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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Six
When he was spent, Arthur walked away. It was just like a male
for him to do that, I thought, watching, with mistress by my side.
There was no parting kiss for Mandy, no thank you for accepting his
seed. Indeed he probably thought she owed him thanks. So he just
walked away, his erection dissipating, as casual now as heÕd been
before, nonchalant, uncaring. He looked like a football hero walking
away from the tackle, leaving the injured behind, lying in a heap.
ÒCome,Ó mistress said. She lifted me to my feet. Elegant, naked,
we walked over to our little rape victim, our sister in love. Mistress
wore her jeans still, but I guessed they would soon be shed. There was
a wiggle in her walk IÕd never seen before. It spoke of need, unfulfilled
desires. I know I myself could barely keep from waggling my butt all
over the place as I stepped along. Not just wiggling it, mind you, not
just swinging my hips, but walking like some cheap whore who needed
it bad and might not even charge admission.
I brushed my locks from my eyes. I mouthed a silent testimony as
I gazed at MandyÕs fanny up close, saw all the marks the cane left. And,
right in between those darling wounded cheeks, her little asshole.
Sperm oozed out of it. I guessed it might not ever close quite so
tightly ever again, though indeed it looked quite tiny and inaccessible
even now. How had Arthur gotten himself within that little hole? I
touched it. I could not resist. Mandy flinched, but her spirit seemed
gone.
ÒDonÕt worry, I wonÕt fuck you with my finger,Ó I whispered.
Mistress laughed.
ÒWe must get her undone,Ó she said. She knelt to untie the
wristlets, the anklets.
ÒShe is undone already,Ó I replied.
ÒNonsense. She has had what she needed, thatÕs all. It was high
time a girl like her got it, too. When the breasts are plump, the bottom
sweetly widened, no longer narrow as her waist, then she must be
introduced to these things. Waiting will only screw her up, make her
crazy. She might try to kill herself, or tattoo herself, or pierce
herself. This is the only piercing she needs. The organ of the male up
her butt, and a little tattooing of the cane across her bottom. How silly
you Americans are, screwing up your girls, when all they need is
screwing?!Ó mistress scolded me. She gazed up at me as her slender
fingers undid MandyÕs legs and arms.
ÒWell, I donÕt live there,Ó I replied.
ÒNo, but your people dominate our entire planet with their
perverted beliefs!Ó mistress answered. Imagine! Her scolding me,
after what sheÕd gotten poor Mandy into. ÒGet down and undo her with
me, these knots are tighter than I thought,Ó mistress ordered me. I
obeyed, kneeling. My breasts jiggled as I knelt. I was conscious of
them, too conscious.
ÒYou tie tight knots,Ó I said.
ÒDonÕt break your nails,Ó mistress warned me. ÒWork slowly. The
knots will come eventually, sooner than you think if you donÕt try to
rush it.Ó
ÒI wonÕt,Ó I replied. I shot her a glance, as if to say, Ôbecause I
know whatÕs coming next.Õ She shook her head, like some preacher
marvelling at the inability of one to be saved. But she would give me
my salvation, I knew, whether I wanted it or not. I worked on the knots
as slowly as I could.
When mistress and I had untied Mandy she just lay there, bent
over the trestle, trembling.
"Oh, do you want more?" mistress laughed.
"Nooo," came from Mandy's still-gagged mouth. It sounded as if
she were mooing. A cow at the milking station.
"Get up, darling," mistress said, lifting the girl by her arm.
Bodily we hefted her up and helped her over to Arthur, who had
retreated to a pile of cushions on the floor. Mandy gaped at him as a
cat does at water. Yet we put her down upon him, and she resisted not.
He enfolded her in his arms. His hand brushed her bottom.
"Yeek!" she squeaked, for her hiney was most tender now, wealed
everywhere (though lightly) from the cane.
