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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Summer of Sin part 10 of 10 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Ten
Outside, beyond the confines of the house, the waves crashed
against the shoreline. To reach the island, as I learned later, you had
to guide your boat carefully into the one harbor where access was
possible. That was one reason why the island wound up in the hands of
one man; it had been regarded as useless, uninhabitable, until he found
the one place where a boat might safely moor. Then, using his own
money, after buying the island from a speculator, he widened the access
point just enough so that his own craft could slip ashore, guided by his
own experienced hands.
Now I myself was below the level of the sea beyond, down in a
basement. It was hewn from the hard rock that composed the island. The
weight of the house stood above me, around me, imprisoning me in its
depths. And within this sanctuary from the sea, I stood stark naked. I
flicked the whip I held against my aunt’s nude, agonized bottom. She
ran with panting breaths upon the treadmill, shrieking at every mark I
made upon her fanny. I painted her bottom a cruel red with the whip’s
sharp tail.
Beyond, bouncing on the bench where my boyfriend lay, could be
seen the twin lovely white bottoms of Chrissy and Pauline. Chrissy’s
faced me directly. Pauline’s could be seen with a glance at a cleverly
placed mirror. Both women huffed and puffed as they used my boyfriend
to bring themselves to orgasm. His tongue pierced Pauline deeply in her
cunt. His penis, rock hard as the walls which enclosed us, thrust much
more deeply into the cunny of Chrissy. Both women’s long hair bounced
and tumbled on their shoulders and backs as they worked themselves into
a frenzy upon my boyfriend’s jutting organ and tongue. I wanted to
rescue Brad, he seemed so used by the women, as if he were just an
object. I wanted to run over to where they were sitting on him, using
him like some obscene bench, equipped for their pleasure, and use my
whip on their fannies. But I could not. John, the man who bought and
built this island, watched my every move. With his dark hands he
regulated the tempo at which my aunt had to run. He adjusted the
treadmill’s speed, making her run faster or slower. He called out to me
to whip her when he felt I was dawdling. And if he felt I was whipping
her too quickly, not giving her time to savor each stroke as I applied
it, he commanded me to slow down.
Steve watched his wife fuck my boyfriend. He frisked his long
penis, hating seeing her pleasure herself on another man, and yet
excited by it. Perhaps that’s why they’d chosen to come, to test
themselves. To test their love for each other by participating in a
party where everyone had to fuck everyone else.
“Mmmmfff!” my aunt begged over the bit that was jammed into her
mouth. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. John, however,
apparently could, for he replied,
“You will be permitted to get off the treadmill, white girl,
when you have filled up this bag with pee.” A long plastic catheter ran
from a bag lying on a table up between my aunt’s legs. It penetrated
her urethra and trailed all the way up into her bladder. There, a small
inflated bag of air kept it in place inside her bladder, while
permitting an open-mouthed tube to receive her pee and communicate it
down the long catheter into the receptacle bag on the table. It was a
bag just like one wears after surgery, except my aunt had needed no
surgery. John had thrust the bag up between her healthy young legs to
add to her torture.
I watched with horrified eyes as my aunt, her bottom flayed,
suddenly released a stream of yellow urine down the clear plastic tube
and deposited it on the table. It sloshed in the yellow bag lying on
the table, rocked by the rhythym of her running legs. Rebecca looked
down at the contents of her bladder, now displayed for all to see upon
the table. Her bare bosoms jostled on her chest. Her flat tummy drew
in with fright. Her ribs stuck out along her sides, looking succulent,
as if she might be barbecued. We would eat her after her run, savoring
the bits of flesh that clung to her well-cooked ribs.
I shivered. I was a prisoner, and yet I was tasked with
tormenting my aunt. I let the whip fly again, hurting her bottom,
making her shriek. I was getting the hang of it. I could make the whip
strike her fanny while avoiding her thighs, leaving them unmarked so we
could enjoy their tanned beauty, even as I turned her poor bottom into a
mass of red-ribboned welts. Her back, too I managed to avoid,
concentrating solely on her ass. It was so soft, so tender and lovely,
the skin white where I had not struck it (hardly anyplace now). The
bottom was the seat of a female’s beauty, I thought. While the back and
the legs might go uncovered, the bottom remained covered always, except
for a lover. Then it was revealed and, like the cunt, given over to the
lover for his own private pleasure. Now, though, my poor aunt had been
deprived of her privacy in that special place. Her cunt was visibly
moist and John, guiding her steps, could peer at it between her running
legs with abandon. And her bottom was at my mercy.
