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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
FEVERED FALL
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Chapter Twenty
It was a hot, dry afternoon outside. I could sense the heat radiating
outside my bedroom window, baking the flat sands far below, pounding the
low buildings that surrounded the castle like a hard, thudding solar
heartbeat.
In my bedroom, high in the castle, I was protected from the sun. My
bottom still hurt from the nightÕs ÒfestivitiesÓ, as the maids referred to
them, but otherwise I was cool, even chilly. Still, because my ass
throbbed with the heat of the nightÕs whipping, I lay naked upon the sheets
and turned-down coverlet of my bed, letting all of my skin, from my toes
to my face, feel the caress of the air conditioning.
At home Rebecca would have chided me for leaving the window open.
Here, though, it hardly mattered; we werenÕt responsible for the electric
bill. The maids said nothing; I guessed it was a privilege of living in the
castle. You could leave your window open if you liked, letting the air
conditioned air rush out, listening to the rustle of palm trees that lined
the street far below, when an occasional desert breeze managed to
overcome the downward beat of the sunÕs heat to flutter the treesÕ long-
stemmed fronds. I heard a carÕs horn sound below, weakly. I had studied
the street for awhile, standing at the window, watching the occasional
donkey or camel or car that wound along the streetÕs meandering course.
There was no rush hour; just the occasional traveller, who might be riding
in anything from a Mercedes to a beat-up old Nissan, or who might be using
a beast of burden to convey him. The castle loomed over them all, casting
a long shadow over the street in the morning, leaving it hot and
unprotected in the afternoon, save for the spindly shadows cast by the
latticed fronds of the palms.
Now it was past noon, and the street had only the palms to keep its
asphalt from melting and running away to the distant sea. I couldnÕt see
the Gulf from my window. It was some miles away and my window faced
in toward the desert. If I stood at my window I could stare at long
stretches of sand; there was sand around all the buildings below the
castle walls, sand banked in the street where the breeze had blown it,
sand stretching away from my window for miles until it became lost in a
haze of heat.
Though I could open or close a pair of shutters fitted to the interior
of my window, I could not climb out of it. Long steel bars, running
lengthwise, made me a prisoner in my bedroom, letting only the cooled air
of my room escape.
Though I liked thinking of it as my bedroom, high in the princeÕs
castle, in fact I shared it with my aunt and Jim Rutland. My aunt slept
beside me; she was older than me and was still sleeping, though I was
awake. She lay on her side to keep her bottom off the sheets. It had been
so thoroughly whipped that even the touch of soft, silken sheets could
send spasms of pain through her. Once she rolled absently on her back, in
her sleep, and her eyes popped open and she shrieked and rolled again onto
her side, immediately falling back into sleep.
Our bottoms had been the center of attention as soon as we had been
freed by the guards and carried upstairs. Maids had come, six or seven of
them, and they had put salve on my bottom and my auntÕs as we lay on our
bellies on the bed weeping. Their touch was firm, deliberate. We were not
the first girls theyÕd assuaged and we would not be the last. They coated
our bottoms with ointment, checked our holes, rubbed us down and left us
to cry ourselves to sleep on the bed, which did not take long since both my
aunt and I were exhausted.
Jim Rutland was placed on a separate bed beside our own. It was
King-sized. It had been wedged in next to our own bed and the interior
wall. The room was just large enough to accommodate it, though a dresser
had been taken away to make space for it. Jim lay on his back, despite his
sore bottom, for in his case it was his cock and balls that the maids were
most concerned with. There was nothing wrong with them, they had not
been injured, but his privates had been forced to spend repeatedly and the
maids rubbed lotion on his loins to stimulate them and reawaken them. As
my auntie and I had our bottoms rubbed I glanced over at Jim Rutland and
watched as they forced goatÕs milk down his throat, from a big jug, to
cause him to make more sperm.
ÒHere is your milk, Jim dear,Ó a high-pitched voice sang out. I was
writing in crayon on a sheet of paper on my bed, and I looked up to see who
had come into the room. It was a young girl. She was no older than me. I
didnÕt know her name but she saw me looking at her and smiled, briefly,
then turned to Jim and gave him a tall glass.
ÒGod, not more of that!Ó Jim said, though perhaps relief showed on
his face because it was only a glassful and not a big jug.
ÒItÕs your milk! So you can make more sperm!Ó the girl said. She
was dressed in a black maidÕs outfit. The blouse served double duty; it
was both blouse and skirt. It covered her shoulders, and had long sleeves
that ran down to her wrists. Yet it did not cover her bosoms. The front of
her blouse was so decollete that it left the front of her throat bare,
though a high collar arched up along the sides and back of her neck. Below
her throat her skin showed white, right down to the swell of her bosoms,
which, left uncovered, spilled out of her uniform and quivered pertly, their
nipples uprisen.
Below, where the girlÕs ribs were, the blouse fitted her tightly. It
covered her like a black skin. It was laced tightly across her belly and I
couldnÕt see any part of her skin showing through the lacings, the uniform
fitted so tightly. It moulded itself to her pubis, keeping her modest, then
flared in a kind of skirt where it hung loosely across the tops of her
thighs. Her bare, suntanned legs stretched down to prim shoes with big
Ôfoot stompinÕ soles. Her shoes were shiny and black, matching her
uniform. White stockings were pulled up over her legs, up to mid-thigh,
where white garters, hanging down, met them and clasped them tightly
with small metal clips. The garters themselves were thin and covered
with pretty lace, it looked as if her stockings were being held aloft by
four lacy strands of spaghetti. Between the tops of her stockings and her
blouse her sun-kissed thighs showed. They were like two sticks of
cinnamon, long and thin. I guessed they had been too thin as a child but
now that she was 13 the maidÕs legs had filled out to a pretty width, still
coltish in their appearance but beckoning with the promise of womanly
grace. She stepped across the room primly and proudly, happy to have been
selected to be the one to bring Jim his milk. I felt jealousy boil deep in
my veins, but said nothing, only watched, like a spectator surreptitiously
watching lovers.
