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Subject: Fevered Fall part 19 of 22 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
FEVERED FALL
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Nineteen
My aunt and I sat with our bottoms hanging off the backs of the
‘chairs’. Our legs strained apart, held by ropes. Her sex, like mine,
was moist with the residue of our sexual desire. In addition to
climaxing in front of the partiers we had been forced to pee. With our
mouths jammed full of cloth, gagging us so we could not protest, there
remained but one part of ourselves yet to be violated for the amusement
of those present.
Jessica, ever eager to torment me, whispered into Sultan’s
ear. She leaned forward prettily as she did so, her generous breasts
caressing his shoulder. He reached up, tweaked her nipples with his
fingers, causing her to gasp, and nodded. Instantly she looked at me
and smiled. When the Sultan let go of her nipples she stood erect and
went to a small table. Its surface was crowded with small glass flasks,
phials, and pots of cream. Gaily she selected among the offered
containers. She took her time, wiggling her hips back and forth as she
examined each item, lifting it up and studying it, her bottom displaying
impatience but her hands slow and careful. At last she settled upon a
small delicate pitcher made of green glass. It had a stopper in its
fluted top, to keep the liquid inside it from evaporating into the air
of the room. In addition to this she picked up an ordinary pot of
vaseline. She turned. She walked over to where my aunt and myself sat
waiting, our throats gulping with desperation as we guessed that the
lubricants were intended for us. Passing her eyes lightly over my
aunt’s beseeching stare, her gaze settled upon me. I felt a dryness in
my throat. I wished suddenly to suck upon the stoppered flask, to
receive some of its contents into my dry mouth, but I knew that was not
the orifice for which the slippery liquid was intended.
Jessica saw my fright and smiled. Cupping the pot of vaseline
in her palm, like a child holding a valuable penny, she lifted up the
flask of oil and displayed it to me. She held it level with her face,
that I might have no trouble looking at it and, at the same time, into
her sparkling, mischievous eyes. I saw the liquid in the green flask
sloshing back and forth from being held aloft. It quivered, settled,
and Jessica then wiggled the bottle to make its contents slosh anew
inside their small glass prison. Beyond the quavering fluid in the
bottle I saw her red lips smiling at me. She puckered them, in
imitation perhaps of my rosehole, and then kissed the flask she was
displaying to me.
“You may feel a little pain at first, as I lubricate you, but
you’ll be quite happy for it afterward, considering what has to go up
you,” Jessica told me. I could only stare at her. She giggled and
walked with graceful steps around behind me. There was a tangle of
wires and odd protruding knobs underneath my bottom, and space enough
for Jessica to put the pot and the flask into this mass of equipment so
that she did not have to hold them. I have no idea why the back of my
chair, and that of my aunt, was equipped with strange wires and knobs,
but then each throne was hand-made, and some wicked craftsman had
obviously seen some purpose in adding this electrical equipment to the
back and underside of each of our chairs. What chilled me to my
tailbone was the thought that, even though I had already been thoroughly
violated, there were whole new wonders of rape and molestation lurking
in the electrical components under my chair. I squeezed my eyes shut
and tried not to think about it.
A deft finger inquired between the cheeks of my behind.
“Don’t worry. I have simply licked my finger and am using the
spittle from my mouth to wet you,” Jessica said. I gaped at her image
in a mirror across from where I sat. Her eyes seemed sympathetic; as if
she felt she were doing me a favor by starting my lubrication with her
saliva. She found my hole, she pressed, it was a gentle, soothing
pressure, as if she feared causing me harm in my nether region. “Oh!
You are so small and tight,” Jessica said, speaking of course, of my
anus. “There. Does that cool you a little? Hmmm? How warm your
cheeks feel, pressing against my finger. Ooooh! You naughty girl!
Don’t tighten yourself further!”
“Vicky,” the Sultan said, to the girl licking his feet. “Get
up and go do the same to Chloe’s aunt. They shall both have their
receptivity tested.”
“Yes, Sire,” Vicky said. She sprang to her feet and popped one
of her fingers into her mouth. Sucking it, she walked toward my aunt.
She was beautiful in her nudity; even I couldn’t help admiring her neat,
compact body. She was a woman but was not overly tall and had a girlish
nature about her. Smiling at my aunt she advanced upon her, sucking her
finger all the way. She padded around behind my aunt’s throne and stuck
her wettened finger rudely into my aunt’s bottom. She was not as suave
about it as Jessica. Whereas Jessica had intruded herself into me
gently, almost fearfully, Vicky jammed her finger up my aunt’s butt like
a frisky girl feeling in her grandmother’s big cookie jar for cookies.
My aunt shrieked. The gag pressed into her lips caught all but the
smallest sound of it; Vicky rooted around in Rebecca’s bottom with her
finger, like a squirrel finding a new hole to play in.
The Sultan looked leisurely over at Prince Havash and Prince
Saul. His cock rose from between his legs and, gazing over his shoulder
at the two Princes, he placed his hand upon his genitals. Casually he
caressed himself from his knobbed head all the way down his lengthening
shaft to his bush.
