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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
Bred to the Whip
My daughter was at that age where she was both innocent and
depraved. I learned this one day passing through the gate into the garden.
It was a sunny day, bright, full of the promise of spring. The first flowers
were budding, the bees hurrying from one to another, accompanied by
birdsong.
My first reaction, on seeing my daughter Elsie, was horror. There
was a man. He was our gardener. I suppose he was not more than 25 but
to my mind he was far older than my daughter, who had just turned 14 two
weeks earlier. As I came through the gate, walking briefly under its vine-
cloaked shade, I brushed aside the tendrils of down-hanging vines. The
new growth of spring had made them longer, hanging down from the iron
archway that curved up over the gate. I guess they heard my hand on the
vines: a gentle rustling, inaudible save for those with their minds set on
sin.
There they were. My daughterÕs fine Sunday dress was undone, the
one that IÕd bought her for her birthday. Amidst the pink ribbons and lace,
now pulled apart, her breasts showed: perfect white melons sporting
thorn-rigid nipples. His fly was open. Her hand was on his cock, a big
sturdy member, pulsing with a shaft of sunlight illuminating its length
where my daughterÕs small fist was not gripping it. As for himself, his
hands were hurriedly trying to repair the front of her dress, even as she
tried to wedge his big manly cock back into his pants.
I had caught them. As I let out a scream, watching them try to
repair their clothes, my sister appeared behind me. She is a decade
younger than me. Mature, but still with the bounce of youth in her, and
much else, as I was soon to learn. She let out a laugh. I turned. I regarded
her with my terror, as Elsie and the gardener continued to try to make
themselves decent.
We were late to church that Sunday. The gardener came with us, as
he had recently made a habit of doing, ever since IÕd come to visit my
younger sister. We sat in the car, the driver taking us, myself and my
sister and, beside her, too frightened perhaps to sit next to me, the
gardener and Elsie, sitting side-by-side, their clothes together once more,
their faces solemn, their hands in their laps. I did not look at them,
looking, instead, up over their heads, at the passing scenery. Or at least it
seemed that way. In fact I was aware of every twitch of their bodies,
every sidelong glance, every small shudder. They were no doubt similarly
aware of me: but their eyes, drilling into my chest, made a pretense of
being vacant; occupied, they would no doubt have me believe, with
thoughts of the holiest nature.
At church I strove to forget the incident in the garden. Of course
that simply made me remember it all the more vividly. I sang the hymns
with an awkward loudness; my sister, leaning close to me during one of
them, startled me.
ÒThey must be put to it,Ó she said, matter-of-factly, my own voice
half-drowning out her words.
ÒWhat?Ó I exclaimed, breaking off my singing.
ÒThey must be put to it,Ó she said. ÒBoth of them. Your daughter,
especially.Ó With a wan smile she added, ÒDo you think her interests are
still confined to her Barbies in the nursery?Ó
Well, of course they were not. The morning had proved that. But I
frowned at my sister and refused to reply, singing once more, even louder,
so that she turned red with embarrassment at the fool I was making of
myself.
That evening, as I sat by the fire in my sisterÕs living room,
watching the flames and thinking still of the morning, my daughter safely
(or so I hoped) in bed upstairs, Vanessa came into the room. She is my
sister, 23, blonde. She is better-looking than I, and, accordingly, she was
the recipient of a larger share of lifeÕs opportunites, which I had only
recently, since my divorce from my husband, begun to know about.
ÒThey must be put to it,Ó Vanessa said to me again, as she had said
to me during church. I looked up. I could not find sanctuary in singing this
time. God knows, I would wake my daughter, if she was indeed asleep in
her bed, and who could say what she would be up to then?
I looked at my sister. She looked at me. I remembered the party she
had taken me to last weekend. As it turned out, ÒpartyÓ was too decent a
word for it. It was an orgy, plain and simple, my first since the heady
days of high-school when I had let my inhibitions slip away, along with my
virginity, and had briefly run wild. Unlike the hot, hasty celebrations of
my youth, however, this had been a carefully arranged, even choreographed
encounter. The men arrived wearing suits and ties, we women wore
evening gowns. For the first hour or so it seemed as if nothing might
happen, so much so that I became somewhat agitated, having had nothing
since my husband and I had broken up a month earlier. And then, as a well-
built but seemingly boring man of my age led me by the elbow into an
interior room, suddenly I saw that the eveningÕs promise would in fact
materialize. In this room, unlike the room where IÕd chatted and munched
canapes, sipping fine wine and wondering when a man might make a
definite pass at me, there was no furniture. Instead there were rubber
mats, spread across the floor, the room barren except for them, and a
polished wooden Òtoy boxÓ sitting at the far end of the expanse of rubber.
