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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Summer of Sin part 8 of 8 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Eight
I was worried about my aunt. We were safely ensconsed in her
home, doing normal things, shopping during the day and dancing at night,
but there was a restlessness to her spirit.
I met a guy at one of the clubs. He was 22, in college, and I
was only 13. But he liked me, and in the ensuing days he became my
boyfriend. He was visiting me at my aunt’s. We’d been necking,
wondering if we should ‘do it’ for the first time, when on impulse I
broke from our embrace and hurried upstairs. I told myself I needed to
pee. But I didn’t, really, and instead of going in to the bathroom I
wandered instead into my aunt’s bedroom.
Rebecca was standing in front of her bedroom mirror. It hung
over her dresser. My eyes widened when I saw what she was doing. It
was evening, she had on a very nice dress, as if to attend her formal
party. But as she stared at herself in the mirror she was buckling a
leather dog collar around her neck!
“Auntie,” I asked, in a submissively formal voice. She had
told me to knock whenever I wanted to come into her bedroom, in case she
had a guy with her, which made sense, I suppose, except I knew she’d
been spurning all the men we’d been meeting at night when we went
dancing. But I was formal anyway, for I was sneaking in on her, and
discovering secrets she’d have preferred to keep to herself.
My aunt froze. Her fingers, buckling the collar, hung poised
at her neck. Gradually her eyes moved along the mirror’s image until
she spotted me.
“What do you want?” my aunt asked. Her voice was high, a bit
nervous. “Why did you not knock?”
“You’re not naked or anything,” I answered. I wanted to add,
‘and it’s only five o’clock in the afternoon,’ but I knew that was a
dumb answer because, despite the hour, my boyfriend and I had been
making out.
“No, I’m not naked,” my aunt answered.
“You’re all dressed up,” I said. “Are you going out without
me?”
“Yes,” my aunt said firmly. She finished buckling on the dog’s
collar.
“Why can’t I come?” I asked plantively. My aunt tossed back
her lovely brown hair and looked at me with knowing eyes that only an
aunt who was 19, still a teen like me, could muster. “You may cum all
you like,” Rebecca said to me coldly. “Just not with me. Not tonight.”
“Where are you going?” I asked. I figeted, standing before
her. I was in a bikini that was wet from the pool, my hair mussed from
kissing my new boyfriend. She was gorgeous, wearing an expensive dress,
her hair all done up in the manner of a beautiful French woman.
“To a party,” my aunt replied.
“Is it a wicked party?” I asked. I trembled as I spoke,
knowing I was intruding much more than I should. But somehow I got the
question out, and there was a childish innocence in my voice when I
spoke it that made it accusing, like a baby asking its mother why she
was leaving.
“It’s an adult party,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be back in a few
days.”
“A few days?” I blurted. “What am I to do?”
“You’re 13,” Rebecca said. “You have a very fine boyfriend and
I can guess that you two are already hoping for some privacy.”
I felt defeated. Sure, it would be nice to have the house to
ourselves. But I wasn’t 16. Maybe if I had been, I’d have simply
accepted that my aunt had to go away for a few days. But at 13, there
was still enough of the little girl in me, the bratty kid sister, to be
absolutely filled up with curiosity about what my aunt was up to. I
just had to know! I walked up to her.
“Don’t get my dress wet!” my aunt shrieked, backing abruptly
away from me in my soaked bikini.
“I want to go with you,” I said. I gazed up at her. I tried
my best to look defiant, like a child demanding a toy, for I knew if she
rebuffed me again I’d be left to wonder forever where she’d gone.
“You could not get ready in time,” my aunt said.
“Oh, I could!” I insisted.
“What shall we do with your boyfriend?” my aunt asked.
“He’ll come too,” I said. My aunt tried to walk around me. I
moved, so that she almost bumped into me in my wet swimsuit.
“Alright!” my anut cried. She was trembling. I could see that
she was quite nervous about where she was going an my rudeness was only
adding to her anxiety. “Let me by. I’ll call them to delay the boat by
a half hour. If they will,” she said.
“A boat? We’re going on a boat?” I asked.
My aunt drew herself up, her firm breasts bulging out in front
of her and nearly bumping me in my nose.
“Yes,” my aunt said. “It’s located on an island. The couple
is young, but quite wealthy. We must travel on their boat to reach
their home. They call it--” she paused. She tried to suppress a
giggle, but it burst from her lips, anxiously. “They call their home a
pleasure palace. They have a big pool, and tennis courts, and a
jaccuzzi and sauna, all on the island, and they have several invited
guests out each month, to enjoy their estate with them.”
“It sounds like a lot of fun,” I said.
“Then come if you wish,” my aunt answered. “But you must
bathe, and look your best. Have your boyfriend use the shower outside,
by the pool. I’m not letting the two of you share the same bathroom.”
“I didn’t ask for us to share the bathroom,” I answered. My
aunt smiled.
“Hurry,” Rebecca said. “I’ll call and see if I can get the
boat delayed.”
I rushed downstairs. My boyfriend was sitting in his wet
swimsuit, on a chair in the kitchen. There was a noticeable bulge in
the front of his Speedos.
“Take those off!” I said to him.
“Huh?” he asked. He looked at me with startled eyes,
expecting, perhaps, to be relieved of his suit, but not in such an
abrupt manner.
I tossed him a bar of soap that I’d grabbed from a hallway
closet as I ran downstairs. He tried to catch it, fumbled it. It hit
his dick and he caught it as it bounced off his swimsuit.
“Get out of your swimsuit and go out back and take a shower,” I
told him. “Then put on your clothes. Rebecca’s going to a party and
I’m going too, as soon as I take my bath, and you’re coming.”
“A party?” my boyfriend asked. His name was Brad and I liked
to call him ‘Brad the Rad,’ but at the moment he was slow, awkward, and
stupid. As he stared at me, holding the bar of soap, I saw the bulge in
his swimsuit get bigger.
I walked up to him. I felt confident and self-assured. I’d
just talked my way into an adult party, and no boyfriend, even one in
college, was going to make me miss it. I reached out and took hold of
the front of his Speedos. I pulled them open. At the same time I stole
the soap from his hands. I’d already unwrapped it for him, as I ran
downstairs. Now I dropped the soap down into the front of his
swimsuit. It made the bulge there even bigger.
“Hey!” Brad shouted. He looked down at himself, and at the
obscene lump now in the front of his suit where the soap was competing
for space with his cock.
My aunt walked into the kitchen, lovely in her dress, wearing
jewelled earrings, a bouffant hairdo, and a dog collar around her neck.
“Did you give him a bar of soap?” my aunt asked me.
“Yes. It’s in his swimsuit,” I answered, and pointed, hoping
she’d think the giant bulge there was all soap.
My aunt cleared her throat. A twitch of a smile crossed her
lips.
“I didn’t know we had such big soap,” she said softly.
“You... you want me to take a shower?” Brad asked. He rose
from the kitchen chair. His hands groped at the front of his Speedos
for, as he stood up, the soap threatened to pop from the leghole of his
suit. It was too small of a suit to hold both the soap and his penis.
“Yes, Brad,” my aunt said. Her eyes gazed at him. He was
nude, except for his small racing suit. He had broad shoulders and a
sculpted chest. His arms and legs were powerful, and from the
protuberance in the front of his suit I guessed his extra limb was as
powerful as the others. “Go wash your body,” my aunt said. “I know
you’re quite clean already, but we’re going to a very special party, and
I want you looking your best. You still have your clothes that you came
in?”
“Sure,” Brad said. With some difficulty, and a visible blush
of embarrassment, he reached into his swimsuit and pulled out the soap.
“Good,” my aunt said. He was older than she was but she
commanded him with soft, certain words, as if she were his mother. He
was, after all, my boyfriend, and I was only 13, so I suppose that made
her take charge of him.
