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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PARTY PUSSIES
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Chapter Nine
Bethany entered my bedroom and shook me awake. I found myself
lying on my tummy, my blonde hair strewn around me. Instantly I became
aware of my bottom. It was sore. I reached back behind myself and felt
it. Someone had rubbed cream into it as I slept.
ÒRobinÕs gone,Ó Bethany told me. ÒLuke too.Ó
ÒGone?Ó I asked, sleepy-eyed.
ÒThey will be away for a week,Ó Petra said. She bustled into the
room. She was dressed in a short summer dress. It was almost
transparent. I could see the curves of her fine body beneath it. Her long
brown hair was neatly combed and piled atop her head, loosely. ÒIt will
give you both time to be trained as proper young ladies,Ó Petra continued.
She carried a short riding crop in her hand. Bethany shivered as she came
near her. Petra swished the crop, once, but it only connected with the air
near BethanyÕs thigh.
ÒGet up, sleepyhead. You must bathe and learn to wear a dress
again,Ó Petra told me. ÒI see Verona creamed your bottom for you. Good.
Put more cream on it after you wash. That will help it heal as quickly as
possible. Are you cut anywhere?Ó She leaned close. She inspected my
posterior. I wanted to roll away. It felt strange, having a grown woman
gaze closely at my bare bottom. But her presence was daunting and her
hand, touching me, exuded a firmness I knew I must not resist. ÒNo. Good.
IÕd thank the whipmaster for you but, since it was me, I guess IÕll just
thank myself instead.Ó She laughed. ÒHow talented I am! Even Annette,
who endured the cat, escaped without a cut on her behind, though sheÕs
still quite sore, I can assure you.Ó
ÒYouÕre wicked,Ó Bethany told her. My friend was freshly bathed.
She was nude, but her hair was glossy from combing and sheÕd even applied
a little lipstick to her lips.
ÒYou will find wickedness is best, sometimes, in matters of love,Ó
Petra told Bethany. ÒWhat would you say if I told you Luke paid me to
handle Annette as I did, hmmm? You are young, but she is pressing 20.
And still unwhipped, until last night! Why, she would have delayed and
delayed for who knows how many more years. With my firm hand, she was
both deflowered and whipped in one night. Now she can grow, and mature,
into the the finer, the deeper arts of love. But it took me to get her over
that hurdle. And you too, my little virgin. DonÕt tell me you didnÕt enjoy
having both men thread your cunt.Ó
ÒI didnÕt,Ó Bethany answered. But she blushed as she said it and
there was a certain excitement in her voice.
ÒHow pretty your breasts are,Ó Petra told her. ÒBut you are a young
woman, not a child like Bethany. Go to your room. YouÕll find a nice
summer dress in the closet. Put it on. I wonÕt have you running around
naked. Good. I see youÕve put on some lipstick. We will learn how to take
care of ourselves in the week to come. All the necessary things that
young ladies must know. And we will be on our best behavior too,Ó Petra
added, and made Bethany flinch by whisking the crop by her bare thigh
again. Petra laughed. ÒYou ran away, only to wind up at finishing school!
DonÕt worry. At the end of the week we shall have a grand party. It will
be your official coming out party, and youÕll remember it for the rest of
your life!Ó
We obeyed. Perhaps it was the promise of a party that inspired us. I
liked parties. We wore our short summer dresses around the house.
Outside we wore big sun bonnets, to protect our skin from its heat. We
played cards, we played croquet. We learned to sew. Bow insisted on
checkers matches between each of us, and we indulged her. Verona bought
her more bubble fluid and we went running through the yard, barefoot,
making big bubbles that floated away on the soft summer air.
A week later was the night of our party. We put on gold shoes, and
long silk stockings that stayed up all by themselves. We did up each
otherÕs hair, spending hours at it. We spent twenty minutes or more tying
each other into waist-cinching corsets. We fastened long skirts to our
corsets. We slid on opera-length gloves that ran all the way up our arms,
where they were tightly tied. We donned pearl bracelets given to us by
Petra.
I was given the task of answering the door and admitting the guests.
I wore a small ribboned name tag tied around my wrist so people would be
able to remember my name. I looked luscious. But there was one aspect of
my attire that bothered me. My dress, though lovely, rose to just below
my nipples. It left them free. They stiffened at the thought of being so
visible. The top of my corset, which matched my dress, had loose, lacy
fringe that ran across it. My nipples, stiff and hard, stirred the fringe,
which excited them even more.
