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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Sum 11 Summer of Sin part 11 of 20 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Eleven
“I want to fish too,” I said.
“You can’t, dear. You don’t have a penis,” Pauline answered.
Her voice was languid. She sounded bored. I gazed with inquisitive
eyes at the men. John, Brad, and Steve all sat on a couch in the living
room. There was a fish tank on the floor. Multicolored tropical fish
swam in the tank. Each man sat with his penis hanging erectly over the
side of the tank. A fishing line was tied around each man’s dick. At
the end of each line, down in the submerged depths of the fish tank, was
a barbed hook. On the hook a fresh nightcrawler wiggled.
“They aren’t biting,” Steve said.
“Don’t wiggle your dick around so much,” Paul said.
“I want to fish!” I said again. I crouched on the floor,
beside the tank. My hands clutched its glass walls, along the top.
“She could, you know,” my aunt said. She was sitting on a
pillow. Her well-lotioned bottom was hidden from our view, but it was
still red, from my whipping. My own fanny bore the marks of John’s
discipline. It didn’t hurt as much now, but there were several weals
that would take a while to heal. I let go of the fishtank and rubbed my
bare ass. It stung. I winced. John looked up from the end of his
penis and laughed at me.
“You’re wicked,” I told him.
“You won’t call me names anymore,” he said.
“You’re right,” I said glumly. I pouted.
“You look pretty when you pout,” John said.
“Let me fish. Can I play with your fishing pole?” I asked
John.
“Tie string to her nipples. Then she can fish,” my aunt told
Pauline.
“Of course!” Pauline said. “You’re quite inventive, Rebecca.”
She leapt up from the couch.
“But I want to play with *his* fishing pole!” I said, pointing
to John’s dick.
“No, you’re not playing with my husband’s penis,” Pauline
said. “He’s going to need all of his sperm for tonight, when he gets
married to Chrissy.” She picked up the ball of fishing line. “Do you
want bait, or a real worm?” Pauline asked me.
“Yuck!” I said. “I don’t want a real worm. They’re yucky!”
“Which hook do you want, then?” Pauline asked. There was a
collection of them laid out on a soft towel, on the carpet. Next to the
ersatz baits was a can with worms in it. Pauline’s fingers passed over
the can of worms and fingered the nearest bait.
“Give me a pretty one,” I said. “Two pretty ones, since I have
two nipples.”
“She gets to fish with two lines?” Brad asked, looking up from
his penis.
“She’s a girl. She won’t catch anything,” John said
dismissively. “I told you not to wiggle your dick around. The fish
will never bite your line if you do that.”
“I can’t help it. I’m horny as hell,” Brad said.
“After my wife and Chrissy both blow-jobbed you this morning?”
John asked.
“Yes,” Brad said. There was a look of desperation in his
eyes. He looked at me, pleadingly.
“Nope,” I said.
Pauline knelt down next to me. She made me turn towards her so
she could tie fishing line around my nipples.
“What do you mean, ‘nope’?” Brad asked me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said to him.
“What?” Brad asked.
“You want to fuck me,” I said. “And I bet I know where you
want to put it, too.”
“Where?” Brad said.
“Don’t wiggle your line,” John told Brad again.
“Up my bottom,” I said.
“So, let’s do it,” Brad said. He began to rise.
“Nope,” I told him.
“Sit down,” John said. He was sitting next to Brad. He
clutched at Brad’s penis and forced him to sit back down, bare assed, on
the sofa.
“I’ve got to cum,” Brad said.
“Not in me!” I shouted. “I’m fishing.”
“For God’s sake. Go whack off in the bushes if you need it
that bad,” Steve swore. “You keep wiggling your dick around and it’s
scaring the fish!”
“Nobody is going to cum again until I do,” John said. He
looked at Steve. “And tonight we’re getting married.”
“Not to each other,” Steve said.
“I could marry every one of you fucks and fuck you in every
hole you’ve got,” John said.
“John! Don’t be rude,” Pauline told her husband. She tied
fishing line to my right nipple. It made a pretty bow. Then she tied a
hook onto the end of my line. “Be careful with this,” she told me. “I
don’t want it cutting your pretty skin.”
“My bottom’s already cut,” I said ruefully. Pauline dropped
the plastic bait, with the hook built into it, in the fish tank. The
water rippled.