“Don’t fool around,” I told Brad. “Just wash quickly, because
we have to catch a boat!” I said excitedly. Then I turned and ran
upstairs. As I ran I felt a twinge of jealousy, leaving my aunt all
alone downstairs with my guy. But I was too zipped up about getting to
go to the party to worry about it.
During my bath, I slipped out of the tub. My curiosity about
leaving my aunt downstairs with Brad had grown stronger. And, more
importantly, I’d just figured out a way to see his nude body as he
showered. I ran wet-footed through the hall, then into my aunt’s
bedroom. I leaned out of one of her windows. I could almost see him,
showering down below, in an alcove cut into one of the walls of the
house. I ran to another window. I leaned out again. There he was! He
was utterly naked now, lathering his dick and balls with soap, the rest
of the soap either washed off him already or yet to be applied. Long,
shooting streams of water rushed down from the shower head. I knew it
only gave cold water, not warm, and I marvelled at how he braved the
stream of water with his bare body. I gazed at him more closely and saw
that his hair on his head was still dry. Was he just getting into the
shower, just now? I’d already been in my bath for fifteen minutes!
What could he have been doing all this time? Suddenly, I saw my aunt.
She was dressed as perfectly as before, but there was something in her
hand. She waved it, and for a moment I thought she was waving at me,
and I drew back from my perch at the window. Then I realized she was
waving it at Brad’s behind.
“You wouldn’t,” I heard Brad say. He looked back over his
shoulder at her. His hands frisked his cock and balls more quickly. I
watched as his wonderful cock grew even longer in his hands. It
stretched out like some obscene banana from between his clenching
fingers, sticking out a good ten inches from the flatness of his belly.
My aunt swept her hand outward, holding what appeared to be a
stick. As it struck Brad on his naked behind I realized it was a riding
crop!
“Ouch!” Brad said. His hands worked over the long stem of his
cock, rubbing soap suds on it. The rest of him was without soap. I
realized now that he was just starting his shower.
“You should not be dating a 13-year-old,” my aunt said.
“You wouldn’t have gotten to meet me if I hadn’t,” Brad
countered. And it was true, because I’d found him all by myself at a
club we’d visited, while she was sitting and drinking with a woman.
“Hurry up,” my aunt said. “We spent too long kissing.”
“Don’t hit me with that thing again. It hurts,” Brad said.
“Where we’re going, they may have one of these,” my aunt warned
him.
“I’ll worry about that when we get there,” Brad said.
“We’re going to have to stop at a pet store on the way to the
harbor,” my aunt said.
“A pet store?” my boyfriend asked. He began soaping his
stomach. It was flat and hard, covered with just a trace of hair that
ran up from his pubic bush to a thick cluster of hair on his chest.
“To buy you a collar,” my aunt said. “You and my neice.”
“That’s wild,” Brad said.
“It could be a wild party,” my aunt cautioned.
“I’ll take my chances,” Brad said.
“I’m a little frightened, going,” my aunt said. “A lot,
actually. I’m glad my neice talked you into coming along. I wish she
wasn’t going, though.”
“I know. She’s pretty young,” Brad agreed.
“Not too young for you to bonk her though, eh?” my aunt asked.
She swept her arm outward and stuck his behind again.
“Ouch! I didn’t bonk her,” Brad said. “We were only necking.
Like you and I just did.” He reached back and rubbed his ass, where
she’d struck him.
“I’m 19. She’s only 13,” my aunt said.
“I know what age she is,” Brad said. There was a slight growl
to his voice. “Don’t hit my ass again. I’ve got to do this if you want
me to come.”
My aunt turned away. “Don’t jerk off out here, okay?” she
asked him, glancing back over her shoulder.
“I won’t,” Brad said.
“I know younger guys sometimes cum unexpectedly,” my aunt
smiled.
“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” Brad said.
“Point well taken,” my aunt answered.
“Say, could you bring me a towel?” Brad asked.
“Oh,” my aunt said. “I suppose that will be needed.” She
walked away. I felt my fists balling up as I watched how her hips
wiggled as she left him, Brad’s eyes trailing after her, watching her
ass. Even the long dress she wore didn’t hide it’s allure. Brad’s cock
was stiff as a board and he put his hands to it and rubbed it some more,
though it was already covered with soap.
“Damn two-timer!” I said under my breath. But, hearing my aunt
come into the house downstairs, I rushed back to my bath, lest she
discover me getting the carpet wet in her bedroom.
We stood on the dock. I wore a pretty, long dress like my
aunt, with lace frills on it that made me seem modest. I wore a black
leather dog collar around my neck. It was brand new. We’d stopped at a
pet store to buy it, puzzling the lady behind the counter when she asked
what breed of dog we had, and my aunt, flustered already from the party
we were going to, answered, without thinking, that we didn’t have a
dog.
I watched the dark sky. The stars were out, but the moon had
not yet risen. I held a feathered mask over my face, under gay-colored
lights strung up along the dockway. A couple approached and my aunt
lowered her feathered mask and held it tightly by her side. Brad looked
like Zorro, tying a small black mask over his eyes. He did not bother
to untie it as we saw the couple approach. I was just 13 and kept my
plumed mask up over my face. Girls could get away with more than
someone who was grown up, like my aunt, could.
“Hello,” my aunt said softly to the approaching couple. I
could hear a party going on in a boat parked on the other side of the
dock. It sounded like it was getting wild. I looked across the dock to
see if I could see anything. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary (though
I noticed the boat was rocking quite vigorously) I let my eyes wander up
onto the shore. There were shops there. Tourists and townsfolk could
be seen strolling on the promenade in front of the shops.
The couple stopped beside us. The woman was young, statuesque
like my aunt, perhaps no older than her, or just a few years older. It
was hard to tell in the dark. The man holding her arm was older,
perhaps in his mid-30s.
“Are you waiting for a boat?” the woman asked. She had blonde
hair that was swept up off her shoulders. It was long, but tied loosely
with a ribbon, to keep all the rest of her free of her hair. She wore a
long, sparkling cocktail dress that accentuated her curves. She had a
short, lambskin jacket pulled tight around her. It was unbuttoned in
front. She held it closed over her bosoms with one hand. In her other
hand she held a bouquet of roses. The jacket, though short-waisted, had
a fashionably high collar and long sleeves. The man was dressed in
expensive slacks and a silk shirt. He didn’t seem to mind the cool
breeze blowing in off the sea. For my part, I was a little chilly. I
wished we’d brought jackets, like the woman had.
“Yes,” my aunt answered. She turned away, and gazed seaward,
as if afraid to say anything more to the couple.
“We are waiting also,” the woman said. My aunt turned abruptly
back to her.
“You are?” my aunt asked.
“Yes. For the Silvers?” the woman asked.
“Oh. Yes. Pauline and John Silver,” my aunt said. They both
laughed. There was a touch of anxiety in their voices as they laughed.
“We are going to the same party,” the woman said.
“Yes,” my aunt agreed. She introduced me, Brad. The woman
introduced herself and her husband. His name was Steve and hers was
Chrissy. They did not tell us their last names.
“We did not know to bring masks,” the woman said.
“It said-- it said to at the bottom of the slip. The very
bottom,” my aunt said. She lifted her mask, as if to put it over her
face, but then didn’t. I kept mine over my eyes. Brad, seeing that the
man was going to the party but had no mask, nervously undid his own and
shook the man’s hand.
“It is strange,” the woman said, gazing out over the inward
rolling surf. You could hear the waves sluice past the big posts that
held up the dock under our feet. I liked listening to it. The posts
were stiff, implacable. But the softness of the rolling waves would
eventually reduce them to ruins.
“What?” my aunt asked.
