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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SUMMER OF SIN
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Chapter One
During my 13th summer, I was sent to live with my aunt. It was
either that or ÒSummer Fun.Ó I had come to loathe the latter. So my
parents, to get what they called a little Ôpeace of mind,Õ sent me to bother
my aunt. SheÕs 22. She had been married but it hadnÕt worked out, save
for the divorce, which left her with enough money to let her travel in high
society. It also left my aunt with a debt, to my parents. TheyÕd let her
stay with us while she was separating from her husband. It had only been
for a week, the year before, but that had been, in the way families settle
such matters I suppose, enough time for them to be able to stick me with
her for a month.
It didnÕt hurt that my aunt was staying in a villa outside Paris when
my parents decided to send me to her. Perhaps a week in a small, crowded
house in suburbia equals a month in a large, country villa in Paris where
there are servants to take care of everything. In any event, I showed up,
my suitcase and my teddy bear in hand. I was restless and ready to party,
and I hoped she was too.
She was. My second day there, my aunt, Rebecca, sat out back and
watched me as I played in her pool. I had my new bikini on. I was hitting
around a beachball. She was wearing a bikini too, plus a large straw
broadbrimmed hat. She relaxed in a chaise lounge, smoking a Virginia
Slims cigarette.
ÒChloe,Ó Rebecca called to me. ÒChloe. Come here a moment,
please?Ó she asked. I pulled myself out of the pool. I brought the beach
ball with me, sticking it under one arm. I padded over to her. I was wet.
She was smooth and dry and had just come from the house a few minutes
before. I stood dripping water down onto her. Not purposely, of course.
When I realized I was doing it I stepped back a little. But Rebecca put out
her arm and slipped it around the small of my back and drew me close to
her again, not minding the water. I had long blonde hair and she reached up
with her free hand, while still balancing a cigarette in her fingers, and
brushed back my hair from my eyes. ÒYou have grown since I saw you last
year,Ó Rebecca said to me. My bottom tensed with impatience and my toes
fidgeted.
ÒYes,Ó I said. Then, not wishing to pass up a chance to exploit her
attentiveness, I asked, ÒCan we go out this evening, hmmm?Ó RebeccaÕs
eyes glanced from my face to my body. She seemed to analyze me. For a
moment I felt like a fresh cut of meat in the butcher shop; my tits
weighed, the width of my hips apprized, the smallness of my waist.
Rebecca put a finger up by my breasts and drew an imaginary line right
down through the middle of me, from my breasts through my navel to the
waistband of my bikini panties. The feel of her perfectly manicured nail
sliding down my front made me shiver. She looked up in my eyes again.
ÒI have been invited to a party this evening,Ó Rebecca said to me.
Her eyes were deep and dark brown. They matched her rich auburn hair.
Mine were large pools of blue and she seemed to search them for an
answer to a question she almost dared not put to me.
ÒMay I go?Ó I asked in a quick, impatient, high-pitched voice. My
question was met with silence. She ran her fingernail down my middle
again. Then, quietly, she replied,
ÒIt is an adult party.Ó
ÒOhhhh,Ó I said, disgustedly, thinking that she definitely meant to
exclude me.
ÒBut perhaps you might come,Ó Rebecca said, looking again at my
hips.
ÒOh, what will we be wearing?Ó I asked happily. I was determined,
with the adroitness of a child seeking a toy, to turn her ÔmaybeÕ into a
Ôyes.Õ
ÒSwimsuits,Ó Rebecca said. ÒBikinis.Ó
ÒOh, wonderful!Ó I said. I was eager to show off my new bikini to
someone other than my aunt. Feeling a bit mischievous, knowing Europe
had some beaches that were more open than AmericaÕs, I asked, ÒWill we
be topless?Ó
ÒIt is a private party, dear,Ó Rebecca replied. ÒOf course we will be
topless.Ó
I swallowed. I hadnÕt quite expected such a direct, permissive
answer as that. But I was in France, after all.
ÒOh, I like swimming parties!Ó I enthused.
ÒThere will not be a pool there,Ó Rebecca said. I flinched. My auntÕs
eyes gazed into mine. I felt myself shiver. ÒIt is downtown,Ó my aunt
said. ÒIn a rented home. They have a small back yard, but they do not have
a pool.Ó
ÒBut we will be wearing our bikinis?Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó Rebecca said. ÒAnd jewelry. And gloves, like when one
attends the opera.Ó
I felt butterflies rise up in my belly. My aunt was so fine and
exquisite. With perfect poise, having just shocked me to my toes, she took
a drag on her cigarette, as simply as if sheÕd just told me weÕd be
spending the evening at home, playing bridge.
ÒWill there be guys there?Ó I heard myself stammer.
ÒNone your age, dear,Ó Rebecca said. She patted the flatness of my
belly. ÒYou were not expected, IÕm afraid. But IÕm sure our hosts, when
they have a look at you, will be willing to let you attend. We must have
you looking your best, though. I do not want to have to take you and then
bring you back home within the same hour. Do you wish to come? You may
stay home if you wish.Ó
ÒNo, IÕll come,Ó I said in a small, quiet voice.
ÒVery well, dear,Ó Rebecca said. She took another drag on her
cigarette. Then she looked at the cigarette and set it aside on a drinks
table next to her. ÒAn unpleasant habit. I hope you never take it up,Ó she
said. She looked up at me, then at my swimsuit. She reached out and
straightened my wet panties. They were not crooked. She seemed to do it
out of a desire to touch me, appraisingly, as one does to a small child one
is dressing, and fussing over, in preparation to going to church. ÒWe must
begin to get ready, then, if you wish to go,Ó she said. ÒIt is the ÔBeginning
of SummerÕ party, celebrated here and there in the city by small groups of
people.Ó She glanced up at my bra and seemed to wish it gone. ÒThe best
parties are private, of course,Ó she said. My nipples tightened. She
reached up and pushed at one of my bra cups. It was made of a soft, downy
material. It was quite thin. She flicked a fingertip over the protrusion of
my risen nipple. I felt myself blench. ÒWe shall go into town and purchase
a bikini of your choice just for the party,Ó Rebecca said. ÒThis is because
the top will only be worn until we get there. Then it is customary for you
to surrender it to the first man who asks. It is a rite of summer, you see,
the unfolding of the budded, newgrown flower, revealing the nipple-like
stamen within the petals, that the bees may come and feed upon it, and
derive their necessary nourishment.Ó She smiled. ÒPerhaps it would be
better as a rite of spring but it is warmer now. So it is done at the
beginning of summer, when everyone is able to get off and enjoy
themselves for awhile.Ó
Rebecca stroked my taut, flat belly. ÒYou will also need jewelry,Ó
she said. ÒI want jewels for you that make you look ravishing, and
elegant, but we must watch the cost a little bit, for hands move freely at
such parties and not all the guests will be known to each other. So we
must choose jewels that make you look your best, but that will not be
mourned for too long if they are lost. And so it is with the gloves. And of
course your bikini bottoms.Ó
ÒWe will be swimming naked?Ó I asked. My voice was high, taut. For
some reason I still thought we would be swimming, despite her insistence
that we would not be. Perhaps it was just my unconscious association,
never deviated from since childhood, that swimsuits were worn when you
swam.
ÒNo, darling,Ó Rebecca said. ÒWe will be in a living room. Perhaps a
little outdoors, but perhaps not. I do not know if the home that has been
rented has a backyard thatÕs properly screened from view.Ó She smiled.
ÒYou would not wish to be seen, in any event, except by those who will be
in attendance. Because not only will you be topless, my dear, and myself
as well. But we will also have, put into our bikini bottoms, our dinner.Ó
ÒOur dinner?Ó I asked. It was nearly a shout.
ÒNot yours, actually,Ó Rebecca said. ÒBut, rather, everyone elseÕs.
As you chat, wearing your jewelry and your gloves, you will be able to eat
from the bikini panties of those you are chatting with. Spaghetti is the
customary dish. Spaghetti and meatballs. YouÕll have a fork, of course, to
be elegant. One must always be elegant at such parties, at least at their
start. And youÕll sample the swimsuits of both men and ladies, of course,
and let them eat from your own panties. So it will be rather messy, you
see, despite everyoneÕs efforts to look their best. So that is why you
wouldnÕt want this anyplace where people might see.Ó
ÒHow- how many will be there?Ó I asked. My voice quavered.
Rebecca pulled open the front of my panties and peeked at my bush.
ÒAh, good. You are furred,Ó she said. Then, looking up into my eyes
with my panties still pulled open in front by her hand, she said, ÒThere
will be perhaps 20 people there. Some I know, but some I do not. The
hostess, a woman named Katrina, will have screened them all, of course.
The men, you understand, will not be chosen because their spirits flag.
Quite the opposite. They will easily raise their flags and keep them up all
night. You have had a man plant his flag in you before?Ó she asked.
ÒN-No,Ó I stammered.
ÒIt is just as well,Ó Rebecca said. She let go of my panties and they
snapped against the lowest part of my belly, making a slight sting. ÒSo
many girls have a boy do it, and he fumbles it, and they surrender
themselves but get nothing for it.Ó She brushed a finger across the front
of my bikini panties, as if feeling for my slit. ÒYou may find yourself with
the opportunity to be popped. Both in the front and in the rear. And in the
mouth, of course, where girls often learn first. So we must be on the safe
side, my dear. If you should succumb we must ensure that you do not
become enceinte. Your mother sent me one for the summer and I do not
wish to send her back two. We will stop also at a doctor, briefly, for
some pills today. This will ensure that you get nothing more than pleasure
from the evening.Ó She smiled at me. ÒOf course you understand this all
applies to me as well. Ritualistically, the purpose of the party dates back
to a time when females had certain fertile periods and certain infertile
periods. So the ÔBeginning of SummerÕ party is when the female is first
inseminated, entering into another fertile period after a long winter of
infertility.Ó She patted my belly again. ÒYou could return from the party
quite full. Especially if we stay the night. But you must let me play
chaperone, dear. If I find the men unsuitable we will return home, do you
understand? I am taking you along. I am not burdening myself with you. I
will not stay if the party or the guests are unsatisfactory. There will be
other times when we can stay the night, if I decide not to, tonight.
Nothing is utterly fixed. Do you understand?Ó
I nodded, silently.
ÒThen let us see about getting you looking your very best, dear. And
myself also. We shall go and see what is what. We shall tease a little and
be teased,Ó Rebecca said. ÒOh, and one other thing, darling.Ó Rebecca took
hold, very lightly, of the ties of my panties. ÒWould you please turn
around?Ó I did so. She released her hold on my ties to allow me to do so.
When I was faced away from her I felt her pull down on the back of my
swimsuit. She bared my bottom. Quickly I glanced back over my shoulder.
ÒThis is Paris, dear,Ó Rebecca told me. ÒGood, you have fine cheeks. The
men, dear, and a few women also, including myself, have a taste for the
uses to which a bottom may be put, other than just sitting upon it. With
leather, you know.Ó She placed a finger into a dimple on my bottom and I
tensed under the pressure of it. ÒIn such circumstances, should they
develop, the girl is expected to be bad. Not in a disreputable sense, of
course. But in the sense of being spoilt. One must misbehave a little. So
if you see me being slapped, or yelled at, and I seem to you suddenly
childish, this is the reason. Or if you see me slapping another girl, and
ordering her to do something, that is why. I do not know if it will happen,
or which IÕll be, if it does. And so you must think upon this for yourself,
also. You may find a man, or perhaps a man and his wife, who wish to
pamper you. But you must choose, of course. If you do, and they have you
do something, you must be wilful in doing it. Do not simply do as they say.
Relish the chance to be a bad girl. Enjoy throwing a tantrum. Be as
babyish and unmanageable as you please. And, of course, expect them to
take it out on your behind.Ó She patted mine. My cheeks huddled nervously
under her hand. ÒNot malevolently, of course, but with a sense of
admiration for what youÕve been given back here.Ó She restored my
panties. ÒYou have a marvellous behind. It will be well-loved, both with
kisses and the strap, if you permit it to be. As always it is your choice, of
course.Ó
Rebecca rose from her chair. She was taller than me and she put
both her hands on my shoulders, as my father does. ÒShall we go inside?Ó
she asked. It sounded less a request than a command. But her palms were
light on my shoulders and I could, IÕm sure, have taken my beach ball back
to her pool if I wished. I could have resumed my playing right where IÕd
left off, by myself, batting the ball around in the water. I could have
stayed home for the night, watching her T.V. Instead, I nodded, said ÒYesÓ
very quietly, and went indoors with her.
ÒA little more rogue on her nipples, Didi. They will not remain
unseen at the party,Ó Rebecca called to the servant who was helping me
dress. I wore only bikini panties, but the jewels and the gloves and the
arranging of my hair, and my makeup, created quite a lot of work for the
maid. Rebecca, for her part, dressed herself, with the maid scurrying over
to her occasionally to see that all was in order. At last, ceremonially, it
seemed, for there was no question of its being removed, the servant tied
on my top. It was light pink, as light as my nipples had been before the
maid had reddened them to match the color of my lips. My bra matched my
panties. Not that it mattered much, I thought. My jewels were ersatz
opals, mounted in gold-toned settings. A heavy but intricately worked
necklace of them hung round my neck. They lay in a double row of opals
there. They were not quite as tight as a collar, descending just slightly
below my throat in front. But they rose tightly around my neck on the
sides and in the back. I had a thin, swan-like neck. The necklace felt
burdensome. Rebecca told me it was to give the illusion that I possessed
great wealth.
ÒAnd you do,Ó she added, with a knowing grin, glancing not at my
jewels but at my cloth bikini. My wrists were also hung with jewels.
These were clasped around the outside of satin opera-length gloves. The
gloves could be stretched above the elbow, and tied, but Rebecca told me
the fashion was now to leave them untied, that they might bunch on the
lower arms. I left mine untied. They gathered in folds along the length of
my forearms. They were grey and shimmery. I wore long grey boots on my
legs, up to my knees, that matched my gloves. The boots had spiked heels.
Around one of the boots, on my right ankle, was yet another opal-
encrusted jewel, a gold anklet. I wore long, dangling earrings, quite slim
and unobtrusive, not large in width but thin as chains, that matched the
gold-work of my opalsÕ settings.
ÒOpal is often called ÔMother of Pearl,ÕÓ Rebecca told me, checking
my makeup and my hair and my jewels. ÒBut donÕt worry. WeÕll see that
you donÕt come home a mother.Ó She grinned. She looked ravishing in a
pure white bikini and glittering ersatz diamonds. She had light brown
boots and gloves. She turned me and pulled open the back of my bikini
panties. ÒYes, a darling pair,Ó she said, and for a moment I thought she
was talking about my panties paired with my bra. Then I realized she
meant my two bottom cheeks.
We took a cab downtown. We wore long coats to hide how little we
wore underneath. The cab driver was knocked out anyway; we couldnÕt
help but look ravishing, our hair was so perfect and our eyes and faces
glistened. We were happy and excited. And nervous, too. At least I was.
We both had light tans, carefully cultivated for part of the afternoon at a
tanning salon. They ensured our breasts, when they were unveiled, would
have just the right contrast against the rest of our skin. A light, pleasant
tan, framing bosoms that were utterly untouched by the sun. The same
was true for our privates and our bottoms. I still wasnÕt sure I wanted to
show myself off down there, though.
Our destination was an old nineteenth-century home in the center of
town. It was an unassuming, two-story structure. It stood along a
sidewalk, without a front yard. But there was a park across the street.
The driver stopped and went to the door of the home and knocked for us.
Only when a woman came to the door, and opened it, did he come and get
us. This ensured that we would not have to wait on the street. We went
quickly inside. We did not want to attract attention.
The woman who met us was in her late 20Õs. Her name was Katrina.
She had short blonde hair. She kissed each of us on our cheeks, then took
our coats. She herself was dressed in a light, summer skirt and a blouse.
But the blouse was sheer and I saw she had on a bikini top underneath it.
She wore the clothing, I guessed, to be able to receive guests at the door
without being unduly admired. Our cab driver, all the same, had ogled her
quite profusely, for she was a very beautiful French woman, with long
lashes and bosoms that could have stopped traffic.
ÒAh, you have come properly dressed, I see,Ó Katrina said, smiling,
as she put up our coats. She looked at me, then at Rebecca. ÒShe
understands that she will be asked to remove the top as well, by a
gentleman?Ó Rebecca nodded. In the next room I could hear people talking
and laughing. She looked again at me. ÒDo you like spaghetti?Ó she asked.
This time it was my turn to nod. ÒAnd you realize we will be putting it...Ó
she paused. ÒDown here?Ó she pointed at her own private, as her eyes
looked at my pink panties. I swallowed hard and nodded again.
ÒWonderful,Ó Katrina said. She turned her eyes to Rebecca. ÒShe has been
popped already?Ó Rebecca shook her head.
ÒNot yet,Ó Rebecca said, and seemed a little nervous, confessing it.
ÒOh. I see,Ó Katrina said. She put a hand under her chin. She looked
again at me. ÒNormally one does not get invited to a party such as this
unless one has experience,Ó she said. ÒOf the male. You are quite young,
but quite well-developed too. You understand that men will be at this
party and it is not like a childrenÕs party, where everyone is watched and
supervised. Here we can be a little free, you know? Things may get
slightly out of hand, although all the men have promised, of course, to be
gentlemen.Ó I gazed at her and nodded. Her words, though she spoke
English to me, were in a thick French accent that made it a little hard for
me to understand what she was saying. ÒVery well,Ó Katrina said to me.
ÒYou are on your own recognizance and of course let me know if you should
become unhappy.Ó Just then, there was a knock on the door. Katrina
turned abruptly and took the handle, but did not open it yet, instead saying
to us, ÒHurry! You must not be seen.Ó
Rebecca took my hand. Jewelled and made up, our hair perfect,
wearing our bikinis, we joined the party in the next room.
What a sight greeted my eyes! A spacious living room was filled
with over a dozen people. Beyond it glass doors opened onto a garden.
Along one wall a fireplace crackled. There was a bar, and three very
comfortable looking couches, piled high with cushions. Leading off from
the room was a hall, where I guessed the bathroom was, along with rooms,
no doubt, where one could be ÔpoppedÕ if one wished. Closest to me, nearly
bumping into us as we stepped within, were a man and a woman, servants,
I quickly realized, who were completely nude. Both wore very elaborate,
white 18th century French wigs. The woman had a ribbon tied around her
neck. It trailed upward, where it connected to a balloon that hovered
several feet above her head. The balloon was black. Her nipples were
lightly rogued and stood out like stoplights on her breasts, for her skin
was a wonderful pale color, from her toes right up to her face. Her
toenails and fingernails were painted red, to match her lips and her
nipples. Her pubic bush was on display, her legs apart and letting it be
seen as naturally as one might show oneÕs eyes in public. I saw that her
hair color was brown.
What really blew me away, though, was the wigged man. He was
nude also, and sculpted like Adonis. He exhibited an erect penis to my
eyes. Around it was tied a ribbon. Trailing upward, the ribbon connected
to a lavender balloon that floated over his head. He and the woman both
wore ankle bells on their right ankles that tinkled when they moved. The
man, I saw, was holding, down by his thigh, unobtrusively as he could, a
slender black riding crop. The woman was holding a handful of balloons.
Next to them was a canister of helium.
ÒWelcome to the start of summer,Ó the woman said to myself and
Rebecca. She said it in French, but IÕd learned just enough French in school
to make out what she was saying. She spoke the words naturally, not
abashed by her nudity, as if we might perhaps be entering a public bath in
Japan. Except this was a living room, with a bar and a fireplace and sofas.
ÒWould you like a balloon?Ó the woman asked. Rebecca declined, but I
nodded that I would. The woman smiled. She put the balloon to her lips
and blew lightly upon it. Then, when it had inflated a little, she pinched it
off and put it down over a metal tube on the top of the helium tank. She
pressed a button and the balloon filled up with hot air. Then, removing the
balloon, she handed it to the man, who quickly tied it. There was a small
table next to him, with a vase of flowers, and he briefly laid his crop on
the table to tie my balloon. Then he passed it back to the woman, along
with a length of ribbon picked up from the table that held the flowers. I
saw there were more ribbons there, neatly rolled, waiting to be used.
ÒHere,Ó the woman said to me. She beckoned for me to lean in toward her.
I did. To my surprise she tied the ribbon around my neck. This caused my
balloon to float above her head, just like hers was doing. Except my
balloon was pink, picked, I guessed, to match the color of my swimsuit.
ÒLook!Ó I said to Rebecca. ÒI have a balloon.Ó I blushed. She laughed.
We walked into the room and joined the others. I confess I glanced
back once, at the man, staring at his erect penis, and he saw my glance. I
blushed again.
In the room, hanging over the fireplace, like trophies, were bikini
bras. All of the women in the room were topless. Some wore white wigs,
like the servant girl. A few had balloons tied around their necks. All of
them wore jewels and retained their bikini panties. The men sported bow
ties, plus Speedo swimsuits. Otherwise they were naked. Yet everyone
stood around drinking and chatting, as naturally as if weÕd all been across
the street in the park, enjoying the evening air. Rebecca and I were handed
drinks. At the same time, two men, seeing an opportunity to make a notch
in their (nonexistent) belts, offered to take off our bras. We could not
refuse, by the rules of the party, regardless of our opinion of the man.
Rebecca smiled. She glanced at me. I found myself blushing an ever
deeper hue. I let the man whoÕd offered turn me about. He untied my top.
Gallantly he took it off me. My breasts spilled out and displayed their
quivering tips. A woman complimented me on the color of rogue IÕd chosen
for them.
Our bras were suspended by clips nailed to the wall, over the
fireplace. They joined a dozen other tops already hanging there. My pink
top was hung right next to RebeccaÕs white one. We were bereft of all
save our bottoms now. Nervously I fingered the ties of my panties while
sipping my drink. I hoped IÕd tied them tightly enough. I didnÕt want them
to come loose. IÕd look silly, I feared, retying my bikini bottoms in front
of all these people. Especially at such an elegant party.
More people arrived. I chatted with several men and then several
more. I tried not to stare at the bulges they all seemed afflicted with.
Their crotches stuck out quite hornily, showing their equipment in the
lurid detail that is possible when a man gets erect in a pair of Speedos.
The men, for their part, except for their rather obvious discomfort,
seemed not to mind that their dicks were so painfully evident to our eyes.
A man arrived with a dark tan, who caught my eye. He was young. He
had sandy blonde hair. The maid asked him if heÕd like a balloon. He
accepted, and I was shocked by where she put it, as he may have been too.
She opened the front of his swimsuit. She did it shyly, with a kind of
blushing laugh. Then she tied the balloonÕs ribbon around his cock. The
nude male servant held the floating balloon while the maid tied it on our
new guest. He walked into the party room with a balloon floating up from
the interior of his bulging Speedos. Everyone laughed.
ÒYouÕre funny,Ó I said to him.
ÒI had no idea sheÕd want to put it there,Ó the man said to me. I
smiled at him and he returned my smile. ÒYou are young to attend such a
party, are you not?Ó he asked. He spoke with a thick French accent. I
nodded. Then I smiled again, hopefully putting him at ease so he wouldnÕt
think me too young.
Then the real party began in ernest. With everyone present, Katrina
had the servants bring in a large silver bowl. They set it on a decorative
table, in front of a flower vase. Knives and forks were passed out to all of
us, but we were not offered any plates, or anyplace to sit. The top was
taken off the bowl. Within was a big pile of sauce-laden spaghetti and
meatballs.
Katrina wore a white, powdered 18th century wig now, plus a bikini
and jewels. Otherwise she was nude. Her blouse and skirt had been
removed.
ÒIf anyone else knocks, it is too late now,Ó Katrina said. Then she
ordered the woman closest to her to come up to the bowl. It was a young,
redheaded woman, bedecked in jewels and a wig. Katrina had her push her
hips forward. Then, to a squeal from the woman, who tried to suppress it
by putting her hand over her mouth but could not, she watched as Katrina
pulled open the front of her bikini panties. I watched too. I felt
butterflies rise in my tummy as I watched, openmouthed, as Katrina put a
big ladleful of spaghetti and meatballs into the tiny front of the womanÕs
panties. Then Katrina let go. The womanÕs panties snapped shut. But now
there was a big, unsightly bulge in her stylish panties, where the
spaghetti and meatballs lay trapped. Immediately the spaghetti sauce
began to stain the front of her panties. The redhead lifted one of her
gloved hands and made to eat the spaghetti out of her panties with her
fork, perhaps to get it back out of her as fast as she could.
ÒNo,Ó Katrina said. ÒYou do not eat spaghetti out of your own
panties. Other people eat it out of your panties, and you eat it out of
theirs. Just a moment while I fill up the others.Ó
A man was called forward next. Meanwhile, as the redhead walked
away from the table, a strand of spaghetti somehow slipped out the
underside of her panties and dropped on the carpet. It was a thick, plush
carpet, and I realized it would be a mess by the end of the evening. No
wonder the house was rented!
I watched with perverse glee as the man had spaghetti and meatballs
put into the front of his suit. His equipment, protruding thickly from the
front of his swimsuit, was pulling gaps open in the underside of his
Speedos. As soon as the spaghetti was put into his suit, some of it oozed
through the gaps at the bottom and went spilling onto the floor.
ÒOh, you men are so messy!Ó Katrina scolded. ÒTurn around. Just for
that IÕm going to put some in your back too.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó the man asked. But he turned around, and Katrina yanked
open the back of his Speedos. She dumped a ladleful of spaghetti down his
buttocks. He rejoined us, sipping his drink and trying to look discreet, but
leaving a big trail of spaghetti on the floor all the way back to the bowl.
I laughed out loud when the guy with blonde hair, who was named
Steve, had his turn. What fun it was to see his swimsuit loaded up with
warm, icky spaghetti. He had gaps in his suit, just like the other man, due
to the size of his erection, and he left a trail behind him as he walked
back to me. Then I was called up.
ÒHello, Chloe,Ó Rebecca, still as immaculate as a pin, said to me. I
tried my best to smile but felt horribly nervous. With just the lightest
touch of her finger, she pulled open the front of my panties. Then she
lifted the ladle. It dripped sauce and there was a big meatball right in the
center of it. She put it close to my belly, then paused a moment, watching
as I breathed. My breasts lifted and fell. My tummy lay indrawn between
my hips and my ribs, making me look painfully skinny. ÒReady?Ó Katrina
asked. Somehow I managed to nod that I was.
