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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CHAMBERS OF LOVE
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Chapter Twelve
We were allowed to spend several languorous days healing. True
to his word, we were treated like princesses. The count's staff
answered our every beck and call, however frivolous. There seemed no
end to what we could ask for, provided we didn't ask to leave the
castle. The count was mostly gone during this time. He said he had
important business to attend to.
One evening after dinner Burton laid out some teensy red bikinis
for us and told us to put them on for the count. We did so, expecting the
count would take us swimming. The suits had little nothing bras that,
when tied, clung desperately to our titties. My nipples were erect just
looking at myself in such an abbreviated outfit and the little bra
accommodatingly let them stand out in sharp relief. Julie laughed and
rested her finger on one and then pushed it in like a button.
"I think I've pushed the hot button," she laughed.
"No, that's down there," I said, pointing between my legs, but I
didn't let her touch me there. Her nipples were poking into her flimsy
bra cups too and we exclaimed at the count's capacity for naughtiness.
The bikini briefs had to be tied along the sides. Only a thread-
like string (once tied) connected the front and back panels. I tried to
yank my suit up high enough to cover my butt crack completely but I
couldn't. In front, stray pussy hairs wisped out the top of my panties,
riding low on my hips. When I walked, the too-small swim pants
quickly wedged in my ass crack. I straightened the panties as best I
could. Julie suffered the same difficulties.
We were astonished, then, when Burton re-entered the room with
new boots for both of us. We were to wear these too. I began to get the
sinking feeling we weren't being taken swimming. Burton helped us
into the boots, which fit snugly all the way up to above our knees. They
matched the color of our swimsuits and were brightly polished, with
high heels in back. A bit later he returned, unlocked our collars, and
took them off. Then he tied a slim red ribbon around each of our necks.
"Burton," I asked, "What's going on?" I stood there with my hands
on my hips like some goddess out of Diamonds are Forever.
"Wouldn't know, ma'am, I just do as I'm told," he said. I dropped
my arms beside me in exasperation and plopped on the bed, feeling my
panties shoot up my ass crack for the zillionth time. Burton scuttled
out.
Master arrived and said we were in for a treat. He hustled us into
his carriage and we spent the next twenty minutes jostling out of our
tiny bras as the horses sped us along. Finally we pulled up before a
greathouse and were taken inside. A small gathering of men and
women, all in their 40's, greeted us in a parlor. To our intense
embarrassment Julie and I found that we were the only ones there in
bikinis. The rest, introduced to us as French men and women of very
high rank and station, mingled about in formal wear. No one spoke
English, though we were spoken to and aperitifs were placed merrily in
our hands. Waiters, oblivious to our near-nudity, courteously offered
their carefully balanced silver snack trays to us. We hadn't had dinner
yet and so helped ourselves to what they offered, which proved
delicious. We hoped that the count was merely bringing us along to
show us off to his friends, nothing more.
Soon the party was called downstairs, and we found ourselves in
a newly constructed dungeon. The appliances within cast moving
shadows on the stone walls, lit by flickering torchlight. I began to
worry then, as did Julie. Our pert bottoms hanging out of our panties,
our teensy bras just barely containing our boobs, we traipsed about and
listened attentively as the host described all the various machines,
some of which he'd modelled specifically on the count's.
When the tour finally concluded the host asked if there might be
any volunteers to try out his new equipment. The count tapped Julie
and I each lightly on the bottom. I trembled. Julie turned her head.
"Please, monsieur, no," she said plaintively. He ordered her forward,
and me. With twitching heinies and wobbling tits we reluctantly
stepped up to our host.
He introduced himself to us only as "Pierre." He was darkly
handsome, with wide shoulders. He said we looked delightful and
reminded him of the girls on the beach who used to cheer him on when
he was a professional swimmer. He ran his fingers through our hair and
commented on how perfect it was. He said we didn't need any make-up,
but what we'd put on was just right. He gazed admiringly at our long,
polished fingernails.
Pierre said he'd like to make a special gift to us of high heels, and
would we take our boots off to accept them? A bench was nearby and
so we sat down and he eased off our tight boots for us. I told him we'd
gladly accept any gifts of clothing he might offer. He laughed, several
women tittered.