ÒHere. You must drink all of it,Ó the girl told Jim. He lay free upon
the bed, on his back, his head resting on pillows. He lay on the sheets, not
under them. His cock stiffened and rose as the girl approached him. She
cast a wary eye upon it. Then she leaned in over the bed and offered the
glass to JimÕs hand. Her tits hung out of her uniform, like sweet udders
begging to be milked.
Jim reached for the glass. There was an iron collar fitted around his
neck, to keep him within the bed. A chain hooked to the collar ran to the
bedÕs headboard, then passed through a space in it and attached itself to
the masonry of the wall. Jim could roll in his bed or sit up. He could move
to the edge of his bed and pee in a plastic container. But he could not
leave the bed, and my aunt and I could not free him. My aunt had a smaller
iron collar around her neck. A chain ran from her collar through the
headboard of her bed to the wall. There was a basin beside her bed for her
to pee in.
I also wore a collar, slimmer still than my auntÕs. But in my case it
did not have any chain on it, so that I could move freely around the room,
without any need to unlock myself first. Perhaps they had simply
forgotten to chain me, or perhaps they left me free because I was only a
child.
I watched as the maid, leaning in over JimÕs bed, offered him the
milk. Jim sighed and took it. Then, boldly, holding the glass in his hand,
he passed the rim of the glass under the girlÕs right bosom. He had not
drunk from the glass yet. With a quick, upward jab, he pressed the open-
mouthed rim of the glass up round the girlÕs right tit.
ÒOh! Sir!Ó the girl cried.
Jim laughed. He drew the glass away. There was a white, milky
mark on the girlÕs breast. Milk dripped off her excited nipple.
ÒItÕs cold,Ó the girl said, gazing at her milk-stained bosom.
ÒI know, but now I find it easier to drink,Ó Jim said. He lifted the
glass to his lips and began swallowing it down.
ÒSir, I shall get in trouble if I get milk on my uniform,Ó the girl said.
She held her breast as one might hold a damaged fruit, staring at her skin,
with its milky stain.
ÒHere, give it to me,Ó Jim said. With a quick motion he rolled on his
side. There was a night table next to his bed and he set the half-drunk
glass of milk upon it. Then, before the maid could retreat from his
grasping hands, he grabbed her and pulled her into the bed and put his
mouth to her tit.
ÒOh! Oh! Oh!Ó the maid howled. ÒLet me go!Ó Jim sucked hard on her
milk-stained bosom and I felt boiling rage inside me. Jim was mine! I had
saved him from the executioner and who was she to come prancing into the
room, topless, teasing him with her big bosoms, which I suspected were
even bigger than my own? I had been writing with crayons and I threw one
of my crayons at the girl. It hit her bottom. She was quite fetchingly
dressed in her hindquarters; her blouse flared over half her seat, leaving
the lower part of her bottom completely bare. My crayon hit her quivering
asscheeks where the blouse didnÕt cover her. It bounced off her hiney,
leaving a red mark where it had struck.
ÒMmmm! Such delicious titties you have!Ó Jim growled. He was
manhandling the girl, stuffing her right tit into his mouth as his other
hand squeezed vigorously on her other tit, as if to draw milk from it. She
squirmed in his arms yet I wondered how disapproving she really felt
about it, for he was hard and young and surely the feel of his sculpted
muscles was not unappealing. Perhaps her cries were due to the presence
of his cock, which stuck up threateningly along her belly, impressing its
hard tube of flesh into her and possibly was discharging pre-cum onto her
pretty uniform.
Jim let go of the girl, suddenly, for another maid walked into the
room, a middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a uniform similar to the
girlÕs, but her blouse was higher, covering her breasts, and she wore an
actual skirt, stretching down below her knees. She didnÕt have to rely on
her blouse to do double duty as both a blouse and a skirt.
ÒAngela!Ó the maid snapped. ÒGet up from that bed!Ó She advanced
quickly to where Angela now lay dazed in Jim RutlandÕs arms. He no longer
held her down but she was still disoriented from being grabbed. Either
that, or she found the press of his hard bare flesh so alluring that she
didnÕt want to get up off it. The older woman showed no hesitation in
leaning over the bed and giving Angela a hard slap of her hand on the girlÕs
upturned bottom.
ÒYeee-OUCH!Ó Angela cried. She leapt up off Jim. As she came off
him, JimÕs cock was liberated from the press of her body and stood up in
all its glory.
ÒDrink your milk, Mr. Rutland,Ó the older woman said. She saw that
his glass on the night stand was only half empty. As she gazed at his
glass she gripped AngelaÕs shoulders and drew her firmly off the bed.
ÒOh! I told him to drink it, Mrs. Hatami,Ó Angela told the older
woman.
ÒLook at your uniform, girl!Ó Mrs. Hatami answered. She tugged at
AngelaÕs blouse. She straightened it, drawing out the wrinkles, and then
gave Angela another, less vigorous, slap on her bottom.
ÒOuch!Ó Angela said. Her hands flew back to her naked seat. ÒCanÕt I
at least have panties to wear?Ó Angela asked.
