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Subject: Fevered Fall part 18 of 22 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
FEVERED FALL
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Eighteen
Our arms hung suspended. We leaned forward, forcibly drawn
into that position. My back ached already from the stress of the chains
pulling upon my wrists. I was the littlest one and all three of us, my
auntie, myself, and Jim Rutland, were all fastened by our wrists to the
same overhead beam. It had now been cranked forward along the ceiling,
drawing us with it. But our hips remained immobile, for our legs were
splayed and chained to the ‘thrones’ we sat upon. ‘Throne’ was, by now,
a very inexact term, for really we sat upon wooden platforms. They
lacked armrests. They lacked chair backs. And now, they had each been
reduced by half, for like a folding table, each of the platforms had had
their rear sections removed, leaving our bare bottoms hanging in
mid-air.
I felt the wood of the chair (what little remained of it)
pressing against the underside of my thighs. Where my thighs stretched
out to connect with my bottom, they were unsupported. My ass and the
topmost parts of my thighs dipped in the air, then rose a little as I
struggled to somehow find a way to get my bottom back over the chair.
It proved useless. My ass would be totally unsupported until the guards
chose to put my chair back together.
It was the same for my aunt. I turned my head. I looked at
her. They had gagged her again, for she wouldn’t stop pleading with
them to spare me. “Oh, auntie!” I wished to say. “Thank you for
thinking of my welfare, even at the risk of yourself.” (For, indeed,
they had gagged her rather angrily, upset that she refused to keep
quiet.” I gazed at her with affection. If only she, or I, had been
smarter about coming here. Did we really think they would treat us like
princesses? I guess I had thought so, being only 13, but for my aunt to
be so naive too, alas! Now we were reduced to common whores, and I
feared they would be hard on my aunt for trying to protect me.
How sorry for my aunt I felt! I saw her big woman’s bottom
clenching and unclenching as she strove to keep her cheeks together and
hoist her ass back onto the platform. Meanwhile, behind her, I could
hear Prince Havash taking practise shots with his whip. He struck the
air behind her. Each snap of the lash reached out farther; drawing
closer and closer to my aunt’s wide-apart derriere. I shivered at the
thought of the whip finding its way inbetween my aunt’s cheeks. She
could not keep them closed, nor could I keep my own shut, for the
posture we were in now, with our bottoms so amply displayed, forced our
hineys apart.
Oh, how embarrassed I felt! I remembered standing up in
school, and being told by my teacher to sit down. What would she say
now, if she saw how I sat with my ass open and vulnerable, making a
bullseye of my anus?
“Sire,” Prince Havash said, addressing the Sultan. “Their
asses. Are their holes virgin?”
“I am not sure,” the Sultan answered.
“I shall deflower them with the tip of my whip if they are,”
Prince Havash suggested.
“Whatever you feel is best,” the Sultan said. “With this
caveat. Whatever you do to my girlfriends, I shall do to yours.” The
Sultan ran his hands over Jessica and Vicky.
“Deal,” Prince Havash said. I glanced quickly at Jim Rutland.
My bare arm pressed against my gagged mouth and I stared at him
beseechingly. Could he not wrest his arms from the overhead beam and
rescue us? He looked so strong. Surely the chains could not hold him
if he truly wished to be free. With my eyes I begged him to break his
chains and save us. He seemed, however, more concerned with the
immediate problem of his penis and balls. They were both flaccid,
hanging down between his legs. They were obvious targets for Prince
Havash, who cared nothing for him, I was sure, given how he’d been
scheduled for execution, and saved only on a whim to please me.
“Jim,” the Sultan said. “Do you remember how I told you that
you’d beg me to cut off your dick, because it would cause you so much
trouble to have it?” Jim looked at him and silently nodded. “Well,”
the Sultan said. “My brother is not the best handler of whips. He’s
good, but not perfect. May I suggest that now would be a good time to
put yourself into a state of erection? I realize you just came. But if
your penis is hard, it will rise up along your belly, and be less
vulnerable to my brother’s whip. At the same time your balls will
tauten, making them less of a target. You look rather like you’ve got a
pair of church bells hanging down between your legs right now, begging
to be rung. I doubt my brother, even if he handles the whip well, will
be able to resist striking his lash against those church bell balls of
yours. But if you tighten your sac, it will resist damage better, and
not make quite such a tempting target.”
Jim’s eyes bulged. I knew what he was thinking: how in the
name of Allah could he get his dick to harden and his balls to rise,
when he’d just fired a ball-busting load all over Jessica and Vicky. I
wanted to beg the Sultan and his brother to spare Jim’s balls, but I
could do nothing, with my mouth gagged. I tried saying something; it
came out as well-muffled mouse squeaks.
CRACK! The whip struck my aunt’s bottom. She screamed into
her gag. Her seat waggled. Her ass clenched shut, then lost itself in
a hip-shaking movement that ended with her sitting open and exposed once
more, her cleft ripely apart for whatever might choose to intrude
between its succulent halves. The prince stepped to the left. He took
aim at my own seat. I felt like a watermelon about to meet with a
knife. I tautened my youthful derriere. I drew in my breath and held
it.
