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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BORDELLO GIRLS
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Chapter Two
More blows. Against my bonds I fight, wanting to rise up, to flee.
Behind me the man comments on my bottomÕs charms, how I wiggle and
open myself reflexively when I am hit. The groom nods, slaps me again,
relishing my every obscene wriggle.
The woman takes the bride in her arms, she responds. Together they
watch me, kissing. The blows continue. I buck and wreathe and squeeze
my cheeks, trying to rid myself of the spreading, mind-numbing pain. The
man takes the maid and kisses her, slaps her bottom when she resists. He
makes her fondle his cock, then both cocks, his and the groomÕs. She looks
like a milk maid with twin udders in hand, seeking milk, finding glistening
pre-cum.
I cry. Like a baby I cry. The strapping ceases. The woman and bride
let go of each other. They move to the maid. Happily they take her hands
and suck on her fingertips. The bride kisses her palm. She finds her
husband there. She laps at the palm like a dog.
ÒI tried to stop him,Ó the maid explains. I envision her, pressing her
palm up to the groomÕs penis tip, trying to hold him in.
ÒYou had an emission,Ó the bride says accusingly to her husband
when she has finished licking him up from the palm of the maid.
ÒNot a lot was lost,Ó he replies. He is still hard. ÒSee?Ó he
explains. He turns, sticks his cock right alongside the manÕs stiff
member. Playfully they whack at each other with their rods only, their
male organs. Boxing as it should be, with their hands restrained, or behind
their backs. ÒI am still as hard as Frank here,Ó the groom explains.
ÒWe are forgetting our babykins,Ó the woman says. She comes to me.
She gets up on the bed behind me and kisses my bottom. Her lips are wet,
lipstick upon them. I flinch as her lips press against my burning ass. Her
kiss, though loving, hurts. I do not want it. I cannot cease rotating my
bottom. I am crying still, softly. She takes hold of my bottom and stills
it. ÒBring cream right away,Ó the woman says to the maid. ÒShe must be
seen to at once.Ó She kisses me again, making me whimper. ÒYou are so
brave,Ó she says. ÒI want you for my own bed.Ó
The woman and the maid spread cream over my painful, burning
hinds. They tickle my cunny with their fingertips. Fortunately I caught
nothing there. The groom, for all his wretched vigor, spared my cunt at
least, perhaps only for the pleasure of his cock.
I hear laughter beyond. The bride is toying with the two men, with
their big things. They stand opposite her, gradually closing in on her. She
does not mind the closeness of their bodies. Suddenly her hands are
grabbed, lofted above her head. Her husband enters her in front as the man
splits her cheeks behind. Soon she is stuck between two prongs, really
stuck, not teasing, impaled upon them and screaming.
I am released. The purpose of my binding is over. I am free to go. I
am not wanted anymore. Or am I? The woman and the maid linger over me
as I put my feet to the floor, stand unsteadily, my hinds aching. The
woman traces the tips of my nipples, hard as coral. The maid explores my
belly button with her finger.
The woman licks cream from my nose. My pug nose, child-like, elfin.
ÒLetÕs rinse away that icky icing thatÕs all over you,Ó the woman says
gently. She wishes to see my face, does not want to have to lick me clean
herself to see it. She has seen my bottom, my cunt, but not my face,
unless downstairs. Perhaps she came late to the party.
I am half led, half carried to the bathroom. The bride and groom do
not mind that we use their master bathroom. They are too busy making
honey and sperm mixtures, concoctions that produce babies nine months
later. Where will I be in nine months? I sense that I am embarking on
some new life. I am leaving the shores of childhood behind, though I am
wanted indeed for the fact that I still have both feet planted in the very
shallowest water. Up to my ankles only, my cunt still untried. My
bottomhole? I do not wish to think such thoughts. Dirty thoughts. What
men do to women in the privacy of their bridal bedroom.
