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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Wanton Winter part 1 of 1 (NND)
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For all those poor yuppie men who can’t have anything to do
with anyone who’s younger than they are...
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
WANTON WINTER
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
I sat at the window, watching the snow. The flakes were
falling steadily, big fat wet flakes that mounded on the branches of the
tree and along the windowsill I was peering through. I wore a fuzzy
pink sweater, pulled tight over my growing breasts. I would need a new
one soon. This one was really too small for me now. But I liked the
teddy bear sewn onto the front of it.
“Chloe! You’ll spoil your lunch,” my aunt scolded.
“I’m going on a diet,” I replied, gazing out the window. I
took another long lick of the lollipop I was holding. It was pink, like
my sweater.
“Chloe, you slept past breakfast, and now you don’t want any
lunch?” my aunt asked.
“I told you, auntie. I’m going on a diet,” I said. “I don’t
want to get fat. I’m going to go on a diet and eat only candy!”
My aunt walked over to where I lay snuggled on the daybed, by
the window. She took my fist in her hand. With her other hand she
pulled on my lollipop, grabbing it with her fingertips. Her nails were
exquisitely painted.
“Chloe! Give it to me! I don’t want you eating any more
candy,” my aunt declared.
I took another lick of my lollipop even as she tried to get it
away from me. At last she managed to yank it out of my hand, only to
find it was stuck to her fingers.
I rolled on the daybed, giggling and looking at her. She tried
to get unstuck by waving my lollipop around. In shaking her hand, she
wound up sticking my lollipop to the front of the green sweater she
wore.
“Chloe! Now look what you’ve done!” my aunt shouted. It was a
new sweater. I rolled on the bed, kicking up my bare feet and chortling
with glee. My long bare legs scissored in the air. I wore white
panties. I had slept in them, plus my teddy bear sweater. My hair was
disheveled from sleeping.
“You are becoming nothing but a lazy teenager,” my aunt
scolded. “It’s 11:30 in the morning and you still haven’t gotten up and
washed and dressed yourself. And since when did I say you could just
watch T.V. all night, downstairs, and crash in this daybed, instead of
going upstairs to your bedroom and having a proper sleep?”
“Oh, auntie!” I giggled. “Who cares? I’m sure I will grow up
just the same, whether I sleep in my bedroom or down here in the living
room.”
My aunt tugged at my lollipop, stuck to her sweater. “Chloe,
I’m responsible for you,” my aunt said, talking to me but looking at my
lollipop. “What flavor is this lollipop, anyway? It’s such a ghastly
pink color.”
“Bubblegum!” I told her. “It’s a bubblegum-flavored lollipop,
with real Tutti-Frutti gum in the middle.” It was a wide, flat
lollipop, with a slim central core, where the stick ended, that was made
of gum.
“Well, you are going to eat lunch, dear child, not lollipops,
and you are going to sleep where you should. And now I want you to
scoot that lazy ass of yours upstairs to the tub, and wash yourself, and
do your hair too, and come down looking presentable in half an hour!” my
aunt said. She couldn’t get my lollipop off her. So, pointing her
finger at me, and reaching across the daybed and grabbing me, she took
charge of me, even as my lollipop remained stuck to her sweater. I
licked it, enjoying the taste of it even though it was stuck to her.
“Chloe! Come on!” my aunt scolded. At last she got me to
stand up beside the daybed, my feet on the floor, and taking me firmly
by the hand, she forced me to march upstairs to the bathroom.
When I came down for lunch a half hour later, my aunt was
already done eating. I smelled of bubble bath and shampoo. My teeth,
despite my candy diet, were sparkling white. My hair was well brushed.
I wore a light coat of lipstick.
“Chloe, your lips are orange!” my aunt said, turning and
looking at me. “I told you not to eat any more candy!”
“I didn’t, auntie,” I replied. “It’s Lip Smacker’s Lipstick!”
I licked my lips, tasting my lipstick. “Mmmm!” I said. “Oral Orange.
It’s Bill Clinton’s favorite!”
My aunt sighed and said nothing. She was arranging flowers in
a vase. I sat down and began eating my sandwich. She asked me if I
wanted an eggnog to go with it.
“Okay,” I said. “But put a straw in it. And not one of those
grody straight straws. Make it a bendy straw!”
“Alright, dear,” my aunt said. She was quite nice to me,
really. She made my eggnog for me and set it down by my place. I bent
my straw and then stuck it in my mouth. I sucked noisily at it with my
orange-flavored lips.
My aunt finished arranging the flowers in the vase and stood at
the kitchen window, her back to me, watching the snow fall. I gazed at
her. She had long brown hair, trailing down her back, rich and glossy.