I was no better off. I was nude, like my aunt. I wore a dog
collar around my neck and, incongrously, a short bib also, with Tweety
Bird on it. The bib though was too little to cover my bosoms, which
hung freely beneath it, the perkiness of my nipples showing my excitment
and easily seen by anyone. My tummy stretched between my breasts and my
cunt, tight and scared. My legs stood slightly apart, showing my
pussy. Behind me, my bottom huddled against the chill of the room,
shivering with the prospect of being whipped by my aunt. John had
promised that I would whip her, and then she would whip me.
“Oooh! I have to go to the bathroom too!” I told John. My
voice felt abject. I disliked having to tell him my needs, but I’d
drank too much at dinner and now I could feel it sloshing around in my
tummy whenever I swung the whip. I put my hand to my pussy. John
looked past my aunt and regarded me.
“There is no toilet down here,” he told me. “But I have a
second bag,” he said. He lifted up an empty bag and showed it to me.
“As soon as she’s finished, I’ll put you on the treadmill. I’ll thread
the bag up between your legs and you can pee while you’re running, just
like she is.”
I trembled. I rubbed my cunt briskly with my fingers.
“Oooooh! I don’t want to pee into that awful bag!” I told
John. And I could hear Pauline’s voice, inside my head, in response,
though in reality she was swooning at this moment upon my boyfriend’s
face, and incapable of speech: “That’s the purpose of our party. To
try new things, to challenge ourselves.” But I still didn’t want to
wear a wicked bag, and have to pee in it.
“Whip your aunt,” John ordered me. “Give her another stroke,
or it’ll be worse for you when it’s your turn.”
“Oh, noooo!” I cried. My voice was sorrowful. But I let the
whip sing across my aunt’s fanny again, scoring her anew. She shouted,
she ran with quick steps. She wanted to reach back and protect herself
with her hands, but they were cruelly bound above her head with leather
restraints.
No other man, not even my boyfriend, could have put me in this
predicament, I told myself. But John was black, huge, with a
12-inch-penis. He had rippling muscles and implacable dark eyes. What
he commanded, he got. And in his case, he loved nothing more than
finding white girls like me and my aunt and making us be his slaves.
Technically, it was still just a party. We were celebrating ourselves
and each other. We were here by choice. But in reality, there was no
way to leave. Not without John’s permission. We were here for the
duration, until he got bored with us. Only he could guide us back home
on his boat. Only he could command with authority the dogs who roamed
the island. We would do his bidding for several days yet, suffering or
not, as he chose. He would judge our performance and punish or reward
us according to how well we obeyed.
“Whip harder!” Pauline called gleefully from across the room.
She was in the throes of ecstacy now. She bounced on my boyfriend’s
face and watched me with half-lidded eyes. Chrissy, her ass facing me,
even deigned to give me orders.
“Yes, harder!” Chrissy cried with delight. She shrieked as my
boyfriend’s penis, thrusting up inside her, took her over the edge.
They were wanton, Pauline and Chrissy. They were brazen with lust and
loving every tortuous thing they could do to my poor boyfriend. They
clutched at him with their legs. They worked their hips upon him as if
he were some exercise machine, like the other machines down here, built
to order, made to fuck. Steve, watching, loosed his sperm suddenly,
spewing it into Pauline’s hair. She turned. She grabbed at his cock
with her open mouth. She caught his big thing between her teeth, and
sucked on him, biting him and making him wince. He groaned. My
boyfriend, both women sitting on him, called out some obscene phrase.
Then, with a shudder, he fired his sperm up into Chrissy’s womb. I
couldn’t see it directly but the lewd woman called out to all of us that
Brad was fucking her.
