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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BORDELLO GIRLS
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Chapter One
I put on my skimpiest bikini. After all, Marla had minced no words
about what she had planned. ÒWeÕre going to make dessert out of you!Ó
sheÕd smiled. My parents would never approve. Fortunately, they were in
Rome for the weekend. IÕd decided to stay down by the shore. My dadÕs an
oil executive. He and mother had taken a house along the Mediterranean
for a month. It was someone elseÕs house, of course, a friend of my DadÕs.
I didnÕt know them, which didnÕt matter, since they werenÕt here anyway,
and wouldnÕt be for the entire time we were staying here.
Marla lived next door. It was a very wealthy area. The homes were
perched along a cliff overlooking the beach. There was a little path that
led down to the sand. IÕd met her on the path one day. We chatted. For
two weekends IÕd watched her parties from my bedroom window. Watched
the people come, go, wondered... The men were gorgeous. Some of the
girls were no older than me.
IÕd spent all last week at MarlaÕs. Swimming in her pool instead of
in the ocean. It was much more fun. Servants brought me sodas,
occasionally a surreptitious cocktail. There were no parties, though. She
only had those on the weekend. There was just me and Marla. WeÕd talked
a lot. About men, boys. She was surprised to learn IÕd only had sex twice
in junior high. I was going to be a freshman this fall.
I walked up to MarlaÕs front door. My bikini barely covered my
bottom cheeks in back. Feeling quite self-conscious now I yanked on it,
trying to pull it higher. Then I knocked. I stood in the heat of the
Mediterranean sun, waiting. Finally a servant answered. He ushered me
into the coolness inside. My eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was a huge
house, cathedral-like, my bottom cheeks clenched apprehensively. My
panties were too small, my bottom too large, though it was trim,
childlike, thrusting as only a young girlsÕ can. I knew the story was the
same with my bra, my boobies jiggling within the tiny cups like jello. I
couldnÕt party like this! I turned, wanted to go home, change. Marla was
there.
ÒWhy hello, Jennifer!Ó Her smile was like the sun. Contagious. I
smiled back, shyly. Yet proud she found pleasure in my appearance. I
valued her opinion. She was young, very beautiful. Taller than me, older.
About 23, married to a millionaire. I looked up to her. ÒCome into the
kitchen and weÕll take off your bikini and get started,Ó she said to me.
ÒHave you been swimming?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I replied, haltingly. ÒYou want to take off my bikini?Ó I asked.
She had me by the hand, was leading me. I followed.
ÒYes, dear!Ó She turned to me, took me lightly by my hips. We were
at the kitchen entrance.
ÒBut I picked out my smallest one,Ó I replied. ÒSurely --Ó Marla
laughed.
ÒYou thought we might pop strawberries down the front of your
bikini, squirt in a little cream?Ó Marla asked. ÒOh darling, this is an
adult party, not some elementary school game. Come, there is a shower
stall in the kitchen. LetÕs have you bathe, then someone will do your hair
and nails, and make up your face. After all, this is your official
presentation to Mediterranean society. You must look your very best, even
if we make a little treat of your initiation.Ó With that she helped me out
of my bikini. It wasnÕt too difficult. A tug on a drawstring or two and I
was totally naked amidst the gleaming pots and pans of her kitchen, her
servants looking in on us, discreetly. Feeling like a newborn, I let her lead
me to the kitchen shower stall. It had once been for seashore bathers to
rinse off in, I guessed, but a remodeling had put the kitchen next to it.
Now I supposed it was used exclusively for washing turkeys, chickens, or
perhaps the occasional girl, come for dessert.
I tried not to think about what she had in mind for me. Marla gave
me soap, no washcloth, told me to hurry. When I was through she gave me
an extra rinse herself, using a hand-held shower sprayer. ÒWe wouldnÕt
want any of our guests to get soap in their mouths!Ó She laughed. I gulped,
said nothing.
Marla dried me herself with a soft blue terrycloth towel. It was big,
it seemed to envelop me. I wanted to keep it. She gave it to a servant to
take away. She brought me over to a single wooden chair, sitting alone in
the middle of the kitchen. She dropped a satin pillow on it for my bottom,
sat me down in it. A woman came, did my nails, another did my hair. A
third did my face.