“I shall have Chloe,” the Sultan told his brothers. “Are
either of you up to the other one?” He did not call my aunt by name.
Nonetheless, as his eyes apprised the Princes’ naked loins, both men
looked at my aunt. Prince Saul’s cock remained flaccid but Prince
Havash’s began to show signs of life.
“I don’t know if I’m ready yet, Sire,” Prince Havash said.
“Kelly was a most delicious fuck.” The girl he spoke of blushed. Susan
gave Kelly an appreciative kiss. Both sat with the Princes, yet they
displayed no disappointment at the suggestion that their men might be
shared with myself and my aunt.
“Take your time,” the Sultan said, drawing on his pipe. “When
your balls are full let me know, and we shall do them together.”
“Yes, Sire,” Prince Havash said.
“What about me?” Prince Saul asked. The Sultan looked at his
flaccid member.
“You can fuck Jim Rutland,” the Sultan said. Prince Saul’s
eyes widened.
“Sodomy is against the Koran,” Prince Saul said.
The Sultan laughed. He said nothing. Yet I saw Prince Saul’s
cock begin to rise. Did he savor the thought of being ordered to put
his penis where, apparently, he himself did not wish it to go? I was
too exhausted to guess. Sucking on his pipe, the Sultan gazed at Prince
Saul’s genitals with brazen interest.
“I should like to see it, nonetheless,” the Sultan said. “Let
us hope for your sake Mr. Jim Rutland had a good shit sometime today, so
you don’t find yourself with a pole covered in chocolate.”
“I can enemize them all if you wish, Sire,” Jessica, behind me,
piped up.
“No. I wish for the fluid they feel to be from our balls,” the
Sultan said. “Their bottoms are exposed and open. If they should have
a need to poop there is nothing to stop them from doing it right now.”
“Except of course they would poop all over the wiring,” Jessica
said, meaning the wiring under myself, my aunt, and Jim, for the chairs
we sat upon had some electrical purpose, unknown to us as yet.
“Keep piggins ready, down on the floor, in case you should see
poop begin to extrude itself from their heinies,” the Sultan instructed.
“Yes, Sire,” Vicky said. The Sultan had spoken to Jessica but
the other girl now withdrew her finger from my aunt’s bottomhole and
walked to the back of the room. As she walked, I saw in a mirror that
she examined her finger. It was brown from being in my aunt’s bottom.
Vicky picked up three new piggins at the back of the room. Then she
returned to my aunt and set one of the piggins down by my aunt’s
throne. She put one by my throne too, and by Jim Rutland’s. I looked
over at my aunt. She tried speaking into her gag but I could hear none
of it. She was imploring the Sultan about something. He drew on his
pipe and said, “If you are thinking of pooping, dear Rebecca, there is
no need to tell me. Vicky will see your poop when it starts to come out
and pick up the piggin and put it under you. In the meantime it can
stay on the floor, for a girl’s bottom, when she is in this room, is
meant to take things up it, not to push them out.” He laughed. Vicky,
standing behind my aunt, laughed with him. Then she jammed her finger
up within my aunt’s bottom again, causing Rebecca to squirm.
“Such a poor bottom,” Jessica said behind me, removing her
spittle-wettened finger. She reached around me and showed me how her
finger had been moistened by the natural juices inside my nervous
behind. I saw brown streaks on her finger. She pressed her browned
finger to my gag, over my mouth, and wiped it clean. I shuddered. I
prayed that my bottom-shit didn’t seem through my gag and into my
mouth. To taste one’s own self-- one’s own bottom! It was a thought
too horrid to contemplate.
It is a testament to the thoroughness of our torture that my
aunt and I, despite being whipped, could hardly think anymore of the
flame-like quality of our bottoms. We still burned where the whip had
stung us, but our fear of being anally penetrated now overwhelmed the
pain that the whip had imparted to us. Jessica picked up the flask that
she had set down in the wiring underneath me, and pulled out the
stopper. Grinning at me in the mirror so conveniently located in front
of me, she poured the fluid from the flask liberally over her finger.
It was the same finger she had stuck up my ass. When her finger was
coated with rich, gleaming fluid, she reached down between my
bottomhalves and probed within me. I jerked. She laughed. Jessica
found my hole and, this time, she was not gentle in her exploration of
it. She rammed her finger into me. I let out a howl; my gag caught it,
keeping me silent. Jessica swore at my tightness. With deliberate
force she shoved her finger as hard as she could up into me. I
squirmed; I gasped. I felt the air pushed from my lungs. It flowed
from my nose over my gag. I tried to lift myself off her but the ropes
round my legs restrained me.
The Sultan rose. He displayed his nude cock. It was hard as a
scepter, and he showed it off to us as an animal in a zoo might, using
his penis to display his authority. He beckoned with his eyes to Prince
Havash. The man rose obediently, his own penis now hard like the
Sultan’s.
“Come, brother, let us see who can endure longest in the tight
bottoms of our visitors,” the Sultan said to Prince Havash.
“If I am to have the youngest it will be quite a difficult
trial,” Prince Havash said.
“Then I shall grant you the less onerous task of putting
yourself to the aunt,” the Sultan answered. He grinned. “Did you think
you would so easily rob me of the chance to deflower this young
13-year-old girl?” he asked.