“Oooh! He’s giving it to me! He’s sperming me!” Chrissy’s
high-pitched voice cried with frantic delight. Pauline, hearing it,
jammed her crotch down more fully on Brad’s face. It was as if she,
seeing her friend getting spermed between her legs by Brad’s cock,
expected him to perform the same jetting feat with his tongue. In the
event it was Steve who spermed her, filling her mouth with his seed as
my boyfriend’s tongue wedged deeply into her cunt.
“Oh! I have to pee!” I said insistently to John. I rubbed my
fleecy cunt harder. I did have to go, but I wanted to cum too, and I
hoped I could use the cover of needing to pee to masturbate myself to my
own orgasm. My aunt, her arms strung up above her head, ran with a
frantic motion. I supposed she too wished she could frig herself, make
herself cum, in unison with the others. John, casually stroking his
cock, suddenly spurted cum all over my aunt’s belly.
“Ahhh, that’s better,” John remarked to himself. My aunt
looked down at herself and the mess he’d made. “What’s the matter,
bitch? Don’t you like having a black man’s sperm on you?” John asked.
He laughed. “I should have made you get off the treadmill and pumped it
up between your legs.”
“We don’t want any nigger’s sperm,” I told John. He glared at
me.
“You’ll get more than a cuntfull of sperm from me, little
girl,” he said.
“I’m too young. And your penis is too big, nigger,” I said to
him. It was true, too. I was only 13 and he was, like, over 20, too
old for me even to count. I could count the numbers, of course, any
girl could do that, but I had no idea what it was really like to be that
old. Fourteen seemed a long ways off to me. I wouldn’t be that age
until December. Twenty, or however much over 20 John was, seemed an
impossible age to understand. It didn’t stop him from glaring at me,
though, knowing I was still little and probably couldn’t take him up
between my legs even if I’d wanted to.
“Just wait, bitch,” John said to me. He finished rubbing
himself and spurting his sperm all over my aunt’s belly. White stuff
dripped down between her legs and drooled off her crotch, as if she
herself were a man, but it was all John’s sperm that now dripped down
between her running legs on to the moving treadmill.
“Ahhh,” Chrissy said, across the room, receiving the last
thrusts of my boyfriend’s cock. Pauline sighed with delight.
“God, that felt good,” Steve admitted. He pumped himself into
Pauline’s lips, savoring the chance to rid himself of his load of
sperm. We’d played for so long. At last some of us were getting what
we’d cum for.
Except me, of course, and my poor aunt, running on the
treadmill. I rubbed my slit with increasing urgency. I had to pee, but
I needed something else too. I wasn’t sure how I’d get it now, with all
three men having just spent themselves, but it didn’t stop me from
trying anyway.
“You’re just a big, black nigger!” I told John. I looked at
him with a frankness that spoke volumes. I didn’t just want to tease
anymore. I wanted to be taken. I was desperate for him to jump on me
and grab me and do to me what my boyfriend had just been forced to do to
Pauline and Chrissy.
“That’s it!” John swore. He let go of his cock and grabbed the
slender catheter that ran up between my aunt’s legs. He turned off the
treadmill. My aunt gasped and clung to the bar over her head. The
treadmill slowed, stopped. My aunt panted with relief. As I watched,
mesmeraized, John carefully removed the catheter from my aunt’s body.
He pinched it off with a plastic clip so that her pee, collected in the
bag on the table, wouldn’t run out onto the floor. Then he stood up.
He unfastened my aunt’s hands. With a whoosh of relief my aunt
collapsed over the front of the treadmill, where the controls for it
lay. The treadmill started again, by accident, but it trundled along at
a slow speed, and she walked on it, breathing deep and hard as her body
recovered from its exertion.
“EEEEEk!” I yelled. John, checking that my aunt was okay,
turned to me. “No! I’m sorry!” I cried. He darted at me. I swung my
whip at him, but it was like trying to defend yourself with a whip
against a charging rhinosaurus. The whip bit his shoulder. He ignored
it. A moment later he’d scooped me up off the floor and was glaring
into my eyes as I wiggled in his arms. Like a dolt, I dropped the whip,
leaving myself defenseless.
“Now I have you, white girl,” John said to me.
“Oook! I’m very, very sorry I called you a nigger, sir,” I
said to him in all honesty. He glanced at my bare bosoms, wobbling like
stiff-nippled jello on my chest.
