms, like my legs, were now covered completely. It was
odd, being dressed this way. My tits hung naked, my pussy was bared and
soaped, my tummy showed its indented navel, but my arms and legs were
more thoroughly dressed than at any time in my life! Jerry Falwell
would have been pleased, if only the logic were reversed. Instead, this
way, with my privates totally bare and my arms and legs suited up, I
was, I was sure, an outrage to decency, pleasing only (and then only in
his secret thoughts) perverts and Jimmy Swaggart!
There were laces hanging off my gloves where they met my bare
shoulders. The maid came around and tied off my gloves for me, to my
upper arms, so they wouldn’t slip down. I flexed my hands. They were
encased in rubber. I looked past Tom at little Bow. I shivered. How
horrifying she looked! A little girl, just 8, clad in long leather
boots with stiletto heels, and her small thin arms bound in black
rubber! Her blonde hair hung loose down past her shoulders, down almost
to her waist. She shook her head. She smiled. She seemed not to mind
her outfit. For her it was like Halloween, perhaps, a mere game of
dress-up. Her skin shone white, kept from the sun so she could grow up
to be Marilyn Monroe. Her breast buds puckered pink and round on her
chest. Her belly button twinkled, a soft hole in her tummy. Between
her legs she was soaped.
“We will go exploring in a minute, but first we must all put on
wristcuffs,” Petra announced. Black bands were passed out. I saw that
each band had a D-ring in it. I knew the purpose of that, shivered.
These were pre-formed manacles she was giving us. The D-ring would
allow any of us to be quickly made secure, for sex or for whipping.
With a small gulp, I buckled one of the wristlets onto my arm.
It was like putting on a watch, except the band was bigger. When I’d
secured the first cuff around my left wrist, I buckled the second around
my right. I was ready for action now, except I feared I would be the
object of the action, not its perpetrator.
The maid came round to each of us. She held ankle cuffs in her
hands. She bent and attached an ankle cuff to each of our ankles,
buckling them round our boots, doing both the men and the women. Even
little Bow was not spared.
I thought we were finished then, but there was still more. The
maid fetched more bands. These were longer, and we were told to put
them around our thighs, just above our knees. I looked at Ginger. She
caught my eye, looked back. But what could we do? Tom and Robin were
going along with all this. We needed them to save us. And we were
locked in this cage, with the Mexican men both armed with machetes.
Petra smiled. All was kept decorous. The maid offered more tea, I
accepted. I sipped, felt myself relax a little. Then I took the leg
cuffs from her and buckled them around my thighs.
Tom and Robin were not asked to put on thigh cuffs. This made
them happy, for they knew if we girls were being asked to put on more,
it could only be for one purpose, to let them do as they wished with our
bodies. They settled back, admiring us, grinning like foxes about to
eat the hens in a hen house. Robin shivered a little. He was
desperately eager to shoot out his load. He only managed to hold
himself back with a great deal of willpower. I think at that point even
the gentlest touch, fondling his cock, would have made him cum.
Fortunately his genitals were soaped. Ginger could not touch him
without betraying herself, by getting soap on her fingers.
Cuffs were passed out next for our arms. Petra was clearly in
a mood to hurry things now. She had us girls stand up. She told us to
tie on each other’s cuffs. Carefully Ginger walked over to me, balanced
with some trepidation on her new heels. She drew out my arm from my
body. She had me hold it there. She banded the cuff around my arm and
then buckled it tightly into place. I shivered. She was shivering too,
knowing its purpose. When she’d done my other arm, it was my turn to do
her.
“I’m afraid,” Ginger said to me in a soft voice, whispering, so
that Petra wouldn’t hear.
“Mmmm, me too,” I replied. “You have soap on your pussy,” I
said. She giggled. I did not mean to make light of our plight, but at
the same time as I felt scared, I felt enthralled too, for we were
utterly nude, and wet in our most intimate place, with soap there to
make us easier to slide into. My nipples burned on my chest. They were
still covered with Close-Up, though the effects of the toothpaste had
diminished somewhat since it was first applied. Either that or I’d
begun to get used to it. Was I being trained? I suspected I might be.
The maid next handed out collars for our throats. I didn’t
like the look of them. They were leather, with D-rings on them, so I
could be quickly secured to whatever the men, or Petra, might wish to
see me attached to. In addtion the collars had small studs on them, as
if to say, ‘Go ahead, beat her. She is submissive.’ I accepted a
collar with trepidation. But the one given to me was for Ginger, and
the one given to her was for me. I let her buckle mine around my throat
first. As she did, I watched Bow and Bethany. They were binding each
other in similar fashion. But they were happier than Ginger and I.
They liked this dress-up, not knowing, perhaps, its consquences. The
men looked at Ginger and I and the two smaller girls with equally wicked
plans for us both.
Petra was not included in the female-specific collaring. She
remained as the men, except her boots were long, with spiked heels, not
work boots as the men wore. And she had opera gloves, not work gloves.
In addition, of course, she still held her whip, which even the men
didn’t have, remaining ringmistress of us all.
