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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Twenty
The grandeeÕs son rose from the table. I saw that his pants had a
new visitor. Like some baby close to term, it presented itself in a
bulgingly obvious manner. Impertinent, Tiffany reached out and took hold
of his zipper.
ÒTiffany!Ó Lisa snapped, slapping her hand. Tiffany withdrew her
hand contritely, looked up at Master.
ÒIt will come out soon enough, Tiffany,Ó the grandeeÕs son assured
her. Machiavelli glinted from his eyes, calculating, giving her lithe body a
final inspection.
ÒIt is the feast of flesh, Tiffany,Ó Lisa said to her quietly, but just
loud enough for us all to hear. In the background the grunts and moans of
the bride and groom had subsided. Sweaty, spent, they were lifted off one
another, separated. Their task was done. The peasants had fertilized
themselves. Now only the fertilization of the master remained. If it went
well, the crop would be good this year. Lisa explained this to Tiffany,
stroking her hair. She took one of TiffanyÕs breasts in her hand, weighed
it, squeezed it firmly as if to express milk through its stiffened nipple.
ÒTo keep power, we must compromise a little,Ó the grandeeÕs son
said to Tiffany, knowing the rest of us were all ears. Slowly we began to
gather in around his table. Beyond, unnoticed by us, the ÒstageÓ furniture
was being replaced in the next room. In preparation for the next act. The
final act. ÒMy father, once a year, presents himself to his people and
demonstrates his continuing potency by fucking a young female. This
earns him, if you will, the right to rule them. It is a celebration of nature,
and woman also, of the bounty both of them are capable of bringing
forth...MUST bring forth, if humans are to continue on the planet.Ó
ÒYou--you want ME to be the young female?Ó Tiffany asked. Lisa
took hold of her arms, drew them gently back. Tiffany, her back straight,
presented ripe bosoms to the son of the grandee. He reached out and
plucked each nipple with his fingers. Tiffany winced.
ÒYou ARE the young female,Ó he replied. ÒYou have no choice. The
people have seen you and expect you to be fucked--by me.Ó
ÒMay I handcuff her now?Ó Lisa asked.
ÒHandcuff all of them,Ó the grandeeÕs son replied, indicating the rest
of us girls with a broad sweep of his arm.
Alas, we had little thought of escaping, save from our own lust. The
grandeeÕs son had played us well. On her own initiative Cheryl followed
Lisa over to the bar, watched her take handcuffs from a drawer, asked that
she be given ours! Cheryl came padding back to us and ordered us to line
up and put our hands behind our backs. Strangely, Sylvia, who had howled
so loudly in village courtyard, presented her back to me, arms crossed
above her thrusting bottom, and asked me to Òdo her.Ó I marvelled at her
courage. I took a pair of cuffs from CherylÕs hands and buckled them on
SylviaÕs wrists. Lightly I bent forward and kissed her on the cheek. She
smiled, happy in her captivity.
Cheryl caught both AmberÕs arms. She was more wilful. A young
filly unsure of whether she wished to be broken or not. Firmly she
imprisoned the girlÕs wrists behind her. And then Cheryl turned to me, and
I to her.
We giggled. Naked and free we stood, and we liked our freedom. Our
hair, our makeup was a mess, though a pretty mess. It had a natural
appeal to it, a carefree appeal. We were unencumbered by civilized ways.
We were little girls again, playing in our back yard. I remembered a baby
pool, and dashing around without my swimsuit on. When we were little my
friend and I would strip and dash about until mommie came, warning of
perverts.
With a complicitous smile I let Cheryl turn me around. We were
older now. We didnÕt want to play with dollies any more. We wanted
babies...in our bellies, I realized. As she buckled me into the cuffs I looked
down at my bosoms. I wondered what they would feel like, weighted with
milk. My milk, for my baby.
I must find out! If not tonight, then soon, but perhaps tonight?
Tiffany was standing beside Master. He would present himself
tonight, instead of his father. A passing of the baton. Or the phallus,
actually. He rubbed her bottom. She jerked as he explored too deep
between her cheeks.
Lisa cuffed Cheryl. Then she put us in a line, gradeschoolers going to
recess. Master brought out Tiffany and put her at our head. At his
command we marched out into the room where weÕd flown Pretend Air.
Our bare feet slapping the floor, we presented ourselves in single
file to the eyes of the gawking natives. We emerged from MasterÕs den,
from its woodpanelled safety, like babes from some protecting womb. Our
bosoms bounced springily, our step was lively. Our flat bellies yearned to
swell to the size of the Mexican ladiesÕ, though with young, not fat.
Before us stood four aristocratic ladies, drenched in sparkling
jewelry. They were Spanish. Their lovely dresses had been ripped open in
front to allow their bosoms to be seen. Each had a fine pair, and the
nipples were properly erected to welcome Master. Otherwise the ladies
were dressed as tastefully as one might for a formal reception; at an
ambassadorÕs residence, perhaps, in Mexico City, or a political inaugural.
Their hands were sheathed in dainty black gloves, though, as if theyÕd just
stepped in from outside. And to my heartbeating surprise I saw that they
each held a belt. The long leather straps uncoiled towards the floor, their
ends twitching slightly.
Yet, as I kept one wary eye upon the belts, I saw that there had been
some thought at least for our comfort. Master pointed to soft towels laid
two thick upon the floor. Upon thin mattresses, I saw, looking more
closely. There were no pillows but the mattresses seemed big enough to
lie down on, if you curled up on them, anyway.
Master told us to kneel. Awkwardly we did. On our knees, straight-
backed, we had our handcuffs taken off. Lisa collected them as Master
himself unbuckled them.
ÒGet on your hands and knees,Ó Master told us. ÒDip your backs. More
girls, more. Spread your legs. Apart, Barbi!Ó He slapped my fanny. ÒArch
your backs toward the floor and lift your bottoms up high, girls. You must
be ridden. You WILL be ridden, and it will be hard for you if you do not
open yourselves up for it fully. Good, good. You are doing all you can.