"Get some cream for her bottom," mistress ordered me, indicating
a nearby dresser. It had proven already to hold pills and such. I went
and found some balm, returned, knelt down and began gently applying it
to Mandy's seat. The girl squirmed under my touch, not sure if I was
helping. But Arthur held her fast and soon my hands did not feel so
harsh upon her. Her skin felt hot. I rubbed, massaged, felt her bottom
respond with quiverings and clenchings. My breasts shook freely as I
worked. I was a shopgirl, kneeling in a shop in London, doing my duties.
I knew my own seat spread out adorably behind me. Mistress watched,
seemed to be sizing up my bottom. I glanced over my shoulder once, to
check if sheÕd armed herself with anything. No, it was just her,
without any cane or whip. I gulped, turned my head back to Mandy. I
heard mistress laugh behind me. Her chuckle was menacing. It made
me shiver and I know she enjoyed seeing me shivering. I willed myself
to concentrate on my work. I must not think of myself, only of Mandy.
She needed my wholehearted attention, and I intended to give it to her,
if only to forget.
Eventually MandyÕs whole pumpkin seemed suffused with some
kind of ethereal warmth, a glow, and I watched in envy as sperm
dribbled out of her well-fucked little hole. She was woman. Cosseted,
fucked, loved. I wanted what she had. I gripped her cheeks, lightly,
envious. She mewled, pressed herself into Arthur. Casually he stroked
her. There was a sheen across her wounded cheeks from the cream. I
wanted to shower her bottom with kisses, but mistress drew me up. My
task was done. Standing, I looked at her, she at me. It was my turn
now.
ÒDo you have any hangups?Ó she asked, smiling.
ÒN-no,Ó I replied.
ÒGood,Ó she said, and her eyes went over to hooks in the ceiling,
with straps hanging from them.
ÒOh, please!Ó I begged. I seemed to wilt on my feet.
ÒYou cannot just watch,Ó mistress replied. ÒYou are not 5-years-
old.Ó
ÒI know, I know, IÕm 15,Ó I replied.
ÒWith the breasts of a woman,Ó she answered. Her finger circled
one of my nipples. She flicked it.
Òooch,Ó I said, very quietly, just her hearing.
ÒYou have beautiful tits, dear, you should show them off,Ó
mistress urged.
ÒThey embarrass me,Ó I replied.
ÒAt 15?Ó
ÒNo, but when I was 10, they were growing already,Ó I said softly.
ÒMine were too, though probably not as big as yours,Ó she
answered.
ÒNo, not as big as mine,Ó I replied. ÒI was the only one in fifth
grade with hooters, still little, you know, but bigger than any the other
girls had.Ó
ÒWhich is why youÕre not at home now, mooning over Love
Connection and Singled Out,Ó she consoled me.
ÒNo, but IÕd like to be,Ó I begged.
ÒArthur doesnÕt appear on Love Connection,Ó she answered. No, a
stud like him did not, did he? He was too busy. He would have had to
put pants on, wouldnÕt he? That was unthinkable, letting a stallion like
him waste time with his pants on. Mistress put a finger to my lips. I
swallowed hard.
Our breath fogging the air, shivering despite our furs, we had
entered the house rosy-cheeked and eager. Our eyes had been bright,
too bright, betraying our wanton plans to our hosts. They'd smiled,
knowingly, demurely, led us quickly downstairs to their adult playroom.
Now I felt a sinking sense of dread as my turn came to contribute
to the festivities. Mistress' deep, dazzling eyes gazed at me with fiery
passion. I looked from her blonde-maned face to the suspension hooks
which waited silently just beyond. She put her arm around my waist.
"Come, dear," mistress said, ever so politely. Her fingers were
feather light upon my hip. Behind me Arthur and even the tear-stained
Mandy gazed up expectantly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that
my bottom was going to be the center of attention for the next few
hours.
Is that how long it would take? I wondered. Mistress had seemed
smitten with my ass ever since we met. Now I would offer it to her,
unprotected, my wrists bound helplessly high above me. She would do
awful things to it, erotic things, and it would delight Arthur's cock and
he would fuck me with it.
Who was I to complain? Had not I cropped their smarting bottoms
in the snow? And I'd enjoyed it too, whacking their plump quivering
hineys, listening to them moan and whimper.