PLOOOP! Katrina dropped in the big ladle of spaghetti. I shrieked. I
couldnÕt help it. I knew that big mess would make me look like I had a
penis, especially the meatball. When I looked down, sure enough, I bulged
just like a man. And the sauce was already staining my panties.
ÒHere, let me have some. IÕm hungry,Ó I heard a woman say. She
turned me and pulled me away from the bowl. She opened my panties and
dipped in her fork and twirled it. Then she lifted it, taking out some of
the spaghetti. She put the spaghetti in her mouth.
Dinner was served. We all ate from each otherÕs swimsuits. I ate
from everyoneÕs, including even RebeccaÕs, for it was the custom, it was
said, for everyone at the party to freely eat from everyone else. Things
gradually got messier as we went along. Spaghetti, lifted from the suit
carefully as it might be, occasionally left wet trails up the tummy or
along the breasts. Faces became smudged, despite the liberal use of
napkins. And the floor, with everyone spilling spaghetti out of their suits,
became a mess. It seemed rather like we were all pooping on the floor, I
thought, given where the mess was coming from. Spaghetti even spilled
out of my own suit for, whenever anyone pulled it open, some would fall
out down below. It left saucy marks all down my thighs. Some of the
spaghetti itself stuck to the insides of my thighs. It felt, I assumed,
rather like sperm must feel, all wiggly and small and sticky.
When I was sent up for seconds Katrina made me take spaghetti both
in the front of my suit and in the back. I was proving to be quite popular
to eat from. My bottom became a serving tray as well as my pussy.
Nonetheless, through the whole meal, the guests remained jewelled,
wigged, and good-mannered. It was not a wild, food-throwing frat party
When everyone had had as much in the way of second helpings as they
wished (all of it out of someone elseÕs swimsuit), Katrina made an
announcement.
ÒLadies and gentlemen, we will, with your permission, have some
quality French entertainment now,Ó Katrina said. I was just returning
from the bathroom. IÕd managed to pee without feeling too miserable
about the utterly sauced stated of my pussy and hindquarters. As I
emerged from the hall I saw the nude serving girl put over an arm of one
of the couches. Her hips were lifted, briefly, and a pillow was put under
her belly. The balloon was still tied around her neck. It floated lazily
above her head. She grabbed at a pillow on the couch and put her face into
it.
ÒTurn your head, dear,Ó Katrina told her. ÒWe all want to be able to
see you as it is done.Ó Gently she reached out and moved the young
womanÕs face so that she was looking at us. The side of her head now
rested on the pillow and she held on to it tightly. She bit her lip.
My eyes were drawn to the serving man with the erect penis. A
woman untied the balloon from his cock. She put her fingers in a nearby
flower vase and then sprinkled the thick spiral of his penis with water.
The man, still wigged, as the female was, gasped slightly at the cold
touch of the water. Then the woman put her hand behind the flower vase,
it being within reach of where they both stood, and pulled forth a bottle of
baby oil. She squeezed it and squirted oil liberally on his dick. All the
while the man held a riding crop in his left hand.
I returned my gaze to the woman bent over an arm of the couch.
Katrina wet one of her own fingers in the flower vase and insinuated it
between the cheeks of the girlÕs bottom. The girl tensed her heinie.
ÒDo not,Ó Katrina told her. The girl relaxed just a bit, then let out a
sharp cry of alarm as Katrina jabbed her finger within the girlsÕ rosehole.
It did not go in far. Just the sight of it, though, made me contract my own
bottomcheeks with fear. ÒHe will be much bigger than I am, dear,Ó Katrina
scolded the girl. She smiled at us as the girl tried hiding her face again in
the pillow. ÒIt is her first time this way and she is nervous,Ó Katrina
said.
Katrina withdrew her finger. She took the bottle of baby oil from
the woman who had prepared the man. She put the tip of it within the
cheeks of the maidÕs bottom. The maid flinched. Katrina shoved the bottle
in deeper. The maid gave another short, sharp cry. ÒBulls eye,Ó Katrina
said, smiling at us. Then, gently, she squeezed the bottle. The girl hooted
with terror as baby oil went squirting up her rectum. Yet, except for
burying her face in the pillow, she did not try to resist, save for a natural
clenching of the cheeks of her bottom.
Steven put his arm casually around my waist.
ÒYou are experienced in this?Ó he asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed. He let his hand glide down over my pantied bottom.