The water is turned on. I am pushed inside. White I go in, still half-
pure at least, but the water hits me. Suddenly I am quite naked, the cream
half-remembered only, running quickly away in white rivulets. The maid
in her dress watches, the woman half-undressed, her breasts bare, shaking
with her every movement, her dress hiked up under her waistbelt, then
half-repaired. Her hair still lovely, a bit mussed perhaps, no more. Long
dark hair, Vampire hair. The maid has chestnut locks, girl hair, streaked
with gold and tumbling down over her shoulders. A bit unkempt but no one
minds. All young girls take little thought in their hair, knowing its very
unkemptness attracts menÕs eyes. Or do they know? Perhaps it is their
unknowing that attracts the Calvins and Lewises, the Chaplins. Their very
unknowing that their beautiful unkempt hair, flowing freely, half-combed,
is the very essence of their beauty on such a small, slender figure.
I am free in the shower. I stay under the spray. I do not want to
leave it. It is warm, womb-enclosing. I laugh as the water hits me. It is
enough. My friends are waiting. Strangers are waiting to have their way
with me.
My arm is taken. I am pulled from the shower by the woman. She
pats me dry, admiring my figure. The maid helps. The woman walks away
briefly, opens a drawer. All is in waiting there. For the bride. A dog
collar is taken from the drawer. Meant for her, perhaps, now for me
instead. The woman takes a second. A spare. His and hers, perhaps.
The woman lifts my chin with her finger. My large blue eyes look
into her dark ones. Softly she buckles the dog collar around my throat.
She has to go to the last hole, my throat is so slim. She checks its
tightness. ÒI am Sylvia,Ó she says to me, my new master, claiming me. A
dog must know its masterÕs voice, and her first name too at least.
ÒIÕm Jennifer,Ó I reply. Have I given consent? I do not want to.
ÒYou are a good girl, Jennifer,Ó the woman replies. ÒAn exceedingly
good girl. You do not deserve what IÕm going to give you. But it is in love
only that I give it. Remember that always. No matter how much it hurts,
remember that I only give it in love.Ó She kisses me. I bite my lip. I do
not know what to say. I am hungry below, my nipples are sticking out
beyond belief. I feel an emptiness and I want it filled. Now. Today. I
wanted the groom but he has spent many times now, I guess, from the
cries of pleasure I hear coming from the bedroom. There are others below.
Unclaimed cocks, I pray. I want one. I would traverse the fires of Hell at
this moment to claim one for myself, to quench the fire within me. Deep
in my womb it burns and no water will put it out. Only male-milk, pumped
deep within by a lusty stallion. I sense the woman will ensure I do not go
without.
The maid is fussy. She is younger than me, less willing. Trembling I
stand in my nudity as Sylvia locks the collar on the maid. It was her last
act with me, padlocking my collar with a tiny silver lock. I desire Sylvia
to be with me. She will protect me in my quest, though she may plunder
me. I cannot go downstairs by myself. The men are huge, big-chested,
though some have more aristocratic proportions. Slimmer in build, they
make up for the loss in increased fire, depravity. I would fall victim to
the first one, be he swaggering workman or slim Dracula. I must let the
woman choose.
A coldness. I am awakened from my thoughts by Sylvia. She is
squirting cold cream onto my injured hinds. Smoothly she rubs it in as I
jerk. ÒThere. You must not be without your protective coating,Ó she says
to me. I wonder if she wanted simply to caress my bottom cheeks again. I
look in the mirror. My ass is shiny. I gasp at the bright swathing marks
emblazoned across it. Here and there, stung by just the tip of the belt,
there are deep red dots. Elsewhere I bear long imprinting strokes, where I
was repeatedly hit in the same place again and again. I am not injured
deeply, though. I sense the marks will quickly fade.
ÒCome, we must show you off downstairs, to let people see what a
good girl youÕve been,Ó Sylvia tells me. My bottom is a trophy. It must be
seen before the marks of my exploits fade. I am to be admired for my
girlish courage. ÒBe proud,Ó she says, lifting my chin for me. ÒYou are not
a child anymore. You are well-formed now, ready for bedroom combat.
