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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
AMSTERDAM DAMSELS
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Chapter Eight
We sat at dinner. We were elegant. It was the next evening. The
previous night, as promised, we had eaten at a restaurant. Then today she
introduced me to her GQ men. I was shy, blushing. Afterward, when they
were gone, she made me choose amongst them, telling her which I
preferred.
It was a private reception, a private dinner. There were about a
dozen people present. The hostess had received me warmly, taken my
coat, admired me. All present knew why I was here. The GQ men IÕd
favored were here too, deferential, letting the women lead. Letting Laurie
make all the decisions for them. They were loyal to her. I admired her
management skills. Some of the men were massive, power lifters, though
not too heavy, they had to still look tall and fine in a business suit for her
fashion magazine.
I ate quietly. I was urged to eat. All eyes flitted to me, away, then
back again. Dessert was served. Cherry pie. I knew the significance. And
so did all the guests. I blushed as my piece was served to me. I nibbled at
it, popped a cherry in my mouth, could not eat the rest.
ÒAnd in regards to your orientation,Ó Laurie said at last, clearing her
throat a little before she began. She looked directly at me. I gazed back,
then had to lower my eyes. I could not hold her. They blazed like the sun.
Gypsie eyes, with dark fire, as if from some deep shadowland fueled by
volcanoes. ÒPermit me to be explicit, if you will,Ó Laurie said to the host,
who smiled back at her. Explicitness was permitted. ÒYou, Laurie, do look
at me when IÕm speaking to you, darling.Ó I tried to raise my eyes, did a
little. ÒYou must be whipped first. It is necessary. Nothing too severe.
Your bottom must be warmed for it. It will make it easier for you when it
comes. It will make you more receptive. And the male (she cleared her
throat softly again) the males will stem all the more eagerly to you,
feeling your hot bottom grinding up against them.Ó
I sipped a sip of milk. I said nothing. ÒLet us have her clothes off
then,Ó Laurie said. Two females rose, two who had sat on either side of
me. They urged me up from my chair. I flinched a little as they pulled my
clothes off me. There was not much ceremony about it. Just pull up the
blouse, unzip the skirt, unsnap the bra, and (alas!) down with my panties.
They took everything right off, cooing a little, perhaps to make me feel
better, perhaps because they liked my beauty, but they were mostly
workmanlike, quick, women with a job to do and doing it.
At last I stood like Venus, unclothed, my hair pretty. My new
girlfriends unpinned it so that it hung free. My tits wobbled on my chest.
My nipples were harder than I could ever remember them being. I felt
moist between my legs.
Laurie stood. She cast her eyes approvingly over my figure. ÒYou
look like youÕre about to have a bath,Ó she laughed. The men rose. I saw
their trousers, bulging, eager to spurt out their treasures. The hostess
rose. Laurie turned me. The rest of the female guests got up. All were
young, though not as young as myself. Laurie pointed ahead of me and told
me I must lead the way. ÒGo through that door, dear, and walk gracefully,
or I will switch you before we even arrive. Be on your best behavior now,
go!Ó I turned. I walked on my spiked heels, my hips swaying. My glorious
nude bottom cheeks rolled with my every step.
Beyond the door was a stone passage. We were in an old part of
town, an old house with mysteries. I tread down the passageway with
fearful footsteps. Behind me the others followed.
My bottom felt huge. I felt intense embarrassment at mooning
everyone with it. But then, thatÕs what I was here for, wasnÕt it? My
bottom. My virgin anus. Now was the night I was truly to receive. A man
up me. All my life IÕd wondered, waited. Now, within the hour, it was to
be done. All that remained now was for the preliminary whipping. I did
not like the thought of that. I reached back, unconsciously caressed my
bottom cheeks as I thought of it. ÔNecessary,Õ she had called it. Was it
really? She said it would make the men even bigger. Did I want that? I
realized I had already chosen the GQ guys I thought would be biggest where
it counted. I felt chilly, even though I knew the stone hallway was not
cold.
There were steps at the end. I mounted them, carefully, unsteady in
my heels. Beyond the passage turned. And then curtains, a curtain of
beads that hung down. I passed within them. They tinkled. Ah, no!
A huge round dais waited. And atop it, almost as an afterthought, a
trestle. The bar betwixt its vertical supports was padded. For the
comfort of my tummy, no doubt. I wished I could sit my bottom upon it.
ThatÕs where I would need comforting.
The others entering, the tinkling of the beads announcing their
arrival behind me. I continued to gaze at the dais. There was a bucket
next to the trestle, I saw a sponge.
ÒWe use it all the time,Ó Laurie whispered to me. ÒSometimes we
bathe the girl first, if sheÕs fresh from the pool, or the beach, or hot from
the summer heat. But you are perfect, darling. Just mount the steps.Ó Her
fingers grazed my arms, ran down my back, sought even lower still.
Flinching from her I approached the raised platform. I slurred my feet up
the steps, knowing I should pay much greater care to where I was headed.
I would not come down from this platform the same girl. I would be hot,
bothered, blubbering. I would most certainly need a bath then, at least in
my hindquarters. I turned at the top step, considering. My eyes widened.
Everyone was undressing.
ÒI-I donÕt want to,Ó I said. A man laughed.
ÒYou cannot back down,Ó he replied.
ÒBe a good girl and go to the trestle like youÕre supposed to,Ó the
hostess said to me. I knew the implication of her words. I would go in any
event, dragged or willingly, but if dragged I would need more ÔwarmingÕ on
my ass before the men were put to me.