SWA-AAAK!
Oh, God! It was harsh! It was a double salute. It came in
tight and controlled, breaking across first one of my bottomcheeks, then
across the other. Just as quickly as it had arrived, it sprang away
from me, and settled at last on the floor, for it was a long whip. I
heard it slither along the floor as it was drawn in and retrieved by the
Prince. I lurched in my bonds. My breasts, hanging off my chest like
young gourds, shook violently. I squealed. I was a pig at the
butchers’ with a slice placed sharply into my hinds.
Prince Havash stepped over to Jim Rutland. The Prince gave
Jim’s bare ass a salute with the whip. It stung, I’m sure, like bees
finding a pincushion for their stingers. Jim grimaced. His cock
stiffened suddenly, and I marvelled at how the whip impelled him to a
new hardness that, otherwise, he might not have found the will to
achieve. I promised myself, even as I shook my own bottom at the pain
of the whip, to remember how a whip could make some men, at least,
regain their virility.
“Oh, may we feel them?” Vicky blurted.
“Feel them?” the Sultan asked.
“Now that they’ve each had a taste, let us massage their poor
bottoms and savor their first squirmings,” Jessica suggested to the
Sultan. He nodded. Both girls cried out with glee and hurried over to
myself and my aunt. The clapped their hands to our butts. They held
me, and my aunt, with tight-gripping fingers. I tried to pull myself
free but Vicky simply waited until I lost heart and let my derriere sink
fully onto her hands.
“Yes. How perfect your bottom is-- with just a single mark
upon it!” Vicky exclaimed. “You deserved the mark, and many more, I’m
sure. I only wish I didn’t have to suffer the same after you!” she
added, remembering Prince Havash and the Sultan’s agreement. She looked
nervously back over her shoulder, I saw in a mirror, fearful lest her
own bottom should taste the whip before its time.
“Ah, you squirm so delightfully,” Jessica said in a calm voice
to my aunt. “Yes, work your hips. Does it sting? Here, let me put a
finger into your bottom cheeks and you can work yourself down onto me.”
Rudely Jessica poked a finger into my aunt’s spread-apart
cheeks. My aunt, still wriggling from the blow of the whip, was now
forced to sodomize herself on Jessica’s digit. My aunt moaned, but
Jessica only forced her finger more deeply into her hole.
Held, consoled with a kiss that Vicky planted upon my cheek, I
rested my ass in her hands. I felt her fingers urge my separated cheeks
more widely apart. I shuddered. Vicky kissed me again and told me to
accept whatever was done to me with feminine grace. I felt comfort in
her hands.
“Let me feel her too,” Jessica said to Vicky. She withdrew her
finger from my aunt’s bottom and switched places with Vicky. I shivered
at the touch of Jessica’s hands. They gripped me tightly. I was held
by my fundament as if I were a large, ripe fruit, being pulled apart to
reveal my inner secrets. Upon one of Jessica’s fingers I detected a
wetness. It was the finger that had dug into my aunt’s bottomhole and
was moist from her anal juices.
“Yes, relax, my little baby,” Jessica said to me in a
solicitous voice. She held me firmly, tugging open my well-offered
cheeks, feeling my every nervous wriggle. She kissed my cheek as Vicky
had. At last, despite the pain that still burned across my bottom where
the whip had struck me, I felt a delicious contentment. I was docile.
Jessica’s kisses showered my face, lightly and repeatedly. I was like a
child being kissed by its mother on the first day of school.
They departed. Their breasts bouncing merrily, their broad
lovely bottoms swaying with tempting grace, Jessica and Vicky left us
and returned to the Sultan’s side. Vicky, inspired by our predicament,
immediately presented her backside to the Sultan and urged herself
against him. He clasped her standing figure from behind. He bent down
and kissed her cheek and she, feeling his cock hard against her
derriere, ground her ass into his loins. Jessica laughed. She stood
beside Vicky and stroked the girl’s blonde hair. First she stroked the
long, flowing hair upon Vicky’s head and then she reached down and
mischievously ran her fingers through the tight blonde curls of Vicky’s
bush. The young woman sprinkled vaginal juice upon Jessica’s
fingertips. Jessica lifted them to Vicky’s lips and made the girl lick
her fingers clean.
CRACKCK!
Suddenly the whip gained new life, as Prince Havash struck my
squirming bottom with it from behind. I howled. My gag captured my cry
and did not let it burst into the room. My chest heaved. My bosoms
wobbled freely. My slender waist twisted about, making a show of my
hot-stung bottom.