Offer your pouting quims, let me see them there between your thighs. My,
how small and tight they are. Nothing a baby could come out of, I think.
Perhaps we can change that tonight.Ó
His words mesmerized us. Unchained, we obeyed nonetheless. He
buckled collars around each of our necks. I flipped my hair over my eyes,
revealing all of myself to him. All except for my face, where my
overhanging blonde mane made me anonymous. But my pussy was not
anonymous. My breasts, swollen fruit hanging from the slim trunk of my
body, they were not anonymous. He gave each of us a leash, clipping it into
our collars, each one a different color. TiffanyÕs was royal purple,
CherylÕs was gold, mine was silver. AmberÕs was green and SylviaÕs bright
red, a pair of Christmas ponies, perhaps; gifts from Master to himself, six
months early. He lifted our leashes to our mouths and made us hold them
between our teeth so they wouldnÕt drag on the floor.
Unable to bear the pressure of our spectacle, he had the Spanish
ladies loose just his cock from his clothing. He stood like a little boy,
penitent, while they suavely undid the confinement of his manhood. Out it
sprung, the Mexicans gasping, the girls and eye peeking out of the corners
of our eyes at it, knowing instinctively that we were not to look. He
rebuked us when he turned back to us.
ÒHorses do not lust after their masterÕs cock,Ó he said, but not with
excessive sternness. Then he told us he would ÒshoeÓ us. One by one he
fitted dainty lace gloves on our hands. Then he slipped knee pads up our
legs to our knees, pausing to inhale the feminine scent of our cunnies, his
face unbearably close to our privates, yet only inspecting them as some
voyeur might. We wished for a groom. A groom and a marital bed. Yet
there was only one of him, and five of us. No man could do all five of us in
one night. Would the Spanish ladies substitute? I shivered. I hoped not.
Perhaps I would be chosen, after all, and the others would have to put up
with the table scraps, not me. With Queenly detachment I would gaze
down on their plight. ÒLet them fuck the cake.Ó
A band assembled amidst the onlookers. The people of the village,
happily getting out their hand-me-down and homemade instruments.
Merrily they began to play a Spanish dance number. Master took Tiffany by
her leash. The ladies with the straps each took one of us. Together with
Master they paraded us about the center of the room.
My big boobies hung down, swaying with carefree abandon. Mommie
would be angry. I was without my training bra. I remembered back to
when I was 12, how she accosted me if I went outside without my bra on,
my little nipples sticking up like thorns through my t-shirt when the boys
would come by to chat with me. She always said I must wear the bra so
my breasts would Ògrow properly.Ó But I guessed that was just an old
wivesÕ tale. Did TarzanÕs penis grow improperly in the jungle without any
jock strap? Did Cleopatra have a size A bra when she was 12? I doubt it.
Now my breasts were swinging to and fro, boldly grown melons hanging
ever so temptingly from my skinny ribbed torso. And my bottom, oh how
mommie would complain when it wasnÕt properly contained in my panties.
IÕd keep wearing my favorite undies even after IÕd outgrown them. TheyÕd
hold in less and less of me, and if I wore a short skirt to talk to the boys
in my bottom would almost surely bid them goodbye when I spun about to
go inside. TheyÕd be back the next day for sure then, their pants swelling
promisingly. But I was still too young to fuck. I just wanted to see them
squirm, their cocks bulging uncomfortably, their voices cracking as they
tried to talk to me calmly with my nipples risen and my skirt flapping
sensuously in the gentle breeze.
ThatÕs how I felt now: sensuous. I felt lithe, alive, playing pony girl
before an audience that was absolutely in awe of me. Out of the corner of
my eye I could see the Mexican boys rubbing themselves, furtively (you
only had to look in their faces to know what they were doing down below.)
Poor lads! They wanted me but they could not have me. I was reserved.
For Master, hopefully, or someone he might designate. But not for those
poor 12 and 13 and 14 year-old-boys, no. Their mothers, for one, would
never allow it. They would have to wait, to hope that some other girl like
me might someday venture into their deep jungle village, a girl with
blonde tossing hair and white skin so thin it barely covered my ribs. A
girl with a soft wiggly bottom and large, sweet-nippled breasts.
Around and around we pranced, on all fours but proud as young mares
might be, or young bulls in a new bullfighting ring. Would the matador
spear us? My cunny was tight. It would resist his spear. He would have
to push very hard. It would have to be driven up me remorselessly, and I
would expect him to soothe me inside with a jettonising of his life fluid.
A biologist lady on the T.V. had said that sperm was expensive for men to
produce. Well I would expect him to spare me no expense. If he got even
one inch inside me I expected full payment. Deep long strokes, procured
with difficulty, plumbing my tightness. Only the strongest man would be
able to get himself up me, I told myself. Weaker men would be Òsqueezed
out,Ó so to speak. But the biggest cocked men, with tremendous loin
power, they would break into me and fill me. Not just my cunt but my
womb also. They would flood it with their life-giving sperm. I would bear
their young for them. I would suckle and nurse them at my nude, ripe-
hanging breasts.
We were all so naked! I kept my eyes down but glanced about,
surreptitiously, admiring my nudie girlfriends. Once weÕd been airline
stewardesses, smartly dressed and ultra-efficient, clattering through
airports in our high heels, always hurrying. Now we were stripped
absolutely bare, save for our Òhorseshoes.Ó Our hair was a shambles,
hanging down over our eyes. Our skin, deliciously white, seemed to glow
with a kind of innocent incandescence. There was no time here, only
feelings. Hot feelings, flashing through me, and them. Our hineys were
lifted high, saluting our hosts as we passed round in front of them,
shamelessly we offered them views weÕd denied so many men. Sweet men,
gentle men, handsome men, capriciously denied by us as we flitted through
life, inconsiderate of anything but our own ever-changing whim. Now,
before strangers, before people we loathed, Master was making us show
ourselves. And in our love for him we did not mind. Even as the ladies
dropped our leashes, letting them drag between our legs on the floor, we
did not mind.
