Message-ID: <6765eli$9803101635@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: Summer of Sin part 15 of 15 (NND)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <3501F2BB.2BB1@earthlink.net>
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Fifteen
I was young. I was healthy. And I was about to embark on a
voyage of erotic discovery that could lead someplace dangerous. I stood
in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing my hair, as Sister Mary had
told me to do. I was completely naked. I looked at my slim, tanned
body and wondered what condition I’d be in by morning.
The priests scared me. Other men were interested in having a
good time, but their interest seemed to plumb deeper depths. They were
interested in “female endurance,” they’d told me, casually, as we walked
from the big Catholic church downtown. Later the other priest had
spoken of “the limits of female endurance.”
What did they mean by that? I told myself I was being too
curious, that I should insist on being taken home, on leaving at once.
I was too little. Such games were meant for bigger girls, like my
aunt.
Suddenly, I felt a thrill race up my spine. She wasn’t here!
She didn’t even know where I was. Anything might happen to me here,
with my two strange, hunky priests, and I’d have absolutely no way to
call on her for help.
“Is-- is there a phone here?” I asked the large, fat woman,
well-wrapped in clothes, who sat on the toilet watching me as I brushed
my hair.
“A phone? What do you need a phone for?” the fat woman asked.
“So I can call my aunt,” I answered. I glanced at my nails.
The finish on them was coming off in a few places.
“Don’t just look at them. There’s a nail file and nail polish
in the drawer,” Sister Mary, still gazing at me from the toilet, said.
“Where?” I asked. I looked down at the bathroom counter. It
was old, but highly polished and immaculately clean.
Sister Mary sighed. “To the drawer on your right,” she said.
“Open it. I’m too weary from working all day to get up and help you
find everything. And put your hair into pigtails. Do you see the black
ribbons laid out for you on the counter? Don’t make me do it for you,
child, or I’ll have a mind to put you over my knee. You’ll be sore
enough from the priests without having me at your fanny too.”
“What-- what will they do to me?” I stammered. I opened the
drawer under the counter, on my right, but my mind was once again
fixated on the two new men in my life.
“They will teach you a healthy respect for morals,” the woman
said. “All girls should learn from them.”
“What-- what if I want to be immoral?” I asked. With a hand I
noticed was trembling, and quite unable to stop it, I reached into the
drawer and took out a bottle of nail polish. It contained clear
polish. It would make my nails shiny without excessively coloring
them. When I was younger I’d preferred bright red. But now I liked
clear. How did the priests know which nail polish I preferred?
“You still haven’t told me if there’s a phone,” I said to
Sister Mary. With shaky fingers I began trying to repair the polish on
my nails.
“Of course not!” Sister Mary huffed. She stood up. “Give me
the polish, child. Can’t you do anything for yourself? Look how your
hands are shaking! Sit down on the toilet seat. I’ll have to do your
nails for you, as well as your mascara, your lipstick. This will take
forever, and you’ll mess yourself up, if you try doing it with those
hands of yours shaking like that!”
Meekly I went to the toilet. I sat down on the furry seat. It
tickled my bare bottom. Sister Mary took my wrist and made me hold out
my hand.
“There’s nothing to be frightened of. You’re in the presence
of men of God,” Sister Mary said matter-of-factly to me.
“But what if they decide I’m a sinner?” I asked her.
“They’ve already decided that. That’s why you’re here,” she
said. She began applying the polish to my little finger.
“I- I don’t want to be spanked,” I said.
“You should have thought of that before you sinned,” Sister
Mary said. “No talking. If I had to listen to the whining of every
young lady who visits, I’d ask God to strike me deaf. You’ll say no
more, girl, or I’ll have you over my knee-- pronto!”
“Y- Ooop!” I said, swallowing the words ‘Yes, ma’am,’ as Sister
Mary lifted her eyes and gave me a cross look. Fortunately she forgave
that discretion, and I said no more. She quietly painted my nails and
prepared me for the priests.
“Ah, here she is,” Father Virgil announced when I was brought
by Sister Mary into the living room. Father Brannigan came from the
kitchen. He read a book as he walked. I saw a glimpse of his cover.
It was a book on female anatomy.
“Yes,” Father Brannigan said, looking me over as I stood before
Father Virgil. He circled around behind me. I wore my hair in
pigtails, bound with black ribbons. I had a black, long-sleeved shirt
on. It had white cuffs and a matching white collar. It looked like a
shirt girls wear to private school, but Sister Mary had only buttoned
one button of it across my breasts. She slapped my hands away, in the
bathroom, when I tried to button the rest of the buttons. I wore black
panties. They were French-cut, high in back, baring both my cheeks.
The edges of the panties were frilled. There was a row of tiny black
bows at the front of my panties, where my pubic hair grew. They ran in
a line down the front of my panties. They looked merely decorative, but
in fact each one could be untied. They held my panties closed. They
were rather like a zipper on the front of a man’s pants that holds
closed the fly of his trousers. Except, in my case, I didn’t have any
need for an opening in my panties, unless it was to let something in,
rather than out. It would be far too cumbersome to untie all those
little bows just to pee. I blushed as Father Virgil’s eyes fixed on the
tiny black bows running down the front of my black panties.
“Sister Mary didn’t give me a skirt,” I told Father Virgil. I
felt I could speak now. After all, even though Sister Mary was present,
I was being turned over to the priests. They hadn’t told me I couldn’t
talk.