My aunt was struck next, then Jim Rutland. They were as
responsive as I, shouting into their gags and working their hindquarters
with a liberality that only a whip could produce. Jessica laughed. She
picked up an atomizer and asked Prince Havash for permission to cool our
bottoms with perfume. He nodded; she stalked behind us and squirted
each of us liberally on our hindquarters. But my aunt shrieked at the
wet touch of the perfume on her hot flesh, as did I, for it was a known
fact that a wet bottom stung more when whipped.
The Sultan made Vicky bend down and clutch her ankles. He
presented his cock to her sweetly offered cunt and drilled himself into
her. Vicky’s head shot up. She shouted at the forcefulness of his
entry. Jessica, finished wetting my bare skin, as well as that of my
aunt and Jim, rushed over to Vicky and held her head down. The Sultan
worked himself within Vicky like a dog; hungry and hot, caring nothing
for her, only for his own pleasure.
SWAAAACK!
I screamed as the whip struck me anew. With sinuous vigor it
slashed into my heinie. The moisture from the atomizer made its bite
all the more awful. My eyes gaped. My cheeks puffed. Prince Saul and
the European women, sitting at the festive food-laden dinner table,
chuckled at my appearance. My aunt received the whip next. Its stroke
curled up between her legs and bit into her sex. She howled; the guests
at the table laughed more loudly. Then it was Jim’s turn; he gritted as
the whip nearly struck his balls, gliding at the last moment up between
his ass cheeks instead.
Prince Havash walked back to me, and prepared to strike me
again with his whip. It was a slow torment, each blow placed one at a
time, without any hurry. We had all night; there was no reason to move
quickly. Prince Havash unfurled his whip anew. It sailed out and
connected with my ass. I screamed. I wished to God he would just give
me whatever was needed, so I could be done. I heard him laughing behind
me. I shut my eyes tight and shook my hot bottom for all it was worth,
trying to toss off the sting.
The Sultan, meanwhile, worked himself with delight in Vicky’s
cunt. She gasped at the vigor of his assault, her head still trying to
rise, her breasts shaking in time with the Sultan’s indriving thrusts.
Jessica held down Vicky’s head, keeping her bent-over, but watched me
with her eyes, as if the sex act transpiring beside her was too
commonplace to engage her interest. Was it my youth that mesmerized
her? I was 13, the youngest present. I fancied that it was a concern
for my welfare that caused Jessica to keep her eyes fixed on me.
The Sultan finished his course. He spent in Vicky and she
shouted anew as his flood of sperm filled her. When he had pumped all
he had to give, his testicles empty and her womb full, he retired to a
chair and sat down.
Jessica helped Vicky stand up. The girl’s knees wobbled.
Vicky looked down at herself. She clutched at her sex as her lips
spilled trickles of sperm onto the inner surfaces of her thighs.
“There. You’ve done very well,” Jessica told Vicky. Then she
looked at me again. A frown creased her brow. Suddenly, despite the
fact that she would have to suffer the same as me, she walked briskly
over to Prince Havash. She demanded the whip from him. He gave it to
her. She turned and apprised my bottom.
“The whip must be applied harshly, if she is to learn anything
from it,” Jessica said. She unfurled it and its snaking tip struck my
ass forcefully. Tears sprang to my eyes. I screeched within my gag. I
shook my heinie and was sure I felt blood upon it.
“Do not break the skin,” Prince Havash said behind me, to
Jessica, making me howl all the louder into my gag.
“I’ll try not to, but she must be truly disciplined by it,”
Jessica said. “She should be crying by now, but she isn’t, because
you’ve been too lenient with her. A girl needs a good lashing if her
bottom is to be a medium of instruction for her. And given that little
Chloe is so pretty, and almost certain to grow up to be a beautiful
airhead, it is her bottom alone that will be able to teach her
anything.”
With this speech, Jessica, herself a ravishing beauty, began
striking my bottom for all it was worth. I squirmed and shouted;
Jessica paid no heed to my cries and flailed away like an Amazon. How
athletic she looked! Through tear-filled eyes I saw, in a mirror, her
stripped-naked figure behind me. She worked with gusto, her naked
breasts flying, her limbs bare and sweating. We were like team players,
she giving, me receiving. Both our bodies undulated with a rhythmic
passion. I screamed, she merely grunted, like a laborer working in the
heat of the sun. Her hair flew about her head. Her long tresses looked
lovely, despite her fierceness. She was a warrior with a whip,
beautifully coiffed. My own hair flew about my face, making me look
pretty even as I suffered like never before.
Abruptly Jessica stopped; she let the whip hang from her small,
balled-up fist like a spent male member. It snaked down to the floor,
where its tip, warm from striking my flesh, curled with the innocence of
a sleeping cat on the painted tiles. Not so my bottom. I waggled it
with desperation, trying to throw off the burning heat that the whip had
imparted to it. Jessica laughed at my display. She stepped forward and
gently stroked my hot, chubby cheeks. I flinched at her touch; even the
brushing of her fingertips across my ass now made me swoon with pain and
displeasure. My hiney, already wiggling salaciously, made an even more
agonized and exaggerated show of itself.