ÒNo, for then you would be impossible to discipline, with panties to
protect your ass from my hand,Ó Mrs. Hatami said. She gave Angela yet
another slap, quite lightly, as if to savor the way AngelaÕs taut seat
quivered.
Angela drew up on her toes and let out a plaintive howl. She rubbed
her seat. Then, perhaps fearing the woman would amuse herself with
another slap on her bottom, she scurried quickly out of the room. I
watched her go, glad to be rid of her but enjoying the way her tight
bottomcheeks pumped as she ran from the room.
ÒAs for you,Ó Mrs. Hatami said, looking down at Jim with a mixture
of admiration and reproval in her eyes. ÒLie on your stomach. If youÕre
going to let your milk sit and assault the serving girls, I must bind your
wrists.Ó
ÒGood Lord, IÕm getting quite sick of this,Ó Jim said. He glowered up
at the woman. He looked like Zeus, confronting Hera. As with the myths,
Hera won. At last he rolled on his belly, trapping his big erect cock
beneath him. I giggled at how he groaned when his cock was forced to
adapt itself to the harsh vertical position enforced by the pressure of his
stomach against the bed. Mrs. Hatami smiled amusedly and opened a
drawer in the night stand beside JimÕs bed. She drew out a pair of
handcuffs.
ÒThey are lined with fur. Be grateful for that,ÓMrs. Hatami told Jim.
ÒI donÕt care,Ó Jim answered. He let Mrs. Hatami pick up his big
arms and cross them over his back. She cuffed him, then ordered him to
roll on his stomach again, so the pressure of his body upon his penis
wouldnÕt cause him to shoot.
ÒYou must remain sexually ready at all times,Ó Mrs. Hatami warned
Jim. ÒYou have a fine cock and Prince Havash will delight in showing it to
guests who visit his kingdom. Female guests, and male guests too, for a
work of art like your penis is something that can be admired by all.Ó She
spoke in an Arabic accent laced with British English. ÒYou will only spurt
when Prince Havash commands it. Otherwise, you are to be erect and
vulnerable, your balls full, your penis ready for admiration. Do not lose
yourself as you enjoy lying here in this bed. The girls beside you, little
Chloe and her aunt Rebecca, are for your stimulation only, to keep your
cock tense and excited. Look upon them, enjoy the effect the sight of their
nude bodies has upon your loins, but do not touch them or use them to
relieve your sexual tension.Ó She bent down and touched his cock, lightly,
ringing her fingers around its thick girth, which was too wide for her to
encompass entirely, though she tried, clutching at the center of his big
shaft. ÒTonight there will be a party and you will display this beautiful
object to all the guests,Ó she said. ÒThere will be other male slaves too.
Have you heard of dog shows? This will be like a dog show, except you and
the other men will be the dogs, and it is your cocks that will be judged. I
expect you to win the blue ribbon. Then you will be permitted to spurt out
your sperm in front of all of us, including me. I have already placed bets
with the other women as to who is the best, and it is you that I have bet
them will win. Do not cause me to lose my money by losing your sperm
before the contest. I know you ache with desire. ThatÕs why we keep
feeding you goatÕs milk, to make you absolutely stiff with lust. Drink up,
young man! Drink and enjoy relieving yourself in this plastic container by
your bed, but under no circumstances are you to jack off into it. Your
sperm is too valuable to be wasted here beside your bed, in this plastic
jug. And as for those two...Ó she said. Her voice broke off.
ÒWhat are you doing there?Ó Mrs. Hatami asked, gazing across Jim
RutlandÕs body at me, next to my aunt, with a sheet of paper before me.
ÒIÕm making a list,Ó I said. I kept my eyes on her chin, afraid to look
in her eyes. I didnÕt want to upset her in any way if she had a propensity
to slap 13-year-old girlsÕ bottoms. Mine could hardly stand any more
blows.
ÒWhat? You are writing a note asking to be rescued?Ó Mrs. Hatami
asked.
ÒNo! No!Ó I said. My eyes lifted and met hers then, I was so scared
by her accusation. I hadnÕt even thought of doing that! ÒNo, IÕm making a
list of food I like, and things I need, in case we go shopping,Ó I told her.
ÒOh. Let me see,Ó Mrs. Hatami insisted. She walked over to where I
lay and snatched the piece of paper. I didnÕt try to stop her. She was an
Arab woman, dour in nature and, due to her age, broad in girth. I smelled
fresh bread as she drew close. Perhaps she was in charge of more than
just us girls. ÒWhat does it say...Ó Mrs. Hatami said. Her English wasnÕt
excellent but apparently she could read. In a voice thickly laced with an
Arabic accent, she spoke, reading from my paper:
ÒPotato ships,Ó she announced. ÒYou want a ship to come rescue
you?Ó
ÒChips!Ó I blurted.
ÒOh. Potato chips,Ó she said, suspiciously. I think she really did
think I was writing an escape note. ÒGummi Bears. Fruit Roll-Ups. Count
Chocula,Ó she said. She looked past the note at me. ÒYou are writing a
note to a Count?Ó she asked.
ÒItÕs a cereal,Ó my aunt murmured. She had awoken now, and lay
sleepily on her side, gazing up at the woman with heavily-lidded eyes.
ÒA Count is a cereal?Ó Mrs. Hatami asked.
ÒShe wants to eat him... I mean it!Ó my aunt explained.
ÒI shall have to show this to the Prince,Ó Mrs. Hatami said.
ÒWait! DonÕt get me in trouble!Ó I cried. But it was too late. Mrs.
Hatami bustled from the room, taking my note with her.