I blushed quite deeply as the first man to enter PetraÕs house looked
down at my bosoms. If only my dress were half an inch higher! He had a
woman with him. Her dress, though decollette, covered her bosoms. Yet
mine did not. They stood out, free and lovely, showing their nippled halos.
The stemmed tips of my breasts aroused themselves by wiggling against
the fringe along the top of my corset.
ÒMy, such pretty breasts,Ó the woman said with a casual, almost
indifferent voice.
ÒWhat is your name?Ó the man asked me.
ÒLisa,Ó I replied. I lifted my wrist. I showed him the card tied to
my right wrist with a ribbon.
ÒYou do not need to speak if you have a card,Ó the woman said.
ÒPetra is so unimaginative.Ó She opened her purse. ÒIÕm glad I brought
this along,Ó she said. She drew out a black gag. It did not match my dress,
which was yellow, or the pearl bracelet around my wrist, or my shoes, but
she touched my bare shoulder lightly, and, gazing from her to the man, I
let her turn me around. Carefully she fit the gag over my mouth and then
bound it behind my head. ÒThere,Ó she said. She turned me again so that I
might look at her. ÒAre there two of you coming out tonight?Ó she asked.
I nodded, mutely. I knew not what else to do. ÒGood. I have one more gag
for your companion,Ó she said. ÒNow, where is my name card? Do you have
it?Ó she asked.
I turned. It was my job, to fetch the name tags for all the guests.
The women had cards to be tied round their wrists. The men had cards
which could be put into the front pocket of their suit, enough sticking up
for their name to be seen.
ÒMy name is Delia,Ó the woman told me. I fished in a small straw
basket for her name. It sat on a foyer table with a fresh vase of roses on
it.
I saw ÒDeliaÓ on one of the cards. I drew it out. I turned. The
woman presented her wrist and I tied the card on it. ÒMy husbandÕs name
is Frank,Ó she said. I went fishing in the basket again. I found ÒFrank.Ó I
turned, stood on tip toe, and inserted his name card into his jacketÕs front
left pocket.
ÒVery nice,Ó Delia told me. Bethany appeared in the hall. She was
dressed as I was, with her waist tightly bound by a corset, but her stiff-
nippled breasts freely displayed. I tried to motion her away. Too late.
Delia spotted her. ÒIs she the other girl whoÕs coming out tonight?Ó Delia
asked me. I nodded. Delia left me. Briskly she walked the length of the
hall to Bethany. She lifted the girlÕs wrist, checked the name on her card.
ÒHi, Bethany,Ó she said. ÒI have a present for you.Ó She opened her purse
and took out a black gag. I saw Bethany try to flee. The woman grabbed
her wrist. BethanyÕs resistance faded. Was it her excitement at having
her nipples on display? I donÕt know. Perhaps it was the tightness of our
corsets, or the smooth silkiness of our stockings under our dresses,
encasing our legs. Perhaps it was the long spiked heels on our shoes. We
did not run. Instead, though we might try to resist a little, we wound up
submitting instead.
ÒYou are truly beautiful,Ó DeliaÕs husband, still at my side, said to
me. I saw his crotch had hardened and risen and knew he did not expect to
confine his admiration of my beauty to the Platonic. But I nodded, mutely,
wearing my gag. When he left me, I did not reach up and try to untie my
gag. Instead, I waited silently for the next couple to arrive at the house.
The guests numbered about a dozen. The men ranged in age from
their 20Õs to their late 40Õs. All their wives were young, 20 at the least,
perhaps 30 at the most. Petra sat at the head of the table. She wore a
long, flowing dress, like Bethany and I, but her nipples did not show. Bow
sat in the chair closest to her, dressed in a childÕs party dress. Her
nipples too were covered. Even Annette was permitted a dress that
covered her nipples, though, admittedly, it just managed this, letting the
tops of her areolas show. Only Bethany and I showed our nipple stems.
And we were gagged. When Verona served dinner she paused and loosened
my gag, and BethanyÕs, so we could eat. We wore our loosened gags round
our necks. They looked like childrenÕs bibs. I hoped I didnÕt spill any food
into mine.
Bow was on her best behavior. She had a coloring book at her place
to keep her busy when her interest in the food flagged. It was her
favorite, a Barbi coloring book. Brand new. She would pause now and then
to color some more in her coloring book between bites of her food. She
was quiet, relatvely so. Only once or twice did she try to show the guests
what she had colored. Annette shushed her, made her keep her coloring to
herself.
Dinner passed slowly. I felt silly with my nipples showing. The
men, and even the women, didnÕt hesitate to admire my breasts. But they
said very little to me, or to Bethany. One man, almost 50, asked Bethany
which school she went to. She gave the name. He did not know it. She
explained it was in America. His eyes widened.
