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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
AMSTERDAM DAMSELS
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Chapter Four
We were not alone. Couples gazed out at us, lost in sexual bliss.
Males rodded females, who came upon seeing us. Girls crouched in cages,
sipping wine from upraised dog dishes, their bodies white, marked here
and there with red stripes, evidence of discipline imposed and well-
received. Against one wall a girl stood, clad in nothing but a corset, her
stockings pulled down, her garters swinging free, identical to me save
that my stockings were still up. Behind her a woman, her titties and
pussy showing, a strange uniform crisscrossing her figure but hiding
nothing, lashed into the girl with a whip. The girl yelped, begged. The
woman cared not to hear, laid on more strokes. The girlÕs bottom was
lovely, white where she usually wore her swimsuit, tanned where the
swimsuit did not cover. SheÕd worn a kind of thong swimsuit, I saw,
though not as narrow in back, letting the outside curves of her now-
indrawn ass bounce freely under the summer sun. She was paying for
letting her ass cheeks hang out like that now: the woman beat her again
and again, laying bright bruising strokes upon her tender flesh wherever
she struck.
Instinctively I reached out, grabbed the nearest hand. It was AlexÕs.
My eyes continued to drink in the scene before us. I saw a girl bound to a
rape rack, standing but not standing, her knees long since bowed,
exhausted. Her cunt was rent open and there was sperm dripping very
obviously from it. Her entire body, in fact, was splattered with male
reproductive fluid, as if a hundred Indians had mauled and raped her and
left her dying in the desert heat. Her boobs, sticking out firmly despite
the mistreatment, jiggled softly with her every quiet moan. Her mouth
was forced open with a spring-jaw and I saw that she had been fucked
deeply in it, sperm smearing her cheeks and matting her hair, drying as it
trickled down her lips and neck. She had practically drowned in the stuff!
I guessed. And then I saw the Indians, white-men actually, lying in
satisfied contentment at her feet. Were they her masters or her slaves?
She breathed quietly, seemingly the sole survivor of the orgy, her males
all asleep, as exhausted as she.
ÒThis is Hell,Ó Cybil announced to us proudly. ÒMy favorite room,
where you can always count on something going on. You can even flick off
the lights from a hidden switch in the kitchen, and they wonÕt mind a bit.
TheyÕre too busy, you see.Ó Groans assailed our ears. Sperm odors and
cunt juice mingled on the air.
ÒHow-how long have they been here?Ó Kali asked.
ÒSome stay for days. Others just a while, though I daresay you can
get locked in in a place like this. I let people out once a day, or more often
if I wish. ItÕs a great room if you donÕt have much money but want to stay
for awhile. In here you could, I suppose, stay forever. Once in a while I
have the place hosed down. I just gave them dinner a little while ago. It
must have refreshed them, for they are at it again. Sometimes Becky lets
people in and out. Only IÕm supposed to know where the key is, but she
discovered it.Ó I had not seen her take up the key, guessed sheÕd done it
passing through the kitchen, as Kali hurried me toward the house. Perhaps
sheÕd made Alex close his eyes so he would not see. She held it now, a big
iron ring with one long key dangling from it. A dungeon key, a prison key
from an old west movie. Except this was the 20th century and I was as
imprisoned as the rest of them now.
There was a knock at the door. Cybil turned, unlocked it, lovely in
her nakedness, her long mane swaying as she worked the key in the door,
thrusting it in, twisting it. She pulled open the door and a man and a
woman came in, fully dressed, a naked girl between them. She was blonde,
blindfolded, skinny and leggy, but with wonderful big boobs and an ample
bottom.
ÒYou look dressed for church!Ó Cybil chided the couple.
ÒWe tied her up while we made love,Ó the woman replied, caressing
the girlÕs fanny. ÒShe watched, listened, but could do nothing. It was
lovely seeing her yearning figure in the corner, her nipples stiff, her cunt
wanting. Then we showered and dressed. Now itÕs her turn, but sheÕll be
lucky to get anything out of my husbandÕs cock. I pumped him dry.Ó The
womanÕs eyes glanced at her hubby. ÒUnless, that is, heÕs inspired by
whipping a maidenÕs ass.Ó
ÒI might be. ItÕs lovely enough,Ó the man replied.