“On the slip,” the woman said. Chrissy, with her long blonde
hair all neatly piled up atop her head. “It said that although we might
be quite intimate at the party, we must try our best to never meet again
afterward. After it’s over.”
“Yes,” my aunt said. She looked at the woman, Chrissy. At her
trim figure, like her own, at the prominence of her breasts. Then at
the man standing steadfastly beside her. “It is so we have more... more
license... to do as we really please?” My aunt said. She ended her
sentence in a question, as if she weren’t sure, or didn’t want to be.
“Yes. You’re very pretty,” the woman Chrissy said to my aunt.
“Thank you,” my aunt said. Though it was dark, I could feel
her blush.
“We shall have a nice party,” Chrissy said.
“I hope so,” my aunt agreed.
“There it is!” I cried. I pointed out to see. A small yaht
was making its way in through the waves. We all turned and watched it.
I could hear the party on the boat docked behind us. A woman screamed.
My aunt turned, anxiously, looked behind her. Brad and Steve exchanged
nervous laughs.
The yaht drew in alongside the dock. A man and a woman sat in
the back of it. It was a small boat, with a little cabin that could
hold only a few things, perhaps a bed, nothing more. The man and the
woman sat exposed in the back of the yaht, under the stars, the man
steering.
“Rebecca!” I heard myself say. I gazed at the man and the
woman in alarm. They were both black. The woman had long, lovely
European-style hair, but her skin was as black as the man’s who sat
beside her. He had peppercorn hair. She was young, like Rebecca and
Chrissy, and I wondered if she worked as a model. The man looked like
he’d stepped out of GQ.
“Hello,” the woman called to us. She stood up. She picked up
a coil of rope and tossed it up onto the dock. Brad picked up the end
of the rope and wrapped it around one of the posts holding up the dock.
He tied it with expert hands. I wondered where he’d learned that.
“Step down,” the woman urged us. “Watch your step.”
I went first. Rebecca held my hand as I stepped down into the
boat. I was a little unsteady and the black woman caught me as I gained
a foothold on the rocking edge of the boat. Rebecca was next, then
Chrissy. Her husband stepped down next, and Brad, untying us from the
dock first, then jumped down himself.
We settled onto cushions at the back of the boat. The cushions
were perched on a long wooden bench that was built into both sides of
the boat. I felt the sway of the boat’s deck beneath my feet. If I
leaned back, I could dip my fingers in the water of the ocean.
“Are you cold?” the black woman with the long, wind-swept hair
hanging darkly down over her eyes asked me. She brushed her hair back.
She offered me a jacket. I took it and gratefully put it on. Rebecca
accepted one too. Brad declined, as did Steve. The boat turned and we
began cutting through the waves and heading toward the horizon.
The black man, John, did not wear a jacket. But Pauline did.
She wore it unbuttoned, showing a cocktail dress underneath. On her
feet she wore tennis shoes, with high heels. She had on small bobby
socks and, curiously, on one of her ankles there was a gold anklet. It
was fitted with small bells that shook and tinkled whenever she moved.
I gazed at it, wondering why she was wearing it, but I said
nothing.
We arrived at their island about a half hour later. Brad
jumped out of the boat first, and tied it to their dock. The black
woman complimented him, telling him he was “very handy.” We all got
out. We walked up a gravel path, between overhanging trees, to a large
house. As we mounted the front steps to the house I was startled to see
two young men standing at the top of the steps. They were both white.
They stood on either side of the front door. Each one of them held a
tall, flaming torch lamp in his hand. Around the neck of each man, or
perhaps boy would have been a better term, for neither looked over 20,
was an iron collar. Otherwise each boy was naked, except for a very
soft, V-shaped loin cloth, that hung down over his penis. As we came up
the steps each boy’s cock rose in a kind of lewd salute. Worse, at the
base of each boy’s feet, set in front of him, was a stone pot. It was
lit, like the torch lamp he held. The flames in each pot blazed
fiercely, illuminating each boy’s thighs and, obscenely, the now-risen
penis each sported, which lifted his loin cloth, rendering it useless.
I looked with amazed eyes at the two rock-hard penises pointing right at
me, on either side of the door, as I came up the steps to the Silvers’
house.
“Yes, these are our slaves,” Pauline said. She said it very
casually, as a Southern gentlewoman might have, in the South, in
America, before the Civil War. Except she was black, and her ‘slaves’
were white. She lifted a hand and passed it caressingly over the cock
of the male nearest her. I saw then a most unusual sight. Fitted into
the pee hole of the boy standing there, was an emerald. I guessed it
must have been mounted on a (hopefully) blunt pin, which was stuck up
into his pee hole. To keep the jewel in place, a spring clamp, made of
gold, fit underneath the head of his cock. I realized, in a flash, that
the whole thing must look like a pair of big tweezers, one prong stuck
up in the boy’s penis, the other prong clamping the underside of his
cock. Where the two prongs met, the emerald sat, looking cool and green
at the tip of his hot, sweaty dong.
“Mmff!” I said, suppressing a giggle. Brad and Steve gazed at
the boys with awe-struck eyes. My aunt and Chrissy looked equally
startled.
We passed on into the house. I couldn’t help looking back over
my shoulder as John Silver closed the door to his home. He smiled at
me.
“You will perhaps see more of them later,” he said to me in a
big, baritone voice. It made me shiver. At the same time I felt my
nipples perk up under my dress.
“Let us proceed straight to dinner,” Pauline said. She
motioned towards a room adjacent to the foyer. “Oh, Brad,” she said, as
my boyfriend passed her. “We need someone to serve at dinner. Would
you follow me, please?”
Brad gulped. He glanced at me. My eyes were filled with
wonder, and he looked to my aunt for instructions. She nodded,
silently.
“Okay,” Brad said. Pauline smiled. She took his hand. She
led him away.
We seated ourselves around a table. It was made of hardwood,
covered with a linen tablecloth. Two candles stood upon it and John,
getting matches, lit them as carefully as any black servant of a
Southern family. Then he sat down at the head of the table.
Steve asked John a question. I don’t remember it now, but it
lead to some inconclusive small talk. I put my plumed mask over my
eyes. I liked looking through it.
“We didn’t bring masks,” Chrissy said to John.
“It’s alright,” John answered. “There are fewer of us this
evening. We were expecting two more couples, but they cancelled.”
“Oh,” Chrissy said.
Rebecca elbowed me. “Put your mask by your place,” she
whispered.
“But I like it!” I answered.
“Not now,” Rebecca said.
“Oh, alright,” I replied. I put my plumed mask down next to
the sliverware alongside my empty plate. “When are we going to eat?”
Rebecca ignored me. She gave a toss of her head and said to
John, “This is a wonderful estate, sir.”
“Thank you,” John said in his deep baritone. “Your
companion... she is quite young.”
“Yes,” Rebecca answered. “She insisted on coming.”
“I see,” John said. He cleared his throat. “I do not wish...
there could be a misunderstanding.”
“You have lovely slaves,” Chrissy interrupted.
“Yes,” John agreed. He looked at Chrissy and her husband.
“You have both worn your collars?”
“Yes,” Chrissy said. She drew back her jacket and I saw, now,
in the flickering of the candlelight, a black dog’s collar around her
neck. Steve cleared his throat and folded down his shirt collar. I had
thought he’d had it up because of the wind, but I saw now that it
discreetly hid a dog’s collar around his thick neck. Chrissy,
slim-boned and graceful, giggled as she showed her collar.
“Very good,” John said. “As you know I am master here, and
always looking for new slaves.”
“You have a lovely wife,” Steve said to John.
“Thank you,” John said.