“And now belts,” Petra said, when all four of us females
assigned to submissive roles had been collared. The maid passed out
thick leather belts, lined with fur. I wrapped mine around my belly,
felt it weigh upon the flare of my hips. I buckled it. It had D-rings
on it, just as my wristlets, my anklets, my leg bands and arms bands and
my collar had. I could, I supposed, be fixed in most any position now,
even the most extreme. And still my breasts hung free and bare, and my
bottom wobbled nakedly behind me, and my pussy showed its soap bubbles.
“I feel like a heroine... or a victim,” Ginger whispered to me,
adjusting her belt on her hips.
“You look like BatGirl,” I giggled.
“You do too,” she replied. Impulsively I leaned forward. My
lips touched hers. We kissed. Our breasts pressed together. Our
nipples touched, burned into each other. We kept our tummies and slits
back from each other, however, lest we smear soap over each other’s
thighs.
Petra ordered us to separate.
“I’m frightened,” Ginger whispered, when our mouths separated.
“You’re older than me,” I replied. “Do something!”
“I can’t,” Ginger answered. Her hands drifted back behind her,
caught at the hind cheeks of her bottom. “I can’t.”
“You want it, then,” I said.
“You do too,” she answered. I hoped she wasn’t right.
“Shall we see the sights?” Petra asked with a laugh. I wanted
to answer, ‘Yes, as long as we aren’t tied down to them!’ but I said
nothing instead. I felt scared, yet submissive. I was collared,
belted, booted, gloved. A girl could not have been better prepared for
what the night portended. The men rose from their sofas, unbidden,
knowing their hour had come. They displayed their penises to Ginger and
I, Bethany, Bow. They had lust in their eyes.
“Let us proceed,” Petra said. She patted Tom’s bare fanny with
her gloved hand. She pointed with her whip in front of her. We glided
toward the equipment at the back of the cell.
There was a table there. It was low to the floor. It was
covered with fresh, soft-woven satin. Cut into the satin, in the center
of the table, was a square. It laid bare the wood of the table, and
within the square I saw a pattern of metal diodes.
Petra told Ginger to sit down on the table. Ginger obeyed.
She sat right down on the square. She shivered a little, looked up at
Petra. She crossed her arms over her breasts. Petra told her to lie
back.
Ginger obeyed. Necessarily, she unwrapped her arms from her
bosom, lying back and spreading herself out on the table. Her blonde
hair fanned out on the felt. Her face looked worried, but she said
nothing, was silent, as we all were, save for Petra.
There were D-rings sewn into the table. Petra bent over the
table, over Ginger. She kissed the girl’s belly. Ginger flinched.
Still she said nothing, no word of protest, though I could see by her
eyes she was scared. Speaking softly to Ginger, telling her how pretty
she looked, all laid out on the table like that, Petra attached Ginger’s
wrists to D-rings along the sides of her body. She had her bend her
rubber-clad elbows upward, so that her arms were doubled-up beside her,
so she could, if she wished, lift her hips without difficulty.
“There,” Petra said. When she’d bound Ginger’s wrists to the
table, she went down to her legs. These she drew wide apart, bending
them at the knees. Then she fastened Ginger’s ankles to long D-rings
near the far end of the table.
“Your soft bottom is resting on electrical circuits, dear,”
Petra told Ginger when she’d finished securing the girl. I’m going to
turn on the circuits, now, okay?” Ginger blinked, nodded. She did not
guess what my mind was already seizing upon.
“No!” I cried. But it was too late. Petra had picked up a
small box, sitting innocuously on the floor, next to the table. She
depressed a button.
“YEEEEOOOOOCH!” Ginger hollared. She tried to bolt up from the
table. But her arms were locked to it, and her booted legs. Only her
hips could rise, lifting her torso with it, and her wobbly breasts. The
men laughed. Ginger’s ass shot up from the square where the diodes
nestled. She’d been shocked, right on her bare seat.
“Yes, exercise those hips, my dear,” Petra told Ginger. “How
lovely you look, all booted and gloved, with your hips lifted up, so the
men can admire your neat little pussy. Show it to them. Ah, how wide
your thighs are spread. Let them look into you. Don’t drop your
derriere to the table, whatever you do.” Petra laughed.
“Oh my God, turn it off, turn it off! I can’t keep my hips up
forever,” Ginger howled.
“You’ll keep them up as long as I say,” Petra replied. “Do you
need help? Then I shall give it. Or, rather, Bow will.” Petra reached
up to the shelf, that hung from the back wall of our cell. She took
down a cattle prod. She gave it to little Bow. “Get under the table,
dear,” she said. “Slide back the electrical panel. Then stick your
prod up through the hole and stick Ginger in her ass.”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Bow laughed. The small 8-year-old girl was
delighted at the prospect of poking Ginger’s ass with the prod. Even
Bethany, who should have known better, was laughing. Who was to say
she, or I, wouldn’t be next? Yet I was mesmerized by the effect of
Ginger’s hips, forced into the air. All her sex was displayed, and
there was nothing she could do to save herself, or even her modestly.