Shod in new, precisely fitting heels, we stood once more and
walked in them to get their feel. They had very long spikes in back. I
teetered on mine at first, as did Julie. Gallantly he took our arms and
walked us back and forth in them. I was quite conscious of my hips
swinging alluringly in my itsy-bitsy bikini, and blushed about it. He
asked what was wrong and I said nothing was wrong, the heels were
beautiful.
Having gained a relative degree of composure in our new heels, he
then asked us if we might accompany him as his special guests as he
pointed out a few more machines. We said we would, knowing no other
response that would be acceptable in a locked dungeon. The crowd
trailed behind as we walked. Then, to my surprise, the tour concluded
and we all went back upstairs. A small dinner was served in the dining
room, and we ate with everyone else. Then there was dancing, and Julie
and I enjoyed a dance with every man there. We were quite popular.
Finally the count announced that it was our bedtime and took us back to
his castle.
"Did you enjoy your evening?" he asked in the coach.
"Yes!" we gushed. "It was delightful."
"I thought you deserved a night out," he said. "If only for a few
hours."
He said he had lied about it being our bedtime. He knew we
usually slept at least until noon, and were still quite awake, even now.
We shared a round of drinks in his bedroom and then he said it was time
again to go play the night away in the dungeon. I looked at Julie, and
she at me.
Downstairs the doorbell rang and Burton let in Elle and Erica.
They were bright and cheery and full of warmth. They came upstairs to
the bedroom, Elle in her nurse's uniform but with a skirt round her
waist. Erica sported a casual blouse, open jacket with no sleeves, and
knee-length dress. They complimented us on our taste in swimwear.
Elle gave us a quick physical, but said she did not need to check our
pussies or hindquarters again.
"Did you bring the smelling salts?" the count asked.
"Don't I always?" Elle replied.
"We shall need them quite a lot tonight," he said. "Perhaps even
for you." Elle looked away, said nothing, seemingly dismissing it as a
joke.
***
As Julie and I were led downstairs I wondered if we were doing
the right thing. Before we had not known for sure what we were
getting ourselves into. It had been like at the great house, where in the
end the dungeon had not been part of the festivities. (Though,
reflecting again, I realized that at this very moment they were
probably using it.) Julie and I had no excuse for the suffering we got
ourselves into tonight. It was perfectly obvious that we were going to
be told to shed our bikinis and "assume the position," as it were. I
wondered if Tom would be there.
The count shut the wooden door of the dungeon behind us.
Trembling, Julie and I gazed at one another. Should we go through with
this? Could we bear to? Was there any way at all to get out of it?
Asking the count for a reprieve would probably only add to our trials.
"Well girls, let's get those cute things off," Elle stepped forward
and said. She unzipped her skirt in back and it fell to her ankles. Erica
began disrobing. To my surprise, the count also.
"Mayn't we keep on just our panties?" I asked pleadingly. Elle
looked at the count.
"All right, I suppose, for a little while," he said. "If you can." I
puzzled at his last statement, but reached back and undid my bra even
as Julie released hers. Our tits popped out quivering, stiff nippled,
obviously ready for attention even if we weren't.
Elle had me unbutton her blouse as before. I softly cupped her
breasts one by one and sucked the nipples hard. When I drew my mouth
away, my tongue extended, a string of saliva remained connected
between me and one of her teats. Finally it broke. She and I couldn't
help giggling. Erica asked Julie to help her undress and together they
stripped her down to her panties.
Despite my apprehension, the atmosphere was more casual
tonight. We were a bit like old friends, fellow travelers on some now-
familiar road. The count sent a chill down my spine, however, when he
ordered us to partake of another round of drinks at the dungeon's wet
bar.
"But I don't want to drink any more," I whined.
"Ah, that's what I like! An eager beaver who wants to get right on
with it," he exclaimed.
Elle advised I accept the liquor. "For you, dear, its anesthesia,"
she said, and set me all a-tremble. Julie was looking fearful too.
Trying not to, we sashayed in our bikini bottoms along with the other
women over to the wet bar. The count, handsomely naked save for
slippers, led the way. His cock was delightfully hard.