“You only have a few welts, that’s all,” Pauline told me. “My
husband didn’t cut your skin when he whipped you. It wasn’t that kind
of whipping.”
“She almost cut mine!” Rebecca said.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” I said. “I never whipped
anyone’s bottom before.”
“It hurts when I sit down,” Rebecca told me.d
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’ll both be better in a few days, if not well before then,”
Pauline said. “There. I’ve tied on the other line, Chloe.” She
plopped it in the water. I pressed my belly to the fish tank. Flatness
of glass upon flatness of flesh. I looked over the edge of the tank and
saw my belly button through the glass.
“This is fun,” I said, jiggling my bosoms. My bait wiggled in
the water.
“Don’t wobble your boobs around,” John told me. “You’ll scare
the fish.”
The moon rose. We stood before a makeshift alter. I wore a
dress that was rucked up in back to show my bottom. The welts were
receeding. They were just faint pink lines now. I had a daisy in my
hair. I was best lady at the wedding.
Rebecca was the priest. She wore a dog’s collar around her
throat. A black vest, open in front, hung over her shoulders, showing
her shoulders, her belly, her boobs. Her nest was uncovered. Her legs
were long and bare, but she wore high heels. She was a most unusual
priest.
Brad was best man. He wore a black-tailed coat that John had
insisted be raised in back, so that his cute buns could be seen. In
front his penis stuck out lewdly. His balls swung freely between his
legs.
Pauline and Chrissy stood next to each other, before Rebecca.
They turned and kissed briefly as Rebecca opened a hymn book to read out
the marriage ceremony. Their bushes showed. Their bosoms peeped over
the rim of their corsets, their nipples just visible. The tips of each
woman’s breasts stuck forth lewdly. Whenever they moved, or breathed,
their nipples stirred the decorative lace fringe on the top of each of
their corsets.
Next to Chrissy stood John. He held her arm possessively. His
cock protruded from underneath a black formal coat. He wore a bow tie.
There were shoes on his feet, well-polished by the slave boys, but his
legs were bare. Steve was dressed in the same fashion, his cock
showing, his ass displayed by the rucking up of his coat in back, his
legs naked. Only John’s butt was covered, by the tails of his long
black coat. Everyone else offered their bottom to the view of the
others.
We faced the altar. Rebecca faced us. Dressed as girls, the
two slave boys waited at the end of the room, holding rice. They had
flowered dresses on. There were bright ribbons in their hair. They
both wore veils of white. Under their dresses I knew they were hard as
stone, their balls full. They were eager for sex and I wondered if
they’d get to fuck the bride, or her bride’s maid. John told them to do
just as he ordered, and to throw the rice properly, or they’d be made to
entertain us afterwards by fucking each other.
Rebecca picked up a squirtgun. It was filled with white wine.
She directed it at Chrissy’s bush. She pulled the trigger. A long
stream of wine jetted forth. It struck Chrissy’s bush and wetted it.
Rebecca kept squirting until all the wine in the squirtgun was gone.
Chrissy’s bush was drenched. The small curled hairs of it hung down
wetly. She dripped on the floor.
“Do you, Chrissy, take John here to be your unlawfully wedded
husband?” Rebecca asked with a giggle. Chrissy gulped.
“I do,” Chrissy managed to say. I understood her fear. At the
last minute, it had been agreed that the marriage would have one very
important added feature. Though it was a lewd marriage, giving Chrissy
to John, and Pauline to Steve, it would also be a ceremony that bound
each lover more completely to their true love. For, in a corner, next
to a pile of soft, comfy pillows, stood a brazier. There were two irons
heating on the coals of the brazier. One bore a J. The other bore an
S. Though she would marry John this night, and be impregnated by him,
and carry his child, Chrissy would, to always remember her true love, be
branded on her bottom. With an S. The initial of her real husband’s
first name. It would be the same for Pauline. She would take marriage
vows to Steve, and receive her sperm. But, so she remembered who her
real husband was, she would, before the fucking, be permanently marked
with a J.
I could feel Pauline trembling as she stood beside me. Her
hand was in mine. It was sweating.
“Do you, John, take Chrissy as your unlawfully wedded wife?”
Rebecca asked our black host.