Her back was erect, slim, with a flare of hips, and long legs. She
stretched as she stood at the window, lifting her arms above her head.
On either side of her slim back I could see the protruding curves of her
ample bosom. She was 19, soon to be twenty, with her own income. I
really liked staying with her. I’d come to visit last summer, then
finagled my parents into letting me stay with her all fall. My parents
thought I’d spent the fall at an exclusive French private school. In
fact I was formally enrolled there, by my aunt, who paid all the bills
for my schooling. But really my aunt and I had spent the fall touring
the Middle East. My school, used to the jet-setting ways of its wealthy
students, indulged me. I got passing grades in all my subjects, even
though I’d rarely attended classes.
Now it was winter break and time for me to go home. I looked
at my aunt and wondered if she were feeling lonely at the prospect of my
leaving.
“Auntie,” I said, my straw in my mouth, eggnog showing white on
my orange-painted lips.
“Yes?” my aunt asked. She remained with her back to me, still
stretching.
“Are you sad that I’ll be leaving soon?” I said.
My aunt said nothing for a moment, but her stretch lessened,
and at last she put down her arms. She brushed back her hair with her
hand. She had a new sweater on now. It was violet in color.
My aunt turned around. She looked at me. She pouted, her lips
perfectly sheened with Revlon lipstick, her cheeks blushed with powder.
“I wish you did not have to leave,” she said.
“I could stay with you, if my parents will let me,” I said.
“Oh, Chloe, I do so like having you around,” my aunt said. She
sighed. Her bust rose and fell with her sigh. “Without you I am all
alone,” she said. “I could have a man live with me but it wouldn’t be
the same. You know how men are. I like them quite well, but to have
one with me all the time...” she let her sentence trial away.
I big into my sandwich and chewed it. “He would make you love
only him, and expect to live here for free and be the man of the house,”
I said.
“Yes,” my aunt sighed. She looked at me and told me not to
speak with food in my mouth. Then she said, “I have quite a lot of
money, you see. And he would begin to consider it his. He would tell
me how to spend it and, particularly, how to invest it. I had a
boyfriend before, living here with me, and he saw all my money and
developed a taste for gambling.”
“Did he spend a lot of it?” I asked, forgetting not to blurt
out words when I had my mouth full.
“He spent enough,” my aunt said. “And I had a dickens of a
time kicking him out.” She crossed her arms over her bosoms and looked
down at the floor. “Plus,” she said, quietly, after a moment: “Plus,
when you are here, I have to be a little more responsible. I have to
look after you. But when I am all alone, then I can do just whatever I
please, and sometimes that perhaps is not the best thing.”
I knew what she meant. My aunt, despite her soft nature, had
an adventurous spirit. Under that flawless smile and that mane of
lustrous hair, under that tawny young skin and that pampered appearance,
she had a yearning for the depraved. It worried me and, frankly, I
think it worried her too. With me in her life, she had to be careful.
Not for herself, which she was, perhaps, incapable of being, when it
really mattered, but for me. I was her lucky talisman. I was only 13.
People respected my age. It made them set limits; this farther, no
more. But with me gone, she would be utterly alone, an adult doing
adult things, with no hindrance of childhood to hold them back.
That night we spoke to my parents on the phone. They wanted me
home for Christmas, but I begged them to let me stay.
“Oh, it would be too much of an imposition on Rebecca, dear,”
my mother protested. But my aunt assured them that I was quite welcome.
“Really, I could not think of having Christmas without her!” my
aunt told my mom and dad.
“Well, perhaps the two of you could come here,” my mother
mused. I looked at my aunt, horrified. The same expression showed on
her face. We wanted to have a little fun. Imagine having to be hanging
around with my parents all Christmas!
“Ken Starr might come to speak at our congregation’s Christmas
Eve Service,” my mother said hopefully.
“Oh, I think Christmas in Paris would be so nice for Chloe,” my
aunt said. I sensed an imploring tone in her voice, verging on
desperation. She really didn’t want to be left alone!
“Please, mommie,” I said, reverting to my most childish form of
address in hopes of winning her over. “Let me stay just a little
longer.”
“Well, alright, dear,” my mother said hesitantly, not sure if
she really meant it.
“Oh! I think my turkey’s burning!” my aunt said.
I was about to say, stupidly, “What turkey?” but when she said
goodbye abruptly, and got up from the phone, I realized my aunt was
looking for a way to turn my mother’s tentative ‘yes’ into a definite
one, by ending our conversation.
