Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 20    Wednesday    June 14, 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 Twenty
by Andrew Roller 

Chapter Ten

         "Remember the Hippocratic oath!" I cried to her.  It was no use.
         "Owww!" I yelped, eyes bulging, as I met with my first taste of 
the cane in the dungeon.  I rubbed my breasts harder against Julie's, 
"rode" with my slit atop the nubbin, as a searing bar of heat spread 
across my virgin-white ass.
         The whippy canes came down again, burning new lines across our 
bare wiggling tushys.  Julie and I rode like true caballeros on our 
nubbins now, wondering when their inevitable, excruciating erection 
from the saddle would begin.
         Slowly my salacious ass was crisscrossed with sizzling lines of 
pink and red.  Agonizingly I strove to hang on and not fall from the 
horse.  I was scared I might suffer a worse fate if I did, like breaking a 
bone (not to mention facing the count's wrath).  I bounded up at a 
particularly wicked stinger from Elle.  
         "It's nothing you can't take, dear," she said reassuringly.  She 
waited while I churned my hips under the blow, trying to shake off the 
sting.  "Ready?" she asked, and smartly delivered its brother.  Some 
doctor!  I bit my lip, then drove my tongue into Julie's mouth in 
desperation at the burning.
         Poor Julie!  Her sweet ass had barely recovered from last night, 
and now here she was on another whipping horse.  Little did we know 
then that the count had at least one other variety, a sawhorse over 
which a girl was made to drape herself.  All was bleary pain now, mixed 
with jolts of pleasure as we furiously applied our clits to the nubbins.  
My saddle was slick beneath me now.
         I heard a humming sound.  Suddenly I found my nubbin was not so 
small.  Like some rocket on Thunderbirds it began rising from its 
saddle-silo.  Its duty was not to fly, though, but to burrow.  Throwing 
my weight on my hands, balancing with the toes of my boots, I 
attempted to rise.  I lifted my arcing thighs up to avoid the ascending 
cock.  Julie did the same.  We looked down at the menacing rods, 
growing ever longer inch by inch.
         "Oh, you must want them at their maximum extent," the count said 
gaily.  We gasped, horrified.  Erica and Elle took advantage of our 
elevated, deliciously flourished bottoms and set to flaying them with 
even greater vigor.  Smartly they brought down the cane on each of us, 
whip!  whip!  whip!  We wriggled, brimming with tears.  There was no 
let up, no mercy.
         Finally, overcome by exhaustion, Julie settled herself on her 
unwelcome seat mate before it could grow any bigger.  I held out, 
watching it between head-snapping licks of the cane.  Eight inches, 
nine, ten inches!!
         "You'd better sit down," Elle warned.  Even my doctor didn't advise 
my little body to take any more than that.
         "She's keeping her ass up so I can fuck her there instead," the 
count told Elle.  That did it.  I took in a deep breath and plopped down.  
         Gratefully, Elle caught my bottom in its descent.  "Slowly, slowly 
little girl," she said.  The prick stopped moving.  Gradually she eased me 
down onto it.  I shuddered, bottom hot, cunt splitting wide to receive 
this most unwelcome visitor.  Its greased length slid up me, flexing 
naturally to adjust to the shape of my passage.  Finally I settled, wide-
eyed, in my saddle.  Julie purred and kissed my cheeks.
         Sitting atop our artificial pricks, the caning began anew.  It was 
lighter now, as if we had passed some milestone.  Yet each cut had its 
special little sting.  Elle gave me a flurry of them, as the prick began 
moving up and down within me.  Julie gasped, said that the rocking 
horse had not done this.  Manfully we were rodded by the robot cocks.  I 
tried to avoid orgasming on such a ridiculous contraption, found myself 
drawn perilously closer and closer.  I shivered as my climax finally 
drew near.  Then, keening into Julie's ear, I cried out with the first 
tearing rush of orgasmic pleasure.  She broke into a scream of her own.  
