---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
FEVERED FALL
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
ÒWho would ever have thought that a car accident would cause the
Main Lift Engine to shut down?Ó one engineer asked the other as they
stared at the smoldering pile of concrete. It lay shattered upon the
ground. Rescue workers crawled over the ruins like frantic ants. They
were looking for bodies.
The other engineer looked up. The other Sky Dwellings remained
aloft, long columns of stone that stoically resisted the pull of gravity.
ÒFaulty programming,Ó the other engineer replied. ÒIt didnÕt help, of
course, that the Backup Lift Engine was shut down for repairs.Ó
ÒObviously,Ó the first engineer said. He gazed dispassionately at the
rescue workers. ÒWell, there is one benefit,Ó he said. ÒAt least now weÕll
find out what the casualty rate is for a Full Drop. WeÕve never had real
figures before.Ó
The other engineer shook his head. ÒDamn you, Smith. ThereÕs no
bright side to this tragedy. IÕll tell you what the damn casualty rate is.
ItÕs 100 percent! ThereÕs not a damn thing left alive inside that
smoldering pile of concrete.
The Tamagotchi glowed.
ÒWhat are you doing?!Ó My auntie shrieked as I went tearing up the
stairs. Brad was back! HeÕd had his first week of college and now heÕd
come to visit me! I had a million questions for him. At the moment,
though, we were having too much fun playing to sit around talking.
I jumped on my bed. I stood on my tiptoes and peered through my
bedroom window. There he was, below in the pool, swimming laps. He
was on his back, doing a strong backstroke. I waited for him to get in
range of my window. I tossed out a water balloon.
The balloon went sailing through my window, in a long arc down
toward the pool. Brad swam hard, his eyes shut tight. His broad shoulders
cut fast through the water. I let my eyes run along his chest. He looked
like a Roman God, swimming hard to save some captive maiden. I was both
the girl in distress and the wicked wizard who was keeping me hostage.
My eyes ran down BradÕs muscled figure to the flatness of his belly.
Below, they caught like thorns on his Speedo swimsuit. It bulged with
promise.
SPLAT! The water balloon hit the water, barely missing BradÕs hips.
ÒOh, no!Ó I cried. I picked up, off my bed, the other water balloon IÕd
carried upstairs with me. I lofted it out the window. It sailed down and I
watched it, my hands clapped to my face.
SPLOOSH! The balloon landed directly on BradÕs bulging crotch!
ÒOuch!Ó I heard Brad yell, down in the pool.
My aunt rushed into my bedroom. ÒChloe! What are you doing?!Ó
Rebecca cried to me. She stared at me, standing on my bed, wet from the
pool. I was in my bikini but now I reached back and began untying my top.
ÒIÕm a captive maiden!Ó I explained to her. ÒAnd a wizard, too! IÕve
had my ten free throws and now each balloon I throw COUNTS!Ó I panted. I
was trying to explain everything very quickly so I could get back to the
game. ÒIf Brad finishes his 25 workout laps before I destroy him, he
wins!Ó
My aunt walked quickly over to my bed and grabbed my hands, which
were reaching behind me. She cupped my fingers in her hands and stopped
me from untying my top.
ÒChloe,Ó Rebecca said. ÒWhy are you bringing water balloons into
the house and running upstairs and throwing them out the window?Ó
ÒI *told* you,Ó I protested. I squirmed against her grip. ÒIÕve got to
destroy Brad! But if I miss him, now that IÕve had all my free throws, IÕve
got to take off my bikini. First my top, and then, if I miss him again, my
bottom too! But if I hit him, like I just did, then *he* has to undress.Ó I
stood on tiptoe. I caught sight of Brad, in the pool. Sure enough, just as
our game required, heÕd slipped out of his ball-hugger swimsuit. He had
begun swimming again, his suit floating aimlessly in the water as he did
his laps. His naked loins showed a penis that rose like a pillar from the
center of his body. It stood firm and bold. It was oblivious to the
destruction I planned for it with my water balloons.
I was proud of my boyfriend for showing his cock so courageously.
Then again, had I been a boy, I would have realized that there was
absolutely nothing he could do to prevent himself from being erect. Young
men are just like that. My aunt stared down at him, swimming. She
cleared her throat and looked at me.
ÒChloe,Ó she said. ÒTry to be a young lady. I know youÕre only 13.
But I canÕt have you running in and out of the house with water balloons.
Look at your bed! YouÕre getting it all wet.Ó
I stared down at my feet. My bedcovers were all rumpled. They were
wet from having water balloons, fresh from the downstairs faucet,
dumped on them.
My aunt sighed. ÒI shouldnÕt have chickened out and given you RU-
486,Ó she said. ÒI should have let you stay pregnant.Ó
ÒWe can always get pregnant again, auntie,Ó I said. I glanced out the
window at my boyfriend displaying his proud, fierce cock. ÒBut please let
me finish my game before Brad does all his laps, or else, if he wins, heÕs
going to give me a spanking!Ó
ÒChloe,Ó my aunt said. ÒWeÕre not going to be young mothers
together, but weÕre not going to be wild Indians either. I want you to play
nicely outside with Brad. *Outside,* Chloe. This is my home, not ÔSummer
Fun.ÕÓ She looked again at Brad. He was beautiful, a sun-bronzed God,
naked as the statues of Greece. ÒIt looks to me like heÕs trying to get his
exercise, Chloe, and youÕre just trying to be the center of attention,Ó my
aunt told me. She let go of my hands. I let them drop to my sides. She
began retying the top on my bikini. ÒWhy donÕt you let Brad do his laps,
Chloe?Ó my aunt asked me. ÒHe does need to have his daily workout. You
two can play afterwards. *Without* bringing water balloons into the
house, Chloe.Ó She smiled. ÒAnd, little Miss, thereÕs one other thing I
wanted to tell you. Just because your parents have let you stay on with
me this fall doesnÕt mean youÕre going to make a mess of my house every
day after school. I want you to get a job, Chloe. I donÕt want you just
sitting around watching GilliganÕs Island and I definitely donÕt want you
throwing water balloons out the window.Ó
ÒA job!Ó I said. My eyes brightened. IÕd never had a job before.
