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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Nineteen
We were led upstairs to a bedroom. A large bed with black iron
railings waited. It had been stripped of everything but a covering sheet. A
small wooden stairstep led up to it. One by one we were made to file up
the little steps and get into bed. We lay the only way we could, on our
bellies. We cried quietly, wetting the big pillows arranged for our heads.
Women entered. Large, broad women who had borne many children.
Our bottoms must have looked like ripe little apples to them. Skinny
legged girls from America, we were, with waspish hips. WeÕd never known
the pain of the delivery room, the labor of bearing young. We only played
at sex, recreationally, for the amusement of men like the grandee. He
favored girls like us while making the women work in his fields. Now they
must take time off from their chores to pamper our little fannies, our
bottoms which were so delicate and pretty until weÕd chosen to display
them in the square.
Had we chosen? We had not resisted. Why had we not screamed,
shouted? I knew the answer but I did not want to know it. The rough
women with rough hands squirted our tushies with atomizers. A light
cologne on whip-skinned flesh. Our heads shot up, we grimaced, cried out.
Tremblingly we found each otherÕs hands and held them tightly.
Pots of cream were brought. Spreading our legs, curling our toes in
agony we accepted the cream on our beet red bottoms. The rest of
ourselves shone whitely, our backs and legs, our arms, still moist with
the sheen of summer rain, now mixed with a light sweat as we endured the
womenÕs healing ministrations.
ÒMy, how lovely theyÕre wounded,Ó a woman said, entering the room
with the grandee. She was a large mexican lady. Glancing over our
shoulders we were told by the grandee that she was his wife.
ÒThey are going to masturbate for you dear, these college girls from
America,Ó the grandee told his wife. We cringed with humiliation,
knowing we would do just that if he permitted it. And then he did.
Shoving my hands down below my belly I joined the other girls in frigging
myself silly.
We threshed upon the bed, screaming and twisting our lovely hair
about with abandon. Our wanton bottoms jiggled madly as we worshipped
ourselves. At first we were totally self-absorbed, contained within our
own pleasure. But then as the first orgasm passed and we pushed
ourselves on to another we turned our faces to one another and began
kissing frantically. I think Tiffany and I were the first to take it up. The
rest followed our example. The mexican women watched, their chores and
children forced to wait while they attended upon our privileged bodies.
We screamed together and finally laughed together and at last we settled
back down, back to the pain in our arses that flared into our minds again
as soon as our pleasure had subsided. Then the mexican ladies went to
work on us again, bringing more oils, more salve and healing balm. Lightly
we continued to toy with ourselves as they worked. At last, one by one,
we passed off into sleep, the women still laboring over us.
Several languid days passed at the grandeeÕs. We played in the pool,
ate at dinner with him, conversed with him in his library. Always we
would kneel on the floor, unable to sit. The grandee provided little mats
for us. During this time our bottoms simply would not accept panties, or
anything else. We could wear whatever we wanted on our feet, or on our
chests, but we were forced to leave our asses bare. Mostly we pranced
about in clingy little t-shirts. Jealously the mexican women would watch
us, scrubbing floors at the mansion or washing dishes, or working in the
garden. Our laughter was lilting, childlike. Our eyes sparkled. We played
tricks on each other sometimes, squirting each other with bottles of
seltzer water, shooting whipped cream, flinging our jello desserts at each
other.
Sometimes the grandee brought over gentlemen friends, but he did
not let them touch us. They were mere business associates, he said. We
were too precious for them.
One day I managed to get myself into a pair of panties. Soon the
other girls followed suit. The grandee eyed us the next day at lunch. We
sat on chairs, eating at his table. We were all modestly dressed in shorts
or skirts. The mexican women served us, bringing fresh vegetables theyÕd
just dug up from the garden.
ÒOooh! These are so delicious!Ó Tiffany exclaimed, spearing a stalk
of broccoli with her fork and eating it. Hand-drawn butter dripped from
it, ran down her chin. She licked her lips. We gorged ourselves on the
vegetables, bade the women bring more. For dessert we had fresh-cooked
rhubarb pie.
A few more days slipped past. The grandee took his wife shopping in
the city and brought back presents for us. Presents we could keep. Rings,
earrings, little baubles to spice a girlÕs fancy. We sashayed around the
house in clothing all the time now. We did not want the Mexican women or
their children to see our nakedness. In the evening we played ping pong,
sometimes with the grandeeÕs business friends watching. We never wore
bras and our breasts would bounce lewdly as we knocked the little white
ball back and forth to each other. In the daytime we often lounged by the
pool, though the grandee insisted we stay in the shade and keep our
boobies and bottoms covered. He said there were enough dark women in
Mexico. We would order the mexican women to leave off their digging or
washing and bring us mint juleps. WeÕd lounge about and gossip with each
other, read People magazine, play tic-tac-toe in the back of the T.V. Guide.
(He kept english language copies for us, special subscriptions from
America.)
ÒAre you having fun girls?Ó the grandee asked us one evening at
dinner.
ÒYes!Ó we all gushed in response.
ÒAnd how are your bottoms?Ó he asked. Our faces sobered.
ÒAll better,Ó ÒAll better,Ó ÒAll better,Ó we piped up reluctantly.
After dinner he made us stand in a line and drop our shorts. He
examined each of us, looking at our seats but not touching us.
A mexican woman came into the dining room to collect our dishes.
She looked at us. Her eyes seemed to smile with wicked delight. I felt
fear in my tummy and tried desperately to quash it.
###
It was a flight to nowhere. Pretend Airlines, it was called, and the
grandee had built it in his basement. There was a cushioned bench in the
middle of the room. It was equipped with seatbelts. Beyond lay the
Òcockpit,Ó where the stewardesses of Pretend Airlines might be flown
however the passengers wished them to be.
Three men from the village were to be our passengers. The grandee
said they were nephews of his. They arrived wearing business suits. They
were strapping men, a bit surly, ÒdifficultÓ passengers who threatened to
run a poor stewardess ragged.
All around the pretend airlines set-up the mexican women of the
house sat in chairs with their children. They were ÒpassengersÓ only in
the sense that they got to watch. We were mortified when we walked into
the basement and saw them there. But they simply gazed back at us. They
sat with their children, waiting for the ÒflightÓ to begin. They did not
mind having their children see the antics of white American women.
ÒHi! My nameÕs Tiffany,Ó Tiff began, speaking to the men as they
strode past her and took their seats. Her voice had an air of forced
cheeriness. ÒIÕm the head stewardess on this flight and IÕll be the one
primarily responsible for your pleasure. If you have any problems with the
service, please let me know about it!Ó There was laughter among the men.
