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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
NIGHT VISITOR
Chapter Eight
Taylor stared out the window. It was TabithaÕs bedroom window,
and the small stuffed bear she had paddled, with her hand, lay on her bed.
Taylor gazed at the garden below. There, in the garden, among the tulips
and daffodils lost in shadow, knelt Tabitha. The blanket had slipped from
her back. The entirety of her figure was on view, bent down on all fours
like a pale tethered pony. Her ÒadmirersÓ, for lack of a better term, had
turned on the lights. They were back yard spotlights. They had been
designed to protect the back yard from intruders. But now much of the
yard lay covered by night, all the lights trained on just one spot. Tabitha.
Or, rather, her naked body, kneeling as if in supplication to some God, her
head buried in the small pillow at the head of the blanket spread on the
grass. Master raised the whip. Again it fell, its crack sounding over the
trees that shielded the back yard from the neighbors. Tabitha responded.
Her gagged mouth permitted only the smallest of cries. Desperately she
lifted her head but the ropes, tied round her wrists, held her fast. She
could do little more than heave her bottom, in response to the blow, and
feel the sharpness of the red line which joined others on her already
wealed cheeks. There was a sparkle, amidst the spotlights. The tinsel
hung from the dildo danced. It swayed back and forth, giving glimpses, as
it moved, of TabithaÕs high, tight slit.
ÒA beautiful stroke,Ó Taylor thought he heard Arabelle, sitting in a
white chair on the grass below, murmur. The Asian squeezed ElaineÕs
hand. The young wife no longer clutched ArabelleÕs hand. Now Arabelle
clutched Elaine, by her wrist, as if waiting for a propitious moment to
lead her to some similar fate.
Taylor turned away from the window. He found himself suddenly
repulsed by this place, by the primitive state to which it reduced its
visitors. Mistress had lured him out of his clothes. She had treated him
like a body. Like a penis, with a head and a mind only coincidentally
attached. And now Tabitha would be handled in the same way. She would
be reduced to only a pussy or, worse, a bottom hole.
He went downstairs. He walked past the parlor. There, even as the
whipping went on in the back yard, a new group was meeting. The house
was filling up again. People Taylor did not know were gathered around a
young woman. She seemed naive. Her clothes had been pulled off her.
They lay neatly folded on a chair, giving the illusion of civilized
decadence. Amidst a roomful of people who still were dressed, the girl
stood reduced to a t-shirt and panties. There was something in the
panties, jammed down in the front of them, giving them the disorienting
bulge that one would expect to see on a man. But the girl was entirely
feminine, and the smudge of white trickling down the inside of her thigh,
and the stain of wetness on the front of her panties, gave away what was
there. It was ice cream, still hard with cold, but shudderingly intimate
with the girlÕs warm, slitted sex. The girl was lifting her armless t-
shirt. It bulged from the swell of her breasts. The shirt was almost too
tight to contain her. It let her breast flesh expose itself on the sides. It
let her boobs push themselves above the shirtÕs low-necked top. Even as
the shirt struggled to contain her, the girl, at the urging of the others,
pulled her shirt above one of her nipples. Its taut, tiny rigidity poked
forth at the guests, surmounted by breast-flesh. A cherry tit on a white,
ice-cream bosom. The guests applauded. The girl, already blushing, grew
redder as a man came up to her and put ice cream on her tit.
ÒDo you think theyÕre pretty?Ó the young woman asked of her
breasts, one exposed and one still barely covered. Taylor could tell by
looking at her that she had never done this before, never shown herself to
a group like this. She had reserved her charms instead for her boyfriend.
ÒYes,Ó a woman answered. She was sitting on a chair, her legs
crossed, revealing nothing in her long dress save a smile.
ÒBut why do you want me to show myself like this, just so Steve and
I can have a room?Ó the girl asked. Her eyes darted to a young man. He
was sitting alone on a couch. Taylor guessed it was her boyfriend, leading
her down strange new paths. He saw himself in the boyfriendÕs face. He
felt appalled. The coolness in the boyfriendÕs eyes shocked Taylor. His
trim, close-pressed, uncaring lips. Could not this girl, standing half naked
in the middle of the parlor, not see that she was being used? Or did she
see it, and was she excited by it? Did the ravenous gaze of the onlookers
please her, in some transgressive way? Did it whet her cloistered
suburban appetite, this opportunity to be seen and admired?