Jousting with the male, and serving his wicked pleasures. It is a time of
blossoming. When you are old no one will care for your bottom. It can be
whipped or not whipped, they will not care. If you drop your drawers they
will think you only a crazy old lady. But while you are young, with the
friskiness still in you, or the demureness of maturity, with your bottom
drum-tight or well filled out from additional years, now is the time you
are coveted. Come, I will see that you get the very highest price for your
charms.Ó She placed a hand on my belly. She felt its soft swell. She held
her hand there, as if feeling for a deeper fire. I bent forward, licked up
the length of her arm. I was too hungry for words. I trembled. Were it not
for her I would have gone running home at this moment, I knew, too scared
of myself to stay.
Sylvia went quickly to a closet, returned. Pretty girls only come in
certain sizes. She presented me with shoes, knelt and slipped my feet
into them. Queen Charming with her princess. I hoped for more, panties
perhaps, but none were offered.
ÒYou cannot show off your bottom downstairs with your dress like
that,Ó Sylvia told the maid. Sulkily the maid watched as Sylvia pinned up
her skirt in back. The maid wore no drawers. She was permitted none.
Marla had designed her costume. The maid shifted. She did not want her
bottom bared. She liked her skirt, flapping over her bare hinds, concealing
and revealing them. She did not want to be totally exposed. ÒThe party is
too far progressed for you to stay as you are,Ó Sylvia told her. I felt as if
we were being instructed by an indulgent den mother. She simply told us
the facts, with loving, tender care. GirlsÕ bottoms must be shown at this
hour. ÒYes, and your titties also,Ó Sylvia said to the pouting, restless
maid. Heedless of the consequences, Sylvia unceremoniously ripped the
maidÕs bodice open. The uniform was unusable now, its fabric torn.
Amidst the gaping hole created by SylviaÕs strong, long-nailed fingers
spilled the maidÕs breasts. They were creamy and white. Too big for her
age. Her nipples showed why she stayed. They were stiff as thorns. I
longed to puncture my thumbs on them. Girls feel affection for each other
at moments like this. We were going downstairs, down to the men. We
would go down girls, children really, and return as women. Sylvia would
see to our breaking-in. She would see that it was done properly.
The maid and I exchanged glances. We both gulped. She looked
delightful with her bottom bared in back, and I knew I was a treasure too,
balanced atop my new high heels. We both clenched our asses at the same
time, twin horses, thoroughbreds, awaiting the start of a race. Sylvia
brought leashes, tethered us with them. She drew out the length of them
and turned. I looked down. In a pile on the floor was the white rope that
had secured my neck earlier. Now I was more valuable, deserving an
actual collar and leash. In back my hair was still bound by a second rope,
perhaps to tempt the men downstairs. Suddenly I was yanked. I nearly
lost my balance. Sylvia beckoned with a no-nonsense tug on my leash.
Together with the maid I stumbled from the bathroom, past the rutting
bride, and into the hallway beyond.
Downstairs all was in chaos. MarlaÕs ornate ballroom had been
wrecked. Amidst the confusion of tables and chairs pushed aside, spilled
wine and tossed plates of cake, were the remains of the guests. Many
were naked, others half-clothed. Some writhed in lust still, or perhaps
lust reawakened. Others simply rested, enjoying the spectacle, enjoying
the glowing pleasure of their own spent loins. Into this detritus of a
once-formal party we tread, like little princesses, our sweet bottoms
showing and our breasts bobbing before us, large and apple-round, big as
melons.
I glanced about. All eyes were upon me. I felt like a slave at
auction. Sylvia walked slowly, as if parading me, the maid beside me, as
curious as I was. Perhaps it was her first party. Or perhaps not. We girls
are a curious lot. In any case it was obvious she had not been seen by this
group before. And she, in her shyness, could not have seen too much, I
guessed. I tried to walk with a stately tread, dignified, the lady I soon
hoped to be. Like Sylvia. I tried not to wriggle my bottom about as I
walked, truly tried, but I couldnÕt help myself, it hurt so much. For her
part, the maid rolled her hips salaciously. She was a little girl walking
home from school, newly-learned in the art of rolling about her bottom as
she walked. Making perverts of the men who drove past her. She was
naughty. She wanted to make a spectacle of herself in front of all the
jealous ladies and their husbands.