ÒYou are a long way from America,Ó he told her.
ÒI ran away,Ó she replied.
ÒPerhaps you will go back someday?Ó he asked.
ÒPerhaps,Ó she answered. She ate more of her food. His eyes
lingered over her breasts.
As dinner wound down Annette excused herself. I watched her leave.
Her dress rustled as she walked. I knew she would return without it.
Petra had secretly designated her to be the eveningÕs entertainment.
About ten minutes later she returned. She wore a bikini. Applause and a
cheer went up from the table when the guests saw her. I guessed Verona
must have been the one to help her out of her tight corset. She still wore
her long stockings, and her gold shoes, and her hair was done up as before,
and she still had her arms encased in opera length gloves, with her
nametag tied around one wrist, and a pearl bracelet on the other. But,
otherwise, her dress, lovely as it had been, was gone, as well as her
corset. She wore a swimsuit instead, though I knew no swimming was
planned for this evening. Petra didnÕt own a pool.
Annette gazed at the guests. She blushed a little. She let them take
a long minute to admire her in her bikini. She stood at the head of the
table, near Petra. When the guests had all had a chance to take in her
bikini, she reached behind her back and undid her bra. The cups over her
bosoms loosened. She reached up behind her neck and undid the drawstring
there. Her bra fell off. Another appreciative cheer went up from the
guests. Annette, wishing perhaps to show off a little, for she had truly
perfect bosoms, shook them. They wobbled on her chest, both quite bare
now, her bra somewhere on the floor. I watched as her nipples became
fully erect. The night promised to be one the men would enjoy. I hoped
Bethany and I wouldnÕt find it unbearable. After all, it was our party,
wasnÕt it?
Annette had brought with her a can of whipped cream. It was ice
cold, fresh from the refrigerator. Beads of water formed a sheen upon the
metal surface of the can. I knew some wickedness must be planned with
this.
Annette smiled. She caught the menÕs eyes. When she was sure
every one of them was watching her, she picked up the can of whipped
cream. Then she blushed. She opened the front of her swimsuit. She
peered down over her breasts at her furry mount. Blushing even more
deeply, she aimed the can of whipped cream at the front of her panties.
She squeezed the top of the can. She shrieked. Whipped cream burst from
the canÕs nozzle and filled the opening in the front of her suit. She
released her bikini. It snapped shut, trapping the whipped cream inside it,
against her dell.
Annette shook the can of whipped cream. Now it was someone elseÕs
turn, I guessed, to have their privates creamed. With a grin, slightly
mischeivous, Annette suddenly slipped beneath the table. Several guests
gasped in astonishment. I felt Annette bump my knee as she crawled
around underneath the table. But she didnÕt stop at my seat. Instead, she
crawled on, until she came to Frank.
ÒAghgh!Ó Frank announced. He shifted in his seat. His wife gazed at
him with catÕs eyes.
ÒWhy, dear. WhatÕs wrong?Ó She asked. I heard a spritzing sound.
ÒI--Ó Frank said. He ground his teeth together. Delia lifted the edge
of the tablecloth, where it hung down over his lap.
ÒMy, sheÕs unzipped you,Ó Delia said, speaking loudly enough so that
everyone in the crowd could hear. ÒIs the cream chilly dear? Your cock is
usually so warm. Perhaps itÕs wise of her to cool it before placing it in
her mouth.Ó
ÒOH!Ó Frank cried. I could see that he must be suffering under
AnnetteÕs ministrations. She had confided in me that one thing she was
good at, one thing that Luke had forced her to learn, was how to be a
perfect cocksucker. I hoped Frank could endure her torments. And yet I
hoped he could not, too, for it would be quite naughty to watch him as he
was forced to spend, sitting there at his place at the table in his nice suit.
Mints were passed out. A silver bowl, containing them, was passed
down the table, from person to person. We each took as many as we chose.
I took two. They were unwrapped mints, made of different colors, shaped
like little pillows. The bowlÕs passage ended at BowÕs place. She was
delighted to find that she could eat all that remained. There were quite a
few left.
We savored our mints. We were entertained as Annette moved from
man to man, under the table. She forced each to present his cock. She
squirted him with whipped cream and then took her time licking him clean.
When she was finished she didnÕt try to replace him in his pants. He was
left, always, just short of orgasm, achingly hard. She seemed to have a
knack for knowing when to cease pleasuring a man.
