Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 115 alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Love Child
Part Eight
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Two
Meanwhile, behind us, the senator announced, "Men, present
cocks!" The men stood stiffly at attention as best they could, given the
fire engulfing their randy penises. The senator strode about them. He
ordered them to drop their pants. I sighed as I saw their haunches come
into view. Mandy looked also, gave a little breathy gasp. Ceaselessly
the men flexed their buns, so terrible was the fire burning along their
shafts. It was a sight to behold, such muscular butts, all ready for
service. Gallantly the men thrust their lances at the senator.
ÒDo you wish to impale me?!Ó the senator cried.
ÒNo, sir!Ó the boys answered, and I knew they were utterly
truthful. Yet the sizzling of their cocks left them no choice but to
repeatedly urge their members upon him.
Mandy and I returned our gaze to our mistress. We cooed
appreciatively as we applied the awful oil to her, knowing what it
would do to her. We tweaked her nipples and complimented her figure.
Like fish on a dock Mandy and I wriggled with our own need, perpetually
burning, our own nipples and clitties afire with the same oil she now so
bravely received. For her part she ran her fingers through our luxuriant
manes. She did not feel the oilÕs sting yet, only its slick wetness. She
was calm, Queen Antoinette before the guillotineÕs fall. I was told I
was wonderfully blonde, and Mandy that she was the perfect brunette.
Indeed we suffered not a bit in comparison to our mistress, for
although younger and skinnier, still growing, we already had a charm
that surpassed our years. And our boobs were glorious, such as any full
grown woman would envy, though our mistress, being older, had bigger
ones.
"Will mine be as big as yours someday?" I asked mischievously of
mistress. As I said it my mind thought of some little boy, perhaps my
lover in younger years, addressing the senator about his cock. Surely
that must have been my motive, to speak in fact of what was going on
between the men. My tits were not all that much smaller than
mistresses'. She sensed my true intent.
"Big enough to squish a nice sized cock between them," Mistress
answered. Mandy and I giggled. Behind us the senator ordered the men
to play with themselves.
"You must remain hard for the night's festivities," he said, "Which
I'm sure you can do but I'll take no chances. True soldiers keep their
weapons presentable at all times, ready for duty. Polish them up,
boys!"
"Yes sir," the men mumbled. They clapped their hands to their
cocks and rubbed them. The senator made them repeat their answer,
and repeat it again, until they shouted it lustily. Mandy and I glanced at
each other, a little worried. The men were getting ready for battle!
Meanwhile Mandy and I had moved to mistresses' clitty. She
swooned. Her nipples felt raw, burny. Below, between her tender
thighs, our hands were causing her to feel the first pangs of the
ointment there.
"Hurry up, girls!" the senator shouted. "These men cannot be kept
waiting forever." We finished up. We left mistress in agony. She stood
sleeking her hands down her thighs and bucking her hips. She dared not
touch herself without the senator's express command. I did not touch
myself either, though I longed to do so, as did Mandy.
It was then that the senator showed himself to be a true
connoisseur of perversion. Mandy and I resumed our posts at our lover's
cocks. We touched them uncertainly. I looked at the general. Was this
it? Was I to get down on all fours now, was the act to be
consummated? He smiled, sensed that I wanted the night prolonged.
Actually, I simply dreaded the loss of my virginity, though I desired it
now, hotly. But in my mind I teetered, Jiminy Cricket on one side,
nature on the other, supplemented by the oil. The senator grinned at
Mandy and I. He bade us desist. We let go of the men. They would have
to wait. I glanced at them. Haggardly they stared back.
ÒSuch eager boys, arenÕt they?Ó the senator asked me.
ÒIÕm sure they can hold on a little longer,Ó I replied. My voice
was sassy. ÒSurely they are picked troops?Ó
ÒPicked on,Ó one of the men groaned.
ÒSilence, men!Ó the senator shouted. Then, with gentle hands, he
took out a key and unshackled us. Mandy and I felt like little children
as he got the iron cuffs off our wrists, our ankles. Grandfather helping
us down from a pony, or out of our snow boots. Stepping from the irons
I brushed my hair from my eyes. My belly felt suddenly empty, despite
my dinner. Did I want the shackles? I did not know. Delicately I drew
my toes from them. They lay like broken promises on the floor. I
stretched, trying to enjoy my newfound freedom.