ÒThey must be whipped,Ó I heard a woman, just spotting us, say to
another, imputing the maidÕs naughtiness to me also.
ÒShe has already been,Ó the other replied, pointing. My bottom,
blazing hot still, wobbled atop my slim thighs as I tread in my pumps.
ÒAh, she got a good one!Ó a voice I could not place.
ÒIt did not help, though,Ó the first woman responded, still hating me.
ÒWhat a lovely pair of arses!Ó A man. He watched as I walked with
jiggling cheeks, my heinie sore, scored. The maidÕs was utterly white,
unblemished, dancing about, inviting attention.
With modest yet inquisitive eyes I evaluated the men. All had
generously proportioned cocks, or they would not have been invited. I felt
a sudden urge to lick all their lollipops, knew they would relish making me
do so. Some stood, masturbating freely as they watched us pass. One in
particular caught my eye. He was young, two older women lying at his
feet, as if passed out from his exertions. He had a strong chest, broad
shoulders. A heavy sac of balls hung under his well-hung cock. He rubbed
himself uncaringly, as if the sperm, shooting out at any moment, would
cost him nothing in terms of his strength.
Sylvia glanced back, followed my gaze. He saw us all admiring him,
blushed, suddenly did not know what to do with his hands. I guessed he
felt himself pledged somehow to the women at his feet. He was too young
to know he could fuck as he wished. Yet he was older than myself, and the
maid, though not older than Sylvia. She eyed his penis. There were no
roundabout methods here. Cocks and cunts were evaluated as frankly as
meat at a market.
ÒThatÕs a lovely pair of girls youÕve got there, maÕam. Or, rather, a
lovely pair of bottoms,Ó the boy/man said by way of introduction. He felt
as free in looking straight at our charms as we did in looking at his.
ÒCome, I must take them downstairs,Ó she said. ÒA cock like yours
just might cum in handy.Ó Her pronunciation left no doubt as to her
intentions. He walked forward, hands batting at his organ, wishing to rub
himself but fearing now to do so, afraid of losing a greater pleasure. He
stopped before Sylvia, let her touch him between his legs where his
scrotum hung down. ÒWe could use the cream in your balls at least,Ó
Sylvia said. She squeezed him. He flinched. ÒTo ease the pain in sore
bottoms.Ó She inspected him for signs of venereal disease. On the spot,
right there, in the middle of the ballroom. ÒYou must wear a condom,Ó she
concluded.
ÒI donÕt have any diseases!Ó the boy/man answered.
ÒI know, I just checked,Ó Sylvia replied. ÒAnd your checkup at the
doctor confirmed it, no doubt, before you were invited here. Still, I will
need you to wear a condom. Not for medical purposes, but to make you last
longer. You will not be allowed to fuck these girls for your own pleasure.
You are being asked to pleasure them. If you wear a condom, you will feel
less sensations when you fuck them. Therefore, your penis will remain
stiffer longer. It is as simple as that.Ó She drew out a condom from her
clothes and rolled it onto him, right there, in the grand party room, as he
stood watching her like a little boy.
ÒAck! I donÕt like this!Ó he said at last. ÒIt feels like its strangling
my dick!Ó
ÒIt is the extra large size, sir,Ó Sylvia replied demurely. ÒI donÕt
make them, you know. HavenÕt you ever worn a condom before?Ó
ÒNo,Ó he replied, matter-of-factly. He was barely out of his teens,
and had not grown into adult precautions yet, though you would not have
known it from the size of his cock, it was so big.
ÒWell, now is the time to learn,Ó Sylvia replied. ÒNow donÕt play
with yourself!Ó She slapped his bottom, loving how his haunches
contorted briefly under her blow. ÒYes! You will not be without a little
training yourself, young man. I will spank you well to teach you not to
frig yourself!Ó
ÒAh, God!Ó He said, a sudden burst of pleasure seizing him. He
grabbed his cock as soon as her hand had left his behind and rubbed
himself anew, up and down the long shaft.