My long walk, only a few steps really, ended with us beneath the
overhanging cuffs. They were leather, each lined with soft fur. Twin
cuffs clipped to twin hooks hanging from the ceiling. Daintily mistress
took my wrists and lofted them above my head. She wrapped one, then
the other in a cuff and buckled it tightly. Then I watched, arms akimbo,
as she stepped to the wall. She pressed a button. A humming was heard
and my arms, casually bent, were forced to straighten as the cuffs
which held my hands drew skyward.
"Please!" I said, frightened, as my arms were fully stretched and I
was drawn up on tip toes, struggling to keep from being pulled into the
air. She stopped it just short of taking my feet off the ground. I stood
gasping, my toes barely touching the floor. My ribs felt like they were
being pulled apart for a barbecue. Set atop them, my boobs ballooned
out before me, wobbling and stiff nippled. I'd never seen them so
dramatically displayed before. They seemed things apart from me, yet
could not be, for I felt the tingling in my hardened nipple tips. Sexy,
delicious, yet so daring, so obscene.
Below my stomach was a concavity, hollowed out, my hips
spreading out beneath my thin waist. The vee of my legs left the
alluring notch between them pleasantly visible. I could do nothing to
hide my pussy. It was on view for my captors to admire as they
wished, to study, to touch.
Gazing at me, satisfied, mistress slowly undid the buttons of her
jeans. How strange it was! I had never seen a boy undo himself like
this in front of me, so confident, so self-assured. Always they had
been naked already, or desperate, amazed that they might have me,
though none ever did, except our gentlemen friends last night, now a
distant memory. But with mistress, there was a sense of possession. I
was hers, and no one elseÕs. Yet I was not really hers, was I? She was
preparing me for Arthur. But he didnÕt really care, did he? I was just a
momentary pleasure. Tomorrow he would be rutting in other girls, and I
would be...elsewhere. Who was I doing this for? Mandy? She lay
shivering and tear-stained atop Arthur, captive-like. I barely knew her.
WeÕd met as prisoners in cages, racehorses whoÕd won by losing. Was I
doing it for Kimberly? Where was Kimberly? She had slipped away,
leaving me on my own, to test me perhaps. Or she had simply forgotten
to come looking for me. Perhaps she was tied to a bed at the generalÕs,
or suspended like this, worrying about me even as she worried at her
own fate.
ÒA hanging concentrates the mind wonderfully,Ó mistress smirked
at me. She slipped her jeans down her legs. She shed them like a snake
might shed her skin, so tight were they, Brooke Shields being separated
at last from her precious Calvins. A pull on one pantsleg, then the
other, and she was free of them completely. They lay in a pile on the
floor. She did not bother to pick them up. She was manly in that way,
leaving her clothes lying about. Perhaps she expected me to pick them
up when we were done, wash them for her. Her eyes took on a kindly
look. Kindly but determined. She turned. Her fanny presented itself to
me. It was white, white as mine. I wanted for all the world then not to
suffer under her hand.
ÒPlease let me go,Ó I begged. She tossed her head, did not look
back. There was no need to. She had me. We had played and teased, and
now she had me.
Mistress touched the wooden cabinet door of an armorie set
against the wall. She drew it open. Astonished, I saw the big cupboard
held inside it a display of flagellation instruments. Each looked
expertly made, some with finely carved ivory handles, their whip cords
cut and woven from the best leather. I saw two paddles of burnished
hardwood, one with holes to make it pass through the air faster.
Mistress' hand skimmed the implements, judging them by the
lightest touch of her fingertips. Finally she chose a penis shaped
handle with an inch-wide strap attached. She took it down, weighed it
in her hands.
"Perfect for starters," mistress said, turning. She looked
ravishing in her nudity. Her hair partly hid her eyes. She did not bother
to brush it away. Her big breasts bulbed out beneath the strands of her
blonde lion's mane of hair. Her pussy was as naked as mine, the springy
curls inviting. She ran her tongue over her upper lip. She walked round
behind me. She struck my flank with the palm of her hand. I flinched,
danced on my toes.