Behind us the ladies took up position. Ah! Flat and sharp a belt
comes down across my offered bottom. I give a little cry. My breasts
shake.
ÒGet into position on your stable mats!Ó a female yells. One of the
dominant females, armed with a strap. We return hastily to our towels,
spread lovingly upon the floor for us. Wiggly bottomed we kneel as before,
rotating our asses ever so sweetly. We want it now. Want whatever is
coming to us. We will accept it with equanimity. My mind a cauldron of
thoughts, I remember the other whipping. In the square. In front of the
church. Its steeple jutting upward, its spire threatening to pierce the
clouds. I remember the intense heat, the brownskinned people, gawking,
looking avidly at what should be covered, our indecent bottoms. And I
remembered natureÕs gawkers too, the flies that buzzed close to inspect
our bottoms just before the rains came.
Shifting my weight from one knee to the other I wondered if there
would be any flies here, driven before a summer storm. And then I saw the
ladies take up many-thonged whips, cat oÕ nine tails with tight little
knots at their tips. Alas! No, Master! Not a horde of bees on my bottom!
Curious whiskered flies in the square were bad enough. Gently the ladies
began swishing our asses with the cats, letting them dangle down and just
sweeping them slightly, back and forth, like palm fronds on overhanging
palm trees.
I gasped. I trembled. I bit my lip, feeling the soft inquiring
sweeping on my delicate fanny. I felt Amber shiver beside me. She did not
deserve a whipping, oh no, she told herself, but she was too sensuous now,
like me, to refuse. Hot breathed we watched now as Master drew up
Tiffany. Dreamy eyed she watched him. He stood her upright on her feet
as one might a nervous toddler. He told her to lift her arms and she did,
raising her hands up to the level of her nose on either side of her face.
She held them there quietly, submissively, as rough Mexican ladies came
and bound her wrists with ropes. All the while she looked into MasterÕs
eyes, and he into hers. I longed to be in her place, to receive MasterÕs full
undivided attention. I knew his attention would soon divide her cunt lips,
or perhaps her bottom cheeks. Or maybe the lips of her mouth! Yes, I
thought, almost rushing forward and grabbing at his wonderful cock. Yes
it would divide her mouth and she would suck on it, lustily. He would
scream for mercy, not wanting to come, yet not wanting to withdraw from
her either. She would have to be careful with him up above if she wanted
him down below. She would have to succor him and yet preserve him.
Oh, Master, what awful games you play! You make sex so long-
drawn-out, worrying even slow-loving girls that the end will never come.
I watched as Tiffany was suddenly jerked upward, lifted right off the
floor! Her shock was reflected in all our faces. The crowd roared with
laughter and approval. TiffanyÕs legs jerked and leapt in the air, showing
her cunny to any who cared to even glance in her direction. Tiffany, our
cool, sophisticated leader! Reduced to a strung up whore in a meat shop!
Come, Mexicans! Look at the cheesecake displayed for you on the mats and
the little bird weÕve hung up with ropes from the ceiling. See how she
twitters and pleads! See her proud titties. See how they bobble
helplessly as she twists, captive before you. Look at her sleek legs. Yes,
my Mexican women, my ever-suffering laborers, here is your yearly prize.
Here is your night of revenge and pleasure! The tourist girls, their
sunglasses torn off, their sun-shielding parasols ripped away, their
stylish clothing gone. See how white and vulnerable they are under all
that finery they like to wear. Their little panties, their ever-so-
concealing and revealing lacy bras. Their sheer blouses, with the stiff
modest-seeming collars, though all can be seen simply by looking closely.
The boobs, shifting beneath their nothing bras, trimmed with lace but with
cups of silk. Chiffon blouses with silk bras beneath. Shaft sunlight
though them and you can see the red-hued nipples, risen perhaps, as they
go down the promenade shopping, passing the church.
Yes now the skirts and the bobby socks and the nothing bras and
blouses are gone, see how hopelessly naked they are now! Look at the
cats, their awful tips promising retribution as they caress their bottoms.
See them panting lustily. They love their Master, their grandee, as you
must love him also. They are willing to give him everything, every part of
their deliciously white bodies, as you have already given yours for many
years now.
All around me the sounds of men and women having sex began to fill
the room. Between my legs I looked, felt a sharper swish across my
bottom in response, warning me. Yet in my thigh-framed glimpse I saw
the natives finally loosing themselves from their clothing and their
restlessness. Down came the dresses of the Mexican ladies, their little
husbands eagerly disrobing beside them. Closer at hand the aristocratic
friends of the grandee had assembled, guests who ruled their own villages
and held their own festivals on separate nights, where no doubt the
grandeeÕs son would be in attendance soon, admiring their showgirls. The
aristocrats and their wives stood over us, admiring our light-skinned
beauty, our Anglo manes of hair softly sweeping the floor before us, even
as the cats swept our bottoms.
Gradually clothes came down around me. The aristocrats stripped
each other, each man taking anotherÕs wife for the evening to increase
their pleasure. With gentle sighs the ladies touched their substitute
husbands and were touched in turn. Their fingers apprised stiff-stemming
cocks, sweetly indented dells. And ladies too touched each other. ÒHow
nice to fondle your breasts and pussy again, my dear, it has been months
since we partied last.Ó ÒYes and your bosoms are as firm and resilient as
ever my love, kiss me.Ó
Gently Tiffany was lowered to her feet. Mesmerized, her eyes
caught the grandeeÕs and she stared at him. ÔHow awful you are, Sir!
Awful and ruthless and oh how I love you...Õ I could almost hear her
thinking. Her lissome body, sleek limbed, trembled all over as she
regained her sense of composure, her feet once more solidly on the floor
but her arms still lofted high...she could be pulled up again any minute.