ÒI said no!Ó Sylvia cried, angry now. She gave him more slaps as he
continued to grippingly massage his male organ.
ÒPlease!Ó The maid and I both cried at him suddenly, pleadingly. He
saw the plaintive look in our eyes, the desperation. We wanted him so
badly. He desisted. He dropped his hand. He stood before us, his cock
nervously twitching. His chest heaved. Our breasts rose and fell with our
breath. Sylvia sensed her power slipping away. She yanked our tethers
suddenly, angrily. We tripped forward, almost falling. Suddenly the
boy/man was at our backs, following, a dog in heat. We were the rabbits
again, our bottoms encouraging his pursuit. Sylvia had taken her power
back. Compliantly we followed her. We came to a door. She unlocked it.
A cool wind burst forth from below as she creaked it open. Cobwebs hung
in a corner of the doorÕs entrance, though whether they were real or fake I
could not tell. We were drawn down cellar stairs. Our nipples poked more
stiffly in the chilly air. The boy/man followed, his cock erect, properly
sheathed now, waving like a flag post.
My feet came upon carpeting. It was dark below. Sylvia groped,
found a light switch, even as the boy behind us passed his hands lovingly
over our bottoms. In the sudden light he desisted. The sight before us was
awesome. Machines, obviously designed for torture, stood before us.
There were many of them, as if a Nautilus designer had created a second
line-up, for private use only. They filled the basement. It was a dungeon,
I realized. Marla! How could you? I wanted to run, to hide. There was
nowhere to go, save into the mass of machines. The boy behind us had
unthinkingly closed the door above. IÕd heard it lock, thought nothing of it
at the moment, assuming we were being led downstairs to a den, a
bedroom. We would shoot pool in the nude and make love on the couch
while watching GilliganÕs Island.
ÒDo not be alarmed. They are all for sexual purposes,Ó Sylvia said,
seeing our shocked eyes. Even the boy was shocked. ÒGenital torture,Ó she
added, as if to ease our thoughts. ÒYou know, the cock, the pussy, the
anus, the breasts. They cannot harm you, unless you want them to. If you
want your nipples pierced or your ass branded or a ring put through your
cock, that can of course be done, but I donÕt like such things. Nipple rings,
perhaps, nothing else. Come, letÕs play!Ó With a frankness I couldnÕt help
admiring, she dropped our leashes and began removing her clothes. Her
body held us entranced as she shed her garments. She had full, womanly
breasts, bigger than most womenÕs, the kind men dream of using for
pillows in their sleep. Her shoulders were as slim as her wasp-like
waist, from which perfect hips flared out, to meet finally with leggy
legÕs, modelÕs legs, which she bared for us as easily as if she were about
to go swimming. Yet there was no water here, only torture devices.
ÒGet out of your things, Melissa!Ó Sylvia said with scolding words to
the maid. She advanced on her, naked now, a Vampire with white skin,
smooth skin. She rent open the maidÕs costume and yanked it off her.
Quietly the maid stepped out of her ruined clothes. She could certainly not
pass the dress code at any hotel now! (Save, perhaps, for private parties!)
Amidst my wicked thoughts I found myself suddenly with three other
people, nude as myself. It was wondrous, awesome. We stood about for a
moment, admiring each other, extremely curious, infants at a party of new
moms. At last I walked forward into the dungeon, the others following,
my leash still attached and dangling down between my legs.
My bottom rolling as I walked, I let the cool air of the dungeon wash
over my skin, raise my nipples even higher. I felt perky, alive. I knew I
might at any moment be bound, tied, straight-jacketed. Or perhaps I would
assist in putting someone else into restraints. I relished my freedom,
moving my wrists, feeling the tread of my ankles. I touched a dangling
cuff on an upright rape rack, wondering at whose wrist had been bound
here last. How many girls had been trussed into the wicked straps of the
rack? My fingertip traced the curving wooden bulge in the center of the
rackÕs wooden X. I could easily guess the purpose of the bulge. It was to
elevate the hips, to present the pussy to the master, or the penis to a
marauding mistress.