ÒNow this is a pleasure flight, boys, but I expect you to behave. Do you
think you can do that?Ó They nodded, but you could tell they might choose
to misbehave at any moment. However they were a little in awe of us, I
think, theyÕd never flown on an airplane. They looked around the basement
expectantly, as if any moment they expected us to actually take off.
WeÕd spent hours being made up for this flight. Our hair was perfect,
combed down over our shoulders in glossy waves. Our nails on our fingers
and on our toes were carefully shaped and painted. Our bodies had been
rubbed all over with baby oil, vigorously, until the oil had been absorbed
completely by our skin, leaving behind a healthy, vibrant glow. Mexican
ladies had done all the work, beauticians from the village. Women with
broken nails and hair streaked with grey. They spent most of their days in
the fields, not the beauty parlor, for there werenÕt enough customers.
Two days earlier a seamstress had arrived from the village. SheÕd
made us take off all our clothes in the upstairs bedroom and sheÕd
measured us meticulously. Then she and several helpmates had sewn our
flight uniforms for the grandee and his nephewÕs pleasure.
Glancing at Tiffany, you might think weÕd done alright. She wore a
pilotÕs cap upon her head, with a straight black bill in front and official-
looking ÒmacaroniÓ above it. A slinky black shirt with a straight hemline
covered her torso. The shirt had a turtle neck and long sleeves. Epaulets
adorned her shoulders, each with four stripes, showing her rank.
Her legs were encased in long black boots of the finest leather that
came up to her knees, where they had a ÒgatheredÓ cuff. Above that were
her stockings, black fishnet, but with threads so closely criss-crossed
that you could barely discern her skin beneath. Looking at her thighs, you
might think that the stockings were pants legs. Only there werenÕt any
Òpants.Ó Just the stocking/leggings, rising up to her thigh tops, then
stopping abruptly. Between the tops of her stockings and the hem of her
shirt you could just make out the lower half of her white cotton panties.
To make her look even more officious, the grandee had given Tiffany
glasses to wear. She stood before the passengers now, checking her
manifest to make sure they were all Òaboard.Ó Holding a clipboard in her
left hand, she put a pencil to her lips with her right.
Meanwhile, the rest of us fidgeted. We were dressed the same as
Tiffany from the waist up, but with less stripes on our bars. We wore no
glasses. From the hemline of our shirts to our feet we were completely
bare. We stood around the ÒcabinÓ in high heels, to elevate our bottoms.
Our legs flashed nakedly when we walked. White flesh, with our shirts
riding up in back exposing our creamy asses. They looked like cream puffs,
jutting out sassily at the Mexican ladies and their children.
ÒGentlemen, I must make sure that you didnÕt forget to bring any of
your equipment,Ó Tiffany said to the grandeeÕs nephews. ÒPlease unzip
yourselves so I can check.Ó Proudly the men undid their trousers and
displayed their cocks to her. They were big and brown and pulsed with the
vigor of the countryside. Politely Tiffany tapped each one once with her
pencil eraser, then replaced it in her lips, studied her manifest a moment,
and then called me forward.
ÒWeÕll need some measurements of this equipment so I can properly
adjust the planesÕ ballast,Ó she told me. I saluted her smartly. The girls
and I got a ruler from a table and we measured off each manÕs cock and
announced the figure to Tiffany. The mexican ladies murmured at the
sizes.
ÒTen inches! Eleven on this one! Oh, my! This one is twelve inches
long!Ó I cried, the other girls joining in with me as I announced the
numbers.
ÒHmmm, IÕll need the circumference also,Ó Tiffany replied. We went
back to the table and rummaged around. We returned with a cloth tape
measure. With delicate hands we wrapped each manÕs cock with a loop of
the tape. Again we announced the figures. The women had grown fine
young men, good for more than plowing fields.
ÒLastly we will need the specific gravity of their balls,Ó Tiffany
said. Have them stand and drop their trousers. Amber, get a pitcher of
cream, warm cream, so their balls wonÕt become chilly. Make them stand
with their legs apart and lift out their balls and plop them into the pitcher
of cream. Then look inside and guesstimate how much cream has been
displaced.Ó
The first man to be measured this way made the cream spill out of
the top of the pitcher. It ran down the insides of his hairy thighs, down to
his pants where they lay crumpled around his ankles.
ÒOh my, well I guess weÕll just have to do the best we can,Ó Tiffany
sighed. She wrote down AmberÕs wildly made up guesstimate of Ò40
pounds.Ó
ÒGood heavens! We can never take off with that much weight on
board,Ó Tiffany exclaimed.
ÒWhat shall we do?Ó Amber giggled.
ÒI shall have to take off my panties to compensate,Ó Tiffany
announced. She put down her clipboard and pencil on a chair. Then,
bending her knees daintily, she rolled her panties down her legs and
carefully plucked them past the cuffs of her boots.
Holding them as one might a piece of rubbish, disdainfully, letting
them dangle down, she walked over to the edge of our pretend airplane and
dropped them. ÒThere,Ó she announced as they landed on the floor, as if
theyÕd fallen out the door of the plane to the asphalt tarmac below. She
walked back to us and picked up her clipboard once more. ÒI do hope you
other boys have been fucking a little more than this one has, or I may have
to get completely naked!Ó Tiffany said. The men grinned. They longed to
see the big boobies that bulged with such promise within her tight flight
shirt.
We had lost so much cream that we decided to refill the pitcher.
Somehow the grandee had thought to provide us with a whole bottle of it,
sitting on a warmer on our utility table in our make-believe flight kitchen.
We refilled the pot and measured the next manÕs nuts. ÒForty-five
pounds!Ó Amber announced happily, spilling even more cream this time and
leaving a milky pool in the center of the manÕs descended trousers.
ÒWell!Ó Tiffany announced. ÒI am the head stewardess, you know. I
do have certain privileges because of my rank. Amber, I want you to take
off your shirt.Ó The girl looked slightly taken aback. She had been hoping
to get Tiffany undressed with her fantastic measurements. ÒYes, Amber,Ó
Tiffany nodded solemnly. ÒOff with your shirt right away so we can get
airborne.Ó
ÒI could take my hat off instead, that would do,Ó Amber said.
ÒNo, your hat means you are an official Pretend Airlines
stewardess,Ó Tiffany replied. ÒYou must keep that on. Take off your shirt.
