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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
Intimate Acts
Chapter One
The streetlights gleamed on the wet street as Emily approached the
house. It was a big old mansion. Vines had long since crept up its brick-
faced front and covered it, so that now, in the dim glow of the lights, she
seemed to be approached a green building when, in fact, under the foliage-
covered front it was dusty red. Emily knocked. She waited. A light went
on in the front window, behind the curtains. Then the door opened and a
woman's face appeared.
"Mrs. Brown?" Emily asked, looking up at the remarkably attractive
face that was peering down at her. The woman was taller than Emily, a
head taller, but that was due less to a difference in breeding than a
difference in ages, for Emily was only 15.
"Yes. Are you Emily?" the woman answered.
"Uh-huh," Emily nodded.
"Do come in, please, darling," Mrs. Brown said to this young girl she'd
never seen before, standing like a lost waif on her front porch. She let the
girl into her house. She helped her out of her coat, rumpled by 10 hours on
a train from St. Petersburg. Hanging the girl's coat in a closet, she said, "I
trust your trip went smoothly? Including the cab ride?"
"Uh-huh," Emily answered. Mrs. Brown smiled at the girl. Taking her
small waif-like body by the shoulders, she said,
"Emily, this is a proper English household. Although your duties here
will be... exhausting, you must not let yourself slip into simplistic
colloquialisms. Here it will be 'yes sir', and 'yes ma'am,' spoken
distinctly. Do you understand?" Emily looked up at the woman's warm
smile and said,
"Uh-huh."
"That's yes, ma'am," Mrs. Brown corrected the girl.
"Yes, ma'am," Emily said. The woman patted the girl's head with one
of her hands.
"Very good," Mrs. Brown told Emily. She reached for and took one of
the girl's hands. "Now if you'll come with me, I'll take you upstairs and
show you your bedroom." A blush immediately spread over Emily's pretty
young face. Mrs. Brown, leading her by the hand, looked at her and said,
"There will be no festivities tonight, Emily. I would never hear of it after
such a long trip as you've had. Plus it is only Tuesday. Friday night will
be your coming out ball."
"Oh," Emily breathed. Her flush lessened, as they reached the stairs,
then increased again as they started up it. "Will I be expected to--" Emily
asked, her voice breaking off as a man appeared at the top of the steps.
"Yes of course, dear," Mrs. Brown told the girl. She motioned to the
man at the top of the stairs. "This is my husband. You will call him at all
times Mr. Brown, however intimately you may become acquainted." Emily
nodded.
"Hello sir," Emily said to the man when they reached the top of the
stairs. Like his wife, he had dark hair. He nodded to the girl, betraying
only the hint of a smile.
"Have you examined her?" Mr. Brown asked his wife.
"Of course not dear, she just arrived," Mrs. Brown answered. She
looked down at the girl whose hand she held, leading her now away from
the top of the stairs down a hall. "I'm sure she will prove suitable," Mrs.
Brown smiled.
"Our guests have exacting standards," Mr. Brown warned.
"Yes, dear. Which is why you'll accompany me and we'll see if she's
as pretty under her clothes as she appears to be." Mr. Brown turned and
followed the two women. When they came to a bedroom, decorated, as
Emily saw when they entered, in a little girl motif, Mrs. Brown said,
"Emily, I realize you've had a long trip, and it is rather an imposition for
me to request this so soon. But I'm afraid it's quite necessary." The girl
looked up at her with big eyes, blue as the sky had been before the night
settled over this part of Europe. "Since we've arranged for your services
to be of a physical nature, it will be important for us to examine, how
shall I put it?"
"The quality of the merchandise that's been sent to us," Mr. Brown
said gruffly, finishing his wife's sentence.
"'Kay," Emily said sweetly. She began undoing the buttons of her
starched white blouse. Mrs. Brown leaned forward and helped her. Mr.
Brown went round behind the girl and unceremoniously pulled down her
skirt from behind.
"Yeek!" Emily cried, feeling her pantied bottom exposed.
"Arnold!" Mrs. Brown scolded.
"Mmmm. A nice high 15-year-old ass," Mr. Brown said, completely
ignoring Emily's cry at being so rudely unclothed. Mrs. Brown finished
with the buttons on Emily's blouse and, drawing the starched halves of the
girl's shirt apart, she brought to full view the girl's ample tits. A white
bra cupped them, demurely. Emily put her hands to the cups, fearful that
Mr. Brown would undo her bra from behind as quickly as he'd pulled down
her skirt. Suddenly there was another cry from Emily, as Mrs. Brown was
trying to urge the girl's hands off her tits so she could get her out of her
unbuttoned blouse. It was Mr. Brown again, and this time he had yanked
down Emily's panties.
"Arnold, you are too quick with her," Mrs. Brown scolded her husband,
as the man examined the newly presented white schoolgirl bottom.
"Mmmm. Perfect for whipping," Mr. Brown said.
"Oh please," Emily begged. Mrs. Brown managed to loosen the girl's
grip on her tits and slipped the blouse off her. Emily found herself
standing naked down to her knees, where her panties ringed her. Mr. Brown
reached around her waist and placed a hand on her flat white belly. With
his other hand he patted her naked bulbing behind. "Ooooh!" Emily cried at
his touch.
"Nice, very nice," Mr. Brown said. "I believe you pass the test, little
girl."