Tied, ANYTHING could happen to her! And from the look of lust on the
grandeeÕs face, as he returned her stare, anything just might...almost
surely would. She was nothing but his toy now, his pink plaything. Her
thighs quivering, she flexed her knees, offered her cunt to him by pushing
her crotch forward. Above her smooth belly rippled softly, waiting to be
filled.
ÒNaughty girl, have you no modesty?Ó Lisa reprimanded her. She
turned Tiffany toward the wall, walked her over to it as the rope ran along
a track above. With wobbling steps, her bottom cheeks jiggling as she
tread on tip-toe, Tiffany was led to her fate against the wall. A soft
carpet had been hung there to protect her breasts from the roughness of
the stone masonry. Lisa pressed Tiffany against the furry wall hanging, a
bear skin I think it was, imported from Alaska.
Tiffany shuddered. All of us did, watching her, all of us on our
knees. The twisting leathern thongs of the cat cascaded with light,
menacing sparkles over my upturned peach. Wrist twisting, flicking ever
so casually, the woman at my rear gave me a teasing taste of what I
feared would be much sterner stuff soon. Before me Tiffany stood, Lisa
pressing her fingers to the girlÕs bare waist. She lifted TiffanyÕs ass with
her slim-fingered hands gripping her waist.
ÒOffer your pumpkin,Ó I heard her murmur. Tiffany stuck out her
bare white hiney even as Master selected a whip from the wall. A cat, its
thongs braided into fearsome cords, its ends tipped with sharp-pointed
knots. The leather had been carefully cut and prepared by master
craftsmen, Lisa told Tiffany as the girl glanced back over her shoulder and
gasped. Master struck at the floor, practising. Lisa brushed TiffanyÕs hair
with her hands and parted it. She pushed it over the girlÕs shoulderÕs,
baring her back. Tiffany shook her head and replaced it over her back. Oh,
if only it ran down farther and could cover her bottom! I thought. At a
word from Master, Lisa piled TiffanyÕs hair loosely atop her head. An
aristocrat woman gave her a clip and she secured it. Now all of Tiffany
could be touched by the whip, kissed with its handmade leather. Her white
body shivered from head to toe. Master spoke again. Lisa drew the girl
out, away from the wall, turned her so that she could be seen both front
and back by us and the crowd. Master strode to a new spot, behind her
again, but with a mirror on a far wall reflecting her front to him.
Tiffany bit her lip. Her breasts heaved as she prepared herself for
her erotic punishment. There was no crime, no charges to be read. Yet I
felt it my bones her whipping would be a severe one. And mine too! Every
stroke Master gave Tiffany would be repeated across my fundament.
Carefully, precisely. I glanced back at my Mistress and saw the
studiousness in her face. She would not spare me, nor give me more than
Tiffany got. With admiring eyes she watched Master, looked at me, nudged
me with her boot to make me turn around.
ÒFace forward, eyes down,Ó she reminded me. Then, at MasterÕs
command, she lay down her cat and assisted in my Òbuckling.Ó With
soothing words, false comforting words, she helped the Mexican ladies
manacle my wrists in steel cuffs and secure them with bolts to the floor.
The other girls were secured also, Òhelpfully,Ó my Mistress said, to help
us take what was coming. When I was bound she caressed my hips, the
flanks of my thighs, measuring me for her handiwork. Then she stood and
glanced at the other Mistresses. Master was ready.
Lisa put the finishing touches to TiffanyÕs imprisonment. She was
trussed with her legs wide apart, her toes turned prettily inward. Master
seemed to marvel at her beauty even as he contemplated how he would
tarnish it. Secure in my metal bracelets I watched, my fanny offered up to
my Mistress. She shivered the thong tips over my bottom, testing my
mettle. I wanted to scream, to plead and beg to be let up. But it would
only earn me far worse treatment from her, I knew. At MasterÕs direction,
no less. He was in charge of us all. Would I act up, just for his attention?
Just to take his eyes off Tiffany?
Ritual-like, Master came over to each of us. He patted each of us on
our heads as we knelt, dog-like, in his presence. I kissed his shoe. He
patted my head again. Lastly he went to Tiffany. Deftly he put a hand
between her legs and fingered her cunny. She whimpered, twisting in her
bonds. She squirmed atop his seeking fingers, wishing. He withdrew his
hand, sniffed it, found the scent agreeable. Then he strode back and took
up position behind her to give her what she so richly deserved.
Five white American girls, their unprotected bottoms wiggling
lewdly in a display of fine ass flesh. We were about to taste a really
severe whipping, I knew. WeÕd come for it. Not knowing, not
understanding, yet deep down, primally, wanting to be violated in some
significant way. Wanting to escape our cosseted suburban lives. Here, in
the jungle, we would joust with Nature herself, our soft round bottoms
verses her man-wielded thongs. And prongs. Hardness and stiffness and
sharpness against our pinkly swelling asses, our absorbing little cunts and
buttholes. But we were weary of sensitive 90Õs men, caged and castrated
by laws on sexual harassment and statutory rape. Here there were only
NatureÕs men, unrestrained by civilized Òlaws.Ó Here we would match
them blow for blow, and in the end win out, their life juices drained away
by our inviting holes. We would leave with their juice in us and go back to
our other lives, dainty stewardesses guiding men on planes, saying ÒyesÓ
and ÒnoÓ and Òmaybe so, but right now I must shampoo.Ó Come back when
my hair is combed and set and then I will contemplate your offer, if I
havenÕt become bored with it already by then.