You donÕt have any rank anyway.Ó
ÒI have three whole stripes, look at them!Ó Amber said, pointing to
her epaulets.
ÒYes, but it was a mistake by the seamstress,Ó Tiffany replied. ÒYou
are the official milk maid on this flight, still a stewardess of course.Ó
She was making it up as she went along, I could see, but the men obviously
didnÕt care. Roles were being created even as we played. I wondered what
title IÕd eventually get. Official hot seat?
Reluctantly Amber pulled up her shirt. Her youthful breasts popped
out as she yanked it past them. The shirt was tight, specially made.
TheyÕd sewn it on her an hour before. Wiggling her hips and bottom, her
legs ridiculously akimbo, Amber finally got the shirt off. ÒDonÕt help her,
girls,Ó Tiffany advised us. ÒShe must be able to do it herself if we should
crash land in the ocean. Clothes might make us drown in the water, you
know. IÕll explain all the procedures in case of crash landings in a
minute.Ó
The last man was measured, by a nude Amber, wearing only her hat.
Her lovely breasts jiggled above his stiff-jutting organ. Twice her perky
nipples grazed across his pee hole. The man trembled, in ecstasy. The
cream bathed his testicles, warming them, perhaps killing some sperm
with its warmth. But he had plenty more.
ÒA hundred pounds!Ó Amber announced, hoping to get the whole crew
undressed. She didnÕt like being the only one completely naked.
ÒAmber, are you telling the truth?Ó Tiffany asked over the rim of her
glasses. ÒBecause if you arenÕt, IÕll have to swat you with my official
stewardess paddle.Ó She pointed to a hard wooden ping pong type paddle,
but with a long handle, hanging from a nail on the wall.
ÒUm, only 48 pounds, actually,Ó Amber said, screwing up her nose
and recalculating the imaginary figures in her head. ÒI guess I over
guesstimated.Ó
ÒIÕll say you did,Ó Tiffany replied. ÒSylvia, why donÕt you be the one
to take off your shirt this time? YouÕre the littlest of us, and nobody will
mind if youÕre naked. People only complain when they see big girls
walking around naked in Mexico.Ó
Sylvia took the jibe well and uncomplainingly put down her hat and
peeled up her shirt. It took her even longer than Amber to get out of it.
She danced around the floor, wriggling her torso, her bottom all a-jiggle.
She stood on her toes in an effort, apparently, to inspire her shirt to move
up.
ÒDonÕt rip it, Sylvia,Ó Tiffany warned. The shirt was stretchy and
light and could possibly be torn if it was excessively mishandled. Of
course, to do so would spoil the game of getting it off. ÒGirls who rip
their uniforms will be punished immediately,Ó Tiffany said, as if
reminding us, reading imaginary words on her clipboard. But I knew that
the threat of punishment wasnÕt imaginary, for besides the paddle a whole
range of flagellating equipment waited on the far wall.
At last Sylvia got her shirt off. Her breasts bounced freely on her
little chest, her ribs heaving with her effort. Her hair was hopelessly
mussed. Only the first of many such little disasters, I imagined.
Disgustedly Sylvia tossed her shirt out the ÒwindowÓ of the plane (an
imaginary space newly invented by her). She brushed her long hair with
her hand, trying to mend her coiffure. It had been neatly curled in long
strands and arranged just so. SheÕd been walking very daintily up Ôtil now
to keep it that way.
ÒNever mind your hair, Sylvia,Ó Tiffany said. ÒItÕs time for us to
take off. Men, pull your pants back on and sit down and let the girls buckle
you in.Ó
The men looked incredulous. Their pants were soaked with cream
and their cocks were hard as iron re-bars. They protested but the grandee
ordered them in Spanish to do as Tiffany asked. With great effort and to
the merriment of the mexican women watching (not to mention the flight
crew!) they stuffed themselves back in and sat down. They were obviously
uncomfortable as we bent low and strapped their seatbelts across their
waists. Meanwhile, Tiffany read off the remainder of her flight
instructions:
ÒMen, if we should have to attempt a crash landing it will be
necessary for as much weight as possible to be thrown from the plane.
This means that you will have to ejaculate as quickly as possible. Should
you not be able to do this one of our stewardesses will have to undergo an
enema, so I hope you will be able to help us out on this.Ó We looked up at
Tiffany, shocked at the thought of having our guts filled and spilled in
front of the mexican women. But this the grandee had actually written for
her, and she could not alter it.
ÒI shall have to be the pilot,Ó Tiffany said next. We knelt by our
three male passengers for takeoff, massaging the protrusions in their
pants. She turned around and faced the chair that was designated as the
pilotÕs chair. It was turned backwards, so that when she sat down on it
her arms were folded over the chairback. Her naked butt loomed proudly at
us. With accomplished grace she took hold of a dildo just beyond the chair.
It had been standing on what we girls actually used as our make believe
flight kitchen. It was a master touch, using the dildo as the planeÕs flight
stick. None of us had thought of it, nor the grandee. Simultaneously the
dildo became TiffanyÕs radio communicator.
ÒHead Stew to tower, head stew to tower,Ó she announced. ÒIÕm
ready for takeoff!Ó
ÒTakeoff approved, Head Stew. And take off your shirt while youÕre
at it.Ó
ÒSorry boys. Maybe some other time,Ó Tiffany replied to her make-
believe companions.
Then Tiffany pulled back on the dildo, pretending to take off. But
after a little while she announced that the plane was racing down the
runway and wouldnÕt be able to make it.
ÒThe tower says my ass is too fat!Ó Tiffany exclaimed, looking back
over her shoulder at us. ÒWill one of you men please stick your thing in my
butt and help get it up?Ó We were shocked at her courage. We knew she
had the tightest asshole in the universe and her butt, though mature and
well-rounded, was anything but fat. It was just a game she was playing,
getting more and more involved with every second. I gulped as I watched
the middle nephew leap up and drop his trousers. If Tiffany was willing to
sacrifice her butthole for our fun, what wouldnÕt she sacrifice?
Sylvia, perhaps remembering her past conquest, leapt to her feet and
helpfully fetched a phial of oil. The manÕs stiff rod burst from his zipper.
Together they lubed him up. Amber bent low just before he was ready to
enter Tiffany and enclosed his organ with her pendant breasts. She could
play make-up games too.