“There, there,” Jessica consoled me. “Such a bad bottom you
have, shaking it all about as if you were some cheap tramp.” She grazed
her fingers over my warm, heat-sheened skin. “What would your mother
think?” Jessica asked. She gave my bottom a slap and I howled into my
gag. Then, laughing, she left me to my gagged thoughts, and walked over
to where my auntie sat.
Jessica, holding the whip in one hand, placed both of her hands
upon her own hips. She studied my aunt’s bottom with her eyes. My aunt
looked round at Jessica standing behind her. Never before had I seen
such fear in my aunt’s eyes. There was a slow gracefulness to Jessica’s
movements as she sized up my aunt’s posterior. I have learned, since
visiting the Sultan, that it is the waiting that is worst of all in a
whipping. Anything might be endured if it happens quickly, but Jessica,
knowing the tension inherent in doing nothing, savored the sight of my
aunt’s bare, rudely displayed ass. She licked her lips, as animal
might, savoring a meal it has caught, still alive, that it knows cannot
get away. She let the minutes pass slowly, taking her time in apprising
how to best inflict the whip upon my aunt’s ass.
“Yes, you have quite a lovely bottom,” Jessica said, after
gazing at my auntie’s behind for many minutes. “I should like to call
you by name, my dear, but I cannot remember your name. What is it? Ah,
you are gagged,” Jessica sighed. “Oh well, it is no matter. I shall
call you Miss Bottom, fair enough? From my vantage point you are
seemingly all bottom. How wantonly you offer it. How the cheeks of
your ass hang open, allowing me to see within, to find the small rosebud
anus where you might, if you wish, owing to your condition, poop out
turds in view of all of us if you wish. And how soft and sweet your
naked cunt looks, its lips prettily displayed inbetween your widely
stretched legs. How if offers itself, like some bashful fruit, opening
its petals, hoping to be urged to sprinkle its inner moisture upon the
floor.” Jessica gave a short, hard laugh. “Why do you shake?” Jessica
asked. “Are you frightened at the thought of my inquisitive whip
tasting your fruit-like cunt? Would it burn, would it leave its mark,
angry and red, upon your delicate sex? You should have thought of that
before coming here, my dear. Here we do as we please, and you must
receive whatever is given you, even if it comes in the form of a tough,
well-tanned leather whip!”
Having delivered that speech, Jessica stepped back in order to
deliver a whipping to my aunt’s bottom. She wriggled her own hips,
briefly, enjoying their nudity and their freedom. My aunt sat upon her
awkward chair, trussed up and barely able to move, save for the nervous
squirming of her well-offered bottom.
And then it began. The whip struck my aunt’s bottom hard. She
shrieked; the gag across her mouth caught her shriek and kept her
screams stifled within herself. Only puffs of air escaped her small
nostrils, above her tight gag, betraying the screams that rent her. At
the same time small mouse squeaks escaped from the gag itself; it could
not keep her utterly silent, but it dampened her sounds of urgent agony
so that we could leisurely ignore them.
Across the room, Kelly and Susan were put upon the table.
Their backs lay upon it but their hips arched forward into the open
air. Both girls might have slipped off the table and fallen to the
floor, bruising their bottoms, had it not been for the princes. Both
Prince Saul and Prince Havash held his favorite girl by her hips so that
she could lie back on the table in comfort. Each girl’s hips were
completely off the table. Their legs dangled freely beyond the table’s
edge, carelessly open and spread. Each prince, holding his favorite
girl, stood with himself between her wide-apart, floorward bent legs,
savoring the pretty knees that scissored on either side of his hips.
Each prince was bare-waisted and his cock stood stiffly erect; poised to
violate the pretty hips which he so gallantly held.
Kelly and Susan, despite their jeopardy, savored the delicacies
arranged on the table. I watched, wide-eyed, as Kelly reached for a
plate of olives and took one in her fingers and popped it in her mouth.
Carefully she ate it, biting off all the meat and at last spitting the
olive’s seed into her fingers. Then she tossed the seed at Prince
Havash, who was holding her. It hit his chest and bounced off. He
laughed. She giggled. She picked up another olive off the plate lying
near her head and turned to Susan. She reached over to Susan’s head and
popped the olive into Susan’s open mouth. At that moment Susan was
trying to put a spoonful of jello into her own mouth but, when she was
given the unexpected treat of the olive, by Kelly, she smiled and gently
accepted it. Then, after chewing on it and letting Kelly take the seed
from her mouth, she offered the spoonful of quivering jello that she
still held in her own hand to Kelly’s mouth. The girl accepted; the
jello slid into Kelly’s mouth and Susan smiled and withdrew her spoon.
Then, without even wiping the spoon, Susan, still lying flat on her
back, reached over to the jello display on the table and scooped up more
of the jello with her spoon. As she was lying down she had to do it
carefully; but she did. She brought the new spoonful of jello to her
own lips and ate it, as Kelly finished chewing and swallowing beside
her. The jello display was laden with fruit and it could not simply be
swallowed down; one had to chew all the fruit first.