We humped ourselves upon the moving penises.  We were captive 
songbirds, singing erotic cowboy songs.  Elle and Erica whacked our 
spirited bottoms with loving strokes of the cane.  My golden hair, 
lustrous and beautiful as ever, swirled in a mass of curls about me.  
Julie bobbed her svelte auburn mane, writhing and twisting as I was, 
atop her merciless mount.  Our scarves flapped, wishing to fly away.
         Lovingly, laughingly, we were pulled off the thick spires at last 
by Elle and Erica as the count lowered them.  Each cock gave up our snug 
cunt with a little pop.  Gratefully we gained our footing on the hard 
floor.  I fell against Elle, unable to stand.  She helped me upright.  With 
throbbing fannies we approached the count, briskly rubbing ourselves as 
we took mincing, baby steps toward him, our legs akimbo.  Hair still 
glossy, makeup smeared but still on perfect faces, earrings aglitter, 
we presented ourselves boobies first to him.  There was no fight left in 
us.  We wished only to please.
         "Thank you, master," we said in unison, our voices ragged but 
sweet.
         "Yes," he said, regarding us, cherishing our still flawless figures, 
our breasts so nicely turned up, hips outcurving smoothly, legs slim and 
tapered.  "This is your playroom.  Where you can hoot and holler as 
lustily as you please, often for the mutual pleasure of others.  Enjoy 
your young bodies.  Relish the feelings that course through them.  Work 
hard to please your masters, and they will reward you with new 
delights.  I have made young females my life's study, from the 
sacrificed maidens of the Incas to the nubile witches burned at Salem, 
to girls in ancient Athens trained in the rights of the bacchanal.  There 
is nothing about your bodies I do not know.  Their possibilities, 
limitations, yet I learn more with each trial, each experiment.  
Upstairs you will be treated as royalty, your every need attended to, 
your every wish instantly answered.  Down here is where the vestments 
will be stripped away, your natural selves delivered forth into the 
hands of the revolutionaries.  Nothing is free.  Everything must be paid 
for.  But you will find your payments a kind of homework, designed to 
improve.  Cherish them.  Savor each biting stroke of cane or whip or 
tawse or paddle...or martinet or cat with nine delicious tails.  You will 
experience them all, my sweets.  Much, much more than Madam 
Persephone could ever provide, yet, unlike her, each calculated 
precisely so that it makes you grow in knowledge and an awareness of 
your own precious bodies.  You will become intimately acquainted with 
your flesh as it is brought sparkling to life by the many implements of 
agitation.  Your bottoms will veritably bloom under all the attention 
they are given, like hothouse roses in winter.  Your nipples will be 
plucked at and tested and sucked upon remorselessly, yet not without 
thought for their continuing beauty, their perkiness, their stiff 
loveliness.  And your mouths, and your cunts and ah, yes, especially 
your tight little assholes, how they will be tested!  We shall just see 
what they can take and what they cannot.  But you need not fear.  Many 
girls have passed this way before.  And when you are busy with the 
grown-up chores of wife and mother (the real grown-up chores, Julie, 
not just newlywed trysts with your husband), other girls will be 
following in your footsteps, young maidens with untried cunnies and 
bottoms."
         Julie and I heard all this in a daze, drunk with both our lingering 
pleasure and pain, and the alcohol from dinner still with its hold upon 
us.  For all we knew he could have been reciting the Bible, albeit the 
juicier parts.  He then urged us into the hands of Elle and Erica, saying 
that it was needful that our bottoms be quickly attended to.  We were 
led away as he found Mandy, huddled in a corner, balling herself up as 
small as she could.  She, no doubt, had heard his oration better than we.
         "Come, Mandy!  And bring your naughty bottom with you!" he 
roared.  He grasped her by the hand and dragged her gently from her 
hiding place.