ÒItÕs his secretary. From work. I caught them exchanging love
notes,Ó the woman replied.
ÒItÕs her fault,Ó the man said, nudging the girlÕs ass with his thumb,
tracing the furrow there. ÒGo forward and grab your ankles, you cunt!Ó
Trembling, blind in her blindfold, the girl stumbled forward a few steps.
Her mouth was open, her lips wet, seeking. She wore spiked heels that
made her steps unsteady. Then, perhaps sensing she had best obey quickly,
the girl bent right over and took hold of legs.
ÒLower,Ó the woman admonished. The girl, holding her calves, slid
her hands down to her ankles. Her ass, desirable and round, presented
itself to us, all white and unblemished. The man drew off his belt and I
knew she would not remain unflawed for long. ÒWiden your stance,Ó the
woman ordered. The girl hesitantly drew apart her legs, showing us the
fig of her cunny. In front her breasts hung down, gourds ripe for milking.
Her lovely hair fell forward. It brushed the stone floor.
All quiveringly she was then, bare-bottomed, awaiting her fate. I
could almost hear her little gulps, anxious, her teats quiveringly heavily.
I wanted to run to her, to put my small hand over her bumptious bottom, to
protect it from the heavy belt that dangled in her masterÕs hand. Yet my
excitement stayed me. I was as eager as the man himself, I think, to see
this darling girl brought butt-wriggling to the heights of torment, and of
inevitable passion. He would fuck her, I knew, when her bottom was red
and her cries howling, indriving he would pierce her, spike her with his
tool. Holding her to him he would pump out his spermy essence.
Did I wish the same for myself? I felt suddenly as tremulous as this
girl, my own breasts moving up, down, up again with my every halting,
uncertain breath. In my cunny I felt a new wetness, so exquisite. I felt
empty, desperately empty, and wanted to be filled. The man, so near to
me, his cock was out, Alex. Out and rearing.
Holding AlexÕs hand I turned to him. Our palms were wet with sweat.
The room was muggy. ÒOh, Alex, would you do that to me?Ó I saw Kali
glance at Cybil. I did not know myself whether I was asking Alex if he
would be so evil, or so good to me.Ó Fascinated we watched hand in hand
as the deliciously bent over girl stood with hovering bottom, with hanging
breasts and fallen mane, before her master. My nipples were erect, my
clitty fully budded, my pubic hair stood revealed to wandering eyes. And
Alex too, beside me, stood nude as Adam. We were Adam and Eve, come
with Virgil to visit Hell, to see the penitents at their work.
The belt was drawn back. The girl must have heard its slither,
snake-like for her legs stiffened. Her knees grew taut.
THWACK! Across her bottom the belt was sweetly laid, a full, juicy
stroke, catching both her darling hemispheres, making her cry out at its
stinging touch. She bit her lip, she did not cry out as I thought she might.
Good girls must be quiet. Mommie must not hear. Sister must not be
awakened. Brother must never know (though he be, in fact, lying with his
Newton under the bedcovers, reading of such things on iNet even now).
Manfully ÒMasterÓ (I knew not what else to call him) drew back his
belt. He was a fisherman, reeling in his rod for the next fling.
SWAAACK! A harder stroke. Deeply it impressed itself into the
girlÕs cheeks. She wiggled, her perturbation increasing now.
ÒKeep still, your legs wide!Ó the woman instructed. Her words were
toneless, words of impeccable command. They neither chastised nor
reproved. They merely expected. She would behave. She would do as she
was told. She would receive her punishment, which I knew to be richly
UNdeserved.
ÒOhhh, it hurts!Ó my heroine, my young companion, fellow-traveler in
love whined.
ÒOf course it does, darling, as it should. Thou shalt not commit
adultery.Ó
WHACKCK! A double salute flamed across the girlÕs upturned ass
then, cheek juddering. Zeus blinding a slim, full-bottomed Earth with his
bolts.