"Of course she does," Mrs. Brown said to her husband. She stepped
back and looked at Emily, who was holding her titties again, over the cups
of her bra. Her bush showed, she seemed to understand that it had to be
seen, letting Mrs. Brown and then Mr. Brown circle around her. When they
had found her lower parts satisfactory, Mrs. Brown urged the girl's hands
off her breasts again. Then Mr. Brown undid the girl's bra, and her titties
sprang forth, Emily now nervously cupping her previously exposed bush
with her hands. Both Mr. and Mrs. Brown looked at Emily's tits as she
stood there covering her private, her bottom bulbing nakedly behind her,
her panties still around her knees, her white stockings and her black
polished shoes still unremoved. Her stockings, which were schoolgirl
stockings that matched the rest of her clothes, only came up to her ankles,
hiding so little of her legs that Emily hoped they didn't have to be taken
off.
"Very nice tits," Mr. Brown said to his wife, looking at Emily's
endowments. He reached out and touched the girl gently, on the tips of
both her nipples.
"Oooooh!" Emily sighed.
"Better even than I imagined," Mrs. Brown said to her husband.
"Yes. Fine quality," Mr. Brown agreed. "Our guests will be delighted."
Mrs. Brown, who had been bending to have a close look at Emily's tits,
straightened up.
"Emily dear, as I said, your coming out party with our guests will be
this Friday. Until that time you are welcome to an advance on your
earnings, if you wish it, and of course you may have the run of the house.
My only request is that you limit your contact with others in the
neighborhood, such as children your own age. Your duties here will allow
you to meet many fine men of means, who of course will care nothing for
you beyond your physicality, but who will pay well for your pleasures. The
age of consent in England is 16, so you're a bit shy of that, and we must be
careful."
"Uh-huh," Emily said, nodding, then corrected it with a smart, "Yes
ma'am." Mrs. Brown smiled approvingly, as did Mr. Brown.
"If you should wish to have some enjoyment before Friday--," Mr.
Brown began, in a low voice.
"Arnold!" Mrs. Brown snapped. "Our only concern was her physical
attractiveness, which she has passed with flying colors."
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Emily said with a blush to Mr. Brown, cupping
her pubis now with her hands, hiding her pretty blonde bush. She tingled
with apprehension, and with something else too, something she was
almost to embarrassed to admit to, down between her creamy white
thighs.
"Your coming out ball with give you plenty of opportunities for fun,"
Mrs. Brown said to Emily. "I suggest you rest until then."
"Yes," Emily agreed.
"We will both be in the house to assist you in whatever you require,"
Mrs. Brown said. "And of course we'll be present during the, ah,
festivities."
"Thank you," Emily said.
"Of course," Mrs. Brown answered.
Friday night came more quickly than Emily had imagined it could, and
when it did, the sun setting outside, Mrs. Brown appeared at the door to
Emily's bedroom. The girl had had a wonderful three days shopping in the
neighborhood stores, and generally exploring what sights she could, taking
a cab or on foot, but now the business end of her stay here in London had
finally arrived, and she trembled as she watched Mrs. Brown step into her
room.
"Emily, dear, we must get you ready to meet our guests," Mrs. Brown
said to the girl.
"Yes ma'am," Emily answered. She smiled as she thought she heard a
touch of English accent in her voice.
"I have a gown for you. It is here in the closet," Mrs. Brown said to
the girl. "Perhaps you've seen it?"
"Yes. It's beautiful," Emily admitted. She had held the gown up to
herself earlier in the day, when she'd first discovered it hanging in her
bedroom closet. It was very pretty, pink pastel in color. It was a gown
like any girl might have worn to any ball who was 15 in London, except
that, when Mrs. Brown helped Emily into it, after first having the girl
bathe and doing her hair and makeup, Emily found that the gown didn't
cover her breasts.
"Oh my. They will see my titties!" Emily gasped.
"Yes," Mrs. Brown smiled. "You have lovely breasts. No sense in
covering them. I'm glad to see that the measurements we took of you were
accurate," Mrs. Brown said to the girl. "Now lets have your dress off
again, so we can get you into your pretty underthings that I also bought for
you."
Emily soon found herself dressed in polished white high-heeled
shoes, long white stockings that rose to the tops of her thighs, a white
garter belt, and a corset that Mrs. Brown pulled tight around her middle,
until she could hardly breathe.
"Oh my!" Emily gasped.
"Relax. You'll get used to the corset in a minute," Mrs. Brown advised
the girl. The tight garment around Emily's middle stopped short of
covering her breasts. However they lifted the high-perched boobs even
higher than they already were, offering them like ripe fruit to whoever
might want them. Emily blushed when she remembered that her dress
wouldn't cover her booby display.
"What about panties?" Emily asked within the confines of her tit-
lifting corset.
"Panties?" Mrs. Brown laughed. "My dear Emily, you must remember
that this is a ball where you will be presented to London's gentlemen in
every sense of the word."
"Oh yes," Emily said, a blush washing over her pretty cheeks.
"Now let's get you back into your dress," Mrs. Brown said. And they
did, Emily looking at herself in a mirror when it was done, contemplating
her corset-lifted tits, her dress hiding the corset but not what it offered,
her breasts and especially her nipples, twin treats, which Mrs. Brown now
took several minutes to rouge.
"There," Mrs. Brown said, when Emily's nipples were sufficiently
reddened, no longer pink like a girl's but red like a woman's. Mrs. Brown
tied a dance card to Emily's wrist with a ribbon that matched her pink
dress. "You needn't look at the card," Mrs. Brown told the girl. "Every
dance is already taken, the men assigned their number, which was drawn
previously by lot."