“Sorry, Sire,” Prince Havash said. “You are much cleverer than
myself, though I stand ready to accept the job of fucking the tighter
hole if it might improve your odds of winning.”
“They are both tight,” the Sultan said. “Certainly, being
younger, little Chloe will be the more difficult one, but as Sultan I
should bear the heaviest burden, don’t you think?”
“Not if you don’t wish to, Sire,” Prince Havash said.
Jessica walked up to the two men. She was holding the jar of
vaseline. Vicky took her finger from my aunt’s ass and came dashing up
to the men, standing with nervous glee beside Jessica.
“Oh! How big they both are!” Vicky squealed.
“They are both going to be considerably reduced in size in a
few minutes,” Jessica laughed.
“Oh, I should hope not!” Vicky said. Together the two women
compared the length and thickness of the men’s dicks. They were nearly
identical in their proportions but, to keep from rousing the Sultan’s
ire, Prince Havash complimented his Sire on having “a penis so much
greater than my own.”
“You may be without one entirely soon,” the Sultan said.
“Eh?” Prince Havash asked.
“Oh, don’t say such a thing!” Jessica, her hands caressing each
man in turn, scolded.
“You are both quite fine, and quite big too, though of course
nobody can compare to the Sultan,” Vicky said in a cloying voice.
“I propose a contest, dear brother,” the Sultan said to Prince
Havash. “Whichever of us can fuck longer, wins my kingdom. But the
loser, the one who spurts first, shall have his penis cut off.”
“OH!” both Jessica and Vicky cried. Indeed, even the other two
women in the room gasped, as did myself and my aunt, though gags
silenced our own cries.
“Sire, that is a dangerous proposition,” Prince Havash said.
He looked down at his dick. Vicky, having lubricated her fingers in the
jar of vaseline, was coating his penis with it. His knob glowed. Vicky
slid her fingers down his shaft, savoring the throbbing of his pulse
that she could feel in it.
“Are you serious, Sire?” Prince Saul, who was still flaccid,
asked from the dinner table.
“Quite,” the Sultan said. “Guard!” he said. He spoke to the
man who, in gagging me, had offered to give me something more than the
gag to put in my mouth. “Take out your sword, guard!” the Sultan
commanded. “I have lopped off other men’s dicks and now I am going to
try my own against the blade.”
“No!” Jessica cried. She was in the process of lubing the
Sultan’s dick and her small hands gripped it possessively.
“Sire, if I should think you to be serious, I will not,
perhaps, decline your offer,” Prince Havash warned.
“You are man enough to joust with me then?” the Sultan asked.
“For your kingdom, Sire,” Prince Havash maintained. The guard
displayed his sword. It gleamed in the light of room. The guard’s own
penis stood erect, though his sarong covered his stiffness. He was
extremely careful, in handling his sword, not to drop it.
“Yes, for my kingdom,” the Sultan said. There was a crazed
look in his eye.
“Then let us do it in the presence of the chopping block, so
there might be no delay in the execution of the sentence,” Prince Havash
said.
I understood why a man, even a man who was already a prince,
might be willing to risk his penis to win a kingdom. But why the
Sultan? I wondered if the wine he’d drunk had gone to his head. Had he
played such games before? Was he truly serious? I could not answer
such questions. It all seemed extremely bizarre, like the ‘thrones’ my
aunt and I were seated upon, and I prayed that I might be spared somehow
the promised contest, especially since my own bottom had to be impaled
for the men to hold it!
Jessica and Vicky reluctantly finished lubricating the men.
Nothing either female said to them could dissuade them from their crazed
plan. Even Prince Saul, and Kelly and Susan, tried to keep Prince
Havash and the Sultan from their awful game, but the Sultan insisted he
wished to play, and Prince Havash seemed certain he could win.
The guards brought a large wooden block into the room.
Grunting, they set it down. Then the guard who had drawn his sword
carefully placed it upon the block, to one side. Jessica and Vicky
looked at the block with fearful eyes. Then Susan, finding her
composure, stood and picked up a cushion off one of the chairs. She
walked over to the wooden block and tossed the cushion down to the floor
in front of it.
“To protect your knees,” Susan said.
“Kneel down,” the Sultan told Prince Havash. “By placing your
cock upon the block you will agree to our game. The girls will tie your
hands behind your back, and then I shall kneel in turn and be tied.”
“Alright,” Prince Havash said boldly. He strode over to the
block. Jessica hurried to the jewelled box, where the scarves had been
kept, and returned with two ropes. Prince Havash knelt on the cushion
in front of the block and put his hands behind his back. His penis,
thick with blood and pounding with his pulse, arched lewdly across the
surface of the block. Jessica looked once at the Sultan and, when he
nodded, bent and wrapped one of the ropes she’d brought around Prince
Havash’s wrists.
“God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Prince Havash muttered.
Nonetheless he maintained a brave face and let Jessica tie his hands
together. After she finished, the Sultan had one of the guards tighten
the ropes, so that there could be no question but that Prince Havash’s
hands were secured. All the while Prince Havash gazed at the sword
lying on the block beside his penis. It was a new, clean sword, but it
would be wet with blood soon, and one of the two penises the men so
proudly showed us would be removed forever.