Just then Pauline reappeared. To my shocked surprise, she was
bare-breasted. She had lovely big bosoms and they swayed in time to her
walk as she sashayed, with open sexiness, into the dining room. She was
as slim as a model. Her cocktail dress ringed her waist, and I wondered
if it might not slip down off her hips as she walked toward us. She
seemed unconcerned. There was amusement in her eyes.
“I just got Brad ready. He’ll be out in a minute,” Pauline
announced. “But how formal you all still look! I guess I forgot to ask
for your jackets in the foyer. Let me have them now.” Pauline walked
up to Chrissy. The gold anklet tinkled its bells as she approached the
woman.
“Oh, thank you,” Chrissy said to Pauline. She took off her
jacket and gave it to the woman. Then Pauline came around to my side of
the table and took my jacket, as well as Rebecca’s. She put them on a
small table behind us. Then she returned to where I was sitting and
leaned over the back of my chair.
“I must unbutton your dress, dear,” Pauline said to me. I
flinched. I gawped at Rebecca, then, finding no solace there, on to
John. He smiled from the head of the table.
“Your breasts are young and ripe and I have not seen the
breasts of a 13-year-old in some time,” John said.
“I must eat-- I must eat with my bosoms showing?” I asked. I
felt Pauline unbuttoning the back of my dress. Her own breasts, naked
and free, rubbed their nippled tips against my back. She pushed my
long, unpinned hair out of the way so she could undo me more easily.
A sound of unzipping came to my ears. As I stared at John, I
realized he was undoing his pants. My gaze darted to Steve. He was
doing the same. As I felt Pauline take apart my dress, both men
produced their penises under the table.
“Here we are somewhat more free than you might be at a dinner
back on shore,” Pauline whispered into my ear. She kissed it, my long
hair, the top of my head. I felt her hands push down my dress in back.
Then they found the back-clasp of my bra and undid that. She reached
around in front of me and lifted up the cups of my bra. My bosoms fell
out of them. She lifted my bra up and I was forced to lift my arms to
accomodate her. She worked my dress down to my waist. I was left
sitting with my breasts exposed. I noticed my nipples were stiff.
Despite my embarrassment, they showed themselves off with abaondon,
wiggling whenever I moved. Under the table, I could sense the men’s
penises pointing at me.
I felt like a slave girl, my breasts bared to the men’s eyes as
I sat at the table. John, from his place at the head of the table,
gazed at me lasciviously, his dark eyes drinking in the innocent beauty
of my 13-year-old breasts. He had big, rippling muscles under his shirt
and I wondered with a sense of fearful excitment if this wasn’t ‘payback
time.’ Hadn’t President Jefferson kept an underage black Mistress?
Didn’t he take her to Paris with him? Now I was in France too, a white
girl, feeling enslaved to John, a black man sitting in the master’s
place at the table. His wife walked over to Rebecca. She undid the top
of my aunt’s dress. She pulled it down, showing off my aunt’s bosoms as
if they were prize fruit bought at a market. I glanced at my aunt, saw
her nipples standing up as stiffly as my own were.
“You girls will both eat with the best of manners, or my
husband will be forced to flog you,” Pauline said to Rebecca and me.
Then she kissed Rebecca on the cheek. It was a soft, loving kiss, as if
to check that her husband could indeed use Rebecca in the manner just
proposed. We were negotiating, testing each other. My aunt nodded. I
shivered, and found myself, to my great surprise, nodding too!
“I may spill a little on my breasts. Could I have a bib?” I
asked, quickly, realizing I’d nodded and trying to retract the
permission I’d just given.
“A bib?” Pauline laughed. “Do you want a booster chair too?”
I sat low at the table, shorter than my aunt. I was only 13. I nodded.
“Please,” I said.
“Let me see if we have a bib and a booster chair,” Pauline
said. She looked at her husband.
“In the closet... I think,” John said. “I don’t spend much
time remembering where we keep stuff for little kids.”
“She’s our baby slave,” Pauline said. She glanced back over
her bare shoulder at me. I liked the swing of her hips. She looked
like a young mother, striding purposefully to a closet just outside the
room, to find me a bib. I opened my mouth and a sound very much like an
agreeable ‘goo’ came out. I felt saliva on my tongue. My nipples
wiggled. I lifted up my fingers and played with the tips of my tits.
“Don’t,” Rebecca said to me in a scolding voice. She kept her
hands in her lap, trying to look poised and well-mannered, despite the
nudity of her tits.
“I’m horny,” I said in a giggling voice.
“Chloe, supper isn’t the place to play with your tits,” John
said in his deep, baritone voice. “Put your hands in your lap like a
good girl, or I’ll be forced to spank you before we even start eating.”
I obeyed. The thought of John’s big, calloused black hand
splatting across my bottom gave me an uneasy thrill, but it scared me
too. I had no doubt that a spanking from him would hurt tremendously.
How could it not? He was hugely strong, a mere tap would probably send
pain rushing up my backside. So why had I nodded when he threatened me
with a flogging? Was I somehow overwhelmed by the thought of me, a
white girl, being whipped by a big black man? Did I wish to receive,
Jesus-like, the sins of my ancestors across my back? Was it the thought
I might be tied first, perhaps to a flogging pole, my hands aloft, my
shivering bottom exposed and forced to present itself, as John measured
out the lash in his hands and considered how much of it to give me?
Yes! That was it! It was not the actual stroke of the lash
that mesmerized me, but the loving knots that would have to be used to
keep me in place. Their binding, their biting into my skin. And the
consideration, the thoughtfulness John would have to use, in deciding
how to deal with me. I was young, fragile. He himself had admitted I
was very young to play these games. Only 13. He might simply whip an
older girl, like my aunt, but with me he would have to be very careful.
But still, it was silly, wasn’t it, to tease him to flog me while, at
the same time, I feared being spanked? Perhaps it was the extra
distance between us that would be entailed in a flogging that made me
want it. He would have to stand back from me. He would be forced to
admire me as one admires a statue. I would be fixed, tied, made to
pose, like artwork. I would be living art, and there would be no
connection between us, once I was tied, except through the flicks of the
lash. That was it, I realized. It was the lash, and how it would be
his only way of expressing himself to me. With a spanking one person
was hard over the other’s knee. But in a whipping he would have to
stand back. He would have time to admire me and there would be no
distractions, once I was prepared for him. There would just be the
slow, intimate, sensuous cracking of the slender whip between us. I
would not be pressed down over his lap. I would be, relatively
speaking, far away. I would be chaste. I would wait and receive only
those touchings he explicitly wished to bestow upon me. And I would
recieve them only through the medium of leather.
I felt a shiver run involuntarily through me. It made me
wiggle in my seat. I forced such lurid thoughts from my mind. Good
God! How could I think of such a thing-- to be whipped, by a black
man? I glanced toward the head of the table and was delighted to see
that Paul was distracted by the sight of my aunt’s large, slumbrous
breasts, with their generous nipples that were sticking out lustily from
the ends of her bosoms, despite her obvious desire to remain as neat and
quiet and unobtrusive at the table as possible. My own breasts were
smaller, higher, and with smaller nipples, because I was 6-years younger
than she. I wondered what mine would look like when I was a college
girl, like she was. Unthinkingly I lifted my hands. I covered my
breasts and blushed. How silly, to be sitting at a fine dinner table
like this, with lit candles, my bosoms bared to the world!
“No. You must not,” a female voice said. It was Pauline. She
was walking back from the closet now, carrying a booster seat for me. I
watched her approach. Her bosoms were perfect and round and
red-nippled. She arrived by my chair and bade me to stand. I did. She
placed the booster seat on my chair. It was made of plastic. “Push
down your dress,” she said. “I want your bare bottom on the booster
seat, just like it might be if you were a real baby. But don’t poop on
it. You’re a toilet-trained baby, okay?” Pauline said.