I gasped. He chuckled. With aplomb he asked me if he might loosen my
dress. I told him it was fine but already his hand was trailing down my
back, my gownÕs zipper caught deftly between his fingers. I heard my
sister laugh nearby: her gown was being undone even as I was relieved of
my own. There were others, a dozen in all, and I found myself in the midst
of undressing men and women, all of them casually smiling and laughing,
taking in this turn of events as simply as if we might have been
undressing for a swim. Someone, relieved of her gown and heels, went
across the rubber to the Òtoy boxÓ. I did not know its name then, thinking
it some odd chest left in the room by accident. However as soon as it was
opened I gasped. The woman, bending down, her naked breasts quivering,
her bottom mooning us all, pulled out a dildo. It was big; bigger even than
the randy cock my squire was now pressing into my nervous hands.
ÒWho will have it first up her bottom?Ó the woman with the dildo
asked, holding it as she reached down again to take out a large squirt-
bottle from the chest. It was lubricant; my sister pushed me forward,
even as I now gripped the penis of my squire in a desperate attempt to
keep from being moved toward the Òtoy chest.Ó
ÒYes!Ó a woman agreed. ÒShe is new.Ó To this day I donÕt know who
said that. But my sister pushed me out from the group even more, as I
struggled to stay buried in the midst of it, holding my lover-to-beÕs penis
as if it were a life raft.
ÒShe is new,Ó a man agreed. An woman, older than myself, hove into
view at that moment. Her breasts were large, imposing, larger even than
my own and my sisterÕs. As I clutched my manly hostÕs penis she
explained to me that it was their custom that, before the fesitivies on the
mats began, I should be first. ÒTaking, however,Ó she told me, her breasts
wobbling with each of her breaths as she spoke, Òit up your bottom.Ó
And so it was, after much hesitation on my part. I found myself on
my hands and knees, next to the Òtoy chest.Ó A box of kleenex waited
helpfully next to my rear for the moment when the cock would be
withdrawn. As my sister spoke coaxing words in my ear, the woman who
had fetched the dildo inserted the nozzle of the lubricant bottle in my ass.
Its contents were cold. I screamed. The others, watching, laughed. We all
knew I would be feeling much more than liquid cream in my ass in a few
moments. Well-prepared, they put it to me then, to much gasping and
groaning on my part, as well as uncounted, sudden open-mouthed screams.
I was not used to having it up my ass. They knew the mundacity to which
marital sex often succumbs and so were delighted at my unfamiliarity
with the route. Hands played on my nipples, fingers coaxed at my cunt to
keep me excited, yet they also, wickedly, were judicious in their touch. I
was told I had to earn my reward, my first orgasm of the night, by first
taking the fake cock all they way up inside me, in my upturned behind.
I looked at my sister now, in the living room, the fire playing across
our faces as I remembered, the week before, that awful intruder probing
deep inside me. Her lips parted in a smile and she said again,
ÒThey must be put to it.Ó
ÒAt an orgy?Ó I replied in a frightened voice.
ÒYes. It would be best that way,Ó my sister answered.
ÒMy daughter would no longer be a virgin,Ó I said.
ÒIs she now?Ó
ÒYes,Ó I said, hastily, but wondering if it were true.
ÒShe can have it in her behind first, as you did,Ó Vanessa said to me.
ÒNo!Ó I cried. I stood up abruptly. My sister walked up to me and
reached out and ran her fingers through my hair. I tried to back up but the
fire was behind me now. I could feel its warmth on my legs, on my butt,
beneath the thin robe I wore.
ÒI will handle everything,Ó my sister assured me. ÒYou need not be
present. She will even have a brief whipping for her misbehavior, as will
he.Ó
ÒHe will be there too?Ó I blurted.