Stepping distinctly now, sure of each step that it would be my very
last, hoping God would take me up at every second, I approached the bar.
Yes, I had been good, hadnÕt I? I used to go to Christian Sunday School.
They said if you were good Jesus would make you disappear in the days
just before his Second Cuming. I said the word wrong in my mind, felt
immensely guilty. I needed Jesus now. Cum, Lord Jesus. Oops! I knew I
was doomed then. He would not zap me up to heaven, like in the Late Great
Planet Earth. He would leave me with all the wicked people. I turned
again, saw my captors were pleasantly naked now, all the important parts
displayed. Cocks, cunts, breasts. Some wore clothes still, jackets or
stockings or boots. But all showed what they had come to give.
Themselves. Their privates. And I was to inspire their evening of
pleasure with my virgin contribution.
I walked up to the bar. I spied a cane standing against a low table on
the dais. Atop the table were vials of oil, condoms, and a pretty vase of
flowers. I turned, walked to the flowers. Delicately I sniffed them. They
were lilies. For my (soon to be gone) purity.
ÒTo the trestle, Melody!Ó Laurie called. She did not want me to see
what was in the drawer slung from the underside of the table. I felt
mischievous. I reached down, pulled it open.
Oh! My eyes nearly popped out of my head. There were AWFUL things!
Tit clamps! A speculum! A ball gag! A blood pressure cuff. A needle!
Beside the needle something labelled Solumedrol. An enema, more anal
suppositories, tubing, with a tag attached saying it was for a personÕs pee
hole!
I slammed the drawer. I turned, frightened. My GQ men advanced,
climbing the dais steps. The females were gathered close.
ÒIt is not all for you, dear, at least I hope it isnÕt,Ó Laurie reassured
me, then turned and winked at the hostess with a laugh.
Scared, but still willing, I turned to face the trestle. I pressed my
upper thighs to the bar. I bent forward, found a lower bar beneath, gripped
it momentarily, feeling the feel of my openness in back. Then I popped
erect again, lest I be restrained that way. I turned. I pushed my bottom up
against the comforting leather.
ÒI donÕt think I want to go through with this anymore,Ó I breathed.
My eyes were frightened rabbitÕs eyes. With my every pulsebeat my
resolution not to continue grew.
ÒIt is too late, darling,Ó the hostess said. She and two men came up
to me, spun me about again. I squawked as they pressed me down. ÒIt is
time, dear, you cannot delay it any longer,Ó Laurie said somewhere behind
me. Roughly she parted my thighs. I felt loops of leather attach
themselves to my ankles.
Someone missed his cue, for I wriggled and found myself suddenly
upright again. My ankles were bound, my legs three feet apart or more, but
the rest of me had got free of them. The two men looked startled,
recovered, laughed at their mistake. Each had deferred to the other in
tying down my wrists, both had missed a beat and lost his hold on me.
Perhaps each was hoping the other would tie me while he prepared to be
the first to get up my ass. Let the other tie her, I will fuck her! Yes, that
was it. The hostess had long since let go, thinking to leave the matter to
the men.
I stood there a moment, unmolested. They realized I couldnÕt go
anywhere. My tits heavy on my chest, my legs apart beneath my rolling,
flexing bottom cheeks, I gazed behind myself. All was being made ready.
A line of GQ men stood with cocks displayed. Laurie was passing in front
of them, greasing and oiling each manÕs shaft for the job ahead. A female
rolled out a rack of punishment implements from some hidden closet.
Whips, crops, paddles, unimaginable in their variety and ingenuity. Some
had holes, others not, still others had awful-looking brass studs on them.
My white bottom gleamed, the target of whichever or however many of
those horrid things they wished to spank me with.
ÒOver, darling,Ó the hostess said to me. She put her hand to the back
of my head. I felt her bend me again, felt my upward-yielding bottom
cheeks disclose their inner secrets, felt my pouch displayed in its soft
furrowness to all who stood behind me.
Gourd-like my tits hung again. She pulled my wrists down, bound
them tightly with leather and affixed them with loops of leather to the
bar below.
I coughed a little cough. I felt cool air upon my hiney. I wanted to
cry but didnÕt have the willpower to do it. Soon they would help me in that
department, I feared.
****
And they did. I remember it as a kind of liberation. The men entered
me gently, but remorselessly, each in turn. The hostess had to stop the
proceedings a few times, to let me catch my breath. And then it
continued. Always it continued. A birching at first, then the loving
thrusts, finally the long, hard-won spurts. After holding himself back for
so long, each man gritted out his release with a kind of great, heartfelt
agony. For none wanted the punishment. A brand on the hiney,
administered by the hostess, if he failed to drive into me at least 20
times before he came. The brand was kept close, so he could feel the heat
of it lying across the brazier, the red hot coals sunburning his arse.
I was not as tight in behind when I left as I had been when I entered.
At least, there was no longer that absolutely girlish, virginal resistance.
I suppose I was just as tight, physically so, but that clenching, sucking
absolute GRIPPING of the hiney cheeks would never be quite so fey again.
The childish fright was gone. Still there a little, maybe, but not in such
absolute terms as it had been on that first night. That night was the first
that I ever felt a long, living male organ slide into me...pump me with the
sperm from its balls...and then withdraw, like something out of Alien. It
was a rite of passage, a door through which one consciously went through,
and which closed forever behind.
30
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