Oh, how my bottom would hurt tomorrow! It would require endless
attention, creams delicately applied, perfumes gently sprayed. Just to sit
would be a nightmare, yet here I was, my bottom untouched, big and wide-
spreading and able to do whatever I wished with it. I could plop it down
anywhere, save on nettles, without a care or a second thought. I could go
hiking with it, or skiing, or I could take it to a NOW convention and sit
with the ladies. But tomorrow! How delicate I would be then, wincing and
simpering, begging people not to touch it, even to graze it with their
fingertips, lest they hurt me. I would be a Japanese doll then, fragile and
delicate beyond measure. No longer a Òtake chargeÓ Western girl, but an
Eastern girl, oh so sensitive, deferential, knowing my place and sitting in
it lest someone give my poor bottom an unwanted touch. At my rear, so
boldly offered now, the cat tickled. It would transform me. I would
become a Geisha girl. I would live in a tall-standing Pagoda and study
Confucius. He would be a hard master, but I would obey willingly. Bravely
I thrust up my bottom, relishing my last moments of proud defiance. I saw
Tiffany too, sticking her ass right out at Master, taunting him with it. See
how lovely and white my bottom is, Mexican ladies. The pretty bottom of
Europa mooning the inferior, slavish races. See my Aryan ass and kiss it.
ÒNo!Ó TiffanyÕs cry pierced the air, plaintive, unwilling. My reverie
broke and I saw that Master had accorded her her first ass-stinging, butt
reddening stroke. Inswirling knots had graced her pale loveliness and left
their prints behind.
And now me! With attentive eyes, my Mistress carefully copied
MasterÕs stroke and gave my bottom the same.
ÒOoooh!Ó I lurched forward in my bonds, bound at the knees and at the
wrists, my legs fixed wide by a spreader bar that ran along behind me,
across my towel. And below my hanging face, gazing floorward, a second
spreader bar ran over my towel and held my wrists in place.
ÒOffer your bottom properly,Ó Mistress warned me. I dipped my back
reluctantly, not so eager to show off my ass to the Mexican ladies
anymore. Tiffany too needed reminding, she curved her back inward,
pressing her belly toward the floor, angling it downward as she jutted her
ass out, shyly now, not wantonly as before.
HISSSS! No sooner had she offered her peach than Master gave it its
second rebuke, loving how she waggled it about ruefully. And he told her
to stick it out again for more, always she must stick it out again for more.
I wept as my own bee-stung bottom suffered the same assault.
ÔPlease Master it is enough,Õ I wanted to shout. ÔIÕve learned my
lesson now. I wonÕt think naughty thoughts about teasing the Mexican
ladies with my bottom.Õ
But again the ass-firing cords came in, scorching our fannies,
making us buck and rear and shake our bloated, gourd-like titties. Fruit on
slim vines so heavy it might drop off, might stick its stiff-nippled thorns
right into the carpet below us.
ÒAh! Not again!Ó Tiffany yelped, feeling the bristling cords strike
her all over her offered peach. It was splotched in many places now with
pink, little splotches, each from one of the tiny wicked knots. Again
Master lashed her, again she shook and shivered and led the way for us,
quickly following with our own cries.
All around me now I heard the calls and moans of people having sex.
In close, the aristocrats, their copulations inspired by my suffering.
Farther out, the Mexican laborers, their grunts and ululations summoning
some jungle rutting ritual in my mind. Beasts and monkeys must be there,
amidst their coarse bodies, fucking with them. It was the season of
estrus and they were all exchanging their interchangeable genes.
Ah, me! Again the cursed cords, scalding my superior stuck-up
thoughts, chasing them away. We poor white girls wouldnÕt have anything
left of our hides tomorrow, I could tell, they could read our minds and
were beating us for our snootiness. Mall rats, brats from America, come
down south to ask forgiveness for leading sheltered, wealthy lives while
half the world starved.
ÒEeek!Ó Amber yelled. A woman had slid under her and caught one of
her risen nipples in her mouth. It did not abate the whipping. Down came
the cords again on her fanny, and mine also, making us buck and rear. The
woman sucked vigorously on AmberÕs tits, milking them hard, and the poor
girl could do nothing to stop her. At the womanÕs crotch her husband fed
in her dell, inspiring her. Helplessly Amber looked down at her soft
hanging tits, now gripped and squeezed and manhandled ruthlessly by the
aristocratic woman beneath her. The woman was used to using things up
and throwing them away. Cars, men, the luscious breasts (prettier than
her own) of virgin American girls. New girls in the jungle with too-white
bodies and impossibly seductive curves. Well, these were a pair of curves
that would be thoroughly worked over, yes indeed, they would spout
babiesÕ milk when she was through with them. No pregnancy was needed,
just vigorous suckling and squeezing.
The indriving knots scalded me again. Oooh! What a score of
stingers! Those wicked little knots could find me ANYWHERE, even within
my soft crevice. Like a frightened horse I tried to bolt from my stable of
chains. I dreaded the touch of the knots against my anus! It was so
sensitive, the tenderest flesh, tissue flesh, and every swathe of the bitter
knots opened me up back there. As my heinie squirmed madly, my cheeks
flexing open and closed, reacting to the pain, I knew IÕd get hit right on my
rosehole before the night was through.
I looked up at Tiffany, tears wetting my face, to try to assess the
damage to my own bottom. Alas! She had stopped looking back over her
shoulder at Master. No longer was she playing the sweet, inviting captive.
She couldnÕt afford to. All her attention was focused on her bottom now,
she was nothing but a burning bottom. Her eyes were squinched shut, her
chin uptilted. Squeezing her darling cheeks tightly together, she tried to
reduce the target area of her ass.
SPLAT! Another blow, echoed on my own fundament, sending me
forward in a gritting whine. As I reeled under the force of my own pain I
glimpsed TiffanyÕs cheeks bounding wide, showing her little hole to
Master, offering it to him, a bullseye. He would find it irresistible before
the night was done, I knew. He was too cruel not to give her one right up
her fanny before it was over. Though she might leave him one day, seeking
out other friends, she would talk about it for years to come. And when a
woman asked her, in polite but intimate conversation, perhaps over tea,
ÒHave you ever gotten a bee up your bonnet, dear?Ó Tiffany would know
precisely what she meant.