"Oh," Emily said, fiddling with the card. She thought she was ready
to leave her little girl's bedroom when Mrs. Brown abruptly lifted her
dress, first in front and then in back, and spritzed perfume on her bush and
her bottom.
"There," Mrs. Brown said, when she was finished. "Now you are
beyond perfect." Emily gulped. "Be good," Mrs. Brown told the girl. She
took the 15-year-old's hand. "Come to my bedroom and wait while I
dress," Mrs. Brown said. Her makeup was already applied, her hair elegant.
She led the girl to her bedroom, down the hall, where Mr. Brown waited.
He gave a low whistle when he saw Emily. Then, as Emily sat waiting on a
chair, fiddling again with her dance card because she couldn't think of
anything else to do, Mr. Brown helped his wife into her corset and gown. It
was a black gown, leaving her breasts bare just as Emily's did, with her
corset offering her titties in a similar fashion. When Mr. Brown had
finished dressing Mrs. Brown, himself already dressed in a tux for the
party, Emily suddenly said,
"Sir? I have to go to the bathroom."
"It's in there, dear," Mrs. Brown pointed. Emily left the couple's
master bedroom and went into their bathroom. She lifted her skirt and sat
on the toilet. Mr. Brown leaned in past the bathroom door to check on her.
"I hope it's only number one?" Mr. Brown asked.
"Yes," Emily said.
Emily and Mrs. Brown went downstairs, hand in hand, Mr. Brown
trailing. There was an audible gasp in the room set aside for the coming
out dance when Emily and Mrs. Brown entered it. The men, there were four
of them, gazed with approval at Emily and Mrs. Brown's naked tits. But
although Emily feared an immediate descent into carnality, the guests
were perfect gentlemen. They offered Emily and Mrs. Brown seats, and the
two women sat at the edge of a wooden dance floor that Mr. Brown had put
in just the previous month. A chandelier glowed down from above. A trio
of live musicians played in one corner of the room, lending true elegance
to the festivities that would have been as fine as any in London were in
not for the rude fact of the two women's nakedly bared tits.
An interval obtained, in which a maid served refreshments. Emily
blushed anew at the sight of the young girl, who she had never met before.
Mrs. Brown reached for Emily's hand and held it.
"That is Sue Ellen," Mrs. Brown told Emily. "She helps out
sometimes."
"Oh," Emily said. The girl looked 19, to Mrs. Brown's 30 years. She
was fetchingly dressed in a blouse that was tested by the size of her tits,
the back of her maid's dress striking Emily as unusually short. When the
girl bent over, the white creaminess of her bottom showed. She wore no
panties, like Emily. The girl realized that, although she might have the
fancier dress, she would not be alone at this ball in attending to the
guests. It caused her to breathe a sigh of relief. The men were quite
handsome but she'd noticed, on coming into the room, that they were quite
aroused too, their crotches pressed hard into the fronts of their pants. A
man came over to where Emily sat with Mrs. Brown.
"May I have this first dance?" the man asked. He stood over Emily
and reaching down for her hand, the one that Mrs. Brown wasn't holding.
His need was obvious in his pants. The luxury of his attire couldn't hide it.
Emily's blush deepened as she rose. The trio of musicians began playing.
Emily found herself whirling around the room in fine English style, lured
on by the music.
"You have nice tits," the man dancing with Emily said after a while.
Emily blushed and looked down at herself. Her own arousal was obvious, in
the form of twin pebbled nipples atop her gently heaving and bobbling
breasts. "May I touch them?" the man asked.
"Sir, it would be indecent," Emily answered.
"Then all the more reason to," the man said. He reached for Emily's
left breast and let it bounce into his hand. He squeezed it.
"Ooooh, not so hard, sir," Emily gasped. In response the man leaned
down and kissed her left tit. When he had wet her nipple thoroughly with
his tongue, their dance barely continuing though the music played on, he
went to her right tit and accorded her nipple there the same thing. Then
he led her back to Mrs. Brown, and Emily found herself reseated beside the
woman.
"A fine child," the gentlemen said, by way of thanks to Mrs. Brown.
Then the man, who so callously had just sucked Emily's ripe tits on the
dance floor, gallantly took her hand and lifted it up and bent forward and
kissed it.
"Oh, thank you sir," Emily said.
A new man appeared. Despite Emily's saliva wet tits, he asked her
with the same gallant grace to dance. Blushing, Emily accepted. They
danced around the room, the other men and Mr. and Mrs. Brown watching,
the maid sitting in her too short dress in a corner near the musicians.
"I hope you don't mind if I enjoy your fine young titties, as my
companion did," the man said after a few minutes to Emily.
"If you insist sir, I can't stop you," Emily breathed.
"No. You can't," the man said. "I paid well for this." Handling her
more roughly than the first man had, he sucked her tits vigorously. He
even mouthed her bosom flesh, beyond the circles of her rouged nipples,
sucking her lovely cones into his mouth as if he were trying to swallow
them. Emily gasped. Inside her dress, between her legs, she felt her slit
wetten. The man was ignorant of it, of course, concentrating solely on her
boobs. When he had satisfied this part of his lust he returned Emily to
Mrs. Brown.
"How was the dance, sir?" Mrs. Brown asked the man, as primly as if
Emily had been a debutante at a real ball.