ÒWhooo-ooooh!Ó the girl cried out. Her bottom rolled, gyrated. She
could not still its motions now. Round and round she ground it, reminding
me of little Becky in the yard, wilfully moving her little ass so sexily.
ÒTell me that you will never try to have my husband again,Ó the
woman called out to the girl. There was silence, despite the girlÕs obvious
agony. She coughed, she bit her lip, she sobbed out little sobs. But she did
not say should would not tempt the very man who now reproved her. ÒYou
may have others,Ó the woman said to the girl. ÒWhy do you think we
brought you here? Do you think I want a sex-starved slut inhabiting my
husbandÕs office? Do not worry, my dear, I will see that you get your fill
of cock, just not my husbandÕs that is all. Is that agreeable to you?Ó
ÒNoooo,Ó the girl sighed, sobbed.
ÒGive her harder blows,Ó the woman told her husband. ÒShe is
utterly wilful. She would destroy our marriage and run off with you and
make you her very own. Show me your love by whipping this girlÕs bottom
properly!Ó
ÒYes,Ó the man agreed. But there was a smile on his face, and his
wifeÕs. They were co-conspirators, I thought, playing out an elaborate
game. I could see that the man was delighted at the girlÕs faithfulness to
him. If anything, her suffering for him was making their bond stronger.
He measured out his belt again, weighed it in his palm. Then he drew back
and fired in a ghastly blow, making me lift my hand in fright. The belt
swung in, fast. It caught the poor girl on the undersides of her quivering
hinds. It lifted her up on her toes even as it thundered with a clap across
her tenderest portions.
ÒAaaaaaa!Ó the girl screamed. Her voice echoed throughout Hell,
rousing even the slumbering Indians, staying the hand of the butt-whipping
domme in the far distance, her own victim weeping.
Up leapt our own pretty girl, dancing on her tip-toes now, forgetting
her posture. I clapped my free hand to my cunt and squeezed it, wondering
if a ripple in the belt had stung her pouch. Alex grabbed his cock and
frigged himself freely, desperately. The girl herself clapped her hands to
her ripe bottom. Briskly she rubbed it, trying to ease the sting. Her
titties wobbled on her chest, stiff-nippled. Her skinny legs hopped about,
knees bending, lovely thighs arching, calves stomping the floor with her
pretty spiked feet. I watched her ribs as they indented themselves into
her skin. She was lovely as a model, and suffering so sweetly. I did not
know I had such thoughts in me. Perhaps it was my surroundings. ÒHell
does that to you, dear,Ó Cybil might tell me. I found my cunny moist and
fingered myself shamefacedly. Beside me Alex spouted a tribute to the
delicious maidenÕs torment.
She turned. She made to take off her blindfold but the woman was
upon her, bending her over again, facing her away from us once more. I
looked at Alex, down at the floor. There, spilt on the stone, was his
manhood. A small white puddle, all goopy, lost sons, daughters.
ÒAlex!Ó I heard Cybil cry. Kali was upon him. I took my hand from
my dell and stared at him. We were peevish. He had spoilt our fun.
ÒIt was only the first load,Ó Alex explained. His cock lost its iron
firmness as his words came out, softened. His testicles, so balled-up and
tight moments before, now sagged, drooped.