“I do,” John said. He felt the squirtgun (there was one for
each of us, lying on the alter) jet out wine upon the length of his
penis. “That makes me have to go to the bathroom,” John said.
“No peeing at the altar,” Rebecca told him. Then she read out
the marriage vows for Pauline. She drenched her pussy with wine.
Pauline agreed to be unlawfully married to Steve. Then Rebecca, turning
to him, shot wine all over his penis.
“And now you, Brad, as best man,” Rebecca said. She drenched
his cock with wine. When the squirtgun designated for him was empty,
she did me. Finally, turning a gun on herself, Rebecca soaked her own
pussy. “Now you may kiss,” Rebecca told the two couples.
Brad and I watched from opposite sides as the four people
embraced. They kissed long and passionately. Brad looked at me with
pleading eyes. His dick was dripping, and I knew there was more than
just wine plopping off the end of it. I lifted my nose. I wouldn’t let
him have me. Not yet. We might get in trouble with John, if we messed
up his wedding by balling at the altar.
“I want to get married,” I said suddenly to Rebecca. Watching
John and Chrissy and Steve and Pauline kiss was making me hungry for it.
“You’re too young,” she answered.
“I want to fuck,” Brad said frankly.
“Go in the bushes if you need it that badly,” I giggled.
John told us to shut up. He said we were messing up his
kissing. Chrissy swooned as he kissed her. I think he managed to stick
his tongue all the way down her throat.
“Now for the brazier,” John said.
“Oh, I don’t--!” Pauline said. There was misgiving in her
eyes.
“We must,” John said.
“Will it hurt?” Chrissy asked. Her eyes looked across the room
at the flickering coals.
“No worse than when you birth my child,” John said.
We walked across the room. The steps of Pauline and Chrissy
were hesitant, unsure. Reaching the mound of pillows, Pauline gazed
down at them. Her hand rose to her mouth and figeted there. She put a
finger between her lips and uncertainly sucked upon it.
“Down,” her husband, John, said to her in a deep voice. “Get
down.”
Pauline whirled about and clutched at her husband’s big frame.
“Please, dear! Don’t make me--” she gasped.
“Get down and spread your ass,” John said to Pauline. She
looked up into his eyes. She gave him a small, pecking kiss on the
cheek. Another. He pushed her away. Not hard, but firmly. She
tottered on her heels. He caught her arm so she wouldn’t fall.
“Help me get her undressed,” John said to Steve. His voice
growled. As we watched, horrified, the two men grabbed Pauline. She
shrieked. They ripped off her bridal gown. They stripped her down to
her lovely white mesh stockings, tearing off even her garter belt,
leaving her in just her elastic stockings. And the pretty white ribbons
she’d put in her hair.
Ribboned, stockinged, with her earrings dangling off her ears
but otherwise nude, Pauline gazed again at the brazier. She rubbed her
bare hands up and down her naked arms. Her pubic bush was still moist
from all the wine that had been squirted into it. She touched her bare
belly. Her hands skimmed her bare thighs. She interlaced her fingers
across her wet bush and looked down at them.
“Don’t I at least get a ring?” Pauline said.
“It is an unlawful marriage,” John said. “You don’t get a
ring. You get a brand on your bottom.”
“Oh!” Pauline gasped. She looked again at the brazier and
seemed to reach some sort of mental accomodation with it. She walked
around the mound of pillows. She put her back to the brazier. She
looked back over her shoulder at its glowing coals. Then, she knelt.
She stretched out over the mound of pillows. She opened her legs. She
looked up at her husband. Then, looking away from his cock, which hung
over her head, she reached back behind herself and spread the cheeks of
her bottom.
“Very good,” John said to Pauline. “Steve, since you’ll be
impregnating her, you’ll do her the honor of branding her as well.”
“Right,” Steve said. He walked over to the brazier.
“Be careful. I have to live with your handiwork for the rest
of my life,” John told Steve.
“Oh!” Pauline said. She was moved by her husband’s remark that
he would, in fact, love her forever and never leave her. Wet tears
appeared in her eyes.
“Gag her,” John said to Chrissy.
“Me?” Chrissy asked in a meek voice.
“You,” John said.
“But I’m next!” Chrissy blurted.
“Kneel down and gag her,” John repeated.