ÒBe good, now, or I will replace those with little shackles...on
your nipples,Ó the senator told me. I nodded. My eyes were wide.
The senator beckoned mistress from where she stood, dancing
like a snake, cherishing her torment. Her sexual parts were afire. She
could think of nothing else. None of us could. We were just our nipples,
our clits. The men were reduced to their penises. All thoughts amongst
us four naked jaybirds centered entirely on our ÒprivateÓ parts. But the
senator had more games in mind.
He had mistress call on the phone for a servant. It turned out to
be a middle-aged woman. I felt terribly embarrassed when she opened
the bedroom door. Here I was, buck naked, oiled, and obviously aroused,
a love slave in attendance on Senator Exon. But the womanÕs eyes
passed over me as smoothly as those of a librarian, monitoring properly
behaved children busy with homework. She had seen girls like me
before. We came, we left. The senator stayed, or flew back to
Washington perhaps, only to return for a new round of parties. And
girls. The senator ordered the woman to bring furs. The servant must
have known what he meant, for I certainly did not.
A rack of clothing was wheeled in by the woman a few minutes
later. Senator Exon ordered us to dress. I thought at first, with a kind
of sinking relief, that we all must be going home. My clit was on fire.
Although I would accept an offer to leave, I knew my body didn't want
to.
The clothing brought for us was all made of soft animal skins,
trimmed with fur. Mistress smiled, realizing the senatorÕs plans. I
guessed they did not involve chastity. She was not a woman who
favored leaving cocks stiff and unspent, though she might play with
them awhile, testing their virility. And, I thought, she was not one to
leave frisky girls unhappy either. So it was with a sense of deep, awed
curiosity that I obeyed the senatorÕs orders to dress. Mandy too was
cowed, tantalized. We tugged on fur boots that came halfway up our
thighs, and long-sleeved fur jackets. But the jackets could only be
buttoned over our tummies, leaving our titties sticking lewdly out, bare
as ever. And while the jackets cinched themselves tightly about our
waists when closed, almost like corsets, they left our bottoms and
pussies totally exposed. They were too short to cover us where it
counted, down below, and too meagre to contain our breasts. What good
were these jackets, I wondered? At least mine kept my back warm.
But I had long hair. I wasnÕt worried about my back. My bare bottom,
though, could have used some warmth, or at least some protection.
Little fur caps and earmuffs completed our ensemble. There was
nothing more to put on. No skirts, no panties, no bras. The men put on
leather boots and leather jackets, after first removing their shirts and
ties. They too were left with bottoms bare and loins fully exposed.
Finally they put on earmuffs. The senator said we were going outside
then, "to enjoy the air," and brought a riding crop with him.
Ah, how crisp and delicious the air outside was, though my
bottom instantly got goose pimples. We drew in long breaths, exhaled
them.
ÒLook, IÕm smoking!Ó Mandy cried, delighted. She tried to make
smoke rings with her lips. Mistress bent and made a snowball and
tossed it at the senator. He ordered us to form up then, just as we'd
been inside, except mistress took my place. The two soldier-boys
faced off against Mandy and mistress. Across a space of a few inches
the two genders stared at each other, the boys rudely sticking their
cocks out, the girls admiring, their pussies hungry, not minding the
display.
Senator Exon drew me aside and gave me four black blindfolds. He
told me to bind them over the eyes of our friends. Mistress, meanwhile,
produced the bottle of horrid ointment from a pocket in her jacket. It
had not been left inside, alas. She said to the men that they must have
yet another coating. The men flinched at this, but Senator Exon ordered
them to behave. Mandy, cupping her hands, received her share of the oil
from mistress. Together they began once more to lave the prized
members with the insufferable ointment.
I set about blindfolding the four as soon as mistress and Mandy
were busy applying the lotion. They did not need their eyes anymore.
They could feel where the menÕs cocks were. When I'd finished, Senator
Exon handed me his riding crop.
"While their loins are warm, especially the menÕs, their bottoms
are cold. Apply a little heat to them,Ó he said solicitously of our
friends. ÒBut don't hit them in any regular order. Let them be
surprised." I smiled. How wicked of him! With trembling hands I took
the crop, not really wanting it, yet mesmerized at the thought of
hitting the men right on their butts, their lovely butts, even as
mistress and Mandy tormented their throbbing, aching cocks. And, of
course, mistress and Mandy must not be spared, the senator assured me,
for their burning nipples and clits must enjoy the complimentary
warmth of the crop as well.