"You are well made for it," she said. "Don't worry, I won't give you
more than you can take. But no less, either. Men are far too easy on us
girls. They don't know how much a female can endure." I shuddered,
thinking of Mandy's poor hiney. I was going to get worse than her? The
girl had practically been flayed alive! At least it seemed that way to
me then, novice that I was. Arthur's cock rose at mistress' teasing
words. He was hard again! There was no need! My bottom could be
spared!
"No! Let me down!" I begged. "Arthur is hard now. I can take my
turn upon him WITHOUT being spanked." My voice was pleading. In truth
he was no more than half-hard, but given his size when fully erect he
looked more than big enough for me.
"Sweet darling," mistress chimed. She touched my shoulder,
breathed upon my ear, kissed my cheek. Momentarily the strap came
between us, flapping ever so softly across the bulging cheeks of my
ass, resting upon their upper curvature. "You must be made to suffer."
"Please no," I breathed. Of the four of us, one had already had her
bottom defiled. Now it was to be my turn, and I didnÕt want it. Would
mistress be next? Arthur? Or were just Mandy and I the victims? Why
did my tutor insist on playing such awful games?
ÒWhat else might one do, hmmm?Ó she asked. Her finger found
one of my nipples again, tweaked it. I gasped at the pain. She pinched
the other in turn. ÒWhat else?Ó
ÒI donÕt know, we could play monopoly,Ó I guessed, desperate.
ÒThis is more fun,Ó she assured me.
ÒFor whom?Ó I cried.
She stroked my belly. ÒFor you,Ó she answered.
ÒIt is not! Let me down!Ó I insisted.
ÒWell, for me then,Ó she said with aplomb. And it was settled. I
asked again to be let go, but she ignored me, stepped behind me. I heard
the strap slither back across the carpet. It was long. Sinuous. Like a
snake in the grass, it would bite me, and I would have no defense.
ÒThis is your first real whipping, isnÕt it?Ó she asked. I bit my
lip, nodded. My nod was hasty, like a child agreeing in hopes of
departing quickly. ÒWell, I have all the honors then,Ó mistress said.
She laughed. I heard a swish.
ÒOh, why? Oh, why?Ó I cried. A last, desperate plea. It was cut
short.
WHAP! Full up beneath my bottom the strap came, my first slap,
cupping me, lifting me harshly. It burned deep into my cheeks. I had my
answer then. I gaped at my breasts, set to wobbling by the blow,
vigorously, nipples rigid. No one could deny the eroticism of my
bosoms, forcibly displayed, bouncing freely. And my ass! I danced
about, frantic, my buttcheeks shaking, immodest. Anywhere else the
ass, the tits, would have been covered up. Here they were displayed
like roast mutton (or mutton about to be roasted)! Here all MUST be
seen, the girls as well as the boys, and made to perform too, most
lewdly. I shook my hind cheeks like a stripper in some cheap saloon,
though IÕd much rather have been in church then, saying my prayers,
taking communion. ÔThis is my blood, feel it pulse through me, alarmed,
afraid. This is my body, naked, my fanny swaying wildly.Õ The priest
would like me.
"Your bottom will be so sensitive soon," mistress cooed. She
made me shiver as she traced the burning red line left by the strap. She
traced it across my bottom, her fingertip impressing itself painfully,
or so it felt. In truth she barely touched me, merely skimmed the flesh.
The strap had done its work.
I heard the whisper of the strap being drawn back once more. I
braced myself. Mandy gazed up at me, snuggled in Arthur's arms. She
had paid her dues. Languidly her legs lay open. He stroked her round her
spot. With a shiver of desire she lifted a small camcorder, trained it
on me.
"Yes, something for our hosts to remember us by," Arthur
instructed. "Show them what good use we made of their equipment."
Horrified I cried into the camera as the strap provided by our
hosts connected with my ass. I lunged forward, leapt about, mortified,
my flaming hiney making me a most immodest dancer. The opening
twixt my legs was never so splendidly displayed as now, my legs
hopping hither and yon, all on tiptoe. A frantic ballerina.
Mistress waited until I finally settled down.