“Chloe, I’m going to set you down on the floor and I’m going to
put a catheter up between your legs, just like I did to your aunt,” John
said to me. His voice was surprisingly gently. I felt the steel of his
muscled arms cradling me and suddenly wanted very much to comply.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I shivered. “Must you whip me too?”
“A little,” John said, again amazing me with how gentle his
voice was. “But just on your bottom.”
“Okay,” I said. My assent came out all lispy, as if this was,
in fact, what I’d been waiting for, but was too scared to admit to
myself. John set me down on my bare feet. Openly he admired my small,
nude 13-year-old body. “I really do have to go to the bathroom,” I told
him, wiggling my hips.
“I know,” John said. “Let me get the catheter and run it up
between your legs and then you can pee all you want.” He drew me over
to the treadmill. My aunt stepped down off it. Her face was flushed.
Her bottom was even redder than her face and she clutched at it
ruefully. She gazed at me, accusingly, but too weary to say anything.
I gulped. I averted my eyes from hers. John reached over to the table
where a fresh bag waited and picked up the coil of a catheter that was
attached to it. He unravelled the tubing. Then he greased the end of
it with lubricant and, turning to me, cradled me where I stood with an
arm placed around my hips. I felt wanted, needed. I put a finger in my
mouth and contemplated the catheter. Its tip was shiny with oil. “Now
I must put this up you,” John told me. Our eyes met. I smiled,
slightly. I sucked hard on my finger. He pushed the catheter up
between my legs.
“Ooohh! It hoits!” I cried.
“Shhhh, it just feels uncomfortable,” John told me. Then,
wickedly, he drew the end of the catheter back out of me. “I’d love to
fuck your pee hole with this,” he said.
“Oh, don’t!” I gasped.
“Yes, I’ll put it in and out,” John said. “Watch. I can make
you pee in the bag the minute I slide the catheter up and breach your
bladder. And, when I pull the cath back down, the spincter at the base
of your bladder will close, automatically. Unless you will yourself to
keep peeing, of course, or can’t bring yourself to stop.”
“EEEchchch!” I said, gritting my teeth, for already he was
introducing the catheter into me again, sliding its lubed tip up, my
aunt giggling now, watching me from behind, savoring the sight of my
white bare huddling ass cheeks, soon to be whipped by her own hand.
Up, up, up went the catheter, sliding up between my legs like
some narrow male penis. At last I felt the wicked thing poke into my
bladder. My pee immediately began racing from my bladder down the
tubing, along its length and into the bag on the table.
John pulled the catheter down. I fought to restrain myself and
my pee stopped.
“Yes. Now up again,” John said. But instead he pulled the
catheter down. He removed it from me. Impulsively he kissed my pussy
with his lips. His big, broad-lipped mouth sucked upon the lips of my
slit with animal relish. “God, you have such a small, tight little
hole,” John murmured.
I could control myself no more. John’s tickling lips sent me
over the edge. The pee I’d fought so hard to retain suddenly burst from
between my legs.
“Oh! I’m peeing on you!” I confessed in a frantic voice to
John. He hardly needed to hear me say it. My yellow urine spouted out
onto his face, drenching him. I thrust my fingers between my legs,
trying to stop it, yet in the end spreading my cunt with relief so I
could pee it all out on his face, reluctant though I was to do so. “I’m
sorry, nigger,” I said to him. Then, gasping, I added, “Ooops! I
didn’t mean to call you a nigger.”
John froze between my legs. It was like, he hated what I was
doing to him, and he was shocked, but at the same time he was also
perversely delighted. He let my pee run down over his swarthy, handsome
features. For a moment his lips held firm to my cunt. Then he began
kissing me again, even as I peed all over his big black face. You can
imagine the sight of it: my white, thin, 13-year-old legs, forcibly
separated by his big black head, and me wetting all over his slave-like
face.
John stood up. As he stood, strangely, he kissed my bare
belly. One kiss, as if to thank me for what I’d done to him, before he
had to re-assume his role of Master, and punish me for it. He rose like
a giant over me and he looked down upon me. I lifted my eyes guiltily.
“Chloe, I’m going to have to punish you for what you just did
to me,” John said to me in his amazingly gentle voice.