ÒThe horses must be watered,Ó Master said, dropping his cat to his
side for a moment. As we continued to rotate our bottoms shamelessly,
still in shock from the pain, a cup of brandy was brought to each of our
Mistresses, and to Master.
Òpoor darling, am I hurting you?Ó My mistress asked me. She
lowered the cup to my mouth and urged me to drink it. She stroked my
hair. I slurped up the offered liquor, which promised to serve as a mild
anesthetic. Or so I thought. Later I learned it was mostly hot water, but I
drank it greedily, praying it would get me through my ordeal. Mistress
seemed genuinely solicitous of me, kissing my hair softly and whispering
encouraging words to me. But of course she could do nothing to lessen the
blows. She must copy Master exactly.
ÒIf you like I can clamp your nipples,Ó Mistress asked me. ÒThe pain
in your teats might help to take your mind off your bottom.Ó She pinched
one of my nipples to demonstrate. I winced, new tears welled in my eyes.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed. ÒJust let me up. Let me go.Ó
ÒShhh! You know thatÕs not possible!Ó Mistress said. ÒI wonÕt report
you, but donÕt ask again. You have a lovely bottom and I donÕt want to see
it harmed any more than it has to be.Ó She kissed me. ÒBesides, I know
you want to be a big girl. A grown woman. What do you think this is like
compared to the pain of childbirth? You must prepare for it, darling. And
anyway you have an absolutely adorable bottom. You must expect all your
boyfriends to want to give you a good spanking on it. To see your little
cheeks squeeze and pop apart, mmm, delightful! You look so silly,
waggling your ass around.Ó She kissed me again. I let the tears run freely
down my face. I was helpless. My bottom glowed with pain and a kind of
radiating pleasure. Please, God! Help me get through this! DonÕt let me be
a big baby. Ah, how I wanted to be laid on the smooth sheets that I knew
waited for me upstairs. To be complimented and told how good IÕd been.
How very good. The cool lovely sheets with the misty morning air
filtering through the window as Mexican ladies prepared salves for me.
For my ass flesh. My adolescent puppy fat. What I had and they hadnÕt had
for years and years. And how I held it so carelessly! IÕd lain by the pool,
sunning myself in new bikinis bought by Master in the finest stores. HeÕd
pick them out and have them specially delivered for me. IÕd string them
on, barely covering myself (not wanting to) and prance about all day like
some spoilt child. And yet I knew of his dark yearnings. I knew he was
like this, a sadist, yet I hadnÕt run, hadnÕt hidden myself away somewhere
in the jungle, or even within his giant house. HadnÕt even tried. Perhaps
he was waiting for that. Waiting to let me go if only IÕd asked. But
instead I let him spoil me, fatten me for this wicked love fest.
And now, my bottom cheeks bulging, blushing red, he was cooking my
heinie right in front of the Mexicans. Basting my shameless ass just as if
it belonged to some Turkey! I looked at Tiffany. All of her was pristine
white, save her bottom, which glowed bright red. WeÕd lain outdoors,
ÒsunningÓ ourselves in the shade. We were decadent. Wearing skimpy
bikinis that served no purpose if you werenÕt exposing yourself to the sun.
We may as well have lain on the chaise lounges in shorts and t-shirts,
modestly. But no, we wore little bikinis of delicate cashmere. If you
swam even a few laps in them they would fall apart. This despite
regulation swim suits that lay in our drawers, upstairs in our bedroom.
Master denied us nothing. If we wanted to swim laps, if we wished not to
display ourselves to the Mexican ladies, athletic one-piece swim suits
waited. But we always selected his Òboudoir bikinis,Ó as he liked to call
them, though you could find them lately even on American beaches. He
disapproved of them, he said, but since we were in the privacy of his home
he would not deny them to us...he would make sure we could dress as well
here as we could in America. He ignored the fact that IÕd grown up in
Buenos Aires. IÕd gone to a diplomatÕs school for American children. That
made me an American. And he dismissed my ÒserviceÓ with the Argentine
government out of hand. I had been a toy for them just as I was now a toy
for him, no more. It certainly didnÕt make me a Mexican lady! No, I was
American, and Tiffany too, even though she flew out of Columbia a lot. He
wanted us to be American girls, and we were as white and spoiled as any
American girls could be. So we were getting the stars and stripes laid
across our bottoms. Yes, he wanted bona fide American girls, and we
would confess to being true blue Americans, that we would--his cat would
make us do that very handily.
As refreshed as any slave girls might ever hope to be, we watched as
Master took up his cat again. Tiffany, gazing now over her shoulder, but
with her bottom cheeks desperately huddling, her crack a fine line, begged
him to let us off.
ÒI have already,Ó he replied, polite and gentlemanly in his demeanor.
ÒNormally we bring in five fine prison gaolers to administer the
flagellation. Hard men with a steely grip on the rod who delight in flaying
their victims alive. But this year I decided to show mercy, at least for my
first celebration. I brought in dommes, experts at sexual torture rather
than outright punishment. And I practised long hours on horsesÕ rumps to
perfect my stroke, so I would not needlessly injure you. Ah, you should
have seen those poor horses! We had to shoot three of them to put them
out of their misery. Fine racing horses, too. But I convinced my father
that you girls were worth the expense. You would not have me disappoint
him, would you? Wiggle your bottom, perform for me a little.Ó
ÒBut it HURTS!Ó Tiffany cried.
ÒOf course! We must have some enjoyment out here in the jungle, far
from the cityÕs pleasures. What better than half-a-dozen stuck up white
girls getting their heinies whipped? Stick out your bottom, girl. Even the
Mexican lasses we usually use show more courage than you do.Ó
I was really afraid now. But Tiffany, hesitating, debating within
herself, finally arced her back inward and offered her bulbing bottom.
With her toes turned in it presented the most feminine spectacle, already
polished as bright as an apple, yet willing to suffer more. She couldnÕt
keep it still, it hurt so much, yet she pushed it out at Master with a
rudeness I feared she might be scolded for!