ÒIt is necessary,Ó a woman replied. ÒA motel can be rented if one
simply wishes privacy. Here we are freer. If you are going to undress,
why not let others share in it? And you did lose, darling. The ice cream is
in your panties.Ó
Taylor grunted. They had challenged the girl to some contest. She
had not realized that the cards were marked, or the deck stacked, so that
she, clearly the youngest, would wind up being the one who lost her
clothes. And now she was standing in front of them with ice cream in her
panties, which made her shiver, and which made her look obscenely well-
endowed between her legs, like the very boyfriend who sat watching her,
his own crotch swollen between his spread, still-trousered legs.
ÒAnd now let us see the other one,Ó the man in charge of the ice
cream said. He had re-filled his scooper. He urged the young woman to
lift her t-shirt up over her other breast, which still was barely covered by
an auspicious bit of fabric. The girl touched her shirt. It was all that was
needed. The tension in the shirt caused the garment, caught by her
remaining nipple, to spring upward. The imprisoned tit-point quavered
before the crowd. There was light applause. The man with the scooper
smothered the other tit as soon as the clapping ceased.
ÒOh! Steve! Can we go now?Ó the young woman asked. She whirled
toward him, and the ice cream toppled off her breasts onto the floor.
ÒTch! Now look what youÕve done!Ó a woman sighed.
ÒYou will stain the carpet doing that, dear,Ó a second woman said.
Taylor turned away. He did not need to see the rest. He could invent
it in his head. Through a doorway, and down a flight of stairs he went, to
see the girlÕs denouement long before she could guess it. There, in near
darkness, he stood under the house. There was a cement floor here, not
the polished wood or the deep-pile carpet of the rooms upstairs. Here
there was no comfortable bed for a girl to lie on. Instead there were
crude wooden tables, trimmed at their corners with chains. Instead of
bottles of perfume on the tops of tables there were bright metal saws,
and knives, and immaculately clean surgical trays. There were bats for
breaking limbs and masks to hide the head inside, so that only the bare
naked body of the visitor might be seen.
ÒVisitor?Ó Taylor intoned in the darkness. ÒNo, by the time she gets
down here she will no longer be a visitor. She will be a prisoner.Ó
ÒIn that you are wrong, IÕm afraid,Ó a voice said in the still dank
cellar. Taylor turned abruptly. As he did he nearly impaled himself on a
thick metal spike sticking up from the ground. It pointed straight at his
dick. Horrified, he gasped. There was a light touch on his shoulder.
ÒMistress!Ó Taylor said in the darkness. Her face loomed up at him.
It was all softness and pale features, adorned round its sides with her
abundance of jet-black hair that hung from her head like a shroud.
ÒUnzip your pants,Ó Mistress said to Taylor.
ÒI will not,Ó Taylor answered. Upstairs, through the open door of the
cellar, he heard a scream. The girl in the parlor must be getting her first
desserts, he realized.
ÒGo ahead. Unzip yourself in front of that nasty spike,Ó Mistress
said. Taylor felt one of her fingers stroke his crotch. His manhood,
trapped in his pants, swelled at her touch. ÒRelease yourself over that
razor-sharp point,Ó Mistress said. She looked at the spike with interest.
ÒI will not be treated any more like just some... body,Ó Taylor
gasped.
ÒTorture is about psychology, not physicality,Ó Mistress said. She
touched TaylorÕs metal zipper.
ÒItÕs about hurting people,Ó Taylor said. His voice was a kind of
groan. Mistress unzipped him. TaylorÕs underpants bulged through his
opened zipper.
ÒWrong,Ó Mistress said. Her voice chimed, musically, as if
correcting a little child. ÒTorture is about the mind. Freeing the mind
from its fears, rewarding its aspirations. My finger has barely touched
you, yet you are already painfully erect. You are still trapped in your
pants but already you are hopelessly full of desire. Is it the lust to fuck
me, or is it more? Is it the proximity of the spike that excites you?Ó
ÒMy balls are full,Ó Taylor groaned.
ÒHow delicious to see them poked by the spike,Ó Mistress sighed.
Her fingers stole across TaylorÕs underpants. They examined his organÕs
swell, his stolid balls underneath, all of him cupped and held in white
elasticized cotton.
ÒPut your hands behind you,Ó Mistress said. TaylorÕs breathing
became rapid. He heard another scream from upstairs. Feeling his heart
pound under his tailored suit, Taylor slid his wrists back behind his
buttocks. He heard a jangle of metal. Mistress reached behind him. She
raised the right sleeve of his coat. He felt a cold metal band press itself
all around his right wrist.
Click.
ÒHandcuffs!Ó Taylor gasped. Quickly Mistress bound his other wrist.
There was a second click. Taylor could have resisted, but he didnÕt. Now
it was too late. Mistress hauled down TaylorÕs pants. She took his shorts
down too, binding both around his thighs, so that he could not move his
legs. His manhood was revealed to the open air. It stood stiffly above the
spike. The metal thrust up at his crotch, as determined as his own penis,
two implacable objects facing off in the dark. But he, despite his
hardness, was only flesh. The spike was cold steel.
ÒYou will stand here with your penis exposed until someone finds
you,Ó Mistress whispered to Taylor. ÒAnd then they will do to you
whatever they wish.Ó
ÒNo!Ó Taylor croaked. His cock quivered at the sound of his voice.
Upstairs, he could hear the girl break into cries. Someone was slapping
her bare flesh with their hand.
ÒWe live pain free lives,Ó Mistress said. ÒIs it not fun sometimes to
cross to the other side, to the side weÕre usually protected from? Here no
police can save you. The doors are locked, the phones discreetly hidden.
Perhaps if you yell loud enough the neighbors will hear you, but what if
they donÕt? And what are you going to yell, ÒHelp, I let a woman handcuff
me and pull down my pants and display my penis over a stake?Ó
ÒThey could help me,Ó Taylor said. He nodded toward the upstairs
cellar door.
ÒOur new guests? Yes, perhaps they will,Ó Mistress smiled. ÒBut
they sound busy right now. However, if you yell loud enough, maybe they
will come. If I donÕt close the cellar door. Tell me, Taylor, would you
prefer to be found by the women, or by the men?Ó
ÒL- Let me go,Ó Taylor gasped.
ÒI must prove my point,Ó Mistress said. She touched the spike. ÒYou
were preparing to leave us,Ó Mistress said. ÒLook at you, all dressed up
and ready to go. I have seen this happen sometimes. A person enjoys
himself and then gets superior notions in his head, about his morality. But
look how stiff your penis is, Taylor. Am I even touching it? Has anything
been promised to you? No, it is simply your own mind, your eroticized
passion that is doing it. Tell me that if I permitted you to zip yourself up
that you would do it.Ó
Taylor shifted his weight. ÒIÕm too stiff,Ó he gasped, looking down
at his dick. ÒBring me off first.Ó
ÒNo! I am going to leave you here to experience your own psychology,
Taylor!Ó Mistress declared. ÒYou are in a room full of dangerous
instruments. Any one of them might emasculate you forever. Yet you are
hard. Explain that, to yourself. I donÕt have time to listen.Ó
Mistress turned. As Taylor yelled after her, begging her not to leave,
she went up the cellar steps. She went out the door into the hall beyond
and paused to close the door behind her.
For half an hour Taylor stood presenting himself in the darkness. His
bladder filled. Reluctantly, he peed on the spike. He watched as his urine
was pierced, in its fall, on the pointed tip of the thing. When he was
finished peeing he still remained hard, and it was then, with mortifying
guilt, that he hit on a plan.
Taylor turned around. Carefully, he bent his knees. Worried that he
might burst his balls on the spike, or poke it up his behind, he
nevertheless managed to maneuver the sharp thing up against his
handcuffs. He got the point of the spike into the handcuffÕs key hole.
Snap!
To TaylorÕs astonishment, the metal cuff around his right wrist
came undone. Not even bothering to get off the left, stunned at his luck,
he yanked up his pants. With difficulty he managed to get his dick and
balls stuffed back into his shorts. Then he made for the stairs. At the top
of the stairs he found the cellar door was not locked. He headed out into
the hall. Passing the parlor, he saw the young woman standing in a corner.
She still wore her t-shirt, but it was obvious, even from behind, that it
was yanked up above her breasts. As for her panties, they were pulled
down in back. They hugged her legs just under the base of her bottom. The
crotch-strip of her panties was alluringly visible, smeared with ice
cream. Someone had tugged on this part of her panties, under her slit,
drawing it out from the more tightly rolled portion that hugged her legs.
ÒShe is reduced to the narrow bit of cloth that was meant to cover
her pussy, and they have made a spectacle of even that,Ó Taylor said
reprovingly to himself. Worse, her bottom, which doubtless had been
immaculate when he left, was now covered with red hand splotches. The
girl bit her lip and waited in the corner, feeling the heat of her punished
ass. Behind her, on the sofa, her boyfriend was making love to two women.