Chapter Eleven

         Julie and I lay side by side on the same big, white fluffy towel, 
draped over a pair of wooden benches set right next to one another.  We 
were in a kind of locker room just off the dungeon.  We cooed at one 
another, relieved.  We kissed.  The spirit of sensuality was still upon 
us.  Elle and Erica spoke softly, lovingly to us as they rubbed salves and 
creams into our toasted rump-flesh.  They said they were ever so sorry 
for caning us, but must obey the count in all things.  We did not ask why 
they must.  Perhaps only because they wished to.  Afterward we were 
bathed, then anointed anew with oils and unguents on our burning 
globes, which now were suffused with a kind of soft, spreading glow.  
This was much more pleasant than the sharp stinging sensations of the 
cane, yet we'd never have felt it without the assistance of the cane.  I 
shuddered.  S & M was strange.
         Later, sitting gingerly in chairs before makeup mirrors, we had 
full facials courtesy of Elle and Erica.  They applied our final makeup 
sparingly, though, knowing we needed very little.  Our hair was done up 
to perfection, including the curls of our pubic hair.  Shod once more in 
heels, we were presented again to master.
         The count asked us if we'd eaten.  We said we had not.  He 
suggested we should if we were to keep our energy up.  Holding hands, 
we walked with him to a sideboard.  Elle and Erica joined us, as did the 
young man and older man who'd observed us make water.  The younger 
was Tom, the older Billy.  By now the count and his male guests had 
taken off all their clothes, though Tom and Billy had towels draped over 
their shoulders from the shower.  Elle and Erica remained garbed in 
their miniscule, sexily revealing outfits.  
         I felt amazingly liberated as I lolled nude on a couch with Julie.  
Mandy was not present, having been sent away, the count said, for being 
a particularly naughty girl.  Bananas and apples and tossed shrimp 
salads with dip were passed around, each taking as we pleased.  There 
were cold meats and chilled wine.  Julie and I, partly to entertain the 
men, took to feeding one another.  I cared not about the placement of my 
legs or the bareness of my tits and let them see all.  Julie was equally 
free with her charms.  The conversation touched on French politics and 
culture, morality and societal norms, always hovering just over and 
sometimes dipping delightfully into the subject of sex.  It was my first 
real adult orgy-type soiree and I loved it.
         Finally we were all gorged.  I felt frisky.  I plucked at Julie's 
nipples with my fingers.  She laughed, batted my hands away, pinched at 
mine.
         "I think the young ladies have something up their sleeve," Billy 
remarked, a hopeful note in his voice.  His prick was growing more 
tumescent with every passing minute.  Tom was already rock hard.  He'd 
displayed a fine erection through most of the meal.
         "They have no sleeves," Erica countered, a bit jealous perhaps of 
our alluring gait.
         "Come girls, the night is yet young," the count beckoned us.  We'd 
been re-collared in the locker room by Elle and Erica.  We dared not 
disobey.  We rose, collars glittering, bowed our heads.  We held hands 
and stepped across to him, hips swaying bewitchingly.  With our hind 
ends still hot from prior punishments, we let him lead us into new 
wonderments of the flesh.
         "Come along, gentlemen," the count called to Tom and Billy.  
"Other spectacles await."  Elle and Erica needed no invitation to follow.
         We trailed through the dungeon, past ominous works of torture 
that towered toward the ceiling, the secrets of their torment still 
happily hidden from me.  I looked with greater interest now at the 
various contraptions, knowing that they would all be used eventually on 
my poor little body.  I shivered uncontrollably.  
         We stopped in front of a pair of manacles dangling from the 
ceiling.  Two pairs, actually.  No; four, eight.  Two pairs of four 
manacles each.  I could not guess what they were for.  A modest pit of 
coals sat on the floor beneath each.
         Curiously, the count gave each of us a riddle as we stood 
attentively before him.  Julie and I, that is.  The others were not 
included.  He said we must solve the riddle and "confess" the answer.  
Chills ran down our spines at the way he phrased it.  Then he turned to 
Elle and Erica and told them to take off their bikini panties.  Why he did 
this I do not know.  Reluctantly they complied, shimmying the last 
shred of modesty down their legs and off their feet.  Then the reason 
became apparent.  He said we would need gags for this adventure.  For 
the moment he pocketed the slinky briefs.  Julie and I exchanged 
nervous glances.  