“Oh! Auntie’s turkey!” I blurted. “Bye, bye, mom! Thanks!”
I slammed down the phone.
“Whew!” my aunt said. Then she began laughing, her large
bosoms shaking, tossing back her hair and grinning at me. “Imagine!
Listening to that awful Ken Starr at Christmas!”
“My mom says I should marry someone like him when I grow up,” I
told her. “But I don’t like the fact that he’s bald. And fat, too.
I’d rather marry Bill Clinton, even if he did cheat on me.”
“Bill will get you on Air Force One,” my aunt said. “They have
very nice M & M’s on Air Force One.”
“Yummie!” I said.
The next day we were lying on the daybed together. It was
made, we were wearing skirts and blouses, looking out at the snowfall
and feeling bored.
My aunt turned to me and I thought she might kiss me, but
instead, putting her hand under her chin, her eyes bright, she said,
“Now Chloe, you know you may go home any time, even if we did get your
parents to let you stay.”
“Yes, auntie,” I said. She put her arm around my waist. I had
a lollipop. It was blue, with gum in the center. I was slowly licking
it down to the gum, but I was on my third lollipop and getting rather
sick of them. They were awfully sweet.
My aunt patted my skirted fanny.
“Don’t, auntie,” I said. But my words were not convincing, I
thought, being perhaps the resistance that serves only to invite. My
aunt patted me again, on my rump, and said:
“It’s about time you got your bottom whacked, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm?” I asked, my eyes widening. What did she mean by that?
My aunt lifted my skirt. She palmed my trim panties. They
were white. They hugged my seat, like gift wrapping on a gift, tightly
enclosed. My ass cheeks bulged into my undies, round and plump, my
cleft dividing them neatly.
“A good, hard spanking, to make up for all the naughty things
you’ve been doing, like eating too many lollipops,” my aunt said.
I took a long lick of my lollipop and then said, quite
confidently and unafraid, “You may spank me if you wish to, auntie.”
Boldly I pressed my bottom up into her palm.
“Oh,” my aunt said. Her voice was contrite. She removed her
hand and laid it between us on the bed, guiltily. Then she used it to
reach for my lollipop. She surprised it by taking it from me and
licking it with her tongue. “I should not say such things,” my aunt
apologized.
“I don’t mind,” I said. My voice sounded sleepy, content. I
reached down. My skirt was still flipped up, showing my bottom. I
yanked on my panties and dragged them down off my fanny, baring my ass.
“Go ahead,” I teased my aunt. “Spank me if you wish!”
We lay like that for a few minutes, my skirt up, my panties
pulled down, my bottom feeling the cool air of the room upon it. As I
lay bare-bottomed on the day bed my aunt held my lollipop and shared it
with me. We both licked it. Outside, the snow was falling, certain to
cool my bottom if I needed it; I would only have to run outside, my
bottom aflame, and plunge myself into it to be soothed.
“I really do think I need a spanking, auntie,” I said at last,
tempted by the prospect of needing to run around bare-assed in her
backyard, in the snow, sticking my tushie into the newfallen drifts.
Perhaps I would even poop in them, like a dog. It was a dirty thought,
but I found myself mesmerized by it. Then I said, more definitely,
“Yes, I do think I very much need a spanking, and I’ll spank myself if
you won’t do it for me.” I reached back. With my hand I slapped my
behind.
“Don’t!” my aunt cried. She reached back and grabbed my hand.
“Your bottom is so white and perfect. If it must be punished, then let
it be by a man. Not by me, or you either.”
I trembled. Already her mind was racing ahead, to types of
spankings much more thorough than what I, in my playful way, had
contemplated. Now I saw myself forced to squat in the snow, forced to
turn it yellow and to adorn it with my logs. It was a dirty thought,
painfully dirty, and I wriggled my hand free of hers and slapped myself
again.
“We shall go shopping,” my aunt said. She clutched at my wrist
and restrained my hand. She lowered my skirt and pulled me up from the
bed, not minding about my panties, which still ringed my thighs. She
fluffed my hair, adjusted my barrettes. She ran a finger across my
lips, smoothing a smear in my orange lipstick. “Get your coat,” my aunt
said. “And your boots. We shall go downtown and find ourselves a man.”
“For me as well as you?” I asked. My eyes were wide. I wished
to reach down and pull up my panties but she caught at my hands and
restrained them. Then, with a smile, she lifted my skirt and pulled my
panties down. She drew them all the way down my legs. I stood for a
moment, a finger in my mouth, contemplating them. They lay limp at my
ankles. I moved my feet apart and the fabric stretched. I stepped out
of them.