ÒOh!Ó I gasped, when she was gone. I looked at my aunt. ÒHe will
think IÕm trying to escape,Ó I told her. There was a worried, and slightly
depressed, look in my auntÕs eyes. I think she had hoped to find herself
waking up in her own bed at home. My aunt lifted her head, then became
aware of the collar around her neck. She glanced at the chain connecting
her to the wall.
ÒGood grief,Ó she said. She looked at me. Her eyes were heartfelt.
ÒIÕm sorry, Chloe,Ó she said.
ÒDonÕt be sorry,Ó Jim said. I looked up and gasped. He had risen from
his bed and had his chain stretched taut. He was right at the end of it, his
arms bound behind him, but his cock quavering out in front of him, lewd
and very stiff. ÒCome closer,Ó he whispered. My aunt looked back over her
shoulder.
ÒI am... I am bound by the neck,Ó my aunt said.
ÒSo am I,Ó Jim said. ÒArch your back. Stick out your bottom. We can
reach each other if we try,Ó Jim urged.
My aunt looked over her shoulder at Jim, his big thing sticking out,
his hips pushed forward. ÒNot... not our lips,Ó my aunt said. ÒOur lips
cannot touch.Ó
ÒThey donÕt need to,Ó Jim said.
ÒOh!Ó my aunt cried. ÒBut you must keep yourself stiff and erect...Ó
Her protest died as, no doubt against her better judgement, she tested the
length of her chain by pushing her bottom back. Jim stretched himself
forth, arching his hips hard, squeezing his buns together. His taut cock
nudged against my auntÕs rearward-pressing bottom. She gave a small
ÒohÓ and then offered herself more fully, drawing herself up on her knees.
Jim lunged at her. His chain tightened and snapped his head back, but he
kept his hips straining forth and managed to draw a shriek from my aunt
as his cock pushed into her dell.
ÒNo! We mustnÕt!Ó my aunt said fearfully. But she left Jim to
exercise the restraint, if any, between them, for she lowered her head and
stuck out her bottom more, pushing herself back on his stiff, quivering
prong.
ÒStop! Both of you!Ó I gasped. I stared at my aunt, her chain now
fully extended, lifting her bottom high to enclasp the head of JimÕs cock in
the folds of her cunt. For his part, Jim looked like he might tear his neck
from his shoulders as he strained to be captured more fully by my auntÕs
dell. He pushed. My aunt sighed. He drew back a little and immediately
she offered her bottom still more, hoping to keep him within her.
ÒDamn! I can only get in the head!Ó Jim said. He was sweating now,
profusely, as his neck strained against the collar which held him back.
ÒOh, my love! My dear, sweet love! The head is enough!Ó Rebecca
said. ÒIt is quite big,Ó she added, and moved her hips as if with
discomfort, though I guessed she enjoyed feeling his big knob splitting
her. But she wanted more, and he did too. They both grunted as they tried
again and again to make their love more complete.
ÒI- I want to feel your jism in me,Ó my aunt said at last, her hair
hanging down over her face, much tousled, from the twisting of her neck
against the collar which held her. She bit her lip and tried yet again to get
more of JimÕs penis in her.
ÒI... need some stimulation to shoot,Ó Jim said frankly. His cock
arched from my auntÕs pussy like a big sweaty banana, dying to be held
tight in her sheath but unable, due to the collar holding Jim back, to thrust
up inside her.
ÒIÕll do it!Ó I cried. I leapt up. I was too excited, watching them, to
worry what might happen to Jim if he shot himself off in my aunt. I
crawled around behind my aunt and grabbed the shaft of JimÕs dick. He had
just the head of himself in her. The rest of his long penis arched through
the air, rather like the St. Louis Arch. I could feel his pulse in his big
member. The skin of his dick was hot.
ÒMmmm!Ó Jim groaned. I gripped his large shaft with my small,
nimble fingers and began rubbing him.
ÒOh, Jim! I can hardly wait to feel you shooting up in me!Ó my aunt
said. She craned her neck back to watch my efforts. Gaily I massaged
JimÕs tense member. How strong it felt! How like a big, iron re-bar,
splitting my poor auntÕs behind!
ÒGod! You have such delicate fingers,Ó Jim said. He looked down at
my hands.
ÒIÕm only 13,Ó I told him.
ÒWhy are your fingernails purple?Ó Jim asked.
ÒI painted them!Ó I told him. ÒI found a sheet of rub-on daisies in
our night stand and I want to put one on each of my fingernails.Ó
ÒYouÕd actually look better if you didnÕt do that,Ó Jim told me. He
gritted his teeth as my fingers squeezed his member like a big tube of
toothpaste.
ÒReally?Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó Jim gasped. ÒWhy do young girls like you always do strange
things like painting your fingernails purple and putting daisies on them?Ó
ÒI dunno,Ó I said.
ÒDo you ever see girls in Playboy with purple fingers?Ó Jim asked
me.
ÒI donÕt read Playboy,Ó I told him. ÒIÕm too young.Ó
ÒOh, yeah,Ó Jim grunted.
ÒI guess youÕre fucking both me and my auntie,Ó since your penis
head is in her, and the shaft is in my hands,Ó I told Jim.
ÒYeah,Ó Jim said. His face grew grim. I could see that he was close
to spending now and was concentrating on holding himself back a bit
longer, enjoying the feel of my hands and the pressure of RebeccaÕs cunt
on his cockÕs trapped head. He urged himself back and forth a little,
making my aunt gasp each time his dickhead plunged to its farthest point
in her pussy.
ÒI feel like IÕm milking a cow,Ó I said to Jim. His chest tautened and
he let out a long groan.