The count poured a round of drinks and told us to turn them
bottoms-up. We did, and I spilled mine down my front. The booze stung
my uprisen nipples. The others laughed, even Julie. The count said we
must share and share alike, Julie and I. Elle clipped Julie's wrists
tightly behind her. Julie's breasts jutted out in all their glory, nipples
risen and hard. Delicately the count then poured whisky over her teats,
and she smiled in astonishment and gasped, feeling the light sting of
the alcohol uncomplainingly. Then the count drew open the front of her
bikini panties and poured a stream of liquor right into them. They were
so tight they filled right up and overflowed out the top. Then he
released the panties and they snapped shut, the liquor running down
Julie's soft thighs. The count turned her around then, Elle releasing her
wrists.
The rear of Julie's panties was wedged in her ass crack. The
count scolded Julie and told her to fix her panties. Carefully she drew
them out of her ass and spread them with her palms smoothly across
her bottom. She knew it was only for play, that a few steps would get
the panties stuck right back in her crack.
"Perhaps this might act as a kind of glue," the count offered, and
pulled open the back of her panties and filled the space between them
and her deliciously white quivering globes with booze. Then he snapped
them shut, to a delighted "ouch!" from Julie. My panties were then
accorded the same treatment.
With wet panties and expecting even worse things for our hineys,
we followed the count deeper into the ominous recesses of the dungeon.
The liquor did not work as glue and so Julie and I found ourselves
constantly fixing our panties, for the count had scolded her about it.
With mincing steps we approached a rack of spanking implements,
where the count had paused. He said Julie and I were brave little girls
and deserved a reprieve. To their astonishment he ordered Elle and
Erica over some nearby trestles. I heard a door creak in the background.
The girls would not comply and stood arguing with the count. Then Tom
appeared, grinning from ear to ear and naked as a jaybird. His cock was
breathtakingly hard, bobbing freely as he strode in amongst us.
"Thank you for coming, Tom, help me get these girls over the
trestles," the count said.
"'Course," Tom said merrily, and grabbed me by the arm.
"No, no," the count said, and indicated Elle and Erica. The two men
quickly overpowered the women and led them tottering to their fate. In
very little time they were bent head down over the trestles, arms and
legs tightly tied. The count let them keep their cotton panties on for
protection. At least they were blessed with regular-sized panties, not
micro-undies like Julie and I wore. Then the count told Julie and I that
we were to cane the womens' bottoms until the seats of their undies
were "properly threadbare," as he put it. I said that would take a lot of
whipping but he said the panties were actually fairly fragile and it
should not require too much time.
So, still wearing wet panties, naked otherwise, Julie and I were
invited to select our choice of whippy canes. I swung mine through the
air several times for practice and then advanced on Elle. I felt sorry
for her but I could not disobey the count, or he would put me right in
her place. Or add me to the lineup.
"No! She doesn't know how to use it! She'll kill me!" Elle
screeched.
"There's always a first time for everyone," the count replied.
"You're a big girl. You should be able to take it." Tom laughed. Julie and
I couldn't help giggling at these grown women and their fear. They
seemed so self-confident the night before in the dungeon, reassuring us
even as they whipped us. Now the tables were delightfully turned.
The count told us to begin. Julie and I swung, and both missed.
We tried again. Julie hit home, but I struck Elle's thighs. She cried out
an angry complaint. Finally we both got our aim right, and increased
the intensity of the blows under the count's watchful encouragement.
Gradually I got a zest for the thing. I stung away, relishing the
bouncing of Elle's full, womanly arse. Tom and the count spent as much
time admiring Julie and I labor away in our wet panties as they spent
gazing at the alluring reactions of Elle and Erica. Of course our undies
bunched in our ass cracks and there was no chance to adjust them.
Perspiration ran down my nimble form as I worked on, Julie huffed and
puffed and sweated too. Nimbly we learned some of the art of it, the
all-important wrist action, how to skate the crop over the bottom,
imparting a distinct sting but not injuring the flesh.
I scored my first tear after a bit. Elle's panties were beginning
to crumble under the beating. Julie too was soon tearing up Erica's
undies, which were even thinner than Elle's. When we finished, panting,
both girls had seats in their panties which were practically useless.