ÒNow you go back and forth, like this,Ó Amber said, looking up
sweetly at the man. She wriggled back and forth, sluicing his oiled dick
between her close-held breasts. Then she let go of her boobs and kissed
him lightly on the head of his penis. ÒGood luck!Ó she smiled. The man had
lost a lot of his oil between AmberÕs bosoms, so Sylvia hastily re-did the
lube job. Or penis job, as the case might be. We were just inventing it as
we went along, and I found myself enjoying the whole thing more and more
with every tantalizing minute.
ÒOh! I think IÕve got it!Ó Tiffany said, not sure she wanted another
impalement at the hands of Sylvia, or perhaps meaning only to have teased
the man all along.
ÒNothing doing!Ó Sylvia replied. ÒYou made me take my shirt off and
now its your turn!Ó
ÒSylvia, there is a big difference between a shirt and an anus,Ó
Tiffany said. But weÕd all gathered round her now. We stroked her and
told her how pretty she looked and made her put her hands behind herself
and pry apart her buttcheeks. Cheryl squirted a little preparatory oil into
TiffanyÕs anus with an atomizer. Tiffany started, bit her lower lip.
Bravely she held her lovely hams apart with her slim-gripping fingers.
ÒOoooh, NO!Ó Tiffany choked as the big knob burrowed into her butt.
ÒYES, TIFFANY!Ó We all cried delightedly. Tears welled in her eyes
as she realized how difficult it would be for her to take him. He was
large, and she was smaller than sheÕd remembered.
With grimacing, anguished little puffs Tiffany took the big member
up her colon. The going was so slow that we decided to get the ruler and
measure off the inches as they went up. Suddenly, when he was about
halfway up the young nephew discharged. He tried frantically to yank his
cock out in an attempt to prevent it, but he was stuck! Only after his
member had deflated somewhat was he able to get it out. Tiffany, our
pilot, was left weeping, her face down on her arms, now folded back over
her chair back. But she was not unhappy. SheÕd conquered another sexual
hurdle in her life, and a fearful one at that. Well, halfway, that is.
Tiffany stood up finally and announced that the plane was up in the
air. She was back in control, looking as pretty as ever and still wearing
everything but her lost panties. But her butthole had a telltale smear of
semen on it, and the excess had trickled down to her love pouch.
ÒWell I guess IÕll just have to be a sticky stewardess thanks to your
half-assed job, sir,Ó looking down at him. But weÕd been massaging him
and he was up again, ready for more. ÒNo, no, sir! There will be many
emergencies later that weÕll need your strength for,Ó Tiffany said. He sat
back. He was hard and did not want to lose himself again. It was too
enjoyable watching us all with his penis nice and stiff. Another
ejaculation might spoil his fun for awhile, leave him out of the
festivities. As for the other men, they looked like theyÕd gladly fuck
anything that moved, immediately.
ÒMen, the pilot has turned off the Ôconceal cocksÕ sign,Ó she said
helpfully. ÒYou may now display your organs freely if you wish.Ó Grunting
with relief they unzipped themselves and yanked out their penises. They
held them aloft at her, though they remained obediently seated.
ÒVery good, boys,Ó Tiffany said. ÒThe pilot sends his compliments.Ó
She bent over and gave a teasing lick round each manÕs purplish plum.
When she lifted her mouth her lips gleamed with their pre-cum.
We all waited with tingling anticipation as Tiffany retrieved her
clipboard. I wanted to rub myself. I saw Sylvia give herself a furtive
little wipe between her legs. She looked at her fingertips. They were wet
with her dew.
ÒTonightÕs dinner is baked bosoms,Ó Tiffany announced to our
passengers. ÒHowever, since our oven is broken you will either have to eat
them raw or go hungry,Ó she added. ÒWhich do you prefer?Ó
ÒYours!Ó they exclaimed. Tiffany tapped her foot impatiently.
ÒThatÕs not what I meant, boys, and you know it. I see however that
you do wish to partake of the evening meal. Amber? Sylvia? We must eat
quickly. Come over here and present your bosoms at once.Ó
With little gulps Amber and Sylvia obeyed, both of them the
youngest, with freshly grown bosoms waiting to be plucked by our fares.
Sylvia seemed especially nervous. Her breasts had been growing recently,
perhaps because of all the sexual excitement sheÕd been undergoing. She
said her nipples felt sore and she wasnÕt sure she wanted to.
ÒSylvia!Ó Tiffany warned. After getting her butt bopped a second
time by the girl she wasnÕt about to show her any mercy.
The girls climbed into the willing laps of the men, facing them,
offering them the fruit of their bodies. Greedily the men took their titties
in their mouths and nursed frantically upon the nipples. It was the first
and the third nephews who were favored in this way, the one in the middle
looking slightly bereft. ÒYou, sir, I have a special treat for,Ó Tiffany said.
She walked over to Cheryl and wrapped her arm round the girlÕs waist. She
brought her to the man and had her stand right in front of him. ÒCheryl,Ó
Tiffany said. ÒSince youÕre my best friend I want you to give this man our
pussy of the month, or is it of the mouth?Ó she said. TheyÕd been playing
checkers all morning together so I guess that was as good a qualification
as any for Òbest friend,Ó although I felt a little crestfallen when I heard
her say it. Cheryl glowed, happy at last to have a little attention on her
yearning, excited pussy. These airplane games were very stimulating. She
placed her hands firmly on the manÕs broad shoulders. As he watched,
delighted out of his mind, she thrust her still-clad torso toward him,
aiming to hit him smack in the kisser with her bare pussy. And she did!
Soon she was moaning as the man hungrily ate her out. That left only me
and Tiff.
She came over to me, tall and proud and ever so sophisticated.
Although I was almost as tall as her I felt meek in her presence. ÒYou,
however, are my breast friend,Ó Tiffany smiled at me. ÒTake off your
shirt. No wait! She went and got a ruler off the nightstand that was our
flight kitchen. ÒTake your shirt off now,Ó she said. ÒAnd youÕd better
hurry Ôcause IÕm going to keep on smacking your ass until you do!Ó I knew
she had to. The mexican ladies were growing restless. They did not like
seeing us having this much fun. Or perhaps it was in the minimal script
the grandee had written on her clipboard. In any event I saw in TiffanyÕs
eyes that she was begging me not to refuse.
I nodded. I turned my back to her and she positioned me so that my
pretty fundament was facing the audience. She took off my hat. I toyed
with the hem a moment, not wanting to lift my shirt. Finally, with a quick
confirming look at Tiffany, I began the arduous process.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! I yelped and danced as I Tiffany laid in the
first strokes. The other girls, surprised, looked up at us. I thought I heard
Sylvia breathe a sigh of relief that sheÕd not objected to offering her
breasts. She saw that the alternative was obviously worse. With renewed
enthusiasm the girls gave themselves over to the men, not wanting to be
next for the ruler. Cheryl especially, for she still wore a shirt.