“Oh! Don’t do this!” I cried frantically into my gag. But my
words went unheard. I looked at my aunt. She appeared as frightened as
I for both the men’s fate; we might have hated what they were doing to
us, but we hated even more the idea of one of them losing his manhood!
They had large, perfect penises, both of them. Even bound, tormented
females like myself and my aunt couldn’t help admiring them.
With his hands bound, Prince Havash stood up. He looked at the
Sultan. “Sire, I challenge you for your kingdom,” Prince Havash said,
his teeth gritted and his voice hard. His penis stuck out from his
loins, wet and ready, gleaming with petroleum jelly. The Sultan nodded
and walked over to the block. He knelt on the cushion. His cock
stemmed lewdly over the block and he looked at the sword. The Sultan
put his hands behind his back.
“Bind me!” the Sultan ordered. Jessica, weeping now, tied the
remaining rope around the Sultan’s hands. The Sultan tested his bonds
and ordered a guard to tighten her handiwork. The guard complied; then
the Sultan stood up.
“We shall joust now, and the winner shall enjoy a kingdom,
while the loser shall be greatly in need of a surgeon,” the Sultan said.
“I will kill myself if I lose,” Prince Havash said flatly.
“Whatever suits you,” the Sultan said. “But first you will
lose your penis.”
“Of course,” Prince Havash agreed.
“Oh, please! Both of you stop, while there’s still time!”
Jessica blurted.
“Quiet, woman!” the Sultan said. “Prince Havash and I have
hated each other for many years, though we paper over our differences
oftentimes, in the company of others. But now I have a chance to rid
myself of this wanna be brother of mine once and for all. And a
half-brother, at that!”
“Foul beast!” Prince Havash roared. His dick wiggled stiffly
as he bellowed at the Sultan. “I shall never have to hear such
blasphemy from you after tonight, questioning my parentage!” Prince
Havash spit, suddenly, and the spittle landed directly on the Sultan’s
cock.
“Why, you!” the Sultan cried. “Guards! Guards!”
“Oh, please!” Jessica howled. The guards rushed at Prince
Havash and seized him. But Prince Saul, though his penis was still
flaccid, leaped up and grabbed a sword out of the sheath of a guard
standing close to him.
“Brothers! It shall be a fair fight!” Prince Saul warned. He
brandished the sword and eyed the Sultan. “Sire, you must not exceed
your powers in this matter,” he breathed.
The Sultan frowned. “Very well,” he said. He turned to
Jessica. “Put me to Chloe’s bottom, woman!” He looked at Vicky. “Get
his dick ready,” he said, indicating Prince Havash.
“Yes, Sire,” Vicky said. She walked over to Prince Havash and
pushed the guards aside. They stepped back. She took hold of Prince
Havash’s penis and looked into his eyes.
“I love you,” Vicky said to Prince Havash.
“Lead me to my doom, or to my kingdom,” Prince Havash answered.
“You shall lose your clit for saying that,” the Sultan told
Vicky.
“Quiet, fool! In a matter of minutes I shall be Sultan, and
she shall be my queen!” Prince Havash said angrily.
“Clitorization!” the Sultan answered. Jessica took hold of his
cock and gingerly pulled him toward me. I shivered. The men might be
risking their dicks, but what about my bottomhole?
A minute later the men stood poised behind myself and my aunt.
Jessica had eased my cheeks apart and thrust the Sultan up into me so
that his knob stood at the very entrance to my hole. The same was done
by Vicky to my aunt. Prince Havash grinned at the Sultan.
“Are you ready, Sire?” Prince Havash asked, speaking the word
‘sire’ with great contempt.
“I am ready to see your penis severed,” the Sultan answered.
“Good luck, sire,” Prince Havash said. “You shall find that
13-year-old girl’s anus to be the last you’ll ever enjoy.”
“Hardly!” the Sultan retorted.
“At least I am fucking someone of legal age,” Prince Havash
said.
“Gentlemen!” Susan said. She had a whistle in her hand. She
tossed back her lovely blonde hair and looked intently at both men. “If
you are both determined upon this course, then I am ready too,” she
said.
“Oh, make me your queen!” Vicky urged, holding Prince Havash’s
dick in her hand, keeping him directly pressed against my aunt’s nether
hole.
“Marry me if you win,” Jessica said to the Sultan.
“Blow the whistle,” was the Sultan’s only reply. He gazed with
determination at Susan.
The blonde put the whistle to her lips. She inhaled. Then she
blew and the sound of the whistle was frightening. I jerked, only to
feel something hard and big suddenly stab at my back hole. This made me
strain upwards in my bonds but there was no way I could escape it. A
moment later and I was squeezing my eyes hard, tears coming to them, my
teeth biting hard into my gag, as the Sultan’s dick rammed into me. I
thought I heard my aunt scream; perhaps not, the gags on us both kept us
silent.