         The count told Julie and I to each stand behind a pit of coals.  We 
were to walk barefoot on them, I wondered?  I would discover that a 
more intimate part of my body was to be exposed to the hot coals.  They 
were unlit for now.  Julie and I were ordered to stand on tippie-toe, and 
to raise our arms above our heads.  This threw my breasts into jutting 
relief, as it did Julie's.  The first pair of manacles was pulled down by 
Elle and Erica, reaching high to grasp them, displaying their luscious 
little nests as they did, thighs easily splayed as they concentrated on 
their task.  My upstretched wrists were bound within the confines of 
the manacles, which were then linked together so I could not pull my 
arms apart.  My arms stretched up behind my head, making my stiff-
nippled breasts stick out more obscenely than ever.
         "We'll have to do something about those nipples," Erica remarked.
         "Yes," Elle replied.  For the first time I noticed she had a Swedish 
accent.  The meal had obviously revived me, though I'd drunk too much 
wine and knew it would set in soon.  I was almost glad for it.  It looked 
like I would definitely need it.
         Julie was strung up next.  She whimpered that she did not want to 
be but they ignored her.  She was more frightened than I.  Her nerve 
must have broken.  She was not the vixen of the dungeon she had made 
herself out to be at Dan's.  Not by a long shot.  They fixed her as I, with 
her breasts sticking out like big mounds of jiggly vanilla ice cream, 
topped with succulent cherries, the stems up.  The panties were stuffed 
into our mouths then, to silence our protests.  They were bound in place 
with ribbons tied about the backs of our necks.  Elle helpfully checked 
that each of us was still able to breathe through our nose.
         We were hoisted aloft then, an utterly new experience for me, and 
Julie too.  I screamed through my gag.  My legs, dangling now, twirled 
about helplessly.  Suspended, I wriggled like a fish on the end of a line.  
Fearfully I watched as the pits of coals were lit beneath us.  What 
could the count possibly have planned for us?  This looked like a 
sacrifice ritual to me, the prelude to a snuff film!  Indeed, Tom was 
given a small VHS camera by Erica and began filming our struggles.
         Using a little stepstool, Elle came to me then with a gift.  When 
she'd unwrapped it I saw that the small box contained a pair of brand 
new nipple clamps.  
         "Noooo!" I shouted desperately through my gag.  I'd never worn 
anything like that before!  Gently she sucked each of my nipples to its 
full extension.  Then, telling me not to worry, these were only "junior 
clamps, training clamps," she closed each one in turn over my erected 
teats.  
         "Ahhhhgh!" I cried, eyes popping, as I felt the steel close about my 
tender nipples.  Fortunately, the clips were thoughtfully lined with fur, 
yet the pressure was painful, located most precisely right at the base 
of my nipples, as if wanting to slice them off with its scissor-like 
jaws.  Elle laughed and gave each clip a flip of her finger, setting it to 
bobbling at the end of my tit.  I stared, horrified, half expecting them 
to drop off, with my nipples still inside them.
         Julie too was feeling the bite of clamps, and I looked over at her 
and tried to console her with my compassionate gaze.  She writhed ever 
more desperately at the end of her ropes.  She was frightened to death, 
and heavier than I as well, bearing the flesh of full womanhood.  Then, 
just in time, the other half of the count's plan was executed.  
         The other set of manacles was brought low and made fast around 
my ankles.  Julie suffered the same fate.  Then my ankles were drawn 
up, up, until I was hanging bottom-downwards over the coals.  My legs 
were drawn wide to display my cunt to the audience.  I swung there, a 
human swing.  Julie, hung similarly, let a fart.  Now we knew why we'd 
been urged to eat an abundance of beans at dinner.  
         "Girls, have you the answers to my riddles yet?" the count 
inquired politely of us from below.  "You'll be wanting to confess soon."  
I watched in terror as the pits beneath us were stoked.  Their flames 
rose higher, licking upwards toward my offered bottom.  Julie screamed 
at the terrible flames.  Had a spark risen in the smoke draft and 
scorched her heiney?  I could not tell, she wriggled exceedingly in any 
case.