Little Bow slipped under the table. I heard a sound. The
electrical panel in the center of the table was slid back. Bow’s face
appeared, glowing, chortling. Suddenly she stuck up the prod through
the space.
“YEEEEEK!” Ginger wailed. Bow poked at her bare ass with the
cattle prod.
“Stick her hiney hole with it,” Bethany told Bow. Beth was
ecstatic, as was Bow, both of them delighted to see a grown woman put
into such humorous agony.
“Prod her all over, but just on her seat,” Petra told Bow.
“And don’t touch her tailbone with it. Just her bottom cheeks, and
within them, if you wish to make her really leap.”
“Yes, don’t worry, I did this to Freddie once,” Bow said. She
was fingering herself, I think, as she worked the prod up through the
space, delightfully touching Ginger wherever she wished. Poor Ginger
bounced up and down, showing us her slit with abandon. Her breasts
joggled about on her chest, her eyes began weeping. Yet I saw her
nipples were stiff, tight points of pink coral. Was she enjoying,
somewhere deep down inside herself, this wanton display of her slitted
sex to the men?
“Oooooch! OOOOOOCH! YooooOOOOK!” Ginger howled. Each poke of
the prod sent her bare hips arching into the air. How strange she
looked, wearing a leather collar, leather boots, and long rubber
gloves. I imagined her as an animal of some sort, all outfitted,
performing wicked games for its master. Except she was female, and
quite human. She wept openly now. Her titties jiggled on her chest
like big mounds of half-flattened jello. Her bottom was in agony, each
little descent of it met by the prod, forcing it to rebound toward the
ceiling.
“Hee! Heee! You’ll never be bad again!” Bow laughed from
under the table.
“What did I DOOOOOO!” Ginger yowled.
“You bared your ass,” Bow replied, mirthfully. She was like a
bad little elf, sequestered under that table, tormenting the Shoemaker’s
wife. While the rest of the elves were off making shoes for the
shoemaker, and he slept sound in his bed, this little one played tricks
on wife, or his daughter, perhaps, for Ginger was only 19.
“YEEEK! YAAAAWK! Ooooh, PLEASE! StoPPPP!” Ginger begged.
Then, suddenly, her face froze. Her mouth formed a rictus of fear. And
then, arching up, but unable to escape the evil prod, she cried,
“HOOOOO! Not in my HooOOOOLE!”
Bow burst out laughing, under the table. Ginger, bouncing
althletically above her, had managed to keep her bottomcheeks squeezed
tight, until now. Tiring, she’d let go of them, just a little. And now
she was paying the price for that. The little 8-year-old blonde jabbed
the cattle prod into her anus. It shocked her, repeatedly, though I
guessed, since Petra had suggested the idea to the little girl, the
voltage was just under the level where it might have caused her harm.
But Ginger was hardly comfortable. She lurched upward, her legs splayed
wide, trying hard to get off the prod, but losing the battle, for little
Bow could follow her up and keep jamming it ever deeper inside her.
“And your cunt, too,” Bow announced, at last. She pulled back
the prod, sending a wave of relief across Ginger’s features. But just
as the poor young woman relaxed, she stiffened again, even more
breathtakingly than before, for the 8-year-old was now set on spearing
her pussy, and she was wide as a Thanksgiving turkey before her.
Pressing a button on the box, Petra turned the tip of the prod
off. Bow offered the end of it to Alfonse, who wiped it quickly with
several medicated pads. Then Petra turned the device back on.
“Oh, please!” Ginger begged. But she could see we were all too
eager to see her reaction to let her up now. I walked forward. I bent
over her face. My nude breasts caressed her lips. She snapped at my
nipples with her teeth. I jumped back. I didn’t want to share her
agony, only to console her. I could do nothing to help her. I was only
13, she was 19, an adult. She would have to bear up under the other
adults’ punishment of her as best as she could. But, bending more
carefully, I kissed her lips with my own.
“There, there,” I said in a motherly voice. I felt sorry for
her and at the same time I felt a sinful desire to see her speared. I
tried to banish the wish from my mind. I succeeded, a little. I didn’t
wish to be bad, only good. I kissed her mouth again.
“NooOOOOOHHH!” Ginger yelled. Her face bolted up past mine. I
was thrown back from her.
Under the table, Bow squealed with delight. She’d turned
around under the open square, changing her angle of attack. Now she was
pushing the prod up between Ginger’s widely offered legs. It looked
like a long penis, come to inseminate her.
“Oh, God! NO!” Ginger howled. It was no use. Bow touched her
tender labial lips with the prod. Ginger shrieked. She delved between
them with the prod’s tip. Ginger shouted even more loudly. She found
Ginger’s clit, stabbed it hard.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!” Ginger yelled. Her voice was almost
hoarse now. Finally little Bow drove the prod within her cuntlips. I
had to hold my hands over my ears as Ginger cried hard, a long howling
shriek that made even the Mexicans jump.
