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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BOTTOMS IN BONDAGE
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Chapter Five
When we got inside, the phone was ringing. SandraÕs husband went
to fetch it, an annoyed look on his face. He shot a glance at his wife.
ÒI thought our new number was unlisted,Ó he glared at her, reaching
for the phone.
ÒIt is, dear. It is,Ó she replied, flustered. Absently she toyed with
her long mane of hair. It was a rare moment of marital concord on a night
full of endless domination and submission games.
ÒLook here, this is an unlisted number!Ó SandraÕs husband barked into
the receiver. The rest of us fidgeted, flirted. Gradually it dawned on us
that SandraÕs husband was just listening, not speaking. Then we saw that
his face had grown pale.
Uneasily, realizing that something serious must have developed, we
stood and watched him, silently. Hot cunts and dripping penises throbbed
on the summer night air, yet were were momentarily oblivious.
Slowly, the face of SandraÕs husband brightened. A wave of relief
rippled, eddied amongst us. And then he put down the phone. He looked
right at me.
ÒOur guest here, Little Miss Wanted, has brought us a problem,Ó
SandraÕs husband said. ÒShe was spotted outside on the porch.
Specifically, on the potty. By a police helicopter.Ó A gasp. I wanted to
melt into the floor. The other girls, the men, all of us felt absolutely
plunged into the depths of humiliation. For if I had been seen, we all had
been seen. Our big bottoms, our girlish heinies, our flying boobs as we
dashed about, and the men with their ram-rod stiff cocks, their seed
choked back by the wicked rings. ÒDonÕt worry, though,Ó SandraÕs husband
continued. ÒThe cops who spotted us are cool. Two are men, and three are
women. Two of the women are Òbi,Ó you know, bi-sexual. And, watching
us, they realized for the first time that they were all swingers, or
swinger wanna-beÕs. TheyÕre coming here, and theyÕre going to join our
party.Ó
There was a knock at the door. The sound of a nightstick striking
wood. Loud, but not too loud. As if to draw our attention, to demand it,
but avoid attracting others. Quickly Sandra rushed to the door, fluffing
her hair as she went. Her heels clattered loudly. She turned the knob,
opened the door partway. I heard her gasp. Her peeking face and right
bosom greeted the officers. With fearful hands she drew the door back
farther, let them in.
They did not swagger. They were surprisingly lean. Not the typical
donut cops you read about. The women varied; one was aggressive in
demeanor, another less so, a third looked to be a mere trainee. And the
men were spartan, broad-shouldered, one tall and the other moderately so.
I thought they would assemble themselves in the center of the room
and glare us all down but, surprisingly, they glided in more like guests to
a party than officers to an arrest. Sandra, stumbling behind them, did her
best to direct them to a couch and chairs. The trainee wound up sitting on
the aggressive womanÕs lap. There were barely enough seats for everyone.
As for myself and the girls, two of us were standing and two had
floated back over to the little tea table. It was in a corner of the room,
somewhat apart from the living roomÕs center. There, in the main part of
the living room, the men had settled in, each to his own chair. The police
sat just beyond, in a little group, arranged on the far side of an innocuous
coffee table. It had suddenly become a sort of Ògreen lineÓ between the
men and our new guests, though I wondered how long it would remain so.
ÒMay I please get you something?Ó Sandra, flustered beyond belief,
asked our guests. Poor Sandra! Her pretty dress was ruined, ripped open
in front, stained with pre-cum, and worst of all, tucked up in front and in
back. Her lovely bottom wobbled atop her slim legs, all nervous and
shameful. And her pretty bush, so neatly curled, had honey and sperm
squirted upon it. From between her thighs you could catch the scent of a
woman aroused, for she had been brought literally to the brink by the
lickings of myself and Linda, spurred by the belt. And on her tongue,
perhaps, there lingered the slight taste of shit, a memento of her
exploration up LindaÕs ass.
ÒObviously your mommie didnÕt teach you how to dress properly for a
party,Ó the aggressive policewoman said to Sandra. I read the womanÕs
badge. It read, simply, ÒBenton.Ó
One of the two policemen stood. Before Sandra could react he
grabbed her by her slender arms and drew them back. Our hostessÕ boobs
stuck out all the more lewdly, her nipples quaking stiffly before The Law.