"Men in strip bars don't know what they're missing, hmmm?"
Mistress laughed. "Arthur, did you ever pay to see young girls dance
naked?" Guiltily Arthur cleared his throat, said nothing. "To skip
about? Showing only what they PLEASED?Ó mistress asked. ÒHere we
teach a girl how to dance properly. And it is much sexier, no?" I stood
with huddling bottom cheeks, listening. There was a method to her
madness, undeniably. Never had I looked so ravishing, so stunning. My
arms up, my breasts out, my legs tripping madly over themselves as I
hung in place, my pussy showing. My hosts would be most proud of me, I
guessed. Would we eat popcorn in their living room, watching my
torment? Would they save me, show me to others on their T.V., make
copies for friends? ÔHere is a wonderful little miss, getting it for the
first time, you know, and how bravely she takes it! No gag, no
blindfold, just strung up by her thumbs, as it were, and not protesting
too much, just a little, just enough.Õ Yes, I was something of an
Amazon, I thought to myself, just by coming here. All wrapped in my
fur, with my naughty bikini underneath. Wearing boots, gloves, and
nothing else. Yet oh how I wished we could skip these preliminaries.
Arthur's cock stood rock hard now, a Washington monument of love. But
it was too big now, I told myself. Much too big for my little cunt. God
forbid he should ever want to put it up my ass.
WHACK!
"Yeech!" I gritted, snorting through my nostrils. That was a hard
one indeed, catching me full force right across my hiney, sending me
skittering into a new ballerina's dance upon the carpet. Or, worse, a
stripperÕs dance, exaggerated, dancing for greasy dollar bills from men
who would die soon of lung cancer.
"Ooch! Ooch! Ooch!" I huffed and puffed my way through three
more strokes, all delivered forcefully, mistress stopping after each to
stroke my flanks with her fingers. To quiet me down. My legs were
long, high as the sky. She would wait till I stopped kicking and then
console me with little admiring caresses, lightly, oh so lightly, just
her fingertips. As if she meant me no harm in the world. I would
shiver, sob a little. Upon recovering myself I would wait with pounding
heart, plump hiney quivering, squeezing and clenching my cheeks.
Waiting for the next one. My bra-less breasts juddered quietly, their
tips pantingly erect. I longed to see my reddened ass in a mirror, to
inspect the damage. Mistress could see it quite well and judged it still
fit to take more punishment.
WHAP! Searing me, the strap fell once more, and gaping-legged I
displayed myself shamelessly to the camera, to eyes unknown who
might view me for decades to come. Men, women, laughing at my
predicament, commenting clinically on the size, the shape of my
breasts, the hardness of my nipples. Even my cunt would not be beyond
the ÔscopeÕ of their discourse. They would take it in at leisure, freeze-
frame it, inspect it, philosophize upon it as compared with other girls'.
Daintily mistress padded back to the armorie then, replaced the
strap and returned to me with a little whip. Open mouthed I stared at
her, tears welling in my eyes. I couldn't stand still anymore, my
bottom hurt so.
"You--you mustn't," I gasped.
"Oh, there isn't any hurry," she replied. "We can take as long as
you like to train your bottom. I intend to try a variety of implements
on your sweet little ass. If you need time to compose yourself I can
wait. Would you like some wine to anesthetize you?"
"No!," I said. "I want it to stop! I want to be let down!" She felt
my arms then, palpitated them, made sure they still had circulation.
"Nonsense! You are doing quite well. Of course it hurts, darling.