My eyes bulged. The Sultan pushed deeper into me. My breath
blasted from my nostrils and I puffed into my gag. Again I tried to
lift my bottom; it rose just a little, but the big surging penis of the
Sultan pushed deeper into me even as I tried to yank myself up and off
him. I heard the Sultan groan behind me. It was a small consolation,
but he was suffering as much torment as he gave me, for my small hole
squeezed mightily upon his prick, making him strain hard to avoid losing
his sperm. Beside me, my aunt tried to evade Prince Havash. She must
have deliberately squeezed her ass upon him, for I heard him shout with
alarm, sounding like a man awoken in a trash compactor. In this case
only his penis was trapped; perhaps that was worse. Had his whole body
been in a crusher it might have been something he could resign himself
to; but a man does not like, I am sure, the sudden fright of having his
penis squeezed so hard that he fears he may lose it. Indeed, in this
case, if the talented bumcheeks of my aunt did what she hoped; made him
pay for so rudely using her, made him cum, he would find his dick on the
chopping block!
I tried squeezing my ass like I knew my aunt must be doing.
She had more experience than I, but I bit hard into my gag and tried my
best to imitate her. The Sultan felt it. Ruthlessly he rodded me even
more deeply; his cock bulging in me as a kind of warning to not force
him to shoot and, thereby, lose his kingdom and his dick. Ordinarily a
man might have appreciated my efforts to clamp down upon him, seeking
release, but in this case release meant dismemberment. Oh, why did the
Sultan have to play such a wicked game with me and my aunt? I squealed
inside my head. We were both just girls, she 19 and myself 13. We
didn’t deserve to be put in such awful circumstances.
“Relax, bitch!” the Sultan yelled at me. His voice, so close,
hurt my ears. I felt his breath hot upon my neck. “Relax and let me
fuck you slowly and easily.”
I heard Jessica laugh. She supervised both men; she insisted
that they keep thrusting into us. “No cheating, gentlemen!” she cried.
“In and out, in and out. That’s it! If I catch either of you cheating
I shall squeeze your balls as punishment, and you know what might happen
if I do that!”
“God, this 13-year-old bitch is too tight!” the Sultan groaned,
his voice loud in my ears again.
“Ha! Ha! That’s what you get for liking little girls!” Prince
Havash yelled to his brother.
“As if you would not fuck her if I had let you,” the Sultan
managed to grunt in reply.
“I will fuck her every day, after I win, while you walk around
without a dick and a kingdom, brother!” Prince Havash said.
“Keep thrusting!” Jessica scolded. She gave Prince Havash a
slap on his bare bottom for, in speaking, he had apparently stopped
moving his hips, as my aunt confided in me later.
“Oh, God! She is too tight! Relax your bottom, you bitch!”
the Sultan screamed in my ears. I was already relaxed, though, as much
as a girl can be when she is 13 and being raped. I had stopped copying
my aunt in trying to squeeze my ass, for it only made his thrusting dick
all the more uncomfortable. “No! No!” the Sultan shouted. His penis
began to really hurt as, for some reason, he increased the tempo of his
thrusts even as he whined that I was bringing him to climax.
“Noooooooo!” the Sultan cried. His voice was high-pitched, strained.
Suddenly, vengefully, despite the pain of his deeply embedded member, I
squeezed. I contracted my bottomcheeks as hard as I could and, despite
his efforts to keep pistoning me, I kept them tight together. I wanted
to end my torment. The Sultan was, of course, inside me still. He
groaned. He tried to move; the vaseline let him, but I tried hard to
squeeze so much that he was unable to. Suddenly, I felt a profusion of
greasy fluid shoot into my ass. The Sultan shouted and found the
lubrication he needed to rod me fiercely. But in lubricating me with
his sperm, he lost the game.
“No! God! Stop!” the Sultan cried. I heard Prince Havash
laugh. Jennifer guessed what had happened and blew her whistle to end
the event. Prince Havash withdrew his steaming, still-hard cock from my
aunt’s bottom and displayed it to prove he had not lost himself. The
Sultan, his powers ebbing, felt himself begin to dwindle and yanked out
of me. It was too late; the guards saw his cum-covered cock and, more
tellingly, the sperm that drooled from my back hole as he withdrew.
Jessica ran to Prince Havash and knelt before him, to show her
allegiance was now unqualifiedly with him. She looked pale. She had
asked the Sultan to marry her if he won and she feared Prince Havash
would hate her for it. But the Prince only patted her on her blonde
head and bade her to rise. Vicky, meanwhile, dancing on tiptoe,
proclaimed to us all,
“I’m a queen! I’m a queen!”
“No! No! Stop!” the Sultan yelled to the guards. They had
watched the whole contest and they were as eager to demonstrate their
loyalty to the winner as Jessica was. They grabbed the Sultan and
manhandled him over to the block. They made him kneel on the cushion.
The Sultan’s penis was smaller now, but still tumid. One of the guards
yanked on his dick so that it lay properly across the block. Then he
lifted the sword and looked to Prince Havash for permission to remove
the Sultan’s member.
“Not in front of the girls,” Prince Havash said. “Take him to
the punishment room and do it there.”
