Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 14 Thursday June 8, 1995
alt.stories.erotic alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Chambers of Love
Part Fourteen
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Seven
Costumed still in our boarding school attire, we made our way
through the streets of Paris to a little cafe. The truck hadn't started
again, and we'd had to hire a taxi back to the hotel where we'd stayed
before. It was too expensive now, and we knew it was unwise to haunt
our old abode anyway. So we found a creditable brownstone nearby and
plunked down the last of our stolen currency for one night's stay. It
was mid-morning, the next day.
"We look, uh, fashionable," Julie whispered in a low voice to me.
"Provocative, you might say."
"Thank God we're not someplace conservative." Julie clutched at
her cup of coffee. I glanced about us as we sat sipping at the cafe
table. The men seemed pleased to see us, gazing politely out of the
corners of their eyes. The women resented the competition.
Fortunately both of us (especially in my case) could still pass as
schoolgirls. In our little outfits real women would have looked like
whores. Nonetheless, at a nearby table one woman whispered audibly:
"Business must have been slow last night."
"Kids today!" her companion replied. "In my day we weren't
allowed to run about looking like trollops."
"And the younger ones are doing it too, um hum, younger even than
that."
"What the children today need is discipline!"
"You know, we're foreigners here," Julie said, "Despite our
uncanny mingling with English-speaking people. There's no way we can
get real jobs or anything."
"I know," I said. "I'm afraid there's only one way we can get the
money to go home. Let's hope we meet someone pleasant."
"And soon. We spent our last franc on this coffee."
"Don't spill it," I said.
We gazed about. Fortunately it was the lunchtime business crowd
we were surveying. These were men with money, with uptight wives at
home who didn't give them what they needed.
"I think I found one," I said at last. I spotted a man out of the
corner of my eye who kept looking, seemed really repressed, yet a
gentleman. Julie followed my gaze.
The man seemed surprised that we were returning his glances.
We whispered to one another, assessing our odds, his wallet. No doubt
he assumed we were admiring his looks. He straightened his tie, his
mustache.
"Don't laugh," Julie said. "If we giggle he'll think we're mocking
his looks."
"He's not Adonis, that's for sure," I said.
"Do you want to go home?" Julie asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's go for it."
***
Soon we were stripped and ready for action. Our clothes lay
neatly folded in the bathroom. We were nude except for our high heels
(having no stockings or bras in any event).
"Oooh!" Julie clasped her hands to her chest, ecstatic. "Ten
thousand francs! This bird must really like us! Enough to go home and
everything."
"Too bad we couldn't get it in advance," I muttered.
"Now Kimmy, be nice to him. You're such a brat."
"I got your bottom out of that school, didn't I?" I opened the
bathroom door to see how our suitor measured up.
"Hi, are you ready?" Julie called, her eyes not yet able to see into
the bedroom. She pushed forward, but I was stopped dead still. Julie
finally popped her head out over my shoulder. She gasped.
The man stood with a gun pointing at us. He was naked, muscular,
stroking a large cock. Beyond him stood Mistress Persephone, gowned
in black. She switched her riding crop against her leg.
"You girls have missed quite a few of your lessons," mistress
snarled, smiling wickedly. Her eyes gleamed like a cat's, eyeing its
prey. "You'll have to do quite a lot of makeup work." I made to shut the
bathroom door but my hand wouldn't move. Julie screamed, once, then
seemed to lose her voice. "Thank you, Johnson, another job well done,"
mistress said. "You do play the repressed middle class husband quite
convincingly."
Johnson motioned us out of the bathroom with his gun. It was a
little Uzi, I noticed. Nothing to fool around with. "Any time you need
someone found, you just call me." He spoke with an English accent. "My
men and I, we can find anyone, anytime. These girls were easy."
"Yes, but I'll still give you full payment for them. Don't tell
Helga, if you happen to see her. She would insist I go soft on them."
"Yes, ma'am."
Jim and Steve sauntered in. They grinned like jackals, leering.
"Boys, see these young ladies to our car," mistress ordered.
We were forced to dress. Jim and Steve watched eagerly as we
shimmied back into our too tight jeans and jackets. Johnson lazily
stroked himself off. Then, struggling, we were trussed up like turkeys
and taken out the back in plastic bags. We were both tossed into a
trunk. We jostled against one another in the darkness as the car sped
off. There were slits in the bags for ventilation, holes in the trunk lid,
but it was quite hot in those bags nonetheless and we perspired
profusely. By the time we reached our destination our little uniforms
were soaked thru.