ÒI feel like IÕm fucking one,Ó he answered.
I heard footsteps at the door and flung my head in that direction, my
blonde hair swirling. With wide, frightened eyes I saw Mrs. Hatami as she
came bustling into our room.
ÒOh! You naughty children!Ó she cried. She had a pail of water in her
hands but dropped it upon seeing us. I thought she would yell for the
guards, but perhaps her admiration for Jim prevented it. Instead, quickly
going to the dresser by the wall, she drew from it a manÕs belt. I found
the belt earlier, lying in the drawer, wondered at it and thought perhaps it
was there for Jim to wear round pants they might give him. I should have
known better. Slaves never wore clothes. We were chosen for our beauty
in the nude.
SPLAT! Mrs. Hatami rushed over to Jim and let fly with the belt. It
struck him hard on his bottom, and he howled. I crouched down, deathly
frightened. Yet my hands continued to fondle JimÕs cock. It felt too good
in my hands, all hard and excited, to let go of it.
ÒOh, please!Ó my aunt cried. She dipped her back more, as if to bolt
forward, but the posture only made her offer her cunt more fully to JimÕs
enquiring penis.
SPLAT! SPLAT! Mrs. Hatami struck again. I feared she might hit me,
but she confined all her blows to JimÕs bottom. Perhaps she desired, deep
down, to inflict such a punishment on him, and was delighted to find him
in a position that allowed her to do it.
ÒStop! Damn woman! YouÕre making me cum!Ó Jim groaned.
ÒYou should have thought of that before you stuck yourself into that
trollop!Ó Mrs. Hatami yelled. (Though indeed she did not yell as loudly as
she might have, perhaps to avoid drawing attention.)
ÒAck!Ó Jim said. His face looked quite pained and I guessed it was,
with the blows of the belt striking his already well-whipped bottom. He
twisted his hips, but he did not try to dislodge himself from my aunt. I
kept up an invigorating massage of his penis.
ÒYou havenÕt even finished your milk!Ó Mrs. Hatami bellowed. She
struck Jim harder. Suddenly, I felt something in him give way, and I began
to feel a deep, throbbing pumping in his shaft.
ÒOh! Oh!Ó my aunt said in great, heartfelt sighs.
ÒOmigod!Ó I cried. He was really doing it! I was holding JimÕs penis
as he shot himself into my aunt. I couldnÕt believe it! With my own hands,
I was holding the very thing that was sperming her. I held JimÕs prong as
his sperm raced through his penis and into my auntÕs cunny, coming in
pulsating bursts that I couldnÕt see but could certainly feel!
ÒYes!Ó Rebecca cried. She stretched her bottom out. Its halves
parted sweetly as she impaled herself on the object of her desire. Jim
groaned. He flooded her with his spunk and my aunt, receiving it, wet the
knob of his buried cock with her juices.
A quartet played on instruments in the ballroom. Overhead
chandeliers sparkled their light upon the guests. Prince Havash was
having his Grand Ball, to celebrate his ascension as the new ruler of
Quatar. It was rumored that the Sultan, our original master, had insulted
Prince Havash and was in fact to have his penis cut off this night. I
shivered to think of it, tried not to. I kept my mind focussed on my task,
greeting the male slaves as they walked one by one into the ballroom.
To delight his guests, and to remind the male slaves of their status,
Prince Havash permitted each one to enter wearing a suit and tie. Each
slave walked past me, gazing quickly at the basin of warm water I held,
then made his rounds of the guests, greeting the ladies and gentlemen. It
was a most peculiar sight. Jim Rutland, who was the second slave to
enter, serves as a good example:
Jim entered. He grinned at me, and I could see he was rather
nervous. It owed nothing to the state of his groin. After whipping him,
Mrs. Hatami had seen to it that he drank boatloads of milk so that heÕd be
ready to win the contest this evening. Jim looked smashing in a coat and
tie. His coat was open in front, by order of Prince Havash, so that he could
be admired all the way down his front. I spied at once a thick bulge in the
front of his pants. He was anxious about having to show himself to
strangers, yet he was also full of sperm and unable to keep down his
erection. He glanced at my bowl of warm water. It sat atop a pedestal. It
looked rather like something babies were baptized in, but it had no
religious purpose.
ÒIs that it?Ó Jim asked me.
ÒYes,Ó I whispered.
ÒHow many guys have come in?Ó Jim said.
ÒOnly one,Ó I answered.
ÒThank God,Ó Jim said. He walked past me. I understood his concern.
He didnÕt like the idea of water that had been used on other men being used
on him too. But all the slaves, as a condition of their service, were free
of disease, so he had nothing really to worry about. It was just an insult
to his ego.
Prince Havash announced JimÕs name. The Prince sat on a throne, the
same throne the Sultan had sat in the night before. The other guests stood
collected in front of the the throne and Jim walked around and greeted
them all, blushing a little before the men, but eyeing the women, all of
whom were quite beautiful. When he had greeted them all he was brought
back to where I stood. Two of the female guests escorted him. Slowly,
with admiring eyes and hands, they disrobed him.
ÒNow we must wash your balls,Ó one of the women said to Jim. She
urged him forward, a hand upon his tight buns, so that his cock dangled
over my bowl and his balls splashed down into it. The bowl was brimming
with suds. Jim gaped as he felt the heat of the water, which was quite
warm, and felt the suds clinging to his testicles.
ÒDonÕt shoot, Jim,Ó I whispered. I began rubbing his sperm sac,
carefully, so as not to make him any more excited than he already was.