"Her dancing was good, but her tits were better," the man answered,
smiling at his rudeness. Emily felt her blush deepen. As much as she
might like to imagine that she was an ingenue at a fine English ball, she
was in fact just a poor Russian girl, a whore, newly arrived in England and
trying out this profession for the first time. Emily was seated again next
to Mrs. Brown. The man kissed her hand, with less of a gallant flair than
the first man. Then the third guest appeared, his need as strongly showing
in his pants as the first two men's had been.
"Dance?" the third man asked Emily. The girl lifted her dance card
hand to her mouth and giggled. The man was the handsomest yet; despite
her embarrassment at her naked tits and his tool pushing into the front of
his pants, she rather liked him. Suddenly she liked, too, the fact that she
wasn't a real English girl at a real English ball, for it would have slowed
down her getting to know such a gorgeous man.
"Hmmm. A dance," Emily said, remaining seated as if she might in
fact decline this man's offer, just as she might at a real ball. Then
looking up again from the man's crotch to his face, both wonderfully hard
and demanding, she asked, with childish frankness, "Would you like to
taste my tits too?"
"Emily!" Mrs. Brown scolded. "Do not offer yourself in such manner.
You are a well-brought up girl."
"And my tits are well-brought up too," Emily remarked to herself, as
the third guest took her hand. He pulled her out of her chair. Emily's high
breasts attracted his eyes, she was aware of his gaze below her face and
square on her chest. She bobbled before him, her nipples wet with the
previous men, and he took her out to the dance floor. "I don't think I ever
consented," Emily breathed, as the man led her into the steps of a dance.
"Where are you from?" the man asked her, ignoring her protest.
Emily gazed into the man's eyes. He tore his own gaze from her chest and
looked into her face.
"You mean, for real?" Emily asked.
"Yes. For real," the man answered.
"I- I'm from Liverpool," Emily said, hastily thinking of the name of
an English town.
"No. I mean really for real," the man answered. Emily was surprised
at this man's interest in her. The other men had simply treated her as a
body, something to be admired and used. But this man, despite his
rudeness in getting her to the dance floor, seemed genuinely to want to
know her. And not just her tits.
"R-Russia," Emily said.
"Ah. Russia," the man answered, speaking the word aloud to himself.
After a minute or so of dancing, still moving in time to the music, he said
to her, "You are newly arrived in England?"
"Yes," Emily said, speaking truthfully now, not wanting to play
games with the man, hoping he would in fact like her as much as she was
beginning to like him.
"When did you decide, for lack of a better word, to become a whore?"
the man asked Emily.
"About- about a week ago," Emily said.
"Are you a virgin?" the man asked Emily.
"N- No," Emily answered. "I- I had a boyfriend in Russia."
"And what happened to him?" the man asked her.
"He went into the army," Emily said.
"How long did you know him?" the man asked.
"A year," Emily said.
"And how many penis strokes did he give you in that year?" the man
asked Emily.
"Huh?" Emily answered.
"How many times did he fuck you?" the man said.
"Oh. Only three times," Emily said. "Once in the mouth, and twice in
my... in my... I only did him when I knew he was going to have to go into
the army, as a going-away present," Emily said. "Then I decided that since
I wasn't... you know... a good girl anymore that I'd answer the ad I saw in
Pravda."
"To come to England?" the man asked.
"Yes," Emily answered. Feeling the man's tool rubbing against her
belly as she dance close-pressed with the man, she asked,
"Sir? May I ask your name?" The man smiled.
"You may, but I will instruct you to call me Mr. Leather." Emily
giggled.
"Why Mr. Leather?" she asked. She had not entertained much hope of
learning these men's real names, but she had liked this man enough to
wonder what he was called. Now he seemed to be joking with her, trying
to impress her with his creativity.
"When you are whipped, and you will undoubtedly be whipped, it will
be me who will do it," Mr. Leather answered. Emily blanched. Again she
had fallen into the notion, rather trance-like in nature, perhaps induced by
the music, that she was a real English girl at a real English ball. To be
brought so rudely back to reality, and with such a frightening remark,
caused her to feel faint.
"Why- why must I be whipped?" Emily asked after a little while, the
man still leading her in a sprightly dance in time to the music.
"Because I wish to do it," Mr. Leather told her. "If your bottom is
anywhere near as ripe as your tits it will prove irresistible to me."
"Oh," Emily said, feeling her blush return.
"If it's any consolation to you, I only whip the prettiest bottoms in
England," Mr. Leather told her. Emily pouted and leaned close to Mr.
Leather. Suddenly she kissed him on the chest, feeling frighteningly
submissive, like a small animal waiting to be shot.
"As a whore you can expect to be whipped regularly," Mr. Leather told
Emily, ignoring her kiss, feeling harder than ever against her dress-
covered belly. "The interesting thing is, many of the men will care nothing
for you, liking you only for the way your body responds to whip, the way
you scream, the way your pretty young flesh reddens. But remember too
that you will have done nothing wrong; they will not be hating you or
disciplining you, no matter what they may say to you. No, they will simply
be whipping you because they enjoy it. Remember that when I bring the
whip to you this evening. It is out of lust that I do it, neither loving nor
hating you."
"You- you do not love me?" Emily asked the man plaintively. In
response, gazing down at her, he seemed both excited and disturbed by her
display of innocence.