We were carried down a flight of stairs, through a heavy door
which slammed shut behind us and was bolted. The bags were ripped
open and we were pulled out. Puppies from the water. Wet, trembling,
we looked about. Julie began immediately to cry. Her bedroom antics
back home with her husband had just been rendered into a nightmare.
We were in a real dungeon now, not some chamber concocted by bored
suburbanites. I trembled as I looked about. This was the real thing.
"Yes, girls," mistress announced, striding down the stairs behind
us. Jim and Steve, who had so easily carried us in like sacks of
potatoes, made way for her slender form. She was a queen, and this
was her realm. "Familiar, Julie? Why do you cry? Ah, little Kimmy, so
brave, so bold! You wanted to taste life's pleasures, smell the roses.
This is where naughty little girls belong, don't you think? 'The children
today, what they need is discipline!'" She broke into a cackled laugh.
Mistress strode before us like some sexual Darth Vader as we
stood there shaking, weeping. Tears stained my face. "You're not
wearing your uniforms properly," mistress said, reaching out and
unbuttoning our blouses. "My, your things are wet. You must get out of
them at once!"
With Jim and Steve standing there we had little choice but to
obey. Stripping off my jeans, I hoped I'd still have a bottom left if I
ever got hold of a pair of pants again.
"My, my, no panties?" mistress asked. "You girls need more
instruction than I thought!"
"Look," I said, tossing aside my jeans in disgust. "Let's get real
here. We haven't done anything to you."
"Oh my, indeed, such insolence," mistress said, amused. "You
disrupted my program, leaving like that. I missed supervising many of
the girl's studies, so preoccupied was I with finding you. I've been paid
to train you and I'm going to do just that, my dear. We don't offer
refunds at this school."
"Let me go!" I cried as Jim seized me from behind. My young, slim
figure must have looked almost comical. My boobies wiggled fiercely,
alluringly.
"See that they are washed down," mistress commanded, turning on
her heels.
"Yes, ma'am," Jim and Steve smiled.
"Then we'll begin their lessons. Their behinds are...quite behind."
***
We stood shackled side by side, waiting, wet. Our postures were
enforced stoops; heels on the floor, bottoms high, wrists chained low
on the wall in front of us. I arched my back, straining against my
bonds, to no avail. Waistbelts hung from the ceiling insured that we
couldn't sit or lie down. And the fetters kept us from standing.
"We're really in for it now," Julie shivered. Occasional sobs still
rent her. I sniffled, trying not to cry. "I wish I'd never let Dan
experiment with bondage," Julie lamented. "But then, he'd gotten into it
before I married him, before I'd even met him."
"I can't believe this is happening," I said with firm contrition in
my voice. "I'm just a girl fresh out of Junior High, practically. In some
places Junior High lasts through the ninth grade... They need stricter
laws over here to protect children."
"Yes," Julie agreed. ÒThey should raise the age of consent to 21!Ó
Heels clicked in the distance, came down the stone steps behind
us.
"My, my, how nicely you girls pose for me." Mistress strode up to
us. She cupped the undersides of our bottoms. "I see you've taken good
care of your heinies." She squeezed the cheeks, seemed to assess,
weigh them. "So flawless and white. I wonder what they'll look like
tonight, hmmm?"
I sobbed aloud. "Please mistress. Can't you let us go? We just
want to go home."
"All little girls just want to go home. I thought you were women
now."
"Not, not really," I sniffled.
"Would your government approve of 15-year-old young ladies
prostituting themselves, hmm?" She fondled my bottom lasciviously.
"No, and it wouldn't approve of you either," I snuffled.
"Tch, tch, you would only go home and lead other young ladies
astray, I think. I will assist you in being good. You will become a
shining example of rectitude. And you'll have a bottom that will remind
you every day."
"No, no," I pleaded, really crying now. Julie was crying with the
grace of a woman.
Suddenly there were footfalls on the stairs. Mistress whirled
about, confronted Jim, Steve. "I said I was not to be disturbed!" She
screamed.