ÒHold my jacket,Ó Benton said, whipping it off. She handed it off to
the modest woman who was her partner. The trainee slipped from
BentonÕs lap onto the lap of the other policewoman.
Quick as if she were putting on handcuffs, Benton undid her bra. A
magnificent pair of breasts bounded into view, capped by generous, dollar
sized nipples. Benton yanked off her police cap and pulled down her hair;
then replaced it. I saw that her long, flowing hair was well-cared for,
despite her feminist demeanor. It was glossy and blonde. I wondered if I
would soon be discovering whether it was dyed that way, or natural.
ÒCome here!Ó Benton commanded. Sandra made to comply but was
summarily forced over BentonÕs knees. Obviously this was not going to be
a standing interview.
ÒWhatÕs your name, young lady?Ó Benton demanded.
ÒS-Sandra,Ó our perfect hostess quaked, still trying to be gracious
even as her bottom stuck up into the faces of BentonÕs fellow officers.
SandraÕs fingertips gracefully touched the floor, her head was alert,
uplifted, as if about to answer questions in court about a parking
violation.
ÒWell, ÔSandra,ÕÓ Benton replied, ÒSandra who withholds her last
name and, rumor has it, may have even made it up for purposes of this
party, ÔSandraÕ dear, I believe in Law Enforcement. But our justice system
is broken. I send tarts like you to court and the next thing I know youÕre
out plying your trade again, putting poor men in cock rings and misleading
young girls. ItÕs time you had your fanny warmed by somebody with a
respect for the law!Ó
Benton smiled as she pronounced her sentence. There was
admiration in her eyes for such a fine bottom as SandraÕs.
Our hostess, still pert, looked up and gave Benton a blushing smile.
ÒOh please. I look so silly,Ó she begged, truly hoping to be let off. Her
breasts jiggled haplessly beneath her, ripe fruit at harvest time.
ÒNO!Ó Benton suddenly shouted, slamming her hand down on
mistressÕ pert hiney. For her part, Sandra looked truly shocked. Perhaps
she had been lulled into a false security by the fact that the cops had
entered so peacefully. Now Benton was in charge, and mistress but a
pretty victim.
ÒNO! NO! NO! NO!Ó Benton called aloud, accompanying each mommie-
like injunction with an admonitory slap on SandraÕs bare heinie.
ÒOh, Boo! Hoo! Hoo!Ó Sandra blubbered, truly crying, so shocked was
she by the sudden deprivation of her mistress status. Her breasts swung
like fruit in a storm, her rapidly reddening bottom heaved. Her legs kicked
and flailed, forcing the other cops to duck and retreat, lest they meet
unexpectedly with SandraÕs spiked heels.
ÒNO! NO! NO!Ó Benton yelled rhythmically now, giving her all to
SandraÕs bottom. I admired, shiveringly, how thoroughly and unflinchingly
she beat her. SandraÕs ass was wonderfully soft, but it was firm too, and
BentonÕs hand was bound to sting as it rebounded from such a youthfully
moulded surface. A wifeÕs ass, surely, but one that had yet to swell with
the bearing of young or sag with the onset of age.
ÒOhhhh, I think I got as good as I gave,Ó Benton said a few minutes
later, shaking her hand to and fro, confirming my thoughts. Below her,
sprawled over her knees, her dress more ripped than ever, Sandra bawled.
Her twistings upon BentonÕs knees ceased, her legs fell defeatedly to the
floor. Her breasts hung loosely, their swollen gourd-heavy shapes
juddering into stillness. Relative stillness, for Sandra cried and cried and
her every sob and hiccup brought new life to her luscious boobs.
ÒNow stand up! Straighten that dress! And bring me a Bloody Mary!Ó
Benton ordered our hostess.
With the help of the cop whoÕd put her over, Sandra stood. Her eyes
were bleared with tears and her hair, from all her flailing, was a
shambles. Sandra wiped her cheeks, tugged at the curled hem of her
turned-up dress, careful not to lower it lest the hiding of her bush bring
on some new punishment.
ÒHurry, young lady! IÕve got a beat to patrol, children to protect!Ó
Benton glared up at Sandra, a smirk touching her lips as she mentioned
kids. Unexpectedly, Sandra leaned forward and pecked a kiss on BentonÕs
lips. Her enchanting bottom presented itself anew to our view, the fig
peeping, her back bent low and her bottom offered up to us all. It was
bright red from its punishment.