The cotton stretched over Elle's lovely bottom was shredded beyond
repair. Her own ass' bulging as she shifted her twin globes threatened
at any moment to send her entire bottom right out the back of her
panties. Erica's hiney was in a similar predicament.
The women were let up then, and stood ruefully rubbing their
butts, which only served to further ruin their ripped up undies. In
front, of course, their panties were perfect as ever, modestly covering
their pubises. The count then announced that it was time for Julie and I
to have our panties undergo a similar treatment. We looked in
astonishment at each other and quickly made to get our panties out of
our ass cracks, so they could provide at least some small modicum of
protection. We were ushered up to the trestles and bent right over,
making desperate adjustments in our bikini bottoms until the very
moment our wrists were bound. Even then I had to hold still and try not
to wiggle, lest my squirmings send my panties into my crack. The
count had ordained that Elle and Erica receive at least 50 "judicious"
strokes of the cane, and I knew we would get no less, regardless of the
condition of our panties; ripped, shredded, or hiding within the fold that
creased our bottoms.
Happily Elle and Erica took up canes of their own and advanced
upon us. The count had to warn them not to strike too harshly. "You
were not caned by them, but by me, with them acting only as my
agents," he reminded them.
Elle took a few practice strokes and then laid into my seat with a
real whistler. "Yipes!" I cried, lurching up, and instantly felt my
panties slip into my ass. To my surprise, Elle apologized and smoothed
out my panties again with her hand. She said I deserved as much
protection as I could get. Again she struck, this time more lightly and I
bore it like a soldier. She promised she would try to concentrate her
strokes on shredding the seat of my undies, but added that this was
difficult since they abruptly ended at the summit of my hams, leaving
the rest of my ass absolutely bare.
"It's tough to make the cane hit on the inrolling slopes of your
fanny and avoid the summits," she explained gently. "Perhaps the tips
of a well-placed cat would work better." I knew not to what she was
referring, and said nothing. The count gave his permission for "cats" to
both girls and Elle and Erica fetched them. When, down between my
wide-spread legs, I saw what was coming for me, I mewled out a
protest. Julie, trying ever so hard again to be the obedient slave, the
faithful wife, told me to hush. "We're better off if they get absorbed in
the art of ripping up our panties than just laying it on bare," she
whispered.
Elle returned to her station behind me, though in a more directly
facing position, due to the change in implements. She unleashed the
little tips and they went screaming right into the center of my bottom,
sending me bounding up toward the ceiling, howling in pain.
Calmly Elle strode forward and fished my panties out of my crack,
smoothed them, checked them for tears. A similar process began for
Julie with Erica. This slowed the whipping immensely, but they seemed
to enjoy giving Julie and I time to savor each sizzling strike.
Gradually our panties ripped apart in back until our butts shone through
the few remaining fibers like rising moons.
"Ah, excellent. Well done, girls!" the count exclaimed, clapping
his hands. "Release the girls, please." Elle and Erica undid us from the
trestles and helped us stand. I felt a new kinship with Elle. Yet, I felt,
she did not want me to be her equal. I could tell she hoped the rest of
the night was devoted to my bottom, not hers, and not both of us
alternately either. This was not merely for the obvious reason of
wanting to avoid pain, but for ego reasons as well. She styled herself
(in this environment, at least) as domme or independent observer, not
as victim. As I stood beside Elle she adopted an attitude of
remoteness. The feeling she had shown for me over the trestle was,
indeed, in her role as domme. I looked away from her, for she only
stared ahead at the count, awaiting orders. He picked up a little bell
and tinkled it.
"Now, girls, I wish for all four of you to remove your panties," the
count smiled. "Such works of art must be preserved." A look of dismay
swept over Elle and Erica's features. Reluctantly they reached down
and took hold of the elastic waistbands of their undies. Elle in
particular, as dungeon doctor, was accustomed to taking off her panties
when she chose to, and not before.
"Now Elle, those failed investments I bailed you out of are
certainly worth a pair of used panties, are they not?" the count grinned.
With a huff of displeasure Elle shoved her panties down her long,
slender legs and stepped out of them.
"Collect the panties, Tom," the count ordered.
From the gloom of the dungeon Burton emerged. "You called, sir?"