“No!” the Sultan cried. I felt sorry for him as I stared at
him, even though there were tears in my eyes and my asshole hurt
terribly from the fucking he’d given me. My aunt, too, I saw, was pale
and afraid; she did not like violence.
The Sultan was yanked to his feet. The guards had to wrestle
him to the door of the room, for the Sultan was determined to fight
against them. His penis swung wildly about as he fought. I loved
seeing it move so salaciously and felt so panicky about its being cut
off that I nearly fainted. My aunt sagged in her bonds. I looked over
at her and saw that she had apparently lost consciousness. Jessica
sprang up and ran to her. She put a finger under my aunt’s nose to make
sure she was still able to breathe.
“Make sure you have bandages on hand after you’re finished,”
Prince Havash said to the guards, as they took the Sultan from our
room. “I only wish to have his penis removed. He is not to be allowed
to bleed to death. But give him a gun when you are finished, and lock
the door. If he takes his life, so be it.”
A guard turned and looked at Prince Havash. “And the penis,
Sire?” the guard asked.
“He would have to go to Europe to find surgeons to sew it back
on,” Prince Havash said. “Throw it out the window, so that the people
may know that even the Sultan is not above the law, or his commitments.”
“No! I am the Sultan!” the Sultan cried. He was close to
tears; I saw, as he was hustled from the room.
“Oh, please, Sire! Do not do this!” Jessica cried. She ran to
Prince Havash and threw herself at his feet. He kicked at her. She
caught his left leg and clung to it, as if for dear life, though it was
in fact for the sake of the Sultan’s penis!
“This is not Europe,” Prince Havash said to Jessica. “We Arabs
pride ourselves on strict law and order. We follow the code of our
ancient tribes and a man’s word is still his bond here in my country.”
“Oh, Sire! I beg you!” Jessica yelled. “I will do anything
for you! Anything!”
“You already do,” Prince Havash said.
“Then for the sake of the child! Do not let her see such
barbarity in your country!” Jessica moaned. She seemed on the point of
fainting and, indeed, I myself was seeing white clouds before my eyes,
and my tummy was churning with fright.
“What?!” Prince Havash said. “She has already saved some
convict, and now you wish for that 13-year-old brat to save my loathsome
brother too?”
“Yes!” Jessica said, in a voice that seemed weak and forlorn.
“Very well,” Prince Havash said. His words shocked me. They
must have shocked Jessica too for I heard her ask,
“Very well?”
“For the sake of her youth, and her extraordinary beauty, I
shall spare my fucking brother,” Prince Havash said. I wanted to
scream, I was so happy, yet it seemed rather silly, on retrospect, I
thought, when later I lay in bed, thinking of it. The Sultan had made
my bottomhole hurt with his penis. Yet I did not want to see him
harmed. How forgiving we girls are! How gullible in our love for men!
“Leave my country at once,” Prince Havash said to the Sultan.
“Do not delay. Do not pack. Leave. And if you are still in my kingdom
in one hour, I swear, your dick will be cut off, no matter how much
these damn tarts plead for you to be spared!”
The Sultan glared at Prince Havash. His tears ceased flowing
and his Imperial temperament returned. I honestly think, in reflecting
on it, that he took Prince Havash for a fool for not cutting his penis
off. Prince Havash added, quickly, to the guards, “Do not unbind his
hands until his plane has landed in a foreign country.”
“Yes, Sire,” a guard said.
“I shall regret this someday,” Prince Havash muttered. But
Jessica and Vicky and Susan and Kelly were all standing round him now,
showering him with kisses for his forgiveness. One good thing about us
girls; for as much trouble as we cause among men, we also provide the
only antidote; our love in exchange for men behaving decently to one
another.
When the Sultan had left, and the girls had ceased kissing
Prince Havash, Vicky took smelling salts and awoke my aunt. Then Prince
Havash strode in front of my aunt and I and addressed us as follows:
“You two are spared your slavery to the Sultan, but now you are
slaves to me. As a show of good will I shall cut your stay here in my
kingdom to 15 days. I expect to be repaid for it by your enthusiastic
service to me in the days remaining.” He turned to two guards still in
the room. “I must impress my will upon them, so they shall obey without
hesitation. Let them feel what will happen to them if they disobey!”
“Yes, Sire!” one of the guards answered.
Trembling with fright, I heard a humming sound under me. I
gaped down between my legs and saw a pungie-stick-like device rising
from the mass of wires and equipment below my bottom. Jessica rushed to
me and eased open my bottomcheeks with her hands. I was too tired to
resist her. I watched as a small tube came out of the top of the
stick. It looked like a tongue, stretching forth from a snake’s mouth.
Jessica grabbed it with her fist. It was quite flexible. She urged its
increasing length within my waiting anus.
I gasped. The tongue-like protrusion slid inside me more
deeply.