ÒIÕve never felt so totally dominated, even by my husband,Ó Sandra
marveled. ÒThank you.Ó She rose, curtseyed as best anyone could with a
flaming bottom, and left her new mistress to fetch her a drink.
I sensed a new awareness in Sandra as she crossed the room. She
was victim, yet somehow in control. All eyes were pasted on her ass and,
flicking from there, on her lovely hair or her pretty long legs. She was
Exhibit A, and for the moment there was no B.
Sandra worked quickly, efficiently at the little wet bar near our tea
table, and hurried back to her mistress, still stirring the drink as she
walked. It was as if she didnÕt want to linger lest some other woman take
center stage.
ÒHere it is, maÕam,Ó Sandra announced, presenting the drink to her
mistress with a slight, stiff bow of her figure, her trim legs pressed
neatly together, her countenance one of absolute desire to please.
Mistress/Benton sipped. She considered. Then she looked up at
Sandra and flung the drink into her face.
ÒOh!Ó Sandra gasped. In a mirror I saw her drenched face, horrified,
her mouth open and her eyes agape. A slice of lemon had travelled along
with the drinkÕs contents and somehow managed to get caught in her hair.
It dropped out, hit her nose, and plopped onto her heavy breasts. In her
hand Benton held the now empty glass, and in her other hand still held
aloft the little parasol that Sandra had so neatly placed in the drink.
ÒYou are a disgrace!Ó Benton admonished Sandra. She smiled a bit,
betraying her glee at finding such a professedly incompetent barmaid. But
Sandra had truly not expected this new debasement. Only slowly did she
come out of her shock. She tugged at a few strands of her hair, wet and
bedraggled where it fell round her face. She adjusted her dress where it
wrapped her ribs, just below her bare bosoms. If any hostess had
proceeded from utter decorum to the abyss of unkemptness, it was Sandra.
Yet her stockings held tight to her thighs, one still prettily lowered down
a little below the other, offering more leg.
ÒWhere are your panties?Ó Benton asked Sandra sternly. ÒDid you
take them off, or did you never put any on in the first place?Ó
ÒI-IÓ Sandra almost appeared unwilling to answer. ÒI didnÕt put any
on in the first place,Ó she admitted at last.
ÒWhat! You host a party in a short dress like that, and you donÕt even
have the decency to wear panties?Ó Officer Benton cried. ÒThis is a
matter of utmost importance, this flaunting of morality. Far more
important than some runaway girl whoÕs probably in for a good spanking
from the man who took her.Ó She flashed a glance at me, gazed round at
the men, not knowing which cocky Adonis had stole me.
And the men, for their part, all nodded, as if hoping to receive
special treatment from Benton for some part in the crime. We were safe
here, I thought, in our wantonness. There would be no telling because all
would be part of it.
Mistress Benton had pillows removed from the couch, for placement
on the coffee table. Sandra was laid down upon it. One pillow went under
her head. The other went under her hips. Her hands were lifted and
prettily cuffed beside her face. Each was cuffed to a separate leg of the
table, one on either side of her face. As for her legs, they hung free for a
moment. Sandra let them part in a sweet wide vee, her pussy offered atop
the cushion below her ass. Sandra neither struggled nor complained. It
was as if she desired the spotlight of all our eyes more than the freedom
letting go of it would give her. She would suffer for our admiration.
A ball gag was brought out. BentonÕs own gag, fetched from her
pocket. ÒI save this for my special prisoners,Ó Mistress B purred. Sandra
twisted her face to and fro a little, resisting, but like a semi-willing
child at the dentist finally let the gag between her lips. When Benton
withdrew her hands Sandra gawped at us with what looked like a huge
cherry stuck in her mouth. Her delicate frame trembled, a shiver passing
down the entire length of it, as if she herself dared not contemplate what
awful erotic torments lay ahead.
ÒAh, the nipples,Ó Mistress B said with wicked admiration, producing
a heartfelt wrench of fear in her bound victim. No...Please... I could
almost hear Sandra say, her words softly muffled by her gag. Mistress B
cupped SandraÕs lovely, swelling mammaries, tickling the stiff buds atop
them with a sharp fingernail. ÒWe must fit them with clear cups, to show
such sweet teats off to their best advantage.Ó Sandra shook her head no,
looked to her husband for his disapproval, but he said nothing. Mistress B
bent low. ÒI must lick them so they are nice and wet and can ensure a
good seal,Ó she said, a doctor advising a most penitent patient.
