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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CUNT CASTLE
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Chapter Four
Feeling thoroughly refreshed, and quite sleepy, I lay within a big
canopied bed. It was the kind of bed little girls dream of. I know I had,
when I was little, dreaming of lying in such a bed awaiting my knight, who
would come and do to me whatever it is men do to women when they love
them.
Yet, despite such a sumptuous place of repose, with its light, airy
curtains pulled back, yet hiding me behind their pulled back folds, leaving
just a vee through which a visitor might see me, I felt anxious. I rolled on
my belly. With some difficulty I drew my head toward my knees, and
finally erected myself upon them. I gazed out through the window. There
was a window in the room, behind a thick curtain that IÕd mistaken, at
first, for part of the wall. It was a large Mayan tapestry. Embroidered
upon it were girls hiking upmountain to be sacrificed, their bodies so
young and slender, virginal. With them went their guide, hidden behind an
Indian mask with many ChieftainÕs feathers in it. Joanne and Sylvia had
pulled the curtain back to let me watch the sunrise. In the distance, the
sky reddened. Watching it, I let my bottom cheeks draw in. I wondered
how long I could avoid having a derriere the color of the sunrise.
Finishing my bath, the girls had drawn me out and toweled me with a
kind of introspective curiosity. They patted me down carefully with a big,
soft towel.
ÒYou have such fine skin,Ó Sylvia, the nurse, the one for whom a
branding was in store, told me. She seemed a little like a doctor
evaluating a patient. She scared me, yet she was very considerate, very
kind. She studied my bottom, though I tried to twist away. She parted my
cheeks and looked within, ignoring my squirmings. She studied my hole.
A hope was dawning within me, even as I watched the sun until it
became too bright for my eyes, that Polly and I would just play here, being
children really, and never having to submit to men unless we truly wished
to. But how would that make us grown-ups? WeÕd still be little brats
when we left, picking and choosing, doing or not, entirely as we pleased,
and suffering no consequences. It would hardly train us to be mothers,
with morning sickness, blood tests, birthing, nursing, and all the other
motherly chores. Yet, the night had passed and, exhausting as it had been,
It had been less than I faced at Abandon Gardens, or with Max. Perhaps
Rose was simply too sweet to really test it. I must admit, IÕd be grateful
to her if that were the case. Yet, if Louis, my lover, was really calling the
shots, I could not believe that heÕd let me (or, wicked man that he was,
little Polly) content ourselves with limo rides and visits to saloons.
After my bath Joanne and Sylvia had seated me on a bidet. They told
me IÕd be cleansed here after fucking. There was a small porcelain ledge
at the back of the bidet on which I was able to rest the outermost cheeks
of my bottom. The rest, joining with my thighs, was left free, so that
water could be forced into my privates. There was no need for that now.
Joanne and Sylvia had me lift my legs up and rest them on the opposite
sides of the bidet. They knelt on either side of me and painted my toenails
for me. Then they drew out my hands and did my fingernails. Finally,
using a makeup kit, they pencilled my eyelashes, put lipstick on me, and
brushed and fixed my hair. My blonde locks were piled atop my head so
that all of my slender back could be seen. A few locks dangled down
before my eyes. They did not bother to discipline those. They said they
made me look pretty.
Prepared in this most exacting way for bed, I was taken out to the
place where I would sleep. It was the same room as before, but now the
canopy had been put upon the bed, by unknown servants. I gasped when I
saw it. The girls just smiled. Sylvia patted my bottom and urged me
toward the bed. When my knees bumped the side of it they stopped me.
Joanne pulled back the bedcovers and Sylvia turned me around and had me
sit down on the edge of the bed. Or, rather, had me scoot myself up onto
it. The bed was high. When I sat on it I found my feet dangling over the
floor. I could not touch it.
Joanne brought a pair of manacles from the dresser beside the bed.
TheyÕd lain within a drawer, hidden. Now she slipped them over my
wrists, giving one to Sylvia, so that each of them confined one of my arms
in the steel. It was light, like Mithril, as if drawn by dwarves from the
depths of Middle-Earth. IÕd read that book by Tolkien, when I was little. I
liked the hobbits in it.
I flexed my arms and looked at my new bracelets. There were hooks
in them so they could be locked together.
ÒWhat are these for?Ó I asked.
ÒYou must wear them as a guest here,Ó Sylvia said softly to me. I
shifted my bottom on the cool sheets of the bed. I looked at her hands.
ÒWhere are yours?Ó I asked. She had none, nor did Joanne.
Sylvia pointed to a metal bracelet round her upper arm. My eyes
widened. I saw that both she and Joanne were Ôequipped,Õ as one might
say, with bracelets halfway between their shoulders and elbows. And the
bracelets had the same lockets on them as mine did. Their arms, if
clipped together, would be pulled back so far it promised instant pain.
Their bodies would be grotesquely distorted, their bosoms thrust out like
obscene melons. Their arms, drawn tightly behind, would make them
appear like prisoners at some medieval trial. Then I saw little chains
dangling down from the outside of each metal armband, and I realized that
the chains would provide a little relief, giving each girl a few inches of
play between her otherwise immobile arms.
Joanne stretched out her arm and displayed the manacle on it. ÒYes,Ó
she said, sensing my thoughts. ÒIt would be cruel for my lover to bind my
arms using the lockets on the inside of my bracelets, locking each
bracelet to the other. Fortunately, he chooses only to attach the two
chains, locking their ends together.Ó She pulled her arms behind herself to
imitate how she would look in such an uncompromising position. Her
breasts lifted, her nipples, excited, stuck out with female hardness.
Sylvia burst out laughing, looking at her friend, and Joanne could not hold
the position and instead fell into giggles.
ÒThatÕs terrible,Ó I gasped.
ÒItÕs advanced training,Ó Sylvia said. ÒYou neednÕt worry about it
now. YouÕll get only what your lover orders for you. And Rose insists that
a girl be broken in through stages. She doesnÕt believe in giving a girl
more than she can handle.Ó
ÒThough what Joanne believes a girl can handle may still be more
than the girl herself thinks she can handle. Much more,Ó Joanne added,
obviously a bit less sanguine about a femaleÕs prospects at the castle.
ÒDonÕt scare her,Ó Sylvia told Joanne. ÒWomen are quite strong and
hardy. ItÕs nonsense, all this delicacy stuff.Ó She lifted her own arm and
examined the bracelet round it. She toyed with the little chain a moment.
I wondered if she relished being bound, and hoped to be used that way
again soon. Sylvia was tawny, like a lioness. I got the feeling sheÕd
broken so many hearts in her life that she longed to be paid back.
Obviously sheÕd chosen a lover who was not unwilling to give her her wish.
Joanne got a leather collar from the dresser drawer. IÕd been
stripped completely of everything before getting in the bath. Joanne took
the new collar, obviously meant for a dog, and buckled it tightly around my
throat. She placed a finger within its grip and tested its hold.
ÒSwallow,Ó Joanne told me. I did. The collar, though tight, did not
keep me from taking in air or gulping.
ÒGood,Ó Joanne said. ÒIÕm glad it fits.Ó
ÒWhy are there rings hanging down from it?Ó I asked. There were
two, one in front and one in back.
ÒThatÕs what weÕre going to show you right now,Ó Joanne smiled. As
if simply performing an experiment, they lifted my arms up and crossed
my wrists behind my neck. I felt my bosoms gain height, like twin
marshmallows being hung up on the sticks of my ribs. My nipples
lengthened and felt ever more sensitive as I realized how utterly helpless
I was with my wrists caught behind my neck. And then, before I could
object, Sylvia and Joanne swiftly buckled my self-latching wristlets into
the ring at the back of my collar.
ÒWhat??!Ó I blurted. Joanne and Sylvia each gave a soft laugh, as if
remembering past days of their lives. Joanne took her hands from my neck
and lightly flicked one of my nipples. Sylvia, always more intrusive,
cupped my breasts and weighed them in her palms. Was I being given a
forced mammography?
ÒYou look so sweet,Ó Sylvia said at last. That was hardly a medical
response. ÒLift up your heels. Put them right up on the bed.Ó Sylvia took
one of my small feet and drew it up and placed it, wiggling toes and all,
beside my bottom. I resisted, but her grip was firm and uncompromising.
Joanne raised up my other leg. Sitting with my arms bound behind me, and
my cunt displayed, the twin girls put manacles similar to those on my
wrists on my ankles.
ÒThere. Now lie back,Ó Sylvia told me. I was pushed onto my back as
Joanne opened the curtain behind me, letting in the first budding rays of
dawn.
ÒHappy dreams,Ó Joanne said to me, and she and Sylvia left me there,
bare, my breasts wobbling like jello on my chest, my hands raised and
bolted behind my neck. For a moment I lay there stunned, my tummy rising
and falling in soft indrawn swells, in time with my breaths, my knees bent
and my feet firmly planted on the sheets; barefoot, naked, perfectly made
up, with my only ÔclothingÕ wristlets, anklets, and a dogÕs collar. Finally,
to regain just a little of my modesty, if I could, I lay my legs flat against
the bed. The girls were gone, the door shut firmly behind them. IÕd heard
them lock it as they departed.
I was alone. My lover knew I was here, Rose knew I was here, but
where were they? Were they making love someplace, the two of them,
perhaps in some perverse desire to teach me to share? I felt my blood
rise. Where was Polly? I guessed, knew I was right. She was in a bed
just like this one, in some other room, bound just as I was. I saw in my
mindÕs eyes her small tennis-ball breasts jiggling nervously on her chest.
She might be crying, perhaps, missing her morning cartoons. XuXa would
perform her songs this morning without her. Mr. Rogers would show off
the fish in his fishtank without PollyÕs eyes avidly tracking their tails.
She said she just watched him for his fish, though I knew otherwise. I
kidded her once that sheÕd learnt from Mr. Rogers that she couldnÕt flush
herself down the potty. SheÕd flung her bra at me for that. Right in public.
She was wearing a little vest, in a club, and sheÕd slipped her bra off, me
thinking the joke was past, its damage done, when suddenly sheÕd used her
bra like boys use their towels in a locker room. IÕd had to dodge her as,
again and again, she tried to whip me by using her training bra as a whip.
Her breasts were bigger now. TheyÕd grown fast since she met
Andre. Perhaps heÕd inspired them.
I let my eyelids grow heavy with sleep. I had long lashes. They
obscured the rising sun. Kneeling before the sun, facing it as it rose, my
bed soft beneath my knees, I let its light bathe me. New light, virgin
light, the first direct rays of the dawn. They shafted through the window
and illuminated my body as if I were an angel in the presence of the lord.
If only my arms werenÕt pinioned behind my neck, IÕd have thought I was in
heaven. Without realizing it, I fell into an exhausted sleep, and tumbled
down onto the bedÕs down-filled pillows.
Soft hands awoke me. I looked up, startled. Where was I? Sylvia
beamed down at me. Her bosoms hung heavy, compressed a little, like
tulip bulbs, by her dress that was not a dress. It was a different color
now. The other had been green. This one was red.
Joanne was dressed identically to Sylvia. Carefully, attentive to the
stiffness of my arms, they lifted me up and turned me round so that I
faced the window. It was afternoon. I saw the tops of green trees. Birds,
keen in their mating and nesting, were flitting about the branches, looking
for bug-morsels to feed to their young.
As Sylvia stroked my bottom with her hand, Joanne positioned me on
my knees under a chain that hung down, isolated, from the ceiling. It
plunged through the roof of the bedÕs canopy, and was bound round a
wooden post that held it in place. IÕd wondered at it, been too sleepy to
ask of itÕs purpose. Now I found out. My wristlets were drawn back,
taking my head with them, so that I was hooked to the base of this post. I
felt like a cow being hung up in a slaughterhouse. My bosoms wobbled
uncertainly on my chest. What was to happen to me?
ÒI have to go to the bathroom,Ó I squeaked. Certainly theyÕd let me
down for that. Joanne giggled. Sylvia unfolded a pair of cloth baby
diapers. As I watched, immobile and horrified, the twin girls fitted the
diapers to my loins. They even used real safety pins. I drew in my breath,
fearing they might stick me with them. They did not. Perhaps that would
have been better.
ÒThere. When you need to pee, you wonÕt have to run to the potty
now,Ó Sylvia said with a devilish little laugh. She patted my diapered
behind.
ÒBut I have to go NOW!Ó I blurted. And I did, too. A full nightÕs worth
of pee had accumulated in my bladder.
ÒGood! Then we must hurry and get you downstairs for it,Ó Sylvia
answered. She and Joanne unhooked me from the post but did not bother to
undo my wrists from the back of my head. They gave me no shoes. On our
way past the dresser, Joanne fetched a pacifier from its drawer and stuck
it between my lips.
ÒWasth thisth for?Ó I burbled over the intruding nipples.
ÒBabykins must be good. Suck on your pacifier,Ó Joanne told me. She
had a motherÕs concern in her voice, as if company were coming for which
I must be very good.
I tripped down the grand central staircase at the front of the house,
with Joanne and Sylvia steadying me as we went. I was so scared! What
was to happen to me? They led me barefoot and diapered into the same
sitting room Polly and I had met Rose in the night before. She was sitting
there now, decked out in a formal dress, and Polly was there too!
ÒPoolly!Ó I lisped over the indwelling nipple of my pacifier. She
spoke my name in response, no more concisely, for she was dressed just
like me. I saw she was sitting between two men, both of them dressed in
tuxes, with a small square of plastic under her bottom to, I feared,
protect the couch from her pee.
She appeared dry as yet. But, like me, she was wiggling, obviously
having to go. She held a teacup in one hand. Steam wafted from it. In her
other hand Polly held a croissant. I saw sheÕd taken a bite from it.
Perhaps her new lovers had held her pacifier for her to allow her to do it.
They were able-bodied men, business men who obviously did a regular
workout to stay fit. They held coffeecups. They seemed much more
relaxed than Polly. I doubted they had to go like she did, or me.
ÒGood morning, Fleury. Did you have a nice sleep?Ó Rose asked me
brightly. Her face was powdered. She wore a little too much makeup, I
thought. Was that a bruise on her right cheek? I couldnÕt tell. If it was,
sheÕd covered it well. Who had done it to her? Louis? I had no idea.
I found myself facing two men on a loveseat. A small square of
plastic sat between them, as if awaiting my bottom. Joanne and Sylvia
greeted the men, turned me around, and sat me down between them.
Immediately one of the men caressed my back, and petted my slightly
mussed hair, as if to restore it. The other man frankly fondled my breasts.
I was utterly unable to stop them. I had a pacifier jammed in my mouth
and my arms were still uplifted and locked by my hands to the back of my
neck.
The first man, taking his hand from my head, put it between my
thighs and spread them apart.
ÒFleury,Ó Rose said to me. ÒLouis wanted you to meet two of his
friends. TheyÕre business associates.Ó
Our maid from the night before, the woman with too many clothes,
her dress and her girdle and her stockings all rustling and rubbing
together, brought me tea on a tray. There was a selection of croissants as
well, some with jelly inside.
The man who was so free with my breasts undid my hands. I drew
them gratefully from behind my neck and stretched out my arms. I turned
them, looked at them, all the while the Mexican woman with the tray
waiting for me to select my choice of pastry.
My other male lover, or perhaps I should call him simply my newest
male acquaintance, removed my pacifier from my mouth. My tongue slid
out between my lips with my pacifier. A string of saliva ran from my
tongue to the pacifierÕs nipple, breaking finally as he drew the baby toy
away.
ÒHave something to eat,Ó the man said to me. The maid urged her
tray closer.
ÒI really couldnÕt,Ó I protested. I put a hand to my tummy. ÒI really
do have to go,Ó I said, looking past the maid at Rose.
ÒTake a pastry, dear, and then weÕll talk about your more pressing
needs,Ó Rose told me. Reluctantly I obeyed. I reached out a faltering hand,
picked up a teacup, wavered with my other hand over the icing-laced
crescents.
ÒPick one of the jelly ones! TheyÕre gooood!Ó Polly exclaimed. I
looked up. One of her male lovers was holding her pacifier for her. As
soon as sheÕd spoken she lustily bit into her croissant. Some of the jelly
inside it squirted out onto her cheek. Quickly her lover took out his
handkerchief from his tux and wiped the jelly away. It was a crisp, new
handkerchief, carefully folded, which he now opened to wipe her mouth.
Polly seemed not to notice. She bit into her croissant again, clearly
enjoying it. Then she lifted her teacup daintily to her chin, holding it just
so, with her little finger extended, and sipped in some tea to help her
swallow the pastry.
I picked a cinnamon croissant. I knew IÕd like the spiciness of it,
mixed with, of course, plenty of sugar. I bit into it. Yes, very delicious.
It tasted as if it had been baked right here, at the castle, perhaps by this
very maid herself, slaving over the hot stove out back where weÕd found
clothes for our little trip into town. My two male lovers watched me eat
my croissant. The maid offered them seconds. They declined.
ÒNow girls, we have four men here whose wives are home pregnant,Ó
Rose said. Her voice was direct and simple in its tone. ÒAs you might
imagine, men know nothing about babies. And they, babies I mean, are such
delicate creatures. Yet in the 90Õs men are expected to feed babies, and
wash them, and of course to diaper them. ThatÕs why I decided to dress
you up this way this morning. These men need practise. YouÕre young
enough to still look babyish,Ó (at this Polly frowned, her cheeks bulging
with pastry) Òyet not quite so delicate as a real baby. I want you both to
enjoy conversing with these friends of your lovers. Enjoy them. They
certainly enjoy you. And please, when you have to go, just pee right in
your diapers. Then the men can change them for you, and learn how to do it
properly.Ó
I just about spluttered out my tea at hearing that! I was supposed to
piss right into my diapers, here on this nice couch, and then be changed? I
guess IÕd somehow expected something else, though it was hard to say
what, now that I thought about it. A square of plastic under me, two men
leaning in toward me, and me in diapers. Yep. I guess that meant I had to
pee in public. God, I detested the thought of it. Last night had been one
thing, with my own boyfriend, on a childrenÕs potty. But to actually pee on
myself? That was too much.
ÒRose,Ó I said, speaking over my tea and my pastry. ÒIt really is too
much. I donÕt want to have to pee in these diapers! I mean, okay, I look
cute and all, but to actually wet them?Ó
ÒI have to go REALLY bad now,Ó Polly declared, feeling the effects of
all the tea she was drinking.
ÒWet your diapers, dears,Ó Rose told us. ÒItÕs the only way these
men will learn. You can hardly blame them. What boy would ever be
allowed to babysit like we girls do, and learn how to change diapers when
heÕs a teen? No, boys grow to manhood without ever learning the skills we
women do. Now itÕs time, their wives are pregnant, and they can hardly
learn properly on a woman whoÕs big with child. It just wouldnÕt be the
same. And, you know, we wouldnÕt want them fumbling their own child, in
the middle of Sears or Pennies or something. Babies donÕt look too good
when dropped off the diapering table. They need to start out with a larger
babykins, one thatÕs a size they can handle. So, I figured, a woman would
be too big, a baby too small, but a 13-year-old girl, that would be about
just right.Ó She laughed at her soliloquy. ÒPiss, darlings. IÕll sound like
Lady Macbeth in a minute!Ó
ÒOoooh! I canÕt hold it!Ó Polly announced. One of the men beside her
had begun to lightly tickle her belly. ItÕs smooth flesh shivered, sending
her breasts jiggling, and I saw a wet spot begin to appear in her crotch. I
think the sight of it inspired me.
ÒOh!Ó I cried. I looked down, holding my tea aloft, trying so hard to
look proper despite my nudity. In my other hand my croissant wavered,
half-eaten, my mouth watering for more. Too late! I felt a quick
outrunning between my thighs and knew my battle with my bladder had
been lost. I watched as the wet spot within the vee of my thighs grew
larger and more vivid. Yes, IÕd wet myself, just like a baby.
I looked up at the men beside me as I felt my bladder continue to
piss out my pee. It was so silly, sitting here, looking at these two
strangers as I wet the diapers that served as my panties.
ÒOh, I canÕt stop it!Ó Polly lamented.
ÒDonÕt, dear,Ó Rose told her. ÒLet it all squirt out. YouÕll feel much
better, and the men will get their training.Ó
We were each permitted to finish our croissant. I felt so awkward,
sitting there, munching on a pastry and sipping tea wearing wet diapers.
Yet I was hungry. Too hungry to pass up the change to eat. When weÕd each
finished the croissant we held, the maid fetched our teacups from our
hands. We were offered nothing more. Rose stood and said we must have
our diapers changed.
The men each took one of my arms. I was forcibly squired, with
Polly drawn ahead of me, into an adjoining room. There I saw a babyÕs
plaything hanging from the ceiling, one each over two closely matched
tables. There were little clowns and birds on the plaything, as if Polly
and I might compete with each other, batting at our playthings while the
men changed us.
A soft towel covered each table, much as one finds in a massage
studio. The tables themselves were made with cushioned tops.
ÒUp, girls!Ó Rose told us. With help from the men, feeling ridiculous
in our wet diapers, we each got up on a table. ÒLie down, girls, on your
bellies.Ó Rose instructed. I lay on my tummy and felt the eyes of the two
men whoÕd accompanied me fix on my pretty tushy. As soon as I was flat
they undid the pins to my diapers. With Rose advising them, they carefully
drew my diapers out from under me.
The maid came in with a trayful of steaming towels. The men each
took one. ÒThatÕs right. Wipe her bottom,Ó Rose told each of the men
regarding Polly and me. I mewled at the heat of the towel as it was
applied to my bare fanny. Slowly and carefully they wiped me clean, using
a dry cloth on my bottom after theyÕd finished with the moist one. Then I
was rolled over.
ÒGoo,Ó I said playfully to my two paramours as they gazed with
delighted eyes down at me. My titties jiggled on my chest. I felt happy,
aroused. They fingered my pussy, found it wet with more than my pee.
ÒDonÕt be naughty, gentlemen. SheÕs just a little baby,Ó Rose warned
them. They took hot towels and wiped up my pee from my pussy. Then
they dried me (as best they could)! I felt deliciously happy.
ÒYou can pee in your pants if you want. I wonÕt mind,Ó I said to the
men. My eyes were seductive. IÕd be the first infant to rape her daddies.
Twin daddies, I had, and I longed now to see the tools theyÕd used to father
me. I drew up my knees and let my legs fall apart, showing my sex with
its newly grown fur.
ÒWith pregnant wives, itÕs sometimes hard...Ó (Rose paused,
suppressed a giggle) Ò...sometimes hard for a man to find relief,Ó she told
me. ÒWould you mind, Fleury, if these nice men used your mouth a little?Ó
ÒI thought perhaps--Ó I began, hopefully, letting my hand pass
between my legs and tickle me where I suddenly needed it.
ÒShhhh,Ó Rose said. She put a finger to my lips. ÒLetÕs not make
Louis jealous, shall we?Ó There was a bruise on her cheek, I noticed.
ÒSuck, darling. Let them sperm your mouth. ItÕs the most I can offer you
right now. And please do take your hand away from your pussy. ItÕs not
nice to masturbate yourself in front of strange men.Ó
I heard Polly issue a burbling shriek and knew her to already be
entertaining her gentlemen. My own quickly unzipped themselves and
presented their penises. I let out a little cry when I saw them.
ÒOh, Rose. Where DO you find men with such large ones?Ó I asked
frankly. I touched my fingers to the two tools which presented
themselves, one on either side of my upturned face.
ÒAsk me no questions and IÕll tell you no lies,Ó Rose replied. My
gentlemen, sensing permission from Rose, undid their pants completely
and dropped them to their ankles. She placed her palms lightly upon their
buttocks and urged them both to spear me at once. I saw, to my
amazement, two nosy cockheads cross my vision and compete to get into
my mouth. Within seconds of their approach I was stretched and filled
with both. I felt like a girl with two giant straws in her mouth, and I
knew my milkshake would be vanilla for sure. In desperation at being
gagged by the organs, I reached out and grabbed for the menÕs balls. IÕd
better empty these boys quick, I reasoned. They were too much for me,
much as I liked them!
ÒOook Oooof!Ó I heard, and knew it to be my own voice as my loves
forced themselves more deeply into me. With Rose tickling their hams,
inquiring into their clefts, I squished and squeezed and groped at their
balls. Both of them were very huge and tight with excitement. It was like
squeezing a pair of hairy wrecking balls. Meanwhile, their smooth tools
drove ever more deeply, and try as I might with my tongue I could not keep
them back.
ÒHey! What are you faggots doing fucking our chicks?Ó I heard
suddenly from somewhere behind me. My loves, though I could not really
alter my gaze to see, both looked up.
ÒHello Louis, Andre,Ó Rose said with warm affection. Then, to my
loves: ÒDonÕt worry, boys. You have their complete permission to cum in
their girlfriendÕs mouths. DonÕt drown them with your sperm, of course.
But a little taste would be okay, wouldnÕt it, Louis?Ó
I guessed Rose had planned the whole thing to shock the men who
now probed Polly and I so fully with their manhood. It had its intended
effect. As soon as LouisÕ words had boomed across the room, my two
newest loves, their bottoms bared to my boyfriend, no doubt fearing the
return of Odysseus himself, began jetting into my mouth.
ÒOh, God,Ó I heard one of my lovers moan. I tried to imagine his
feelings. Here he was, a grown man, his pants around his ankles, about as
vulnerable as a man could be. And then, as if in some gay fantasy, in walk
two other men, not at all disabled, ready, it seemed, to fight to the death.
To be interrupted so, it must have been horrible, and yet wonderful, in a
way, something few men ever attain, actual vulnerability. Permissible
vulnerability, something that jolts a man and yet is not too embarrassing
once its over. After all, these men had their cocks firmly planted in my
mouth. They were violating LouisÕ girlfriend, and AndreÕs too. They were
fucking us, as Andre and Louis were forced to watch.
I think my lovers fathered a thousand children in my mouth that
afternoon, or tried to. Spume after spume of their spunk shot into my
mouth, filling me, swamping my tongue and my ability to swallow. My
cheeks bulged out with their fertility. Their sperm overflowed and spilled
from the corners of my mouth. Like milk it ran out over my chin. I felt it
even invading my nose, their was so much of it. I had two of them, after
all, within me. It was an impossible job to swallow all they gave me.
Rose stood over me, watching my throat work as I battled to down as
much sperm as I could. I was afraid sheÕd scold me for wasting it.
Somewhere, I heard Polly shout as she thought herself finished, only to
find more sperm shooting from the pricks that gorged her mouth.
Just as the sperm first began to gush forth, there was another
development, even naughtier than the rest. I felt an expert pair of long-
nailed female fingers take to my cunny. I was too overwhelmed to see
who it was. Later, when all was done, I learned it was Sylvia. She
touched my spot and diddled with it, most openly, not asking permission or
even speaking to me. I was too high strung from my adventures to close
my legs to her. She twirled and twirled and twirled within and around my
clit. I bucked once, shivered. Placing a palm on my thigh she eased my
hips back onto the table and continued her work. I heard a moan from Polly
and later learned Joanne had attended to her. We needed it, I think. WeÕd
been on tenterhooks since we almost creamed ourselves pillowfighting at
the saloon, on the slick wet post with its invading, sugary froth.
At last the pricks were withdrawn. They were shrinking now. Their
deed was done. With some coughs of self-consciousness the lovers who
had so lustily spermed our mouths now drew up their pants. They made a
manly joke or two, directed at Louis and Andre, to restore their much
prized masculinity. Our true loves watched them, then came up to greet
Polly and I.
ÒHi, Louis,Ó I said with bright eyes. My tummy still heaved a little
from my exertions under SylviaÕs finger. Politely she desisted, though I
wouldnÕt, I think, minded if sheÕd continued. Sperm ran all down my
cheeks and even somehow had gotten into my hair.
Louis beamed down at me. ÒYou are doing well,Ó he said to me.
ÒTonight you will have your first good whipping. Branson will deliver it.Ó
He saw my eyes widen as he spoke. I could not bear to hear such
words. I really didnÕt want to be part of this!
Louis touched a finger to my navel. He pressed harder and harder
until my eyes finally relaxed. Then he withdrew his finger and reached
between my legs and sought my clit.
ÒYes,Ó he said, rubbing, seeking. I gasped as he found me. ÒA good,
long, thorough whipping, one that really works your bottom. DidnÕt you
tell me when we first met that youÕd try anything once?Ó
ÒYes,Ó I confessed, my breath rapid now that heÕd found my essence.
He put a finger candidly into my cunt, kept at my spot with his thumb.
ÒA judicial whipping is what I wish for you,Ó he said. ÒBranson used
to work as a jailer down in the government prison before he retired. He
knows how to bring a girl fully within the world of the whip, until she is
utterly shattered. You will have no ego left when he is through with you.Ó
My heart was beating fast in my chest. I could feel it. I thought it
might burst out at any moment. Was Louis the Mayan priest come to stab
my bosom and lift out my still-throbbing heart?
ÒAll your life youÕve been a bratty, snotty little girl,Ó Louis told me.
ÒAdmit it. You have. YouÕre a teen runaway, and youÕve never obeyed, not
really. Tonight you will. For the first time in your life. I require it if
youÕre to be my wife.Ó
My eyes bugged. My head popped up, then lay back again on the soft
table. ÒYour wife? YouÕll really marry me if I let you have me whipped?Ó
Louis smiled. And somewhere, deep within that smile, I knew heÕd
never marry me. Yet we girls are foolish, arenÕt we? In a millisecond I
convinced myself that yes, he really would marry me. My puppy love
dreams of being with him forever, just he and I, no others, would be
fulfilled. He would cut wood for us and weÕd live in a little log cabin and
our son would be Abraham Lincoln and save the world.
ÒYes,Ó I said, and thought it was him saying ÔyesÕ to me, or told
myself it was. Louis pushed his finger deeper into my cunt. His thumb
stopped over my aching clitty, waiting. ÒYes!Ó I gasped. ÒDo whatever you
must to me to make me yours!Ó And he began his cunning work on my clit
again, and I swooned with pleasure at his touch.
I rolled over on my belly. I spit sperm into a paper cup held under my
chin by Rose. Louis patted my bare bottom. It was white as snow, and he
savored picking up baby powder and sprinkling it on my heinie. Polly found
Andre equally engaged by her bottom, though I know not what they spoke
about while Louis propositioned me about Branson. I think Rose had placed
her hands over PollyÕs ears and let Joanne finish her off between her legs.
There had been a lot of happy screaming from the other table as Louis told
me of his plans for me.
Our bottoms were made all silky with the powder. Louis and Andre
themselves applied it. Their calloused hands on our rears were a bold
contrast with the powder. Sylvia and Joanne wiped my face and PollyÕs
with hot cloths as the men powdered us. They stuck their cloth-draped
fingers in our mouths to let us lick off some of the sperm that was
sticking to our tongues.
When Louis and Andre were finished with us, they left. I lay on my
table, my hands down by my thighs, my bottomcheeks huddled together like
worried sheep.
ÒDonÕt fret so. ItÕs still several hours Ôtil evening,Ó Rose said. She
spoke leaning close to my face, so Polly wouldnÕt hear.
We adjourned to Ôthe sitting room,Õ as Rose referred to it. ÔMy
outdoor one,Õ she added confidentially, as if she might have many of them,
like the parlor near the front door, or the one that lay almost as a secret
chamber next to the little girlÕs bedroom that Polly and I had first been
fucked in. My hands were brought behind my neck as I lay on the diapering
table and reattached to the back of my dog collar. I did not fight it. I was
too scared, too confused, and yet too excited, somehow, at my submission,
to protest. Sylvia did me, Joanne did Polly. She blurted something, was
ignored. Rose put her pacifier back in her mouth and Polly sucked on it
wide-eyed, like a trembling child wishing to pronounce upon something but
enjoying her pacifier just a little too much to take it out of her mouth.
We strolled through the castle. There was little hurry in RoseÕs
walk, and none in mine. Yet, watching her smoothly rolling hips, I let my
own sway more, feeling the nakedness of my bottom and wondering if
someone might see me. How strange I would look to them! My hair done up
perfectly, then mussed a little by my exertions on the diapering table. My
bottom glossed with silky baby powder, white as snow, yet my hands
bound severely to the back of my neck, showing my submission. Before me
my breasts wobbled with naked elegance, so high, so round, the tips hard
with anticipation and fright, freely offering themselves like stemmed
fruit to whomever might wish to pluck at them. Polly allowed herself the
same sexy gait. Indeed, we almost could not help it. The binding of our
hands, with our elbows upraised over our heads, made our naked bulbing
bottoms somehow freer. We were all bottom, it seemed, with our smooth
bellies offering themselves up as vacant wombs, ready to be filled and
bloated; our breasts were but udders on which future infants might suck,
our pussies so mysteriously dipping into our legs, where their unseen
cleft provided entrance to the burrowing male. Our legs were but columns
upon which we bounced the hemispheres of our bottoms, transporting
them, as it were, to the scene of future delights and depravities.
I heard a gasp. ÒOh!Ó a female voice said behind me. I wanted to turn
but found it difficult with my hands bound up behind me. There was a
shuffling of feet. A laugh, as if a girlÕs, then the deeper, more mature,
knowing laugh of a woman. I blushed. I could not see those who had found
me. Lovers, playing in the castle. One of them knew at least what my fate
was. I heard a man laugh last, he seemed to straighten his sleeves and his
cufflinks as he did it. Pipe smoke reached my nose from somewhere off
behind myself. I had been seen. My plight was known. They would whisper
of it in the castle and know my screams when they heard them that night.
I must vow not to cry out. I did not want to embarrass myself. If I must
serve LouisÕ wicked delights, let it be, but God I did not want to entertain
others with it. Polly, I think, was too far ahead of me to hear. I brought
up the rear. Sylvia and Joanne walked ahead with Rose, through the
castleÕs labyrinthine hallways, as if walking point in the jungle, spreading
out at the spearhead of our column to check for enemy entrapments. With
my hands imprisoned it was impossible to think of escape. I knew those
laughing at my predicament would never permit it. No one would, here at
the castle. Girls were expected to resist and were ÔhelpedÕ merely to
obey, nothing more. I watched PollyÕs backside. It jigged with youthful
eagerness, quite taut and pretty, as if she might be going to a backyard
pool to swim with friends. We passed by a collection of whips on the
wall, amidst the decorative paintings and tapestries; I saw her bottom
cheeks tighten apprehensively, her pace quicken, then she slowed again as
the hideous display of whips receded behind us. Our bare feet slapped
noisily upon the floor. We were gollums going fishing in our cave.
We passed at last through a door that led us into the open air of the
backyard. A white-columned sunroom beckoned. I stepped onto its brick
floor. The bricks were warm from the sun. Gauzy white muslin swags
hung like tremulous female panties beneath the sunroofÕs glass ceiling,
providing us with a kind of nebulous shade underneath. We collected
around a patio table and sat down on white wicker chairs with generous
cushions. A vase of fresh-cut flowers was placed on our table by the old
woman maid. She surveyed Polly and I with eyes that knew too much. Had
she witnessed our struggles on the diapering tables? Did she know what
the evening promised for us? Her bottom was large, long past its prime,
rolling with her accumulated flesh of many years. Ours, perched a bit
anxiously on our cushions, were small and tight and white and squeamish.
I could not tell whether she envied us, pitied us, or only mocked us in her
mind. Sylvia received a key from RoseÕs hand and unlocked my hands, then
PollyÕs. Gratefully I brought them down from behind my head and felt
their freedom. They hurt from being bound up, but I knew the discomfort
would pass quickly. I turned my wrists and inspected them. I still wore
the steel manacles, but they were so light I hardly felt their presence
anymore. Our dog collars, like our manacles, were left on. We would need
them again, I knew, but I tried not to think of their purpose. My collar
hugged my neck. It provided certainty. Though my bottom trembled
beneath me, my collar reminded me of my place and showed me that there
was no changing it. I must learn to simply understand and accept. I must
say ÔyesÕ to it, I knew, and nothing more, like a woman finally must when
she wants a child. She must accept the man, and the changes that come.
She must accept the enlargement of her body, the pain at birth, and rising
at midnight to feed and diaper. And then, when the baby is my age, she
must accept letting it go. There is no good in keeping it penned up, like an
animal, for its ÔprotectionÕ until 18. This I knew. My mother had known it
once too, but sheÕd forgotten. She did not want to grow old. She did not
want to be replaced in menÕs minds by me. She wanted me small always,
too young to kiss, to young to draw menÕs eyes away from her. She had
accepted having me, but she could not accept letting go of me. I was young
now, not her. She must let go of the idea that she was forever young, and I
was forever too young. She was old now. I was the one who was young.
Springtime was for me now. Springtime and summer. She must resign
herself to fall and winter; to menopause, then gray hair, finally wrinkles
and old age. It would come whether or not I grew up, or stayed ÔprotectedÕ
in her house. It would come as surely as the passing of summer into fall.
Yet she fought it, making trouble for both herself and me. It did not help.
It only made things worse. It had made me run away and now, perhaps, it
brought me to the castle whose name I dared not say to myself. Or maybe,
this time, I was on my own journey. Discovering, exploring. Could I blame
my mother for this? I looked at Rose. She let her eyes pass over me
without seeing me, or so it seemed, yet I knew she drank me in with a
passion, consuming me with her gaze. Polly and I were like her little pets,
puppies at Christmas. She had tied collars round our necks to keep us. I
had traded my mom for Rose. Yet mom offered nothing. Only homework,
studies, and Ôgoals.Õ Sexless goals, of course. Here, sex lay parturient
within the very walls, the table we sat at, the cushions we sat on. The
flowers bloomed with it. It was everywhere, all encompassing, yet
always just about to come forth, never bursting in as one might think,
except at special moments. Here I could feel myself right out to the ruby
tips of my breasts, my naked breasts, and my boldly naked bottom sitting
on the white cushion beneath me. I opened my legs beneath the table. I
felt the wantonness of my bare clitty and loved the way my pussy seemed
to part just a little with my legs, offering itself. There was nothing to
protect me. Nothing. I was nude, Venus-like, and I would rise from the
seabubbles of innocence into the open air of knowing, seeing all. From the
depths of Ocean, mother-like, shrouding me, I would spring upon the beach
of life and confront the lifeguard men who ruled there, the women who
strolled there, the other girls. ÔLook!Õ I would say. ÔIÕm here. Me! Fleury.
I have a body with tits and a bottom that sits and a cunny that wants it.
Give me what is mine. DonÕt hold me back or keep me from it. I have the
password now, called Ôbreasts.Õ See? Here they are. Now show me what
this world is all about, and let me take it within myself.
Joanne and Sylvia did not sit with us at table. They sat on hassocks
in front of vacant chairs by the wall, perhaps to more readily serve us, yet
they had enceinte demeanors, pregnant, as if awaiting something that
must happen yet unable to control it. Royal peonies spilled abundantly
from hanging baskets. Rose sat down with us at table, casually, and told
the maid to bring us summer drinks. They arrived with their straws
thrust through fruit. Mine had a lemon speared by a straw, PollyÕs drink
had a cherry. Crushed ice coated the surface of our drinks. I sipped mine.
Vodka, I think, watered down, made pleasant with a sampling of fresh
lemonade. Polly removed her straw and ate the cherry. Then she gulped
her drink.