ÒAs a penitent, as she will be,Ó my sister said. I imagined then the
gardener, his cock out, his member pulsing hard, as a whip struck his
behind. It caused my hand, involuntarily, to stray down my belly to my
bush. I realized it and was about to lift my hand when my sisterÕs hand,
the one that was not stroking my hair, placed itself over mine, over my
wettening cunt.
ÒNext saturday,Ó my sister whispered. ÒShe will be brought to it
slowly, carefully, with her bottom taken first, after a loving but strict
taste of the whip. And he also,Ó she said.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed, but my sister had moved my hand more deeply into
my cleft, pressing two of my fingers tightly within the lips of my cunt,
the warmth of her own fingers against the backs of mine.
ÒYour marriage is over. Elsie is growing,Ó my sister told me. ÒDo
not resist. Accept.Ó With that she began to rub, lightly, sliding her
fingers as well as my own up and down within my pussy.
ÒNo!Ó I gasped. My neck strained, but I could not withdraw my hand.
I did not want to.Ó
ÒSee that your daughter remains chaste until the weekend,Ó my
sister told me after making me spend on myself. I nodded. I was abject in
nodding. She smiled. Her fingers were wet with my dew. She lifted them
to her face and let the odor of them invade her nostrils. ÒYou are still
young,Ó she assured me. ÒDonÕt let the years pass away as your husband
would have them, barren and unloved.Ó
Keeping my daugher out of mischief until the weekend was a chore.
It annoyed her, it annoyed me. Vanessa had a long talk with the gardener
but it did little good. He was polite but undissuaded, she told me. He was
exercising his rights, as he saw them, and except for a kind of innocent
bashfulness, he did not like us interfering. I do not know how he made it
all the way to 25 without experience of women. Some odd family
circumstances, perhaps. He was a strapping young man, a fine build, right
down to his member, which he was eager to share with my daughter. For
her part she had the same slight inhibition as he, but the same
determination as well. It was only a matter of time before the two of
them would get together. I resolved, seeing how they could not be kept
apart for long, that they should pay for their misbehavior in the garden.
ÒA whip for them both,Ó I muttered to my sister tuesday afternoon,
after finding them both in the garden again, kissing, but with their hands
outside their clothes this time.
ÒYes,Ó Vanessa said. ÒYou must exercise your final rights as a
mother, for their disobedience. But it will be done artfully, so that Elsie
is coaxed forward, rather than being beaten back down into immaturity.
She will be the better for it, afterward, and you can breathe easier,
knowing that you can finally let go, without having been humiliated by
their trysting.Ó
The weekend came. I left to visit an aunt. My sister invited Elsie
and Greg, the gardener, to an evening soiree. It would take place at a
mansion in the countryside. My daughter, sensing the possibility of
mischief, readily agreed.
The gardener was picked up early saturday morning by a couple. My
daughter was still in bed, she did not see him leave. For his part he was
unawares of what would happen. When he arrived at the mansion, about an
hour later, the couple took him upstairs. There he was escorted into a
bathroom, the journey having been just long enough, and his leaving from
my sisterÕs abrupt enough, that his bladder was full. To his surprise the
woman and man both came into the restroom with him. When he asked for
a moment of privacy it was refused. The woman unzipped him. She
watched his fine member as it relieved itself in the toilet.
ÒIs that all you have to give?Ó the woman asked our gardener,
according to my sister, when he had finished.
ÒNo,Ó the gardener gasped. The woman laughed. She told him to
undress; he would be giving much more before the day was through.
As for my sister, she was not present. She was still back at her
house with my daughter. When the gardener had been gotten safely away
she woke my daughter. There, in the early morning, brushing her long hair
as she spoke to her, which was blonde like her own, she explained what
the day would bring. They sat on my daughterÕs bed together. My sister
said my daugher became apprehensive as the coming festivities were
explained to her. Yet, when given the opportunity to refuse, she did not.
Well before lunch, my sister left with my daughter for the mansion. Upon
arriving, they were both whisked upstairs. There Elsie was encouraged to
undress and, once naked, she was made up like a young queen. The girls
who made her up were older than her, college girls and young wives. Elsie
stared at them somewhat gawkily, my sister said, surprised and yet
delighted to find that at last her erotic intentions were being validated.