"Take these panties and have them delicately washed. The red
swimsuits have matching tops which are lying on the floor near the
dungeon's entrance. Fetch the tops and wash those also. They belong to
Kimmy and Julie, here. The slightly larger bra is Julie's."
"Yes, monseigneur," Burton said earnestly, bowing slightly, and
removed the collected panties.
"Ah," the count smiled at the four of us as we stood before him,
hands at our sides to allow him to observe the beauty of our bushes.
"Which do you prefer, Tom?" he asked.
"Well, I cain't rightly say, sir," Tom replied. He was a British
citizen, but had spent his entire youth in, of all places, Iowa. He
naturally retained the midwestern accent and demeanor. He rarely
called the count by his title and showed little deference, save the
deference that all midwesterners have bred into them. Now he showed
no more (or less) deference to the count than he would have shown to,
say, a proprietor of a feed lot in Iowa. Whether this was by design or
not I could not tell. "I fucked Elle and Erica last night, and they wuz
good, so's I got to say right now if I had my choice I'd want to take
either Julie or little Kimmy there for a ride on the big pego."
"I meant for whipping, Tom," the count said quietly.
"Oh!" Tom ejaculated. He glanced at the count. "You have a more
sadistic mind than I do sir, I must say. But I am doing my best to learn
the darker side of pleasure from you. I been readin' those books you
done given me, though I must confess I still cain't grasp the point of it
all."
"I was musing on that this evening, in my bedroom," the count
said. "Let us say you have just been ambushed by bandits. You fight
valiantly, of course, but they outnumber you and gun down your friend,
your only companion. You put your wounded mate on your horse and take
off down the road to seek medical attention for him. If you spur your
horse, will it run faster?"
"'Course it will," Tom said. "Ever'one knows that."
"And if you whip its rump will it run faster?"
"Ah, now your meanin' begins to appear to me," Tom said, a gleam
in his eyes.
"In fact, the spur and the whip might make the difference between
your friend living and dying, might it not?"
"Indeed it would, sir."
"As for the horse, he gets a fine run, probably exceeds both his
and your expectations as to his ability, and is improved by the
exercise."
"Yessir."
"Now, which female would you prefer to whip if I allowed it?"
We four females stood listening to all this, feeling like mares in
some horse show. I must admit it did give me a certain erotic thrill, to
be discussed like this. Would I measure up to the men's expectations?
I almost yearned to be put to the test. Especially by Tom.
With a hand now placed thoughtfully under his chin, eyes
squinting in thought, Tom observed the four of us. "Well, there's Elle,
dignified, a doctor. It would be quite a thrill, sadistically speaking, to
rip off her professional garb and give her a sound thrashing. But she's
already standin' there nekkid, whereas I would have wanted her to have
just ordered me out of her office or somethin.' And then there's Erica, a
fine woman, and she fucks lustily, I must say, enjoyin' ever' minute of
it, too. Somethin' about a woman who enjoys it, you know, it's fun
while it lasts but afterwards you got no sense of conquest. It's like,
'Hi! Fuck me! Fuck me again! I'm available!" Erica frowned at this.
"Now Julie there, the loyal, obedient, wife. Yet skittish. Her I
would like to whip sometime. And then there's lil' Kimmy. I don't think
she knows quite what she wants in life yet. Sometimes she resists
like a tiger. Other times she tries hard as she can to be dutiful and
obedient. Yeah, I guess its Kimmy's lil' ass I'd most like to punish, if
only to help her make up her mind about bein' in this here dungeon." I
smiled, bowed my head, and felt a sudden sense of dread. Tom had
picked me! Over the other three, over even Elle.
"Ah, an excellent choice!" the count said. "It is her very
willfulness, her utter unpredictability, which I too find so alluring.
Kimmy, you have no panties on that we must worry about now. Before
we had to be careful to tear your undies just right...artfully, as it were.
But now we are presented with the canvas of your bare bottom, where
any mistakes will heal, naturally. Your bottom has not suffered much
tonight. Go to the rack and pick out something for Tom to spur you
with."
Shaking visibly, but still happy at having won the contest, I
approached the awesome display of instruments of flagellation. There
seemed to be a dizzying variety. I gazed up at them, teetering back and
forth on my spiked heels as I tried to find something innocuous. Even
as I searched I was still rubbing my behind from my previous
punishment. "I-I don't know, sir," I said at last. "There are too many.