Father Virgil lifted his eyes. Father Brannigan, still behind
me, gazed with satisfaction at the round nudity of my bottom. My
panties, French-style, only managed to cover the crease of my ass. I
saw Father Brannigan’s eyes in the glass of a hutch behind Father
Virgil. I felt like I was being studied, as if I were some butterfly
the’d caught, and were examining before pinning it to a board.
“Ah yes,” Father Virgil said. He dropped his eyes back to my
crotch. Then his eyes dipped lower and lingered over my tightly-pressed
legs, both of them clad in long, black thigh-high stockings. I wore
black shoes on my feet, both of them brightly polished. Somehow, they’d
known my foot size in advance. Or did they keep various pairs of shoes,
because they had so many girls visit them over the course of a year?
“You are wearing the uniform of our school,” Father Virgil said. “As a
courtesy to the girls we permit them to go without dresses in the summer
time. Our school isn’t air conditioned, you know. Many of our pupils
are young, and some are unaccustomed to wearing a bra. So that is why
we’ve also omitted that garment. I think you’ll find your shirt, your
panties, and your stockings to be quite satisfactory.”
“And your shoes,” Father Brannigan said. “Sister Mary did such
a fine job of polishing them.”
“They’re new,” Sister Mary said, somewhere behind me. “I waxed
them well, though, to make it harder for her to scuff them. You know
how little girls are.”
“Thank you, Sister Mary,” Father Brannigan said, still eyeing
my bottom. “You may go now. See to your chores. We’ll return her to
you when we’re through with her.”
“Yes, Father Brannigan,” Sister Mary said. “Let me know if she
proves especially difficult.”
“Did you have her swallow a pill?” Father Brannigan asked.
“Of course, father,” Sister Mary answered.
“Why do I need a pill if I’m only going to school?” I asked.
“We are ourselves not without sin, sometimes,” Father Virgil
said to me. He grinned. He stood up. “Let us go downstairs to the
school room, Chloe. We must begin your lessons.” He took my arm. “Do
you feel you are ready?” he asked me quietly. I shivered.
“I guess so, sir,” I answered.
“Ah, you must call me ‘father,’” Father Virgil said. “That
will be a demerit for you, Chloe. We must start paying attention to
such things now.”
“Oh! I’m frightened!” I said, quite truthfully, as we went
round a corner and approached a big wooden door.
“It is good to be frightened in the presence of the Lord,”
Father Virgil said.
Father Brannigan came forward. He unlocked the wooden door.
We stepped into a kind of alcove, beyond the opened door, and I saw a
flight of steps leading down into darkness. Father Virgil flicked a
light switch at the top of the stairs.
“Our school room is in the basement,” Father Virgil told me.
“It’s sound proof.”
“Mmmm, I mustn’t!” I blurted. I gazed at the long flight of
stairs leading down under the earth.
“Move along, child,” Father Brannigan said. I felt a sharp tap
on my bottom. I turned. I looked over my shoulder. Father Brannigan
was holding a riding crop!
There was a desk for me, downstairs. It sat all by itself in
the middle of the room. It consisted of a wooden table, with a separate
chair. I saw the desk was well-used. It had initials carved into it
near its front edge, plus other, aimless marks. Its legs were chipped
and worn, as if something had struck them repeatedly. I gazed around me
as Father Virgil led me over to the desk. The room was strange, a
one-room schoolhouse for one girl. At the front of the room were two
big desks, one for each of the priests. There was a space between them,
so that a pupil, called forward, might pass between them to write on the
portable black board at the front of the room. Incongruously, along one
side of the room was a bed. It was a narrow, single bed. It had a
coverlet upon it that had letters of the alphabet sewn into it.
I sat down at my desk. The seat was hard, wooden,
no-nonsense. I realized with a start, sitting upon it, that if I
suffered some penalty, the hard seat would be doubly difficult to sit
on. A spanked bottom needed a soft seat, not a hard one like this.
I glanced up at the two men, my instructors. They loomed over
me. They gazed down at my small body sitting with contrite composure.
My eyes ran over their hard, muscled figures, cloaked in black robes. I
lingered at the places below both their belts. Their trousers bulged.
I licked my lips.
“Is there something that arouses you, Chloe?” Father Brannigan
asked me. His voice was direct, the words spoken loudly. I quavered in
my seat.
“Yes,” I confessed.
“And what is that?” Father Virgil asked.
“Your... pants. They are big in front,” I stammered.
“Yes, Chloe,” Father Brannigan said. “We are men. Would you
like to see what it is that is making us so uncomfortable?”
“If you wish me to, father,” I answered. I glanced away from
their crotches and down at my desk. There were three books piled on
it. There was a box of crayons lying beside the books. I felt a
strange sensation of power within me as I carefully opened one of the
books, ignoring the priests, and popped open my box of crayons. The
book was a coloring book. I took a crayon and began coloring the first
picture in the book. I noticed, as I colored, that the figure was of a
nude human being. Adam in the Garden of Eden. I saw he wore no
clothes. The book was explicit. I doodled with an orange crayon down
the length of his chest and on, along the shaft of a cock that dangled
between his legs.
“Color within the lines, Chloe,” Father Virgil said to me in a
constricted voice.
“Oh! I made a mistake!” I cried. I’d moved the crayon line
out beyond the end of his penis, making his thing longer.
“She will need to be punished for that,” Father Brannigan said.
“Most certainly,” Father Virgil agreed.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key.
Find “standard” in the middle of the screen. Click on “standard”.
Change “standard” to “complete”.
Above the word “complete”,
Type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your “return” key.
-Or search using: roller666@earthlink.net
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim
Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF story EMISSION
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |