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Bush reveals Gay liaison
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Elmer G. Bush, a steelworker in Pittsburg, revealed today that
heÕs had a gay lover for the past three years.
ÒI saw him in the bathroom, urinating. And I thought, ÔWhat a
great penis!Õ Bush confessed. ÒI just had to have that gorgeous thing up
my ass.
ÒAnd to think-- I almost waited to use the bathroom until I got
home. But then I thought, ÔWhat if thereÕs some hunky guy, with a
beautiful dick, peeing in the menÕs bathroom right now?! So I went in,
and there he was! WeÕve been lovers ever since.Ó
- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HOUSE OF FEAR
Chapter Two
Dawn was coming. Ryan could see its first budding glow through the
window of the bedroom where he had been ÒinstalledÓ, as the two females
now lying asleep on either side of him had laughed. Ryan rose from the
bed. It was sumptuous, with silk sheets, twin pillows, and a polished
antique hardwood frame. Stiffly Ryan walked to the window. Anna and
Melinda had been incredible. It had been like sleeping with lionesses.
Cats who had only one interest: his penis. Jed remembered their sharp-
nailed fingers stroking his shaft, teasing it, pinching it. He shuddered at
the thought of their lips, with their sharp white little teeth, gorging
themselves on his penis until he was sure he was in Hell, not Heaven, so
difficult was it for him to hold back his lust. But all the while, lying next
to the bed, driving him crazy just looking at it, had been the promised
retribution for an early spend: a flexible tube, made of clear plastic, that
the girls promised to grease and shove up his peehole if he came to soon.
Catheterization. The shock of seeing the tube lying there, when he
first entered the bedroom with the young women, had nearly made him
shoot his load into his pants. Softly the women had stroked his bulge,
freeing him slowly from the fabric of his trousered prison, and they had
explained to him how their previous visitor, lacking restraint, had been
catheterized after cumming too soon on the sheets. Of course Jed could
have resisted them, physically, but it was charming to see two sexy
females, whom he might have easily overpowered, bargaining with him for
his sperm. They wanted it up inside themselves, not smeared on the
bedsheet. But they did not want it immediately, being females. They
wanted to play first. They wanted to feel his hot lust running over them,
his breath and his hands, and they wanted to savor his hardness before
releasing it into themselves.
Jed felt his dick hanging loosely between his legs. He was
exhausted, now, his balls hanging like old mensÕ balls, like bells rung too
long and hard. His penis was shriveled, fatigued, all of its powerful
muscles and tendons spent to oblivion. Jed pulled back the bedroom
curtain. He looked out at the budding dawn. A red glow rose from between
the trees, as if caught in the branches.
Jed remembered Wendy. The glow of the dawn reminded him of her
bottom. Her punished bottom. He remembered the stoic look in her eyes
when he first spotted her, bound over the trestle. He remembered her
first eye-widening shock, as she felt the whip strike her bottom. She
wore panties then, when those first blows fell. The cord of the whip had
not shredded them yet, exposing her flesh.
Reaching for his penis, Jed felt himself begin to grow hard. He
stared at the dawn. It grew brighter. In his mindÕs eye he saw Wendy
grow frantic. The whip strokes were harder than sheÕd imagined. Poor
girl. She had never had the whip before. Her eyes grew wild as she felt
blow after blow come down hard on her bottom. Her panties tore, her
bottom cheeks bulged into view. Between her legs she became wetter than
she already was. Jed tickled her there and forced a groaning laugh from
her gag-silenced lips. A laugh that was cut short by the arrival, yet again,
of RyanÕs whip. A bit of the cord had struck one of JedÕs fingers. It had
hurt. He was forced to withdraw his hand from between WendyÕs legs. He
sucked his finger, admiring WendyÕs fortitude.
He stood up from the stool, that he had nicknamed the milking stool,
Jed recalled. As he stared at the dawn he recalled walking around behind
Wendy, leaving her hanging breasts in order to savor the torment of her
bottom. Red stripes showed, on the deliberately pampered white flesh.
Each stroke brought a new moan of agony from the gagged girl. Her back
heaved, her head twisted, her knees locked, her toes strained. Although
each whip stroke caused the poor girl to buck, she could not get up. The
ropes held her fast to the trestle.
Jed remembered too WendyÕs first rest period. The two women,
casual observers of her ordeal, came forward, still clothed, and untied her.
Wendy stood up with difficulty. Her bottom was sore and the skin, pulled
taut and scorched, did not like being readjusted. Wendy howled through
her gag. Her hands flew back to her seat. But it was only the beginning,
and the others laughed at her distress. She was merely reddened, the
weals had yet to come. Ryan was an expert at producing damage by
degrees, in order to lengthen the victimÕs pain and prolong her agony.
Wendy was walked round the dungeon, to bring natural circulation
back to her hindquarters. She was ungagged, given wine. Greedily she
drank it. She held the glass with both hands, childlike. With each gulp her
stiff-nippled breasts wobbled. Her cunt, unsatisfied, moistened the
gusset of her white half-ruined panties.
And then it was back down over the trestle, Wendy protesting, the
two men having to tie her now, for her kicking and screaming was too
much for the women to take command of. She was tied with the same
ruthless tightness. Jed felt as if he were helping to put an animal down
for branding. And then the whip came, this time wielded not by Ryan but
by his 21-year-old wife. Her hand was less certain. Strokes intended
merely to scorch raised the flesh instead, leaving a painful red ridge in
their wake. Ryan, excited by the sight of his wife whipping another
woman, made her pause in her blows and strip down to her waist. Her
breasts freed, she continued, each stroke cast by her arm sending her
breasts into delicious shivers.
When at last the punishment was done, after many more whip
strokes, after several more rest breaks, after more sobbing and pleading
from Wendy, all of which went unheeded, then at last she was permitted
the comfort of a soft bed. She was given more wine, to make her sleep.
Her bottom was creamed by the women, to help it heal. And then Jed was
taken to bed, in a separate room, with RyanÕs wife and the girl Anna,
whose hair was as red as poor WendyÕs bottom. As his girlfriend slept in
the next room, Jed was ÔinstalledÕ. He was treated like a prize stud, put to
work after the races in a well-groomed pasture. The two women were
ravenous. Ryan watched at first, still clothed, from the bedside, as Jed
was put through his early paces. And then he left the young man to his
wife, and her lusty companion. He retreated to another bedroom with the
other women and men. Occasionally, over the hot concentration of their
own lovemaking, Jed could her Ryan and the others. It was a party of lust
to which all were invited, except the guest of honor, Wendy, who slept
soundlessly in a wine-induced sleep.
In the quiet of the morning she crept downstairs. The house was
quiet, seemed asleep. Her first thought, upon awakening, was that her
lover must have purchased a larger bed. She felt the softness of the silk
sheets underneath her and murmured her appreciation. Then she felt her
bottom. It came into her consciousness as a sharp, painful sore. Two big
sores, big as her hind cheeks, which she did not have to reach back and
touch in order to feel.
ÒOoooh!Ó Wendy gasped. How her bottom hurt! And yet there was a
coolness to it too, on the surface, for a women, unseen, had crept into the
room a quarter-hour before and re-creamed it for her. Wendy did not know
this, of course, and when she finally found the courage to reach back and
touch herself, she was surprised to find her bottom wet, thick with
soothing ointment.
Her next thought, rolling gingerly on her side, was bizarre: ÒDo they
care so little for me that they didnÕt even bother to tie me?Ó she
wondered. It was an involuntary thought, coming unbidden to her brain, as
she found her limbs completely free, herself no more captive in this room
than a sunbeam. The door was open. She had no chains, no ropes, no
manacles. She was simply naked, with a sore bottom, and loads of cream
on her ass. She sat up.
ÒOoooooh!Ó Wendy cried. Then, with an eagerness she could not
understand, she leapt to her feet and hurried to a full-length mirror. It
stood just inside the bathroom, beckoning her. Within this private space,
a bathroom reserved solely for her bedroom, she turned and looked at her
ass. It had a pattern of weals. Red ridges criss-crossed her ass, making
it look like a road map. Her once-white behind, so carefully protected
from the sun, was now beet red. Wendy shuddered. Again her thoughts
were strange: she found herself remarking that she must have been quite
good to receive such scrupulous attention. A deserving female, one whom
men (and women!) were willing to spend hours upon. However nasty they
might have been to her, they had made her the center of attention, for
hours on end, heeding her every cry, inducing her every movement, playing
upon her as a violinist might use a prized Stradivarius.
With such mixed emotions, wincing whenever she took a step, Wendy
went downstairs. She found the wedding cake. It sat in the living room,
carved, half-eaten. She was famished. They had fed her wine, to make her
drunk, but they had not given her anything to eat during her ÔbreaksÕ from
the trestle. Now she approached the cake with trepidation. It symbolized
her present pain, her date with the whip. Yet she found it irresistible.
The vanilla icing had been delicious, and the little flowers remaining on
the cake seemed to wink at her, red roses tempting her to her doom.
Wendy cut herself a piece of cake. She held the knife unsteadily. It
was big, sharp. It frightened her. It flashed in the sunlight when she used
it, the sun streaming in through a half-open curtain to lie with seeming ill
omen upon the knife.
Opening her mouth wide to accommodate the big piece sheÕd cut for
herself, Wendy wondered: Did she seek some deeper debasement? Is that
why she was standing here now, naked, eating cake instead of hunting up
clothes and escaping through the front door? It seemed bizarre for her to
be standing in front of a day-old wedding cake, her tits wobbling as she
chewed, her mind distracted by crumbs falling on her breasts. Should she
not be seeking a phone? Should she not be calling a cab, or the police?
Well, it would be quite a ways for a cab to travel, to get all the way
up to this old place, Wendy told herself. It had obviously been built as a
place of recluse, a place to separate oneself from the prying eyes, and the
suffocating norms, of society. In another place, closer to civilization, she
would have qualms about standing in front of a half-open curtain, letting
the sun spear in and illuminate her bareness. But she and Jed had not seen
any houses for miles around in approaching this mansion. She knew no
once would see her, save those who had already entertained themselves
with a view of her naked, whipped bottom.
As she munched on the cake, Wendy became aware of a piece of
plastic sticking out of the cakeÕs interior. It had not been visible before.
Her knife had freed the side of the thing, whatever it was, and it gleamed
at her with a kind of ruddy red glow, made of plastic. A curiosity seized
Wendy. At the same time a little voice told her to beware. But she was
alone, she reminded herself. Surely a little prying into the innermost part
of the cake would do no harm. The thing was practically as old and
crumbling now as the mansion itself.
Wendy dug into the cake. She freed the side of the object, moving
upward, until she suddenly uncovered a bulbous red nose. Immediately
Wendy drew back. She guessed its identity all of a sudden.
ÒAh yes,Ó a male voice said. Wendy jumped back. Her plate fell to
the floor. The carpeting did not cover the floor entirely and it was
WendyÕs misfortune that her plate hit a part of the floor that was made of
wood planks. The sound of the plate shattering seemed loud enough to
wake everyone in the house. Wendy had no fork, she had been eating the
cake with her fingers, but the fork would have fallen too if sheÕd had it,
and Ryan, standing in the living roomÕs doorway, seemed to acknowledge
as much with his eyes. ÒYou are a messy eater,Ó he told her. ÒAnd you
have no respect for my grandmotherÕs china.Ó
ÒI- IÕm sorry!Ó Wendy cried. Suddenly she saw herself over the
trestle once more, and she did not like it. Her bottom could take no more.
She positively froze, her mouth open in a rictus of fear, as Ryan
approached her. Already he was dressed, looking like a GQ advertisement
in his expensive suit. Wendy, on the other hand, still had morning breath,
now mingled with cake, and her body was as nude as that of a newborn
babe.
Nonetheless Ryan seized her. He clasped her hard in her arms. She
resisted; he kissed her shamelessly. His tongue intruded into her mouth
and he shared the taste of cake with her.
ÒYou are so sweet,Ó Ryan said, when he allowed Wendy at last to
draw a breath, taking his tongue out of her mouth and leaving her feeling
as if sheÕd been mouth-fucked by a penis, so vigorous was his kiss. ÒAnd
now you must take, as promised, that which has been found inside the
cake. By you, no less! You must take it within your bottom.Ó
Apprehensively Wendy looked at the dildo. She was an anal virgin.
Ryan knew this, and he watched her eyes with amusement as she looked at
the dildo. It was of a considerable size. WendyÕs eyes visibly showed
alarm as she thought of the untested capacity of her ass.
ÒWill... Will it hurt?Ó Wendy inquired.
ÒYes. It will be difficult to take,Ó Ryan smiled.
ÒI... I wedged a frisbee in my bottom crack when I was eight,Ó Wendy
offered.
Ryan laughed. ÒYou are not to wedge anything in your crack, my
dear,Ó Ryan told the girl. ÒYou are to take it straight up your behind. It
will be sunk right in, like a turd being returned to its lawful owner.Ó
ÒOhhhh, I donÕt make turds that big!Ó Wendy cried. Ryan stroked the
hair that fell down past her right eye, trailing along her cheek and down
past her neck, trying in vain to cover her right breast.
ÒIt is not of an impossible size,Ó Ryan consoled the girl. ÒAfter all,
I am not trying to kill you. Although the thought of being required to
impale such a thing in a young lady, in order to take her life, as was done
in the middle ages is, I admit, intriguing.Ó He kissed her, once, on the
cheek. ÒBut this is merely a dildo of a challenging size,Ó he reassured her.
ÒAnd you will be given plenty of practise before you have to get it up you.
But that is your mission here, now, in this house. You must think of
nothing else. You have passed the test required of all new disciples, a
basement whipping.Ó He kissed her again, noting the fear in her eyes.
ÒYes, your lover knew all along that you were to be stripped and whipped,Ó
Ryan told her. ÒBut he brought you anyway. And I will tell you something
else, something he confided in me a week ago, when he arranged to bring
you here and also told me about your bottomÕs virginity. He does not love
you. He admires your beauty, but he considers you too young to satisfy his
deepest desires. Even now he is busy fucking my wife, I imagine. She is
older. Her added years slake his unfulfilled lust for his mother. My
wifeÕs, and also Anna, who is older still, are what he really wants in life.
But you came along, too beautiful to resist, so he took you under his arm,
and amused himself with you. But you will note that last night, as you lay
in complete vulnerability over the trestle, he did not fuck you. Instead he
saved himself for my wife, and her friend.Ó
Wendy was somewhere between that state one sometimes finds
oneself in, utter disbelief and a sinking knowledge that what one is
hearing is true.
ÒAnd-- And you?Ó Wendy finally managed to stammer. Ryan plucked
at one of her nipples with his right hand.
ÒI wish to see you properly used,Ó Ryan told her. ÒYou have a fine
ass. DonÕt worry about the weals. They will heal. Your bottom will attain
its white perfection again, its china-like glow. Your teats are healthy and
large. Look! Your nipples stand up perfectly on your breasts, traitorously
ready for action. Your belly is smooth, soft, yet flat. Your pussy is snug
and warm, a tight refuge for a man to thrust himself into. I would be
proud to own you.Ó Ryan reached down and patted WendyÕs belly.
ÒO.. Own,Ó WendyÕs pretty red lips finally managed to ask.
ÒYes. Own,Ó Ryan replied. ÒThere are a group of men like myself
who take pleasure in collecting and trading young females. And in putting
them through their paces, of course. I do not love you, because I hardly
know you. But I would be proud to train you.Ó
ÒO- Oh,Ó Wendy gasped. Strangely, she found herself pressing her
body closer to the man. His suit felt wonderful against her naked breasts.
They crushed themselves up against him, and she felt as if they were
somehow violating him.
ÒOf course I would demand complete obedience,Ó Ryan told the girl.
ÒY- Yes sir,Ó Wendy answered. Her voice was a whisper. His finger
found her navel and prodded briefly within it. She shuddered. Her bottom
cheeks quivered.
Ryan looked around. From somewhere upstairs there was a groan, as
someone, some two, began to make love.
ÒThere is sufficient here for my guests to entertain themselves,
along with my wife,Ó Ryan remarked. His gaze fell once more on Wendy.
ÒYou and I could slip away, to someplace even more private than this, so
that I might concentrate myself completely upon you.Ó
ÒOh!Ó Wendy gasped. She shook her head ÔnoÕ. Then, bizarrely, she
asked, ÒW- Would there be others?Ó
Ryan touched the right cheek of her ass. Wendy shrieked. Trembling
in his arms, she tightened her bottom. Slowly RyanÕs finger began to trail
across her tight, juddering right hind.
ÒOthers are what make captivity so special,Ó Ryan whispered.
Wendy nearly fell to the floor. RyanÕs tight grip restrained her.
ÒYou mean to use me, then. F- For my body,Ó Wendy said to Ryan,
when finally she recovered herself. She gave him an accusing stare.
ÒTo use you thoroughly,Ó Ryan replied nonchalantly. ÒYour mind is of
no interest to me, except for its willpower. That I am greatly interested
in, for it delimits your ability to bear up under torture. For it is that
which truly interests me, committing to torture a beautiful young girl like
yourself.Ó
ÒF- Fiancee,Ó Wendy corrected.
ÒAh yes,Ó Ryan agreed. He laughed. ÒFor I surely wouldnÕt want to
waste myself on marrying you. You are beautiful in this age, in this era.
You will always be beautiful, of course, but in a more mature way. I wish
to pluck you while you still bear a cherry. Your bottom is virgin, isnÕt it?Ó
ÒY- Yes,Ó Wendy said in a small, frightened voice. Grandly Ryan
reached back and touched her behind. Wendy let out another small shriek.
They went upstairs. They went silently as they could, so as not to
be heard. He watched her shivering as she walked. He knew it was not
just from the cold. She was unfulfilled. He might have slaked himself on
her there and then. She was, after all, naked, the last remnant of her
panties lost hours ago, under the whip. But he did not satisfy himself
with her, for he feared in doing so she might be satisfied too. He wished
to keep her balanced on the edge of desire. There, she was malleable. If
she found release she might revert to her shy, virginal ways. She had
spent 16 years in virginity. He did not wish to let her slip back into that
frame of mind, that had kept her a virgin all through junior high and high
school. He wished to liberate her.
Together, him holding her hand in reassurance, they went into the
master bedroom. It was the room he shared with his wife. But she was
down the hall, with WendyÕs boyfriend. They could hear the sounds of their
lovemaking. Wendy shuddered and gripped RyanÕs hand more tightly.
He gave her clothes. They were his wifeÕs clothes. She was not as
tall as his wife and so the skirt he gave her fell a little low on her legs.
His wifeÕs blouse hung down below her hips. But the 16-year-oldÕs
bustline was similar to MelindaÕs. Ryan enjoyed the easy way WendyÕs
breasts filled his wifeÕs blouse. He went to the bureau where his wife
kept her lingerie. He found panties for the girl, small red satin panties
that would fit her slim hips. But Wendy declined the panties. Looking into
MelindaÕs drawer, reaching down eventually to the bottom of it, Wendy
chose functional panties instead. They had flowers on them. Lavender
flowers, with stems and green leaves. They were panties that RyanÕs wife
had worn as a teenager. Wendy slipped them on. Her breath caught in her
throat as the panties touched the skin of her ass.
ÒOoooooh,Ó Wendy gasped.
ÒDo they fit?Ó Ryan asked of the panties. Wendy nodded. The panties
were too small now for Melinda, with her full-grown hips, but they fit the
teenager. Ryan suggested a bra. Wendy bit her lip. She shook her head no.
Her nipples sprouted beneath her blouse. Twin cherry stems, pointing
suddenly into the blouseÕs fabric, perfect adornments for the ice-cream
scoops of her breasts.
ÒIt excites you to skip the bra,Ó Ryan said. Wendy only looked at
him, her lower lip still between her teeth. Ryan put a finger to her mouth.
He eased her teeth off her lower lip. ÒDo not do that,Ó Ryan said. He
touched the indentation left by her teeth on her lip. ÒSee? It leaves a
mark,Ó he said.
Wendy lowered her eyes. She pressed her hands to her hips. She
wanted to reach back and rub her bottom, to attempt to soothe it, but if
they were going out she knew she must restrain herself. She could not be
seen in public touching herself.
ÒI- I thought you wished to see me marked,Ó Wendy said ruefully.
ÒI will mark you,Ó Ryan explained. ÒYou will not mark yourself.Ó He
took her hand. He attempted to lead her from the room. But she let out a
shriek the minute she took a step. Immediately her hand flew out of his
own. She reached under her skirt, which was his wifeÕs skirt, and yanked
down the panties.
ÒWhatÕs the matter with them?Ó Ryan asked.
ÒMy bottom!Ó Wendy answered, wide-eyed. Ryan laughed.
ÒYour bottom hurts too much for you to dress?Ó he asked. Wendy
nodded, like a child recovering from the sting of a bee. Ryan touched
WendyÕs right nipple, poking up through her blouse. The girl winced. ÒAnd
your breasts,Ó Ryan said. ÒYour husband pinched them, didnÕt he, as he
milked them with his hands. They are still sore.Ó Wendy nodded again.
ÒGive me the panties,Ó Ryan said. ÒI will put them in my pocket. You can
put them on later, when you are able to stand them.Ó Bending down, she
took off the panties. Carefully she stepped out of them, wincing a little
as the flesh of her bottom felt the rustling of his wifeÕs skirt. She gave
him the panties. He folded the insubstantial bit of cotton. He put it in his
right pants pocket, where he kept his wallet, next to the noticeable bulge
of his dick.
They travelled by air. He did not tell her where they were going. He
took her first class all the way because sitting was difficult for her, and
he did not want her discomfort to be too widely noticed. On the second
day of their journey he inspected her bottom, in their hotel room. The
redness was fading.
She saw, very briefly, Paris and then Tel Aviv. They stayed only for
a night in each place. Ryan said they must rest, must conserve their
strength. She slept close-pressed against him, in the big hotel room beds.
But, despite his stiffness, Ryan refused to take her. His restraint pleased
Wendy at first. Then it began to frighten her. He was obviously in need.
His underpants strained with his desire. But he refused to release
himself, refused to let her ease his discomfort. Like an athlete awaiting a
big game, he kept his considerable strength under wraps. However he
insisted that she be naked, or almost so, purchasing a baby-doll nightie
for her in a shop in a hotel lobby. It was see-through. He could see all of
her in it. Yet even then he did not fondle her in it, letting her sleep next to
him but otherwise ignoring her. She began to worry about him. Obviously
he was lusting for her, yet she sensed he was saving her. For someone
else, she wondered? The thought troubled her. But she did not ask him
about it. He was so much older than herself. She viewed him with awed
respect. She admired his age, his certainty. He knew what he wanted,
whatever that was. She was determined to try to be as mature in her
attitudes as he was.
They arrived by commercial jet in Saudi Arabia. It looked hot from
the airplane windows. There was a trackless waste stretching beneath
them and then, quite suddenly, where they touched down, Wendy found
herself on a runway between tall, scattered buildings. Smaller buildings
clustered amidst the big ones, as if trying to shelter under them from the
rays of the sun. While the plane taxied down the runway Wendy counted
the palm trees that she saw. One, two, three was all she saw. But she
noticed a breeze It tousled the palms. It picked up the sand, which snaked
amidst the buildings beyond the airport fence, and spilled it into the
street that ran along the runway. Passing cars picked up the sand. They
cast it into the air, where the wind caught it again.
Ryan and Wendy disembarked by a speedway directly into the airport.
Amidst the bustling of the people in the terminal, Wendy still sensed the
heat outside. She looked through the airport windows as they walked
down a long hall. The heat seemed to be waiting for Wendy. It radiated up
from the asphalt runway. It lingered among the buildings beyond the
airport fence. Wendy gripped RyanÕs hand. Ryan looked at her.
ÒIÕm frightened,Ó Wendy whispered to Ryan. He smiled, said nothing.
Ryan phoned for a cab. It pulled close to the doors of the terminal.
Ryan stepped out, taking Wendy with him. It was then that the heat hit
her. It was like a wall, suffocating. Wendy wanted to cry out but a
moment later she was sequestered inside the cab, with Ryan. The cab was
air-conditioned. She pressed close to Ryan. His body felt cool. The air-
conditioning from the airport still clung to it. The driver asked where
they wished to go. Ryan leaned forward and handed the man a card. The
driver looked at it, nodded
During the drive to the home where they would be staying, the home
of a friend of RyanÕs, the man explained to Wendy why he had brought her
halfway around the world.
ÒHere, in what is called The Desert Kingdom, the laws are quite
strict,Ó Ryan explained to Wendy. He held her close to him. She stroked
his suit with her fingers. Their clothes were fresh, new clothes
purchased in Israel in a Duty Free shop. She wore a Gucci blazer with a
matching cloth vest and skirt. He wore a suit and tie by Hilfinger. But
under her fine new clothes, under her bra, Wendy could feel her nipples
standing up. They were like twin thorns. They strained against the silk of
her bra, as if protesting against it. Ryan, beside her, had grown a bulge in
his crotch. It looked like a snake hiding inside his pants. It was big,
thick. Wendy glanced furtively at it. Ryan watched her eyes. He cleared
his throat. Then he opened his thighs, making his bulge more pronounced
under the cloth of his zippered fly. He stroked her bare neck. He continued
speaking.
ÒThey practise something called Purdah here,Ó Ryan told Wendy. ÒIt
means Ôthe keeping of the womanÕ. It means you will have no rights here,
save those you earn through me. But you should not see Purdah as a prison.
Far from it. You will be kept as a man keeps a prize flower. You are too
special, too precious to be allowed to go where you please. Imagine a man
leaving a diamond in the street. That is how it is in America, when a
father allows his daughter out, or a husband permits his wife to go where
she pleases. Such things are not condoned here. The wife belongs to the
husband, the daughter to the father.Ó
Wendy looked at RyanÕs face. It was lined with his 50-plus years.
His temples were grey. She did not know, as he sat holding her hand in the
back of the cab, whether she was to be his wife or his daughter. She
glanced out the window beyond him. They were in the trackless waste
now. There was desert all around. They were no longer in Ryadh, where
their plane had landed. The airport, the modern lines of the newly built
buildings of that city, were all somewhere behind them. Wendy shifted
around and looked out the cabÕs back window. She saw nothing. Sand
dunes, that was all. And an asphalt road snaking between them. The road
had only two lanes. It looked lonely.
ÒLook at me,Ó Ryan said. He caught WendyÕs face in his hand. The
blonde had a small, pixie-like face. Forcibly Ryan returned WendyÕs gaze
to his own. The girlÕs eyes were big in her face. Blue eyes, with long
lashes that fluttered. Wendy seemed like a butterfly to Ryan, with her
long-lashed, nervously fluttering eyes.
Wendy opened her lips. She spoke.
ÒYou will hurt me,Ó Wendy said. Her voice was weak.
ÒI will train you,Ó Ryan answered. His voice was firm and hard.
Wendy blinked at Ryan. With her free hand she traced a line with her
finger along the sleeve of his coat.
ÒWill- will I have to be naked when I am trained?Ó Wendy asked. Her
voice was nervous. Ryan felt himself grow suddenly rigid in his $500
pants, even more so than he already was.
ÒYou will be quite naked,Ó Ryan answered, after a long moment.
Wendy gripped RyanÕs sleeve. He leaned forward and kissed her.
The wind was blowing when they got out of the cab. The heat was
intense. Ryan paid the driver. Then he hurried Wendy into the courtyard of
a moderately-sized home. It looked new. There were no other homes
nearby. There was just the wind, and the heat, and this one house, with a
blue-tiled roof and walls, painted green, that were already being
dustblown to the color of dun. Wendy saw no palm trees at all. Instead,
sitting inside the low walls of the courtyard, she saw just a few potted
flowers. They looked like rare gems amidst the sand.
ÒOh, flowers!Ó Wendy gasped. But Ryan gripped her hand more
tightly. He led her to the door of the home. He knocked on the door. A man
answered, a few moments later. He was an Arab.