“Oh, please don’t,” I begged.
“I can’t let you tell all your friends that you peed on me,”
John said.
“Oh, I won’t! Anyways all my friends are in America!” I said.
“It’s a long ways from France to America!” John shook his head ‘no.’
“You’ll tell your girlfriends, sooner or later, what you did to
me. A white girl, to a black man,” John said. “And they’ll all laugh,
unless-- unless you’re forced to tell them how the story ended.”
“It doesn’t need to have an ending, does it?” I gasped. He put
his big, rough hand down between my legs and rubbed my pussy.
“Yes it does,” John said. “Yes it does.” He turned to his
wife. She was detatching herself from my boyfriend’s tongue. She rose
from the bench where he lay prostrate, on his back. Chrissy, having
satisfied herself on his erection, got up off it. Both women walked
away from Brad, leaving him to collect his thoughts and to regain his
composure. Brad lay unmoving. His penis, once stiff, gradually
declined in size until it lay used and spent between his legs, no harder
than a dishrag.
“Come on, we’ll take her upstairs. We have to go pee,” Pauline
said to her husband.
“Give her and and her aunt over to the white slave boys,” John
said. “Tie them side by side in a bed and let the two slave boys with
the emeralds in their dicks mount them and take them however they please
for the night.” He looked at my aunt’s bottom. “And she’ll need
someone to tend to her ass, also. In the morning, I’ll see to Chloe’s
hiney. She will be punished for peeing in my face, and calling me a
nigger.”
“Yes, honey,” Pauline said to her husband.
“Oh, don’t be too hard on her!” Chrissy said.
“She was messy at dinner, and she called my husband a nigger
time and again,” Pauline said. “In the morning we will entertain
ourselves with her punishment.”
“Oh, and we’re going to carry each other’s children. Don’t
forget!” Chrissy said. She looked at John’s penis.
“Yes,” Pauline agreed. “We shall do that also. Skip taking
your pill in the morning, when you get up. Come, I’ll show you and your
husband to your bedroom.” She looked at my boyfriend, lying upon the
bench. “Unless, that is, you prefer spending the night with him.”
“Oh, he was wonderful,” Chrissy said. “But I’d like to fall
asleep in the arms of my husband.”
“Very well. Come, then,” Pauline said. Together, both women
took hold of my aunt. They tutted over the state of her bottom, pitying
her in a pityless way, and walked her toward the steps. Chrissy grabbed
my hand and pulled me along with them.
“Oh, I don’t want to go! I want to cum!” I said. I frisked my
crotch with my hand. I was quite eager for it now, though I hated
admitting it to myself.
“You shall be taken care of upstairs,” Pauline said.
“I want him!” I said, pointing to her husband. “I want to be
fucked my him!” I don’t know why I said it. Did the challenge of being
fucked by a big black man, with his 12-inch penis, tempt me beyond the
limits of my good sense? I don’t know. But I do know one thing--
threatened with punishment that seemed absolutely certain to befall me,
I didn’t call him a nigger anymore.
Upstairs, the two white slave boys were made to fuck me and my
aunt until we screamed for them to stop.
The next morning, as the sun rose, I was bathed and prepared.
I was offered breakfast on a silver tray, by my bedside, but I
declined. My aunt was escorted to another room so that I couldn’t turn
to her for solace as I was readied for my punishment. The slave boys
who had used me so remorselessly during the night were the ones who made
me ready for my ordeal. They wore emerald jewels in their cocks once
more, their faces were subdued. They put my makeup on. They brushed my
hair. They painted, with delicate grace, my fingernails and my
toenails.
During the night the twin slave boys had lorded themselves over
me. They were the Masters of my bed. Fucking me, fucking my aunt. Now
they were submissive once more. But, despite their gentle, coaxing
hands, they were firm with me. When I tried to speak, they ordered me
to be quiet. They made it clear I’d be gagged if I couldn’t keep my
mouth shut on my own. When I tried to move, without their permission,
they told me they had full authority to whip me themselves, right here
in my bedroom, if I couldn’t find it in myself to obey.
I was very obedient, once they showed me the many-thonged whip
John had given them, to enforce my compliance. I let them make me up
like a doll and dress me in provacative clothes. Then, after offering
me breakfast once more, they took me downstairs.