ÒMmmm, good!Ó Polly pronounced, setting her glass down at last,
quite empty. Rose lifted a linen napkin from the table and wiped a cherry-
frosted mustache off PollyÕs upper lip. Joanne, finding garlands on the
chair behind her hassock, rose and placed them on our heads. They were
made of daisies and dandelions. Had they been left by other partiers?
They were freshly woven. Perhaps their party had been interrupted by
lifeÕs other necessities. Polly received hers without noticing, as if she
were the Mayfair queen, entitled to such a crown. I touched mine, felt the
pliancy of the stems and their budding flowers.
The maid with her heavy burden of flesh shrouded in an apron and
dresses brought Rose a Bloody Mary.
ÒOooh! WhatÕs that?Ó Polly inquired as soon as it had been presented
at RoseÕs place. The woman let Polly take it and sip it. Polly held the
glass with both hands.
ÒYuck!Ó Polly declared, giving Rose her glass back. Polly, perhaps
remembering her lesson in manners from the linen napkin, wiped her
mouth but, seeking to retain her youthful indulgences, perhaps, used the
back of her hand. Rose took back her Bloody Mary and drank it with
confidence, in long draughts. The maid asked Joanne and Sylvia what they
wished to have.
ÒA screwdriver, please,Ó Joanne replied.
ÒA stinger,Ó Sylvia said. Joanne shifted on her hassock a little,
glanced at Sylvia. They were as bare-bottomed as Polly and I, though
permitted to wear dresses. Clothes seemed to be worn as a kind of rank
by the girls here at the castle. The newest, like Polly and I, must go
naked, and with our restraints freely showing and freely used. Girls with
some experience, like Joanne and Sylvia, were allowed clothes, but they
were worn so as not to interfere with their use as sexual objects. Men
might simply bend them over and take them from the rear, or have them
sit on their laps, with nothing protecting them from the penis which
sprung up there. Their breasts, too, were kept on view, as statues offer
their loins and bosoms, hiding them from no one, displaying their form and
function to all comers. Maria our maid brought drinks for the girls. I
learnt her name because Sylvia used it, telling her to add extra brandy.
ÒDo not dilute it too much,Ó she said. ÒI want it raw.Ó Maria said nothing,
did not nod, but when she brought the drink she waited while Sylvia sipped
it and found it met with her approval.
Polly requested another drink. I donÕt know if she knew it was
alcoholic. She had downed the first one like a glass of punch. Rose did not
object. It was brought. Polly gulped her drink, ate the cherry, much as
before.
ÒPolly,Ó Rose said, waiting until the girl had finished her second
drink. ÒTonight, when you are asleep, IÕm going to have someone come and
whip you.Ó
PollyÕs eyes bulged and her head shot up from the rim of her glass,
where sheÕd been sucking up the remains of her drink.
ÒWhipped?!Ó Polly announced. ÒOh, I donÕt like that!Ó
ÒIt is necessary, Polly,Ó Rose said quietly. She looked at Joanne and
Sylvia. ÒStand up and show me your bottoms, girls. Have you two been put
to punishment lately?Ó
Joanne and Sylvia rose. For a moment Sylvia lost her brash, almost
over-confident demeanor as they both bowed their heads and turned their
backs to us. With a quickening heart I saw their derrieres, nude as my
own, but plumper, fuller. They reminded me of myself. I could see their
tan lines where their bikinis would normally be, if they sunned by the pool
when the workmen were present. Here, in our sheltered sunroom, there
was no need for such modesty. Well trained, both girls bent forward and
mooned their mistress. Not to do so would have been an offense, just the
opposite from conventional society. Their figs showed between their legs,
soft and neatly cleft and inviting. Their bottoms had not a mark upon
them, despite a month of training at the castle.
ÒSylvia, you are to be branded soon, are you not?Ó Rose asked with
cool aplomb. She sipped at her drink. The maid, moving about and between
us, had given her a new bloody mary. She lit a cigarette for Rose and Rose
accepted it between her fingers, holding it, letting the smoke curl up like
daydreaming thoughts on a summer afternoon. Somewhere in the distance
I thought I heard the roll of thunder. The air seemed suddenly oppressive.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó Sylvia replied. ÒWith your permission.Ó
Rose flicked ash from the end of her cigarette. She took a puff on it
and then replied, as the girls remained bending, ÒNot with my permission,
love. With your boyfriendÕs permission. Or should I say your fiancee?Ó
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó Sylvia answered.
ÒYou wish the brand to signal your complete commitment to him?Ó
Rose inquired.
ÒYes,Ó Sylvia answered. A little shudder ran down her spine and her
bottom waggled invitingly.
ÒIn the old days, I wonÕt say in my day, but in the old days,Ó Rose
confided aloud to Polly, as the girl watched her puff again on her
cigarette, ÒIn the old days girls saved themselves for marriage. Now, of
course, girls hardly save themselves beyond the seventh grade. So new
ways of showing commitment are necessary. Piercing, tattooing,
branding. I suppose itÕs preferable to abstinence, eh, Polly? Have you
saved yourself for marriage, Polly?Ó Rose asked.
ÒNoo- Not quite,Ó Polly gulped. Her titties were shaking at their
tips, perhaps from nervous apprehension of what Rose was promising for
her eveningÕs entertainment.
ÒYou may turn around and sit back down, girls,Ó Rose told Sylvia and
Joanne. ÒItÕs obvious I havenÕt been rough enough with you. Your
boyfriends will want a refund if I donÕt break you both in more thoroughly.
A sound whipping for you both tonight. No more drinks, either. I want you
to feel every bite of the leather. Then, tomorrow night, youÕll both go
dancing downtown without underpants, in short skirts. ThatÕs how you
were both brought to me. Do you remember? Without panties, fresh from
club-hopping. Well, tomorrow night weÕll see how much enthusiasm you
have for leaving your undies off, when every little twist of your body
threatens to show everyone at the disco how youÕve been whipped.Ó
ÒPlease,Ó Joanne began, fidgeting a little in her chair, although
Sylvia seemed to take a certain masochistic pleasure in the thought of
what would happen.
ÒFor that, my dear Joanne, you will enjoy a slim dildo up your behind
when you go dancing, in addition to your whipping. Such entertainment
youÕll provide, if you donÕt keep your skirt very proper-like! But IÕll insist
you both wear the handkerchief-sized numbers you were brought to me in.
Smile, Joanne. Have you ever read Story of O?Ó
Joanne gulped. ÒMy-my boyfriend made me read it before he brought
me here. Aloud. To him, and once to him while he was playing cards with
his men friends on Friday night.Ó
ÒSo, you see? Did O get to go dancing? I think not. But you do, my
dear. So be happy. A nice whipping will put some color into those white
cheeks of yours!Ó
ÒWill-Ó Polly spoke up, lifting her chin, as if to intrude into the
conversation that she might not be forgotten. I think, like me, she had a
craving to be the center of attention. ItÕs the undoing of many beautiful
girls, and despite her tender years she was surely one of the most
promising 13-year-olds IÕd ever seen in the beauty department. Save for
myself, of course. I wasnÕt about to let the thought that my pipsqueak pal
might outclass me intrude into my head. ÒWill my whipping be a quick
one?Ó Polly inquired.
Rose took another drag on her cigarette and laughed. It was full,
hearty laugh, shaking her breasts. Despite her modest attire, she wore no
bra underneath it. ÒQuick? Quick?! No, dear, it will take as long as
Branson can manage it, or his assistant, whoever it may be, seeing as IÕm
having four of you whipped tonight. No, it is exquisite to feel pain in such
a forbidden place; on your bottom and, if the cheeks are offered properly,
within its crack. How often do you feel pain in your bottom, hmmm, Polly?
Your teeth might hurt, or your arm, or your foot, but not your bottom, IÕll
bet. Tonight Branson will help sensitize that part of your anatomy. Your
pretty tail will be awakened and blessed with the sharp kissing of the
whip.
ÒWill Andre be there?Ó Polly asked. Her face had a resigned look to
it yet her questions kept popping out, like a child asking about a test in
school, or a shot.
ÒHe may, or may not be, dear. It is of no matter to you,Ó Rose
answered. ÒYou are to concentrate entirely on yourself. Think of nothing
but your bottom. Think of how you wish to be a good girl and serve Andre
always, and will do anything to submit to his wishes, whatever they may
be. And, in married life someday, youÕll find such an attitude inspires the
male to serve you. Divorce is prevented, and children do not wind up
shuttling between two pairs of parents who both hate and denounce the
other. Bridal whippings are quite necessary, Polly, and I expect Andre to
say Òupsy-daisy!Ó to you quite frequently, if you do eventually marry him,
perhaps even once or twice in front of company, just to keep you on your
toes. Selfless service is so important in marriage, and I do think
modernly itÕs been almost completely forgotten!Ó
ÒWell, I donÕt want to get married, if thatÕs the case,Ó Polly said
snippily, and quite sincerely. Yet she did not hop up from the table, or run
away, as I feared she might, perhaps even causing me to do the same.
Instead she sat right there on her bare tushy, keeping it planted in the
deep white cushion that felt so nice now but promised to be a discomfort,
despite its utter softness, in the morning. Oh, why did the night have to
come? Surely this day in all its pleasantness might last forever! Our
little tea party was so nice, just us girls, with the maid attending to our
every need. Even as I reflected upon my current happiness Rose asked us if
we wished to drink Purple Slurples and, just as we nodded yes, the maid
appeared, laden down with them, huge glasses filled with Orange sherbert
and Lemon-lime soda and Cranberry-grape juice, their straws stemming
tall, a wedge of pineapple stuck into the icy depths of each one to give it a
tropical flavor.
ÒMmmm, with a bendy straw too!Ó Polly said, her eyes widening
happily. She put the straw to her mouth and filled her cheeks with the
fluid. I tasted great, I admitted to myself, quickly devouring my own
glass. I drew my thighs a little closer together, realizing IÕd soon have to
pee. Should I pee right here, on this cushion, with my bare tush perched
atop it, my thighs all sleek and naked and my pussy exposed? It would be
fun, I thought naughtily. It would probably totally ruin RoseÕs little party.
I felt guests step out on the deck of the sunroof behind us.
ÒOh, what have we here?Ó a cultured womanÕs voice asked. Polly and
I looked over our shoulders, lifting our glasses as we turned so we could
keep right on sucking at our drinks. Two women had entered our little
hideaway, accompanied by a man. He was dressed in a sportcoat and
slacks, no tie. He was tall and had bold eyes. I liked his frame. Broad
shoulders, long legs, hands that spoke of an iron grip. And, letting my eyes
fall immodestly to his crotch, I saw that a bulge was forming there even
as he looked at me!
Coyly I turned back around to face Rose. More than ever I felt the
nakedness of my pussy between my legs. The women approached. One,
dressed in a very slick dress that molded her figure right down to her last
curve, put her hands on my shoulders. I had small shoulders, almost too
narrow for someone my age. When her hands settled possessively on my
shoulders it caused my breasts to quiver. They were almost too big for
me, big and round and perched high up, but with a protruding fullness to
them that made men like Louis seek my company.
The male took up postillion beside her, standing over me and gazing
down at my chest, while the female who had been with them drifted over
to Joanne and put a hand to her lovely pinned-up hair.
ÒMay we share her?Ó the woman behind me asked Rose, indicating
me, and speaking with an artlessness that I found made me breathless.
ÒA threesome?Ó Rose asked, drawing upon her cigarette with pursed
lips that made her look like Marilyn Monroe posing for a picture.
ÒWhat else?Ó the woman behind me answered. ÒWhen do you need her
back?Ó
ÒBy nightfall,Ó Rose replied. She lowered her eyes to my level and
looked at me frankly. ÒFleury, I should not let you take your pleasure so
soon in your training but...Ó A loud clap of thunder interrupted the rest of
her sentence. There was a flash of lightning. As if to protect me, the
woman behind me bunched her hands over my shoulders, squeezing them
together, making my tits protrude all the more.
ÒI-I suppose I could,Ó was all I said in reply. It seemed that no more
was needed for, as soon as I spoke, the woman snaked her fingers under my
armpits and drew me up.
ÒGod, what an ass!Ó her male friend exclaimed as my heinie was
lifted from the cushion. Outside it began to rain in a sudden burst. I
wondered if he would come as quickly as the rain had.
ÒMay I take my drink?Ó I asked suddenly. I reached for my Purple
Slurple. The woman laughed quietly. She said I could. I picked it up from
the table, looked at Polly, and said, ÒBye, bye, Polly.Ó She gazed at me like
a little girl watching a friend called away from a specially important
game for dinner. Her straw even popped from her lips, depriving her of the
taste of her Purple Slurple.
As I was led away, Polly silent behind me, finally sucking on her
straw once more, I saw the woman who had arrived with my new friends
sit down on JoanneÕs lap and frankly take hold of her face and kiss her.
Sylvia, sitting next to Joanne, began stroking both girlsÕ hair, as if to play
mistress. Rose told Polly not to suck up the residue of her drink, putting
air in her belly, but to ask the maid to bring another instead. I passed the
maid going out. She glanced at me, a superior look on her face.
ÒWhat- whatÕs your name?Ó I asked the woman now shepherding me
to some new fate.