I looked at Bethany. Surely, this was not a bad way to spend our
party, if not the goodest way either. Her eyes danced. She enjoyed seeing
the 50-year-old man beside her forced, after spending the whole dinner
admiring her bare tits, to contrain himself as Annette took him right to
the edge of losing his load. A man his age would miss the rest of the party
if he were unfortunate enough to cum. I donÕt know if she was glad that he
survived, or not. But while he was groaning under the licking of AnnetteÕs
tongue, he had no time to leer at Bethany.
Annette moved round the table to the man beside me. His name was
Stewart. He was young, only 20. On my other side sat his wife. Her name
was Cybil. She was the same age as he. I wondered if their marriage
would last, with them both being the same age. But it had so far, for two
months.
Annette caused Cybil to giggle as she, hiding beneath the table,
abruptly parted StewartÕs legs and unzipped his zipper. Stewart coughed.
I could see he was nervous. With his youth, he was probably already on a
hair-trigger. I hoped he could last, under AnnetteÕs licking tongue. Gently
I touched his arm.
ÒThink other thoughts,Ó I told him. I felt very mature, suddenly,
advising this man, trying to distract him, as Annette, beneath the table,
squirted chilly cream onto his bare penis.
ÒStewart, darling, please donÕt cum,Ó Cybil told her husband. She
sounded rather like an older sister, I thought. He trembled. Annette would
stop short of making a man cum but he did have to hold himself back long
enough for her to cream him and then lick the cream off. She might do it
quickly, if she feared triggering him, or slowly, if she wished to torture
him, knowing he could take it. But at least this minimum standard of
performance had to be surmounted by each man. Stewart, I saw, in his
eagerness, was in danger of failing the test every man had, so far,
managed to pass.
ÒThink of Mickey Mouse,Ó I told Stewart. I liked him. He was young
and handsome and had not the cruel streak in him that so many men IÕd met
south of the border seemed to possess. He was no drug dealer, that was
for sure. Just a quiet young man, perhaps a student, though IÕd been too
nervous, with my breasts bare, to inquire too much into his life. Now, as I
watched him suffer, I wished to do anything to help him. I even kicked at
Annette a little, under the table, with the toe of my shoe, hoping to make
her hurry, perhaps even to desist, so Stewart could survive, like the other
men had.
Annette moved a little to one side, so that when I swung my foot
again, I didnÕt connect with her. It was cheating, to do that, I knew. I did
not do it again, for fear she might retaliate against me. After all, she had
the whipped cream, and free access to anyoneÕs loins she chose to attack.
I might find myself with cream all over my dress.
Stewart looked like a man in a fever. I patted his hand. I whispered
consoling words to him. His wife, leaning across me, urged him to hold
himself in. At last, Annette must have drawn away, for a wave of relief
passed over StewartÕs features.
ÒDid you cum?Ó I asked, alarmed.
ÒNo,Ó he breathed. A moment later a man farther down the table
uttered a heavy gasp as his own legs were parted and his zipper undone.
ÒYou did well, Stewart. IÕm proud of you,Ó Cybil told her husband.
ÒYouÕre cute,Ó I said.
ÒThanks,Ó he replied. ÒJust donÕt touch my dick, whatever you do.Ó
ÒIÕm not.Ó I replied. I turned my head to his wife. I felt a little
alarmed that Stewart would ask me not to touch him, as Petra forbade
touching at the table. ÒDonÕt worry, IÕm not playing with your husbandÕs
penis,Ó I told her.
ÒThatÕs good,Ó Cybil answered.
Alfonse and Rico appeared. They were well dressed, in suits and
ties. There were two extra chairs against the wall of the room. They
picked them up and set them next to Petra at the head of the table.
ÒLisa, Bethany. Would you come here, please?Ó Petra called.
Stewart hastily got up from his chair. He took it upon himself to escort
me. He had been the one to scoot my chair under me when we first sat
down. Now, perhaps out of courtesy, or perhaps to dwell on something
other than his own need to spurt, he gallantly drew back my chair. He took
my wrist and urged me to rise. I did. I couldnÕt help gazing at his penis as
I stood up. It stuck out lewdly, bare and hard, throbbing gently. It
gleamed with saliva from AnnetteÕs tongue. There were wisps of whipped
cream in his pubic hair, bits of which stuck through his unzipped zipper.
Despite his awkwardness at being forced to show his dick, Stewart
escorted me, as if I were royalty, up to Petra. She thanked him for
bringing me to her. She glanced at his penis, smiled, asked him to remain
standing next to her in case she needed him. I glanced down the table at
Cybil. She frowned a little, but said nothing. Stewart, with his strong
build, looked like a quiet-tempered Hercules standing with his naked cock
on display next to PetraÕs seat.