“She refuses to eat, Master,” the slaves said to John, who was
eating downstairs at the dining table. He wore purple robes, like a
king. Pauline and Chrissy and Brad and Steve sat with him. My aunt, it
was said, was lying face down in a room of her own, her bottom
recovering from the whipping I’d given her.
“She is frightened, that’s all,” Pauline said to her husband.
“I don’t want to be--”
“QUIET, Chloe! You will speak when I order it, and not when I
don’t,” John told me. I shivered. I glanced down at myself. I was
dressed all in white. My hair was pulled into twin pigtails, each tied
with a pretty white bow. I wore a small white tank top. It left my
shoulders bare, as well as my arms. It just covered the swell of my
tits. My flat belly was bare, but I wore white stockings. They were
made of elastic and clung to my legs. There were ribbons sewn into
them, at the top of each of my thighs, so that they could be pulled
tight, to keep them from falling down. Above each snugly-tied ribbon,
banding my leg, was a decorative frill of lace. I loved the stockings,
but I wished they’d given me something more substantial to wear with
them. Instead, I had only white high-heels, fastened to my feet with
thin straps, and white panties. The panties were narrow in back and I
had to reach behind myself and pull them out of my ass crack to keep my
behind properly covered. ‘Keep them on, if you can,’ one of the two
slave boys had told me, upstairs in my bedroom. ‘Your punishment will
hurt less if you can manage to keep on your underwear.’ I asked for a
dress. They told me none had been authorized.
“Ah, she is a pretty slave girl, is she not?” John asked his
guests at the table. They all nodded. I looked at Brad for salvation
but he gazed from me down to his plate. It was heaped with eggs and
toast. He speared his food and avoided my pleading eyes. “How are your
bottoms, young men, since I strapped you last night?”
“Fine, sir,” one of the two slave boys answered. “We look
forward to more instruction from Your Highness.”
“Very good,” John said. “You will leave Chloe here with me
now. Go upstairs and attend to her aunt. She will need your sperm on
her bottom so it can heal properly.”
“We put lotion on it last night, sir, between fucking her and
her neice,” one of the slave boys answered.
“Yes. Very good,” John said. “But when you fucked her last
night, did you not pump your seed up between her legs?”
“Of course, sir,” a slave boy answered.
“And her bottom too,” the other one said. “But we refrained
from taking Chloe that way, knowing you would wish to have her that way
yourself.”
I froze, where I was standing, and felt my tummy churn. John
was going to fuck me up the ass? How could he? I wasn’t even big
enough to take his penis the normal way!
“Very good,” John said. He put a mouthful of food in his mouth
and chewed it slowly. The two slave boys waiting until he spoke again.
“Now, white boys, I want you two slaves of mine to go upstairs and sperm
the bottom of Chloe’s aunt. Oil and lotion and cream are fine, but what
a young woman really needs smeared all over her ass is male sperm. Both
of you will cum all over her ass for her, do you understand? Not once,
not even twice. Three times, at least. Sperm her, boys! Do your
duty! I want Rebecca’s ass to be covered with so much sperm it looks
like an iced cake! Spend yourselves on her with the same abandon you
pumped yourselves into her last night.”
“Yes, sir!” both slave boys said. They saluted John. There
was a wicked gleam in their eyes. They left the room, jauntily, rubbing
their wickedly displayed penises, and I knew now why they’d both agreed
to be slaves of a black man, who had a taste for whipping their
heinies. They endured the punishment, because the pleasure was the most
any randy young boy could hope for.
“Oh, please sir, I didn’t mean to be so bad last night,” I said
to John. I sank to my knees.
“Put your hand in your panties,” John told me. “I want them
wet. Wet with your own juices. Then we will go outside for your
punishment.”
“Ooooh!” I cried. I put a finger in my mouth. I sucked it
hard. With my other hand, I slipped a finger into my panties. I began
frigging myself. I didn’t want to, but what could I do? “I promise to
obey everything you say from now on, sir!” I told John.
“Indeed. You most certainly will,” John answered.
30
pauline
john silver
rebecca
chloe
brad
steve
chrissy
30
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