At last Petra told Bow to come out from under the table.
“Oh, I don’t wanna,” Bow answered. “This is FUN!”
“Yes, but I don’t want to wear her out completely,” Petra
replied. “I still have much more that I expect from her. Right, men?”
she added, glancing at Tom, then at Robin. The men stood in awe of her
now. Their cocks were ramrod stiff, their balls set to burst.
“Yes,” Tom breathed. “Yes indeed.”
“Your wife has a nice cunt,” Robin told Tom.
“She’s not my wife, just my girlfriend. But I’ll accept the
compliment anyway,” Tom said.
We all helped unbuckle Ginger from the table. She was
half-destroyed, lying there with her hair all messed from her twisting
and screaming. Her soft skin was bathed in sweat. Yet, as I kissed her
lips, hoping to make her feel better, she began to smile. Just a
little. Her eyes opened and she gazed up at me brightly. I giggled, as
her tongue tried to invade my mouth. I pushed her tongue back with my
own. She drove harder, straining upward with her tongue, until I
finally, to be nice, let her push it into my mouth. I sucked upon it.
“You’re next,” Petra told me. I froze. “Not on the table, but
on another one of my toys,” Petra added. I relaxed a little. I was
aware of the men, watching me with hot eyes. They were so handsome.
For any other two men I would never have let myself even be kissed, but
for them, and their well-displayed cocks, I was willing to try. Yes, I
told myself. Not to actually do whatever it was Petra had in mind, but
to try it. I assured myself that if I didn’t like it she’d let me off,
for I was only 13. It was a lie, but it consoled me, and let me go to
my doom.
Petra placed a gloved hand on my bottom. It felt alien against
me. I started, rose from Ginger’s lapping mouth. My bosoms hung above
her, but she was too weak to rise, though she lifted her hands to try to
grasp them. Petra drew me back. She placed both her hands possessively
around my slim waist. With a whisper in my ear, a soft confession of
her love for me, for my beauty, Petra guided me across the room to a big
log.
“Yes, this is our log ride,” Petra told me. I gazed at it. It
hung in the air, suspended at both ends, a fallen tree waiting for me to
perch my bottom upon it. It looked like a swing, but the bark was still
on the log, making it rough to sit on. Anxiously I let Petra scoot me
around the log so that my heinie was pressed up against it. I reached
up and grasped the chains which held the log like a swing with my gloved
hands. I gripped both chains, feeling their links in my small palms. I
knew I should jump up, hoist my ass upon the log, but I was worried I
might get a splinter in my bare bottom.
“Lift her,” Petra told Tom. Not Robin, for he was my lover,
and she wished for me to be intimate with Ginger’s boyfriend. “Do not
sit her ass on the log, though. Sit her thighs on it,” Petra told Tom.
For that, I was deeply grateful. Poor me. I would soon find out a
splinter in my bottom would have been far preferable to what Petra had
planned for me.
Tom came round to my front. He stood admiring me for a moment,
my nudity, him nude as well, his cock achingly standing upright between
us. I longed to have him, but Petra knew I did, and ordered Tom to
restrain himself, for he was eager to have me as well. Nonetheless when
Tom lifted me up, seizing me by my waist, I let my hips sag forward,
hoping to catch the knob of his thing on the lips of my cunt. He
avoided me, pulling his own hips back, and sat my thighs on the log. My
boots covered my legs, protecting me from its roughness.
“Slide back,” Petra told me. “Let yourself hang by your knees
from the log. Let your bottom drop down. It must swing freely. That’s
it. Back, girl. Drop your bottom down.” Before I could fully
appreicate what was happening, Petra had urged me back, making me
suspend my heinie under the log, clutching at the log with the
undersides of my knees. With my hands I held tight to the swing’s
chains.
Each link in the swing’s chain was just long enough for a band
of leather to be looped through them. At Petra’s direction, Tom stuck a
band through each of the links closest to my wrists. The bands were
equipped with D-rings. Buckling the bands closed, so they couldn’t slip
back out of the chain links, Tom fixed the D-rings on my wristlets to
the bands hanging from the chains. I was bound, by my wrists. With my
bottom hanging down, I couldn’t raise my wrists and lift my bottom back
up. My ass was exposed, the bare cheeks neatly parted by my weight. I
could feel the cool air of the cellar upon the portal of my anus. It
was then that I realized I’d made a mistake, letting my bottom overhang
the log, and drop down behind it. Petra laughed at my predicament. Tom
gazed lovingly at my ass, so naked, so wonderfully helpless, a big moon
hanging down behind me, offering itself to whatever depravities Petra
could think up.
“Yes, you’ll swing on the log, like on a swing,” Petra told
me. “But I won’t push you to swing you. I’ll strike your rump with a
crop.”
“No!” I gasped. Wildly I glanced back over my shoulder for
Ginger. “Ginger!” I cried. But it was my turn, and I guessed Ginger,
who I’d failed to help, would do no more than kiss me now. She smiled
at me. She was just getting up from the table. She needing help from
Robin to do it, for her limbs ached from the effort of trying to avoid
the prod. I knew she must still be woefully sore in her privates.