ÒPlease donÕt mistreat it,Ó she said, glancing down at her swollen
cleft orb. ÒPlease donÕt hurt it too much. I-ItÕs the only one IÕve got!Ó
ÒI will do what I must,Ó Master replied sternly. ÒIt is the feast of
the flesh.Ó
With ever-rotating bottoms we watched, breathless and scared, as
Master swept in again, a long curving stroke that caught Tiffany on the
underside of her ass. With a curdling scream she leapt up to the very tips
of her toes, her feminine bottom clenching, releasing, wobbling like jello.
The Mexican ladies, even the aristocrats laughed at her. We girls,
kneeling, got our due seconds later.
Four high-pitched screams shattered the room. Our pussies! WeÕd
been caught right on our seductively offered pouches. Hoping to inspire
Master to lay down his whip and fuck us, weÕd each gotten instead a bee.
It went zooming right up our pussy hive. It tasted our sweet honey, robbed
us of some of it. Master caught up the whip when it returned to him and
smelled the cords, finding the wet one.
The uncoiling had been swift and light. But the shock of the
violation, and the undeniable sting, left us sobbing openly. We were no
longer brave maidens anymore. We were babies. We had sore bottoms and
needed them powdered. We were submissive. We hung our heads and cried.
In came the awful tips again. Tiffany, struck, let her sobs burst
forth now, shaking her bosoms. Big heavy sobs, unrestrained, humiliating.
A big girl now, with big girl crying to do.
Casting aside the cat, Master could restrain himself no longer. We
had been broken, I saw, made to blubber, and that was going to have to be
enough for the Mexican ladies. Let them stage their own entertainments.
Let them find their own American girls to give bees up the ass to. I
sighed, relieved, and I heard Mistress sigh behind me. As Master cupped
TiffanyÕs bottom in his insistent fingers she took hold of mine. She
attempted to control my squirmings.
ÒThere, there, you have survived, darling,Ó Mistress cooed behind me.
ÒYour beauty has saved you. Now you must simply be fucked and then it
will be over.Ó
I froze. FUCKED? My ass was on fire. The last thing I wanted now
was the burr of some hairy manÕs loins pressed up against my fanny.
ÒNo, please!Ó I sobbed. But I was mistaken. Mistress herself would
do me, her silken belly to my silky bulb. With our pussies still smarting
from our bee bites we would have to be taken up the ass.
Oh, I did not want a woman forcing a fake cock up my poor, swollen
bottom! Over unintelligible sniffles I wept my protest. Mistress had
heard such before, in previous years, from other girls. She understood
without hearing. SheÕd known IÕd complain about this from the very first
moment.
ÒShhh, dear. The festival of flesh is, for you and the Master, one of
pleasure only. No children may come of it. Watch and you will see Master
fuck Tiffany up the ass.Ó She spoke softly, reassuringly. And, kneeling
behind me, she opened a pot of cream and began lubing a big rubber dick.
ÒGo ahead,Ó she urged. ÒI saw you stealing looks before but did not give
you harder cuts for it.Ó
With her encouragement I gazed straight at Tiffany, trying to ignore
what was happening behind me. My bottom blazed in the air, untouched for
the moment. Thankfully it was unscarred, I knew, seeing the state of
TiffanyÕs. But it was a bright red rising sun big enough to lead the
Japanese army to victory. They would spear me with their banzai charge.
The grandee reminded his son to let each of the aristocratic women
suck his cock prior to its insertion in Tiffany. He seemed slightly miffed
that we had not received our full due from the cats. He would have seen us
wealed and bruised.
I think all of us prayed to God then to get us out of this place at the
first possible moment. We had gone too far, risked too much. Play had
come too close to torture. We had chosen a Master in an offhand way,
letting a drug lord pamper us silly and treat us like goddesses. WeÕd loved
every minute of it but weÕd been too oblivious. Even the warning delivered
to our bottoms in the square weÕd let slide by us. HeÕd spoiled us so
deliciously afterward, weÕd almost wanted to be beaten again.
Yes, weÕd wanted it. For itself and for what came afterward. We
would be beautiful dolls forever and ever, never growing old, always the
favorite pets of our Master. Always young and healthy, always toying with
pregnancy and never quite going all the way with it. But now we knew
only the chance slip of the grandeeÕs son coming to power had saved us. He
was still young and romantic, merciful. He could not bear to spoil us. But
the old man would have. He was old. He would be like the king who had all
his wives and mistresses buried with him when he died.
Yes God, let us get through with this. Let us do our duty and be gone.
We would flit away in the night. I knew we could do it, somehow. A good
cock-sucking, applied to a guard, would get us a van. By morning when
they found him all tied up weÕd be back on...well...maybe not Dungeon Air
again. No, I think we were all through with letting arbitrarily chosen men
be our masters. We were just a little older now.
Vainly Tiffany thrust back her bottom, lifted the tight red ball,
offering the pouch of her dell. Despite her bee sting she did not want to
take him up the ass. She was too new, she said, and he was too big.
Master grinned at her, the Mexican ladies still licking his cock into
hugeness. Big globs of pre-cum anointed their noses.
ÒNext year I will give you girls much harder bee stings in your
pussies,Ó Master said. ÒYou should not want anything going up your pussy
at all. You should beg to be taken in the ass, no matter how big I am.Ó
ÒI told you, son!Ó the senior grandee called from the sidelines.
ÒI will not let them get away with it next year,Ó the junior assured
his father.
ÒYou value them too much,Ó the elder grandee replied.
Despite the offering of her fig, wet and seductive, the grandee
could not take her there. If she were to get pregnant it would make her
too practical, just another workhorse for the grandee. This the Mistress
explained quietly to me, buckling herself in and showing me with relish
the big cock I must somehow take up my ass. She knelt by my face, told
me to kiss the tip. Softly I extended my tongue, touched it lightly. It was
black and cold and covered with grease.