The princes laughed. They loved the easygoing nature of the
girls. But now their stiff cocks were tormenting them too much for them
to watch the girls play any longer. With rude forward thrusts of their
hips, both men interrupted the girls’ languid eating. Kelly and Susan
shrieked as their cunts were violated. Looking rather like animals, or
rabid dogs, the two princes groaned and panted as they rodded themselves
deeper and deeper into the girls’ tightly offered cunts.
The men laughed. Their hips, they realized, were fucking the
girls at roughly the same speed. They shared an unconscious tempo.
Prince Saul looked at Prince Havash’s loins, at his penis covered with
the juice of Kelly’s quim.
“Let’s do it together,” Prince Saul suggested, moving his bare
hips even more closely in time with his brother’s.
“Yes!” Prince Havash said gleefully. Prince Havash took the
liberty of reaching out and placing his broad palm on the bare backside
of Prince Saul. “Together,” he grunted, and pressed in on Prince Saul’s
behind even as his own hips lunged forward to fully penetrate Kelly.
“Yeek!”
“Hook!” the two young women shouted together. Both of them
found their screams occurring simultaneously now as they were each
penetrated together. Jessica smiled and made her whip crack against my
aunt’s bottom in time to the thrusts of the two princes. Beside me, my
aunt’s gagged shrieks sounded in muffled time to the screams of bliss
emanating from the two women on the table.
Time passed. There was no hurry. My bottom burned as I looked
beseechingly into the Sultan’s eyes. I watched his every move,
exhausted, hoping for release, but he only sat in a stuffed chair,
smoking. Vicky knelt submissively on a throw rug at this feet. She
licked his cock and testicles clean and then was ordered by the Sultan
to lick his toes. She made a face, but obeyed. He patted the top of
her head indulgently.
When Susan and Kelly had recovered from their table-top tryst,
they wandered over to Jim Rutland. They were impressed by the size of
his erection. They turned to the Sultan and asked him if they might, as
they put it, “play games” with Jim’s cock. The Sultan nodded. With
little “Ooohs” and “Aaaahs” the two girls began to touch and fondle
Jim’s erection. They traced the veins on his throbbing organ. They
explored his pee hole with the tips of his fingernails. They squeezed
his nuts, in the testicle sac hanging under his cock, and tried to
decide if one of his nuts were bigger than the other.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Kelly confided to Susan.
“That he’s got different sized nuts?” Susan, who was older,
laughed.
“Not just him. All men,” Kelly said. She explored Jim quite
frankly and he groaned at the intrusiveness of her small fingers.
“Let’s make him cum,” Susan said.
“But he already has!” Kelly objected.
“He’s hard. And he looks nice and full. I’ll bet we can get a
big load of him to shoot out, just like before,” Susan said.
“Okay,” Kelly said. Together they began to work his cock with
their fingers. First they rubbed it quite vigorously. Then they
slowed, each watching the other. Susan suggested she take the lead in
deciding what would be done.
“Yes. You’re more experienced than I am,” Kelly said.
“The idea is to get him to cum, but only when we wish,” Susan
said. “Otherwise we’re just pleasuring him. And that’s no fun. We
must make him beg us for permission to release his seed.”
“Yes!” Kelly said. She was delighted by the suggestion.
Impulsively she rubbed one of her hands over her cunny. Then she
blushed and, taking her hand from her cunt, which was now moist with her
excitement, she rubbed her newly wettened fingers over Jim’s cock. Jim
groaned. Mingled with Kelly’s quim juice was sperm from Prince Havash.
It gleamed wetly along the shaft of Jim Rutland’s penis.
Suddenly we were all shocked by the eruption of fluid from
Jim’s cockhead. The girls squealed. The fluid splattered Kelly’s
tummy, for she was standing partly in front of Jim. At first everyone,
including myself, thought Jim was experiencing a second ejaculation.
Then Kelly shrieked, “He’s peeing on me!”
Jim worked his hips. He was tightly bound, with his legs
spread, but there was just enough leeway in the ropes to allow him to
waggle his stiff penis. His pee, spurting forth lustily, reminding me
of Old Faithful, splattered both the European women. Kelly and Susan
tried to step back from Jim, but the sight of his beautiful cock
erupting with pee proved too joyous and wonderful a thing to dart away
from. Instead, admiring his vigor, the volume and force of his
urination, they stood so that his pee hit first one, then the other of
them, squarely in the middle of their pubis. The girls laughed as their
mons were soaked by the pee. Kelly thrust forward her hips and spread
her legs so that the arc of pee might land directly within the folds of
her cunt.
“Look! He’s peeing right into me!” Kelly boasted to Susan,
drawing apart her cunt lips so that her pee hole was inundated by pee
from Jim’s cock.