ÒBeverly,Ó she replied. She had long lustrous brown hair, piled atop
her head at the moment, just as mine was. Her bosom, caught up in a dress
that had a single strap looping behind her neck, joggled freely, no bra
beneath, the dress itself serving as her only support. I guessed she was
approaching 30, though she looked quite beautiful. She had an air of
experience, helping me peg her age. She was taller than me, and held me
close to her, as if to keep me from harm. As the door closed behind us I
heard the rain falling quite heavily outside. The last word I heard from
Rose was a demand to the maid to close up the windows lest they all be
blown away.
With me naked, wearing my manacles which Beverly did not,
thankfully, insist on suiting me up in, in the behind-the-neck posture, we
travelled through the house and up the wooden staircase by the front door.
I saw no one else, though I heard laughter in the distance, and what
seemed like idle conversation. It was mid-afternoon. Not normally,
perhaps, a time for sex, except for unsupervised schoolchildren. But
Beverly and her boyfriend seemed ready to go, and I sensed there would be
no delay.
ÒIÕm Jack,Ó the man told me. I did my best to seem demure, looking
up at him with lowered lashes. I let him take my hand and, holding it
limply, I watched as he kissed it. Beverly laughed.
ÒHe wonÕt be quite such a gentlemen when he puts it to you,Ó she
said. I glanced down at his pants again and saw he was stiffer than ever.
Our time in bed promised to be most exacting, with a tool like that to be
satisfied!
ÒDid somebody powder your bottom?Ó Beverly asked as we walked,
patting my heinie.
ÒYes,Ó I replied a little guiltily. She asked no more. We came to a
door in the upstairs hallway and Jack withdrew a key from his coat pocket
and opened it. We stepped inside. It was a bedroom, with a large bed, big
enough to easily handle all three of us. Jack closed the door behind us and
locked it.
ÒOh, I see youÕve come with your own bondage gear,Ó Beverly said.
She touched a finger to my dog collar, inserted it, checked its tightness.
ÒGood.Ó She put a hand to my wrist and felt the steel which bound it.
ÒThese may come in handy,Ó she said, with a look of promise in her eyes,
as if taking them off, perhaps (though in fact they were locked) would be
wasting an opportunity.
I stood between her and Jack, looking up at her, feeling Jack behind
me. It was a tense moment for me, with two strangers staring down at
me in my nudity, literally evaluating me for sex. ÒHave you been taken up
your behind?Ó Beverly asked me. Sheepishly I replied that I had.
ÒFine,Ó Beverly answered. ÒAnd your cunt, too?Ó
ÒYes,Ó I nodded.
ÒJack and I prefer companions with a little experience,Ó Beverly
assured me. ÒLetÕs dress up, shall we?Ó She took me by the crook of my
arm, pulled me away from Jack who, I think was about to encircle my
waist with his arms and grind his pelvis into me. I was surprised at this
move. I think Jack was too. Perhaps Beverly, sensing the level of JackÕs
interest in me, wished to delay things a bit, cool him down, make him
wait, re-establish her control.
ÒTake off your clothes, please, Jack,Ó Beverly told him. ÒWeÕre going
to give you a treat youÕve never had at any of those engineering
conferences.Ó JackÕs face turned red. I realized what she meant. HeÕd
been getting some Ôon the side,Õ away from her, while off
conventioneering. I guessed he must be an engineer. With a fleeting look
at his risen erection I knew it was a perfect occupation for him. HeÕd need
a crane, I thought, to hoist him up when he got old, he was so big. I saw
him undoing his belt just as Beverly pulled me inside the bedroomÕs
adjoining bath. How was it that I kept meeting men with oversized cocks?
Perhaps my oversized bosoms had something to do with it.
ÒUnzip me, please,Ó Bev said in no-nonsense fashion once we were
alone inside the bathroom. It was plush, with a pink rug and pink towels
and a big sunken bath that I could already imagine myself soaking quite
happily in once Jack had riven me with his tool. Standing on tip-toe,
though I didnÕt really have to, but feeling a little precious, perhaps, I
unzipped the back of BevÕs dress.
The slinky black leather gown, made of the slimmest possible
material, came off Bev like leaves opening to let a flower bloom. Inside
the black sheath her skin was porcelain white. She stepped from her gown
like the Venus IÕd envisioned rising from the sea. She primped before a
mirror, pushing at her hair atop her head, and then turned to me.
ÒWhat do you think?Ó Bev asked me. ÒDo you think IÕm a suitable
playmate?Ó
ÒYou LOOK like a Playmate,Ó I answered truthfully. She had big, bold
bosoms that stood right up on their own, despite her maturity. Her waist
was slim and her hips full, with a neat delta of pubic hair twixt her legs,
offering more pleasure than most men could hope to bear (save Jack,
perhaps, with his big tool). I shivered in her presence and dipped my knees
a little in tribute to her amazing figure. I wondered what Polly would say
if she were here. SheÕd probably just look, then go back to sucking on a
straw or something, she was so little, compared to me. But IÕd snuck
PlayboyÕs as a child out of my DadÕs bathroom and I knew a gorgeous
woman when I saw one. ÒI hope I grow up to be as beautiful as me,Ó I
admitted. I felt my bosoms hanging from my ribs, big but smaller, of
course, than hers, and wondered if IÕd be lucky enough to grow as big as
she had.
Beverly reached out and cupped my girlish gourds with both her
hands. She hefted them. ÒI wish IÕd looked as pretty as you do at your
age,Ó she complimented. ÒJust how old are you, anyway? You donÕt look a
day over 15.Ó
ÒIÕm fourteen,Ó I answered. She started, letting her head flinch
back, then gave a warm sigh. ÒSo youÕll be even chestier than me in a few
years, and IÕll be over 30 by then,Ó she said. ÒIÕm jealous. IÕll make good
use of your manacles for sure, young lady,Ó she said. Then she smiled. She
kissed my forehead. ÒYou are lucky to be able to enjoy the fullness of your
sex at such a young age,Ó she told me. ÒI had such strict parents! They
sent me to a baptist college and I, fool that I was, let them. I didnÕt get
sexually active until just a few years ago and now, with due respect to
the feminists, bitches that they are, IÕm heading fast for the Over the Hill
Bar and Grill, as one might call it. The 30 plus crowd. You at least will
make up for all the time I lost. DonÕt worry, I at least wonÕt make it
difficult for you. WeÕll have fun. Come, lets get on some sexy little
corsets and give Jack a wild ride. Or ourselves, actually, considering the
state his prick will be in when we come out.Ó
I followed her to a folding closet door, which she bent back. Within
were piles of towels, washcloths, a bath pillow, a bristled brush, a Loofah
sponge, and a rubber ducky. Under the ducky were, folded very neatly, as if
just put there a few minutes earlier, two female nighties. Bev reached in,
moved the duck, and unfolded what turned out to be a corselette. ÒThis
oneÕs for you,Ó she said. It was pretty, colored pastel red with blue ties.
She drew it on me. ÒTake a deep breath,Ó she said, and I obeyed. With my
cheeks turning blue from holding my breath as long as I could, she laced
the corselette tightly up my front, squeezing my belly and, at last, my
bosoms, so that I was sure theyÕd burst out the top. Somehow they hung in
there, making the lace trimming along the top of my corselette tremble.
To my surprise, inspecting it once I had it on, I realized that little
decorative ties actually held aloft satin triangles over my corseletteÕs
otherwise open cups. My corselette, but for the twin triangles, would
have been a bare-bosom corselette, despite being tightly tied on. The
triangles had such a job covering me that, in straining outward with my
fullness, they left narrow slits of flesh on either side of themselves,
showing what a little slip of the drawstring that held them up would
reveal.
ÒHere, put these on,Ó Bev said with a mischievous grin. A pair of
panties, but with the same nasty little triangle in front, which, if untied,
would show off my mons without Jack even having to go to the trouble of
pulling my undies down. The back, of course, was a g-string, but with a
neat flutter bow, big and wide and flirtatious, to show off at the top of
my asscrack. I slipped into the panties. Pulling them up, I found they
didnÕt get much higher than the top of my pubic hair. Little curls of my
hair sprang out between the slits where the triangle didnÕt cover me.
Here, it wasnÕt a question of being too full. I had fleecy pubic hair and a
tight pussy. The danged triangle at the front of my panties just didnÕt
quite cover me along the sides of itself, thatÕs all. So wisps of pubic hair
showed, leaving me feeling quite naked despite the fact that the panties
were actually supposed to help me be modest. More modest, at least, than
I had been, with nothing on, yet somehow I felt more indecent now!
I pulled on stockings that went up almost to the tops of my thighs.
Then Bev gave me gloves which, it turned out, were full length and even
had fingers. They were my most modest piece of clothing but, covering
just my arms, they hardly did me any good. Lastly Bev helped me into a
pair of adjustable heels. They fit quite nicely, I found. They were made of
many little buckles and straps which she diligently laced together so that
I felt more bound on my feet than anywhere else. Mercifully, perhaps, for
our bedroom play, the spiked heels were blunted at their tips. Maybe the
manufacturer knew where these would end up! They were brand new, of
course. I guessed they never left this closet, except to visit the bed.
Bev gave herself a more liberal garment. She slipped into a bustier.
It had many little ties down its front, all made of lace. I had to take my
gloves off to do them up for her. She drew in her breath a little, but not
much, for the bustier was so filmy it wouldnÕt have held her. Brimming
over the top of it, her bosoms offered just their nipples. Below the rest
was held in. But the effect was obscene, for with the base of each breast
compressed, her nipples extruded over the top like tiny cowÕs udders
begging to be milked. The straps, each tied with a bow, lest they come
off, were alongside the outer edges of her bosoms, squeezing them
together to make her look even more milkable.
Garter straps hung down from the bustier and Bev had to find
stockings to attach to them. For some reason, the stockings were hidden
under a towel. Perhaps somebody liked the effect of a bustier with
dangling garters, but Bev didnÕt want to start off that boldly. With prim
hands, slipping on fingerless gloves tied off at the elbow, she slid on
stockings and attached them to her garters. I hoped Jack didnÕt detach
them. The stockings had no elastic in their tops and would fall down
instantly the moment the garters were unclipped from them. She looked
quite delicate, all dolled up in her bustier. Yet I watched as she rummaged
about in the closet until she found a crop, way at the back, behind the
towels, perhaps hidden there by somebody with the courage of Polly,
whom, I knew, liked not the least the thought of having her heinie
whacked. I didnÕt either, but I knew I could find the courage to endure it if
I had to. Bev handed me the crop to hold (I knew she would take it back, in
my heart) and put on a pair of panties. I guess she pulled those on last
because, after all, theyÕd probably come off first. They had to be tied
along the sides to stay up. They trapped her garters beneath them.
In a final touch of femininity, Bev put on a lace mini-robe. It
matched her bustier, gloves, and stockings. It was open in front (there
was nothing to close it with) and had short sleeves that didnÕt even come
down to her elbows. The hem fell to her hips and left all below bare. Yet
it added a kind of glamorous quality to her that I envied. She wasnÕt just
in a little bedroom playsuit. She had a robe on too, albeit a filmy one,
patterned in see-through patterns of lace and making her more mature. I
was just a little toy, suited up tightly, with my tailbone flourish, a bow
that teased the eye with the sight of my naked fanny waggling beneath it.
Putting on heels, Bev piouretted before the mirror. The heels were
new ones sheÕd brought just to play in the castle. Then she walked over to
me, took the crop out of my hand, and placed my hand in her free one.
I felt a sudden panic of fear. We were done with dressup. Now it
was bedtime, and I had the manacles and she had the crop. I knew only her
first name, nothing more. She could be an escaped convict for all I knew,
straight from the womenÕs prison, all dolled up to find a man and then,
having him, to return to the lesbian games sheÕd learnt behind bars. And
who was Jack?
ÒI havenÕt had anything at all to eat except a croissant,Ó I told her.
My stomach felt empty but, in fact, not hungry, though I tried to look like
it did.
ÒWeÕll order room service,Ó Bev smiled. ÒSomething gooey to get us
started.Ó
ÒI-I have to pee,Ó I admitted. I could feel those drinks and that
Purple Slurple in my bladder.
ÒThereÕs a chamber pot in the bedroom,Ó Bev replied.
ÒThereÕs a potty right here!Ó I said, pointing to the toilet with my
gloved hand.
ÒJackÕs not here,Ó Bev said. ÒWould you like me to invite him in?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I admitted.
ÒThen letÕs go!Ó
ÒBut-Ó I began, only to find her dragging me straight to the bathroom
door and then, opening it, through it and out to Jack.
Omigod! He lay on the bed, buck naked, with a huge staff sticking up
as if he were Moses about to herd all IsraelÕs sheep. It was the biggest
penis IÕd ever seen! Now I knew why Bev had said they both preferred girls
with a little experience. YouÕd need a lot to take a member like that!
The maid entered. Magpie, Matilda, waht was her name? IÕd
forgotten it. Flushing from my tip to my toes I watched as she passed me
in my birthday suit-playsuit and placed the tray neatly on JackÕs belly. It
was hard. It could have held up an elephant. The tray brimmed with a New
YearÕs revelry of gooey, slurpy items. Pancakes soaked in syrup, a basket
of hot buns, a bottle of honey, three cups of steaming cocoa (I hoped the
tray didnÕt tip over!) and a tube of whipped cream. In addition, right on the
tray with our food, was a string of new Ben-Wa balls, vaseline, colored
condoms, and a big plastic bottle of HersheyÕs Chocolate Syrup, with no
discernible use for it as far as I could see, at least with respect to the
food.