“I would never poop at the dinner table,” I said. My voice
sounded indignant, far away. I couldn’t believe I was letting a booster
seat be put on my chair. Sure, the table was a little high for me, but
I wasn’t 4-years-old anymore! Nonetheless, I hoisted myself back up
into my chair. Strangely, when I had plopped myself onto the extra
height of the booster chair, the table seemed just right. A little far
down, maybe, but not that far.
“Get one for Rebecca,” John ordered from the front of the
table.
“What? I don’t need one,” my aunt declared.
“It will make her be too far from the food,” Pauline told her
husband. He laughed.
“You mean she might spill some, trying to bring the food all
the way up to her mouth?” Paul laughed. I heard Steve give a smirking
laugh. “Good,” Paul said. “It will help her practise her manners to
have to bring her food farther to her lips.”
“Well,” Pauline said, tying a bib around my neck. It was a
real baby’s bib. It was too short for me. It had a picture of Tweetie
Bird on it and it failed to cover my breasts at all, leaving them to
hang freely under the bib’s tail. “If you want to go that far, why
don’t you go all the way? Hmmm? I’m fairly hungry, myself. But if
you’re planning to make dinner into a spectacle...”
Just then my boyfriend Brad walked into the room. He was
carrying a tray, like a servant. He was spectacularly and completely
naked. I’d never seen him that way before and my eyes bulged at his
body. Where his trim swimsuit usually stretched over his hips, there
was nothing. Just his white skin, contrasting nicely with the rest of
him, his belly and thighs, which were tanned. In the center of the
white space was his hairy, manly bush. Sticking out from it, like a big
sausage on display, was his lovely big ten-inch penis. As he approached
us I saw that there was something glittering along the length of his
penis. It seemed to be some kind of decoration. His gait had an
awkwardness to it, as if he’d sat on something disagreeable. Something
that might still be poking into his bottom.
“Sir, I’ve brought the appetizers,” Paul said to John. He
presented John with a tray full of condoms and lubricant, and edible
oils. In addition to those, I saw three small glasses. Each was filled
with water and, straining, I saw three small pills set out next to each
glass.
John turned and looked at my aunt.
“Have you taken your birth control for this evening, Rebecca?”
he asked. “Brad has brought you a pill if you haven’t.” Rebecca
blushed.
“I have, sir,” Rebecca answered.
“I have too,” Chrissy, from across the table, piped up.
“It’s best to wait until Master addresses you before you speak
to him,” Pauline, John’s husband, said softly.
“I’m sorry,” Chrissy said. And with that one sentence I knew
she’d just given permission to be John’s slave. Had I? My mind buzzed
with my dreads and my fantasies, but I could no longer remember if I’d
already given permission, or not. Then, stupidly (for it was true, but
it would be taken in ways I’d not intended), I spoke up.
“I didn’t take any birth control,” I said. At once my hands
flew to my mouth. Why would I confess such a thing? Did I really want
to be fucked by big, bad John? John Silver? A little voice in my head
buzzed, ‘How long is he, anyway? Could you really take all of him, if
you had to? Foolish girl! You’re only 13 and he’s a big, fully grown,
black man!’”
“Ah, yes,” John said, casting his gaze upon me. It was
imperious, like some ultimate drug lord, or some African king from long
ago, before the white slave traders came and carried John’s ancestors
off to work on a plantation in Louisiana. (I’d learned that from some
idle small talk he’d shared with Steve and Chrissy about his
background.)
Brad walked over to me. He did not have to be told. Perhaps
he was eager to see me reduced to the sex object he’d already become.
As he approached, I gazed in fright at his penis. It was
unbelieveable! There was a gold ring fitted around the base of his
cock. It was tight, pinching his penis slightly. A second gold ring
had been fitted just behind the circumcised head of his penis. Between
the two rings, trailing along his cock, wrapped several times around it,
was a very slim gold-link chain. It looked rather like the snake you
see on doctor’s symbols. It left the skin of much of his penis exposed,
wrapped around the penis from front to back, in several widely-spaced
loops. It hugged his skin tightly. I could see, despite the
constriction, his excited pulse pumping along the length of his shaft.
The head of his cock was bare and purplish in color. It looked huge,
with the big ring clamped just behind it.
“Oh, John!” I gasped. Rebecca turned as he passed behind her
and gazed at his ass. She let out a small cry. As I was soon to
discover, a golden dildo had been wedged up his behind. There was a
pair of gold chains running back from the base of his cock, past his
balls, to his anus. There the chains attached to a ring. The ring had
been wedged between the cheeks of his bottom. Then, ruthlessly, a
flanged dildo had been forced up into his virgin ass, within the gold
ring, to keep the whole wicked apparatus firmly in place, from the end
of his penis all the way back to his butthole.
I marvelled at my boyfriend’s decorated cock as he held out the
tray with the birth-control items on it. His whole penis seemed to
sparkle. Hanging underneath, between his legs, were his hairy
testicles. They were drawn up tightly. He was eager, I saw, to spend.
Carefully I reached for the pill and glass of water he offered me.
Despite his disability, having his penis encased in gold chains and a
cock up his ass, Brad gazed at me with fiery eyes.
“Use both hands, darling. You’re a baby slave,” Pauline said
to me as I took the glass of water from the tray. I obeyed. I put the
birth control pill on my tongue and then, holding the water glass with
both hands, I drank from it. I swallowed the pill.
Brad looked at me. My dress had been pulled down to my knees
and I sat bare-assed on the plastic booster seat. He gazed at my bush,
at the flatness of my belly, at my exposed bosoms that wiggled
seductively whenever I moved. On an impulse I picked up my plumed mask
from beside my plate and put it over my face. I looked at him through
the eye slits of the mask. My gaze drifted down to his cock. I saw
that, in addition to wearing ornamentation around his cock, his feet
were shod with gold-slippers. They buckled around his ankles, had flat
soles, and left his toes exposed. He looked like a boy from ancient
Greece, ‘clothed’ to serve at a very obscene dinner.
I wedged my hand between my legs. I gasped. I knew I should
not, but I diddled my fingers in my slit.
“Chloe! Bad girl!” Pauline shouted. She rushed to my side and
drew my fingers, wet with my dew, from between my legs. She put them to
her lips. She licked them clean. Brad, watching us, his cock tightly
bound with rings and chains, gave a gagging sob. Even as she continued
to clean my fingers with my mouth, Pauline gazed down at my boyfriend’s
dick.
“Don’t cum, dear,” Pauline said to Brad. “And don’t play with
yourself.”
“God! I can barely hold back!” Brad shouted. He was holding
the tray of birth control items with both hands, but his hands were
unsteady now, causing the water in the two remaining glasses to shiver.
“You both look like something straight out of Penthouse!”
I flushed. Imagine! Did I really look like a Penthouse Pet?
Well, it would have to be Penthouse Junior, in my case. ‘The Little
Sisters of the Penthouse Pets, caught with their panties down.’ I
didn’t know if grown men would want to look at me, but I knew there were
boys in my grade who would! What a riot that would be, causing all the
boys in gym class to jerk off in the locker room, while I was sitting
primly in math class, learning algebra. You could hear the boys at my
school shouting and yelling every day when they showered, after their
sports. Well, I’d give them something to shout about!
I gave a small gulp as I emerged from my Penthouse fantasy to
find John and Steve and Brad all staring at me. They were all older
than me. Yet I’d managed to capture their eyes, despite the big-bosomed
beauty of my aunt, sitting right next to me. Paul licked his lips. He
seemed to be doing something with one of his hands, under the dinner
table.
“Oh!” Rebecca said. I looked at her, but she was just sitting
there, her hands in her lap, not playing in her slit (her dress was
still bunched around her waist), but nonetheless overwhelmed by the slow
eroticism of our ‘dinner.’ Steve, sitting across the table from her
with his wife, reached for her dress and tore it off her shoulders.