Sylvia came up behind me. ÒWhat do you think?Ó she asked.
ÒItÕs scary,Ó I breathed. IÕd only been fucked once, by a boyfriend
whoÕd not been too loving. HeÕd expressed his Òin and outÓ urge on me,
gullible me, a naive schoolgirl in the seventh grade. It had been Òhit and
run,Ó and IÕd run after that, until now. Now I felt ready. Sylvia could
sense it. She slipped her fingertip into my bottom. Right into the furrow,
not stopping, not exploring, just thrusting it right in there. I jammed my
cheeks together, a moment too late, trapping her instead of keeping her
out.
I turned my face to her. We gazed at each other a moment. Suddenly
I broke into laughter. It was so silly! She laughed back. My bottom cheeks
eased. She sought lower, found my tiny hole. ÒYou are like a little
rabbit,Ó she told me. ÒYou will be fun to train.Ó
ÒAt least I donÕt need any training,Ó our newly acquired boyfriend
announced. ÒI am a fucking professional.Ó
ÒYoung man, do you think you know all there is about the female
form?Ó Sylvia asked him. Her voice was amused. His face took on an
uncertain look.
ÒWell, IÕve fucked a lot of girls,Ó he said.
ÒWomen?Ó She asked. She was on to something. I admired how she
handled him so expertly. He made me tremble, he was so handsome, but
she managed him as if he were but some boy on a playground.
ÒWell, not too many women,Ó the boy admitted. A boy with a manÕs
chest, a manÕs height, and a manÕs cock.
ÒThen you know nothing,Ó Sylvia said dismissively. She turned back
to me. The boy/man looked downcast. Sylvia sent a ripple of pleasure
through me as she lightly touched my stomach, ran her hand over it. I felt
like she would impregnate me, magically, perhaps with her finger dipping
into my bellybutton. Her other hand kept a finger pressed to my rose.
ÒRelax,Ó she whispered to me. I stood bare skinned, the boy/man and
Melissa watching mutely. I was the star attraction in a play of my own
making. ÒYour heinie is so tense,Ó she breathed. ÒRelax.Ó Gradually I let
my cheeks loosen their hold on her finger. Suddenly the pressure became a
stiff poke and she was up me, her finger inside to the first knuckle.
ÒAckck!Ó I cried out unhappily. She had tricked me! Had I wanted her
to? I did not know. I was as confused as the man/boy with his condom
encased cock, bragging of exploits he might have only had in his dreams.
Sylvia bent low, bit my earlobe. ÒDo you wish to be fucked?Ó she
asked.
ÒNo!Ó I replied. I was honest. For once I was honest. I wanted her
finger out of my bottom. I wanted to run home to mommie.
The boy, inspired, circled around in front of me. His hard cock,
latex-sheathed, aimed at my cunt. He grasped me by my shoulders, turned
me enough so that I could offer my privates to him. I gazed down, his cock
came throbbingly close, a missile aiming at my tight little silo doors. The
head knocked. His knees were bent. He pushed my shoulders back. My
breasts bobbed upwards toward him, pointy-tipped. He pressed his chest
to my clinging breasts. His chest hairs tickled my teats. I wished I could
offer him milk, but instead he was the one delivering milk today. My legs
splayed open. I could not help myself. It was my posture, bent back,
Sylvia probing me from behind. I felt intensely vulnerable. A stranger
was greeting my pussy with his cock and I was unprotected. A girl with
open thighs and no panties is not in a safe situation.
A stab. Right into my tight puss. The boy, still nameless to me,
impelled his shaft within my most secret place. Melissa, watching,
squealed. She clapped her hands to her face. A pre-school girl watching
an impromptu lesson of birds and bees. Up me he went, suddenly. There
were no introductions. No flowers, not even the offer of a date. I felt his
presence drive deeper, higher, right up toward my womb. I tried to clamp
down upon him but it was no use. In back my bottom tightened. Sylvia, her
finger trapped, slapped my still sore cheeks. The stinging made me relent.