Through the hair that hung down over her eyes, she smiled at me. But
she showed no interest in saving me from my plight.
“Bethany!” I shrieked. My eyes darted to my friend. We were
almost the same age, but she liked being babyish. She stood holding
hands with Bow, looking at me, showing no interest in helping me.
Traitorously, still gazing at me, she bent and whispered something
naughty about me into Bow’s ear. Both of them laughed.
Tom wrenched apart my legs. He parted them as wide as he
could, drawing them out so that my knees were next to the swing’s
chains. Then he clipped my knee bands’ D-rings into the nearest links
of chain. I was caught. My legs were held, with my knees wide apart,
fastened to the chains from which the swing hung suspended. I had no
way to close my legs. I looked down at my muff. It glistened with
soap. At least the stale bubbles provided me with a little protection.
But they were only bubbles, and Tom had a cock a foot long and Petra had
wicked intentions.
With my bottom slung beneath the log, and no way for me to
rise, I was at Petra’s mercy. I asked her to let me up.
“No,” she replied. “And one thing more. I almost lost my
hearing, listening to Ginger scream. You, dear, won’t have such an
opportunity. I’m going to gag you.”
“NO!” I shouted. But Tom, eager to see me forced to perform on
the log, clapped his hand over my mouth. He held it there until Petra
had fetched a cloth gag from the shelf at the back of our cell. It was
black. She gave it to Tom, let him have the pleasure of gagging me.
“Open your mouth,” Tom told me, removing his hand. I did, not
knowing what he intended. He thrust the gag between my lips. It pushed
my tongue back. I tasted the linen cloth. It was fine linen, but I
didn’t want it in my mouth!
Tom knotted the gag at the back of my head. The knot settled
into the mane of my blonde hair. I was captive now, booted and collared
and gagged, with my bottom hanging down, waiting for Petra to work
mischief upon its speres, and between them.
“I’m going to wash your bottom, to make it nice and wet,” Petra
explained to me. I could only stare back at her, bug eyed. She called
the maid. Verona brought the ice bucket over and placed it on the
floor, under my ass.
Petra bent down, bathed her hands in the ice. “My, this water
is cold,” she said. “I’m glad I have gloves on.” Alfonse, thinking
ahead, brought her a sponge. “Thankyou, Alfonse,” she said. “You have
been very helpful. Put on a condom if you wish, and jerk yourself off,
while you watch this.” Petra leaned close, lifting the sponge dripping
wet from the water. She kissed my cheek. “Alfonse likes seeing young
girls get flogged,” she told me. I trembled. I blinked my eyes, tried
looking back at her. Suddenly I leapt like a fish. The wet, ice cold
sponge grazed my soft ass.
“Oh! Is it too cold? Don’t worry, I’ll warm your ass in a
minute,” Petra told me, laughing. She bathed the underside of my
bottomcheeks, loving my jerking, the pleading of my eyes. She told Tom
to look over the implements hanging from a peg board at the back of our
cell. “Pick your favorite,” she said. “And I’ll use it on her.”
Tom turned away from me. I watched his tight buns as his
figure walked to the back of our cell. Below his bare, strong ass his
legs descended into work boots. He might have been a man hired to cut
logs, or fix the plumbing, well-dressed in work gloves and boots. But
he lacked any clothing. His back, his ass, his legs were all bare. And
what hung down between his legs was bare too, visible even from behind
to my hot, searching eyes.
I watched as Tom gazed up at the cell’s back wall. There was a
shelf there. Next to it, a black curtain. He drew it back. The
pegboard! Suddenly a whole range of implements was revealed to my
eyes. I gasped. My gag caught my gasp, held it in me. I saw long
single-thong whips, and multi-thonged whips. I saw short whips and
short knouts for beating the body. There was a police nightstick,
ramrod stiff, and next to it dry, stubbled birch rids, sure to make a
good girl of even the baddest child. Tom put his hands on his hips. He
gazed at the armory, apparenlty pleased, for his head tilted to one
side, as if studying the weapons with manly appreciation. Behind him
his bare ass flexed once, then again, as if wondering what some of those
awful things might feel like, connecting with his own bare skin. But it
was mine he’d been asked to select a whip for.
Petra kissed my cheek. I flinched. I was beginning to fear
her kisses. Always she was at her most loving when contemplating
torture for someone. Again she kissed me, loving my immobility, my
inability to protect myself. I could only hang from the log, my legs
spread, my pussy a flower aching to be speared. My bottom was like a
big ripe fruit hanging down, its fleshy halves already split open.
The sponge trailed its frozen wetness over my ass. I clenched
my cheeks. Tightly I held them together. Perhaps for fifteen seconds I
was able to hold them that way. Perhaps less. It was no use. When I
could hold them closed no longer, and let go, Petra drove the sponge up
between them. I flung back my head. I wriggled, trying to free myself
from the log. But I could not rise, could do little more than jerk, up
and down, like a marionette strung up on strings, with my ass hanging
down all pretty and white and bare.