You would not dance for us if it did not, at least not so prettily. Since
this is your first time I'll get you some wine. It will help. You will not
be quite so much on edge. A bit of drowsiness will let the time slip by
more smoothly." Saying these soothing words she stepped over to the
dungeon's wet bar. The dungeon proper had no bathroom. The adjoining
room, where a toilet was available, was locked. She had locked it when
she got our water. It was still technically part of the dungeon, our
toilet. It was not out in the game room. But it was kept separate, in
case toilet privileges should be denied. A master might not let his
slave have those right away. Only if she was very good. After all, he
controlled the rest of her. Why not her peehole too? Suavely mistress
had locked the bathroom, I not even noticing at the time, but
remembering now. Where HAD she placed that key? Oh, God, was I to
pee on the carpet? I didnÕt have to go yet, but I would soon, I was sure
of it. Mistress alone knew the location of the key. Yet the wet bar was
readily accessible, and lavish. Fresh limes, lemons, all stored neatly in
a little fridge. A small freezer held frosted glasses. And within a
cupboard stood row upon row of angled wine bottles, at least two dozen
of them, from France's finest estates. Brie and other cheeses could be
had also, as well as crackers. All was neatly contained in a corner of
the room. Everything to fill you up and make you go, but nothing into
which you might relieve yourself, when you were done. I hadnÕt seen
the wet bar until now, given all the unusual furnishings in the room, but
there it stood, ready to serve, a quiet reminder of the elegance with
which we were to proceed in our games.
"I'm hungry," I said, bottom flinching, as mistress returned with
the wine she'd poured for me. She lifted the brimming glass to my lips.
It was sweet.
"We shall eat later," mistress, my substitute mommy, replied.
"You must work up a proper appetite first." I let the wine run down my
throat. I had no choice, unless I wanted to spill it. Mistress tipped it
into my mouth, I drank as fast as I could to keep up with her. I knew
she would not be pleased if I spilt any. I smacked my lips as she set
down the glass and took up her whip. Like a runner stretching,
preparing for the race, I lifted one of my legs, then the other.
WHICK! The whip sliced across me then, scoring my hiney. I
yelped, pranced, tears streamed down my cheeks. Twice more the whip
found me, burning itself into my private hemispheres. I'd shown my
bottom to mommie's parlor guests once and she'd spanked me. 'No
mooning the guests,' I'd learned that day. A girl was not to expose her
hiney to public view. Yet now here I stood, showing all that and more,
wantonly, and being filmed for eyes who would not mind at all seeing
what I showed them.
Snick! Whick! Flick! Remorselessly the whip bit into my soft
hindquarters again and again. I had arrived in a bikini. Had I not chosen
to take it off? I longed now to cover myself, to obey my mommie. But
here mistress was my mommy, and she was as adamant about my
bottom being seen as my mother was about it being unseen.
I cried then, soon found myself bawling, yet mistress kept up her
depredations on my poor hiney. She traded her whip for a flexible
bamboo switch, frayed at one end from over-use. Some other girl must
have worn it down to its present state. Perhaps our hostess herself? I
bit my lower lip and wept openly as the switch went to work on my
fanny.
I lost all sense of time. Through bleared eyes I suffered quietly,
choking back my sobs at last and letting myself dance, respond,
unthinkingly. The switch would strike, I would dance, the camera
would whir, recording all. My bottom was afire, a burning ball, yet the
rest of me was deliciously, tantalizingly naked, unhurt, aroused, my
clit and titties burning with their own erotic fire. I looked extremely
beautiful in my agony and I knew it. I felt proud, knowing no man could
watch the film of my travail without becoming painfully erect himself.
My torture would torture him. If he was alone, he might watch wide-
eyed, and curse himself afterward for cumming.
Some time later, as I swung, exhausted, head bowed, hair flowing
from my head down over my shoulders in golden disarray, I felt my
wrists being unbuckled. I did not even lift my face to see who my
savior was. Hot bottomed I was enclasped in arms, felt breasts then,
pressing against my own, mistress' voice whispered in my ear as I
rested my head upon her shoulder.
"There, darling, there, you did very well," she said, patting my
head. She dragged me over to the pillows and plopped me down amongst
Arthur and Mandy. Like vampires then they got their mouths upon me,
kissing me and tonguing me, opening my every orifice with lapping,
probing kisses. Someone spread cream over my bottom and I was
grateful, though it made me wince awfully and I cried out for them to
stop. At last I felt myself being turned over, shouting as my ass came
to rest upon a silken pillow. A hard cock entered me then, straight into
my cunt. It pummeled me into a swooning orgasm and I blacked out in a
wave of intense pleasure.
30
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