They are all too wicked."
"Tom, perhaps you can help her," the count said. Tom strolled up
beside me. I couldn't help but shoot a glance at his lovely, upstanding
glans. He patted my bottom reassuringly.
"We'll find you somethin', missy," he grinned. "Say, I jus' been
readin' about this here," he said, taking down a martinet. It looked a lot
like a cat o' nine tails, but the thongs were all stiff, not flexible. "Now
the French favor these," Tom said. "Unlike a cat, whose business end
consists of knotted strips of leather, this here is knotted strips of
whipcord. Boilin' 'em in starch is what makes 'em stiff like this."
"Kiss your master's choice, and thank him for his wisdom," the
count admonished me. I bent my head and placed a soft kiss on the
martinet where the cords joined the handle. With deep, liquid blue eyes
I looked up at Tom.
"Thank you, master, for your wise choice."
"Gosh darn ah almost came when you said that! Y'are a bewitchin'
little lady," Tom exclaimed. "Well, ever' witch I know was ultimately
tied to a stake. Lil' girl, we're gonna settle for a whippin' post!" He
grasped me by my blonde locks and led me forcibly over past the
trestles to an ominous thick post set in the floor. Manacles dangled
easily from its crown, down to just about where a girl's upraised hands
would reach them. I'd seen it earlier, going down on the trestle, hoped
I'd never be put to it. Now I would be.
Tom made quick work of chaining me to the whipping post. Only
my wrists were bound. I felt like a cowgirl in some old western. He
told me to stick out my bottom. He slapped it once and told me to stick
it out farther. The other three girls and the count gathered round to
watch. The count had Erica fetch them some drinks from the bar.
"Now, lil' lady, I cain't but say this is gonna hurt. But a tight lil'
ass like you got should handle it jus' fine." He squeezed me, as if
testing horseflesh. "Mmm, yeah. Feel the resiliency in those soft
cheeks. They should bounce very cutely indeed."
"Please," I whispered soulfully, almost conspiratorially, gazing up
at his square-jawed, high plains countenance. "Not-not too hard. Just
enough to make the count happy."
"Ah cain't promise nothin', miss. You'll get as I give you, based on
my readin'," Tom said. He remained close to me, would apply the
martinet from the side, rather than from behind me, as with a whip. He
turned so as not to hit his naked penis. I tried to keep this prize in
view as I braced myself.
Tom began by caressing my bare hiney with the stiff cords. They
felt strict, remorseless. Then he gave me a warning tap with them. I
flinched. At last he drew his arm up to his shoulder. I held my breath.
"Oooch!" I cried, as the first strike splayed itself across my
upturned peach. It was riper now. Again he struck. Streaks of bitter
heat imparted their prints on my tushy. Again, and again, making me
jump and wriggle my ass now, shamelessly.
Splack! Splack! Splack! Rudely I shook my hiney at the count and
the assembled ladies. I flexed the cheeks, contracted them, tried to
spread them to throw off the burning heat. I shook my head, tossing my
hair like a mane, heedless of how badly I might muss it. My boobies
leapt, tossing my nipples about in front of a nearby mirror.
"Th-that's enough, Tom," I cried.
"Shucks, miss, I done barely warmed you up!" he replied, and gave
me a good hard one next. I bucked up my bottom like a bronco and
yelped a high-pitched scream.
"Wouldn't she look just lovely in cowboy boots?" the count asked
his female companions. They nodded. He halted Tom in the midst of a
downswing, telling him to lay off my bottom until boots could be
fetched for me. The count and the women came forward and "oohed" and
"aahed" over the marks already delivered, the women tracing the pink
and red lines with their sharp-nailed fingertips. Burton, meantime,
summoned by the count, went about getting the boots.
I was let down for a moment's respite and led gently by Julie and
Elle over to a wickerwork chair, the only kind of furniture in this bit of
the dungeon. Sitting down in this was hardly better than being whipped.
"Oooch," I said softly, plaintively, as my sensitized bottom spread
its cheeks upon the interwoven network of rattan stems. This was the
sort of chair that when you got up from it, the chair left its imprint on
your bottom.