ÒWe wonÕt be covering her face, so it must look terrific,Ó Marla said
to the makeup lady. She smiled at me. ÒWhich shouldnÕt be too hard, given
her bright blue eyes and perfect lips.Ó Marla came and went, watched
approvingly. At last I was done. ÒPull her hair back now, tie it off in a
short ponytail. We want it to be kept simple. Yes, thatÕs it. Just use a
piece of ribbon. WeÕll tie a rope onto it later, before she goes in.Ó I was
confused, sat compliantly. They pulled back my shoulder-length hair and
bound it with a bit of white ribbon. My hair hung loosely round my eyes. It
was casual-looking, as if I were but a wench about to do kitchen chores.
ÒUp dear,Ó Marla urged me. She took me by the hand. I stood. For a
moment she admired the shaking of my boobies as I stood nude before her.
ÒUp onto the counter, darling,Ó she said. There was a freestanding counter
in the middle of the kitchen, pots hanging over it. She had me scoot my
bottom up onto it and lie back. She kissed me once, on the lips. The
servants came in and she instructed them. She used French, I could not
understand. In the distance I could hear music, voices. The kitchen door
was closed now, to keep out prying eyes. Marla and I were not alone in her
house anymore with the servants. There were others. Girls, gorgeous men.
She left me on the table, with the servants in attendance on me.
ÒWeÕre going to cover you in icing,Ó a servant woman told me. I
flinched. They brought out a big vat, a long wooden spreader. Slowly they
began smearing me with icing. They did my belly first, easing me into it.
Then my thighs, my legs. Soon I was noticing only my breasts and pubis
were bare. I wanted those covered too, surely. Those most of all, if I
were to be seen in public. They obliged, smearing the icing over my boobs,
spreading it with the wooden spreader between my legs. They made me
stand and they did my backside. I glanced in a mirror. I was like a bride,
covered in white, except it was sugary icing.
A white rope was tied around my neck. It felt like a noose. Above it
there were traces of icing in my hair, nothing else. Below it I was a
complete mess, totally covered in icing. The rope ran down between my
breasts, down to the fringe of my pubic hair, as if I were a donkey needing
to be led. In back they tied a second rope, slightly shorter. They tied it to
my abbreviated ponytail. They said nothing about why I needed the ropes.
There would be many people present, were they afraid I would run away?
A wiggly girl covered in slick icing could escape, but with the ropes it
would be another story.
A sumptuous wedding cake was brought in. Yes, at last. Marla had
said I would be popping out of a cake. I hoped I was merely a decoration,
nothing more. With my icing on it should not be too bad. IÕd have preferred
to have my bikini too, but the icing did a fair job of hiding my charms.
The cake consisted of four sides. Servants carefully removed the
four sides of the cake, propped them against a wall. A small platform
remained, sitting near the floor, on wheels. They had me sit down on the
platform. Then they replaced the four sides of the cake, putting it back
together, careful not to lose any of the cake as they repaired it. I
crouched within, in darkness.
A little later I felt a tug. The cake began rolling. I heard the swing
of kitchen doors. Someone made an announcement. There was clapping.
The cake came to rest. I guessed I was in the center of the ballroom now.
Someone said something. ÒThe bride and groom must eat first,Ó it seemed
was said. Then I felt the cake wobble a bit on its wheels as others took
pieces. They were eating me. I was the soul of the cake. At last I heard I
cry of triumph. Someone had found something within his cake. A key, or a
coin, something that denoted a treasure found. Me?
The cake opened. Suddenly, unexpectedly. The four sides of the cake
popped apart, fell to the ground. Any cake remaining on the four sides was
smashed upon the floor. There would be no more eating of cake now. I
looked about, surprised. My eyes blinked under the bright lights of the
ballroom. From darkness I was in light now, bathed in the glow of an
overhead chandelier.
My eyes found MarlaÕs. She smiled at me. I smiled back. I was the
center of attention. All eyes were upon me. I enjoyed it. My icing still
kept me pure. I laughed, briefly. It was so silly, yet so outrageous.
Though my hands were coated in icing I held them delicately above my
thighs. As if IÕd been playing in mud. Yet the mud was white and all over
me. But I was still a girl, still dainty. A mess, but dainty all the same.
Marla came forward, offered me her hand. Blushing, I clasped it. She
drew me up. The gentleman whoÕd found the key in his cake hovered over
me. Barefoot I stood. An apparition in white. All around me the
gentlemen and ladies were smartly dressed. I alone was naked.
The man with the key was upon me. I jerked, drew back. There was
noplace to run. I was surrounded. He pressed his face to my breasts.