ÒWhat sort of job will it be?Ó
ÒIÕm not sure,Ó Rebecca said. ÒIÕll have to find something. YouÕre
too young to work, technically, but perhaps I could find someone to hire
you part time, and pay you out of his pocket.Ó
ÒI want to make LOTS of money as a fashion model,Ó I told my aunt.
ÒOr I want to be a horse trainer!Ó
ÒIÕll see what I can find,Ó Rebecca told me. ÒBut the upshot of it is
that you need to do your homework, Chloe. I know youÕve been putting it
off. Sit down and do your homework while Brad finishes swimming his
laps. Work a little ahead. Then you wonÕt fall behind in your lessons next
week if I find a job for you downtown, after school.Ó
ÒOkay!Ó I said. I felt excited about getting a job. IÕd have money of
my own to spend and wouldnÕt have to bug Rebecca, or call home to my
parents, for help in buying stuff. I gave my aunt a big kiss. ÒThanks,
auntie!Ó I exclaimed.
ÒIÕm going to have a friend over for dinner,Ó Rebecca told me.
ÒA man?Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó Rebecca smiled. ÒHe owns a big corporation.Ó She gave a toss
of her long, lovely brown hair. I sensed in her eyes a possessive look, like
the Conquistadors must have shown when they gazed upon the palaces of
the Incas. ÒTell Brad to put his swimsuit back on,Ó Rebecca said. ÒIn
about half an hour,Ó she said, looking again out the window. Her eyes
lingered on his body. She smiled. She licked her lips. ÒIt wouldnÕt do for
my new acquaintance to find a naked man in my pool.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I said. I stood admiring Brad with her. He was strong, his
cock upright and hard, well-displayed, like a sharkÕs fin. He swam with an
easy gracefulness, back stroke, his face looking more relaxed now that IÕd
stopped throwing water balloons at him.
ÒAnd keep your own swimsuit on too,Ó Rebecca told me.
ÒYes, auntie,Ó I replied.
Brad and I sat in our wet swimsuits at dinner, with my aunt and the
man with the big corporation. He was dressed in a Tommy Hilfinger suit.
My aunt wore a smart, sexy gown. We made small talk. The man seemed to
get along well with Brad and told him if he did well in college, he might
have a position for him when he graduated. Brad smiled and told him his
real dream in life, when he got out of college, was to be a forest ranger, in
the American Redwoods.
ÒUnfortunately, I own many things, but not the Redwoods,Ó the man
told Brad.
ÒI didnÕt think you did,Ó Brad answered.
ÒHow about Chloe?Ó my aunt asked our new guest. ÒDo you have any
openings for a secretary?Ó
I smiled at the man. I liked his name: Louie LaCrosse. Mr. LaCrosse,
to all except his closest acquaintances. HeÕd invited me to call him Louie
but I was intrigued by the idea of calling him ÒMr. LaCrosseÓ instead. It
just seemed more natural, somehow.
Mr. LaCrosse gazed across the table at me.
ÒWhy of course,Ó he said. ÒIÕm sure I could find a position for her
somewhere.Ó
ÒOnly if sheÕs really needed,Ó Rebecca said. ÒI donÕt want her to be a
bother... or just an ornament.Ó
ÒShe would make a delightful ornament,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said to my
aunt.
ÒWhatÕs an ornament?Ó I asked.
ÒItÕs something you hang up. Like on a tree, dear,Ó my aunt said.
ÒOh. Then Brad has an ormanent,Ó I said, mangling the word slightly.
ÒBetween his legs.Ó
ÒChloe!Ó my aunt said. Brad laughed.
ÒDo you have a ormanent, Mr. LaCrosse?Ó I asked our guest brightly.
ÒEr, Chloe, if I hire you IÕll need you to learn about office decorum,Ó
Mr. LaCrosse said to me. His voice was warm, yet firm.
ÒYes. She needs someone to train her not to run around like a little
Indian,Ó my aunt told Mr. LaCrosse. ÒSheÕs had a rather, um, natural
summer.Ó
ÒAh, free and uninhibited!Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒI remember having
summers like that. Swimming naked in the Seine, hunting for German
shell cartridges out on the old battlefields.Ó He grinned at me. ÒIf youÕre
willing to learn, Chloe, I believe I could find a nice spot for you in my
company. Would you mind if I supervised you personally?Ó
ÒNo, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said, eyeing him over a forkful of jello. Our
salad included jello in it and I was managing to eat the jello without
touching the lettuce.