With trembling hands, Chrissy knelt down. There was a black
gag lying, as if by afterthought, along the back of the piled-up
pillows. Chrissy took the gag. She urged Pauline to open her mouth.
Pauline resisted.
“You must,” Chrissy said to Pauline. “To protect your teeth.”
Pauline at last relented and the gag filled her mouth. It was made of
thick black leather to protect her from biting down on her tongue or of
harshly grinding her teeth. Chrissy leaned over her contrite head and
knotted the gag firmly against her neck, careful to pull her hair free
so that it woulnd’t be bound in with the knot of the gag. “There,”
Chrissy said. She patted Pauline’s head.
“Now her hands,” John said. Chrissy reached back. She
clutched at Pauline’s wrists. Pauline was pressing her hands to the
back of her bottom, opening herself for the brand, showing us her anus.
“Oh! I can feel it!” Chrissy said. “The heat from the brazier
is warming her bottom.” Steve laughed. The brazier sat just beyond
Pauline’s upturned feet. He knelt beside it, stirring the coals. He
used an iron rod. He had an oven mitt on his hand, which had hung on a
peg on the wall next to the brazier, but which he now was wearing. He
sat sideways so that the meatiness of his left thigh protected his naked
cock from the brazier’s heat.
“Her toes are even warmer,” Steve said.
“But I can feel it on her bottom too!” Chrissy said. She
picked up both Pauline’s hands. She drew them out in front of Pauline.
Two heavy iron weights had been placed on the carpet before the ceremony
began. Chrissy now tied each of Pauline’s wrists to one of the
weights. The weights were widely spaced on the floor and they made
Pauline’s hands be stretched wide apart. Behind her, Steve used two
weights near her ankles to tie her legs into a spread-eagled position.
The mound of pillows under Pauline’s belly lifted her bottom high.
Gagged, tied, Pauline looked with pleading eyes up at her
husband.
“She is ready,” John said to Steve. “Apply the brand.”
Steve picked up one of the brands that lay warming above the
coals.
“Oh! I cannot look!” I gasped. My aunt grasped my shoulders.
“Try,” my aunt breathed. “You have a lovely bottom and
someday--” her voice broke into a sob. She couldn’t speak.
“Someday what--?” I squeaked. I felt my aunt press her chin
down upon my frail shoulder. She held me in front of her, as if
clutching a shield. She tried to speak but she couldn’t. She was too
nervous.
“Oh, God!” Chrissy, knowing she was next, cried aloud. She put
her fist in her mouth. She bit it. She drew blood, but none of us
noticed, not even her, until later.
With a quavering hand Steve lifted one of the brands off the
hot griddle. He knelt with his penis erect between Pauline’s legs. He
nervously stroked one of her bare thighs with his fingers. Pauline
squeezed her eyes shut. She seemed to lift her bottom, to evade the
brand, or to offer herself to it? I could not tell. She could only
move a little, because she was stretched out completely and tied.
Only John remained firm, his figure erect and tall, his hands
quietly by his sides, gazing with resolute eyes. He showed no sign of
nervousness.
“Steady,” John told Steve. “That’s my wife you’re about to
poke in the ass.”
“I know,” Steve said.
“Ruin her with your nervousness and I’ll do the same to your
own wife’s bottom,” John said.
“Right,” Steve agreed.
“Oh!” Chrissy shouted. She grabbed at one of Pauline’s wrists,
as if to untie it. John scooped her up off the floor. He held Chrissy
in his arms.
“No,” John intoned.
“I don’t wish to be branded!” Chrissy babbled. But her voice
was childlike, lost in fear. John held her wriggling body. She stared
down at Pauline.
“Do it now,” John told Steve. Pauline’s hips rocked. Steve
placed a hand on one of the cheeks of her bottom.
“Be still,” Steve said. He prised apart her asscheeks with his
fingers.
“Right next to the anus,” John said.
“Both sides?” Steve asked.
“Just one,” John replied. “Perhaps I will brand the other side
someday, but for now, just do the left inner cheek. I don’t want to use
up all the space in one sitting.”
“It’s more fun to do them one at a time,” Steve agreed. He
directed the brand into the space he’d made, wrenching open her bottom
with his big fingers.
“Oh! Let me help! There isn’t enough room!” my aunt cried.