I yanked and pulled at my shirt, finally releasing my breasts. They
spilled out and immediately joined in my antics, juddering freely all over
the place. Soon my shirt was up around my face, and I couldnÕt get it off
my head. For seemingly the longest time I scampered about, Tiffany
chasing me with the ruler. ÒStop!Ó she cried, laughing. ÒYou canÕt see and
youÕll bump into something!Ó Like a little animal I jiggled about, my ass
reddening more every few seconds as TiffanyÕs ruler connected. At last,
to my vast relief and with an enormous sigh, I managed to tug the shirt
above my chin, then off the top of my head. But my arms, upraised, were
still trapped in it. Like some wiggly mutant from Dark Castle I leapt
about the room. Tiffany found my heinie wherever I went and gave it a
new crack. In the end I finally got my shirt off, tossing it right at the
mexican ladies. They clucked their disapproval. My hands immediately
flew to my ass and as we resumed our Òflight dutiesÓ I stood briskly
rubbing it.
Only Tiffany and Cheryl retained their shirts. The rest of us wore
only our hats and heels, no doubt the cutest flight attendants these
nephews had ever laid eyes on. Perhaps the ONLY flight attendants theyÕd
ever laid eyes on, living as they did in their rural village. Our cunnies
were moist, CherylÕs more than most. Tiffany had a violated bumhole,
stepping awkwardly sometimes because of the lingering discomfort there.
But our elegance remained, despite our disheveled locks and not-quite-
perfect makeup. We were still stewardesses on Pretend Airlines, and our
men were still eager passengers.
The grandee had given Tiffany one rule above all the rest, and we all
knew what it was, even the nephews. There could be no cunt fucking. I
imagine with all of us eager for one another there might have been an orgy
then. But the grandee and his guards stood by watching, and we knew
anything we did to each other wouldnÕt be half as bad as suffering under
them. Tiffany stood considering, wondering what to do next. Impatient
with herself, she absently brushed the sides of her thighs with her hands.
She still looked very distinguished in her boots and stockings, the rest of
us bare or bare-legged.
Suddenly she turned and looked at her imaginary altimeter. ÒOh,
my!Ó She cried. ÒGentlemen, we are losing altitude. Please take
absolutely everything off!Ó She turned to Cheryl. ÒYou too, hun. Get out of
that shirt.Ó Cheryl didnÕt mind, for it looked like Tiffany had forgotten
about spanking people while they were trying to get out of their shirts.
Best to get undressed before she remembered. Meanwhile, the men
remained seated, handing their clothes up to Tiffany as they pulled them
off. Clutching their clothing she went to the side of the plane and tossed
them into an imaginary sea.
Returning to the men, Tiffany sat down on the lap of the nearest one.
She wriggled until he was nicely placed in her bottomcrack. The man
groaned, his organ trapped once more, but he did not mind this sort of
confinement. Tiffany beckoned me and together we got off her boots.
Then I rolled down her stockings. I pulled them off her feet and tossed
them out to sea. There were high heels waiting especially for this
moment, held up by the grandee, and I ran into the audience and got them.
The mexican ladies pinched at my bottom as I ran through them. They
were allowed more liberties tonight, apparently. I shivered.
Returning to Tiffany, I quickly fitted her into her shoes. ÒThe
natives are restless,Ó I whispered.
ÒI know. Think of something!Ó Tiffany hissed.
ÒWell, I donÕt really want to take one of them up my bottom, despite
what we did to you,Ó I said.
ÒThanks a lot!Ó Tiffany replied.
Suddenly there was a rustling in the crowd, as of someone passing
through. We looked up. The grandee approached, a woman on his arm. She
looked to be in her mid-twenties and she was stylishly dressed in a long
flowing gown. I had not seen her before. She was spanish but had very
light skin. Her eyes gazed at us intently. She seemed fiery. I think we all
blanched at her approach, knowing some new twist in our game was about
to occur. A twisted sort of twist too, knowing what sort of man the
grandee was.
ÒGirls, I believe the purser has come aboard,Ó he said. ÒIÕve told her
youÕre running an unprofitable airline,Ó he smiled. She looked at him,
smiled back.
ÒWhat do you wish me to wear, darling?Ó she asked the grandee.
ÒThis is my best dress.Ó The grandee snapped his fingers. His wife came
forth, her great garments bustling. You could hear her pantyhose,
underneath, rubbing together. When she reached our new player she held
aloft what looked like a pair of long white spaghetti straps, with just a
small tube of fabric at one end. A sort of midriff, perhaps, but one that
would only cover the belly, leaving everything else most inconveniently
exposed.
ÒWhat is that?Ó the white/spanish woman asked. She looked at the
grandee puzzled.
ÒPut it on. It is a shirt,Ó the grandeeÕs wife said in a thick accent.
It was a sharp contrast to our new visitorÕs almost perfect english.
ÒOh! I do not like being so exposed!Ó The fair skinned woman
answered.
ÒDo as youÕre told, Lisa,Ó the grandee advised in a low voice.
ÒOh, I shall! But give me a scarf at least. Something to give me a
little class, anyway!Ó A scarf was fetched and duly presented. It looked
pink. It looked hardly worth arguing for.
Guards came and quickly stripped Lisa. Then she put on her shirt. It
went on much easier than ours had. It fell in great cutaway loops from her
shoulders, with the biggest armholes IÕd ever seen, going all the way down
to the morsel of fabric that cluelessly hid her bellybutton.
The neckline of the blouse, if it could still be called that, plunged as
low as the holes for her arms. This silly, utterly useless shirt failed to
contain LisaÕs lovely bosoms in any way. Indeed, her whole torso was
exposed, from her shoulders all the way down to the meagre bit of cotton
that loosely wrapped itself round her tummy, looping around her back but
doing no better back there. From between the homemade spaghetti straps
of her shirt LisaÕs bosoms offered themselves to the audience. Gallantly
she tied on her neckerchief, tossed her head, walked over to us. The
guards had left her nothing but her shoes.
While all this was going on the men, poor souls, had been driven from
our plane by the guards. Haplessly they bid us goodbye, as butterflies took
off in our tummies, wondering what this portended. The five of us were
squeezed onto the bench in their place.