ÒVery well,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He put his own fork to his salad,
scooped up lettuce and jello indiscriminately. He ate. He swallowed. He
looked at me, still picking over my greens, plucking out the chunks of
jello. ÒChloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒI want you to eat all your salad. You
need it so you can grow big and strong.Ó
I looked up at him. If my aunt had told me to eat all my salad, I
would have complained. I would have told her I was 13-years-old, and
what business did she have telling me how to eat my salad? Even Brad, if
heÕd told me to eat a certain way, I would have scolded. But Mr. LaCrosse
had a way of looking at me that made me want to obey. I donÕt know why.
Perhaps it was the same thing that caused me to prefer calling him ÒMr.
LaCrosse,Ó instead of Louie.
ÒIf you insist, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said in a quiet voice. Wrinkling my
nose a little, I scooped up lettuce with my jello, and ate it. I didnÕt mind
the lettuce, necessarily, but it had leaves of spinach mixed in with it and I
wasnÕt terribly fond of raw spinach. Nonetheless I chewed and swallowed.
Mr. LaCrosse gazed at me with proud, possessive eyes.
ÒYou know, I never had a daughter,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said to my aunt.
ÒOh, what a pity,Ó my aunt answered.
ÒJust a wife and a son,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He looked at Brad, then
again at my aunt. ÒMy wife would be 42 now, if sheÕd lived. And my son is
your age,Ó he said to Brad.
ÒItÕs nice of you to give Chloe a job,Ó Brad said. ÒBut remember that
sheÕs my girlfriend.Ó
ÒBrad!Ó I said, sharply.
ÒWell, IÕm just telling him about our relationship,Ó Brad said to me.
ÒIÕm your girlfriend *if* I want to be your girlfriend,Ó I said to Brad.
My aunt sighed. She looked at Mr. LaCrosse. ÒJust what I need. A
loversÕ quarrel,Ó she said.
ÒIÕm sure by working in an office your niece will become quite a
sophisticated young lady,Ó Mr. LaCrosse replied.
I showed up at the office all set for work. I had my 3-ring binder,
my glow-in-the-dark eraser, and my Hello Kitty pencil set. I wore my
school clothes. I went to a private Catholic school downtown, then took a
cab over to where Mr. LaCrosseÕs office was. He paid for my cab. I was
escorted into his office, in an upper floor of a skyscraper.
ÒHello, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said to me. He smiled at the secretary
who escorted me into his office. He dismissed her, and pointed to where I
should sit. It was a big leather chair that sat across from his desk. He
had a huge office. You could see the whole city of Paris stretched out
below his window. I ignored Mr. LaCrosseÕs gesture that I sit in the
leather chair and went rushing to the window.
ÒWow!Ó I cried. ÒI can see everything!Ó
ÒAh, yes. One takes the view for granted when one works here every
day,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He turned. He left his desk and walked over to
where I was standing. He put his hand on my shoulder. I felt a sudden
thrill rise through me. I turned my head, glanced back behind us, saw we
were alone. The secretary had left. Impulsively, I huddled closer to Mr.
LaCrosse. As I felt his body against mine I looked at a bus discharging
passengers on the street below us. The people looked small as bugs.
ÒMr. LaCrosse?Ó I asked in a small voice. I liked saying his name, for
some reason.
ÒYes, Chloe?Ó he asked. The way he said my name, I think he liked
saying my name as much as I liked saying his.
ÒI want you to feel you can... you can teach me... anything you need to,
Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said in a small, seductive voice. ÒAbout offices, and
stuff.Ó
ÒOf course, Chloe,Ó he said. His hand slipped off my shoulder and
caressed the long mane of my hair. Slowly, as we stared together at the
skyline, his hand trailed down through my hair to the small of my back. I
wiggled. He placed his hand on my skirt, as if to still the childish
movement of my hips. ÒChloe,Ó he said. His throat sounded constricted.
ÒYes, Mr. LaCrosse?Ó I asked. My voice had an alluring
submissiveness to it. I guess it was because he owned a big office, and a
big corporation, and I liked being a small little part of all the big things
he owned.
ÒChloe, I....Ó Mr. LaCrosse stammered. He cleared his throat. ÒI have
something to tell you,Ó he managed to get out. He patted my fanny. I
arched my bottom a little, as if to invite him to keep on patting me there.
His fingers played in the folds of my skirt. It was pleated, a neat school
girlÕs skirt. It served as a warning to some men, my uniform, telling them
I was too young. Jailbait. To other men, my pleated skirt and starched
blouse served as a lure.
Mr. LaCrosseÕs hand slipped up under my skirt and pressed against my
fanny. He felt warm. I must have felt the same way to him. He stroked
the fabric of my panties. They were cotton, white, just ordinary panties.
But in feeling them his breathing deepened. I squirmed. He lifted his hand.
I arched my bottom back and reconnected with him. His palm settled
firmly on my ass. His fingers were large and encompassed my seat. He
squeezed it.
ÒYour... ah, your aunt is a very beautiful woman, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse
said to me.
ÒYes, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I answered.
ÒBut you are even more beautiful, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
ÒI am?!Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó he said.
ÒBut IÕm only 13,Ó I said.
ÒIÕm well aware of your age, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He looked
down at me. He patted my ass. I gazed from the city up at him. ÒI want
you to be my personal secretary, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒFor just a
few hours a day. After your school, of course.Ó
ÒOh! That sounds great, Mr. LaCrosse!Ó I said. ÒI brought my Hello
Kitty pencil box with me. I have all different colored pencils in it. Black
lead for writing, red for correcting, blue for non-judgmental comments.
And green and yellow too!Ó
ÒThatÕs very good, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He gazed at my blouse.