"I love your tits," Mr. Leather told Emily. He squeezed her right
breast, making her nipple extrude between his clasping fingers. "And I'm
sure I will love your bottom also, and that my belt will love it too. If
you'll excuse me," he said to the girl. He bent his head down. As they
continued dancing to a lively number he began to suck her right tit. Emily
gasped. The man began biting her tit, gently, impressing his teeth into her
flesh. When his mouth and teeth concentrated on her nipple, she felt a
sudden increase in the moisture between her thighs. He was rude and
rough, yet gallant at the same time, still dancing with her as he suckled
her right breast. Then he moved from her right to her left, and once more
she felt his teeth pushing her to the limits of what she might bear, biting
her but not so hard as to produce actual damage. Emily gasped aloud. She
threw her head back. Her natural moisture increased within her thighs, up
amidst the close-pressed lips of her slit. In the background she heard men
unzipping their flies.
Emily was returned to Mrs. Brown. She seated herself again beside
the woman, her face flushed, her tits achingly wet with Mr. Leather's
saliva, tingling at what had been done to her, by three men now, the third
the most handsome and the most difficult to bear.
"Are you enjoying your coming-out ball?" Mrs. Brown said to Emily,
as if they might have been at a real affair, her demeanor as prim as
before, seemingly unaware that the girl beside her had gleaming bare
saliva wet tits.
"Y- Yes," Emily answered, gazing over at Mrs. Brown's bare chest as
she answered. The woman's breasts were magnificent. Emily felt a
strange desire to bury her face in the woman's motherly cleavage, to hide
from the men there, to forget what Mr. Leather had told her about whipping
her bottom.
"Are you comfortable?" Mrs. Brown asked Emily. The girl's eyebrows
lifted at the question, trim little lines of hair above her luminous blue
eyes. Her long lashes fluttered.
"Comfortable, ma'am?" Emily asked. Mrs. Brown reached over to
Emily and took her hand.
"All is safety and comfort here, Emily," Mrs. Brown told the girl. "I
want you to remember that during your next dance, even if it proves that
you will be unable to sit down after it."
"Oh!" Emily gasped.
"Remember that whatever is done is done for erotic purposes, dear,
not to harm or hurt you," Mrs. Brown told Emily. She looked at the maid,
still seated on her chair near the orchestra, her bottom pressed nakedly to
her seat because her skirt was too short. "Sue Ellen, would you kindly see
to the comfort of the men?" Mrs. Brown said to the girl. The 19-year-old
nodded. She rose from her chair and disappeared behind the orchestra for
a moment, returning with a bottle of oil and a handful of condoms. She
went to the first man Emily had danced with. He was seated in a chair,
enjoying the last of a drink that Sue Ellen had previously served him. The
maid knelt down in front of him. Instinctively he opened his legs, like a
king waiting to receive a summons from a petitioner. What Sue Ellen had
in mind required no words. She reached for his zipper and undid it, Emily
and Mrs. Brown watching. The man's tool was pulled from his pants. The
others clapped at the sight of it. It was long and rigid. Emily, finding Mrs.
Brown clapping her hands next to her at the sight of the prick, felt obliged
to applaud as well, despite the fact that such rudeness would never be
tolerated at a real coming-out ball.
Sue Ellen mouthed the man's naked cock. When her head ceased
bobbing on his tool, drawing him deep into her throat, she squirted oil all
over his tongue-wettened prong. Then she applied the condom, deftly
unrolling it down the length of his penis. When she was done she flicked
his hard cock with one of her little hands, using her fingers, and he
wiggled in response, stiff and ready for action. Emily squirmed in her
chair, feeling again the arousal within her slit. It was exciting to watch,
however lewd it might be, this freeing of the men's penises and their
preparation in such luxurious surroundings for sex. Sue Ellen's bottom
showed in all its naked glory as she knelt before each man, her skirt too
short in back to cover her properly. All the while the orchestra played on,
as if in accompaniment to a real debutant's ball, rather than to an
impending orgy.
His cock freed and tongued and oiled and covered with elastic rubber,
the fourth man slated to dance with Emily appeared. He was as gallant as
the rest, despite his stiff penis bobbling in front of her face as he reached
for her hand. Emily stood, and was led onto the dance floor. The man
surprised Emily by saying to her, after a few rounds on the floor, "It is
rather indecent, don't you think, for you to be displaying your tits?" Emily
didn't know what to say in response. She wanted to say, "Sir, your cock is
out and is bumping endlessly against me, the whole nine inches of it," but
instead she merely gulped and answered,
"If you say so sir."
"I have something to cover you up," the man suggested. Without
missing a step in their dance he drew a small parcel from his coat pocket.
It was wrapped in fancy paper with a satin bow. Emily gasped at the sight
of it, it was so pretty. The man made her take it. They stopped dancing
and Emily opened it, there on the dance floor, in front of everyone. She let
out a little moan when she saw what was inside. It was a pair of gold
clamps, connected by a chain as thin as a string. "They are for your
nipples, to cover them up and make you decent," the man with the exposed
penis said to Emily, about the clamps.
"Oh! Won't they hurt?" Emily asked, looking at the twin little jaws.
"Yes. Of course. They're meant to hurt," the man answered. "A girl
should not walk about with her tits hanging out like yours are. Perhaps
the clamps will teach you a lesson."
"I- I," Emily stammered.