With a determined look on my face I set about sizing up my
intended targets. I felt a sense of newfound power. I was a child with
a brand new squirt gun, eyeing my older sisters. Mistress' bottom was
full and firm, a juicy target indeed. She wiggled it slightly in
anticipation, yet I knew she must dread it as much as she wanted it.
Ah, little Mandy, how I yearned to sting her ass, so trim and saucy, just
like my own. How dare she compete with me for the attention of the
men, flaunting her ass all about. No doubt she hoped to lure both men's
big cocks up her fore and aft, leaving me with nothing. My mind made
up allegations, just to punish them. I did not need proof. I had the crop.
They had only their naked bottoms. It was then I drew back the crop
and struck, but found I'd hit only very lightly, for I was totally new to
this game.
"Harder," the senator said. "Or I shall put you in mistress' place
and have her hit you doubly hard." With this encouragement, as it were,
I assumed a more serious demeanor. Certainly I didn't want any more
stripes on my bottom than I'd already had earlier this evening. Poor
Mandy, she must be made to suffer once more. I drew back the crop,
stood poised for a moment, my breasts displayed to the senator's
watchful eye, heaving their heaviness as I fearfully let my breath out,
drew it in.
WHACK! Mandy squealed, gyrated her hips helplessly. A bright red
streak appeared across her pretty ass.
"Very good," the senator said, even as the blindfolded Mandy
wailed out a protest.
"Oooh! Not so hard, please!" I left her then, my heart beating hard
as I contemplated doing the same to the gorgeous haunches of the men.
To see them work their hips under the searing pain I would inflict, just
the thought made me flush. I felt warm, yet I was outside in freezing
snow.
The morningÕs blizzard had stopped, leaving only a few flakes to
occasionally drift down. The moon caught them as they drifted. They
settled on our exposed skin, providing a moment's relief to those areas
so wickedly heated. Not just by my crop, but by the dastardly oil too.
The men prayed for snow to settle on their cocks, but the girls rubbed
just as quickly, eager to cool their hands. I felt a snowflake fall on my
nipple. I savored it. It was cool, icy. Welcome relief. I wanted to dive
into the snow, grab handfuls of it and shove it up my twat. But I was
well-behaved. We were all well-behaved. And well punished, too. The
senator played our bodies like harp strings, never touching us. Only
words, only words. Yet we obeyed him, doing horrid things to each
other. Would he have forced us to? Would he have punished us with the
crop himself, if weÕd refused? I did not know. I was having too much
fun with my riding crop!
I strutted from person to person, lifting my boots high, dealing
out sizzling blows with my crop. Angie Dickinson had nothing on me.
Linda Hamilton, Signourney Weaver, all amateurs. I was Miss Bitch, the
Ice Princess, and these were my shuddering slaves. Beautiful,
trembling, all nude for me where it mattered, suffering royally. I gave
each one of them something to think about, something to remember me
by. I prayed none of them would have the opportunity to repay me. The
senator surveyed all, bidding me to hit harder when my stroke faltered.
I obeyed as faithfully as I could. I did not want to be made to stand in
mistress' place. Her bottom began to take on the appearance of a road
map, though few of the stripes were more than pinkish lines, soon to
fade.
In their extremity the two couples began to kiss. The women
worked the men harder as their mouths joined with them and meshed. I
wondered if I was but spurring them, complimenting their ardor.
Certainly, though I might be flaying them alive in my mind, I was too
weak-wristed to give them absolute punishment. Instead they were
just getting what they wanted, needed. Cold...heat...an extra Ôkick in the
pantsÕ to startle them to peaks of arousal. Blindfolded, only able to
grope, their senses were heightened further. Only the girls could touch.
The men had to stand stiffly, though they bent to kiss, but nothing
more. The senator warned the men that they were on duty. Like White
House Marines, they could not turn, or reach out. They were ornamental
only. They must endure the teasing of the females. Little girls asking
curious questions, prodding perhaps, poking. Unzipping a zipper. Did
Chelsea ever unzip a marine? ÒExcuse me, sir, but your fly is up.Ó
Would that break his concentration? His single-minded devotion to
duty? ÒExcuse me, sir, but when do you pee? No matter, IÕll help you.