His eyes drank in the swell of my bosoms. ÒYour school uniform will not
be appropriate for working here, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse told me. I began to
speak, but he put a finger to my lips. ÒDonÕt worry. IÕll pay for all your
clothes,Ó he said. ÒIÕm even going to pick out your clothes for you. The
latest fashions, of course.Ó He smiled. ÒIÕm going to have one of my
secretaries measure you, Chloe,Ó he said. ÒToday youÕre just to be
measured. Then one of the girls will show you around, show you where the
coffee pot is, and everything. Then you may go home. Tomorrow, when you
arrive, there will be an outfit waiting for you. YouÕll wear it while youÕre
working here.Ó He moved away from me. He returned to his desk. He
looked up from the papers on his desk and back at me, standing by the
window. ÒOh, one more thing,Ó he said. ÒWhile youÕre here, wearing your
outfit, youÕre not to leave this floor without permission.Ó He smiled. ÒI
hope you donÕt find that requirement to be an imposition on your freedom,Ó
he said.
ÒI donÕt think so, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said in a tentative voice. I put a
finger to my mouth and sucked it. I gazed at him, standing tall by his desk.
He looked so handsome! So Ôin controlÕ of all aspects of his life! And now
he had my life in the palm of his hand too.
ÒIf anything is needed, one of my other secretaries can be sent
downstairs to fetch it,Ó Mr. LaCrosse told me. ÒAnd of course, when itÕs
time for you to go home, youÕll change back into your school uniform.Ó
ÒAlright, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said.
ÒI would prefer,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said, ÒIf our working relationship was
kept from your boyfriend Brad. He doesnÕt need to know. He can be your
boyfriend, of course. I have no desire to interfere with that. But here,
when you and I are together, that will be our special time together. Do I...Ó
he paused. His voice deepened. ÒDo I make myself clear, Chloe?Ó he asked.
ÒYes, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said.
ÒVery well,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He pressed a button on the
speakerphone on his desk. ÒMiss Fredrickson? Chloe would like to have
herself measured for her work attire,Ó he said.
ÒYes, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó the speakerphone replied.
My miniskirt was made of leather. It was quite short. It barely
cleared the rounded shelf of my bottom. When I bent, even slightly, the
white batiste of my designer panties showed. I had stockings on, thigh-
high stockings without garters that gripped my legs, but they stopped well
short of my skirt, leaving an expanse of white skin where my stockings
could not reach and my skirt did not fall low enough to cover.
I had on high heels. They were laced with black ties all the way up
my calves to my knees. They clicked primly on the floor when I walked.
My blouse was made of silk. It was decollete, hanging low on my chest so
that when I bent, showing my pantied backside, my blouse fell open to
reveal my tits. I had been given no bra to wear. My hair was elaborately
done up, by one of the secretaries, and had a black ribbon tied near the
back, which matched my skirt. To top everything off, I was dripping in
jewels; pearl earrings, a pearl choker around my throat, even pearl anklets
bound just above my small feet. In addition to all that, I wore black
gloves. They covered just my hands, very fashionably, I thought, flaring at
the wrist, tapering narrowly over my slim fingers.
Mr. LaCrosse gazed at me from behind his big desk. ÒYou look
smashing, Chloe,Ó he said. ÒPerfectly outfitted for work in my office.Ó
ÒThank you, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said. There was an old school desk set
up near his. It was small. It had sheets of paper on it. I glanced over at
it. ÒDo you want me to sit there, Mr. LaCrosse?Ó I asked.
ÒYes, Chloe,Ó my new boss said.
ÒWhereÕs my computer?Ó I asked, looking at the papers set out on the
desk.
ÒYou... ah... may use a computer if you wish, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse
said. ÒBut I thought you have them at your school.Ó
ÒYes,Ó I said, rolling my eyes. ÒThey used to be fun. But now we
work on them all day long! And they donÕt have any games on them, like
they used to. The administration erased all of those.Ó
ÒWell, I wouldnÕt want you to have to slave away on a computer here,
Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒAnd you may certainly play games, if you like.
But first I have some work I need you to do.Ó
ÒWhat?!Ó I asked excitedly. I approached his desk. He took
something from a drawer and slid it out to the end of his desk for me to
pick up. It was a box of crayons.
ÒI have a report I need you to color, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said to me.
ÒColor?!Ó I asked.
ÒYes, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒAre you good at coloring?Ó
ÒOf course,Ó I answered. ÒBut I didnÕt know reports needed to be
colored.Ó
ÒThis is my own special report, just for me,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
ÒItÕs a report on the Kama Sutra, Chloe. As you know, the Kama Sutra
involves all different kinds of bodily positions. For coitus. One can hardly
keep track of all of them, without diagrams. I need you to color in all the
people in the report, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
ÒThe Kama--Ó I said. I picked up the crayons and wandered over to
my desk.
ÒSutra,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
ÒOh!Ó I cried. The top sheet of paper on my school desk had two
people on it. They were clasping each other. I could see a long dong-like
penis extending from the man into the woman. He looked as well-hung as a
donkey! ÒItÕs a report about sex,Ó I said.
ÒYes,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒThe Kama Sutra originated in India, Chloe.
So you will be learning a little about Indian art as well as their sexual
practises. And when the reportÕs all colored-in, IÕll have a nice-looking
report for myself on sex in India. Which will be quite helpful, since IÕm
planning to open a subsidiary in India soon.Ó
ÒOh. Okay,Ó I said. I settled into the wooden chair behind the desk. I
opened my box of crayons.