"Uh--the count to see you ma'am," Jim stammered, hunched
contritely. "You said--"
"The one person I won't kill you for allowing to interrupt me,"
mistress glared, and stomped past him. Jim lingered behind hopefully,
Steve beside him. "Let's go, boys! No fucking the merchandise!"
mistress yelled.
"Yes, ma'am." They scuttled up the stairs after her, leaving Julie
and I alone with our thoughts in the dungeon.
We sniffled quietly, waiting, dreading their return. A bit later
the count himself drifted down the stairs, joined by our mistress. Jim
and Steve stumbled after, foolish in their attempt to display proper
deference.
"Certainly they have fine bottoms," the count remarked of us. He
asked that we be presented standing. Jim and Steve unchained us and
turned us about. He bade them be gentle. They reshackled us to the
wall, facing him.
"Greetings, girls." The count smiled. His eyes were soft. "You
seem to have gotten yourselves into a bit of a spot." He spoke his
English with a decidedly French accent. "Let me tell you of the
arrangement I would like to make. I hope you will excuse my frankness.
I want a pair of pretty girls to torture. You certainly fit the bill. I was
told you were beautiful, young goddesses, and they were right.
"It will hurt, believe me, the discipline I impose. But I will not
harm you, as you WOULD be here. I will pay your mistress the
appropriate sum. It is as great as your beauty, I can assure you. For my
investment I will keep you for a month. Then I will pay your way home.
Julie, we will have to see if you are pregnant, or have you tested
yourself already?"
"She's pregnant," I piped up, amidst my sniffles. Julie nodded
mutely.
"Coming from you, that means she's not," the count quipped at me.
"But I'll have her urine tested one or two more times, just to be sure."
He smiled at me. "You had better hope she's not, or you'll have to do
twice the work."
I bowed my head. What could I do? I wanted to glare at him, but I
could see the outcome already. We certainly couldn't stay here.
Mistress Persephone was a nut case. Should we go with this self-
admitted sadist, we at least had a chance of escaping. It was clear to
me, at least, that we would never get out of this dungeon in one piece,
maybe not even alive.
"Well, girls, do you agree to the count's offer? Do you wish to
disappoint me?" mistress asked. Julie broke into sobs again, a young
wife, a young mare. I wanted badly to just start bawling. With tear
filled eyes I raised my head, looked shiveringly at mistress, then at the
count.
"We don't, don't have any choice, I guess," I wept. The count
patted my cheek.
"Good girl, good girl. You are smart as well as beautiful," he
murmured.
Chapter Eight
A palatial mansion awaited us. Julie and I gazed at it with awe
and trepidation. Master sat opposite us in a horse drawn carriage. We
wore see-through blouses, white lacy fingerless gloves. Our ample
cleavage had bounced all the way, as before, for women never seemed
to be given bras in such conveyances, just when they needed them most.
Our nipples showed pinkly through the fabric.
Below we wore below-the-knee skirts, as if to compensate for
our immodesty above. And we had finally been given panties, though
tiny red ones of semi-sheer silk. We wore fine net stockings and small,
buttoned-up ankle boots. I shivered as I gazed at the castle, for with
all its stone work it seemed more castle to me now than house. I
looked at the count. His gaze was admiring, benign.
"What's the rent go for on a place like that?" I asked.
"My, a bit of a tomboy, aren't you? Or a smarty pants."
"Do you think I'm saucy?" I asked. I tossed my hair. I didn't know
why I'd become such a sassy little thing lately. Perhaps it was the sex.
I certainly wasn't the same girl who dawdled by the condo pool,
dreaming idly about when my prince would come.
"I will make you a sweet little girl again. Though I must admit I
find your current self most amusing," the count said. I shivered. The
man was implacable. He only spoke of torturing me, seemed to resent
my newfound worldliness. Was I really so worldly? Was I really
prepared for what he promised he had in store for me? I crouched down
in my seat, suddenly becoming more the little girl he wanted me to be.
Up a cobbled drive we went. Our titties bounced gaily, to my
dismay, the count's delight. The carriage stopped. Footmen approached,
opened the door, greeted the count. We were helped down from the
carriage by the footmen as if we were visiting royalty. Under their
guidance we mounted the flight of stone steps that led up to the
mansion. Behind us the carriage driver urged the horses onward to a
back-yard stable, though at the time I only guessed of the stable. I
would learn much more of that later.