“No! Do me!” Susan said. She bumped her hips against Kelly,
shoving the girl aside, and offered her own finger-splayed slit to Jim.
Kelly laughed good-naturedly and watched as her friend received her own
cunt-baptism from Jim.
“We’re saved, now,” Kelly said.
“Saved by the pee,” Susan agreed.
Seeing Jim, I realized it had been a long time since my own
bladder had felt relief. I looked at my aunt. She was no longer being
whipped, but her bottom hurt so much from the strokes that she didn’t
notice me asking, with my eyes, what to do.
“Chloe,” I heard a masculine voice ask. It was soft, but
sinuous, like a snake about to pounce.
“Mmmmf!” I gasped, in my gag, and darted my head toward the
Sultan. He chuckled at how my mouth was covered but my cunny lay open
and bare, the lips fully exposed to his view.
“Are you not sitting as you would on a toilet?” the Sultan
asked me. “Go ahead, Chloe. Pee if you like. Pee right here in front
of us. You have my permission.”
My eyes widened. I was shocked! How indecent it would be to
just relieve myself, like a female animal, right here in front of Prince
Saul, Prince Havash, the Sultan, his guards, and the assorted
girlfriends of the men. Especially in a room dedicated to a banquet! I
stared at the food-laden table directly across from me. The presence of
all that food made peeing seem especially obscene. Surely the Sultan
could release me for so small but important a matter as peeing? My eyes
beseeched him to allow me a moment’s privacy.
“Pee if you like, or not, Chloe,” the Sultan said
dismissively. He reached down and patted Vicky on the head. She was
still licking his toes, though she’d paused to watch Jim pee. “Show
Chloe and her aunt how we go to the bathroom during our banquets,
Vicky,” the Sultan said.
“Okay,” Vicky said. She looked at me. She blushed. “The men
have a toilet,” Vicky said. “But we girls just go on the floor! With
permission, of course,” she added. Vicky opened her legs as she spoke.
She was still in a kneeling position, but now she lifted her knees off
the floor. Her bottom lowered a bit, putting her in a squat. Then,
submissively lowering her eyes, she put a hand to her cunt, opened it,
and pissed right between her beautiful shoes.
I strove to hold myself as the party continued. My legs
ached. They were drawn wide, the knees held near the surface of my
chair’s seat by thick straps. My cunny had spent itself and was moist
with the juices of my exhausted desire. My bottom, slashed hard by the
whip, felt as if lines of coal, fresh from a brazier, had been traced
over it by some demon. I was in Hell, gagged and bound, with arms
outstretched, my bottom hanging free, my cunny open for all to see. I
heard the sound of wood scraping metal beneath me. I looked down
between my quivering breasts and along the flatness of my belly to my
bush. My quim hung exposed over the innards of the chair. But now,
between me and the wiring of this half-disassembled chair, was a smooth,
small wooden container. It sat poised atop the guts of my half-undone
throne; protecting me from the odd collection of wiring and spire-like
knobs, and I felt grateful for it. But what was this small wooden pail
doing under me? Its smooth rim beckoned. The inside of it was dark,
shadowed by my bottom, waiting expectantly to be filled by something.
Nervously my eyes flitted away from it. Yet there it remained, with
perhaps a foot of empty air between the round base of my bottom and the
top of the pail.
“It’s a piggin. Pee in the piggin when you’re ready,” Jessica
said. She left me and went to my aunt. She put a piggin under my
aunt’s behind and gave her the same instruction.
An old Arab woman came into the room. She was dressed in
maid’s garb. She wore prim white apron, and a black dress. There was a
black bonnet on her head, trimmed with white lace. She carried a pail
of water and a mop. She glanced at myself and my aunt, making us blush,
then set down her bucket and wet her mop and began cleaning up the
puddle of pee Vicky had made on the floor. By now the girl was once
again sucking the Sultan’s toes.
“She is still not potty trained?,” the Arab woman said in
English to the Sultan. He laughed.
“Not yet,” the Sultan answered. The old woman glanced at
Vicky. The girl looked up at her, submissively, but kept on licking the
toes of the Sultan as if they were candy and she were a hungry child.
“She should be spanked whenever she does this,” the old woman
said, mopping.
“I agree,” the Sultan said. He patted Vicky’s head. Vicky
made no response, but licked the toes of the Sultan even more eagerly
and submissively than before. I could not tell whether she was a
co-conspirator in the game, showing her love for it by licking the
Sultan’s toes with such care, or whether she hoped to escape from the
woman’s proposal by being extra dutiful to the Sultan.
“How about those two?” the old woman asked. She looked at me
and my aunt, making us flush an even deeper shade of red.
“They are in need of a good pee, but embarrassed to do it in
front of us,” the Sultan said.
“What?” the old woman roared. “Sire, you have commanded them
to relieve themselves, yet they refuse?”
“Yes, and they are even provided with piggins to do it in, yet
they hold themselves back,” the Sultan said.