ÒMmmm, I like cheesecake,Ó Bethany said. She was standing next to
me, having been escorted forward by the 50-year-old man. He was
permitted to return to his seat.
I smelled what Bethany smelled and turned my head. Verona brought
out two large cheesecakes and set them down, inexplicably, on the two
chairs Alfonse and Rico had placed next to Petra.
ÒGirls, please lift your skirts,Ó Petra said to myself and Bethany.
ÒStewart, would you help them please?Ó She asked him. ÒThey must be
rolled up, and pinned.Ó
Stewart smiled. He nodded. I wondered at this order of PetraÕs, for
she knew very well that I wore no panties under my skirt. She had deemed
them unnecessary; for our long, flowing skirts, reaching down to our toes,
made it unlikely anyone would see under them. At least, that had been her
excuse, this afternoon. Now, however, Stweart reached for my dress, and
lifted it. Verona lifted up BethanyÕs. My friend let out a nervous squeak. I
heard a gasp of protest spring from my own throat.
It was no use. Our skirts were lifted. Our dells were shown to the
guests. My bottom felt the cool air of the room upon it and I knew Bethany
must be feeling the same. I had a white bottom again. The long week had
given it plenty of time to heal.
ÒPin them up, yes, front and back. DonÕt worry about the sides,Ó
Petra told Verona and Stewart. With his bare cock trembling, Stewart
carefully pinned up the back of my dress, then the front. I was left with
no way to hide my muff, save with my hands. I blushed. My nipples
stemmed above the top of my corset. In back the cheeks of my bottom
clenched, unclenched. I was nervous as Stewart had been, getting his cock
licked.
ÒNow, girls, I want you both to sit down,Ó Petra said. She pointed at
the two chairs with the big cheesecakes on them. ÒDo you like
cheesecake?Ó she asked. There was a wry smile on her lips.
ÒOh! What do you mean?Ó Bethany asked. She turned her head and
looked behind herself. Verona pressed on her shoulders.
ÒYEEK!Ó Bethany cried suddenly. With a loud ÔplopÕ she was forced to
sit down on the chair, directly into the cheesecake. I felt Stewart push
me down and, a moment later, I too screamed as my bottom connected
with the cake. It smooshed underneath my seat. Its warm interior rose up
between my legs, coating my pussy.
ÒOoooh! This cake is hot!Ó Bethany announced. But it was, in fact,
just short of hot, and we were both able to sit in our cakes without having
to leap up to save ourselves. We were not burned. Instead, the cake
stuffing invaded our bottom cracks. It found its way up between the lips
of our cunts. And when, at last, Petra bade us rise, and turn around, we
displayed cheesecaked bottoms to the guests sitting at the dinner table.
A roar of laughter sounded among the guests. I flushed deeply. I
could feel Bethany flushing beside me. But there was nothing we could do,
in our tight corsets, with our gloves and heels and stockings on, and our
dresses rolled up, except endure the laughter.
ÒGirls, get up on the table. Both of you,Ó Petra ordered.
Bethany and I turned around. It was a relief to not have to show our
bottoms to the guests anymore. But when we turned around, we were
given no chance to recover from our embarrassment. Instead, Verona made
Bow get up from her chair. Then she forced Bethany to step up on BowÕs
vacated chair, using it as a step stool, and climb onto the table. Steve
forced me to follow my friend. A moment later, both Bethany and I were
kneeling on the table, our cheesecaked asses wiggling behind us as we
wondered what to do.
Women reached out to us. Taking us by the arm, they bade us crawl
down the table. Soon I was almost back at my place, except I was now
perched up on the table, on all fours, like a dog, instead of sitting primly
in my seat. Cybil whispered in my ear that I should lie down. Bethany saw
me lie flat on my belly and, for no reason at all, imitated me.
ÒGentlemen, I think dessert is served,Ó Cybil laughed.
At once all the men rose from their places. They clambored within
reach of Bethany and myself. Some hoisted themselves up on the table.
Others, the two closest to us, simply stood up and leaned forward. All of
them were displaying their cocks. With eager tongues, despite quick
screams from Bethany and myself, they all began licking at our seats.
I wriggled. I struggled. I tried to escape. It was impossible. The
menÕs avid tongues laved my fanny. They invaded, unbidden, between my
cheeks. One managed to prise into my clenching back hole. I felt my legs
spread wide and another tongue invaded my snatch.