“Ohhh, is your pussy too hot? Let me soothe it,” Petra said.
She dipped the sponge anew in the bucket and passed it up between my
legs. I bit my gag, hard. That water was cold! Ruthlessly Petra
rubbed it over my lovelips. She bathed away the soap that had
accumulated in my curls. She left my muff wet, free of soap, glistening
with ice droplets in its kinky softness.
“Mmmm, and now I must let you swing. Do you like swinging?”
Petra asked me. “All little girls like swinging, hmmm?” Tom brought
her a long, swishy crop. It was made for horses, but there were no
horses down here. Just me, with my bare ass, hanging helpless from the
log swing.
“Yes, let’s draw you back a bit,” Petra told me. Deftly
holding the crop in her fingers, she clasped me with both hands upon the
wet cheeks of my bottom. She drew me back, taking the swing with me.
Then she let go. The log swung forward. I swung with it. I looked
back over my shoulder as I flew forward. No! I knew what must come
next. The log reached its farthest point forward. I stared at Petra,
over my shoulder. She was waiting for my return.
I swung back. My ass displayed itself, watonly, bare and ready
for action. She swiped the crop hard across it.
“YEEEEEOOOCH!” I gasped in my gag. It stung! Oh, it stung!
It was slim and whippy and it dug into my soft skin like a hot branding
iron, laid on lengthwise, by its heated-up handle.
“Is your bottom still chilly?” Petra laughed. She watched me
swing forward, impelled by her blow. The swing reached its farthest
point, then swung back again.
CRACK! Again the crop caught me. Screeeching within my gag,
my hair flying out all blonde and free behind me, I went soaring
forward. Tom laughed, standing at my front. His cock was hard. As I
neared him, my legs spread, I know he wished he could stuff himself into
me. I wished I could accomodate him, but no sooner had I swung forward,
I swung back to Petra.
WHACK! The crop struck me anew. I felt tears in my eyes.
There was a high-pitched scream in the room and I knew it was me, crying
through my gag. I swung forward to Tom. ‘Help Me!’ my eyes pleaded.
But he did nothing, standing with his arms folded over his chest,
watching, his cock like a broom handle, sticking out lewdly in front of
him.
“Aughgh!” Robin groaned. Petra turned her head, missed her
chance to strike me.
“Girls!” I heard her cry. I looked back, over my shoulder.
Bow and Bethany had both knelt before Robin. They were licking his
cock! Bow was kneeling on the table, for she would have been too short,
otherwise, to put her mouth to him. Bethany knelt on the floor, but
strained upward, just able to reach him that way with her mouth. Robin
had his hands on the backs of both girls’ heads. I thought I heard
Bethany utter a little gag, or was it Bow? He was thrusting deep into
one of them.
“Oooh! Petra’s looking!” Bow cried. She leapt back from
Robin’s waist. I saw it was Bethany he was forcing to take his cock
down his throat.
“Ah! Yes! Mmmmm! Swallow, girl!” Robin cried. Suddenly his
hips flexed, his cock seemed to thrust even deeper. Bethany tried to
pull her head back. He held her close to him. I watched, swinging
bare-assed on my swing, as Robin shot himself off into Bethany’s mouth.
“Ah, he will come up again,” Petra said. “He is young. And he
will be stronger, in bed, having let off a little steam.” She turned,
smiled at Tom. “Put yourself in her,” she said to him.
“Into--?” Tom asked. He could hardly believe his ears. He’d
been made to wait half the night and now, suddenly, on the spur of the
moment, Petra was letting him have some fun. With me.
“Yeeek!” I cried. Tom wasted no time waiting for Petra to
answer. As soon as he realized what she’d said, he strode forward. He
seized my bottom. He pulled me foward so that my pussy, strung up under
the log, could be fitted over his dick.
“Wait,” Petra cautioned. She took her sponge and quickly
bathed the soap residue from his dick.
As soon as Petra was finished, Tom pushed his cockhead hard
against my vulnerable pubic lips. I tried to close my legs, to be at
least a little modest. It was no use. They were secured wide apart, to
the chains. Tom drove his newly scrubbed cock into my wet cunt. I
received him with a hot gasp. He found me a a tight fight, but not as
unwilling as I would have preferred, in my more modest moments, to be.
I tried separating my legs more widely, in fact, but found that the
swings’ chains kept them fast, whichever way I tried to move them.
Tom drove deeper into me. His fullness was almost unbearable
for a moment, he was so wide. I struggled to open myself for him. But
I was hanging helplessly. I could do little. He slid deeper still. I
cried through my gag, wishing he’d not go so fast, so hard.
WHACK! Suddenly I felt the crop anew upon my bottom. I
shrieked. I did not want that! But it was no use, I was like a bunny,
caught up my its feet, left to hang by the hunter, over a fire, roasting
on a spit. As Tom drove into me from the front, Petra smacked me hard
on my behind. She laughed. She explored my open anus with her finger
between strokes. I squeezed my cheeks, but they were so widely
separated by my weight that they drew open my little nether ring too.