"Poor girl," Elle said, stroking my tousled blonde locks. I felt
sorry for myself and tears ran silently down my cheeks. Julie knelt
alongside me and kissed me compassionately, first on the cheek, then
on my throat, then on the upper swell of my right breast. Erica
playfully toyed with my erect nipples and told me to hang in there.
Burton presented a pair of smooth leather cowboy boots a few
minutes later. They were lined with felt. The girls helped me put them
on. They were brand new. The count bade me stand in them and I did.
They came to just above my knees in front, flared downward to just
below my knees in back. At my ankles they were drawn in snugly,
giving them a very stylish look. They had high, blunted heels.
I was ordered to parade myself back and forth in front of the post.
Bottom wobbling, I presented myself as gracefully as possible in my
new boots. They were very impressed. The count unlocked my collar
and tied on a red neckerchief. "Any other accoutrements you girls can
think of?" he asked.
"A little vest would be nice," Julie volunteered helpfully.
"Cowboy gloves?" Elle asked.
"Ah, enough! Put her to the post!" the count ordered. The girls
laughed. With helpful efficiency they led me tottering back up to it,
and Tom reigned me in. A moment later I was chained as before, but the
tushy I stuck out now was smarting badly. I wiggled it in the air to try
to cool it. Tom thought I was inviting him to begin.
"OW!" I cried, as new lines imprinted themselves on me. I sobbed
once, tried to hold in my tears.
SPLACK! SPLACK! SPLACK! Tom whipped me more swiftly now,
as if to build me toward some pinnacle of pain. I screeched and
hollered and danced about like I'd sat in nettles, all in my polished new
boots. The kerchief danced a jig of its own.
"Enough! No! Please!" I pleaded, looking right at Tom and begging
him to stop. My bottom felt like it was being branded now. He licked
his lips and ignored me. I looked and saw that he was stroking his big
thing. Behind me the count's penis was being treated to a double blow
job, as a kneeling Julie and Erica laved his member. Occasionally one or
the other would glance over her shoulder at me, mouth wide, smiling,
and glistening, as if to derive new erotic inspiration from my plight.
Elle watched me from behind the count's back, where she stroked and
pinched his muscular buttocks. Playfully he thrust himself forward
now and then, working his loins as if in the throes of orgasm. The girls
at his cock giggled and tittered.
"YEEEEOW!" I cried, as my poor bottom received yet another
correcting imprint upon it, the lines laying themselves over earlier
wounds. I cried raggedly between screams. All my imprecations to
Tom for mercy went unanswered. I swore I would run away as soon as
they unbuckled me. I stamped my feet and snorted, bawled my heart
out, but no one heard.
****
The next morning I stood inspecting my wounds in front of a full-
length mirror. I'd just awoken, prematurely, given the long night, due
to the plight of my bottom.
A sunbeam shafted pure morning sunlight through a window, right
onto my bottom. It was virgin-white no more. Cruel red lines spread
everywhere across it, interlinking along every centimeter of it as if to
form some metropolitan roadmap. There were several weals. I touched
them gingerly. The snake-like lumps were new to me. They scared me.
I wondered how long it would take them to disappear.
I had no one to blame for this but myself, wearing a slinky red
bikini down into a dungeon that only days before I'd been tortured in. I
bent over slightly and slivers of sharp pain went shooting up within my
ass and radiated over my legs and torso. Sitting down was definitely
out of the question.
"Oooh! Let me rub more salve onto that," Julie purred admiringly.
She was becoming one of them. They had spared her last night, the
count saying she gave exceptional head. Her marital training, no doubt.
She rose from where she'd just awakened, on the cool sheets of
our bed. All soft and naked and her boobies wobbling, Julie fetched a
bottle from the nightstand, padded across the room, and slipped behind
me. She knelt and caressed in more cream. She kissed the small of my
back when she was done. Then she eased me back into bed and rolled
into my arms to comfort me. The plight of my bottom receded slightly
as she deliberately slipped a hand onto my pussy and softly rubbed me.
"The count said it's my job to comfort you," Julie said. "And I
intend to do my duty." She bade me relax, that she was just going to
rub me gently, playfully. I responded by giving her a playful hand of my
own. Together we went swooning into sleep.
30
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