Chrissy gave a cry of alarm but, apart from a defensive fluttering of
her hands, she did not resist. Her own bosoms revealed themselves.
They were big and heavy and she murmured something about wanting to have
a baby, so she could breast-feed it.
“How about a black baby?” John asked from the head of the
table.
“I’m not prejudiced,” Chrissy said in reply. Her eyes seemed
to smile at her husband.
“God, that’s awful,” Steve said.
“What’s awful, white boy?” John bellowed.
“I’m-- I’m turned on by it,” Steve said. “The thought of you
fucking my wife. Of making her pregnant. Thank God she took her pill
already.”
“A woman must take a pill every day,” John replied. “You won’t
be here for just one night.”
“I know,” Steve said. “But if you fuck my wife, I’m going to
fuck yours. I want you to know that, man to man. And if my wife is
forced to go without birth control, I’ll see that yours is too.”
“That would be wild, having each other’s babies,” Pauline said,
lifting my fingers from her lips. She shivered. She looked at her
husband. “I rather like that. It’s so crazy it would be fun, don’t you
think, dear?”
“I would give 40 lashes across the naked ass of any man who
fucked my wife,” John said.
“God damn!” Steve said. He leapt up from his seat. His cock,
large and stiff, hung over the table.
“What?” John asked. “Did I tell you that you could stand up,
white boy?”
“I can’t believe this,” Steve said. He looked at his wife.
“Honey, I think I’m going nuts. This asshole just said he’d whip my
butt, and I’m not offended.”
“Asshole?” John shouted. Chrissy took Steve’s hand.
“Sir, please excuse my husband,” Chrissy said. “He’s impolite
sometimes.”
“No offenses can be excused, but they can be paid for in a
number of ways,” John said from the head of the table. “Steve, you will
remove your pants, and walk around with a bare ass from now on. Have
your wife tuck up your shirt, so that your naked butt can be seen. You
will be my slave boy, and do my bidding. Not for my sake, but for the
sake of my wife, who adores white men’s bare white asses. And for the
sake of your wife, too, who I’m sure married you for more than
tax-deductible reasons.”
Steve grabbed at the belt buckle holding up his unzipped pants.
“You have a beautiful wife,” Steve said to John. He undid his
belt, and the snap at the front of his pants holding them together. “I
want you to know I’m dying to fuck her, just like Plantation owners in
Louisiana long ago took young black girls to their beds and, perhaps in
the earshot of their fathers, deflowered them.” John nodded, silently.
Then he said:
“You have a big penis, servant boy. You will make me laugh as
you walk around with it sticking out in front of you.”
“Show me yours,” Steve said, husking his pants down his legs as
his wife took a pin from her hair and did up his shirt in back, so that
his bare haunches could be seen.
John rose up at the head of the table. His own pants were
already unzipped. His penis displayed itself across his plate. A gasp
went up from myself, from the others as well. John’s penis was at least
a foot long! A big dollop of pre-cum drooled from the head of his cock
and hung down until, at last, before our staring eyes, it connected with
the surface of his clean china plate.
“You are well endowed, sir,” Chrissy managed to say, staring at
the equipment of the man her husband had already agreed could fuck her.
“My wife is no slouch when it comes to finding the biggest and
best sausage in town,” John said. Pauline, standing next to me,
shivered with pleasure.
“Oh, let’s try out the dental chair!” Pauline gushed to her
husband.
“All right,” John said. He gazed at all of us, taking in our
nude bodies with a sweep of his mysterious dark eyes. “We’ve installed
a new item for the pleasure of our guests,” he said. “Come with me.”
He turned. He did not bother to zip up his pants, or to take them off,
but walked with his big member hanging lewdly out of them. It dripped
big gobs of pre-cum as he walked from the dining room. His penis was so
stiff that his walking caused his penis to bounce, and the pre-cum to
fly up and away from his body. He seemed not to mind the mess he was
making. Nor did his wife, who pulled me from my booster chair and urged
me, and Rebecca also, to follow her husband. Steve and Chrissy and Brad
came along too.
We went into another room, a library, but none of us bothered
to stop and gaze at the leather-bound books it held. Beyond that was
another room. It was small. In the center of the room was a dental
chair. Holding my dress up around my thighs, I gazed at it with wide
eyes. A dental chair? What were we supposed to do in here?
“Rebecca, you will please remove your dress and get in the
chair,” Pauline said to my aunt.
“Me? Why me?” my aunt asked. She clutched at the dress around
her waist like a child hanging on to a security blanket.
“Do as she says, slave girl,” John boomed. My aunt gaped at
John, at Rebecca, but found only their Will staring back at her, and
relented and pushed down her dress. She wasn’t wearing any panties
underneath. We’d worn dresses that were too tight for that. She
exposed her bush to us and we gazed at her lovely legs. She stepped out
of her dress.
“Leave it on the floor,” John told her. “You won’t be needing
it here.”
“But if I--” Rebecca began.
“Do as my husband tells you,” Pauline interrupted. She was
standing next to me and she ran her hand down my nude back. “Drop your
own dress, dear,” she said in a soft voice. There was an air of command
in it, however, and I let my dress slip from my fingers. Awkwardly I
stepped out of it, and stood waiting for her to tell me what to do
next. Chrissy pushed her dress down her legs and, holding her husband’s
hand, stepped out of it. I found I’d carried my plumed mask with me,
into this small, claustrophobic room, and I lifted the mask to my eyes.
I peered through it at the others. Nobody seemed to mind. With my free
hand I petted my pussy, running my fingers through the short hairs
there. But I did not seek out my clitoris and touch it.
“Oh, God,” Steve said. He watched as Rebecca, naked as a
jaybird, lay down in the dental chair. My aunt spread her legs, giving
us all a view of her lovely-lipped pussy. She rested her arms nervously
on the armrests of the chair. Pauline flicked on a big examination
light above her. She directed it at my aunt’s face.
“Open your mouth,” Pauline said to my aunt. She slipped on
rubber gloves as she spoke. My aunt obeyed, not knowing what to expect,
her whole body trembling and her pussy, I had no doubt, moistening
freely as she felt the eyes of all the men in the room looking up into
her slot. “Yes, keep your legs apart. Legs apart and mouth open,”
Pauline said to my aunt. She pressed a button and the dental chair went
back. My aunt’s eyes widened. Her breasts wobbled. Her eyes widened
even more when the chair, seemingly already as far back as it could go,
tilted back even more, until my aunt’s face was lower down than her
heels.
Pauline, wearing rubber gloves now, took a syringe from a
cabinet sitting next to the dental chair. She poked the syringe into a
small glass container. She filled the syringe with fluid from the
container.
“This is anesthetic,” Pauline said. “It won’t help your bottom
if you’re whipped, but it will make your mouth feel all funny.”
“Why?” my aunt asked, gazing up at Pauline as the woman passed
the syringe across my aunt’s tits. They were still wiggling slightly,
like big mounds of jello, from the movement of the chair. Her nipples
were risen, little peaks of excitement that now were dangerously close
to the sharp-pointed syringe being held above her. Pauline picked up a
plastic mouth-examining tool and put it to my aunt’s parted lips.
“Yes, let me see into your mouth,” Pauline said. “I’ve studied
how to be a dental assistant, so you can be sure I know what I’m doing.
Not, of course, to actually be a dental assistant. My husband and I
don’t need the money. But to know how to do this properly. You’ll have
a lot more fun eating your dinner with your mouth turned to jelly by the
anesthesia.”
“What?” my aunt asked. Pauline brought the needle-tipped
syringe down to her lips. Carefully she inserted it into her open
mouth. My aunt’s eyes gaped, then she suddenly shut them, fearing the
needle might stab her face in an even worse place than her mouth.