ÒSlave girls are to be seen and not heard,Ó one of the women, the one
with her hand on JimÕs bottom, told me.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I replied immediately.
Unlike Jim, I had been forced to arrive at the party naked. I had been
posted at the pedestal by the door and the maids had brought me my bowl,
already filled with water. They had squirted Mr. Bubble into it as I
watched and made me stir the water with my fingers to make the bubbles
rise. Now there were lots of bubbles and, as I rubbed JimÕs balls,
ÒwashingÓ them, his testicles became completely covered with foam. It
sparkled upon his skin.
ÒVery good,Ó one of the women said. She drew Jim back. His balls
slipped from my grasp. His penis arched out, still untouched, with suds
clinging to his testes.
ÒHis scrotum has been washed, your highness,Ó one of the women
announced to Prince Havash.Ó
ÒIs it full?Ó the Prince asked, sitting on his throne. The two women
felt Jim, glad for the excuse, and replied,
ÒYes, your highness. He feels quite full.Ó
ÒGood, then take him to the holding chamber until it is time for our
little contest,Ó Prince Havash answered. ÒAnd please return, ladies. I
desire your company here in my ballroom as we greet our other guests.Ó
Both women nodded, submissively, and took Jim away. He walked
jauntily, his balls swinging, his cock drawing the eyes of every female,
and not a few males, in the room. He was taken back out through the same
door through which he entered. Two maids, serving the guests drinks and
canapes, put down their trays. They walked over to JimÕs pile of discarded
clothes and picked them up off the floor. Then they left the ballroom, but
by a different door than the one Jim had left through. He would have no
further need of his clothes this evening. (And, indeed, the clothes had
been specially bought for this night, and were not his to keep.)
Each male slave entered in turn, one by one, and each greeted the
guests, was stripped, and then was forced to endure having his balls
washed. One spurted in my hands and was immediately taken from the
room, by a door nobody had left through until now, guards coming quickly
and taking him away. I shivered to think what punishments he had to face
for losing control of himself like that.
One slave in particular startled me. He was a boy, not a man. He
looked 19 but when I asked him his age he told me, in all honesty, that he
was only 15. He was white, like myself. Indeed, many of the men were
white, and I wondered what choices they had made in life to wind up being
male sex slaves to an Arabian Prince. In the boyÕs case, Robin, he was an
orphan. He had been in a bar in London (with fake I.D., of course) boasting
how he would live when he got rich and famous. He wasnÕt quite sure how
he would get rich and famous but nonetheless he had it already all worked
out how he would spend the money when he did. A man looked him over
and, as Robin told me later, ÒHe saw potential where I had not thought to
find it.Ó Robin had a Òmassive packet,Ó as they say in London. The man put
him on a plane and sent him to the Sultan of Quatar.
As I did my best to cup RobinÕs balls in my hands (which were quite
substantial), I gazed at his dick. It stretched out like a big, thick
knockwurst sausage, and was as long as a ruler. He was understandably
proud of it and had no qualms about having it be seen. He had a slender
build, which made his penis stand out all the more dramatically. His face
was the mature-looking face of a boy whoÕd spent his life living hand-to-
mouth in the streets. But he had surprisingly honest eyes, when he looked
at me, and I found myself swooning for him.
ÒShe likes it,Ó Robin said to the two female guests selected to
attend to him during his ceremonial washing. I blushed fiercely. I wished
to tell him that it was the honesty in his eyes that I liked as much as his
penis, but one of the women had already snapped at me for asking his age,
so I said nothing. When I was finished with the ball-washing I watched
him walk with cock-waggling sureness out the door to the slavesÕ Òholding
chamber.Ó
Ah, there was never a room more aptly named! When I had washed
the last manÕs balls I was told by the Prince to report to the holding room
for duty. When I entered I felt a mixture of shock and delight. All the
male slaves were there, erect as could be, and they were helping each
other into small leather costumes.
You can imagine what part of their anatomy the leather costumes
was intended to emphasize. As I watched, Jim slipped a loop of thick
leather over the end of RobinÕs penis. (Imagine! My two favorite men,
helping each other!) The loop was like a ring that fitted to the base of
RobinÕs cock. Imagine a little plate with a hole cut in the center of it,
slipped over a manÕs penis, and you will know what that leather loop
looked like. It pushed back RobinÕs growth of pubic hair. This allowed the
entire stemming length of his cock to be admired, without any bushiness
of his pubic hair obscuring it in any way. Of course he was quite long to
begin with-- but how truly extravagant he looked now, with his big cock
stretching forth, the ring cuffing it at its base!
Another effect of the flat leather ring was to push back on the
forward-most part of a manÕs balls. Robin was hugely full and he
remarked to Jim that the ring was making him feel quite swollen between
his legs, where the ring shoved back his testicles, jamming the whole
ballon-like girth of his testes between his thighs.
ÒOf course,Ó Jim replied. ÒYouÕll walk awkwardly too, with your
scrotum pushed back and that flat leather ring digging into the front of
your thighs.Ó Jim seemed nonplussed by the ring he wore around his own
cock. I guess after sitting on the fake throne downstairs Jim was about
ready for anything. I realized, suddenly, that indeed our initial nightÕs
torment on the ÔthronesÕ was having the same effect on me. Things that
would have unnerved me, like seeing poor Robin and Jim forced to wear
rings around their dicks, I now took in stride. Prince Havash was making
me more mature.
You might wonder how these decorative cock rings were made to
stay in place. Each had two slender strings attached. The strings were
drawn behind each manÕs waist and tied in a bow. Then a third string was
attached to the bow and pulled between the manÕs legs. It was wrapped
once around his balls, where they joined his crotch, and then fastened to a
small brass ring hanging down from the underside of his leather cock ring.