With apprehension building moment by moment amongst us, we
watched as Lisa walked past us to the wall. She placed her hands on her
bare hips and scanned the implements used for giving beatings. At last
she selected a riding crop. It had a long handle. She walked confidently
over to us and gazed down at our trembling bodies.
ÒPlease take your hats off when you are in my presence,Ó Lisa said
politely but firmly to us. We did so, with queasy hands. We dropped them
on the floor. Watching, Lisa seemed inspired. ÒI see how you treat your
hats,Ó she said. ÒCarelessly. But look!Ó She walked over to one of our
shirts, discarded, wrinkled, picked it up off the floor. ÒLook how you treat
your flight suits! This is unacceptable, girls!Ó We shivered under her
harsh gaze. ÒTiffany!Ó she barked. ÒYou are supposed to be the pilot!
Where are your panties, young lady?Ó
ÒUmm, we were losing altitude,Ó Tiffany offered sheepishly. Their
eyes seemed to dance as they looked at each other. They were both nearly
the same age. Both of them had absolutely knockout bodies. They both
liked being in charge, and they seemed to sense all this in a moment,
gazing at each other.
ÒTiffany, have you ever been in the hands of a professional
dominatrix?Ó Lisa asked quietly. Tiffany blanched, tried to recompose
herself and failed. Her hands were jittery as she laid them on her thighs.
ÒN-No,Ó Tiffany said. She was afraid, you could hear it in her voice.
But she was also proud, and I felt her unwillingness to back down from
what seemed like a dare.
ÒLift up your arms, Tiffany, all the way,Ó Lisa said, her voice still
low, almost whispering. Tiffany obeyed, her hands shaking slightly as she
raised them above her head. Lisa took the hem of her shirt and yanked and
yanked until the womanÕs breasts fell out. Then she pulled some more and
TiffanyÕs head reappeared. A moment more and Lisa had the shirt
completely off her. Tiffany settled her hands to her lap. Lisa regarded her
newly revealed bosoms with admiration. ÒYou have delightful breasts,Ó
she said at last.
ÒThank you,Ó Lisa replied. She did not call her maÕam.
ÒA bit wilful though, arenÕt you?Ó Lisa asked. She dropped TiffÕs
shirt to the floor as carelessly as we had dropped our own. Tiffany looked
at her. Whether from nervousness or to feign confidence, Tiffany licked
her upper lip. Then she shook her head, once, as if to clear her hair from
her eyes. There was still electricity between them as they gazed at one
another.
ÒYes,Ó was all Tiffany said by way of reply, but it spoke volumes.
ÒPlease stand, Tiffany,Ó Lisa said. Tiffany rose. Lisa took her by
the wrist and led her a few steps forward. Tiffany did not offer any
resistance. I watched her in a mirror. Her tongue was lolling out of her
mouth. It was as if she were dumb, or wanting to be. Lisa walked round
behind her, those dark spanish eyes relishing every inch of TiffanyÕs flesh.
She squeezed each of TiffanyÕs bottom cheeks in turn, as if weighing them,
judging them, counting the ounces of fat that protected her there. In her
other hand she still held the crop.
A shiver ran up TiffanyÕs spine. She drew her hands in front of her,
pressed them to the tops of her thighs. Would she try to slake her desire
in front of all the Mexicans? I wondered. Could Tiffany, the glamour
goddess, really touch herself with so many crude and coarse people
watching? She bent forward slightly, dipping her back, presenting her
bottom, pressing her fingers harder into her thighs. Just inches from her
pussy. It was hungry from all our playing. Pushing, pushing, sighing,
pushing harder.
Lisa, meanwhile, was oblivious to TiffanyÕs tussle with her
conscience. Or maybe she just didnÕt care. She traced the crack of
TiffanyÕs bottom with her finger. Tiffany flexed her cheeks once,
otherwise did not resist. Was Tiffany hoping Lisa would make her choices
for her?
With avid pussies we sat watching, wishing the men were still here.
Several of us, including me, stealthily dipped our fingers into our dells.
We glanced at one another, looking down. Watching fellow fingers going to
work. Important work. Let Tiffany wrestle with herself. We were all
younger than she, more natural. She was the head stewardess. We were
just undisciplined helpers.
Mistress turned, saw us. We gasped and withdrew our hands. But
none of us closed our legs. They remained open, our snatches begging for
more. Mistress surveyed our glistening pussies. To our surprise she said
nothing, merely nodded her approval. Then she turned back to Tiffany.
We were flustered then. It seemed o.k. to frig ourselves when it was
not allowed, had to be done in secret. But to do it openly? How unladylike!
We glanced fretfully at each other.
ÒOpen your legs, Tiffany,Ó Mistress said to our lovely leader.
TiffanyÕs legs were hardly pressed tight, but she widened her stance,
looked questioningly at Lisa. Then she followed the womanÕs fingers as
Lisa put them to TiffanyÕs slit.
ÒOh!Ó Tiffany gasped. Lisa explored her.
Inspired, I put my hand SylviaÕs slit and rubbed it for her. Maybe she
would do mine also. Instead, she squealed. Mistress turned, looked.
Sylvie put both her hands to her mouth. I withdrew mine, too late!
ÒGirls, how indulgent do you think I am?Ó Mistress scolded, walking
over to us, leaving Tiffany bereft. ÒDoing yourselves is one thing, but each
other? Do you think we Mexicans have no civilization down here
whatsoever?Ó
ÒI-I was just following your example,Ó I stammered.
ÒI am preparing Tiffany for discipline,Ó Lisa replied sternly. ÒIs
that what you are doing to Sylvia here? Do you intend to play Mistress
behind my back? Is it a coup you are planning, Barbi?Ó
ÒN-NO,Ó I gulped. Tiffany turned, watched mistress. Her eyes were
mirthful. One domme admiring another. And I noticed Tiffany admiring
MistressÕ bottom also. Did she hope to have a turn with the riding crop?
Would they trade off, sharing the crop, until they were both black and
blue?
ÒM-MaÕam, it is proving to be a rather looong flight,Ó Sylvia said.
Her eyes stared up at Mistress, large as saucers. Of course I felt it then.
We all felt it, even Tiffany. We had to go to the bathroom! Sylvia had
perhaps just been making an excuse for me, friendly girl that she was.
WeÕd all been together now long enough to have gotten into the habit of
covering for one another. But once that dastardly thought got loose, going
to the bathroom, it was devastating! WeÕd been dizzied by our strange
visitors, our new surroundings, by desire itself. But now we had one
overwhelming thought on our mind, and it was certainly the most
unladylike that weÕd had all evening. Peeing!