She tossed me aside like a rag doll. She leapt down on Pauline’s back.
To our surprise, she clapped her hands to Pauline’s bottom. For a
moment I thought she was trying to protect her, but then she widened
Pauline’s ass with stiff-gripping fingers, splitting her cheeks.
“Have you done this before?” Steve asked Rebecca.
“I-- I saw it done once,” Rebecca said. “Put the brand to her
while it is still hot. Do it now.” Frantically Pauline, feeling the
weight of Rebecca on her back, twisted her body. She could barely move,
but she tried her best to escape the long, hot iron that hovered over
her bare fanny. It was no use. My aunt held her firmly between
clamping thighs and her arms and legs were tied tightly to the weights
spread out on the floor.
SSSSSSSSSS !!! The sound of hot steel touching warm, naked
bottomfat was heard in the room. Pauline’s eyes gaped. A sound of
screaming, gagged desperation erupted from her thin throat.
“Hold it! Hold it!” Rebecca shouted. Her hair had come free
from her wedding-day coiffure and tumbled prettily down into her eyes.
She struggled to keep Pauline’s squirming bottom apart. Steve, looking
rather like he was fucking Pauline up the ass with the long, hard iron
poker, held the wicked thing against Pauline’s skin. Pauline’s small
anal hole tensed. It drew inward. It went from its small dimpled size
to an even smaller size. Directly next to it the hot iron brand
imprinted itself on her intimate flesh.
“Ten!” Rebecca said. She had been counting, silently. “Take
it off! Now!”
With relief Steve lifted the brand. A harsh raw mark was left
behind in Pauline’s skin, in the furrow of her bottom. It read, “S”.
We all gazed wondrously at it. Pauline trembled between Rebecca’s
tight-gripped thighs. She fainted.
“You idiot! You branded her with your brand!” John screamed at
Steve.
“Yikes! I didn’t realize!” Steve said.
“Oh my God!” Chrissy cried. John, still holding her, gripped
her firmly.
“Then your wife shall bear forever my initial,” John said to
Steve.
“Oh, no!” Steve yelled.
Both women sat in wooden tubs. The tubs had been filled with
cool water. The women sat in the nude, their bare behinds submerged in
the tubs. Their feet rested on the carpet. They held hands. There was
rice in their hair, thrown by the slave boys.
“There are our brides, their bottoms branded,” John said to
Steve.
“Now all that remains is to fuck them,” Steve said.
“Yes, after their bottoms have a chance to cool off,” John
said.
“They are a pretty sight,” Steve said.
“They will make fine mothers,” John agreed.
In the morning, when both Pauline and Chrissy’s bottoms had
healed sufficiently, we went upstairs. Separate bedrooms had been
prepared. One for John and Chrissy. The other for Steve and Pauline.
Each bedroom had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign waiting on the outside handle
of the door. Despite our games, our earlier enjoyments, this would be a
private, intimate affair. It would be shared only by the parties
involved. No interference would be allowed. Both doors could be locked
from the inside, to assure complete privacy.
“Good night,” Pauline said. She kissed her husband. He kissed
her. At the same time, Steve and Chrissy kissed farewell. It was
morning, the sunlight bright against the drawn curtains of each bedroom,
but both couples bid each other goodnight anyway. Perhaps they would
not see each other again until the following morning. When they did
meet again, both females would be pregnant, with the seed of a man not
their husband.
“I love you,” Chrissy said to Steve. She looked longingly at
him. John drew her away.
“Come. We must go inside,” John said to Chrissy. She turned.
She looked into the waiting bedroom. The covers of the bed were already
drawn back. The sheets were fresh and crisp. On the nightstand, next
to the bed, were lotions and creams and oils. There were no condoms,
however. No birth control pills.
“Oh! I’ll be pregnant when I see you again, dear!” Chrissy
blurted across the hallway to her husband. Steve stood by the door to
the bedroom he would share with John’s wife, Pauline.
“I know,” Steve said. “Say goodbye to your wife,” Steve said
to John.
“I want a boy,” John said to Steve.
“You’ll get whatever I give her,” Steve answered. “Perhaps it
will be a redheaded white boy, who only likes math, and hates girls.”
“For God’s sake, don’t give me a fag!” John said.