ÒDid the girls show you where the coffee pot was?Ó Mr. LaCrosse
asked me.
ÒYes,Ó I replied.
ÒGood,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒI donÕt want you to get me coffee if you
feel it will be an imposition, but--Ó
ÒOh, no!Ó I cried. ÒIÕll be happy to get your coffee, Mr. LaCrosse. IÕm
real good at putting cream and sugar in it in the right amounts and
everything. Brad likes coffee!Ó
ÒAh, I would appreciate it if you didnÕt mention your boyfriend
during our time together, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse told me. ÒJust as a
personal favor, to me. I never had a daughter and, well...Ó
ÒOf course, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said. ÒI know how guys feel jealous of
each other. Girls do too.Ó
ÒGood,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒAlso, occasionally IÕd like a drink. I
have some liquor in a liquor cabinet there.Ó He pointed. ÒDo you know how
to mix drinks, Chloe?Ó he asked.
ÒNo, but IÕd love to learn,Ó I said.
ÒGood,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
The minutes passed. I colored the people in the Kama Sutra report.
Such strange positions they were in! And all of them sexual. I felt my
nipples perk up inside my blouse. My ass squirmed on my chair. I crossed
my legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again. Mr. LaCrosse worked at his
desk. He took several phone calls. Nobody knew, except he and I, and the
three secretaries in his anterior office, that we were alone together.
Imagine if theyÕd seen my outfit! I looked like I was ready to hit a
nightclub, and a risque one at that, but it was only mid-afternoon.
Finally I looked up from my report on the Kama Sutra and said, ÒMr.
LaCrosse, would you like me to get you some coffee now?Ó
ÒEr, no, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse answered. I shifted my hips. I did some
more coloring. Then I looked up at him again and asked, ÒWould you like
some coffee now, Mr. LaCrosse?Ó
ÒNo, Chloe, IÕm trying to decide between these financial plans right
now,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said in a distracted voice.
ÒWould it be okay if I get some coffee for me, Mr. LaCrosse?Ó I
asked. He looked up from the papers on his desk.
ÒChloe is there something youÕre not telling me?Ó he asked. I gave
him a surprised look.
ÒUm, no, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said. I shifted my fanny on my chair. He
stared at me, then said,
ÒI think there is, Chloe.Ó
I swallowed.
ÒMr. LaCrosse,Ó I said. ÒWith your permission, I have to go to the
bathroom.Ó
The man sitting at his big desk in his Tommy Hilfinger suit gazed at
me with a triumphant look in his eyes. ÒIÕm sorry, Chloe,Ó he said. ÒBut I
canÕt give you permission for that just now. YouÕll have to hold it.Ó
ÒWhat?!Ó I cried. I dropped the crayon I was coloring with. It hit my
desk, rolled off, fell to the floor.
ÒItÕs important, in office work, to use the toilet during your breaks,
Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
ÒBut I havenÕt had a break yet!Ó I answered.
ÒOf course,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒYouÕll have a break when I authorize
it. As my private assistant, itÕs important that you put my needs ahead of
your own.Ó
ÒYes, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said.
ÒNow, if you were truly my daughter, and if you were sitting here
coloring, do you know what would happen, Chloe?Ó Mr. LaCrosse asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I said. I gulped. Our ÔworkplaceÕ was starting to take on a
rather unusual air.
ÒYou would sit here and color and completely ignore your bladder,
Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒYou would color away, until you were
absolutely bursting! Then, at the last minute, still trying to color, but
absolutely full from sitting so long, youÕd blurt out to me that you had to
pee.Ó
I looked at him. What did he think I was, a six-year-old? Of course I
remembered doing that when I was six, or five, but I was 13 now!
ÒChloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒI have been with many women. Fine,
mature, sophisticated women. But IÕve never had a daughter. I would
really like to have a daughter who sits near me and colors until her need
to pee makes her absolutely squirm in her seat.Ó
ÒOh,Ó I said.
ÒWould you do me a favor and keep right on coloring, Chloe?Ó Mr.
LaCrosse asked. ÒKeep on coloring in all those people in their sexual
positions. Think of the man in those drawings, yearning to cum, but
holding himself back. Think of him as you strive to contain your pee
within your pretty cuntlips.Ó
ÒMr. LaCrosse?Ó I asked.
ÒYes, Chloe?Ó he said to me.
ÒAre you... sort of like the man in these drawings?Ó I asked.
ÒVery much so, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse answered.
ÒOh,Ó I said.
ÒKeep coloring, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒAnd tell me, what is your
favorite soda?Ó
ÒSoda?Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó he said.
ÒStrawberry,Ó I said.
ÒIÕm going to have my secretary, Miss Fredrickson, bring you a
strawberry soda, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse told me. ÒI want you to drink all of
it.Ó
ÒYes, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó I said.
When the woman came in, Mr. LaCrosse had her get me a soda, plus a
cup of coffee for himself.
ÒI could have gotten you that,Ó I told him ruefully.
ÒI know what you could have done, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse replied.
ÒShhh, dear. DonÕt bother him. He has to approve our financial plan
for India,Ó Miss Fredrickson told me.
Time passed. I drank my soda. Mr. LaCrosse drank all of his coffee.
I squirmed in my seat. Finally, an exasperated look on my face, I regarded
Mr. LaCrosse and said,
ÒSir, I really do have to go to the bathroom. May I be excused now?Ó
My boss smiled. Without lifting his head, still studying his financial
plan for his new Indian subsidiary, he said, ÒChloe, the toilet is right
there on the other side of my desk. You may go use it if you wish.Ó
ÒHuh?Ó I asked.