ÒYou are not here to enjoy yourself, Alex,Ó Kali scolded him. ÒAt
least, not until you earn that right.Ó She took him by his cock. Scornfully
she pulled at it, bringing a yelp from Alex. Cybil opened the dungeon door
for us and we went out, me following, unknowing, stealing a glance over
my shoulder, seeing the players in Hell return to their tasks. The girl was
bent over again, her sobs open and free now, still resisting, still certain
of her heretical love. The girl with the Indian lovers was being raped
again, the domme with the gartered beauty was once more at work. Cybil
shut the door. I glanced away. I was not to look anymore. I would be like
JobÕs wife if I lingered, turned to look again. Cybil would lock me in with
them and I would toil the night away, fucked and raped and beaten too, all
with love, no doubt, but relentlessly, unceasingly. They would delight in
having such a new, innocent virgin in their midst. I would have no
protection, no master. I would be alone, naked, my cunny wet, my nipples
rigid. Truly it was Hell, entering in bare-skinned, seeing those couples at
their unholy work. Worship of the flesh it was, where high-born and low-
born mingled like farm animals, peeing, farting, mating and pooping. All
together, without regulation, arms and limbs and necks and bottoms all
rubbing freely, exploring, seizing, thrusting. And receiving. Most of all,
for me, receiving. In all my private places. I would be pillaged by
morning, Troy after the sack, my hair disheveled, my makeup trashed, my
arms and legs aching, my cunny sore. My nipples would perk painfully,
hating their stiffness. My mouth would be filled with drying cum. My
bottomhole would bubble like some gurgling hot spring at Yellowstone. My
hands would be sleek with caked sperm.
Ah, how I shivered, walking away from all that. Cybil treaded softly
behind me, seeing my hips sway, knowing my wants, my wretched needs.
Here in this amazing place new thoughts came to me, unbidden. Thoughts
from girlhood dreams, but more vivid, of hunters on the chase, of little
fawns running, of Paul Bunyan stooping down and grabbing me up from my
woodland rabbithole. His cock bulged in his trousers. His axe threatened
to rend me if I did not obey. I would be his bedmate, or his dinner. It was
my decision, yes. Either way I would have to spread. To be stuffed in bed,
or in the kitchen, turkey-like, for his evening meal.
ÒCome, such fine equipment must not go to waste,Ó Kali teasingly
told Alex. He was limp now. I saw his genitals as he passed a hallway
mirror. KaliÕs voice was sardonic. Yet I knew her words to be truthful,
for in his hardness he was amazing indeed. A cockstand fit for a
champion, I thought. He had eaten Wheaties as a boy and they had grown
him up tall as the wheatfields of Kansas. Where it counted. The third leg.
A leg of lamb, or of cock, my dear. We shall stuff it up your turkey-twat.
Instinctively I touched myself. Cybil, behind me, saw my squeezing,
noted the pressing juncture of my thighs.
ÒDo you have to pee?Ó she asked.
ÒA little,Ó I answered. We both knew, though, that it was passion
that had impelled my hand. Our eyes met. I thought her pretty then, her
full gypsy figure, bosoming into my bosoms, her hips wider than mine,
full-formed. I felt a yearning as I had not ever before. A woman? Was I,
a female myself, so impressed with a fellow female that I would...?
God, love is strange. It was the environment, I know. The big house,
the echoing halls. From the outside it looked unimpressive but once
within its walls new expanses seemed to appear. Dr. Who in his phone
booth, traveling the lanes of love. Yes, I was the Good Doctoress, wasnÕt
I? Exploring in the name of science.
Kali looked over her shoulder. There was a grin on her face. She
squeezed AlexÕs behind reassuringly, impelling him forward. Lost in his
loss he did not know of my imminent departure.
ÒI had a pet dog once,Ó Cybil began, gazing into my eyes. ÒA little
dog. I lived in an apartment then. When it wanted to pee I took it outside
for a little walk. The gentlemen admired me. And my little dog too.Ó Did
I hear the voice of the Wicked Witch of the West? Was I in Oz now,
threatened, or loved? Cybil turned me about. ÒIt frames your ass
beautifully, but really, doggies do not need such things,Ó she said of my
corset. She unlaced me. I stood quietly. I liked having the corset off.
Why wear it, when I was otherwise naked? It seemed unfair. A kind of
last remnant of civilization, of morality, in a world, a displaced place,
that had freed itself of such cumbersome things.
Cybil eased the corset off my figure. I breathed easily. I found new
freedom in the sleek hefting of my ribs beneath my breasts, expanding as I
breathed. Cybil stroked my mane of blonde hair. Her hands flitted over my
bottom. She turned me round. I faced her. My cunny tingling, my breasts
thorn-like at their peaks, I let my eyes gaze into hers. They were
mysterious, plotting.