My cheeks were tense. Perhaps he felt their apprehension, for he said,
quietly, ÒI see.Ó The bulge in the front of his spaghetti-stained Speedos
grew bigger still.
ÒYou must have the crop now, dear. There is no other way. You are
too tight for him,Ó Katrina said to the girl. She put the baby oil back
behind the flower vase. She walked over to the girl and made her present
her eyes to us again. The other woman guided the man forward. Then she
realized what Katrina had said and with a small, quiet ÒOh!Ó she let go of
the man.
ÒMadam, am I to apply it?Ó the man asked. He motioned with his
crop.
ÒYes,Ó Katrina said. She sat down on the couch by the girlÕs head.
She drew her wrists out more in front of her and then clasped them
between her hands to hold them. ÒIÕll hold her hands. Go ahead, dear. It is
your cock going up her so you may as well be the one to warm up her
behind.Ó
ÒOh!Ó I cried, for the crop came down at once, striking the poor girl
as if she were some animal. As soon as I saw it, the rudeness of it, the
harshness, I turned my head and buried it in SteveÕs chest. He patted my
bottom with his palm.
ÒIt is necessary,Ó he whispered to me. But he did not make me
watch. He let me find refuge in the hairs of his chest.
Several blows were given. They were measured, sadistic, I thought,
and the young woman must have thought so too, for they brought sobbing
cries from her. I put my hands over my ears.
ÒOh, please! Take me upstairs,Ó I said to Steve. I knew there were
rooms both downstairs and upstairs and I hoped not to be able to hear her
upstairs.
ÒWhat?Ó Steve asked.
ÒTake me upstairs,Ó I said again. He lifted one of my hands off of my
ear and guided me from the room. I felt all eyes had turned to stare at me,
but I did not look back at them. Perhaps Steve looked at Katrina for I
heard her say, ÒYes. Please. Go ahead.Ó
We walked up the stairs together. Down below I could hear more
cries from the girl as the crop was made to strike her.
ÒCome, we will shower together,Ó Steve told me. He did not ask. He
simply guided me into a bathroom and closed the door. He turned me to
face him. He knelt and untied my panties. He kissed my dell.
ÒYou have a very beautiful pussy,Ó Steve whispered. Then he stood
and turned me, still wearing his Speedos. He faced me toward the shower
and palmed my bottom. He gave it a gentle pat. Downstairs I thought I
heard the woman cry out again. But it was distant, the door now between
us and her suffering. ÒYou have not been taken anyplace?Ó Steve asked me.
I looked back over my shoulder and nodded that Ôno,Õ I had not been.
He pulled down his Speedos. I gasped as his cock popped into view.
A woman had earlier untied the balloon from it, so she could eat without
the ribbon floating up in her way. It stuck out like a big log, quivering and
heavy, but with dew oozing from its tip. And, of course, it was smeared
with spaghetti sauce. A meatball fell out of his Speedos and onto the
floor. He stepped out of them.
ÒHave you learned to suck?Ó Steve asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I said.
ÒGet down. Put your knees on the floor. I donÕt want to waste this
fine spaghetti sauce. Like it off my penis.Ó He seemed to say ÔpleaseÕ and
yet he did not, actually. Instead he pushed hard on my shoulders, making
me kneel on the rug. He drew me close to him and made me stick out my
tongue. I did it very tentatively, my lips quivering as I opened them. I
was conscious of saliva pooling on my tongue. He made me lick the tip of
his cock. Then he made me lick off all the goo that was dripping out of it,
but as soon as I did, more appeared. He had me lick the crown of his penis,
all around. Then he slowly introduced the full crown into my mouth. Its
thickness made my cheeks bulge.
ÒAh, that is good,Ó Steve said. He tried to make me take more of
him. I gagged. I could not. ÒIt is alright,Ó he said. ÒIt is your first time.Ó
He had me suck him for awhile, though, perhaps as penance for not taking
more of him, just the head of his cock in my mouth, as we heard, through
the door, the suffering of the woman downstairs. With each of her
screams I gave a small jerk. Steve seemed to enjoy my jerkings. I sucked
on his penis as one does a straw, except he was about ten times bigger and
he had a tendency to wiggle it around a bit as I sucked. A straw doesnÕt
have a life of its own. His did. Then, suddenly, after many minutes, he
gave a sudden, awkward groan and withdrew himself from my mouth. I
liked my lips. I felt experienced.
ÒIs that it? Did we just have sex?Ó I asked Steve naively.
ÒNo. Not yet,Ó Steve laughed. ÒStand up. WeÕll get in the shower and
then IÕll show you what else we can do.Ó
30
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