"Do not speak," the man told her. "Remain quiet while I suck your
tits." He did it, then, Emily holding the little clamps in one hand while the
man mouthed her breasts. The dance was forgotten, though the music
played on. Emily stood with an increasingly wet slit in the middle of the
dance floor, her dress fortunately covering her, while the man sucked at
her naked tits. When he had gorged himself on her boob flesh he applied
the clamps, taking them from her hand and putting them on her nipples.
Emily gave a little scream as each of the clamps was clipped on. She had
never felt anything like this before. It was lewd, it was painful. The
clamps hung from her tits when the man had stuck them on her, and he
pointed out to her, with a kind of boyish sadism, that the small hooks
under each of her clamps could accommodate weights. "To more
thoroughly abuse your breasts," the man told Emily. Then he danced with
her some more, Emily constantly aware of the clamps on her boobs,
pinching her sensitive nipples, wiggling with painful annoyance. When
they stopped dancing the man returned Emily to her chair. Thankfully
Emily sat down. But her relief was only momentary, for she saw that the
man who had introduced himself to her as Mr. Leather was removing the
belt from his pants.
"May I have this dance?" Mr. Brown asked Emily. The girl looked up at
Mrs. Brown's husband. His cock was out, having been serviced and prepared
by the maid after she had done the four other men. He seemed to be the
largest male present, clocking in at nearly 12 inches of cock flesh. Emily
gasped. She let Mr. Brown lift her by her hand out of her chair, aware all
the while of his cock, the clamps on her tits, and Mr. Leather's belt, which
the man now whisked through the air.
"I- I think I'm tired of dancing, sir," Emily protested to Mr. Brown as
he led her out onto the dance floor.
"Don't worry. We have other activities planned," Mr. Brown said to
Emily, leading her into a dance as the orchestra played behind them.
"What- what sort of activities, sir?" Emily asked, all too aware of
her pained titties and Mr. Leather's belt. Mr. Brown smiled down at the
girl, his cock pressed hard to her belly.
"Before the night is through your titties will be squeezed in a tit
press and, being bent over, you will have something rammed up your
behind," Mr. Brown told the girl.
"Oh my God!" Emily gasped. She trembled in Mr. Brown's grasp, her
jiggling tits feeling the pain of the clamps on her nipples.
"Or you may have a hood placed over your head, and feel every man in
this room, including myself, force himself into your bottom. Not to
mention my wife, who loves to wear fake cocks," Mr. Brown added.
"Oh God!" Emily cried, her whole frame trembling now, nervous right
down to the toes on her feet.
"Am I frightening you?" Mr. Brown asked the girl, feeling her press
even closer to him, despite the stemming of his cock against her soft
dress-covered tummy.
"YES!" Emily cried, without reservation.
"Good. Then we'll start with a simple flogging, in a moment,
courtesy of Mr. Leather's belt, and you'll be grateful that a belt-spanking
is all you're having to endure at the moment," Mr. Brown told the girl. "But
first I have something for you," Mr. Brown said.
"What?" Emily gasped, feeling his cock pressing hard to her belly.
Mr. Brown took something out of his coat pocket. Weights! He displayed
them to the girl, who watched as he hung each of them in turn from her
vulnerable tits. The clamps were heavier now, dragging painfully at
Emily's nipples. She moaned. Mr. Brown flicked the weights, making them
wiggle, increasing Emily's tit agony. Then he led her into a new dance,
Emily gasping at the way each movement she made caused her bare
weight-hung titties to dance, in tune to their own nipple wrenching
movements. Just when Emily thought she could bear the strain on her tits
no longer, Mr. Brown danced her over to his wife. They stopped in front of
the woman. As Emily caught her breath, Mr. Brown reached down and lifted
the back of her dress. There was applause; Emily's bare bottom was on
view. Pins came out of Mrs. Brown's hair and the woman applied them to
Emily's uplifted dress. When she was done, Emily was forced to show her
behind, by the upsweeping of her dress, still covered in front but quite
naked in back. Mr. Brown led Emily back out onto the dance floor. The
sound of Mr. Leather's belt passing through the air was heard. Trembling,
Emily fell once again into Mr. Brown's arms. They began to dance.
Suddenly, Mr. Leather's belt leaped out at Emily's bottom. He was much
closer, having come out onto the dance floor himself; his belt just barely
missed Emily's ass.
"OH MY GOD!" Emily cried. Mr. Leather stepped closer. He swung
again.
Crack! The sound of the belt connecting with Emily's ass echoed
through the music-filled room. Emily's weight-hung tits bounced
painfully. Her asscheeks contracted at the awful sting of the belt hitting
her bottom. There was applause. Emily screamed and pressed her face
into Mr. Brown's chest. The man led Emily onwards in the dance. The
music continued. Emily squeezed her bare bottom, trying to throw off the
sting of the belt. Eyes watched with interest, including Mr. Leather's.
Crack! The belt swooped in again. Emily's mouth opened in a rictus
of pain. Her tits shook, the weights making their bouncing more difficult
to bear. Emily's bottom squeezed itself inwards, a red line marking her
jiggling white flesh, joining the previous line that had already been left
there. Emily heard laughter. She was forced by Mr. Brown to continue
dancing. Then Mr. Leather's belt fell again, catching Emily by surprise
with its fierceness. The girl screamed. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"There, there," Mr. Brown said, reaching down and patting the back of
Emily's head, stroking her lovely long hair. "Don't cry." But Emily did, for
with unexpected savagery Mr. Leather tormented the girl at random
moments, hitting her again and again with his belt, until she was literally
dripping with tears, her crying wetting Mr. Brown's coat. And then, in her
misery, something happened which the bottom-squeezing, tit-tortured
Emily found utterly humiliating. As the whip hit her ass yet again, she
felt a sudden rush of wetness between her legs. It ran down the insides of
her pretty white-stockinged thighs. It watered her lovely white shoes.