I shivered. I felt my breasts quaver and wished to God there
was some way I could escape from these strange people. As I sat there
staring at the old woman, at the Sultan, at Vicky so worshipfully
sucking the Sultan’s toes, Jessica stepped round in front of me.
Beseechingly I looked up at her. She caressed my long hair that
streamed down past my face. My hair was disheveled from my exertions
and she made play of arranging the strands, lovingly, as a mother might
with a child who has just come inside from a long afternoon of playing.
“Yes, you must pee, darling,” Jessica said. “How sweetly your
cunny offers itself.” Jessica reached down between my widespread legs
and touched the Venus fur of my mound. She insinuated her finger
through my nest of pubic hair until she came to my quim. She delved,
she tested. She found my most sensitive place and gently rubbed me.
“Mmmmf!” I cried into my gag. Susan went to my aunt and showed
her the same obscene attention. Susan’s own muff dripped with pee from
Jim Rutland’s penis. How thoroughly debased we all were! I thought. We
had begun the evening as ladies, dressed for a ball. Now we were all
naked, sweaty, and pee-stained, or slathered with cum. How I wished to
excuse myself from these awful men and their wicked tarts, and to be a
proper schoolgirl again!
“Come on. Wet my hand,” Jessica urged me. Her eyes gleamed at
me, cat-like. Her fingers intruded into my cunt and played upon my
spot. I twisted my head and looked with wondrous eyes at my aunt. Her
own eyes stared longingly back at me. We were both gagged but I could
tell her feelings; she was sorry for putting me in such a spot, and
telling me also, with her eyes, that she was sorry for what she was
about to do.
Ah, auntie! I wished to cry. Must you pee as badly as I? I
felt my bladder bulging with need in my tummy. Her own, I feared, was
just as desperate. I almost wished for the whip to strike my bottom
again, that the thoughts of peeing might be driven from my mind.
“Oh! Here she comes!” Susan declared. She frigged my aunt
more briskly. I heard a sound then of water being released into a
wooden pail.
Auntie! No! I tried to shout from within my gag. Then, to my
utter mortification, the old woman staring at me, the Sultan chuckling,
even Vicky pausing to watch, I felt my own bladder open and urine spring
from between my lovelips. Jessica snatched her hand back and darted
around behind me. She checked to make sure my pee was falling into the
piggin. She gave my bottom a firm slap, stopping my pee momentarily,
but then my need overwhelmed me and I began peeing again.
“Atta girl,” Jessica complimented me. “Pee just like the calf
you are, with your cow-like aunt peeing beside you. Females here learn
their true nature: peeing, feeding, cumming with pleasure, and
screaming with well-deserved pain. You are nothing but breasts, bottom,
and mouth now; three mouths, all of them made for your master’s
pleasure. In a moment you will learn to what use your bottomhole may be
put.” Jessica laughed, but I froze with fear. Yet despite my fright,
making my limbs stiff in their bonds, I kept peeing. At last my stream
thinned. It ended in a last wisp of latecoming pee. Then drops fell
from my cuntlips; Jessica waited until all of them had fallen. Then
Jessica looked in the piggin and, to my great surprise, there were lines
on the inside of the piggin, drawn with paint, for Jessica announced,
“550 cc’s. She’s made 550 cc’s. Quite a lot for such a small girl.”
“600 cc’s here,” Susan announced, examining my aunt’s piggin.
“Well, at least they’re healthy,” the old Arab woman said to
the Sultan.
“Yes. Fine kidneys,” the Sultan agreed.
“Will you be impregnating them, Sire?” the old woman asked.
“No. They are just for pleasure,” the Sultan said. He patted
Vicky on her head again. “They are all here solely for their erotic
appeal. I’ll take a proper Arab girl when the time comes for
offspring.”
“Of course, Sire,” the old woman said. She picked up her
bucket and mop and carried them outside. Then she returned and busied
herself around the dining table, cleaning up the mess that had been made
by the partiers. Prince Saul and Prince Havash sat smoking, as did the
Sultan. They paid no mind to the old woman.
The Sultan looked at me. He drew upon his pipe, eyeing my
figure, and then spoke: “I saw a girl yesterday, Chloe,” he said. “She
was perhaps 11 or 12. It is hard to tell a girl’s age today, exactly,
with food so plentiful and them growing their tits so young. She was a
foreign girl, my favorite kind for fucking. She had long blonde hair
which she had carelessly pinned up, several strands had already fallen
loose.”
“She was not wearing a scarf, Sire?” Prince Saul asked.
“No,” the Sultan answered. “Her mother thinks her still a
child. She was wearing western clothes, not an Arab robe, again because
her foolish mother still clings to the thought of her daughter being too
young to require a robe to cover her. From my limosine I watched the
girl as she walked with childish purposefulness down the street. She
had a little sister, a brunette, perhaps 8 or 9, who was walking with
odd steps, like children sometimes do. I think she was trying to avoid
the cracks in the sidewalk. I noticed the 8-year-old first; though my
eyes did not linger on her for long.”