I watched as Jim knelt down in front of Robin and attached the third
string. It was quite erotic to see. RobinÕs cock dangled stiffly in front of
JimÕs face, dripping pre-cum onto JimÕs nose as Jim got under RobinÕs
groin and slipped the third string into the brass ring.
ÒDamn! You dripped sperm in my eye,Ó Jim told Robin.
ÒSorry,Ó Robin answered, gazing helplessly down at the man, too
excited to keep his erection from oozing out pre-cum.
A gorgeous woman entered. She was dressed in a smart leather
outfit. Immediately I felt jealous-- how sexy she looked, in her revealing
leather skirt and bodice, while I was forced to stand there naked!
ÒStroke yourselves, men,Ó she said. Her voice had an air of authority
and, though she was only about 5 and a half feet tall, perhaps less, she
obviously relished having a roomful of big male slaves to command.
Immediately she walked up to a man with a stiff, well-displayed penis and
took his cock in her fingers.
ÒIs this the best you can do?Ó she asked. The man was not small in
the cock department, nor was he unexcited. Staring at the womanÕs
leather gloved fingers on his dick, stroking his length, he stammered,
ÒI-- IÕm told I have a fine one.Ó
ÒYou are, eh?Ó the woman said. I couldnÕt tell if she was teasing or
not. But her fingers, lightly stroking the manÕs cock, had a flirtatious air
about them. Suddenly she reached into her costume and pulled forth a pair
of garden shears. The manÕs eyes widened. I felt totally spooked and
would have run for the room, but my eyes, mesmerized, insisted on seeing
all that transpired.
The man did not move either, so enraptured was he as the woman
opened the scissors and placed them astride his dick. She held them there,
over his groin, the sharp edges of the blades on either side of his manhood,
almost touching his thick, pulsing manhood.
ÒI used these to cut some branches this afternoon in the garden,Ó the
woman said. ÒIÕm sure they could prove useful in disposing of your dick if
it proves unsatisfactory.Ó
ÒN-No,Ó the man gasped. I swear he got bigger before my eyes, as
the woman alternately teased and threatened him, her other hand still
stroking his large erection even as she threatened to cut if off with the
shears.
ÒThen be on your best behavior,Ó the woman said. ÒAnd donÕt shoot.Ó
She grabbed him, hard, and squeezed his penis with her small hand.
ÒY-Yes,Ó the man said in a choking stammer.
ÒVery good,Ó the woman said. And, at once, she withdrew the
scissors and let go of the man. His cock wobbled in the air, like a torpedo
uncertain of whether or not to explode, but pointing resolutely toward the
woman who had just manhandled him. Even though the woman was no
longer touching him, he was more excited now than ever. She was quite
close, and might return at any moment to touch him again. Her fingers
might fondle him, joyfully feeling his length. Or perhaps his penis would
give offense and she would slice it off with her scissors. Poised between
pleasure and pain, feeling neither but threatened by both, the man could
barely hold himself back. The other men, each of them displaying a fine
erection, watched with bated breath. I could see worry on their faces.
They were at the height of pleasure, showing themselves off to such a
beautiful woman. Each of them gleefully vied with the next to attract her
eyes. Yet, even as they pulsed with delight, they were so eager that they
feared losing control of their excitement. This was no loversÕ bedroom,
where a mate might simply laugh with regret at a premature spending.
Any man among these who shot himself off early would spend the night not
in the ballroom, in the company of beautiful women, but with the male
guards, downstairs, who were instructed to show no mercy.
With a gritting of his teeth and showing considerable resolve in his
face, the molested man managed to avoid spurting. A sigh went up from
the others. No doubt they were in competition, each hoping to best the
others. Yet, each was so thoroughly aroused that any man who came might
serve as a forecast of the othersÕ fate. They were like an army, if one
broke they all might.
The woman in leather looked calmly over her shoulder at the man
sheÕd molested. As his cock throbbed less precipitously a relaxed look
suffused his face. He smiled. Triumph showed in his eyes. He had
managed to Ôcross the humpÕ. He still yearned to spew forth his sperm, but
now he had control of himself like never before. The women in the
ballroom could touch him freely, and he would survive. He would shoot
when ordered to, and not before. Confidence showed on his face.
We all watched as the leather-clad woman put another manÕs cock to
the test. The first, despite looking relieved, remained hard and stiff like
a bottle. I yearned to sit upon him. It was a naughty thought, but such a
perfect example of manhood called to me in my deepest, most private
places. My uterus yearned for him. My tits longed to squeeze themselves
on him until his juice flooded my face.
ÒYou there!Ó I heard, and realized the woman was talking to me.
ÒWhy do you stare at the men like a little girl? Get to work! Their
penises must be lubricated, so they can more easily perform their chores
in the ballroom, after the competition.Ó
ÒYe-Yes... mistress,Ó I said. I came out of my brief rapture, where I
had envisioned myself alone with all the men, doing with them whatever I
pleased. I looked around me. I spied a big bottle of vaseline up on a shelf.
I went to it, walking on tip toe, feeling awed by being in a roomful of
strong men, their dicks all showing. I could just reach the shelf. My
fingers scrabbled over the ledge of the shelf, trying to reach the bottle.
Suddenly I got it, but it slipped from my grasp, and dropped past me to the
floor. Cringing, lest it hit me, I recovered and picked it up. The men
laughed. The woman muttered something, but I did not make out what she
said. Still on tip toe, I went to the first man she handled. I knelt before
him and, without meaning to, I licked my lips. He grinned down at me.