It was virgin, yet she managed to pierce it with her finger. I felt the
tip of her finger inside me, and her fingernail. It was sharp. I was
impaled. Both ways I was impaled, with a gag in my mouth to keep me
quiet.
“Oh, too bad. We used up all the tea washing Robin’s cock,”
Bow said somewhere behind me. “I’m thirsty.”
“Let’s drink champagne!” Bethany told her.
“Yes! But we must get Petra to open the bottle for us,” Bow
said.
“No, girls. You’re too young,” Petra replied. She whacked my
fanny as she turned to speak to the girls. I yelped. Her wrist was
unmerciful. I waggled my hot bum, hoping Bethany might somehow save
me. “Kneel by the faucet and drink from it, if you must,” Petra told
the girls.
“I have to pee too,” Bow said.
“Do it in the bucket,” Petra said. “Alfonse will wash it out
when you’re through. Wait,” she added. “He’s jacking himself right
now.”
I gasped. Indeed, I saw, turning my head wildly, both Alfonse
and Rico were watching me, rubbing their pricks with their hands. They
wore condoms. They were hired help, not permitted to loose their loads
wherever they might wish.
“Can we suck on their tools?” Bow asked.
“No, dear, you may not,” Petra answered. “Be good and sit down
on the table. Just sit still for a minute, would you?”
WHACK! She hit me again, hard, frustrated by the girls. I
howled. I wriggled my ass. I would be happy to sit still for her, if
only she would quit whipping me!
Tom reared forward. His cock was in me now, filling me,
forcing me to gasp with the first pangs of orgasm. I wriggled on his
tool. How huge it was! I felt like I had some big snake up within me.
His cockhead bumped the back of my womb, somewhere far up inside me. I
screamed in my gag. Was I happy? Did it hurt? I didn’t know anymore.
Behind me, Petra wiggled her finger inside my virgin ass. She should
not do that! I was saving myself for a man, back there, not for a
woman! But it was too late, she was up me already. I felt her finger
slide back, as if to withdraw. Then, suddenly, she drove it up me
again.
Tom was eager to discharge. He pulled back. With both relief
and regret I felt him remove his tool. But this was no porno film.
Just as his cockhead was about to pop out of me, he shoved it up inside
me again.
“WHOOOOOO!” I cried out, from under my gag. Tom drove up me
like a freight train. My eyes bulged in my head. I wished I could kiss
him, suddenly, but the gag he himself had tied upon me prevented that.
Yet, somehow, I brushed his cheek with my split apart lips. The gag was
between them, not over them. I think he felt my attempt at a kiss and
appreciated it.
He didn’t spare me, though. With lusty fury Tom began a series
of in-and-out motions. I had barely accomodated him when he would yank
himself back. Then, just as I got used to that, or was trying to, he
would shove himself up me again. Bow and Bethany crept close. They
watched me with avid eyes, watched Tom.
“He’s fucking her,” Bow told Bethany. My friend watched me,
wide-eyed, virginal in her appearance, though she’d tasted as much cock
as I, at Malthus’s and then at Robin’s. But she was 12, and still
retained some childish aspects to her. She touched her bare navel with
one of her fingers, inserted it, then drew her hand off her tummy,
leaving just her pokey finger, jabbing at her small bellybutton.
Watching me, she seemed to imitate what she was seeing, and she stabbed
herself in her belly repeatedly with her small finger.
“Let’s fuck!” Bow told Bethany. Clearly Bow was ready for it,
but only with a girl, I realized. Men still scared her. The two of
them kissed, Bethany tilting her head down to meet the uplifting face of
Bow, who was shorter.
Petra glanced at them. “Girls--” she began. But with her
finger up me, she hardly was in a position to admonish their kissing.
Bow drew Bethany over to the table upon which Ginger had been
tormented. Twisting my head back, my eyes followed them, even as I
cried in my gag at Tom’s attacks on my person. I saw the two of them
lie down on the table. The plate had apparently been slid back into
place, giving them a full table to lie on, not one with a hole in it.
Or perhaps the girls paused, closing the plate just then, before lying
down. I couldn’t tell, for sure. Each forward thrust of Tom’s hips
sent him slamming inside me. My head twisted to him, kissed his chest,
then swivelled back once more, trying to see what Beth and Bow were up
to. Were they really going to do it? But how could they? They were
both girls!
At that point I lost my ability to see what others were doing.
Last I saw of them, Beth had accepted the underside position, since she
was heavier, lying down on the table first, with Bow, like a frisky
husband, helping her down, in order to hop atop her. My orgasm built to
a crying crescendo in my tummy. It made my thighs shiver. I shuddered
all up and down my spine. I felt wet between my legs, and knew I’d be
wetter still soon, for Tom was groaning with my tightness, his big cock
squeezed hard by me, stretching me even as I ringed and clamped upon
him.