ÒYou are special,Ó Mistress said. ÒYou are like a sacrificial lamb,
you know. An exotic pet. Be proud that youÕve found a gentle master and
do not fear for next yearÕs plans. YouÕll be a year older then, and well
trained. You will take it easily.Ó I gazed up at her, down at the cock
intended for my ass. For a moment I forgot Tiffany. My own plight seemed
worse.
ÒYou know you cannot get that big thing of yours up my ass,Ó I told
Mistress frankly. We were communicating girl to girl. Surely she knew
my limitations. I was 15, for GodÕs sake.
ÒDonÕt worry, IÕm well trained in popping open young girls,Ó she
replied just as frankly. ÒWould you like some more brandy?Ó There was a
bottle nearby and she took it, poured some of its contents in a glass. All
this she did on her knees, never having to do anything more than twist
about to find what she wanted. There were discarded glasses and half
empty bottles everywhere. The orgy of the aristocrats had been well
provided for. Most of them now lay contentedly around us, watching our
fate proceed as they dallied with one anotherÕs genitals. Even poor Amber
had finally had her breasts released, though a second woman now sucked
just the nipples very lightly. They were miraculously as young and well-
formed as ever, despite the rough handling, though I thought I detected
some light bruising. Amber hung her head passively, waiting, as her own
Mistress prepared to invade her. Amber was drunk with brandy. I wanted
to be too.
Mistress gave me the glass and I drank every drop, losing only a
little.
ÒThere, that will help,Ó she said. She placed the glass on the floor
and waddled back behind me, going on her knees with her fake cock leading
the way. Gently she prised apart my bottom cheeks, making me howl at
her touch. ÒIÕm sorry,Ó she smiled. ÒIÕll try to handle your sensitive skin
as little as possible.Ó She wedged the nose of the big dick right up
against my anus. We were waiting now, waiting for Master. He still
dallied with the ladies.
Teasingly Mistress jabbed me with the cock, stroking the insides of
my thighs but keeping her hands off my bottom. I felt like I had a bolt
stuck up against me back there, attached to some kind of crossbow.
Master would pull the trigger.
ÒOh, how I would have loved to sting your little hole,Ó Mistress said
to me gaily. She bumped my nether opening with her cockhead, eager to
get inside me. ÒMaster was too good to you girls. But I donÕt blame him.
You are so lovely, so pretty.Ó She grasped my hips with both her hands,
sizing me up, ready to break into me at the first hint of permission from
Master.
The women finished laving MasterÕs cock. Glistening with the saliva
from all their mouths, he presented it to TiffanyÕs rear. She glanced back
at it. Her eyes were wide with apprehension. Yet she could not take her
gaze off it. She was mesmerized.
Master approached to the point where Tiffany, strain her head as she
might, could no longer observe his manhood. It was too close now. She
would have to switch senses. Touch, right where she didnÕt want to feel
anything...
IN her precious hole! It happened suddenly, brutally. Like some
stuck pig she squealed, and he showed her just as little mercy as the
farmer at christmas, providing for his family.
And then me! My cheeks split wide as Mistress forced her way into
me. Right up me she went, sparing me not. I whooshed out my breath and
bulged my eyes. I felt like I had no air in me. Deeper she urged her thing,
just like Master was doing to Tiffany. She copied him in every respect.
And Master was avaricious.
Tiffany must have thought her bottom was going to burst, because
she shrieked at the top of her lungs and writhed like a snake. But then,
amazingly, I saw her transformed.
Perhaps to lessen the discomfort, the pain, she decided to absorb it.
She began humping her bottom to the grandee madly. He almost came to a
dead stop in his own urgings, he was so surprised. With quick, desperate
thrusts Tiffany impaled herself on him, bumping her bottom back against
him, forcing his spike-like cock deeper and deeper into herself.
Yes, she was tired of being so tight. She wanted to be able to take
men easily in her rectum. The time for girlish games of chastity and
abstinence had passed. She was a woman, 23-years-old, and she must
learn to take men as they wished to take her.
All of us felt a rush of inspiration, watching her. To MistressÕ
surprise I began forcing myself back on her, bouncing my ass
remorselessly against her thing. My hole screamed for pity but I gave it
none. Amber, too, began humping violently, and together with Tiffany we
split our cheeks wide upon the offered cocks.
Finally Master regained the initiative. Working with Tiffany, helping
her take him absolutely to the very last inch of his organ, he fucked her.
And when he came he gushed and flexed his hips and squeezed his buns
mightily, as if to propagate all his sons in her this one night. Yes, her ass
would bear his children! Cain and Abel and all of his sons. There would be
no need of a womb. The heat of her ass would suffice, and the spewing
ravenousness of his cock.
Mistress took me with a vengeance now, making me have every inch
of her. I burst into tears, wanting to accept her fully and yet nearly
exploding apart in my backside from all the indriving pressure there. At
last, gleefully, squeezing the pouch under her dildo, she spurted hot cream
into me. I did my best not to resist. We would make a Pillsbury doughboy
from it. Our own little baby, hers and mine.
Rutting like cows with steers we finished the course. Five girls, all
from America, raped in the Mexican jungle. Chained, possessed, claimed
by strangers we barely knew. Yet we had been complicitous. We were like
butterflies who flitted about a candle flame, knowing well we might be
burned. And our asses did burn, woefully so, as we limpened in our
captorsÕ grasp and finally fell into complete exhaustion.
Master held himself into Tiffany. He did not want to let go of her,
ever. She shuddered limply against him. Her white body against his sturdy
brown one. Mistress held me firmly, her thing still up me, rigid as ever.
As last, utterly depleted, Master withdrew himself. There was so much
cum up TiffanyÕs hole that it ran out. An aristocrat lady, desperate that
none of MasterÕs seed should be wasted, dashed up to Tiffany. Eagerly she
lapped the overflowing cum from TiffanyÕs legs and bottom.
30
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