ÒPlease leave the door unlocked, Maria,Ó Bev told her. ÒYou may stay
yourself if you like.Ó Maria nodded politely, in her rustic way, that she
would not. Rose was downstairs and no doubt would need her. ÒThen put
the ÔDo Not DisturbÕ sign on the door but, if you please, drape a condom
over it,Ó Bev instructed. She took me by the hand to the bed and reached
over to the tray and lifted a condom from it, handing it to Maria. ÒPeople
will understand what it means, I hope. It means they can enter and watch,
or perhaps play, with our permission.Ó
Maria nodded, turned and left. She switched the Do Not Disturb sign
from the inside handle to the outside handle of our door as she departed.
Then Bev clapped her hand to my naked bottom and urged me up onto the
bed. ÒDonÕt knock over JackÕs tray, youÕll scald his balls,Ó Bev told me
with a merry note in her voice as I scrambled across the bed on my hands
and knees. She got up after me, and I found myself facing her across
JackÕs legs with his dong sticking up underneath us. Beyond, the tray
waited. Bev took my face in her hands and kissed me freely upon my
mouth. Relenting, I let her probe inside with her tongue and, although I
fought her a little at first, I soon found myself responding my sticking my
own tongue in her mouth when I could. Jack watched all, his huge organ
trembling with delight. I knew he must have wished he could stroke
himself but I sensed he was too excited already to do that.
ÒLetÕs play with his penis,Ó Bev urged me when she finally let me
get some air from her kiss. I caught my breath, feeling my boobies wobble
within my corset, and then picked up the honey bottle from the tray as Bev
took hold of the chocolate syrup.
Bev looked at me and we both felt the need to kiss again. As we
kissed a second time, briefly letting our gooey treats fall from our hands,
she clasped each of my breasts. When she had given each a good squeeze
she undid the ties. My bosoms sprang from within their cups, offering
themselves to her and Jake even as they remained surrounded at their base
by the lacy holes in my corselette. Bev cupped each of my breasts and
squeezed them hard, almost making me yelp. Then she bent and put her
lips to them and, suckling them, bit them too, just a little, to remind me
she was in charge, I guess. I begged her to stop. I was scared. But she did
no more than put little teeth marks in the stems of my nipples which I
could only guess were there. I could not see them. ItÕs not too easy to see
teeth marks on your nipples.
I sighed at her boldness. I picked up my honey bottle and squirted
honey onto the tips of each of her squeezingly offered teats. A little ran
down onto the front of her bustier.
ÒOh! Look what youÕve done! YouÕve gotten honey on my bustier!Ó Bev
scolded me.
ÒIÕm sorry,Ó I replied truthfully. I bent and began licking at her
nipples first, to get off the honey IÕd playfully squirted there.
Bev reached down to my hips and undid, one by one, the pre-tied
drawstrings of my panties, which IÕd only had to adjust, not lace together,
after putting them on. Now, in short order, the work was undone,
completely, and I felt them slip away from me, with only the part wedged
in the lips of my pussy hanging on. Bev lifted my face from her boobs and
bent her head way down. She placed her palms within my thighs, urged
them apart, and bit the dangling fabric of my panties. With a simple tug
she nipped them out of my puss. I was quite naked there now, just as IÕd
been before, but with a tight corset binding my middle (though not, any
longer, my boobs) and stockings and gloves and heels on.
ÒCrawl up to the head of the bed and let Jack give your pussy a
licking,Ó Bev told me. I was about to comply when she stayed me, picked
up the whipped cream, and handed it to me. ÒHeÕll want to clean me out,Ó
she said simply. ÒPut some in my panties so he can do me after he does
you.Ó Gaily, not minding in the least, I pulled open the front of her
delicate panties and filled it up with whipped cream. She discarded her
see-through robe behind her just as I did it, to get it out of the way. Jack
watched all with his cock and balls tense, loving it, but longing for us too,
I knew. Why is it that we girls are happiest when we force men to wait?
I donÕt know.
With Bev properly creamed, we both had the sudden idea of
decorating JackÕs handy cock. Bev took the HersheyÕs syrup and upended it
and dribbled chocolate all over JackÕs cock while I watched with baited
breath. Then it was my turn. I got to top him off with whipped cream.
ÒIÕll race you to the bottom!Ó Bev told me. I couldnÕt resist. With
Jack howling with pleasure, we both licked our way all the way down his
shaft. Every moment I was sure heÕd replace the whipped cream weÕd
licked off his peehole with bubbling white sperm of his own. But
somehow, he survived. When we got down to his nuts we each took one in
our lips and sucked him hard, making him shout that he felt like he was
being castrated!
ÒOkay, now a little treat for your hiney hole,Ó Bev told me.
ÒNo!Ó I protested, but she took me by the hair, bent me over, pressing
my face into JackÕs cock, actually bending him down under my face, and
put the tip of the HersheyÕs bottle to my anus. I was so anxious about
getting messy that I didnÕt even realize how wonderful it was to have her
boyfriendÕs iron rod being bent down under my face cheek. I felt an oozing
squirt and the next thing I knew Bev had shot chocolate syrup up my ass!
ÒOkay, now up top so he can tongue-fuck you into oblivion,Ó Bev told
me. Our night was begun. From now on, I knew, it would be one long orgy
of mouths and hands and holes to genitals, over and over, with no stopping
until I was called away or we dropped from exhaustion. Too crazy with
lust to say no, I hustled my heinie up to JackÕs face and sat myself on his
unshaven jaw.
I was wild! His bristly face was pressed up between my creamy
thighs, and I found myself clamping myself to him with my legs, letting
his calloused palms find my bottomcheeks and stroke and cup them,
pinching them a little, though not enough to leave marks. As my white
bottom settled onto her loverÕs face and occupied his hands, Bev took up
position at JackÕs cock. She undid tiny ties underneath her pussy lips,
making her modest panties into crotchless ones. The whipped cream IÕd
squirted in her began to ooze out a little, but she acted too quick for much
of it to escape. She mounted Jack, getting herself over his erection, then
putting him in her with some difficulty. I guessed sheÕd had even less sex
than sheÕd let on to. Jack bucked his hips a few times, to lodge himself
deeper, but otherwise kept his hands glued to my asscheeks and his face in
my pussy. Somehow, he kept our tray steady on his belly, despite our
shenanigans. I wondered if heÕd had a job once as a waiter, perhaps
delivering singing telegram trays?
I cried out with glee as Jack drove his tongue between my female
lips. In back he inquired of my drippy chocolate-anointed hiney hole with
his finger. He lifted his finger to my mouth and, after a momentÕs attempt
at evasion by me, forced me to lick his finger clean.
ÒOh, Godddd!Ó Bev cried behind me. She was getting the full force of
his erection now, and it was, I speculated, stretching her to new heights
sheÕd never reached before. To save Jack or herself a scalding, she picked
up the cups of cocoa and flung them against the priceless walls of the
room. The cups, splashing their contents on the wall, shattered and fell to
the floor. I hoped we all wouldnÕt be made to pay for that indiscretion.
Bev rode Jack with as much abandon as she could muster, given her
tightness and his length. At last he spurted within her. She collapsed
onto the tray. Her boobs mingled in the syrupy pancakes with their fresh
strawberry topping. Screaming, I let Jack, who had a tongue as large as
some menÕs penises, fuck me up my cunt until IÕd crested into several
orgasms and could take no more. Finally I drew myself off him, my pussy
wet and my mouth smeared with chocolate syrup that had begun the night
in my ass.
ÒCome and clean me, bitch!Ó Bev ordered. I crawled to her and she
knelt up again, letting Jack rest a bit within her cunny before enlarging
again. I knelt before her and, as Jack continued to find my butthole a fun
place for his finger, I lapped up the syrup on the front of her bodice. When
I reached her panties I could not stop. I opened them and played within
with my tongue. I licked and licked and lapped and licked until I scooped
all the whipped cream out with my tongue, the very cream IÕd so naughtily
squirted there 20 minutes before, relishing my defilement of her, never
suspecting IÕd be given the job of cleaning her out. With his cock still
encased in her cunt, there was no chance of the whipped cream escaping
through BevÕs crotchless panties. But when IÕd licked it all out I stuck my
tongue down deep within her panties and licked around his shaft. It was
full again, bulging with his need. Bev began to rock on him and Jack
switched to masturbating my cunt with his hand. The three of us went at
it again, Bev still possessively keeping hold of JackÕs rod, me like a little
kitty-cat in her masterÕs bed, getting my pussy fondled as my two
masters made love.
ÒWell, Jack, are you empty yet?Ó Bev asked him when at last weÕd
slowed down enough for a rest. Bev had just dismounted from him and he
looked up at both of us with gleaming eyes.
ÒI doubt it,Ó Jack replied. And I knew what he meant. What young
stud would stop after just two spurts?
ÒAs soon as youÕre hard again weÕll put Fleury atop you,Ó Bev told
him. ÒShe needs some of your sperm too.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó Jack answered, a big dumb okay from a big guy. I didnÕt
know him well enough yet to know whether he was smart or dumb.
ÒItÕs up to us to make him hard again, Fleury. Think youÕre up to it?Ó
Bev asked me.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I answered her. And I gave her a crisp salute, kneeling
there on the bed, with chocolate up my ass and my cunny wet with my
pleasure and my bosoms and bottom exposed despite my bearhug-tight
corselette. For her part, Bev was in a much-licked bustier, her titties
showing their ruby tips and her cunny dripping out JackÕs sperm. We both
had ribbons in our hair, to keep it pinned up, and I knew we looked
absolutely sexy dressed yet undressed like this. I eyes JackÕs balls and
saw them drawing upward again already, promising yet more fulfillment.
ÒTurn around and show me your ass,Ó Bev told me, picking up her
crop from where it lay half-hidden amidst the bedcovers. ÒI want to pay
you back for all the sperm youÕre going to steal from my boyfriend.Ó
ÒIÕm-IÕm really not into that,Ó I said, my voice suddenly wavering,
my tits wobbling nudely on my chest, sticking out from the holes in my
corselette.
ÒShe must be whipped later tonight, by Branson,Ó Jack told Bev.
ÒHer bottom is reserved for him.Ó
ÒOh! Branson! HeÕs such a brute!Ó Bev gasped. ÒLet me see your poor
bottom! How awful it will tomorrow, after your visit to him! IÕll kiss it
for you right now, to help it get better before he even begins. YouÕll need
it, belive me!Ó
I turned around, not knowing what else to do. Putting down the crop
(which gave me a great sigh of relief), Bev came up behind me and began
kissing my ass very diligently. She did not bite it as sheÕd bitten my
nipples. She kissed it very tenderly, patting it with her hands consolingly,
and finally laving her tongue up and down my ass crack, for IÕd been told
that Branson would not even let me keep that part of myself private from
him and his whip. With kissing lips she sucked all the chocolate syrup out
of my ass. I was glad HersheyÕs made such good syrup!
Constricted within the corselette, my bottom felt huge. Her tongue
speared it as one might spear a ripe peach. I felt utterly female, fucked
up my ass by her pretty tongue while Jack, his own member now starting
to rise, prepared me for it by diddling my clit with his fingers.
Soon I was ready. Jack stood tall, and heÕd encouraged me close to
the brink of orgasm yet again. I was helped down to his waist by Bev. She
assisted me in straddling him, and depressed his cock a little at the pee
hole so I could get my smaller, childÕs frame, atop him. Then she got
behind me and bore down on my shoulders. Gazing downward, I watched
with gaping eyes as JackÕs organ drilled up into my cunny. He pushed the
tray of food off his belly as he realized what a job (and a pleasure, no
doubt!) it would be to ram himself up my tight cunt.
I gasped as his fullness went deeper and deeper.
ÒNo,Ó I begged, but Bev kept her hands pressed to my shoulders and
there was no stopping Jack, especially when he gave his hips an upward
thrust.
Suddenly the door opened. I turned, my mouth wide, my eyes almost
popping out of my head, and saw to my disbelief that Andre and Louis were
standing there, with Rose inbetween them. Slyly she unzipped their flies
even as our eyes met. Digging within them, she drew forth their flaming
rods, all pinkly fleshed and ripe with pre-cum.
ÒYes, Louis, watch as another fucks your love. See how big his tool
is. Bigger than yours, even. Are you jealous?Ó Rose asked.
Louis nodded.
ÒShe will be punished for it by Branson, I can assure you,Ó Rose
replied. Polly peeked over RoseÕs shoulder.
ÒPoooolleee!Ó I cried as, finding deep purchase within me, Jack began
jabbing up and down with his organ, jack-hammer like, befitting his name,
with my poor little cunt required to receive every heart-rending stroke.
ÒGood, good,Ó Bev told me, and stayed right behind me, not running to
service Louis, which I was most grateful for. She helped me bounce up and
down on her boyfriend and whispered words of encouragement in my ear.
If she was partly a lesbian, I was now glad for it. Any other woman would
have abandoned me for Louis, but she ignored him, preferring his eyes
instead, with her hands on me. She reached around and grabbed my breasts
after awhile, milking them heartily with her hands, still whispering dirty
words to me, as I screamed and cried and yowled atop JackÕs ever more
viciously fucking prick.