Shocked, I lifted my hands. I wanted to push him away, yet I did not wish
to get icing all over his suit. He feasted upon my breasts, licking up the
icing, baring them with his tongue. Tremors of pleasure radiated from my
attentive nipples. I attempted to walk forward. The man fed at my
breasts, coming along with me. I was moving now, the crowd gathering
around me yet parting before me, letting me walk. Shamelessly they put
out their hands and touched me. Men, women ran their hands over me, my
arms, my back, my bottom. I was explored and caressed. Fingers to
mouths, then, tasting my icing.
Marla stayed near me. Gracefully I walked forward, not knowing
where. Keeping my composure, my dignity. My cheeks flushed, my smile
shy. My hair, caught up, tied behind, the loose strands of my locks hanging
down round my childish cheeks.
I was jostled. My hair was pulled from behind. A pull on the rope
binding my ponytail. My back arched, I gasped. They nearly toppled me.
The man with the key was still at my front, kissing my tummy now. He
fought for possession of me, yanking the rope at my neck. His tongue dove
lower. My pussy felt him. Wet, inquiring. His tongue like a cock. I jerked
and yelped. A quiet yelp, submissive.
I turned to Marla. She met my shocked stare, turned it to a smile
with her shining, approving eyes. She bid the men to let the women in, to
let them taste me too. A man at my back was urged away. I felt freer, yet
the man with the key had possession of me still. He licked my tummy,
swirled his tongue in my navel.
Two women nearest me unzipped their dresses. Smiling, absorbed in
myself, I watched with awed eyes as they made themselves as naked as I
was. More naked, actually, for they had no covering of icing. Still wearing
their jewels, their hair perfect, their nude breasts swinging, they came at
me. Compliantly I lifted my hands to let them eat of me. I knew not how
else to respond. I was dessert. They wished to have me. Their faces
pressed to me, smearing themselves, like children with milk and crumbs
on their mouths and cheeks. Their tongues licked, one woman finding my
nipples while the other traced the spine of my back. Their hands were
soft, stroking, feeling.
All around me the private wedding reception began to take on the
look of an orgy. Guests shed their clothes, began kissing, soft moans were
heard and groans of imminent pleasure. Half a dozen cocks sprang out and
titties without any covering became the norm. I stood like a fawn in the
center of it, surrounded, hands upon me, my ropes gripped fore and aft to
prevent my escape.
The tongues became more aggressive now. The man with the key
found my pussy again, did not desist. My knees buckled, I struggled to
straighten them. The woman behind me snaked her tongue into the crevice
of my bottom. In front the woman at my breasts was joined by another.
Like starving babes they licked off my icing. My bosoms were gripped,
squeezed, held. I felt like I was being made to express milk into their
mouths.
Somewhere a string quartet played. Unperturbed, it played on
through the hubbub all about me. I gulped air as the man in my twat fucked
me with his mouth. I was helpless, hopeless. I wanted to get him out of
me, couldnÕt. In behind my cheeks were gently prised open by female
hands. I had no icing in my bottomhole but she delved there anyway. She
seemed to find it sweetest.
ÒPlease, let me go!Ó I mouthed. I turned to look for Marla, could not
find her. She had abandoned me to the guests. I was theirs now, their
precious dessert. Legs splayed, hardly able to stand, I fought to keep my
composure. They delved deeper, made me cry out though I wanted not to.
More tongues came. Elegant women ruined their faces by smearing
them in my icing. Tanned bodies, crisp from the Mediterranean sun, rubbed
against me. I gave them the whiteness of my icing. They would not stop,
would not desist. A finger poked into my mouth. I sucked on it, blissful
suddenly, a tongue up each of my channels below. My breasts were no
longer mine. Too many mouths hungered for them. In and out tongues went
down below; the same ones, others? I lost track. A wave of pleasure
washed over me, unbidden, yet welcome. I was speared more deeply still
up my hiney, my cunt. Shafted and penetrated, all oral, cocks waggling
about but kept from me as tongues did the work instead.
I was bent back. My ribs showed. A mouth came to my mouth and
dueled with my tongue. Another ran along my ribs, counting them. I
shivered, spilled. Shivered and spilled again.
A hand, suddenly, gripping my wrist. It yanked me forward. The
other hands fell away, tongues withdrew. When I came to my senses my
wrist had been dropped in favor of the rope at my neck. My tie, my noose.