ÒYouÕll be going in a potty, right here in my office,Ó Mr. LaCrosse
said. ÒIf you pick up that box of xeroxed papers, youÕll see that the plastic
thing itÕs sitting on is actually a childÕs potty. Lift the seat and pee in it.
One of the secretaries will empty the potty in the adultÕs bathroom down
the hall when youÕre finished.Ó
ÒWhat?!Ó I cried. I stood up. I gaped at the paper box across the
room, the one with XEROX printed boldly on it, that had been cut open and
converted into a makeshift filing cabinet. It held some excess paperwork
and, I saw, was sitting on a plastic container. I walked across the room. I
picked up the box labelled XEROX. It was light. I set it on the floor. Sure
enough, what lay underneath, the plastic container, was in fact a small
childÕs potty. It had been placed on a low broad coffee table, so that
anyone using the potty would have to get up on the coffee table, thereby
making a greater display of themself.
ÒCan I at least put the potty on the floor?Ó I asked in a high,
concerned voice.
ÒOf course not, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse answered. ÒI put the potty up on
the table so I could see you more easily. I want you squatting up on the
table. That way I can admire your cunny as you sit there peeing. And
wiping.Ó He grinned at me.
ÒOh!Ó I shouted. There was a box of Kleenex waiting beside the
potty, on the table. It had Tweety Bird, from Looney Tunes, printed on it. I
suspected each Kleenex also bore a cartoon image of the bird. ÒIÕm-- IÕm
too big to sit on the potty!Ó I protested. ÒAnd the table might break!Ó
ÒIt wonÕt, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒI want you to get up on it and
pee. Unless, that is, youÕd rather hold yourself in a while longer.Ó
ÒI canÕt!Ó I blurted.
ÒGood,Ó he said. ÒWeÕll call this our break, then.Ó He leaned back in
his big leather chair. He gazed at me. He reached in his desk and took out
a cigar and lit it. ÒAnytime, Chloe,Ó he said.
ÒOh, I donÕt want you to watch me going to the bathroom!Ó I cried.
ÒIÕm paying you, Chloe,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. ÒIÕm paying you by the
hour, IÕve paid for your cab, and IÕve bought your clothes. Now I want to
see you go to the bathroom. ItÕs a fair bargain, I think. You have to pee in
any event. Just think of me as your father, watching solicitously as his
daughter learns to handle herself on the potty.Ó
ÒOh, God!Ó I said. But I climbed up on the table. Why? IÕm not sure.
Perhaps it was because he was four times my age. It made him both
remote and, somehow, safer than Brad would have been, seeing me do it.
Plus, he had given me such sexy things to wear. I really liked my short
skirt. I loved my long stockings. He would take complete care of me, I
realized, and all I had to do in return was give him the small daughter heÕd
always wanted but never had. ÒI have to go quite badly,Ó I admitted,
gazing ruefully at him. I lifted my skirt. I yanked down my panties. I was
sufficiently full that even if heÕd let me go down the hall, I might not have
made it.
I plopped down onto the childÕs seat of the potty. The empty bowl in
the potty loomed below me. I looked down at myself. My legs were
splayed, my cunt offered itself to the waiting container below me. I put
my fingers to my sex. I peed.
ÒMiss Fredrickson, would you please bring me that report on
Indonesia?Ó Mr. LaCrosse said, pressing a button on his speaker phone. I
gaped at him.
ÒLouie, IÕm peeing!Ó I hissed. My urine fell into the bowl. It made a
splashing sound.
ÒOf course, Mr. LaCrosse,Ó a pleasant Swedish voice answered. A
moment later his secretary entered, carrying a sheaf of papers. She
walked past me, sitting in a rather abject pose on the toilet, still busy
relieving myself.
ÒIs there anything else, Mr. LaCrosse?Ó Miss Fredrickson asked.
ÒSee that Chloe wipes herself properly,Ó my boss answered. The
secretary turned. She regarded me as one does an animal, pooping in the
back yard. As I stared up at her, I thanked God I only had to do number one.
ÒAh, you will need to have it emptied too, when sheÕs finished,Ó Miss
Fredrickson said to Mr. LaCrosse. She was a lovely blonde. She stared at
me with her fingers interlaced, twin hands poised efficiently, waiting for
me to complete my pee.
ÒYes,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He puffed on his cigar.
ÒIÕm done!Ó I said. I yanked at the box of Kleenex beside my potty,
pulling a tissue free and wiping my sex with it. I dropped the soiled
Kleenex into the pool of pee lying in the bottom of the container. I stood
up. My skirt fell over me. I pulled up my panties.
ÒSheÕs a quick wiper,Ó Miss Fredrickson said. She walked over to me.
She offered me her hand. ÒYou did well, dear,Ó she said in a soft voice to
me, laced with feminine sympathy. ÒWould you like to color some more?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I said. She drew me a little away from the potty, my feet still
on the table, and embraced me. Her lips sought mine, kissed me. I drew
back a little but her arms held me against her. I relaxed. She kissed me
again.
ÒThis is our own special place,Ó Miss Fredrickson said to me, in her
high-pitched voice, with her Swedish accent. ÒWe can have as much fun as
we want here. ThereÕs no need to feel embarrassed. Let yourself be free.
YouÕll be amply rewarded.Ó
ÒI want to go home,Ó I said.