Somewhere in our fuck-fest I collapsed in a dizziness of delight
over JackÕs chest. Bev went over with me, squeezing my tits like they
were Play-Doh and bucking her hips against me, wishing, no doubt, she had
something fake on to shove up my nether hole. All the while Polly
watched, big-eyed and curious. I heard Rose slap her and warn her not to
frig herself. Louis and Andre, I saw through bleared eyes, stood and
massaged their big organs, quite freely, with Rose encouraging them to
spill their seed on her carpet, which I knew they didnÕt want to do. No man
does. Even as he rubs himself he hopes never to cum, yet is so
overwhelmed by his pleasure that he canÕt stop, yet fears to go on. At
least, in the case of Louis and Andre, they were jerking off to a live girl,
namely me, not some bathroom magazine or pervertÕs story on the Net!
I wept with pleasure as I was filled and squeezed and even banged on
my bottom. Bev must have wished she were a man, the way she kept
humping my ass with her bereft pussy, having nothing to ÔdoÕ me with, and
me having nothing but buttflesh to reward her with. Somewhere very deep
within me Jack erupted in a spasm of cum. I felt my womb flood with him
and, at that moment, honestly wished IÕd get pregnant with his seed and
stay that way for the rest of my life, forever big-tummied, always
bearing more and more and more young, until I was as old and loose and fat
as Maria the maid.
ÒOooh, he DID her,Ó Polly announced when Jack and I finally
separated.
ÒYes, dear, but I TOLD you not to play with your pussy,Ó Rose told the
girl. She stood there bare-legged, wearing just her manacles, rubbing her
hand quite naturally and artlessly over her cunt. Her childÕs thighs were
parted in a wide stance, and her tummy heaved in and out as she watched
with fascination our bedroom play. I wanted to run up to her and put her
angel-like form in a crib and protect her from all she was seeing. And yet,
she looked so sweet, so innocent, just standing there masturbating
herself, that I finally decided I liked seeing her that way better, with her
new young tits wobbling on her chest, and her eyes like saucers. Rose had
to smack her bottom to get her to take away her hand but, the minute Rose
turned back to Louis and Andre, Polly was at it again, completely ignoring
RoseÕs injunction, as if sheÕd never been told it.
ÒCan I play too?Ó Polly asked us, still fondling herself.
ÒWell,Ó I grinned, looking at Bev. ÒI donÕt know that thereÕs much
left in this young stallion, big as he is.Ó Jack heaved a heavy sigh, still
flat on his back, but certainly less full in his testicles than heÕd been an
hour ago. Our dinner tray, its food completely uneaten, had fallen off our
bed and lay angled up against it.
ÒIÕm afraid itÕs time for bed,Ó Rose said. ÒBathtime, then bedtime,
for both of you.Ó Behind me I realized the sun was beginning to set. It
would be time for Branson soon. Could I bear it? I knew not what to do.
Louis desisted his rubbing, without cuming, and forced his rod brutally
back into his pants. He could not get his zipper up, but I doubted anyone in
the castle would care. He could have left his dick sticking out, probably,
but I imagined he did not want to show it to other men. At least not more
than was required. Men are funny. In a locker room, or a bedroom, they
strut about showing their stuff, but put them out in a hallway, or some
such, and up that zipper goes, depriving us girls of our favorite sight!
ÒIÕll fill the tub,Ó Bev offered, clambering off the bed. Her gait was
awkward as she went to the bathroom. I quickly followed. I had to GO, and
was determined that nothing would stop me from reaching the potty. I
scooted through the door behind her and plumped my bottom right down on
the toilet seat, not asking anyoneÕs permission.
ÒOh, you saved it up Ôtil we were done,Ó Bev smiled, turning on our
bathwater.
ÒNot by choice,Ó I replied. ÒI just got distracted soÕs that I didnÕt
notice.Ó
ÒAnd to think when I was your age I was still sitting alone in my
room collecting Beatles photos,Ó Bev sighed. ÒAnd Lennon was dead
already, of course, with no hope of the band reuniting. Oh well, showÕs you
what the music of the 80Õs was like.Ó Her bosoms bobbled on her chest as
she stooped down to check the water temperature. Then she made a trip to
the towel closet to fetch some bath soap and bubble bath.
ÒIt was terrible music, or so IÕve heard,Ó I commented to Bev, still
peeing out my stream of golden urine. ÒI was too young to know.Ó
ÒYou didnÕt miss anything,Ó Bev replied. ÒCobain had to shoot
himself to get music in really high gear. Too bad. Eleven million dollars,
any girl he wanted, and he wasnÕt happy. He was a pipsqueak, though,
physically. His penis wonÕt be missed, I imagine, just his scruffy good
looks, his insanity, and his voice.Ó
ÒI like Bush,Ó I told her.
ÒNo you donÕt, youÕre just making a joke Ôcause of the name,Ó Bev
replied.
ÒWell, the Butthole Surfers then,Ó I smiled at her. ÒOr is it Penis? I
mean, Primus?Ó
ÒHow about Porno...for Pyros?Ó Bev asked. She advanced across the
floor toward me.
ÒBelly!Ó I replied, slapping my own, wondering if Jack would indeed
be found to have filled it up. I wasnÕt sure IÕd taken any pills lately.
ÒHOle!Ó Bev screamed, and she bent low and stuck her finger in mine.
It was still all stretchy, from JackÕs massive erection being pumped in
and out of it. I retaliated, putting my own finger up hers.
ÒGirls, thereÕs really plenty of cock to go around here,Ó Rose intoned,
and we both looked up, shocked, to see her standing in the doorway,
looking at us.
ÒSorry,Ó I breathed.
ÒMe too,Ó Bev answered.
ÒOh, I do NOT want to be whipped, and I especially donÕt want to have
to take a baaaath!Ó Polly, making a handful of herself, bleated and whined
as Louis and Andre escorted her into the bathroom. Jack followed, a bit
sheepishly, I think, being all naked with the other two men dressed up in
suits. He ambled past them, his buttcheeks naked and exposed, his cock
dangling down and his balls swaying quite loosely and emptily. I got up
from the toilet, flushed it, and he took my place, peeing into it without
noticing to raise the seat, as men so often do.
ÒJack! Please put up the seat!Ó Rose corrected him. She advanced to
him and slapped his ass, which only made his pee stream miss entirely,
and decorate the wallpaper.
ÒI think IÕve got cunt juice all in my prick hair,Ó Jack commented,
ignoring RoseÕs admonition entirely. Men are sometimes within their own
world, and a female slap, even one on their ass that wangles their dick
around, only gives them the pleasure they think they deserve whenever
they want it.
ÒJack! Stop peeing and lift the seat!Ó Rose admonished. She hit him
again. For an answer, Jack turned around and began peeing on Rose.
ÒJack! How dare-Ó Rose exclaimed. But as his pee hit her, Jack
organ elongated to its full size and bloated up with its full girth suddenly
restored. Looking at it, Rose felt herself dazzled. Before heÕd even
stopped peeing, Rose bent and put her mouth to his cock. She did not cover
his peehole with her mouth, but bit lightly into the shaft of his cock as he,
for his part, kept on wetting her down. As soon as he was done Rose
slurped at his slit and kissed him. Bev, watching, laughed, for Rose was
not one to go without, and for her to submit herself to BevÕs boyfriend in
such a whore-ish way was truly unbelievable. But then, so was Jack.
(Though, thinking about it, Louis and Andre were not far behind him, Louis
especially. But he was the biggest, like Tarzan, lord of the jungle, reining
over all the other apes.)
Rose knelt in her peestained gown before Jack and begged him to
sperm her face. They had not met before, I guessed, at least not in this
intimate way. Jack, for his part, urged his loins into his face and made a
frank effort to cum. He didnÕt mind. He was on his fourth go-round and
was happy to spurt on command now. Rose clasped his rod and ran her
hands up and down it like a madwoman. She clung to his balls and made
milking motions, urging him to spew out his spunk. Jack, though erect,
was in no hurry. HeÕd been satiated on me and Bev, and was happy to let
his cum come when it came. Rose seemed to value this, somehow, and
tried every second to submit herself ever more ignominiously to him. It
was as if she relished this sudden break from her regal, polished self,
being now just a cheap slut on the bathroom floor, in a peestained gown.
Louis, moved to expose himself again, walked up behind Rose and
prepared to jettison his load right in her lovely hair. Andre did the same.
ÒNo!Ó Bev and I cried, but it was too late. They were highly excited,
I could tell, by the stiffness of their erections, and even Polly, though
fearing the night ahead, could not help but run up to Rose and begin
frigging herself again, as if she had a penis just like the men did, except,
of course, she didnÕt.
ÒAghghg!Ó Andre shouted suddenly, and his spunk lavished itself upon
RoseÕs hair. He served as an obscene inspiration for Louis, who jettisoned
his load next, with as troubled a shout as Andre had just offered.
Simultaneously, though longer in cuming, but climaxing just in time, Jack
spurted into RoseÕs face. And little Polly, not wishing to be left out,
despite being a girl, arched her hips forward, spread her legs, got halfway
over RoseÕs head, and peed on it. In amazement I watched her little
stream as it burst out of her and she tinkled right on our loving mistress,
mingling her pee with the heady-smelling sperm of Andre, Louis, and Jack.
When all were finished, Bev turned and found the tub almost full to
overflowing. She turned off the water, mooning us in the process with her
glorious bottom. Then we got out of our things, all of us, me and Polly
keeping on only our collars and manacles, and we all went splashing into
the tub. When we were all ensconced within it, I heard a clinking bucket.
The maid appeared, Maria, big in girth but otherwise silent. She put the
bucket under the sink, filled it, and then put it down on the floor and put a
mop into it. As we sat, luxuriating in the bubbles of the bath and savoring
our spent loins, she mopped up the floor.
In the intoxicatingly hot water, which made me, I confess, a little
sleepy, after all my exertions, the menÕs pricks arose again. Polly spotted
the first one. Andre was lying back, his head against a folded, partly wet
towel. Rose had positioned herself adroitly between Andre and Louis, and
I think was fondling their balls encouragingly under the water. Polly had
consoled herself to her bath by sailing the rubber ducky around the tub. As
she passed it by Andre, her titties scooping up foam as she glided amongst
the bubbles layering the waterÕs surface, AndreÕs penis suddenly stuck up
like a periscope.
ÒOooh, donÕt bump my ducky,Ó Polly reproved her lover, and seemed
quite serious, saying it, as if she now preferred her childhood toy to his
massive erection. Andre was the youngest male. I guess thatÕs why he
recovered the quickest. Just the sight of little Polly being herself, so
innocent and pure, yet so Ôwell-rounded,Õ as one might say, excited his
loins anew. Louis followed shortly, then Jack. I guess we had a trio of
rather stalwart men. I figured Rose picked them precisely because they
could serve so many cunts so well. No nerdyboys were allowed at the
castle, I donÕt think. You had to be able to get up and stay up, and cum
repeatedly when asked to. Boys who came to soon or men who couldnÕt
find the inspiration were kept away. Although, no doubt, at times Rose
trained even these males, if they could find the money to pay her. But
guys like Andre and Louis and Jack were what she preferred. She liked to
play with her guests; test them, provoke them, make them wait and then
make them cum more times than they thought possible.
Andre suggested that we have an orgy in the tub. Rose placed a
fingertip atop his penis, and LouisÕs, rubbing their slits and feeling the
first oozings of newly created pre-cum bubble up from them.
ÒNot until after the girls have been whipped,Ó Rose said quietly.
AndreÕs cock quivered as he contemplated the fate of his little lover.
Polly pretended not to hear. Louis seemed unaffected. I shrank down in
the bubbles, instinctively, and felt back behind myself. Was I really to be
whipped? Rose kept teasing Polly and I with the thought of it, so much so
I no longer knew whether it was just to keep us under her thumb or
whether she truly intended it.
ÒAh, I have been trained in the art of the whip,Ó Bev sighed. To my
surprise she lifted the riding crop IÕd last seen in the bedroom from
beneath the water. Foam dripped from it as she held it aloft and twirled
it. Had Maria slipped it to her somehow, while I was watching Polly sail
her duck? Polly and I both felt our eyes riveted by the implement. We
knew that its most likely target was us. Bev took the crop and kissed its
looped tip. Leather, made to bite and dig into the buttocks, or whisk
across it, depending on the wielderÕs skill and spite. Bev extended her
tongue and ran the leather stick across it. The crop was longer than most,
giving it an extra whippy spring. ÒI began as a submissive, of course, a
Ôbottom,ÕÓ Bev laughed, using the term of the S&M trade. ÒIt began one
night in a nightclub. I was dancing with this guy, a little bored. He knew
the owner. There was a spare room. My boyfriend, a different guy from
Jack at the timeÓ (she smiled at her new love) Òinvited a woman to hold
me. The three of us, plus the owner, went into the room and the next thing
I knew my boyfriend and the woman volunteer were bending me over the
pool table. I didnÕt know what to think. Beyond the door, everyone else
was still dancing, the music was still playing, drinks were still being
served. The woman, going round in front of me and holding down my
wrists against the surface of the table, told me to scream freely. No one
would hear, with the music blasting away out on the dance floor. Or if
they did, just a little, they would think it was something mixed in with
the endlessly segued songs.