The men, meanwhile, with their attention focused on me and
Bethany, presented targets for the women to engage. All of the men had
erect penises. None of them had managed to replace his cock in his pants
after Annette had licked it. Now the women, rising from their places,
attacked the menÕs well-displayed organs. The men, or most of them,
continued to compete with each other in licking clean the bottom of
myself and Bethany.
Somewhere, I heard Bow squeal happily. In my delerium at being
licked all over my bottom and within it, I found myself wondering what
she was up to. Had Stewart accidentally loosed his seed upon her? It was
a possibility, I guessed, with his hair-trigger penis and her ever-
mischievous ways. I hoped she was not swallowing down his seed. Did I
hear Petra scold her? I wasnÕt sure. Bethany was squealing beside me,
like some stuck pig, and I was screaming myself. Above us both, the men
grunted happily. They were like bristly boars, rooting in the ground for
vegetables. I flexed my bare legs and tried to close them. It was no use.
They held me open and their tongues alternated in invading my bottom and
my cunt.
Outside, with the sun long gone behind the horizon, the desert sands
cooled and the night chilled. The crops growing in long rows between
PetraÕs house and the desert beyond rustled in the night air. But within
her house, things were rapidly heating up. I felt sweat bathe my brow as I
tried to scramble out from under the men. My cunny moistened,
involuntarily, for I wished not to fall prey to so many strangers upon this
table that seemed like a stage. I heard screams. They were not my own,
or BethanyÕs, though we voiced our displeasure at being so rudely attacked.
They were cries from the other women. The men who werenÕt stabbing at
Bethany and I with their tongues were using their penises to pin down and
fuck them.
There was no hope, no help now, I realized. All was lost to
licentiousness. I squeezed my eyes shut. I thrashed beneath the men who
attacked me. They seemed to enjoy my struggles. I felt strong hands grip
my legs and push them farther apart, farther away from each other, than
they already were. There was a sound as of males pushing and shoving
each other.
ÒYeek! NO! Not there!Ó Bethany screamed in my ear. Her cry was
urgent. Desperately I twisted my head round to her. Reluctantly, I opened
my eyes. I saw a big, hulking man crouching over her. From between his
legs a big dong grew and he was pressing it implacably down between the
soft tender twin curves of her ass.
ÒNo! She is a virgin!Ó I cried. Too late! Robin had left his prize to be
taken as fate might decide, and now the die had been cast. I felt someone
beat out the other males and take possession of my own bottom. He
wedged himself down between my cheeks, forcing a scream from me, as I
watched Bethany surrender her anal cherry to the stranger.
BethanyÕs eyes gaped. She looked at me, her twin orbing eyes
begging for rescue. But I couldnÕt help. I could only scream, as she now
did, her throat issuing a long moaning cry. We were both pierced. Both
fucked. I wished to kiss her, to console her, but even that was denied me
by the weight of the unknown man pressing down on me from above.
I felt the air driven from my lungs. A huge bulk drove itself up my
back passage. I felt as if I would surely never sit again, for I would be too
riven, too widely opened, to ever have a proper bottom to sit on again.
At last the man was fully ensconsed within my tight, squeezing
young ass. I tried hard to expel him. He seemed to enjoy the clenchings of
my bottom. Watching my twisting head, my flowing, flying blonde tresses,
the man began to rudely pleasure himself. He pulled back. A gasp of relief
issued from my mouth. But he cared nothing for me. As soon as he had
withdrawn his penis a little, he shoved it up me again. I shouted. He gave
a low grunt of enjoyment. Back and forth he moved his cock, never leaving
me, but rodding me instead, like a rower might, rowing his sloop across a
smooth pond, watching how it cuts a swath through the water. I existed
only for his pleasure. I was a bottom, nothing more. He had beaten back
the other randy men and managed to mount me. A few, I realized, still
hovered round, pulling at him, trying to get him off me (but only to mount
me with their own cock instead!) Steadily he maintained his pose, arched
over me, his cock up my ass and his loins working smoothly. Up, back. Up,
back. Up, back.
ÒYÕare long about it, arenÕt ye?Ó I heard a man say. I remembered
him from our dinner conversation, barely. He was an Aussie. He had
complimented me on my dress. He had asked about my schooling. He had
seemed quite polite then, but he was much older than me and I found him
not to my liking. Yet now, the politeness was gone. He wanted only to
fuck me. He was eager for the man in my bottom to finish, so he could
take his place!
Oh, alas! What could I do? I turned my head to Bethany. She was
screeching like a baby whose favorite toy was being stolen from her. She
would flirt no more, after tonight, with her cherry bottom. She was being
devirginated, and forever after would have to console herself with being a
woman.