ÒThe shoes are perfect,Ó she said. ÒBut you need a collar, a leash.Ó I
let her fingers play over my hips, trace their outlines. I wanted to explore
new frontiers with her. To go where no girl had gone before. We would go
to places John Luc Picard never dreamed of.
Cybil took me into the kitchen. She opened a drawer. She took out a
collar. It was made of rough leather. She buckled it on me. ÒToo tight?Ó
she asked. I nodded. She loosened it a notch. I felt the leather against my
skin. The inside of it had been softened somehow. It was not
uncomfortable. She attached a leash to me from behind. I wore the collar
backwards. The leash ran down my back and its tip settled in my
bottomcrack. I felt as if I were being silently invaded by it. When I
shifted my weight it moved, rustled. ÒSo pretty,Ó Cybil said, admiring me.
ÒCome upstairs with me. I must dress. We must take a walk in the park
so you can pee. Do you have to poop? Here, have these granola bars. Munch
on them while you await me.Ó I looked at the bars. I could not believe her
wickedness.
ÒYou could not,Ó I breathed. I wanted to obey, to be her friend, but it
was so strange, so bizarre. It was the kind of thing you read about on
a.s.s., saying to yourself, ÔOh sure, sure this would happen. Sure they
would do this. Exon should ban stuff like this, it is so silly.Õ But, perhaps
because of the impossibility of it in my mind, the utter nonsensicalness of
it, I lifted the granola bar to my lips and bit into it. ÒMmmm, roasted
chestnuts,Ó I admitted, smiling at the taste.
ÒWith a mild laxative,Ó she replied. They were medicinal bars, but
they tasted good. ÒEat your fill, I want you to make a nice poop in the
park, in front of all the gentlemen. I have a pooper-scooper, donÕt worry.
If youÕre too runny afterward I can give you something to stop you up
again. But there shouldnÕt be any problem. ItÕs mostly just wholesome
food. Fill up your tummy. I may lock you in the dungeon afterward and
mightnÕt get anything more for days.Ó
I bit again. I felt like a fish. I was hooked. She had me, my cunny
wet and tingling, my nipples poking up at her, my breasts uptilted in their
fulsomeness. She watched me eat a moment, then turned, beckoned me to
follow. Upstairs we went together. We held hands on the stairsteps and
mounted them together. In the distance I heard a man groan and the
cracking of a leather whip. Alex. Kali. I knew he was getting punished for
spilling his seed. ÒHe deserves it,Ó I said smugly to Cybil. She smiled,
said nothing.
Despite her arousal, Cybil encumbered herself with clothes. She put
on panties first. Then stockings, drawing them tight, hooking them with
the garters of a corset she made me tie her into. Then came a hooped
skirt, eighteenth-century style. Lastly a bonnet, and a parasol. She
repaired her makeup, then mine.
ÒCome, dear, we must have your walk now,Ó she said to me. I felt
shiveringly vulnerable in my nakedness. At the door she donned gloves. A
final touch of civility. Then we left her bedroom behind. Did I envy her
her clothes? I did not know. Surely I would soon. It depended on where
we went, didnÕt it? Were we leaving the house? Surely we could not!
Downstairs we went. Near the front door she stopped. She turned
into a small bathroom. She took a towel from the towel bar there. She
brought it to me folded over her arm. ÒHere, put this on,Ó she said. I took
it from her. It smelled fresh. It was soft. Carefully I wrapped it around
myself. It barely fit. I saw how it indented my breasts, leaving them
bulging out, just covering the nipples. Below it just stretched far enough
to hide my pubis.
ÒThey will think we are going to a public bath,Ó Cybil smiled. She
took my hand.
ÒWhat about Kali?Ó I asked.
ÒNo matter,Ó Cybil replied. Alex has his hands full with her. He
doesnÕt need another tormentress. He will wish soon he hadnÕt paid for her
services, let alone yours.Ó We approached the front door together, hand-
holding, girls going to nursery school together. Leaning against the front
door I saw it. A pooper-scooper. Who had placed it there? Becky? Did
she know of my fate? I blushed deeply, thinking she might. That such a
little urchin should know...
30
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