She was peeing! There was applause at Emily's loss of control. The girl
cried more profusely than ever as she realized what she had done. But the
whipping ceased. Mr. Brown, seeing and feeling her teary distress, bent
down and kissed Emily on the lips. He led her back to Mrs. Brown, who
still sat primly seated in her chair at the edge of the dance floor.
"Oh my. She has peed!" Mrs. Brown announced, in a voice louder than
necessary. Then she added, "I think perhaps I should put something up her
behind, in case the rude girl gets the notion to shit!" Emily was bent
forward by Mr. Brown. Mrs. Brown yanked the girl's whip-reddened bottom
cheeks apart. She intruded a finger into Emily's nether hole, making the
girl's weighted tits bounce, causing her to jerk and buck at the intrusion
of her finger. It was oiled; the maid had cleverly left the bottle of oil
with Mrs. Brown when she finished doing the men. "Bend your knees a
little, dear," Mrs. Brown urged Emily. The girl, still crying, complied. She
felt her bottom cheeks widen behind her. Before she could think what her
new stance might bring, she felt a sudden sharp poking, right in her anus!
"Oh my you're tight," Mrs. Brown remarked as she sat behind the girl.
Emily screamed at the feeling of something hard being shoved into her ass
hole. Too late she realized it was an anal plug. Mrs. Brown got it into her
and then Mr. Brown urged Emily to stand up.
"Oooooh!" Emily cried, as she felt the pressure of the thing in her
virgin bottom. Mr. Brown popped off the clamps on her tits. Emily shouted
and screamed and danced, oblivious to her ripe tit-shaking display as she
endured the return of her circulation to her nipples. There was more
applause. When at last Emily caught her breath, and looked down at
herself, she saw that her nipples were fine, except for slight indentations
that still remained as a result of being held so long in the clamps. Mr.
Brown sent Emily into new bouts of screaming by tonguing the girl's
injured nipples. Emily, even in her most dire distress at feeling the mouth
on her breasts, remained aware of the implacable fact of her bottom's
condition: she was plugged, in her virgin ass, for all the world to see and
remark upon, the thing jammed up her causing her endless discomfort.
"Oh, GOD! I can't stand being a whore!" Emily managed to blurt
between her screams.
"It is only the beginning, dear. You are young and healthy and can
take much more," Mrs. Brown assured the girl. As if to emphasize this
fact she provided Emily with a sudden jolt, right where it would be felt
most deeply, in the girl's plugged-up bottom. And that is how Emily,
screaming anew, learned that there wasn't just an ordinary anal plug in
her ass, but an electric one, that could deliver an electric shock to her
rectum. As Emily realized, through her screams, that there was a wire
trailing out of her bottom, or rather from the end of her bottom-hole plug,
she became aware of something even more embarrassing, thanks to
mirrors on the walls of the ball room: whenever Emily was shocked by the
plug, Mrs. Brown pressing a small button on a console, a light would
illuminate at the back of Emily's anal plug. It was a red light, prompting
the maid to declare that Emily looked like "Rudolf the red-bottomed
reindeer."
It was more than Emily could bear. She reached back and, amidst her
screams, she attempted to pull out the anal plug. There was laughter at
her distress. The girl looked like she was trying to yank a turd out of her
ass. But Emily succeeded, despite scolding words from Mr. and Mrs. Brown.
When she had pulled herself free of the plug she dashed it to the ground.
The red light went off as the anal plug clattered upon the floor.
"Ooooh! I want to go home!" Emily managed to yell, amidst her tears
and incoherent cries.
"You have been well tested for tonight. Perhaps a little too well
tested," Mrs. Brown said to the girl. Then she delivered a slap to Emily's
bare ass with her hand, sending the girl into new spasms of hip-waggling
pain. Emily was led into the Brown's dining room, still crying, clutching
now at her bottom with her hands as Mr. Brown led her. He laid her upon
the dining room table, placing a small pillow from a nearby chair under her
whip streaked bottom. Mrs. Brown, following the pair, pinned up the front
of Emily's dress. She sprayed the girl's pubis with whipped cream.
"Time for dessert," Mrs. Brown announced to the male guests, who
had followed her into the room along with the maid. Mr. Brown yanked
Emily's thighs apart, showing the men her cunt. As the girl struggled to
close her legs, Mr. Brown holding her open by her ankles with the help of
another man, the first man to dance with Emily went down on her. He
licked away the cream that Mrs. Brown had used to decorate Emily's blonde
pubic curls. Despite her previous agonies, Emily found this exercise to be
the most distressing of all. For no cream had been squirted between her
legs, only on her pubis. As the man tongued Emily, he offered her slit no
soothing strokes, only avidly cleaning her pubic thatch directly above her
cunt. When he was finished he went away, leaving Emily wet and helpless,
sexually aroused and unable to please herself because two other men were
now holding her hands, keeping them stretched above her head. Mrs. Brown
returned. Again she squirted the girl's pubis, leaving her bare cuntlips
undecorated. The second man to dance with Emily appeared between her
wide-spread legs. He tongued her too, quite eagerly, but again he left
Emily's cunt untouched. This agonizing process was repeated by the third
and forth men, Mrs. Brown redecorating Emily's pubis for each man in turn.