I turned my head to my right. Suddenly I realized Cybil was
watching me. She sat at her place. Artfully she had a wine glass poised
just beneath her lips. She sipped. Her eyes gazed at my face.
ÒOh, Cybil, HELP!Ó I cried. But she only stared at me, implacably.
Her eyes had a warmth to them, but it was distant, detached. She
maintained an air of complete reserve. I realized she must be evaluating
me, but for what? Again I tried to ask her to help me, but in response she
lifted a finger, and placed it over her lips.
ÒShhhhh,Ó she seemed to say to me, though I, and many others, were
screaming so loudly I couldnÕt have heard such a quiet sound as a motherly
shush. Then she took another sip from her wine glass. She retained her
clothes still. No one touched her, though all around her there was chaos.
I bit my lip. I felt the man in me go deeper still, deeper than he ever
had before. His cock seemed to swell. I cried anew and felt his seed
suddenly gush into my ass. He gave a war whoop. The Aussie clawed at
him and told him to dismount. The man pushed the Aussie back, gave me a
few deep-thrusting stabs, and filled me with his copious sperm.
For several long minutes the stranger stayed mated to me. Then,
softening, he pulled himself free. I felt him lift his bulk off me. I sighed.
But no sooner had the man gotten off me than I felt myself flipped over
like a pancake. The Aussie! He had me now, and with his bearded face he
bent and attacked me between my legs.
ÒOh, God! Cybil!Ó I cried. I turned my head anew to her. She sipped
her wine, watching. I felt the Aussie, whom I didnÕt even like, stuff his
tongue into my snatch. I trembled. My spine shivered from my tailbone all
the way up to my neck. The man, despite being disagreeable to me, seemed
an expert at cunnilingus. Suddenly I felt myself opened and probed as IÕd
never been before. I tried to close my legs but, instead, I found myself
overwhelmed with pleasure. My tanned young legs opened, giving the man
more room to work. He probed deeper. I shuddered. I felt an orgasm,
unbidden, rip through me like paper is ripped by a slicing pair of scissors.
ÒAughghgh!Ó I cried. I shouted at the ceiling. I bucked my hips in a
last effort to escape. My movement only assisted him. He invaded me
more deeply. I twisted my head, looked at Cybil. She laughed. She turned,
slightly, to acknowledge a bare-waisted man who approached her. She
accepted his cock in her hand. She lowered her wine glass to his loins. I
lifted my eyes to the face of the man who solicited her. His eyes seemed
lovestruck. I thought Cybil and he might kiss, might embrace, might fuck.
But no. Instead, Cybil took firm control of his penis. She did not kiss him.
She did not kiss it. She dipped his penis in her half-finished glass of
wine. He gaped. He enjoyed, I think, the pleasure of the wine, bathing his
cock, though heÕd offered himself to her in the hopes of having sex with
her, not to get his dick washed.
Cybil squeezed hard on the manÕs cock with her fingers. Her hand
was small. Her fingers were slim. She looked like a child wrestling with
a big hot dog. The effect of the wine and CybilÕs grip enflamed the manÕs
passion. Suddenly, as she squeezed him repeatedly, like a dairy maid
squeezing an udder, the man shot off his sperm. It jetted into her wine
glass. It mixed with the wine and filled her glass right to the brim.
Cybil smiled. She looked up from the manÕs penis to his face. He had
won, but failed too, for now heÕd lost his chance to fuck her. His penis
softened. Cybil released his cock and gently pushed him back, touching his
waist, turning him, giving his bare ass a little goodbye slap. Reluctantly
the man withdrew. He was humbled. He had hoped to strip Cybil of her
clothing, to toss her to the floor, to conquer her, but instead, teased by
her wine glass, heÕd unexpectedly jetted himself away into the wine.
Cybil lifted the glass. She sniffed at it, but she didnÕt sip it. Then,
looking at me, at my puffing mouth, my pleading eyes, she tossed the
entire contents of her glass into my face.