A girl led me, my rope over her shoulder, pulling me like one leads a
recalcitrant pony. She was naked save for a veil of white over her face,
part of a wedding headdress. Otherwise she wore only white stockings,
ankle-high white booties. Her garter was gone, had been tossed away
along with her dress and her underthings. I stumbled behind her as she led
me from the ballroom.
I was taken upstairs, to the wedding bed. The groom greeted me as I
came into the bedroom. He wore his bow tie, black socks and shoes,
nothing else. He was strong, powerful. In his hands he held a belt, coiled
leather. He bid me to get on the bed.
Mincingly I tread across the bedroom floor. The carpet was plush,
absorbing my every barefoot step. My feet, covered in icing, did not soil
the carpet, for the undersides of my feet were bare. Yet I walked on
tiptoe to keep from leaving any creamy footprints, if I could.
I stopped before the bed. It was high. Stairsteps led up to it. I
hesitated, waited, contemplating the steps, what they meant. A mistake.
For I glanced again at the groom. His cock was huge, pulsing. I wanted it.
Like a girl wanting a popsicle in a candy store I wanted it. And I wanted
to hold the big scrotum that dangled beneath, tightly drawn now, excited,
its spermy contents churning. Madly churning. I did not know much about
men, but I knew they could get very hungry, deliciously hungry, and when
they did they were like big animals, raving, raging, and only a pussy would
quench them. My own tight purse tingled, hungered in return. His eyes
blazed at me. There was silence. Like lovers staring across an ocean at
each other we stood. The bride ran from the room. I heard water.
ÒWhat is your name?Ó the groom asked me, his voice low. His body
was taught, unmoving. Only his cock moved, trembling in its hardness.
ÒJennifer,Ó I said quietly, a touch of demureness on my lips. Trying
so hard to be graceful.
ÒYou must not look at me, Jennifer,Ó he replied. ÒYou are property
only tonight, though we might play as equals someday. Lower your eyes.
You have offended the bride by gazing so at my cock.Ó
ÒAm I --Ó I looked down, at the belt in his hand. I wondered what
games they had in store for me. I liked my icing. I liked this less, though
the groomÕs cock was an inducement I could hardly resist. I wanted Marla.
Wanted to tell her I was going home now.
The groom said nothing. He sensed my only answer would be Ôno.Õ He
stared at me, at my charms. He should lower his eyes, I thought. I was
the lady without clothes. Is the the gentleman to defer, not the other way
round?
The bride returned. I did not sense her coming. She grabbed my arm,
startling me. She wore mittens. White lace, with little bows at the
wrists. They protected her hands. I could not remember if sheÕd worn
them before.
ÒLetÕs wipe off your bottom,Ó the bride said to me, my captor, a girl
barely older than myself. She was a brunette with classic looks. She had
dragged me up here as a prize for her groom, but I saw she was jealous
now. He liked me too well. She should have chosen a less pretty girl.
With a hot moist towel, fresh from the bathroom, wet under the faucet and
wrung out, she wiped across my bottom. I jerked. The towel was hot,
steaming. She drove it into my bottom crack. I gasped, tried to pull away.
Her nails dug into my arm, nearly cutting me.
Across my bottom the towel swathed, wiping away my protecting
icing. My whiteness, my chastity. She wiped it off my bottom only,
revealing the whiteness of my skin underneath. The belt in the groomÕs
hand stirred. He shifted his feet.
The bride tossed the towel aside. There was a knock at the door.
The groom opened it. A maid entered, fully dressed, though her costume
would not have passed muster at a hotel. Her dress was abbreviated to
show her upper thighs. Her blouse was unbuttoned, tightly drawn into her
belt, efficiently, but showing the inner curves of her breasts all the same.
She showed flesh not from indolence but from design. IÕd seen one of
MarlaÕs ads in the paper once: ÒMaids wanted. Full-figured, pretty. No
experience required.Ó She hired only the best girls, those who could wear
her revealing-by-design costumes. This girl was a teen still, like me,
hesitant in her movements, shocked perhaps at the goings on downstairs.
ÒYour pie, maÕam,Ó the girl offered, presenting a cream pie to the
bride at my rear.
ÒThank you. Begone,Ó the bride replied haughtily. The maid did not
wait for a tip. She looked like a faun caught in a forest full of hunters.