ÒWhy?Ó Miss Fredrickson asked. ÒThe funÕs only just beginning.Ó
She helped me down off the table. Then, staying me with a firm hand
clasping my own, she got up on the table in my place. ÒI have to pee too,Ó
Miss Fredrickson confided in me. ÒI hope your pee doesnÕt splash up on me
when I do it. IÕm not used to the bowl already being half-full.Ó
She lowered her own panties and lifted her skirt. When she had
settled herself down on the pot, she again took my hand in her own. She
peed. We held hands as she peed. I watched, mesmerized. Mr. LaCrosse
watched, puffing on his cigar.
ÒYou had to go badly,Ó I said, as Miss Fredrickson peed for what
seemed a very long time.
ÒYes,Ó she answered. ÒI was waiting for you. I havenÕt gone since
lunch.Ó
ÒIÕm sorry,Ó I said.
ÒItÕs no problem,Ó Miss Fredrickson said. She looked ruefully at her
boss. ÒHe decides when I may relieve myself. He can be quite...
challenging.Ó She looked up at me with her blue Swedish eyes. ÒDid you
know IÕm married?Ó she asked.
ÒNo,Ó I said. I didnÕt even know her first name, yet.
ÒWell, I am,Ó Miss Fredrickson told me. ÒMy husbandÕs a big ex-
football player. He used to play for the Paris team. HeÕd be jealous as hell
if he knew what I did at work. But he doesnÕt, of course. Like I said, this
is our own special place. We can be ourselves here, with Mr. LaCrosse.Ó
Her eyes flitted to the man sitting behind his desk, puffing his cigar.
ÒI have to go too,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He stood up. He unzipped
himself. As I watched with awestruck eyes, he unleashed a penis from his
trousers that stood out a good foot from his body. It was pointing right at
us.
ÒThe potty is full, sir,Ó Miss Fredrickson said to Mr. LaCrosse. She
carefully wiped herself and dropped the Kleenex into the bowl. It floated
beside mine.
ÒThen get out the baby pool,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
A few minutes later, Miss Fredrickson and I knelt in our business
clothes in the baby pool. She pretended to give dictation. I pretended to
take notes, with my crayons, on a sheet of paper laid out on the floor of
the pool. Mr. LaCrosse stood over us, his cock erect and exposed.
ÒThe new subsidiary in India will be involved in coal extraction,Ó
Miss Fredrickson said to me in a high, lilting voice. ÒIt will be part owned
by an Indian minority owner and-- oh, dear, it looks like it might rain!Ó
ÒReally?Ó I asked. Miss Fredrickson pointed up at Mr. LaCrosseÕs
cock. ÒSuch big clouds they have here in India,Ó she said to me.
ÒFortunately our clothing allowance will take care of us if we get
our clothes wet,Ó I told her. I felt queasy. I was playing along, but how
strange it was! Did Mr. LaCrosse really want to pee on us? I was telling
myself it was all a joke, heÕd never ruin such expensive clothes as heÕd
lavished on us, when suddenly a spattering of warm pee rained down on my
head.
ÒEEEEEEEeeeek!Ó I cried.
ÒYeeeeeek!Ó Miss Fredrickson shouted, though with less alarm than I
expressed. I tried to rise from the pool to escape the downpour of pee but
she put her hand on my shoulder and made me stay kneeling. Mr.
FredricksonÕs urine fell in my lustrous hair, gold as my well-brushed
locks. It spattered my blouse, it cascaded down onto the crayon I clenched
in my fist and the paper IÕd been writing on. Mr. LaCrosse swung his
ample, turgid organ and peed over both myself and Miss Fredrickson.
Despite our screams, none of the other secretaries in the anterior office
came in to see what was the matter.
In time, Mr. LaCrosseÕs stream lessened. Its arc grew shorter. He
drew closer to the edge of our pool to make sure we continued to receive
even the last drops of his urine. He shook himself over us, giving us every
last bit. I gazed with pee-stained cheeks down at the urine collected in
the bottom of our pool.
There was a knock at the door.
ÒCome in,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said.
ÒOh. I didnÕt realize you were busy, sir,Ó a woman said, peeking
within.
ÒItÕs okay. IÕm just using the toilet,Ó Mr. LaCrosse replied. ÒWhat is
it, Miss Jacobs?Ó
ÒSomeone from Deli, sir. About the new subsidiary,Ó the woman
replied.
ÒPatch them through. IÕll take the call,Ó Mr. LaCrosse said. He
zipped himself up. He did it with difficulty because his thing was so large
and engorged. ÒWait here,Ó he told myself and Miss Fredrickson. ÒI still
need to ejaculate.Ó
ÒMy, you two look a bit wet,Ó Miss Jacobs laughed.
ÒJust attending to toilet duty,Ó Miss Fredrickson replied.
ÒOf course,Ó Miss Jacobs said. She smiled. ÒIÕll bring you wipes so
you can at least wipe off your faces. Would either of you like something
to drink?Ó
ÒA scotch,Ó Miss Fredrickson said. ÒWith a twist of lime.Ó
ÒA strawberry soda!Ó I told her. Then I looked at Miss Fredrickson.
ÒCan I get out of the pool now?Ó I asked her.
ÒNo, the funÕs just beginning,Ó she said. ÒDrink your soda and then
try to pee some more.Ó
ÒI donÕt want to sit on the potty again. ItÕs full,Ó I told her.