ÒDo your worst,Ó he said. I looked up at him blankly.
ÒHuh?Ó I asked. His penis pointed directly at my face, and he arched
his hips forward, bumping my nose with it. His slitted cockhead put a
dollop of pre-cum on the tip of my nose and I looked at it, crosseyed.
ÒGo ahead. IÕve never felt more in control of myself in my life,Ó the
man said to me. ÒWork me as hard as you like. Make me absolutely drip
with that bottle of vaseline. I wonÕt come in your face.Ó He leaned over a
little and whispered, Òbut if I find you alone, IÕll do much more than just
shoot off in your face. Of that you can be sure, little girl.Ó
ÒY-Yes sir,Ó I said, and realized that, of all those assembled, I was
probably the most powerless. With gentle hands, fearful lest I should get
in trouble if he spurted, I began to coat him with vaseline. I squirted it on
him, starting at the base of his shaft where the leather ring bound his
penis. Then, gradually, I moved my fingers up his manhood. I was liberal
with the oil. When I was done he glistened like a sunbather at the beach,
except that only his cock was wet.
With the next man, I began at the tip of his cock, where his precum
was doing a good job of making the end of his dick oily. I worked my way
down him as, nearby, the woman, alternately threatening and cajoling, was
procuring from each man a truly massive, engorged erection. The men
were hard to begin with, but her fingers, and her scissors, made them
display themselves even more fiercely. I felt my own nipples, at my
breast tips, standing up with a perkiness that alarmed me. Was I, too,
excited by the dangerousness of the situation? I had little control over
myself. I was a nude slave. I did as I was told, exactly. I could not even
go to the bathroom without permission, and I might be found to be
committing a fault at any moment, and given the severest punishment.
Yet, despite my peril, my nipples were stiff, and my womb yearned for
fulfillment. I felt myself panting and tried to relax.
ÒOmigod!Ó a man shouted, suddenly. My head darted round, just in
time to see him cum. A profusion of sperm fired itself upon the woman in
leather. She squeezed him and tried to stop him, but it was no use. He
just kept coming and coming, all of his jism spurting forth in a grand
display, like a white Fourth of July fireworks. His cum splattered her
face, shot into her eyes, and ran down her neck to coat her bosoms.
ÒGuards! Guards!Ó she yelled at last, after his entire load had
spumed upon her, and I sensed a note of reluctance in the womanÕs voice.
Nonetheless, the guards appeared and took him away. He was dazed as he
left us, his cock still turgid, his eyes a mixture of pleasure and fear. HeÕd
enjoyed the delight of loosing himself on our beautiful mistress. Yet now
he would have to pay for it. At the door he struggled a little, but the
guards were as strong as he was, and there were more of them, and they
overcame his resistance and led him out.
Hearing the commotion of the ejaculation, I had feared that Robin
had cum. He was the youngest, after all. But he had not, and I gazed at
him with smiling eyes as he stood showing himself for all he was worth.
He was next, and the woman knelt before him and began teasing him with
her scissors. I held my breath. Robin endured; he stuck himself proudly
between the blades, daring her to cut him.
ÒMy, but you are young,Ó the woman said in an affectionate voice.
ÒI am ready to please you in whatever way is required,Ó Robin said
boldly. The woman looked up at him and dared his bravery by closing her
scissors so that the blades actually indented themselves against his dick.
Robin didnÕt flinch. I almost fainted, though, watching. My hands grew
still as I lubed the penis of a man with vaseline. He took offense, pushed
his dick into one of my eyes.
ÒOw,Ó I said. I blinked.
ÒGet to work!Ó the man bellowed, standing over me, his cock
thrusting at me.
ÒYes sir,Ó I said, but I did nothing, for my eyes were fixed on Robin,
and my heart was in my throat.
The woman in leather looked over at me. ÒIs she being lazy?Ó she
asked the man I was supposed to be wetting down.
ÒYes,Ó he answered, gruffly. I did not like him. He tried to poke me
in my eye with his penis again, but I drew my head back, abruptly. Even as
she looked at me, the woman kept her scissors firmly clamped upon
RobinÕs dick.
ÒOh, please mistress!Ó I cried. I could stand the torment no longer,
even if Robin could. ÒDonÕt hurt him!Ó I pleaded.
ÒAh, is he your favorite? Your sweetheart?Ó the leather-clad
woman asked me.
ÒYes!Ó I blurted.
Her eyes narrowed. ÒYou are not to have favorites, slave,Ó she
answered. ÒYou are to receive whatever you are given, and be happy for it.
In the real world you may have favorites, but not here. Do you
understand?Ó
I gulped. ÒYes,Ó I managed to say. I cast a quick glance at Jim
Rutland and thought I detected dismay in his face. Perhaps he had thought
I liked him best. I did, until I saw Robin!
ÒYou and I will have an instructive session with a riding crop later
this evening, slave,Ó the leather-clad woman told me. I blanched. My
heart sank. I felt a shiver run through me. She laughed. ÒYou look like you
just swallowed that big penis youÕre holding. Get to work! You are to
please and enlarge the man youÕve got in your hands, not disappoint him by
hungering after another!Ó
ÒYes, mistress,Ó I said, but I said it so softly I donÕt think she heard
me. Immediately I returned to my task of lubing the rude man before me. I
rubbed him with relish. Not with affection, but, rather, with a secret hope
to make him spend. But the womanÕs ministrations, already applied, had
taken him Ôover the humpÕ, so that he could withhold himself with ease.
30
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