She turned, padded quick as she could back across the room, then lingered
momentarily. Her eyes fixed on the groom, his cock. She moved on,
sensing some brooding anger in the room. Suddenly as she reached the
doorway the groom swiftly turned, lit out at her with his belt. The tip
found her, sweeping up under her too-short skirt, struck her I guessed
right at the incurving juncture of her bottom cheeks, where they meet
with her thighs.
ÒYeeouuch!Ó the girl screamed. She had not expected, did not want.
Leaping up she ran through the door, stunned. We heard her retreating
footsteps running down the hall. The groom stroked his belt, recoiled it.
The bride lifted the pie. It was a pan, filled with cream.
ÒHe does not need to see your face,Ó she said to me, and hit me with
the pie. I stumbled backward. I nearly fell to the floor. I opened my eyes
through a visage of cream. In a mirror I saw myself, a stranger now, pie-
faced. The bride took my arm again. IÕd escaped her grip momentarily.
She slapped me hard on my newly gleaming bottom, bare, uncovered. ÒGet
on the bed,Ó she ordered.
With tiptoeing steps, still trying to be graceful in front of the
groom, I mounted the stairs. My nude bottom cheeks wobbled shamefully,
all exposed, the rest of me covered with icing, save where licking tongues
had lapped up some. Up I went, then hesitated at the top step. The
bedsheets were white, the covers already turned back. I would get icing
on them. I turned to my hosts.
ÒKneel,Ó the bride said. ÒCrawl to the headboard. Put your knees on
those two pillows.Ó I looked toward the front of the bed. There were two
pillows, one on top of the other, near the headboard, but back far enough so
that they obviously werenÕt meant for the head. I blinked. With my
cream-covered lashes I blinked. Then, carefully, not wanting to smear
icing all over their bedsheets, I got on all fours on the bed. Daintily I
crawled, like a baby, to the headboard. I placed my knees on the pillows,
saw how it made my bottom rear up. I did not like this posture. Not with
a belt behind me.
ÒPut your head down,Ó the bride told me. Roughly she took me by my
hair, my coiffed and curled locks, the only part of me not covered with
icing in the kitchen. She shoved my face down onto the bed and pressed on
my head until my cheek was flat against the bed. In back my bottom
presented itself as never before; high, the cheeks sweetly split and
offered. The bride pulled at my legs, spread them.
ÒCall the maid. I want her open in back,Ó the bride said. I guessed
she meant me, hoped not. I did not understand her command.
The groom knew. The maid came soon, avoiding him, giving him and
his belt a wide birth, like a wary little squirrel whoÕs met the backyard
dog. The maid carried two more pillows.
ÒTwo under each knee,Ó the bride told the maid. ÒI cannot spread her
properly with her knees on the same pillows. When I open her, her knees
come off the ends.Ó The bride had shifted to my head. She drew my wrists
out, beyond my head, made me take hold of a single post of the headboard.
She took off her bridal veil. With it she bound my wrists to the post. She
tossed her chestnut hair as she worked. She struck me as free, proud.
Glad to be out of her bridal veil. She was a young wife now, laboring for
her husbandÕs pleasure. Her body was lean, tawny, her breasts full and
bouncy. I glanced at her flat tummy and wondered if it would be so eight
months from now. I guessed she wanted children, wanted them young, so
she could play with them in her youth.
Behind me the maid struggled to get two pillows under each of my
knees. She had to get up on the bed with me, as the bride did. The maid
wore no panties, was not permitted to. Her skirt hiked up as she worked,
showing, offering her bottom to the lewd groom with his cruel belt. I
could feel the maidÕs breath on my bottom, quick and frightened. I guessed
she was a year or two younger than me. She was not ready for such
bedroom games, wanted only to depart. Yet she had taken the job, stayed.
She liked the parties, the gaiety, the hint of naughtiness. But then like a
child she wanted to run off, go home and only dream of what transpired in
the later hours. I felt her open me in back. She placed each of my knees
atop the mounded pillows, a separate pile for each knee, specially built.
Each was a special pedestal built just for me to kneel on. Between my
knees the bed only, a flat sheet, far below, chasm-like between the
mountain-pillows. My bottom lofted high, a trophy for the groom, my
thighs scarily wide, leaving my cunt utterly exposed between, a tight
purse where he would put all his spermy treasures.