Just let me get your thing out. You can pee in my purse, no one will
notice. Your commander will think you have an excellent bladder. HeÕll
give you another medal.Ó
I admired the four of them. Trembling, they skittered from peak
to peak of passion, always so close, the men closer, but the women not
too far away, though they lacked the tactile attention the men got. I
know the men would gladly have traded places. But it is the manÕs lot
to be teased sometimes. So strong, you men are, well now you can
prove it. But the females, flexing their thighs, endured their own
private agony. They wished to be fucked, had the means in their hands,
yet the senator would not let them. Not yet. They must play the game
out, and they wished to. Little Mandy, virginal, unsure. And mistress,
loving every second of the awful game. She could find no other like it, I
guessed. The senator was a master at it. He held us captive. We
obeyed his commands. We were among strangers, each of us, the men
nameless, we girls only known by our first names. All our most
precious, most private parts were exposed to pillage, to plunder. There
was the tenseness of the unknown. It hung in the air like the northern
lights. The senator had threatened to Bobbittize the men. Mandy and I
had been shackled. I gazed at them, their skin white, bared to me.
Their silly costumes covered nothing. They were kept warm enough, I
suppose, but how ridiculously! To wear clothes that left your bottom
bare? What sort of attire was that? With schoolmarmish indignity I
swept the crop in again, slashing their reddened bottoms, loving their
squirming response. The black night enclosed us. Snow-filtered
moonlight made our skin glow.
D R E A M G I R L S L E T T E R S
Dear holy joe,
I have to submit a writing sample to my law school. What should I
say? - Dazed in D.C.
Dear Dazed in D.C. - The key word here is Òsubmit.Ó YouÕve got to
write something they will like. DonÕt tell them you want to make lots of
money putting O.J. back on the street. Tell them you want to be a
prosecutor. HereÕs what I told my law school:
I am interested in a legal career because I want to be a prosecutor.
Every night as a child I watched AmericaÕs Most Wanted. It quickly
became obvious to me that America is overrun with criminals. Something
must be done. AmericaÕs justice system isnÕt working. In my opinion, this
is the fault of AmericaÕs prosecutors. They are not vigorous enough. They
are not properly trained. This is why I chose to attend one of AmericaÕs
top legal academies, Swinger Law School.
And it is why I intend to go Òwhere no prosecutor has gone before.Ó I
intend to be a super prosecutor. Already I have purchased a red cape, and
taken to wearing it to all my law school classes. Next week I will begin
attending in my red underpants. I figure, when criminals see me walking
through the hallowed doors of Swinger Law School, dressed in my cape and
underpants, they will say, ÒThere goes one of AmericaÕs highly trained,
super prosecutors of the future. We better quit this crime business before
he gets his degree!Ó
Yes, it is important to Dress for Success. ÒDress the Part,Ó my
beloved Law School Dean always reminds me. I have also purchased red
boots. I got them at a bondage store. They are bright red, and match my
cape and underpants perfectly. In addition, I have purchased bright red
gloves. These are to keep my hands from getting dirty when I am out
fighting crime. I must always go to the court with clean hands, as the law
says, and if I never take my gloves off, wearing them even in the
bathroom, it will be impossible for my hands to ever be dirty.
However, there are some obstacles that I must overcome before I
can be AmericaÕs first Super Prosecutor. One of them is that I tend to
pass a lot of gas. I am told that it is difficult to get a jury to pay
attention to what you are saying if you are passing a lot of gas in front of
them. Also, currently, I am addicted to masturbating. Presently I am
unemployed, so I can stay home and masturbate all day, except when I am
attending my law classes. (In which case I do it surreptitiously, under the
table.) But what about when I must stand before a judge, in a courtroom?
Will a woman judge mind if I jerk off in front of her while I am addressing
the court? I hope not. As I see it, I am handicapped. Maybe, just like they
have handicapped toilet stalls, they can have a handicapped Òprosecutor
stall.Ó This will be for the handicapped prosecutor, like me, who needs to
masturbate while he is addressing the court.
I am confident that, despite my disabilities, I can successfully
handle the legal curriculum at Swinger Law School.
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