“Yes, Chloe,” Prince Havash said. “You must be opened and
examined before you become my slave. What is piercing you now is a
flexible tube, with a small camera and light at its tip. It can travel
deep into your colon without causing you harm. Not that its the most
comfortable thing to endure, of course,” Prince Havash chuckled. “Your
bottom will be examined to a depth far in excess of that which even the
longest penis can probe, so that I can be absolutely assured that you
are in perfect health, and suitable to be my personal slave. The device
shall record the inside of your colon and, perhaps, if I wish, that of
your ileum too, even your jejunum and duodenum. I am tempted to push it
right up through your stomach and out of your mouth, though that would,
no doubt, have the unfortunate side-effect of causing your death.” He
laughed. I felt the tube sliding within me to a greater and greater
depth, past my clenching anus. I gasped. Suddenly clouds crowded my
vision and I screamed and fainted.
When I awoke, I was sitting on the throne. My bottom no longer
hung off the back edge but sat on the throne proper. Prince Havash was
still standing in front of me. I pressed my bottom hard to the wood and
found my anus free of obstruction. I breathed a sigh of relief and
almost fainted again as I remembered what Prince Havash had been doing
to me.
“Chloe, you spoiled my fun by fainting,” Prince Havash said.
He shook his head. “Very well. But I have one more treat for your
small child’s bottom, and you will not escape this one by fainting, nor
will your aunt. He looked Rebecca. I guessed that my fainting spell
had spared her anus the examination by the probe. Her eyes were wide.
She looked at me in a self-pitying stare. I gaped at her and wished I
could say something.
Guards stood around us, their faces grim but quietly mocking
us; their arms were crossed over their chests. They were all selected,
I learned later, for their physical perfection. Indeed, gaping at them
with my gag over my mouth, I found myself flushing with a mixture of
embarrassment and desire. My aunt must have felt it too. Tied with her
legs hard apart and her cunt rudely forced open, she began bucking in
her chair. The guards laughed. It was obvious what she wanted and my
aunt flushed a deep red as she repeatedly thrust her open sex at the
men. I looked at her frantically. But she was no longer giving me her
‘I’m sorry’ stare. Now, she was totally lost in her own needs, and she
could not stop herself after our hours of torment from begging to be
violated by the men in the deepest of ways. She spread her legs even
wider than the ropes had already done, straining against them to offer
herself more completely. She stared wide-eyed at the men, her lips
silenced by her gag, and spoke to them with her wet, hungry cunt.
“What is it, Rebecca?” Prince Havash asked. “Do you wish a
drink of water?”
My aunt shook her head ‘no’. There was desperation in her
eyes.
“Something... harder?” Prince Havash said, toying with her. My
aunt nodded frantically ‘yes’.
“Very well,” Prince Havash said. He gave a leering glance at
the guards who stood around him. Then he lifted a hand and waved to one
of the guards. The man nodded and walked over to my aunt’s chair.
With wide, beseeching eyes, my aunt stared up into the guard’s
face. His body was hard and muscular and his sarong was uplifted to the
height of his waist by the erection of his penis. At the same time a
guard came over to me. He had a swarthy face with a scar down one
side. I didn’t like him but, like my aunt, I was feeling so needy that
I told myself I did. He glanced with contempt at my wide-apart cunt, at
the tiny dot of my clitoris within the folds of my sex. I stared with
longing eyes at the rippling muscles of his hard chest and let my gaze
fall to the place where his sarong stood away from his lower belly like
a shelf.
The guard reached behind me. He put his hand to the back of my
chair. He slid a long, wide piece of wood out from under the seat of my
chair. I wondered at it, gazing at it in a mirror. It had been inside
my chair seat like a kind of sheath; as if to protect me from
something. But what? The guard walked to the back of the room and set
the big square piece of wood at an angle against the wall, resting it on
the floor. My auntie’s guard did the same.
My eyes met my aunt’s. We were both frightened. Yet still she
moved her hips in pathetic back and forth motions, hoping to capture one
of the guard’s cocks in her cunt. I did likewise; my breasts bounced,
as did hers, with each arching forward of my hips.
The guard assigned to me returned to my chair. Again I
beseeched him with my eyes; again he contemptuously ignored me. He
pressed something on the side of my chair and I heard a grinding sound.
I sat tensely on my ‘throne.’ My bottom still burned from my
whipping. I could feel every inch of my heat-sheened cheeks as they
pressed with taut, agonized awareness against the wood of the chair.
For the first time I felt a pattern of holes into which my flesh
pressed; suddenly I realized the purpose of the flat piece of wood that
had been pulled out from my chair.
It was, indeed, a sheath; and a most ingenious one, though the
discomfort its removal caused me was intense. This ‘sheath’ was a wide,
flat board. Peppered along its upper surface was a series of little
knob-like protrusions. You might call them tiny clitorises. Each
little clit fitted into a hole in the chair’s seat. Consider this: you
want to create a chair seat with lots of small holes in it. So you do.
But now anyone who sits in the chair can instantly see and feel the
holes. What to do? By creating a second chair seat, and sliding it
under the first, and fitting it with protrusions that bulge into the
holes, without poking up through them, you can then disguise the holes.
So it was with my chair, except now the sheath had been removed. I
could feel those holes pressing against my sensitized flesh and I
wriggled my bottom with alarm.
I looked at my aunt again. She was as shocked as I that we
should now be sitting on chairs that had holes in them. Yet still she
arched and offered her hips. She moaned into her gag and squeezed her
eyes shut, briefly, begging for something, anything hard to save her
from the agony of having a wet, exposed, maddeningly soft and unfilled
cunt.