“You never know,” Steve answered. “I have a cousin who’s a
member of NAMBLA.”
“I have three relatives who are in the State Penitentiary,”
John said.
“Enough of this!” Pauline cried. “We will both have fine
children. Won’t we?”
“Yes!” Chrissy agreed.
“Your son will be a future president,” Steve told John
solemnly. “He will get blow-jobs from every intern in the White House.”
“Come, dear. We have work to do,” Pauline said. She took
Steve’s hand. She drew him into the bedroom.
“Goodbye,” John said from the doorway to his own bedroom.
There was a note of regret in his voice. He gazed across the hall at
his wife’s bare, flat belly. Chrissy kissed his cheek.
“I want a son who’s a rapper,” Chrissy said quietly to John.
She reached between his legs and took hold of his bare cock. We were
all naked, standing there in the hall. The night had passed slowly as
the men waited for the two women to recover from their branding.
Chrissy fondled John’s balls. They looked enormous to me, standing
there in the middle of the hall, watching. She emitted a small loving
moan, and squeezed them. I put a hand to my own snatch and fingered
myself.
Steve and Pauline closed the door to their bedroom. I heard
them slide shut the lock on the other side of the door. John and
Chrissy, her hand still touching his testicles, did the same.
“What shall we do?” I asked Brad. My aunt stood holding his
hand.
“We are one out,” Rebecca confessed. “Shall we have a menage a
trois?”
“I want to get both of you pregnant,” Brad said to me.
“You can’t, dear. She’s only 13. She goes to a private
school, in America. It’s quite expensive. I’m sure her parents don’t
want to have to pay for two places,” Rebecca said. She grinned at me.
“My mom and dad would be totally shocked if I went home
pregnant,” I giggled to Brad.
“Then let’s just enjoy ourselves, eh?” Brad said. He stroked
his bare cock. “We can, you know, practise.”
“Practising sounds nice,” Rebecca agreed.
We left the island. John steered his boat. Pauline wore a
sailor’s hat and clam-digger pants. She was bare-breasted. There was a
small shirt lying on the bench seat at the back of the boat. She would
put it on as we drew in toward shore, she assured us. I smiled. My
bosoms were also bare. I wore bikini panties, given to me by Pauline.
Her hips were wider than mine and she had cut them with scissors to make
them smaller. She did the same for a bra which I fingered. It hung
over one of my shoulders. I would put it on when I saw another boat, or
when we got close enough to the shoreline for people to see me. I liked
being topless. I could feel the morning sun on my breasts and it felt
warm. Perhaps it would give my nipples a tan.
The boat hit a wave and spray from it crossed over the side of
the boat and splattered upon Pauline’s belly. She laughed. She looked
down at herself. Her belly was flat but we all knew her condition would
visibly change soon. Inside, in her womb, she now carried Steve’s
seed. It was the same for Chrissy. I looked at her bare belly, dry and
warm in the sun. She already had her shirt on, as did my aunt. Both of
them had knotted their shirts so that their bellies showed. My aunt’s
would not bloat in the coming weeks, but Chrissy’s would, as would
Pauline’s. I patted my own belly. I looked over at Brad. He grinned
at me.
“I wish I’d gotten pregnant,” I confessed.
“I’m sure it can be arranged,” he said. He wore his jeans.
There was a bulge in the front of his trousers.
“Are you up again already?” I gasped. I looked frankly at his
crotch.
“I’m always up, for you,” Brad said.
“I love you,” I gasped. I leaned over and kissed him. He
wrapped his arms around me. I looked up into his eyes. “I wish I had a
brand too. On my bottom.” I said. My voice was soft, babyish.
“Sure you do,” Brad said. He reached into the back of my swim
panties and felt between the cheeks of my ass, in my crack. “Right
there.”
“Oooh! Don’t put your finger in my hole!” I gasped.
“What are you two up to?” Rebecca laughed.
“You’d better keep an eye on her,” Pauline warned. “She could
wind up like me.”
30
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Scroll to the very bottom of the page that appears.
Change “Standard” to “Complete”
roller39@idt.net is already typed into the window.
Click in the window behind the “t” in “.net”
Press your “return” key.
-Or look under: roller666@earthlink.net
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim
Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF story EMISSION
--
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