“Have you ever gone shopping without panties on?” my aunt asked
me. There was mischief in her eyes.
“It will be rather cold, won’t it?” I asked matter-of-factly.
My aunt laughed. “Well, we are looking for someone to warm us
up, aren’t we?”
“He must be very handsome, auntie,” I said. “And I really
would like to wear my panties.”
My aunt bent down and picked up my panties off the floor. She
smoothed them with her fingertips, like a mother picking up expensive
Christmas wrapping, perhaps to save it for next year.
“We shall tempt him with these,” my aunt said. “One must be
discreet in such matters, especially in public.”
“But remember, auntie,” I said. “He must be very, very
handsome. Otherwise I’d rather spank my bottom myself.”
“Of course, dear,” my aunt said. She took my hand. She held
my panties in one hand and drew me across the room with the other. Then
she got her purse, out of the hall closet, and put my panties in it.
After that she got my boots out. “Put them on, Chloe,” my aunt said.
“Yes, auntie,” I replied.
The department stores were playing Christmas music. The crowds
were light. Christmas was still three weeks away. But everyone had a
merry demeanor. We drifted through the aisles of the stores, browsing.
“Auntie,” I said, all too conscious of the fact that I was
secretly without panties under my coat and skirt. I tugged on her
hand. She turned from a display of mufflers, through which she was
looking at and sizing up a man, without him knowing.
“Yes?” my aunt asked.
“I feel quite silly shopping for a man to spank us,” I
whispered.
“So do I, dear,” my aunt said. Then, just as quickly, she
added: “What do you think of that one, over there?” I peeked through
the display of mufflers at him. “Do you think he’s handsome enough?” my
aunt asked. He was dressed in an expensive overcoat and suit, with
slicked-back hair that was jet black, and shiny black shoes. He had a
mustache.
“No,” I said, but my voice was hesitant, unsure.
“Do not say ‘no’ just for the sake of saying ‘no,’ Chloe,” my
aunt said. “I think he’s quite nice. Look how large his hands are,
well-formed and firm. They say if a man has big hands he has other
parts of himself that are big too.”
“He has big shoulders,” I said.
“Yes, he does,” my aunt said admiringly. He turned. Although
he wore an overcoat, you could tell by how it hung on him, tapering as
it fell from his shoulders, that he was trim and athletic in shape. “I
think he is a fine specimen,” my aunt said. “Let us go over and
introduce ourselves.”
“What do we say?” I asked. “Hello, we need a spanking?”
“Let me handle it, dear,” my aunt said.
A few minutes later we were talking with the man. He spoke
politely, showing good breeding. I guessed he was the product of a
well-to-do family.
“She is fun to have along, but she can be such trouble
sometimes,” my aunt told the man. They were discussing me,
good-naturedly, as I slipped away from them and looked at jewels in a
jewelry counter. They sparkled at me. They were expensive jewels. One
was orange, like the Lip Smackers lipstick I wore.
“I can imagine,” I heard the man say. “Only 13? She is too
young to go out on her own in the world, yet too old to be managed like
a child.”
“Yes, it is a difficult period,” my aunt sighed. “Especially
since, well,” she blushed, authentically, I thought, seeing her
reflection in the jewelry counter’s glassed surface. “Well, one can’t
exactly put her over one’s knee, can one?”
“No,” the man agreed. “And yet,” he said, lifting a hand and
stroking his mustache. “Really, when you think about it, that’s the age
when such a thing is most needed. That’s when children begin to really
get difficult, you know. A sound spanking would be just the right thing
for them, if it could be given.”
My aunt sighed. She opened her purse. She looked within it,
as if to find lipstick or a compact.
“The real problem,” my aunt said. “Is that it’s just me. A
woman. You know? She could use the influence of a man, if only
occasionally. It would help her, I think. To be a better behaved young
lady.” My aunt looked up from her purse. Her eyes were frank.
“Yes,” the gentleman said. He arched one of his eyebrows.
“And as for myself,” my aunt said. “I sometimes wish I had a
man too, for the same reason. Look at me! I hardly want for anything,
and yet here I am again, shopping and spending my money.”
“Are you...” the man paused. He stroked his mustache again.
Then, folding his arms behind his back, looking at me and then again at
my aunt, he asked. “Are you currently seeing anyone?”
“No,” my aunt said. “I don’t really want a boyfriend. They
can be such a bother. But a man with a firm hand, sometimes I think
that’s what I could use, provided he was wealthy like me and knew how to
handle a girl.” She looked at him. “You know, a friend. Nothing
serious. Just a friend to teach Chloe her manners, and to guide me a
little.”