         After much mirth below, and avid filming, the count proffered an 
offer of clues.  However, adding that there was no free lunch in the 
world, he said we would each be strapped afterward if we accepted, 
more straps added for each clue we took.  At first we refused, but the 
pits were fueled anew and I felt my hiney growing hotter.  
         It took a bushel of clues but Julie and I each finally guessed the 
answer to our riddle.  Unable to speak, we had to spell out our answers, 
nodding at a selection of letters as Erica pointed to each in turn.  Water 
was then dashed on the coals beneath us and we were lowered, but not 
taken out of the imprisoning ropes.  We still hung with our wrists and 
ankles aloft, our bottoms hanging down like offerings in a butcher shop.  
A stool was thoughtfully placed beneath each of our hanging tushies for 
support.  Then the count produced a broad leather strap and said the 
undersides of our rich, creamy, thighs must pay for the clues we used.  
No!  Not my legs!  I implored him with my eyes.  Weal-like marks on my 
bottom I could cover with panties or bikini briefs, but not marks on my 
legs!  Nevertheless, he uncoiled his strap, lashing it testingly into the 
air.  I looked at Julie but she was lost in fright.  Tom was employed to 
do me, and with a brand new leather belt he took up his position 
eagerly, his cock still hard and waggling, though he'd stroked it while I 
was roasting over the fire.  The count went to Julie.  Ominously, out of 
the corner of my eye I saw Elle and Erica happily at work greasing up an 
assortment of dildoes.  What was it Elle had said about testing my size, 
to see how much I could take?  I would have shuddered, but I was 
shuddering uncontrollably already.

D R E A M G I R L S  N E W S
Reported by holy joe

         TodayÕs question is this, dear reader:  Why is it that the renowned 
P.D. Wilson has not posted a sex story since 1987?  He isnÕt employed.  
He doesnÕt live with his wife Carol Horny.  What is he doing with all his 
free time?  This burning question I had to answer.  But, since he doesnÕt 
like me, this called for a new level of reporting:  INVESTIGATIVE 
REPORTING!           
         Two months of intense investigation followed.  I recorded the 
number of times Wilson ate, slept, and went to the bathroom.  I also 
recorded the number of times he took his neighbor's poodle for a "walk."    
         What I learned that is of interest to a.s.s., however, is that P.D. 
Wilson has not been posting because he is busy writing his life story.  
Wilson confessed when I confronted him with my surreptitiously 
acquired knowledge.  He asked how I knew but I merely replied that my 
sources and methods were confidential.  I interviewed him and this is 
what he told me:
         "Yes, it is true that I am writing my life story.  When it is 
complete, it will be in 13 volumes.  It will be titled The Life and Great 
Works of P.D. Wilson.  
         ÒI feel that two sex stories is more than enough for me.  The 
sheer greatness of those two stories, even with their misspellings, 
outweighs all the other sex stories posted on a.s.s.  This is why I have 
ceased production.  I must now spend my days examining the great mind 
that produced such twin triumphs of a.s.s.  It will involve years of 
effort and labor, but when completed this Summa Sexica, as it were, 
will thoroughly interpret the body of work that I have produced.  And it 
will examine the life that led to such authorial greatness, and how I 
coped in the years after, knowing I had thrust such splendor into the 
world.  It was an unappreciative world, one that failed to admire my 
stories or admit my greatness.  It kicked me out of my parentsÕ house, 
forced me to sell my recreational vehicle, and currently a.s.s. readers 
will want to know that I have shareware software available for only 
$9.95.  Yes, it is a dogÕs life for a great mind to be the only one to know 
of its greatness.Ó
         ÒBy the way,Ó I said.  ÒI am new to a.s.s.  May I read those two sex 
stories you wrote?Ó
         ÒNo,Ó he replied, his voice low and somber.  ÒThey are lost works, 
killed off in a computer crash.  That is the greatest tragedy of all.Ó

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