A great wooden door loomed before us. Our boots clicking on the
stone, we stepped onto the porch. We gazed at the door. The count
came up behind us. There was a big knocker on the door, in the shape of
a wolf's face.
"Well, go ahead, knock on the door if you want to be let inside,"
the count said. There was only silence. Julie and I stood stiffly.
Finally, lifting a trembling hand, I touched the knocker. Briefly I
caressed it. All the fire that had possessed me earlier had suddenly
fled. I was humbled, humiliated. Secretly I was already beginning to
feel a love for the count. Maybe it was just the hostage syndrome at
work. He was very gallant, I told myself. Extremely handsome, like
Dan. He had a gentleness of spirit that made me think that his bark
might be worse than his bite. But he was a determined man, I could see
that in his eyes. He got what he wanted. He would fuck me with the
fury of a dozen stallions, if he wished to. I lifted the knocker. A voice
screamed inside me to replace it. I let go. A loud BOOM echoed across
the fields. I was undone.
A large ornate entryway greeted us inside. We stepped into a
hushed chamber, a hallway leading away to one side. The building was
heavy, massive, something from another century. Vigorous male
statutes demonstrated their exploits in stone before us. Paintings
stared out at us from the walls. Woven tapestries from the Middle
Ages hung mutely.
"Good evening, Burton," the count said, stepping in behind us, as an
old but respectable man in a tux approached from the hall. The footmen
disappeared, not entering through the door with us, returning to their
duties with the horses. I wished to ride a horse, wondered if they
would let me.
"I see you have visitors, sir," Burton said in a congratulatory
voice.
"They have had an exhausting several days, but I did just have
them washed and dressed at Mistress Persephone's."
"I'm glad your mission of mercy was successful," the butler said
respectfully.
"So am I, and the girls too, I'm sure." He turned to us, but
continued addressing the butler. "Have them refresh themselves. No
need to change clothes. Then I shall expect them to join me at dinner."
He wore a top hat, which he tipped to us gracefully. Then he turned and
left, his heels clicking crisply down the hall.
"Can you believe this?" Julie swooned upon reaching our room and
being left to ourselves by the butler. I surveyed the bedroom chamber.
It was indeed awesome. A huge silk-curtained bed stood at one end,
bounded by furs spread carelessly but artfully on either side, on the
floor. A sideboard offered an array of bottled french wines. An
armoire, big as most modern American rooms, stood to receive our
clothing. Various tapestries and works of art decorated the walls.
"Yes, but what is he going to do to us?" I asked.
"I-I don't know," Julie said, suddenly crestfallen. "I'm sorry I got
you into this."
I gazed around again. "They certainly have prepared for us,
haven't they?"
"Yes," Julie agreed, still awestruck. "I feel like a princess, a
queen."
I located the lavatory (not "toilet," mind you, or "bathroom," for
reasons you shall soon see.) It was connected to our bedroom. I walked
over, went inside. It was breathtaking, fascinating! It was as big as
the bedroom, with a fountain, an enormous marble tub, a countertop
that beckoned a girl to do her makeup there. Twin commodes stood
discreetly in one corner, as if they had been installed just for us. And
there were twin bidets.
"What? I never?" Julie gasped, coming up behind.
"No doubt we'll enjoy taking a shit in here," I remarked.
D R E A M G I R L S N E W S
I WROTE TO the loo, but I couldnÕt find any of your stuff there, writes
j.swaggart.
SIR: That is the louVRE. Alas, they had a problem recently which
wiped out many of their files (louvre@dido.fa.indiana.edu). We tried
submitting but they arenÕt accepting at this time. Just ask for a ÒrepostÓ
on a.s.s. and we will happily repost. Holy Moly has gotten quite good at it.
When the louvre is up and running again you can access it as follows
(using e-mail):
From: (Your e-mail address)
To: louvre@dido.fa.indiana.edu
Subject: REQUEST (name of story here)
In our case it will be NND Chambers of Love 1
Or 2, 3, etc. (Whatever issue number you want).
If you get nothing back try Subject: LIST
If we are not listed just e-mail us, and we will submit to the site at that
time. -h.j.
FREE minicomics! Send a greeting-card SASE to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box
3663, Phenix City, AL 36868. NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS (Library of
Congress ISSN: 1070-1427): sex stories. (Include age statement-18 or
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