“Yes,” the man said. He smiled. My aunt took his hand and
drew it to her purse. She put his hand into her purse and he looked
rather alarmed, wondering, I suppose, what she was doing. Then his
fingertips must have touched the silk of my panties for his smile
returned, broadened. With deft fingers he drew my panties out of my
aunt’s purse and slipped them into a pocket of his overcoat.
“She insisted on not wearing them,” my aunt told the man. “Can
you belive that?”
The man patted his coat, over the pocket where my panties now
lay. Looking at me, then at my aunt, he asked,
“When would be the most convenient time for you to bring her
by? I live in town here.” He told her the address. “You could come by
in the afternoon. There would be no need to spend the night.”
“I am not really looking for a boyfriend, you understand,” my
aunt said. “It would not be that sort of thing.”
“Of course,” the man said.
I wandered over to where they were standing. “Auntie,” I
said. My voice was high, shrill. I didn’t intend for it to be, but it
was. “I want to buy a ring! An orange one, to match my lipstick.”
“No, Chloe,” my aunt said. “Didn’t you see those prices?”
“It is no trouble,” the man said. He stepped toward me. “Tell
me which one you want, child.”
“I want the orange one,” I said. “To match my lipstick.”
“Chloe! Don’t be asking men to buy you things,” my aunt
scolded. But already the man had out his wallet, and was gesturing to
the clerk. “There is no need,” my aunt protested.
“You gave me a gift,” the man said, patting his pocket where my
panties lay hidden.
My aunt relented. The man bought me the ring. It cost a lot.
He slipped it on my finger and I looked at it admiringly. Finally,
beaming up at him, I smiled and said, “It’s so pretty! It matches my
lipstick, see?” I held my new ring close to my face.
“Perhaps I should buy you a red one also,” the man said.
“I don’t have anything on me that’s red,” I said.
“One ring is enough,” my aunt said.
My panties were laid out on my bed. They were made of
leather. My aunt had bought them for me at a boutique. She had done it
while I was out back, sledding, my thoughts at that time as innocent as
the white snow I’d played in.
I took off my scarf and mittens, having come inside and run
upstairs to see the outfit she’d purchased. Tentatively I picked up the
panties off my bed and examined them. They had string ties, made of the
same leather as the panties themselves.
“They’re rather little,” I said. My aunt stood in the door to
my bedroom, having come upstairs after me to see if I liked what she’d
bought. “And they have a hole in the middle of them!” I said.
“It zips closed,” my aunt said.
“You want me to visit him wearing these?” I asked.
“Yes,” my aunt said. “He specifically requested that you wear
leather panties.”
“So he will see me in them?” I asked. I had hoped to be clad
in a skirt or jeans when we visited. My aunt laughed.
“Chloe, darling, why do you think he bought you that ring?” my
aunt asked.
“To match my lipstick,” I said. My voice was artless. Did I
know, or didn’t I? I pulled at the drawstrings of my leather panties,
looking through the wide hole that was where a gusset should have been.
“He will see my pussy if this isn’t zipped up,” I said.
“Take your bath. You’re sweaty from being in the snow, even if
its cold outside,” my aunt said. “Make yourself up and do your hair.
Then dress, and we will go. It is only an afternoon visit. We won’t be
staying for dinner.”
“Did he invite us?” I asked.
“I did not ask him to,” my aunt said. “I only asked that we
earn forgiveness for our naughty ways.”
I gulped. I turned and looked at my aunt. She stood in the
door to my room, her hands behind her. Her hips swayed. I saw she had
both her palms on her bottom, pressed to it, as if to protect it. “Do
you really think we need a man to spank us?” I asked.
“That is just what we need,” my aunt replied. “Just that, and
no more. A quick spank, well delivered, without love or affection, in
the middle of the afternoon.”
“I don’t love him,” I told her frankly. “He’s handsome, but
he’s so much bigger than me.”
“Nor does he love us,” my aunt said. “Although I’m sure he’s
physically attracted to us. He told me he has a wife. We’ll be
visiting him while she’s out shopping. We cannot stay long.”
“Oooh, a married man,” I said. Instantly my interest in him
heightened. “Does he have any kids?”
“He has a daughter. She’s about your age,” my aunt replied.
“How do you know so much about him?” I asked.
My aunt laughed. “I was talking to him, silly, while you were
busy spending the franks he gave you on cotton candy.”
“It was good cotton candy,” I said. “Except I got some on my
ring.”
“Take your bath,” my aunt said. “I don’t want for us to be
late. We won’t have much time to spend with him as it is.”
“Okay,” I answered.
30
To be continued. See below for future installments:
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