I shivered. My breasts, hanging down like gourds on display at a
market, wiggled. The bride made sure my face was flat against the
bedsheets. She offered me a rubber bit. I gaped at it. Saliva pooled in the
corner of my mouth closest to the sheets. She wrenched open my jaw and
stuffed the bit between. My lips closed over it. The ends protruded into
my cheeks. Gently, smiling slightly, she readjusted the bit, made the ends
exposed. She took a little strip of leather and attached it to each end of
the bit. Then she looped the strip over the back of my head, let it press
tight to my hair. ÒI do not want you to swallow it,Ó she said of the bit.
ÒYou looked like you might take it in like a cock, right down your throat,
with a little encouragement. Bite on it, hard. You will need it to protect
your teeth if he gets carried away.Ó
Fearfully I turned my head. The groom was still there. Beyond him,
the bedroom door remained open. I had not minded earlier, standing all
gooey in my icing as I had downstairs. But now I was much more fully
exposed; my cunt and ass were like wares in a shop, on display for all to
see, to judge. I knew, unwhipped at least, unmarked, I could match any
woman curve for curve. But I did not really need the contest. I wanted
very much to go home now. I sensed the playtime was ending, the teasing
would be no more. Things would get serious now.
The bride shooed the maid from the bed. She had lingered, adjusting
my knees. She had actually been humming in the last moments, content
and happy somehow. Perhaps because of the groom. He had not struck her,
yet she knew his power. He was like a policeman, standing at the door.
Protecting her, most certainly, from everyone but himself. No one would
touch her without his permission. She was safe from the partiers in here,
provided she could stand the belt. And he had not used it on her this time.
Though her bottom was bared to him, her too-short skirt revealing it
whenever she moved or bent, he had restrained himself. She was his little
pet. At least in her mind she was. The groom was inscrutable. Tall,
muscular, his cock bared to us, yet not taking us. Waiting for something.
Permission, perhaps. He stroked his belt as if it were his organ. Before
he had simply held it, but now he ran it across his fingers, lovingly. The
maid huddled beside him and glanced up at him. She had more freedom
than I.
Two people stopped at the door. They looked in. A man and a woman.
Half dressed, half undressed. As if theyÕd stripped and fucked, dressed
partially again; or perhaps were just on their way to a bedroom now. On
their way but stopping here, for inspiration.
ÒMay we watch?Ó the woman inquired of the bride.
ÒYes, please do,Ó the bride replied. She was at the door with them,
talking casually, as if about a new flower in the backyard, a new recipe.
ÒSheÕs being introduced to polite society,Ó the bride added, a smirk on her
lips, pointing to me.
ÒNot too polite, I hope,Ó the man grinned.
ÒNo, not too polite,Ó the bride agreed. She turned to her new
husband. She looked him over, her eyes catching on his cock. ÒWhenever
youÕre ready, dear,Ó the bride said to him, almost ruefully, challenging
him.
ÒGive her a really harsh one, make that little ass of hers show
everything its got!Ó the man encouraged the groom.
ÒOh, darling! It is her first time!Ó the woman protested. I was
shaking visibly now, my tummy swirling with fear. I wanted to get up but
did not know how. I could drop onto my side, maybe, but what would they
do to me then?
ÒI will not hit her too hard,Ó the groom said in my defense.
ÒShe must cry, though, dear,Ó the bride corrected him. ÒI want her
to wash that cream off her face with her tears. Now get to belting her, or
IÕll take someone else for my husband.Ó Her words were passionate. I
could sense the lie in them. She loved him too much to ever leave him.
The groom advanced to the end of the bed. His balls bounced between
his legs as he walked. He stopped, took hold of the bedÕs footboard. It was
low, made of wood. His cock protruded over it, a stiff shaft, a totem pole
cut in the horizontal. He opened his legs, spread his stance, let his
testicles hang down freely. Behind his buttocks tautened. All this I
guessed, or saw in a mirror, watching like a trapped little animal as he
advanced to within striking distance of me.
And then it happened. The belt. It uncoiled. He struck me on my
right cheek, wrenching a scream from me.
ÒAaaaaa!Ó my scream was cut off by a second blow. The other cheek,
both of them red now, humming with sensations of pain.
30
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Change ÒstandardÓ archive to ÒcompleteÓ archive.
Type: roller666@earthlink.net into the ÒPower SearchÓ box.
Click on ÒFindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
-----Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
Or via the Web:
http://www.eroticstories.com
http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-----Great books by David Hamilton: The Age of Innocence, A Place
in the Sun, Twenty Five Years of an Artist. By Jock Sturges:
Radiant Identities Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
-----Great sites:
http://www.nambla.org
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
-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