Taylor wanted to stride into the room and rescue her. He wanted to save
her from the room downstairs, where she would doubtless be taken, if not
tonight then some future night, before she was allowed to leave.
ÒItÕs obscene,Ó Taylor muttered. ÒThere she is, an intelligent young
woman, and they have reduced her to a spanked bottom and a gaudily
displayed panty crotch, complete with stains of ice cream.Ó He made for
the front door of the house. He would climb out a window if he couldnÕt
get the front door open, he told himself. But as he neared the door he
heard a girlish gasp. It came from upstairs.
ÒWhat? Another visitor?Ó Taylor asked in the quiet of the hall,
listening as the lovers had sex in the parlor. The voice from upstairs
sounded young. Like a child. Taylor went up.
She lay in a bedroom, all by herself. She was naked. She was no
more than 13. Her bed was pressed close to the roomÕs outer wall and as
Taylor entered he found he had intruded upon her privacy, for she lay with
her chin propped on the windowsill and her hand between her legs. She
was, Taylor realized, masturbating herself, rubbing her small fingers
between the lips of her slit.
ÒWhat are you doing?Ó Taylor heard himself gasp. His words
surprised him. It was obvious what she was doing.
Slowly, the girl turned her head. Beyond her head Taylor caught a
glimpse of the garden, of the spotlights trained on Tabitha. The young
womanÕs white figure heaved as a crack of leather was heard.
The girl smiled at Taylor. Her eyes were large, artless. Her lips
were like rose petals opening to the night.
ÒIÕm waiting to be whipped,Ó the girl whispered. Taylor sensed pride
in her voice.
ÒWho- who brought you here?Ó Taylor gasped.
ÒMy boyfriend,Ó the girl said.
TaylorÕs eyes widened. For some reason he felt a stiffening in his
crotch. ÒYour--?Ó Taylor asked.
ÒHeÕs downstairs, making love,Ó the girl interrupted. ÒIÕve watched
him before. He wonÕt let me join him and his friends, though. But he said
that tonight I must be given some discipline.Ó The girl turned her head and
propped her chin up on the sill of the window again. Her arm, partly hidden
under her belly, shifted. Her bottom wiggled. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
ÒCan I-- watch?Ó Taylor asked. He moved closer to the bed.
ÒOooh! Please donÕt,Ó the girl breathed. Her legs stiffened. Taylor
caught a glimpse of one of her fingers poking up, briefly, between her slim
thighs. Her chubby bottom cheeks quivered and tensed. Taylor looked over
the youngsterÕs white back at the figure in the yard. It was clearly in
pain, gagged and staked to the ground, with a bowl between its legs, the
whip striking it hard. TabithaÕs hindquarters were as red as the rest of
her was white. She tossed her head, like a horse tossing its mane. She
tried to rise but was unable. The only freedom she possessed was to
release her pee, and as Taylor watched she did this, relieving herself in
the bowl.
ÒOooh! Ooooh! Ooooh!Ó the small white youngster on the bed
declared. Her fingers worked harder between her legs.
Taylor touched a reproving finger to the girlÕs bottom. The pressure
of his finger on her left cheek stilled her. Below, the sound of leather
striking flesh was heard. Plus a scream, nearly inaudible.
ÒWhat if I told you that your boyfriend has sent me?Ó Taylor asked
the young girl. ÒSent me to blindfold you, and let strange men fuck you?Ó
ÒOoooh! Bad!Ó the girl answered. But Taylor noticed that her finger
wiggled between her legs.
ÒI have orders from your boyfriend to take you away,Ó Taylor said.
He seized her shoulder. ÒGet up!Ó he said roughly. ÒWhere are your
panties?Ó Shocked, the girl pointed to the bedroom door. Her panties hung
there, on the back of the door, looped by a leg hole over the door knob.
ÒGet up and get them on,Ó Taylor said. Hurriedly the girl sprang from the
bed. She crossed the room. Taylor watched her white bottom as he heard
yet another crack of the whip, in the garden. He had no idea what he was
going to do with this girl but he wanted her out of here. She was too
tender, too new. And too naive, even more so than the young woman
downstairs, with the ice-cream slimed panties.
ÒWhere are we going?Ó the girl asked, stepping into her panties. Her
bare tits wiggled as she drew them over her feet and straightened herself
and pulled them up her legs. She tugged them up around her waist. Then
she touched herself between her legs, unable even now to keep from
masturbating her little sex.
ÒStop that!Ó Taylor ordered. ÒStop playing with your pussy!Ó
ÒMy boyfriend likes to see me do it,Ó the girl answered.