Sandra shivered, her head falling momentarily back as Mistress BÕs
tongue touched her nipple. Then Sandra lifted her eyes to watch as her
nipples were tongued for the cups. Just beyond, fetched from a pocket, the
second patrolwoman dangled a pair of little clear suction cups. They had a
bit of rubber tubing at each of their pointed tips, where air could be
withdrawn from them.
Shuddering, Sandra watched as her breastsÕ uppermost points
became wet with gleaming saliva. Then, carefully but with a certain
deliberate roughness, Mistress B fitted on each cup, forcing a wedge of
nipple and surrounding breast up into it. The extruded breasts, trapped
within the cups, made Sandra look weirdly erotic, as if her breasts had
given an extra little push to her nipples to highlight their beauty.
Both cups fitted, Mistress B smilingly placed her lips to each stem
of tubing and sucked out all the air in each cup. Then the tubing was
clamped. Each clamp at the end of each tube was connected to a little
chain that hung between the tubes. It was made of tiny connected bells,
and they rang whenever SandraÕs boobs gave the slightest shiver.
Mistress B knelt at the end of the table and tongued SandraÕs slit.
ÒMmm, honey and sperm, a nice combination,Ó Mistress B said, tasting the
remnants of earlier games. ÒYou shall have cream up here before the night
is through, young lady, delivered through a cock I keep in my vest pocket
for just such a purpose.Ó Sandra flexed her thighs, as if inviting the
violation. Mistress B lifted each of her ankles, placed her spike-heeled
feet flat on the table. ÒSuch slim ankles, they shall have to be cuffed
sometime, right here perhaps, right on this table.Ó Mistress B gloated.
Sandra watched her from beyond her heaving, tortured chest, wanting only
to please.
ÒUndo her! Undress yourselves!Ó Mistress B ordered her troops. ÒWe
shall stay the night and teach these civilians proper behavior. But keep
your belts on. We must be ready for any contingency. Anyone who takes
theirs off will have their badge pinned to a nipple!
With a bit of bustling and unceremoniousness the five police
officers shedded their duty attire. At length only their utility belts
remained, though by the size of the cocks the two males presented I knew
no woman would refuse them submission.
Sandra was uncuffed and raised from the table. Unsteadily she took
to the floor, gazing down to admire the awful sight of her poor nipples
stuck up inside the clear glass cups. ÒServe us!Ó Mistress B commanded,
picking a discarded newspaper from the floor and giving SandraÕs bottom a
vigorous swat. Sandra, straightening her hair as best she could, her back
turned, gave a little yelp. She spun about on her heels, still wearing her
gag.
ÒGod, if only weÕd had her serve us like that at football games,Ó one
of the friends of SandraÕs husband remarked.
ÒWe should have invited a lesbian to supervise her,Ó SandraÕs
husband replied.
ÒAnd to think we always said such bad things about them,Ó a man
remarked wistfully.
ÒIÕll have you know IÕm bi, gentlemen,Ó Mistress B announced to the
men, eyeing their cock-ringed organs, stiffly presented. ÒYou will find out
on this night yourselves the importance of that distinction.Ó She smiled.
ÒI hope, for your sakes, that you can claim ÔDisability of the PenisÕ as an
exemption under WorkmenÕs Compensation. For you wonÕt be using yours
for many days, I assure you, if I have my way. YouÕll be lying around like
newly-circumcised men, unable to move. At least when you call in sick
you can just tell your boss I whacked off your penis, unlike a certain Miss
who cut off her husbandÕs.Ó The men, hearing this lecture, didnÕt know
whether to laugh or tremble. They were, after all, in desperate need of
whacking off, but what Mistress B promised seem to go far beyond even a
pubescent boyÕs lusty needs.
ÒThe only thing you lack now is a butt plug, my dear,Ó Mistress B
announced grandly to Sandra. Our hostess had, unwisely, remained by
Mistress B, fretting over her ruined party dress. With glee Mistress B
swiftly upended her, forcing her head down to greet her new shoes. They
alone, with their pretty pink ankle ties, remained the only unsoiled item
on her. And her stockings, which had magically survived so far without
runs or staining.