Pauline was gloved, cool, confident. She urged Rebecca to part her lips
more widely. The lamp blazed down.
“I’m going to inject some anesthesia into your mouth now,”
Pauline told my aunt. “It won’t hurt any more than when you’ve gone to
the dentist, to get a cavity filled. You’ll just feel a little poke.
Then another, and we’ll be done. Then we can go back and have our
dinner. I’m famished!” She glanced up at her husband.
“It should be interesting, getting a blow job from her, with
her mouth feeling all wobbly,” John said to Steve.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. He thrust forward his hips, showing us
all his big, randy penis. I don’t think he was trying to make a
spectacle of his organ, he was just desperate, that’s all. I think even
us girls were desperate, teased to distraction by John and Pauline, to
the point where we were even willing to play decadent dental games.
“Ouch!” my aunt exclaimed.
“Careful, I’m injecting you now,” Pauline said. “Isn’t it fun
knowing this isn’t part of an extraction, but just for play? Don’t
worry. I know where to shoot the anesthesia so no harm will be done at
all. You might have a little trouble finding your mouth when you’re
sitting up in your booster chair, trying to eat your food without
getting messy, though. Would you like me to get you a bib, like Chloe
is wearing?” My aunt nodded. “One more stick, now, farther back. Open
your mouth nice and wide, dear,” Pauline said. Then she laughed, a
carefree laugh, as if she didn’t really care all that much if she hurt
my aunt or not, and her laugh made me shiver. “I should stick you in
your tits,” Pauline said. My aunt’s mouth gaped in alarm. Then she
said, “Oooch!” in a half-gagged sort of way. The needle poked her
again, in her mouth.
“There, get up!” Pauline said. There was a touch of jealousy
in her voice as she raised the chair so my aunt could stand. As soon as
the chair was up my aunt leapt from it. I watched her big, lovely
bottom as she sprang up from the chair. Her cheeks were huddled
together, as if she feared getting a stab from Pauline’s needle up her
ass as she got out of the chair. She put her hands to her mouth,
feeling it. We all stared at her.
“Chloe, you’re next,” Pauline said to me.
“Oh, I don’t want to!” I protested.
“Get in the chair,” Steve said to his wife.
“No, please!” Chrissy said. But she moved toward the chair,
hesitantly. With her eyes fixed on Pauline, looking for reassurance,
she took hold of the chair. Pauline smiled and tossed back her black
hair.
“I feel so randy,” Pauline confessed. She pushed down her
cocktail dress, baring her pussy. She thrust her hips forward.
Daringly, she took the needle and inserted it between her legs. I
gasped. But Pauline didn’t stick herself with it, though she must have
come quite close to doing that. Instead, she wet the needle by rubbing
it back and forth against her twat. Then she lifted it up again,
showing it to Chrissy. It was covered with her dew and she intended,
now, to put it into Chrissy’s mouth. Chrissy sighed and collapsed into
the dental chair. Lustily she spread herself out on it, opening her
legs and grabbing hold of the chair arms.
“Do me, if you must!” Chrissy said. She gazed over at her
husband as Pauline dropped the head of the chair. Soon Chrissy was
lying with her head below the level of her heels. Pauline took hold of
her face with a gloved hand and twisted her head so that she was forced
to look up at the big, blazing lamp overhead. Then she urged Chrissy to
open her lips.
“Ahhhhh,” Chrissy breathed, letting Pauline took into her
mouth.
“Very good. You are a model pupil. We had to do this to each
other at dental school, for practise,” Pauline said. “Would you like to
study dentistry, Chrissy?” Chrissy wagged her head ‘no.’
“Too bad, because I’m going to stick you anyway,” Pauline
said. And she did. Two pokes, in the mouth, leaving Chrissy with a
rubbery mouth that would prove hard to feed at dinner, without spilling
food all down the front of herself. Pauline told Chrissy she’d give her
a bib, just like I wore, but we all knew it would be too short to cover
her tits, and leave her with a messy mouth and breasts by the time
dinner was over.
We returned to the dining room. John passed out black bow ties
to the men, which they tied around their necks. It was to be a formal
dinner. Pauline got booster seats for all the females but herself and
made Rebecca and Chrissy and me sit in them. We all wore bibs, all
except Pauline. Mine had Tweety on it and Rebecca’s had Road Runner.
Chrissy’s bib displayed Sylvester the Cat.
“Now Brad here will serve us our meal,” Pauline said, taking a
seat beside me. Suddenly she told me to get out of my booster chair.
“Why?” I asked.
“I just thought of something, that’s why,” Pauline said,
grinning mischeivously.
“What?” I asked, more curious than ever, and feeling suddenly
safe, perched up high in my booster chair. My mouth didn’t feel all
funny like Rebecca and Chrissy’s mouths did. I was sure I could eat my
dinner without making a mess of myself.
“You’re going to sit in my lap, and I’m going to feed you your
dinner,” Pauline told me.
“You’ll-- you’ll spill it all over me!” I protested.
“Really?” Pauline asked. Her eyes glowed.
“Oh, I don’t want to be whipped for being messy at dinner!” I
cried. Pauline took me by my arm and yanked me down from my booster
chair. She made me sit in my lap. She straightened my bib. She kissed
my cheek.
“It’s a bit late to worry about that,” Pauline said. “Don’t
you think?” She kissed my cheek again.
“Yes, mommie,” I said quietly. Her breasts budded against my
back. She dropped her hands to my tits and squeezed both of them
playfully, savoring their ripe fullness in her hands. She passed her
thumbs tantalizingly over my bare nipples. “But I still don’t want to
be whipped by your husband,” I added.
“Oh, neither do I,” Pauline said. There was a hint of gloating
in her voice. “It would be *so* awful, wouldn’t it, to have a long,
vicious whip biting into the soft tender flesh of baby slave’s bottom?”
“Yes!” I agreed.
“Suck my finger, then, and try not to think about it. Dinner
will be out in a minute. Brad’s bringing it now,” Pauline said.
Greedily, impelled by lust or desire or what I don’t know, I let Pauline
stick her finger into my mouth. I sucked hard upon it. I watched as
Brad, with his gold-trimmed penis, served us our dinner.
My prediction proved correct. Pauline cut my dinner into small
pieces and served it to my lips with a spoon. I tried to help her guide
the spoon. She didn’t like that. She told John to get a pair of
handcuffs for me. He did, and ordered Brad, my own boyfriend, to put
them on me. Pauline held me in her lap as Brad pulled my arms back
behind me and snapped on the handcuffs. Imagine, my own brand-new
boyfriend, doing that to me! I thought about running away but knew that
was useless. John and Steve and Brad were all big men. They were all
hard as bones. They were all desperate to cum, and would sooner kill
their own fathers than let a wet-slitted young female out of their
sight. My age, at this stage in the evening, was probably as much an
invitation as a defense. They all knew I’d be very tight. They knew I
was not entirely unwilling. I was shivering with my own desire and
wasn’t sure I could trust myself to run out the door if I got up. I
might, instead, run like a bitch in heat to one of the men, and plop
myself down on his lap. That would put me straight from the frying pan
into the fire! Worst of all, I was out in the middle of the sea on John
and Pauline’s own private island. It was too far to shore for me to
swim. Could I grab a boat? John, gazing at me from the head of the
table, spoke to Brad:
“Brad, I want you to take a break from serving us and go out
back,” John said. “I have three dogs. They’re hungry too. I want you
to serve them their dinner. Then, while they’re feeding, unhook their
chains. I let them roam at night, to protect the island.” John glanced
at me. “From those who wish to enter, and those who wish to leave,
without my permission.”