ÒNo, just pee right here,Ó Miss Fredrickson said. She gave me a
wicked smile. ÒDo you remember when you were a little girl?Ó she asked.
ÒOf course,Ó I said. ÒSome people still call me a little girl.Ó
ÒJust kneel in this pool and pee whenever you feel like,Ó Miss
Fredrickson said. ÒAnd donÕt take off your panties to do it. Just pee right
in your panties. YouÕre pretty wet already, from Mr. LaCrosse.
ÒI know,Ó I said. ÒBut isnÕt it bad to, like, do this?Ó
ÒWeÕll change afterward. ThereÕs a small shower down the hall,Ó
Miss Fredrickson said. ÒLike I told you, this is our own special place. We
can be totally free here. And he pays for everything,Ó she added, looking
at Mr. LaCrosse, sitting at his big desk. He was speaking to the mayor of
Deli, puffing contentedly on his cigar.
ÒOh, donÕt tell my auntie that I sat in a baby pool, peeing in my
panties!Ó I told Miss Fredrickson.
ÒI wonÕt, if you donÕt tell my husband,Ó she said.
ÒI donÕt know your husband,Ó I confessed.
ÒI donÕt know your aunt,Ó she replied. We stared at each other.
ÒYouÕre very cute,Ó Miss Fredrickson told me. ÒMay I kiss you?Ó
ÒMmmmm,Ó I said. ÒBut donÕt tell.Ó The woman leaned forward and
kissed me. Her lips were soft. I savored them against my own. Her hand
stole into my decollete blouse and fondled my tits. I meant to protest but
the words I intended to speak drowned in my throat as Miss Fredrickson
held me in a prolonged kiss.
My hand slithered along Miss FredricksonÕs waist and went down
between her legs, past her short skirt, and up between her thighs. I found
her panties and pressed against them with my fingers. She groaned. I felt
the fabric of her undies wetten slightly.
Our kiss continued. I heard Miss Jacobs giggle but even that didnÕt
cause our mouths to part. Miss Fredrickson worked her snatch against my
fingers.
ÒIÕm going to pee,Ó she breathed hotly.
ÒOkay,Ó I sighed. As we continued to kiss I felt a sudden discharge
of fluid into the fabric I was diddling. She peed in her panties! I felt a
sudden need of my own. I whispered to her what I wished to do. She
nodded, a little, still kissing me, and slipped a hand up under my skirt.
She felt my dell through the fabric of my undies.
ÒDo it now,Ó Miss Fredrickson said.
ÒMmmmm,Ó I said into her lips. I let myself go. Pee squirted from
my cunt lips into my tight-pressed briefs. Miss Fredrickson tickled me. I
giggled, still peeing. I felt a new spurt of pee wetten her own panties.
ÒWeÕre pee pals,Ó Miss Fredrickson told me.
ÒYes,Ó I giggled.
Miss Jacobs brought us wipes for our faces and drinks for our
bellies. We indulged ourselves. We hoped to pee again, we were such
wicked girls that day. Mr. LaCrosse finished his phone call. He came over
to where we were kneeling. He unzipped himself again. He offered us his
cock. Miss Fredrickson and I both licked at him greedily. When he could
stand no more of our attention, he loosed himself freely into our hair and
over our faces. We took all he had to give us, gladly, uncaring about how
sticky it made us or how it wrecked our clothes. Miss Fredrickson and I,
enduring the shower of his sperm, at the same time felt each other and
peed yet again in our underwear.
ÒIt was rather liberating, donÕt you think?Ó Miss Fredrickson asked
me bashfully as we shared a tight shower down the hall. I squeezed
against her. There was barely enough room in the portable shower for one,
let alone two. But somehow that made it all the more special, and
intimate.
ÒIt does sort of free you up from anxieties and inhibitions,Ó I said.
ÒI never thought work could be like this.Ó
ÒNeither did I, until I met Mr. LaCrosse,Ó Miss Fredrickson sighed.
ÒMmmm. IÕm glad I met you too,Ó I told her truthfully. ÒI feel shy
about it, but youÕre pretty fun.Ó
ÒSo are you,Ó Miss Fredrickson said. ÒHopefully weÕll get to party a
lot like this.Ó
ÒYes!Ó I said.
Unfortunately Mr. LaCrosse died of a heart attack the following
week. I told my auntie what weÕd been doing and she was quite shocked by
it all. I saw Miss Fredrickson again at the funeral. We kissed. We cried
together. I wondered if my feelings for her were beyond what a girl
should feel. Her husband took her away at the end of the funeral and I did
not get to see her again.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browserÕs ÒLocationÓ window. Press your ÒreturnÓ key.
Click on ÒPower SearchÓ in the middle of the screen.
Find the box labelled ÒMain ArchiveÓ.
Change ÒMain ArchiveÓ to ÒComplete ArchiveÓ.
Next, do you see a blank box labelled ÒPower SearchÓ ?
Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the blank box on the screen
that has ÒPower SearchÓ written next to it.
Click on ÒfindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock SturgesÕ Radiant
Identities and David HamiltonÕs The Age of Innocence. Support art!
-Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years
of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
- NAKED girls, under 18! Plus scholarly books. Publishing for over
a decade, itÕs AlessandraÕs Smile, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY
10185-2377. Phone: 1-212-505-6985; Web:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
- JOIN the worldÕs greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, 537 Jones St. #8418, San Francisco, CA 94102.
Phone: 1-212-807-8578; Web: http://www.nambla.org
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF story EMISSION