Briefly, but enough for her to achieve a higher purchase. Deeper she went
up my nether route even as the man at my front made his rude
acquaintance with me.
I was lost. Somewhere amidst MelissaÕs incessant squealing, I gave
way. Terribly tight IÕm sure to those who would have me, but internally I
relaxed. In my emotions I relaxed. I wanted the nameless stranger now,
sweeping me back, off my feet. And, strangely, I wanted Sylvia too.
Somewhere within me her fingertip massaged Steve through a membrane.
That was his name, I learned later, afterward, as we sat sipping tea,
contemplating further games. Steve, the cock boy, a cocky boy indeed,
fucking me without properly introducing himself. But he had made all the
introductions which mattered now. He thrust himself up to my womb, and
I wanted him there. I began pumping him, clamping down for pleasure, not
to reject him. With my tailor-made route I pumped him, much preferable,
IÕm sure, to the hand heÕd used before. ÔFuckingÕ all his many wonderful
girlfriends who never quite managed to separate themselves from the
pages of Penthouse. Two-dimensional always, until IÕd come along. Ah,
yes, and the women upstairs, women he didnÕt even remember now, when
Sylvia had asked him. They were just women whoÕd walked into his life at
a necessary moment, stripped off his pants and milked him. HeÕd done
them without thinking, a lusty boy, forgetting them now as the real dream
of his life opened before his eyes: me. Someone his age, or close enough.
Someone who reminded him of the girls whoÕd said ÔnoÕ at school, just to
tease him.
At least I imagined him thus. As he fucked me with ever more
skillful strokes I began to question my fantasy of his near-virginity.
Perhaps he needed that condom after all. Perhaps heÕd run through the
cheerleaders at his school like a knife goes through butter, sampling every
new crop of honeypots each year as they matriculated into the ninth grade.
Young girls, wide-eyed, eager to meet the football champ, surprised into
disbelief when he actually asked them out. He paid, of course. Until the
eveningÕs end. Then they simply gave him their panties in return, and the
hymen waiting beneath. An even exchange. Perhaps heÕd collected them
like some men collect butterflies. I did not know, I did not care. He was
in me now and I was near-virgin. He rutted within me expertly, holding
his come, or too stiff to even think yet of shooting it out. IÕd heard of men
like that, so stiff, so tight they couldnÕt come. He seemed to me to be that
way. It wasnÕt control, just hardened youth, as one might say. I breathed
upon his sloping shoulder, his arms gripping my waist, seizing me there.
ÒFucke me,Ó I said, lisping, sighing. I moved my hips as best I could
in time to him. Sylvia helped, tickling his shaft through the slim
membrane that separated my two routes. Suddenly Steve grunted. Her
tickling had got to him. I felt his cock flex. It seemed to expand within
me. I was full, fuller, would he split me? And then a rushing. I regretted
the condom then. I wanted my womb flooded, but there were just spasms.
I rushed to meet him. We danced, standing upright, me bent back a little,
our loins joined. Melissa cried ever louder. She would call the lifeguard
and he would rescue us from our drowning bliss.
I lay on a soft towel later, smiling, feeling quite open below. I
sipped mint tea. My eyes were knowing. A smile was on my lips. There
was no sperm around my cunt, like the first time IÕd been fucked, but no
blood either, no wrecked detritus of the goddess hymen. Just me, open and
quite moist, my bottomhole feeling as violated as my puss.
Melissa lay on a towel of her own. We were elevated above the floor,
on benches. Chains hung above us, unused, perhaps to be played with later.
Nun-like, Melissa lay on her tummy, her ass jutting up in girlish vibrancy,
but her face one of denial. She had her arms beneath her face. She was
pouting. SheÕd asked us to take her back upstairs but weÕd ignored her.
She was being difficult. Her bottom was very white. Perhaps she wanted
it spanked.