ÒPut on your bra,Ó Taylor said.
ÒI didnÕt wear one,Ó the girl replied. Taylor looked at her breasts.
They were big and plump, despite her small size. ÒGod damn,Ó Taylor
gasped. ÒWell, put on a shirt then.Ó
ÒMy t-shirt?Ó the girl asked.
ÒYes,Ó Taylor groaned. The girl crossed to a dresser. There, on top
of the piece of furniture, lay a small white singlet. The girl lifted it up
over her head, making her breasts wiggle. She pulled it down over her
head, still making a display of her breasts, until finally the little garment
was pulled low enough to cover them. It did not cover her belly. She stood
before Taylor in a sleeveless white t-shirt, similar to the one the young
woman downstairs wore. The shirt was as useless in hiding the swell of
this nymphÕs breasts, and the jutting thrust of her little nipples, as the
young womanÕs t-shirt downstairs had been.
ÒDamn,Ó Taylor swore. ÒDo you have a jacket?Ó
ÒNo. Just boots,Ó the girl said. She walked round to the side of the
dresser. As Taylor watched, her pantied bottom swelling out at him, the
girl bent towards the wall. She picked up two boots, one at a time, and
yanked them up her legs. When she turned around she looked as if she were
ready to go riding, with long black boots that stretched up to her knees.
But she lacked a riding outfit.
ÒDo you have any other clothes?Ó Taylor asked.
ÒNope,Ó the girl said. ÒI took off my skirt in my boyfriendÕs car.Ó
She smiled. ÒWe were playing,Ó she added.
ÒCome on,Ó Taylor said. ÒHe took the girlÕs hand. Leading her like a
headmaster, feeling slightly ridiculous at the brevity of her attire, he led
her out of the bed room. They went downstairs.
ÒWhat about my boyfriend?Ó the girl asked, as Taylor led the girl
down a hall toward the front door.
ÒHeÕll... be along shortly,Ó Taylor said. He reached for the door knob
on the front door. It was locked. Quickly he went to a window near the
door. He tried lifting it. It was locked too. But then he saw that the
window could be unlocked, simply by turning two latches that held down
the lower sash. He motioned to the girl. ÒCome on, weÕve got to go out the
window,Ó Taylor said.
ÒI donÕt know if my boyfriend--Ó the girl answered. She seemed to
turn toward the sounds of lovemaking coming from the parlor.
ÒCome on!Ó Taylor said. He went to the girl and he picked her up.
She shrieked. But it was mostly a game to her, Taylor realized, as she
struggled in his arms, her booted feet kicking merrily. He got the window
up and eased her through it. She played along, giving herself a wedgie on
the windowsill before dropping to the grass below. Taylor followed.
They stood in the dark of the front yard. TaylorÕs car was still
parked on the street. He led the girl to it. He unlocked the passenger door
and put her inside. Then he went round and got in himself. Together, they
drove off into the night, up the dark lamp-lit streets with no cars on
them, out to the freeway. Taylor promised himself, as he drove, that he
would take the girl straight home. But in the seat beside him the girl was
already busy pleasuring herself again.
ÒOooh!Ó the girl moaned, her wrist down inside the waistband of her
panties.
ÒStop that!Ó Taylor gasped.
ÒOooh I canÕt! YouÕre going to take me to your house and fuck me-- I
just know it!Ó the girl sighed.
ÒIs that an invitation?Ó Taylor asked.
ÒNo,Ó the girl said, glancing briefly at him with wide eyes.
But it was too late. TaylorÕs reserve was broken. He did not ask the
girl where she lived. He did not ask her name. He took her to his house.
He exhausted himself with her, and she was a coy accomplice. Meanwhile,
Tabitha was reunited with her husband, in the yard, by the manner best
suited to husband and wife, his penis shoving its way up her chastised
behind. Perhaps the cunt would have been the better route, in more decent
circumstances, but here, in such a place, the bottom was best, for it
permitted the husband to completely master his wife. And as for the
couples in the parlor, they found new torments for their victim. Too late
did one of the young men remember to go upstairs, to check on his prize.
ÒShe is with another,Ó Mistress concluded, when the young man told
her of the lost girl.
ÒBut--Ó he protested.
ÒHere things are fluid, dear,Ó Mistress said. ÒWe are only visitors.
We visit this earth in our short lives, thinking ourselves immortal, then
realizing weÕre not. Enjoy those youÕre with. Do not worry over those who
have left. DonÕt be possessive. We are all just visitors.Ó
THE END
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