Meanwhile, her lover, in a bedroom well away from where my
daughter was being made up, was having his own lusts attended to. He
was required to bathe, his big cock sticking up out of the bathwater as the
couple, supervising him, watched from outside the tub. He was told not to
hurry; to take his time. He was painfully hard but the man, taking a whip
from the cabinet under the bathroom sink, made it clear to him that
disobedience would be punished. The gardener, despite being a big
strapping fellow, was sexually innocent. And so he did as he was told,
enduring his erection, scrubbing himself with the slowness that the
couple told him was necessary, paying particular attention to his dick and
balls, arousing himself with the washcloth, as they required of him.
Afterward, after a naked lunch in a bedroom, the couple had the young man
stand up and they made dessert of his penis. Still dressed, as he stood
nude before them, they sprayed his cock with whipped cream. They doused
it with chocolate syrup. And then, as the woman licked the GregÕs shaft
clean, leaving cream just at the crown of his cock, the man whipped our
lusty gardener. He told him he was doing it on my behalf, even though I
was not even present, that he must take his punishment for dallying with
my daughter.
Meanwhile, my daughter, being made up, was taken downstairs. She
was received by men and women, all together in a group, many of them (as
my sister told me later) the same ones who had found me so entertaining
the week before. My daughter was put on a rolling tray, the kind used to
serve meals in a restaurant. Helpfully her hands were tied down to the
front edge of the tray. Her legs were left free. Then her behind was
decorated. Whipped cream and chocolate syrup, squirted up the sweet
length of her bottom crack as her hips ground anxiously against the table.
Next, whips were passed out. The women were naked like my daughter, the
men, sitting down, were still clothed, but playing eagerly with their flies.
Standing over my daugher, holding whips in their hands but not using them
yet, the women licked my daughterÕs behind clean. Some of the cream and
syrup inevitably trickled down into my daugherÕs snatch; the women licked
this clean as well, all the while holding their whips aloft, waiting for the
moment when my daughter, thus prepared, aroused but not fulfilled, her
bottom clean once more, would taste the leather.
And then she did! She was tied to the table and so could not get up
to escape it. Her legs kicked but she was only 14, and the women,
arranged along the sides of the table, were mostly out of range of her feet.
My daughter, even in her distress, had the good sense not to strike them as
she might have, scissoring her legs mostly up and down in her distress,
and in erotic anticipation as well, as her bottom was flayed. When it was
done, when the punishment had been delivered, my daughter suffered the
intrusion of a dildo into her ass. It was a small Ôtraining dildoÕ; my sister
saw that it opened her without being cruel. And then Greg, who had
somehow managed to survive his dual licking upstairs without spending
himself, was brought down. My daughter, in violation of my wishes, was
rolled over. As she cried out at the touch of her bottom against the table,
she saw Greg. His own ass was inflamed and as a result he stuck himself
out all the more, presenting his still-randy member to her eyes. My
daughterÕs hands were untied. Quickly she slipped herself down off the
table, my sister holding it as she did so to keep the wheeled-table from
rolling injudiciously out from under her, so that she might not fall off it.
When my daughterÕs feet hit the floor she advanced to Greg, and he came to
her. In their embrace the last bit of cream, that left on his crown, was
smeared across her belly. Then she was down on the floor and he on top of
her, she uncomplaining as his weight pressed down on her, forcing her ass
into the carpet. This time her legs were scissored sideways, so that they
opened, her feet kicking into the air as he took her. When it was over
there was a general celebration. I found out later that my daughter had
three more men that evening, in various ways. And Greg was the toast of
the party, the women all eager to try out his near-virgin equipment.
It is a sad thing to have your daughter grow up. But I am happy that I
did not impede the process beyond what was needed, beyond the earliest
years. My daughter was brought on to her sexuality in a way that kept her
happy and free, and our relationship intact. However I am at a loss now
what to do. Her younger sister, whom my husband had gotten custody of,
the children being split between us, has now been awarded to me. It is a
victory. I have both my children now. But she is only 9, and Elsie has told
her of her adventures. How long will it be before I find my 9-year-old
making love to Greg in my sisterÕs garden, and what should I do about it
when it happens?
30
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