“Ahhhhh!” I cried. Tom’s voice joined mine. He grunted, I
shrieked. Behind us, Petra issued a scream of her own. She was
diddling her slit, sliding her finger up and down within herself. How
wicked, I thought. There was no need to frig yourself with all these
randy men down here. Alfonse or Rico might have enjoyed her, but she
consigned them to masturbating, and came off on her finger instead.
With her other hand, she violated my bottom.
Some distance away, I heard girlish screams. Bethany and Bow,
I mused, but I hardly cared to know anymore, for now my belly seemed
suddenly to burst. I rode hard on Tom, he jammed hard within me. I was
like something hung from heaven for him, split wide, gasping, a perfect
target for his cock that he now began shooting his sperm into. We
became one, he and I, despite the log, or perhaps because of it, for he
drew my bottom forward, using the log which suspended me by my knees to
attack my privates more directly. I was a strung-up bottom, an offered
cunt. He clasped me by my hips. I felt his broad hands upon my bottom,
splitting open my cheeks. Petra pumped her finger in my hole. I kissed
Tom’s chest. He bent down, kissed my forhead. I think he wished I
didn’t have my gag on then, for we might have kissed quite deeply
without it, as his head bent lower, seeking my lips. But, tasting my
gag with his tongue, he consoled himself with kissing my nose.
It ended. Slowly but surely, like a balloon gradually losing
its air, our orgasm subsided. I don’t know if we had just one together,
or more. However many it was, the time came when the last one had gone
shouting through us, leaving us wet, panting, conscious of new things
now.
I had to pee. I was sleepy. I smelled Tom’s aftershave and
decided I didn’t quite like it as much as Robin’s. My bottom hurt. I
felt angry at Petra for deflowering my hole without my permission, for
whacking me there so hard with her riding crop. Tom had brought her the
crop.
My wrists were unfastened. Tom did the work. Petra retreated
to the couch, sat down, ordered tea. The maid told her the teapot was
empty. The girls had spilled tea all over Robin’s dick to wash it.
“Champagne, then,” I heard Petra say.
I groaned. Tom walked round behind me. He unfastened my
knees. Gently as he could, he drew me backward. I was pulled from the
log. My feet kicked. My boots protected my legs and feet from being
scraped by the log’s hard, splitered surface.
Cupping my bottom, Tom set me down on the floor. My legs
wobbled beneath me. Gradually I felt my stance strengthen. Tom held me
until I could stand on my own. I tossed my head. He kissed my face.
Gently his finger’s undid the gag at the back of my head.
“I have to pee,” I told Tom frankly, as soon as my gag was
loosed. He led me over to the bucket. “Kneel,” he told me. I squatted
over the bucket. It was dented. Clean, though, for the Mexican
servants rinsed it thoroughly after anyone peed into it.
Tom cupped my under my arms. My bosoms hung from my chest. My
nipples were hard, but softening a little, for I was tired now. The
night had been long.
I loosed my pee. My bladder emptied itself through my
cuntlips. I let my head fall back. It came to rest against Tom’s
strong thighs. I looked up, sleepily. His penis hung above my lips. I
saw a drop of cum there, too slow to join its fellows in my womb. I
stuck out my tongue. I licked at it. It tasted rather like Robin did,
or one of the other men I’d met, on my adventure. I both liked the
taste and didn’t like it. It was male, I was female. It both attracted
and repelled me. I was only 13.
“Yeek!” I heard from not far off in our cell. I jerked my head
up. Still peeing, I saw Beth and Bow. They were doing the 69. Bow on
top, Beth underneath. Bow was getting her first fucking, I saw,
courtesy of Beth’s tongue. Did it count? I wasn’t sure. It was
something, and it was being pushed up inside her, but whether Beth
pushed hard enough to break her hymen, I didn’t know. It didn’t look
like she was. I saw no blood. She was teasing little Bow, and being
teased by her. I would have taken a crop to them both, for doing that.
All girls knew that was naught. But I was too tired, and Petra seemed
not to care. The maid attended to Petra, serving her champagne, not
minding the girls. Robin had stretched out on one of the couches,
exhausted. He had danced well at the nightclub, better than all the
other men. He was worn out now. His sperm was inside Bethany’s belly.
“Ooooch! Oooooch! Deeper! Go deeper!” Bow hollared at
Bethany. She had her face down between the girl’s thighs. Her own
bottom rotated, as Bethany stabbed at it with her tongue. It looked
like a small ball, balanced and spinning and jiggling above Beth’s
face. Beth lifted her head a little. She focused her efforts, delved
into Bow’s cunt. “YEEEEEECH!” I heard Bow scream. But instead of
leaping off her attacker, she bent her own head lower, and made Beth
issue a scream as her own tongue plunged into Beth’s cunny.
I could do nothing to stop them. I was pooped, too tired even
to get up off the bucket. Tom had to lift me. When I was standing
again, supported by him, I turned to face him. We kissed. I shut out
the rest of the world, with all its strangeness, its wickedness, and
concentrated just on the feel of his lips, and the press of his
equipment between my legs.
30
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