ÒThen my boyfriend whipped me, using his belt. IÕd done nothing
wrong. He was just bored, thatÕs all, and I was too, until IÕd realized what
IÕd gotten myself into! The owner snapped pictures of my gasping face for
my boyfriend to keep as souvenirs. I shouted for him not to, but he ignored
me. The woman bent forward over the table and kissed me and told me not
to worry. When it was over she helped me replace my dress and straighten
it. Then we went back out onto the dance floor, and my bottom couldnÕt
keep still! Everyone must have thought IÕd taken lessons, in that back
room. In fact IÕd learnt my lesson.Ó
And it was, ultimately, according to Bev, that a sound thrashing
could be fun. I doubted that. Louis told of the differences heÕd discovered
between using a paddle with a hole in it and one without.
ÒIt swings faster if you drill a hole in it, but the splat from a
completely solid paddle is somehow more satisfying,Ó Louis commented,
and Bev agreed.
ÒDonÕt forget a good bedroom slipper,Ó Jack offered. ÒI find thatÕs
best sometimes.Ó Bev exchanged a knowing glance with him. ÒSometimes
sheÕll come to bed in the sexiest nightie after IÕve been slaving away all
day at work. I mean, how can I service her if sheÕs that much hotter than I
am? I do a lot of outdoor work. It keeps me fit but it can be backbreaking
sometimes. So I give her a good whacking with a bedroom slipper, just to
burn off some of her energy. I lay her across my belly and pull her panties
down so her bottom is unprotected. Then, while IÕm just relaxing, lying
back and watching the Tonight Show, I give her repeated whacks on her
ass. Whenever I feel like it, you know? If Leno tells a stupid joke,
WHACK! If a dumb commercial comes on, WHACK! And I donÕt spare her
none, no. I want her bawling her head off by the end of the broadcast.
Then, when sheÕs weeping and feeling sorry for herself, I mount her and
make slow love to her, at my own pace, with her underneath me quivering
and crying.
The conversation continued like this, each participant in the tub,
while enjoying the silky smooth water, telling of a favorite experience
with the whip. I didnÕt really have any, and Polly had none at all. I offered
my Abandon Gardens story, then wished I hadnÕt, because Rose seemed
more determined than ever to outdo what had been done to me there.
Polly, sometimes sailing her ducky, sometimes listening raptly, said
nothing at all. Except, at the very end, she admitted sheÕd been paddled
once at school for not doing her homework.
ÒThree swats,Ó she said. ÒMy teacher told us heÕd spank us if we
didnÕt bring our homework. So, the next day, guess who forgot hers? Me.
So he took me outside and made me bend over and he paddled me with all
the other kids listening. He got in trouble, though. I think they took him
to jail or something. Mommie said he shouldnÕt have done that. So when I
told her she called the school and he got in lots of trouble. At least I hope
he did.Ó Polly ended her story and we all sat looking at her. She was so
darling, with a little frosting of bubblebath on the tip of her nose,
unnoticed by her, making her look even younger than she usually did. I was
but a year older, but I felt much older. IÕd had adventures. While I tried to
be my most mature, Polly seemed to relish playing a spoilt baby. I could
never entirely figure out whether she did it deliberately, or by accident.
We were quite a bunch, lying there in the tub, on our backs, two
grown women and two girls, with Maria mopping up and then changing the
sheets in the bedroom next door. Rose with her dark hair, loosed in the tub
so she could wash the menÕs sperm from it. Andre picked up a nearby
bottle of shampoo and dunked Rose under the water as we talked. Several
times, to get her hair wet. Then he squirted the shampoo on her and began
slicking it through her hair with his hands. He seemed to enjoy it. Louis
plucked at RoseÕs nipples and commented on the beauty of her glistening
white breasts. They bobbed like marshmallows on the water, half-
submerged. Rose shut her eyes and let the two men admire and play with
her. Louis found her clit and made her gasp with little gasps of pleasure
as Andre played bathtub beautician with her hair. Bev took to necking
with Jack, leaving me to Polly. I asked her if I could sail her duck and she
let me, just a little, all the while telling me I was not doing it right.
ÒDucky doesnÕt go in reverse!Ó Polly scolded me, watching intently.
ÒDucky is made of rubber. He can go any way I want him to,Ó I
answered.
ÒOoooh! I donÕt like my ducky going backwards!Ó Polly said.
ÒItÕs not yours. It belongs to Rose,Ó I reminded her. And so on. Tit
for tat, until Polly grabbed her duck back from me.
Skipping sex, despite the menÕs renewed longing for it, we got out of
the tub and Maria handed us towels. She watched as we dried each other.
The men were tall and well-haired, their cocks up and boldly displayed.
Polly seemed fascinated by the difference between drying her own little
cunny and a manÕs loins, he being huge and erect where she had nothing but
a little slit. We took our time, exciting each other by passing the towels
repeatedly over the sexiest areas, drying each otherÕs loins until they
were re-wetted by their own fluids. I thought then weÕd return to the bed
for sure. After all, it had fresh sheets now. Why not? I was feeling
frisky.
ÒMen, IÕm going to ask you to be on your best behavior,Ó Rose told
Louis and Andre. Bev and Jack were holding hands, standing close by the
bed. ÒI see no reason why a girl canÕt have some fun before sheÕs whipped.
IÕm going to take Polly and Fleury dancing. Just to give them a little air.Ó
With that Rose took Polly and I each by the hand. With newly excited
cunnies and stiff nipples we stepped from the bedroom, naked as jaybirds.
Louis and Andre and Jack and Bev, with Maria in attendance, were left
behind. I looked back, as did Polly. Bev had bright eyes. Her hands had
Jack and Andre by their cocks, with Louis extending his toward her as
well.
ÒI thought they werenÕt supposed to fuck anymore?Ó Polly asked in
an irked tone of voice.
ÒWell, honey, theyÕre not supposed to, and I told them to be good,Ó
Rose replied quietly.
ÒWell, they look like theyÕre GOING TO to me,Ó Polly exclaimed.
ÒLetÕs not worry about them right now,Ó Rose said. ÒIÕll ask Bev to
give me a full report on their behavior later.Ó
ÒWill you spank them if theyÕre bad?Ó Polly inquired.
ÒCertainly! I told them to be good, didnÕt I?Ó Rose said.
ÒOoooh, goody!Ó Polly exclaimed. Her legs danced as we walked,
coltish, slim and childish, long but not fully fatted yet. I was conscious
of my own legs. They were skinny like hers, but not as much. My bottom
was fuller too. Mine had a sense of womanhood about it, while hers still
had those rubbery cheeks that veer a little toward the slim side. Hers
promised, mine delivered, one might say. RoseÕs bottom swayed between
us, round and soft and gracious, the sort one sees on Georgia peaches in
the springtime, walking up church steps with their children, or dancing
with their husbands at evening balls. Her pubic mound was fully furred,
while mine and PollyÕs were fleecy and light. She projected an aura of the
well-mounted woman, unafraid of men, knowledgeable, a good wife. I was
more the saucy high school girl, unsure, willing yet unwilling. Polly
seemed ever more relentlessly wedded to childhood. I think she used it as
a security blanket. She did not have to try to cope with the world if she
could pass herself off as a baby. I at least wanted to try. I wished to look
men in the eye with the confidence Rose had. We strolled down the hall,
calm in our nudity, me copying Rose while Polly skipped alongside. We
met no one. I heard sounds behind bedroom doors that we passed. A moan,
the sound of a whip? Wood breaking? They must be starting early, RoseÕs
guests. I did not ask about the sounds. Polly babbled about how Louis and
Andre needed to be given all sorts of implements on their bottoms, finally
concluding that a bullwhip would be best. Rose humored her. The girl was
sealing her own fate, not theirs.
We met Joanne and Sylvia, coming up the stairs. They were wet.
They had a boy with them, from the workmenÕs huts. They had found him,
they said, while they played outside in the rain. Rose scolded them for
getting their dresses wet. She ordered the boy back to his hut.
ÒTake Polly to her room,Ó Rose said. ÒWeÕre going dancing at the
cabana. You can take a quick shower in her room, then meet me
downstairs.Ó
Polly waved goodbye to me and went off with Joanne and Sylvia. The
girls did not mind losing their boyfriend. They were here to serve, and be
trained. They expected Rose to correct them. When they left the castle
they could do whatever they pleased. They had come here for something
different in this age of the liberated woman. They had come to find
fulfillment in the older ways, of servitude and obedience. Happily Polly
told them of all she expected to happen to Andre and Louis.
ÒAnd Rose will whip them, with a big, big bullwhip that will make
their balls bounce up and down!Ó Polly crowed. Her punishments for the
men were getting more elaborate by the minute. Joanne and Sylvia
exchanged glances. They knew Polly was sewing her own doom more than
that of anyone else, though Polly herself was oblivious. She pranced along
between them, describing in spooky terms all the things that must
certainly happen to the men if they disobeyed Rose.
Rose took me to my bedroom. Again I looked at the canopied four-
poster where sheÕd promised me I would taste the whip. A corporal
punishment, with no mercy, unlike any IÕd ever had before. The sheets lay
waiting, fresh and crisp, to receive me.
ÒOh, do it now, get it over with!Ó I said suddenly, turning to her.
ÒNot yet, dear,Ó Rose replied. I sank to my knees and found myself
pressing my nose pleadingly into her delta. It was soft, silky, dark as the
hair on her head. She consoled my anxiety by placing a hand on the back of
my head. I stuck out my tongue, felt between her legs for her clit.
ÒAh! Please!Ó Rose cried. IÕd found her spot. I tongued it with
babyish little licks, like Polly might. She said ÔpleaseÕ again and I knew
not whether she wished me to continue or stop.
I clasped her womanly thighs and parted them wider. I urged my
titties between her legs. She let her knees buckle a little, clearly
enjoying my efforts. But we were going dancing, in public! We must not
play like this, making ourselves all wet.
ÒEnough!Ó Rose said. Roughly she pulled me up my my hair. She held
my blonde locks in her hands a moment, staring at me, her eyes and her
cheeks hot. At last she let go. ÒI want you to show off your flawless
bottom once more before itÕs whipped,Ó Rose said to me.
ÒWill it still be flawless tomorrow?Ó I gulped. I felt butterflies
lift off anew in my tummy. This was getting serious.
ÒNot for a few days,Ó Rose replied. ÒThen it should be fine again.
Unless Louis wants a replay.Ó
ÒI donÕt want a play, let alone...Ó
ÒI know,Ó she said, putting a finger to my lips. ÒGet dressed. There
are bikinis in the drawer. Just wear a bikini. Nothing else.Ó I walked to
the dresser drawer in my room and opened it. There, arrayed before me,
were all sorts of colorful bikinis just my size. Had someone gone out and
bought them for me?
ÒTheyÕre beautiful,Ó I sighed. They were skimpy too. I picked one
that had a nice full bottom to it. Rose might want me showing off my ass
in public, but I didnÕt. LouisÕ eyes were all I needed. I tried not to think of
what he might be doing right at this moment.
Rose walked over to me. She put a hand on my back and did not stop
me from slipping on the bikini with the modest panties. She helped me tie
them. To my chagrin I found the panties didnÕt cover all of my bottom
crack. I dared not ask to exchange them. I was lucky Rose hadnÕt insisted
on a thong. She rummaged through the suits and I realized there were
bigger ones intermixed with what I thought were all just for me. She
found one her size and I helped her into it.
ÒArmed for battle!Ó Rose said to me when weÕd both dressed. We
looked like two girls in an underwear store, wearing just little bikinis,
mine cotton, hers leather, but they were decorated for swimming. Mine
had pretty dolphins with bulb noses swimming across it. Hers were
imprinted with eels. The fabric of both our suits was impossibly thin. My
nipples stuck up their nubs despite my bra cups. Her mound was not quite
covered. It bulged where it was covered, letting the eye see clearly that
she had a nice nest. I wondered how Polly would look. She took my arm
and we marched with a sense of gay abandon back into the hall and down
the staircase at the front of the house. I wondered if sheÕd made a little
wet spot in her panties from my licking.
Polly greeted us outside in a plastic swimsuit. She was
investigating a cricket, holding it in her hands and trying to figure out
what made it chirp. She showed it to us. Joanne and Sylvia loitered
beside her, mildly intrigued by the cricket. Joanne wore a bikini of felt,
SylviaÕs was woolen, a matrix of interlaced little bits of yarn. She was
lucky it was dark out. I think in the daylight one might have been able to
see thru the yarn to her pubis. Polly, I thought, was lucky too. Bright
sunlight would have quickly heated up her fashionable little suit. SheÕd
have found it burning her like a vinyl car seat. Joanne, I suspected,
wouldnÕt make more than two laps in a pool in her suit. It looked like
water would fray it and make it fall apart. But a little sweat from
dancing wouldnÕt be too bad for it and that, I guessed, is as much water as
weÕd see tonight. We were dressed for swimming but weÕd just be
nightclubbing in the city, along the shore.
Rose complimented Polly for catching the cricket. Polly wanted to
bring it with her in the limo but Rose told her to let it go. She did, calling
goodbye to it as it flitted away into the night.
30
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-END OF story EMISSION