“Yes, sir,” Brad said. He was mesmerized by his predicament,
his penis all decorated with gold chains, and a dildo jammed intrusively
into his butthole. Pauline had done that to him. I don’t think he’d
have let anyone else do that to him. Not even me. But a beautiful,
richly seductive woman like her could do the most kinky thing she
wished. I wondered what it had been like, the two of them privately in
the kitchen, she suiting him up in his gold penis chains as he watched.
He turned to walk from the room. I gazed curiously at the flanged dildo
rammed up between his steel-hard cheeks. How had Pauline managed it,
getting that dildo up such a perfect, manly ass? He had a small,
rock-hard butt, from years spent lifting weights. My eyes drifted
lower. I watched his heavy balls dangling between his thighs. I felt a
rush of desire well up in my tummy. He looked so full of cum!
Dangerously full, as if his balls might pop if someone didn’t take hold
of him and pump some of the sperm out of them.
“Oh, Brad,” John said. “It’s very important that you follow my
directions explicitly. The dog’s clean bowls are in the kitchen, under
the sink. Fill them in the kitchen with their food. Then, you’ll see a
stick, by the back door, that you can use to slide their food out to
them, after you place it down on the cement porch outside the door.
Don’t go near them to unhook them until they’re eating. Otherwise,
they’ll bite at you.” He looked at Brad’s penis. “And with your luck,
you can guess where they’d bite you. Be careful. Unchain them while
they’re busy eating. Then don’t delay, getting back into the house.
Otherwise you’ll feed them a nice big sausage along with their Alpo.”
Brad shivered, listening to John. But he was young, and the
dare of trying to feed dogs with his dick sticking out in front of him,
all hard and bloated with his erotic desires, somehow appealed to him.
“Oh, God!” Chrissy said, listening. She flushed. “May my
husband feed your dogs their next meal?” she asked.
“What?!” Steve said.
“Yes, dear! I want to see it!” Chrissy said. “That’s why we
came here, didn’t we? To explore strange, erotic things like that?
With our bodies? I want to see you feed the dogs next time, with your
penis hanging off you, all stiff and erect, and your big balls dangling
down, tempting those dogs!”
Oh, I was doomed, I told myself. Loved and teased but doomed!
They were all nuts with their own desire and I was one of them too,
lusting between my legs at hearing how my boyfriend would have to feed
those dogs!
“Brad, if you open the curtain along the side of the room, we
can all watch you as you feed my dogs,” John told my boyfriend.
“They’re housed right out there.”
“Yes,” Brad said. He went to the wall, his dick wiggling
stiffly. He drew back a pair of curtains and we gazed out at three
sleek, well-fed dogs sitting around a single dog house. They growled at
us as the curtain was drawn back, but we couldn’t hear it, for the glass
of the window was thick.
“Now go to the kitchen and get their food,” John told Brad.
“Then get the stick by the back door and slide it out to them.”
“Yes, Master,” Brad said. There was a jauntiness to his gait
as he left us, jangling his full balls between his legs and enjoying the
lewd swinging motion of his penis. I stared at his behind as he
departed from the room. I hoped he didn’t come back with any bite marks
in it.
Shivering with wantonness, I accepted Pauline’s feeding of me
without resistance. We watched Brad feed the dogs. He didn’t lose any
of his equipment. Did we wish that he might? I don’t know. We were
all filled with lust to the point of craziness. None of the dogs left
teeth marks in his ass. Brad came back inside and began once more
serving us the courses of our dinner. He refilled our glasses as we
drank down heady gulps of wine. Pauline made me drink grape juice, so I
wouldn’t get drunk and find myself well-fucked in the morning and claim
complete innocence of my fate. She whispered to me that she wanted me
to feel all 12 inches of her husband’s penis.
“Every inch. Every fucking inch,” Pauline told me. “And I
want you to remember it.”
“Oh, I’m scared of your husband’s big penis!” I said. I spoke
softly, so John wouldn’t hear me. I knew he’d only be inspired by my
misgivings. Pauline patted my bare tummy with her hand.
“Yes, you’ll be full of more than just dinner before the
night’s over,” she laughed. She continued feeding me, using a spoon.
Now and then, on purpose, she missed my mouth. She spilled food onto my
bib, onto Tweety Bird. She spilled it down over my stiff nippled tits.
She even took a glass of milk and dumped it (accidentally, she said)
over my breasts, laughing as the milk ran down my flat belly to
accumulate in the hairs of my nest, inbetween my thighs.
“Oh well. A little extra white stuff between your legs won’t
hurt, I suppose,” Pauline said. “You’ll be quite well coated with white
stuff down there by morning. All over you and even up inside you.”
“You’re wicked,” I told Pauline.
“I know I am,” Pauline answered. Her breasts bounced perkily
against my back. “And you know what?” she whispered, in a low, soft,
seductive voice. “There will be white stuff all over your ass too. And
up inside, between your tight cheeks.”
“No!” I cried. But I wiggled my bottom on her lap, as if
inviting an exploration. Fortunately, Pauline was a girl, and didn’t
have a penis. I wondered if the squirming of my bottom against her
thighs made her pussy wet.
Rebecca fared no better, eating her dinner from the high perch
of her booster seat. Her hand trembled as she brought forkfulls of food
up to her anesthetized, rubbery lips. Try as she might, she often
missed, and wound up serving her food to her chin or her nose instead of
her mouth. Her face got all messy and food dripped liberally down her
front, splattering her breasts with sauce and speckling her belly. At
first she sighed fretfully at her predicament. As the meal progressed,
and she became increasingly messy down her front, she began laughing.
By the time gooey ice cream was served she and Chrissy were laughing.
They were children again, messy and wanton. I laughed too. I picked up
a bean sprout left on the table, spilled from my eating, and threw it at
Brad as he approached to pour me more juice. It hit his penis. He
danced up on his heels, surprised. John and Steve laughed. A moment
later, with dinner over, we began tossing food at each other. I grabbed
handfulls of food from the serving dishes that cluttered the table.
Still sitting in Pauline’s lap, I tossed food at Rebecca. She
retaliated. Chrissy, hoping perhaps to win some extra punishemnt from
John, threw a big handful of mashed potatoes at him. He threw a bun
back at her. Pauline picked up a wet handful of ice cream from her ice
cream dish and smooshed it into my face.
“There,” Pauline said. “That should fix you for starting a
food fight!”
John ordered us all to rise. Pauline pushed me off her lap. I
stood, unsteadily. My bosoms hung in front of me, wobbling like ripe
gourds just picked off the vine. My wrists were bound behind me with
handcuffs. I was suddenly very conscious of my bottom. I’d been bad,
and messy, and now dinner was over and John could begin the discipline
he’d promised us all. I shivered, feeling scared, but somehow wishing
too to begin whatever was due me, and get it over with. There was no
escaping it, that was for sure. I knew that.
“Well, white girls,” John said. He surveyed us all. He was
standing at the head of the table. His big penis was lined with veins.
It stuck out in front of him like a lewd advertisement for a porno
film. It throbbed, mightily. I looked away, frightened of it, but my
eyes fell upon Steve’s penis, and it looked just as big and just as
awful. When I looked away from him, my eyes found themselves gazing at
Brad’s dick! There was no escape from all these penises! They were
hungry, and I was handcuffed, with a wet, tight hole between my legs
where they could give themselves relief. I felt my knees tremble. I
leaned back against Pauline.
“Save me!” I said to her.
“From what?” she asked.
“From all these big, bad penises!” I cried.
“And the whip too?” Pauline said, mock-humor in her voice.
“Oook! Especially that!” I said. I felt girlish. Pauline,
standing behind me, hugged me possessively.
“Such a sweet dear,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re asking the
wrong person, though. I’ve a mind to see you flogged first, and then
forced to entertain all three penises at once!”
“No!” I cried.
30
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