ÒRyan!Ó the man laughed. ÒI got your message.Ó He looked at Ryan.
His gaze was hearty and warm. Wendy saw that he was a big man, with a
heavier build than Ryan. He looked ten years younger than Ryan, with black
hair and a black mustache. But he was still forty, even with his black
hair. He was over two decades older than Wendy. His size and his age
made her nervous, despite his warm gaze. His eyes trailed over to Wendy
as he continued speaking to Ryan. His gaze seemed to undress her. ÒIÕm
glad you called, Ryan,Ó the Arab continued. ÒI would have been out if you
hadnÕt. In Europe, in fact, doing a little gambling.Ó The ArabÕs eyes
finished scanning Wendy. He seemed to like what he saw. Then he looked
at Ryan again. ÒYou have brought quite a prize,Ó the Arab said to Ryan.
ÒPlease do come in.Ó
They entered the home. It was Western-furnished inside. Wendy
saw couches and framed pictures in the living room, a bouquet of flowers,
a tall clock with a pendulum ticking off the time.
ÒPlease be seated,Ó the Arab said. ÒWe have much to discuss since
your last visit. In addition to getting a new home I now have a new wife.Ó
ÒOh,Ó Ryan said. He took Wendy to a couch. It was leather. Gently he
encouraged her to sit down. She did, her breath catching a little as her
bottom touched the seat.
ÒYou have been teaching her,Ó the Arab noted.
ÒA little,Ó Ryan grinned. The Arab laughed again. ÒLet me bring out
my new wife and show her to you,Ó he said. ÒI think you will be quite
proud of me.Ó
To WendyÕs surprise, the wife of the Arab was white. She was
perhaps a year or two older than Wendy. Her eyes were dark, as was her
long hair. She did not look shy, as Wendy did, but rather, despite her
deference to her Arab husband, there was a fire in her eyes. It made
Wendy gasp. Wendy sensed the wife had already gone to places,
emotionally, that Wendy could only dream about... and fear. With her chin
high, her eyes radiating a sense of command, the young dark-haired girl
sat down on the couch beside Wendy. Her breath did not catch in her throat
as she sat. Her hand was not trembling when it took WendyÕs, though
WendyÕs was. The dark-haired woman slipped a finger up WendyÕs wrist.
She felt the girlÕs pulse.
All eyes were on the wife now, WendyÕs, the ArabÕs, RyanÕs. Her
attire was both conservative and yet relaxed. She wore a long robe. It
wrapped itself scarf-like around her neck, looking, to Wendy, a little like
an elaborate noose. Then her robe fell down her back and swathed her flat
belly, and hung down over her bush and around her legs. But there was a
slit in the robe on each side, travelling from her feet all the way up to the
tops of her hips. It exposed the sides of the girlÕs legs: her ankles, her
calves, her thighs, all the way up above her bottom and bush, which Wendy
glimpsed as the young wife walked over to her and sat down. The most
striking thing about the young womanÕs gown was how it avoided her
breasts. Despite clothing her from her neck to her toes, it was wrapped
such that it left her breasts free. They were of a considerable size. They
jutted forth with youthfulness and health, white bosoms with rosy red
nipples. The nipples, both the left and the right, were erect. They seemed
to jab at Wendy as the wife leaned toward her. Wendy drew back. The
wife laughed.
ÒI am glad to meet you,Ó the dark-haired girl told Wendy. Her voice
was beguilingly soft, in contrast to the air of command in her eyes. Wendy
relaxed a little. ÒMy name is Rose,Ó the wife told Wendy. ÒIt is not my
real name, but it is the name my husband prefers. He says roses are
difficult to grow in this climate. Yet I am here, in full bloom, as he likes
to say. And so he calls me Rose.Ó
ÒHi,Ó Wendy said. Her face blushed.
Rose looked to her husband, then to Ryan. She seemed to be seeking
permission. Ryan adjusted his stance. Wendy sensed he was becoming
aroused, even more so than in the car. She glanced at his crotch. Its bulge
had increased.
ÒYou are welcome in my husbandÕs home,Ó Rose told Wendy, her gaze
returning to the girl. RoseÕs voice was still whispery soft. But her eyes
penetrated deep into WendyÕs. The blonde longed to look away. But she
felt herself transfixed, like a butterfly on a nail, by the dark eyes of the
woman sitting beside her. RoseÕs grip on her wrist, on her pulse,
increased. ÒThere must not be any misunderstandings, however,Ó Rose
told Wendy. ÒAs you can see, there is not much here. Outside the house, I
mean. There is only the desert, and the heat. Intense heat. You felt it, IÕm
sure, as you entered. It is a heat you could never hope to survive if you
left here alone, by yourself, without permission. And at night it becomes
very cold. Heat in the day, a deep chill at night.Ó RoseÕs finger stroked
WendyÕs wrist.