“She had bosoms, Sire?” Prince Havash asked, with a leering
glance at Prince Saul.
“Not the 8-year-old; no,” the Sultan answered. “Though perhaps
her paps were already swelling.”
“Ah, there is nothing sweeter than swollen paps, little bee
sting-sized breasts, begging for a man to suck upon them to help them
grow,” Prince Havash said. Susan and Kelly shared a disapproving
glance. They said nothing, though, perhaps fearing that the whole story
was made up, to induce sour words from them, and earn them punishment.
I myself was glad I was gagged; I would have shouted at the Sultan that
he was a wicked pervert.
“Yes,” the Sultan smiled. He sat further back in his chair,
drew again on his pipe, quite the raconteur: “This blonde, she walked
with childish purposefulness down the street. She smiled as she walked;
delighted with the morning. She did not mind stepping on the cracks of
the sidewalk. She was too old for such silly games. But the way she
lifted her legs as she walked, her splendidly long legs, she looked like
a young pony. Had she been a pony, she would have been at that age when
a pony is first given a taste of the bridle and saddle. Her sister was
still young enough to run free in the yard, but for the blonde, it was
time for the joy of having a man ride her.”
“You would be tender with her, master?” Vicky piped up, licking
the Sultan’s feet. He looked down at her and patted her head.
“Yes, of course, my dear,” the Sultan said. “Tender and yet
with a certain sternness to my bearing; so that she may know our roles;
I wouldn’t want to have my neck broken, as Christopher Reeves did.”
“Of course not, Sire,” Vicky said, licking the Sultan with a
slight smirk at her lips. He did not, I think, quite see the smirk, for
her long hair, falling over her forehead, shielded her face from his
view as she bent to lick him.
The Sultan looked up and drew on his pipe again. “Ah, such
wonderful bosoms this blonde had!” the Sultan declared. “She was, as I
said, wearing western clothing. She had on a tight t-shirt that shaped
her young breasts admirably. They were ripe, budding, already the size
of tennis balls, almost growing in front of my eyes, she was so full of
youthful vigor! And how slender she was, yet with gently flaring hips.
She had on small shorts. On an older girl they would be called hot
pants, but on her, in the mind of her mother, at least, they were just
small junior-sized shorts. They were made of the softest cotton. They
just covered her ass, which had a pleasant roundness and bounce to it,
and undulated gracefully as she walked. Yes! Such a bottom!” the
Sultan enthused. “Really, I should have had her mother arrested for
permitting her daughter to walk about outdoors bare-legged, with just
those small, childish shorts covering her wiggly bottom. Perhaps her
mother purchased the shorts for her daughter when she was younger, and
unthinkingly was still dressing her in them; when, indeed, the girl’s
round behind was testing the very limits of the fabric.”
“Sire, you did not invite her to join you in your limosine?”
Prince Havash asked.
“No,” the Sultan said. “I should have, but I was in a hurry.
She lives here, in my kingdom. I have time to find her still. She is
not yet vaginally penetrated, of that I am certain, given the carefree
joy with which she walked. Yet, another year will not see her still so
innocent, even if my own hands should be stayed. Of that I am just as
certain, for Arab boys know a good fuck as well as American boys do.
Don’t they, Chloe?” the Sultan asked me.
I blushed. I knew then that he was no wickeder than the boys
in America would would chase after me when I returned home. And I would
let at least one of them seduce me, wouldn’t I? an accusing little voice
somewhere in my head told me. I denied that! It was too much to
contemplate, being ‘enthroned’ with my legs apart in front of the
Sultan. To think that, freed from him, I would only return home to open
my legs again, for some other male! I looked frantically at my aunt. I
wished her to save me somehow from my female temperament, from my
secretly-held desire to be stretched, opened, and filled. To empty the
men who filled me. But she sat as I did, her own legs lewdly apart,
showing her sex. The Sultan laughed. He knew, I believe, what I was
thinking. He could see the guilt written on my face and he loved me for
it. But despite enthroning me rudely on a chair before him, forcing me
to show myself to him, despite his tale of lust for an 11-year-old girl,
he was too polite to tease me about what he saw in my eyes. The secret
lust; the desire that was my undoing and would one day put me in a
maternity ward, in great pain, delivering my first child. Would it be
his? I shuddered. He promised the old woman not to make me pregnant;
but he wasn’t God. Perhaps I would be made enceinte by him after all.
He could not predict such things with absolute certainty. A wave of
fancy rushed through me and I saw myself suddenly as his Queen, his
unexpected, scandalous, 13-year-old Queen. I saw the old woman shaking
her head as the Sultan, wicked but ultimately a good, responsible man,
accepted the Will of God and placed a ruby-studden tiara on my head.
Then he would find out the truth of things: that a woman lets a man
strut himself for her, only to be saddled and bridled by her when she
becomes his wife!
30
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