And where was the bathroom? None of us had been down in this
awful basement before, obviously. We played in the sun. We did not seek
out dank underground rooms with God knows what inside them. The
nearest bathroom I could think of was at the other end of the house,
upstairs, by the pool. And then there was one two floors up, near our
bedroom. But down here? And how would we get by all these people?
It was then that a rescuer appeared. He strode forth, dressed in the
attire of a Bullfighter. A breaker and tamer of bulls. But we were merely
she-cows.
ÒThe grandee! The grandee!Ó I heard whispered in the onlookers
gathered behind me. But how could it be? The grandee was old, this man
was young, and heart-stoppingly handsome!
ÒGood evening, girls.Ó He nodded to us deferentially. As if perhaps
he were addressing the LadiesÕ Garden Society. We shivered, all naked and
raw and desperate to pee. Tiffany stood with a hand placed delicately
over her pussy, squeezing it as politely as she could, her thighs squished
together. The rest of us looked no better.
ÒDo you beautiful young women have to go to the bathroom?Ó the man
asked. Gritting our teeth at the indignity of it all, we nodded. ÒWell I am
the son of the grandee. His house is mine also, and everything in it.
Including guests. Even undressed guests.Ó He smiled. A manÕs smile. He
might be polite but there were wicked thoughts up there in that curly-
haired head of his. ÒPlease come with me, girls.Ó
The mob of primitives behind us let out a murmur of disapproval as
they watched us all stand and begin to follow the young grandee from the
room. He turned to them. He spoke in Spanish. We trooped on past him,
led by Lisa, who apparently knew where he intended for us to go.
We were let through a door and found ourselves in a small but
charming pub. There was nobody inside but ourselves. I gazed at rows
upon rows of smartly arranged glasses. They stood on wooden shelves.
Cherrywood paneling lined the walls of the room. A bar beckoned, offering
stools to rest our tired fannies on. There was a table, too, perhaps for
intimate conversation, surrounded by armless, arrowbacked chairs. And
there were many bottles of liquor, whatever variety you might wish. Fine
for drinking, I thought, but I wanted just the opposite at the moment.
ÒAh, girls,Ó the young grandee said, entering triumphantly behind us.
He flipped on a T.V. so he could monitor the proceedings in the other room.
I watched as a Spanish man and woman were selected from the members
of the crowd itself. They emerged from it and took our place in the center
of the room. Our chairs were replaced by the guards with a large sheeted
mattress. The man and woman began tenderly undressing each other. They
were young, I realized. Uncertain. It was their first time together. A
forced marriage. Between a king and queen of the prom, so to speak, voted
to be together by the others who now sat watching them.
ÒAbout our potty,Ó Tiffany finally said, turning her gaze from the
T.V. to the grandee. She was bold, delicious. She tossed her hair across
her shoulders like a young mare, confident and daring. Her eyes smoldered
at him as she held herself in with a hand cupped to her dell.
ÒMy father is a forgetful man,Ó the grandee smiled at her. He took up
her challenge, but gracefully. ÒHe builds places like this, to drink in to
your heartÕs content. But he forgets that what goes in must come out
down below. The most I can offer you is privacy, thatÕs all.Ó Lisa had
fetched a popcorn bowl and now held it out to us. ÒGo in there,Ó the
grandee said. ÒI have never seen white girls pee before and it will amuse
me greatly.Ó
ÒWell, I for one have to go too badly to argue with a pervert!Ó
Tiffany snapped. She was not used to being tormented. She was used to
being spoilt by men, plied with favors by them...until they bored her stiff.
Hastily she squatted over the bowl and separated her cunt lips. Gazing up
at the grandee, still defiant, she released her golden rain into the bowl.
The rest of us waited, jittery and urgent. Languidly Lisa hefted the
popcorn bowl, poured it out in a sink, rinsed it and replaced it on the floor.
One by one we relieved ourselves in it until we were all through. The
grandee sat at the table, smoking. His eyes glittered at our display.
Someone thoughtfully wetted a towel and we passed it from one to
another, wiping ourselves. We retreated to various parts of the bar, some
of us sitting on stools, others on the floor by the T.V. Tiffany casually
pulled out a chair at the grandeeÕs table and sat down with him. She
blushed slightly as he admired her nudity. Her breasts wobbled on her
slim-ribbed chest. They were swollen and heavy, their nipples sticking up
with no hope of being modest.
ÒMay I buy you a drink?Ó the grandee asked. He was smooth,
unruffled. An amazing gentleman. Tiffany giggled, a little embarrassed.
ÒIf you wish,Ó she said.
ÒLisa, please fetch us drinks,Ó the grandee ordered Mistress, who sat
opposite Tiffany, the two of them sharing him between themselves.
Ah! Mistress looked taken aback. Tiffany had turned the tables on
her, made HER the slave! Visibly distressed, Lisa rose. As she passed the
grandee she girlishly stuck her tongue out at Tiffany. We laughed. He
looked, had not caught it. Tiffany merely smiled, a cat with a mouthful of
canary.
Amongst ourselves we appointed Amber to get us drinks. She was
young and puritanical. She did not like drinking. Saying it tasted ÒyuckyÓ
and we shouldnÕt be doing it, she whiningly got the glasses for us anyway.
Each of us in turn told her what we wanted. Cheryl saw to it that she
mixed them correctly. She got up on the bar and lounged along the length
of it, stretched out like some lioness at noon. Watching Amber as one
might a cub.
Our hair bedraggled, our bodies shiveringly naked in the cool room,
we nonetheless created for ourselves a sort of little party. We felt silly,
awkward, yet somehow liberated. Except for the grandee and Lisa, there
was nobody here but ourselves. Just us girls, thankyou. No boys invited.
Just our Master, keeping a watchful eye over us. We giggled and chirped
and gossiped. On the T.V. the man and the woman in the other room lay
down on the bed and began making love. Sipping our drinks, we watched. A
microphone picked up their small talk, piped it into our room. We could
not understand what they were saying, but we could easily guess. The man
presented himself to his new Queen. She opened for him. They merged.
We watched, mesmerized, as the couple began to fuck in earnest.
Their moans flooded the room. I sat on a stool, backwards, to watch the
T.V. The stool had a back to it, for comfort. My legs were open around the
stoolÕs back. It was shaped in the outline of a heart, subtly cut so as not
to be too obvious. Except for the outline of wood, heart shaped, the stool
had nothing else to offer in the way of back support. Through this well
crafted opening my pussy showed, above it the smooth outswelling
whiteness of my belly. Just above the back of the chair my breasts
dangled, sweetly, as I leaned forward watching the T.V. My hands, resting
on my knees, supported me. I wanted them elsewhere, though.