Sylvia reclined in a chair nearby. It leaned back, lounge-like, letting
her rest. Like a babe in arms, albeit a very big baby, Steve rested on her
lap. He lay with his back pillowed on her breasts. His hairy legs lay open,
his cock and balls showed themselves to us. There was a male frankness
about him that made my skin tingle in my most intimate places.
Coaxingly, Sylvia played with SteveÕs genitals. He was soft now, his
balls empty, lax. She touched him like some errant schoolmarm, playing
naughty after-school games with a favorite pupil. Suddenly he responded.
Not a muscle on his body moved, save his cock, which rose quite
unexpectedly to a state of partial erectness.
Melissa drew in her breath. Her hands slipped out from under her
face and she eased them down alongside her thighs. If she didnÕt know
what she was thinking, I did. I let my thighs open more widely, offering
my secret charms to Steve again if he would have me.
ÒOh, my,Ó Sylvia teased Steve. ÒI thought you were a girl for a while
there, but I see youÕve got something that makes that quite impossible.Ó
ÒYeah, and it will be jammed in your mouth if you donÕt shut up,Ó
Steve replied.
ÒMmmm, I am hungry for a nice hotdog, especially the extra long
kind,Ó Sylvia replied. They were challenging each other, parlaying. He no
longer wore a condom. His cock was fully visible, growing more erect
every second. I traced the pulsing veins along his shaft with my eyes.
Suddenly we heard a creaking sound. Melissa looked up, scared. She
did not take her hands away from her thighs but she lifted her chin. A
rabbit, a fawn. The hunter was coming. I turned, rose on my side, then
eased myself onto my belly. At least I could hide my breasts, my pussy,
from prying eyes. My bottom, though, was helpless. I would look foolish
putting my hands over it. I would tempt them to spank me. I did not think
to rise up and wrap the towel around me. We were erotic, we wanted
friends, we did not care who they were. Or did we? My emotions rushed
through me. I was sensual, I was Eve.
Downstairs came a heavy tread. It was a man. Then two. Then a
third. Across the room they came, fully dressed, in stylish casual work
clothes, not formalwear. They had not been at the earlier party, had not
see me jump out of my cake. Melissa had not served them as maid.
Eddie Bauer catalog-hunks, studmuffins, they approached. Arriving
at us they looked down, at me, Melissa, as if regarding poached game.
They looked at Steve and laughed at his cock. It was stiff, exposed.
Sylvia had placed her hands on the insides of his thighs and was
deliberately holding his thighs apart. She smiled at the men. They smiled
at her, as if they were former lovers, all.
A man reached down, grabbed SteveÕs cock, roughly, uncaring. He
was a policeman and Steve the strip-searched prisoner. No drugs here,
sir, in this little pee hole, at least I hope not! WeÕll have to see, son, this
will hurt you more than it does me ha! ha!
A slap on my bottom. Hard, making my heinie tingle, blush with new
redness. Not from modesty but from the hardness of the slap. His
calloused palm engulfed my ass completely as it came down, or so it felt.
MelissaÕs little ass is whacked too, making her scream. We are truly
frightened now. I am no longer debating running home in the back of my
mind. It is front and center as I am pulled up from the softness of my
towel, losing my protection. My breasts, my pussy, are examined with
covetous eyes.
ÒThey will do.Ó That is all that is said. Nothing more, nothing
complimentary, not even ÒWhat a great ass!Ó Just Òthey will do,Ó as if we
are furniture. I long for southern gentility, for white gloved Citadel men
who know how to woo a lady (or claim they do). I long for lusty men and
boy/men who know how to compliment a girl on her bare white ass, icing
covered. But instead Òthey will doÓ is my only compliment. Hard,
emotionless. I try to savor it and find myself excited by its remoteness.
Is this some new game? An accident? They push us forward, all bare and
wriggly, stumbling on our heels, still wearing our collars. I think they are
going to rape us here but they shove us on toward the stairs. Soon we are
mounting them, step by step, hastily, fearing to fall as they urge us
higher.
30
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