ÒBut within my husbandÕs home, we are able to create our own
world,Ó Rose continued. ÒYou will find it quite beautiful here, with the
flowers in the courtyard, and the soft rugs, and the expensive pictures.Ó
RoseÕs eyes darted to a framed painting of a girl picking flowers. She
wore a white blouse, a white bonnet. Her long legs were bare. Wendy
followed RoseÕs eyes. She noted that the girl in the painting, whom sheÕd
been too nervous to study when she entered the home, was without
panties, without even a dress. Her bottom showed. It was bare, white-
fleshed amidst a red field of flowers.
ÒYes,Ó Rose continued, stroking WendyÕs pulse. ÒIt is quite
beautiful, and quite comfortable too. As you can see I have no need of a
brasseire. My husband does not permit me to wear one. It is not needed,
within the walls of our home, despite the cruelty of the heat outside and
the chill of the night. I can be free here. I can show myself. Indeed I am
required to. When my husband heard that you were coming he insisted that
I greet you this way, showing you how easy we have it here, despite being
deep in the desert.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Wendy said. Her eyes stared at the womanÕs tits. They were
beautiful, like newgrown udders, fresh-made for milking.
ÒAnd so I would like to have you feel as comfortable and free as I
do,Ó Rose told Wendy. She reached for WendyÕs blazer. Wendy drew back
but the womanÕs hands caught the item, pulled it open. ÒOh my,Ó Rose
said, seeing Wendy wore a cloth vest underneath. ÒSo many clothes. It is
necessary, I suppose, for travelling. But here you can be free.Ó
ÒI--Ó Wendy began. She wanted to say, ÒI do not want to be free,Ó
but she could not get the words out of her mouth. She stared at Rose.
Softly, yet with a quickness bordering on haste, the young wife divested
Wendy of her blazer. Then she took off WendyÕs vest and her blouse. The
young wifeÕs ample tits quivered as she worked. Her nipples rose up,
growing before WendyÕs eyes. Finally Rose reached around behind Wendy.
She undid WendyÕs bra. Wendy felt RoseÕs hot breath on her face. RoseÕs
big tits pressed against her own. WendyÕs bra was unhooked. Rose pulled
it away. WendyÕs tits sprang out, big and free and delicate, soft as the
morning. Her red nipples were already hard.
ÒAh. You see,Ó Rose observed. She touched a finger to WendyÕs right
tit. To her nipple, stroking the pebble-hard flesh. Wendy looked down.
She watched the womanÕs finger, felt it, shuddered beneath its feathery
touch. The Arab, standing nearby, cleared his throat.
ÒGo on,Ó the Arab said to his wife. His voice sounded gruff. It made
Wendy shiver. Rose noted her fear and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.
ÒHere,Ó Rose said, taking WendyÕs wrist again, ÒThere is not only
comfort. There is also training. It is hard and difficult. Despite the
softeness of flowers in the courtyard, and the pleasantness of our home,
the things we do to each other in here are occasionally cruel. My husband
can be like the desert. Intense, unrelenting. And he has taught me to be
the same way, with women that I adore.Ó Rose lifted her hand. She
stroked WendyÕs cheek, where sheÕd kissed her. ÒWomen like you,Ó Rose
said.
ÒI- I do not know what you mean,Ó Wendy squeaked.
ÒLet us start with the tits, then,Ó Rose said. She put her hands to
WendyÕs white breasts. She clutched them. Wendy felt the womanÕs
fingers impressing upon her flesh. She let out a small scream. ÒHow soft
and perfect they are,Ó Rose said, ignoring WendyÕs outburst. ÒBut such
perfect, healthy tits must be conditioned. They must learn. Right now I
suspect you think of your tits as simply a part of yourself. Perhaps an
embarrassing part of yourself, since my husband informs me that you are
only 16. But with certain techniques, the bosoms of a female can become
very erotic. Not simply two wiggling, nervous mounds of flesh but smooth
and commanding. Did you notice the way I bore my breasts when I entered
the room? Proudly, imposingly. Of course they still wiggled. Nothing
short of a bra, or old age, can prevent that. But I held them, and held
myself, in such a way that I saw you shrink back in fear. Imagine that!
Surely you have showered with other girls in high school, and seen your
motherÕs breasts bare, and also the bare breasts of women in bathrooms,
adjusting their clothes. Yet you shrank from my bosoms, despite their
obvious beauty.Ó
Rose put a hand to WendyÕs belly. It was flat, flat against her hand.
WendyÕs breath caught in her throat. Her belly contracted, drew inward,
making her ribs, already visible, stand out all the more.
ÒAnd then there is your tummy,Ó Rose said. ÒHow hollow it looks! It
must be filled. My husband is suitable for the task. And Ryan too, despite
his many years.
30
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