All around me the girls were becoming agitated as we watched the
amorous fucking on T.V. Yet, glancing at the grandee for permission, we
met eyes that told us Òno.Ó He would not allow us to pleasure ourselves,
as Mistress had. He expected us to be proper young ladies in his presence.
We must not abuse the little period of refreshment he was giving us. We
could drink, laugh, talk, watch T.V. But we must not do more. It would be
unseemly, yes! American girls must remember to behave properly when
they are in a foreign country. They should not carouse like rowdy tourists.
Far from it! They should learn the local customs, admire the language,
immerse themselves in the culture and ways of the native people.
Well, we werenÕt doing too badly on that last score, I thought to
myself. With my pussy tense and my belly rippling, yearning, my bottom
splayed upon the seat, I leaned closer to the T.V.
ÒI want to be a mommie,Ó I thought, watching the Spanish groom
take his newfound bride. She was virgin, seemed too old to be but was. He
speared her, she screamed. I trembled as I watched him rod her, his shaft
thrusting in and out, blooded.
Lisa meant to walk past me. Tiffany, still seated with Master, had
ordered another drink. Lisa stopped, though, next to me, put her hand on
my shoulder. Together we watched as the man in the next room fucked his
bride in earnest.
ÒIt is terrible but beautiful,Ó Lisa murmured, watching the bloody
prong at its work.
ÒI know,Ó I whispered. As we watched she put her hand to my belly,
caressed it.
ÒHave you ever had a baby?Ó she asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed.
ÒNeither have I,Ó she said. I put my arm around her waist and hugged
her to me as we watched the grim groom, all business now, ignoring the
brideÕs imprecations to desist.
ÒHe must impregnate her, she will conceive,Ó Lisa said to me.
ÒI want it,Ó I gasped.
ÒI know you do,Ó Lisa said. Reassuringly she stroked my belly, as if
her love alone could make it rise, bear fruit. She dipped her finger in my
navel, pressed, indenting me further. Alas! She was not properly equipped
and she could not enter there.
ÒLisa!Ó Master called. She left me, went to fetch TiffanyÕs drink.
Returning from the bar she winked at me as she passed. My hair unkempt,
my legs open, my tummy yearning I looked back hopefully. I would have
had her as my husband then. She could have taken me, I would have striven
mightily upon any implement she chose to bear a child for her. Together
we could have do it, I was sure. Love would have found a way.
But she hurried on, went to the Master who withheld his seed,
taunting us. HeÕd watched us make fools of ourselves, from somewhere,
hidden in the crowd, watched as weÕd pranced about in our little uniforms
and then shed them. Watched as we toyed with the men but kept them
from us, mostly, thinking ourselves to be the temptresses. Yet now he
out-tempted us, made us crazy for what only we were supposed to bestow.
We were the bestowers, not the beggars! Only men were supposed to beg!
On bended knee, ÒWill you marry me?Ó ÒI have to shampoo my hair, come
some other time.Ó
Yet now he held us tight within this room and denied us. He was
Master and we were but little nudie slaves, without clothes and almost
without self-control. Little nudie slaves yearning to do his bidding.
ÒIs there any way I could accommodate you, Master?Ó Tiffany asked
him. Her wide spread eyes gazed at him artlessly. Her hair tumbled over
her shoulders, uncombed. She licked her lower lip. She held her tongue
there, waiting, as if he might wish to plop a cherry on it. Or a plum. A big
plum, yes. With a long, thick stem still attached.
30
When we were done .
30?
Tiffany--our tit(ular) leader
She came to her senses
Spanish girl came up, sat beside me--a lesbian thespian she could have
said I was so flushed and hot I did not hear
Stand up and confess to him she urged giving my little bottom a hearty
slap. I laughed i could not refuse him... after all...sigh
And oh sir I took drugs in your house I did not resist when they were
offered to me I sobbed a little
He listened to my blushing admission twiddling with my pussy hair all the
while
You girls must rub yourselves for 15 seconds every minute. Igor here will
time you.
breast friend
The problem was that she wore nothing down below. The hem of her shirt
cut across the top of her pubic hair and--driving in a van, escaping
palming our white bottoms. Getting behind a girl he would stroke her seat
and then grab her hair and push her forward. With her bent over he would
fun his finger down her butt crack and then
ordering the mexican women to bring us things sometimes, or telling them
to go away. We were mistresses at heart, not slave girls; bitchy and
presumptu
They were surly and matter of
My confused welter of thoughts swirled within
marching up the grandeeÕs lawn subsided soon after. It had been crazy,
thinking to enslave myself to some man! I lay on a towel beside Tiffany
the next day. Our bottoms still glowed from yesterdayÕs flogging, though
the heat was beginning to subside.
ÒI love it here, but we simply must get away,Ó I whispered to Tiff.
ÒDonÕt worry, I have found a key,Ó she mouthed back. ÒTo a van.Ó
Behind us, unhearing, a spanish girl applied ointment to our bottoms.
The five of us had been pampered all night by young spanish girls
from the village. TheyÕd volunteered for it, they told us. Our heinies were
rubbed with perfumed oils as we lay upon a large bed. Five across, just
like at the wall. The bed was stripped down to just the covering sheet.
The spanish girls cavorted above us. The grandee had forced them to
undress. Their young teats, newly sprouting from their flat chests, hung
clingingly down as they scampered about. The grandee watched us as the
five of us lay there sobbing, holding hands. We still shivered with need
from the effects of the drug, our legs spread invitingly for any Rameo who
might happen by. Finally, stepping close, the grandee gave us permission
to masturbate. Sighing with pent up relief, not wanting to but having to,
we glanced at each other, then quickly thrust our fingers down our
tummies to our cunts. The spanish girls continued to minister to us,
considering our naughtiness to be quite natural, nothing to be ashamed of.
spraying on the first healing lotions from atomizers, we frigged ourselves
silly.
As I jerked my bottom about I thought of the whipping. The square,
with its intense heat, the people, the flies that buzzed close to inspect
our bottoms, just before the rains came. I cherished the moment, then
drove that thought from my head. With a groan I came again and again,
thrashing on the towel, the spanish girls ministering to me, while all
around me my friends came too.
30
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-END OF story EMISSION