Then Mr. Brown took a turn, but again he did not so much as offer a single
tongue stroke to Emily's wet little cunt. Then Mrs. Brown decorated the
girl again. But this time she didn't do Emily's pubis. Instead she did the
girl's cunt, exclusively, the first squirt if cream nearly sending Emily into
a orgasm.
Emily trembled, as Mrs. Brown hovered over her hips. The woman
smiled at Emily.
"Only I am left, except for the maid," Mrs. Brown told Emily as she
lay stretched and spread-eagled on the table, the men holding her down.
"Guess where I'm going to lick you?" Mrs. Brown said to Emily.
"Oh God! No! Please, you're a woman!" Emily begged the lady.
"You've never done it with a woman before?" Mrs. Brown asked,
tickled at the girl's resistance.
"No, of COURSE not!" Emily gasped.
"Then enjoy," Mrs. Brown said. She went down on the girl. Avidly she
licked the girl's cunt. From almost the first touch of her tongue, Emily
was thrown into an orgasm. Her hips shook, her breasts heaved and
bounced on her chest, despite her just-stated aversion to girl-girl sex.
Mrs. Brown didn't stop until she had completely cleaned all the cream out
of Emily's cunt, stabbing the girl with her tongue between her pretty
near-virgin lips. Emily came and came, and when Mrs. Brown invited the
maid to go next, Emily orgasmed some more as the whipped cream was
squirted into her sex. Then the maid went to work, and Emily heaved into
yet more orgasms. The maid's too short skirt showed off her bare bottom.
The men took advantage of this, each putting himself to the maid's cunt,
from behind, as she tongued Emily. This increased the avidness with
which the maid tongued the girl, getting it from behind as she gave it to
her in front. Emily came and came, crying out as the maid brought her to
near-endless bliss. When it was finally all over, the maid having bravely
taken each man, Emily was helped up from the table. She blinked; the men
were all soft and bedraggled looking now, between their legs, their cocks
no longer the source of wonder that they had been before. Only Mr. Brown
remained hard; he had not fucked the maid. Feeling giddy despite all her
previous pains, Emily reached out and grabbed Mr. Brown's cock as he
pulled her up from the table. Sitting on the pillow he had earlier provided
her, her long white pee-stained stockinged legs dangling over the table's
edge, Emily began frigging Mr. Brown. She looked at him in a challenging
way, daring him to stop her. He did not.
"You must cum, sir. All the other men have," Emily urged Mr. Brown.
The man's wife giggled at how this young girl, who had insisted earlier on
going home, was now so forward. When Emily felt Mr. Brown was on the
verge of spending, she suddenly pulled the condom off his penis. She bent
forward and opened her mouth. Her aim was a little off; when Mr. Brown
exploded in a spermy salute to the girl's hand-jobbing talents, he sprayed
her tits. Emily bent lower to try to catch what was shooting all over her
breasts. But it required her to bend her back deeply; she couldn't quite
manage it sitting upright as she was. So in compensation she re-aimed Mr.
Brown's still spurting cock between her legs. Spreading her stockinged
thighs wider, she fired him all over her slit.
"Mmmm. I hope you don't make me pregnant," Emily told Mr. Brown
afterward, when at last his spermy tribute was exhausted. They both
laughed. The others applauded. In fact Emily had only shot the man off on
herself, she had not been penetrated by him. Not yet, anyway. The maid
re-appeared and offered to lick Emily clean. Surprised at herself, the girl
agreed. She laid back and spread her legs. This time nobody had to hold
her as the maid licked all Mr. Brown's sperm off her breasts and her mouth
and her cunt. As the maid worked, Mrs. Brown went and got a strap-on
dildo. To Emily's surprise the woman insisted on giving the brave little
maid yet another fuck, this time with the fake penis she was wearing
around her waist. The maid took the thing as courageously as she could,
licking Emily all the while. When at last the maid finished, Emily having
been sent several more times into the throes of bliss, Mrs. Brown helped
Emily sit up again. The woman was still wearing her dildo, strapped
around her waist. Emily looked at the fake organ with curiosity.
"Would you like some?" Mrs. Brown asked the girl. Emily reached out
and touched the end of the thing with the tip of her finger.
"You would give me that?" Emily asked.
"Yes. Inbetween your legs. For as long as you like," Mrs. Brown said.
Emily blinked and lay back. She opened her thighs. Her curiosity increased
as Mrs. Brown grabbed her hips and dragged them to the table's edge. Then
Emily felt a sharp stabbing pain inbetween her legs as the thing entered
her. It was big, as big as Mr. Brown. It split her wide and filled her. For
the next 15 minutes Emily lay gasping and screaming on the table as Mrs.
Brown fucked her. The friction of the moving dildo strap between Mrs.
Brown's legs worked in her slit. She came at last, even as Emily came,
both of their cunts gushing blissfully. "You have done very well for
tonight," Mrs. Brown assured Emily when at last she pulled the fake cock
out of the girl's twat.
"Thank you," Emily answered. Her vision was bleary. Her body ached
all over. But she was also wrapped in a kind of breathtaking bliss, and as
she sat there, on the pillow on the dining room table, she decided that she
might rather enjoy being a whore.
30 excerpts below
Arnold Brown
Sue Ellen maid
30
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