I do not know how many men I entertained at that party. It was a
Ôfree for all.Õ I had little control of myself, especially after the Aussie
opened me so completely with his tongue. He was an expert. He turned me
into a trembling mass of jellied flesh, my limbs all quivery, my mind
utterly bereft of reason. He eased up in his ministrations to let me watch
Cybil wash the poor manÕs penis. The man who spermed himself
fruitlessly in her glass. But once IÕd been given that short respite, the
Aussie caressing my pubic hairs with his nose as I watched, he attacked
me anew. His fingers pried apart my cunt lips and his tongue went to work
in my snatch. He had a long tongue. It threaded me and tickled me inside
like no big, bulging prick ever could. I, meanwhile, lay shocked upon the
table, a glass of spermy wine tossed in my face. Sperm leaked from my
bottom. It stained my cheeks. And now, with the Aussie possessed of a
hard prick, I knew I would suffer sperm being pumped between my thighs,
into my snatch. I gave up trying to resist. It was futile. There were too
many horny men. I could no more keep them off me than a honeyed strip of
fresh flypaper could keep away buzzing insects. So I lost myself in the
pleasure. I resigned to the tongue in my cunt, to the taste of sperm on my
virginal lips. I heard Bethany scream and turned my head and tried to tell
her, ÔRelax, relax. It will be better if you simply relax and take it.Õ
I took all they had to offer me. Was it four men, or five, or six? I
donÕt know. I lost count. I lay upon the dining room table, where theyÕd so
pleasantly chatted with me a half-hour before, and let them treat me like
the fresh slut they really saw me as. I was rodded in the mouth, in the
face, sperm shooting up my nose. I had dicks placed in my hands and I was
forced to rub them until they squirted. I had penis tips placed over my
stemming nipples, as if I might pierce, with my little buds, the very men
who so thoroughly ravaged me. I had a dick placed between my plump
breasts and sawed back and forth, until the cum from it shot up against
my chin.
My hair was used as a washrag. Men wiped themselves in my
lustrous gold hair. If they were still hard, they thrust themselves within
the soft mane of my hair until they were not.
I was fucked repeatedly in my cunt. Penis after penis forced its way
into me. I was soft, receptive. They were hard and demanding. I received.
They left spent, satisfied.
Bethany wailed beside me. I tried stroking her, consoling her. As
the night wore on she became less resistant. There was no hope in
resistance, with all these men hemming us in, grabbing us, piercing us.
There was only hope in acceptance. We were wombs, little else. By
receiving the men, we could play our appointed role. We were built to
receive, they to give.
I saw Bow wander by. She had a faceful of sperm. She said
something in her high, chirpy voice about getting her first blow job. Poor
girl. She didnÕt understand. As a girl she could only give a blow job, not
get one. I guessed someone must have shot off in her face, some awful
man, inspired perhaps by her presence, by her arched brows and her
glistening, childish eyes. An 8-year-old did not belong at an orgy. Yet
here she was, happily receiving attention, out of her party dress now,
naked as if for her bath. I do not think anyone fucked her. But some man
loosed his balls in her face. Perhaps someone else helped her breasts
grow, by kissing her nipples. Perhaps someone pinched her bare bottom.
At last the lightening sky, fresh with the dawn, broke up our orgy.
Couples shared a final kiss and went looking for their original partners.
They dressed. They left. I heard cars pulling away from the house.
A wet rag bathed my face. I looked up. Verona was there. She shook
her head slightly. She was too old for these games. She regarded me as
one might a fool, parted from his money because he valued it too lightly. I
could only stare at her. I had not been wrong, had I, in attending this
party? How was I to know the men would be so crude? Yet they had been
exquisite, at times, in their crudeness, plumbing depths of myself I didnÕt
even know I possessed.
ÒYou will have baby in nine months,Ó Verona told me.
ÒNo,Ó I tried to say. But my lips were caked with menÕs sperm. I
felt hot sperm drying in my throat. It seemed to be stuck to my lungs,
inside of me, and it was smeared all over my breasts. ÒNo,Ó I tried to say
again. But perhaps she was right. IÕd taken a pill, but could it ward off
millions of sperm, pumped all over me and within me by a dozen lusty
men? I didnÕt know. I heard Bethany whimpering beside me and knew, if I
was to be in a maternity ward nine months from now, that sheÕd surely be
lying there beside me. WeÕd have our babies together. Perhaps Verona
herself would deliver them. She was a midwife, I was sure. She seemed
to know everything else. Bethany and I would scream out our birthing
pains and she would watch, and assist, much as sheÕd watched and
assisted in our getting pregnant.
ÒIf I get fucked up my bottom will a baby pop out of it?Ó I heard
Bow, ever awake, ever frisky, ask in her high-pitched voice.
ÒShush. Go upstairs!Ó I heard an exhausted Petra reply. I tried to
lift my head to look, but I was too tired.
ÒWell, I was just wondering,Ó Bow said. I heard her bare feet slap
on the wooden steps of the stairs. She counted them off, as she mounted
them, and I was reminded of having to count whip strokes.
30
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