ÒOh!Ó would have popped most assuredly from SandraÕs mouth, but
the ball gag blocked it as Mistress B prised her hiney open. In went a plug,
small but effective, and Sandra jerked her back as it shoved home, lifting
her head in alarm but leaving her shoulders at the height of her knees. She
was a most marvelous victim, resistant yet somehow compliant, a far cry
from Linda who struggled and strove at every turn. It was the difference
between a young girl and a young married wife. Linda was still skittish
and unsure. Sandra was delicate, yet strong, well formed and full grown,
ready for marital jousting. Like any young woman, her main role in this
stage of her life was to be fucked...nothing more, nothing less. Childish
things had been put away, a mate had been selected. She was, one hoped,
still a few years away from child rearing and the duties of being a mom.
She was in the honeymoon years of her life, giving pleasure to her new
husband and receiving him within her in return. She accepted her fate and
did her best to perform her duties to the highest, most admirable
standards.
ÒRise! You remind me of a bitch in heat, bent over like that,Ó
Mistress B ordered. ÒServe your husband and his friends whatever drinks
they wish. And cut them with plenty of cola. They will need all the
energy they can get when I turn to policing their genitals.
Wobbling atop her stilted heels, their points sounding sharply
against the floor, Sandra left Mistress B on her newly appointed rounds. I
pitied Sandra, with her awkward gait, made so by the butt plug, with her
earnest eyes and her popped-open mouth. Her hair was a wreck, her dress
torn and stained, her bush showed signs of erotic wetness and games
played hours ago. Yet she struggled valiantly on, somehow graceful
despite her degradation, a mistress turned victim par excellence. I think I
have never seen a braver, more devoted slave before or since.
Sandra took a little scratch pad and pencil from the bar. Her knees
trembling, she stepped with clicking, unsteady heels over to the four men
arranged round her husband. She was a 50Õs hamburger stand girl, come to
life in some wildly postmodern male fantasy.
The men ordered, gruffly, and Sandra dutifully wrote down all they
said. Then she stumbled back to the bar and began mixing drinks. Even
now she tried to maintain a sense of decorum, mixing each drink carefully
and slicing up little lemons and limes to decorate them.
Traipsing back to the men, her boobies jangling the little decorative
bells that swung between them, she bent low and offered the drinks on a
silver tray. Her bottom jutted out behind her, still red from its
smackings, as she dipped properly before each man.
ÒTurn around,Ó her husband commanded at last, when all the drinks
had been delivered. Sandra obeyed, showing her husband her bottom.
ÒDoes it still hurt from being spanked?Ó he asked her. She nodded
silently, vigorously.
ÒGood. Alcohol always gives a little extra sting,Ó he replied. He
splashed the contents of his drink directly on her ass. Sandra lurched, for
as I watched her mix the drinks IÕd noted that sheÕd made them of straight
vodka, or gin, with no soda at all. Perhaps sheÕd hoped to put the men to
sleep so Mistress B couldnÕt have them.
While she was still recovering from the first assault, a second man
rose and threw his drink in her face. A third splashed her bosoms, as did a
forth. A fifth, sadistically perhaps, cast his on her belly, drenching her
dress.
ÒThe rule is that the party is over when the hostess is totally
trashed,Ó a man laughed, and indeed there was nothing left of ours.
SandraÕs hair was disheveled beyond repair. Her face and bosoms dripped
alcohol, her dress was ripped and what little remained clung wetly to her
ribs. Sadistically, a man took the little plastic sword that had come with
his drink and began cutting runs in SandraÕs silk stockings as she stood
bare-assed and bare-faced before them, her head hung so low her hair
shrouded her countenance. She had been made, I realized, to be broken.
The whole game had revolved around her state of dress and undress and
finally her utter defilement. Her husband removed her butt plug and
shoved his face up into her ass, rending the cheeks of her hiney with his
gripping palms. Sandra, forced to bend forward by the sheer enormity of
the pressure invading her rear, unwillingly offered her breast-fruit to her
husbandÕs cronies. Two men eagerly grabbed at her and began licking her
boobs, finally releasing the tips from the cups and gorging themselves on
the highly sensitized flesh that popped out. A fourth man, drawn by the
lure of her pussy, knelt between her stiff, parted legs and shoved his
tongue up her twat. Sandra cried within her gag, her eyes popping wide as
her mouth. Lastly, a fifth miscreant, just to make sure that the party was
indeed over, uncorked a bottle of champagne and liberally doused her over
the head with it.
30
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