Suddenly, I felt something hard and sharp all along my bottom.
My aunt felt it too. Her eyes became bug eyes and she shrieked into her
gag. I felt tears spring to my eyes as dozens of small points assailed
my heinie.
My whole body shook with fright. The tremor that raced through
me made the points pressing into my bottomflesh hurt all the more. No
longer was I salaciously wiggling my hips. Nor was my aunt. We sat
still as stones as we both realized that what had risen up through the
newly-opened holes in our chairs were nails.
The guards laughed. Prince Havash grinned at us with leering
eyes. I fought to remain utterly still as the bed of nails I was
sitting on dug into the whip-reddened seat of my bottom.
“Well, well, well,” Prince Havash said. “Even American girls
can learn to sit still when they’re made to sit on a bed of nails!”
I trembled. My breasts quavered, the nipples stiff like the
nails that poked into my ass. My aunt began sobbing. I felt tears
coursing down the cheeks of my own face but somehow I managed to glare
at the prince with angry eyes. He looked down at my snub-nosed, gagged
face and said quietly: “They are not sharp at the point, but they will
be if you make faces at me, Chloe.”
As I sat watching, cords were attached to my feet. The
‘thrones’ were sufficiently tall that neither my aunt nor I could touch
the floor with our toes. Prince Havash let the cords dangle loosely
from our feet. He then warned us: “I shall attach weights to the ends
of the cords if you aren’t both utterly obedient. Imagine how the nails
will press into your flesh if you’ve both got 20 pound weights hanging
off your toes!”
My aunt fainted at that point. Susan gave her smelling salts
and when she revived the prince showed her the whip with which Jessica
had beaten us on our bottoms.
“How you would squirm upon the nails if I applied this to your
proud back now, eh, Rebecca?” Prince Havash asked my aunt. “You and
your niece will both show utter obedience to my will during your stay
here. Otherwise, you will be returned to these ‘thrones,’ but there
will be three things that are worse than what you suffer now. First, a
bed of sharp nails will be installed in your chair, instead of the
dull-tipped nails you find underneath you right now. Second, you won’t
just wear cords for weights on your feet. You’ll have actual weight
hanging off your feet, dangling down under your toes, making you sit
more heavily on the nails than you’re already doing. And, thirdly, of
course, you’ll be whipped. But there is even one more thing, that you
will find even worse than all the others: I shall have you teased to
distraction, sexually. Imagine your favorite men, or women, perhaps,
kissing your nipples and fingering your cunt even as you are made to sit
on sharp nails! Picture the sharp contrast between their loving
caresses and the lashes of the whip. Imagine receiving both at once:
the pain of the whip slicing into your back, making it burn, while
lovers nibble at your clit and suck your nipples like babies. Consider,
if you will, the sensuous contrast of sweet, moaning lovers partaking of
your bosoms and pretty pussy, showing you every sympathy, hungry to
pleasure you, while at your back a man like myself flays you with
unremitting vigor. And all the while you are perched on the nails, the
sharp, cutting nails, poking into your bottom as weights bear down upon
your feet. Can you imagine the agony you would suffer, my dear
Rebecca? I’m tempted to make you feel it now. Think how you’d fear
orgasming, with all those nails biting like implacable bees into your
fanny. God! How you would tear up your ass! You would never be the
same, my dear, so do not cross me. I can always find another pretty
bottom like yours, but you have only that one for yourself.”
You can imagine the depth of my torment and fright by a fact
I’ve not even mentioned yet, but one which, at the time, horrified me
even more than what I or my aunt was put through.
His chair was the same as ours, and Jim Rutland was made to sit
upon nails just as we were. His legs had already been tied with the
knees uplifted, so that his feet could not find purchase on the floor.
Jim grimaced as he felt his heavy sperm sac between his legs poked into
by the nails. They felt as if they would rupture his balls, he told my
aunt and I later, their stiff points pressing insidiously, as if to
liberate his sperm by putting holes in his testicles.
His penis fared no better. The fright of his situation caused
Jim’s cock to fall to the level of the chair seat. Tumescently, like
some exhausted snake, it lay across the nail points. Jim felt his balls
work turgidly between his legs, the eggs slipping between the
upthrusting nails, trying to find a less dangerous place to rest, to no
avail!
“Really, I thought they had me there,” Jim said. “The points
were bad enough against my ass, digging into my flesh, pressing up
toward my anus. But against my balls they were absolutely treacherous!
I felt like I had a water balloon between my legs, one that was bound to
pop! And my poor dick-- one of those nails managed to press right up
against my pee hole. Somehow it caught the tip of my penis and wedged
itself right up through the slit at the end of my penis, where my pee
comes out. You can imagine how uncomfortable I felt, with nails in my
balls and along the shaft of my dick and even thrusting up through the
tip of my pee hole!”
“I think they’ll all be very good sex slaves,” Susan said to
Prince Havash. He grinned at her.
“Yes,” Prince Havash answered. “I think they’ll be very good
indeed.”
30
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