Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 31    Sunday    June 25, 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 Thirty
by Andrew Roller 

Chapter Seventeen

         "Julie and Kimmy, I want you each to give a man head, on the bed, 
while I stand behind you and correct any mistakes you make," Beth said, 
brandishing a clutch of birches she'd tied with a pink bow.  Julie and I 
looked at each other doubtfully but complied anyway.  Julie knelt in the 
sheets over Dave, I got to kneel over Rick.  Casting a glance over our 
shoulder at Beth, who stood just beyond the end of the bed, we rubbed 
our bottoms ruefully at what lay ahead, as if to soothe them in advance.  
         The men lay at ease beneath us, heads propped up on pillows so 
they could watch.  Beth shocked Connie by producing dog collars and 
cuffs.  She collared each of us girls, and cuffed our wrists together 
high on our backs.  She tethered our wrists to the backs of our collars.  
Thus restrained, Julie and I would be obliged to suck off the men with 
only the artistry of our mouths.  Beth arranged us so that our bottoms 
would be at the best possible advantage for her "corrections."  Bottoms 
high, knees spread, figs peeping, we kissed the tips of our paramours 
and waited for her signal to begin.
         Connie, meanwhile, was made to stand and bend over the foot of 
the bed, with her face crushed against the sheets.  Collared now, the 
front of her collar was tethered to the brass-poled footboard of the 
bed.  Behind her, to her agonized disbelief, Beth strapped on a dildo.  It 
was stiff and curved upward toward the ceiling.  It obviously meant 
IÕM GAY ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !  (Doggone AOLers! - h.j.)
business.  Connie had never played with dildoes before.  Helga reminded 
her that her pussy should constantly be "in danger" of being impaled, 
Connie's own interpretation of hostel etiquette.  Since the tee didn't 
cover her heinie either this must include her asshole also, Beth said.  
Connie trembled as she realized she'd been hung by her own hubris, 
making up rules of behavior for a place that specifically abjured them.
         "This place is not Story of O," Beth said.  "However, since you 
seem to admire the principals in Story of O it's high time you 
experienced some of what O did."  
         Connie uttered a feeble "Yes," not sure what to do at this point.  
Beth gave each of our rumps a slash, including Connie's, and announced 
that the orgy had begun!
         Julie and I began eagerly bobbing our heads on the fine upstanding 
shafts that challenged us to make them cum.  Julie had oral possession 
of Dave, and I of Rick.  Was I woman enough to bring his steely, rigidly 
self-controlled dick to the brink of orgasm?  I would soon find out.  I 
knew little about blow jobs and, fumbling about with my lips and 
tongue, soon felt a whippy rod cut into my bottom-flesh.
         "NYYYNG!" I cried, trying not to cry out even as the pain welled up 
within my heinie.  
         "Purse your lips, form an O, that's it," Beth said.  "Now use 
butterfly strokes with your tongue."  Each man had a hand mirror which 
he held near his loins to reflect all back to Connie.  Next to me Julie 
moved with smooth proficiency, a Stepford wife put to her highest and 
best use.  
         Connie's bum was slashed to give her the experience of it and to 
warm her for her penetration.  My cries joined hers as I continually 
muffed my assignment.  Beth told me to take him all the way down my 
throat, but I gagged.  She told me to vacuum suck for a full minute, 
breathing only through my nose, but I had to come up for air after 20 
seconds.  I was well striped by the time Rick suddenly announced that 
my sweet childish fumblings had driven him unexpectedly over the edge!
         A shower of semen hit my face like nothing I'd ever felt.  It was 
like a fire hydrant spurting up milk.  I tried to control it, to somehow 
get hold of him and stop it, but the flow was just too great.  I knelt 
bathed in his spouting juices, smiling, giggling.  Beth was furious and 
screamed for him to stop.  When he'd finished cumming I looked like I'd 
been hit with a cream pie.
         "Well, I regret losing control, but that was the most enjoyable 
squirt I've had in years," Rick said.  "Such a fantastic looking blonde, 
and only 15, and totally inexperienced but trying her best as you 
birched her bottom for her many mistakes!"  He tried to tousle my hair 
but it was so sticky with his cum that, getting himself on his hand, he 
prudishly pulled his hand back.
         Dave came then, and Julie expertly swallowed him, save for a few 
rivulets that escaped down her chin.  She lifted her head and smacked 
her lips.  "Good to the last drop," she said.  
         We asked to be released so that we could go check on Helga.  Rick 
insisted that Beth allow it.  Reluctantly she undid us and we bid them 
farewell.  As we left Beth was taking out her frustration over my 
immature allure on Connie.  She screamed as the curved dildo worked 
inexorably up her ass, begging her boyfriend to save her.  Instead he 
watched with approval, saying it was high time she got it that way, 
even if only from a dildo.
         Walking down the hall Julie and I bumped into a pair of men.  They 
were new, but already buck naked, with magnificent penises.  They told 
us they were going skinnydipping in the pool.  We talked awhile.  My 
fingers soon crept upon the nearest man's penis, even as we kept up our 
polite conversation.  Julie's also made a rude acquaintance with her 
dialectical partner.  Suddenly the men asked us if they could fuck us, 
right there in the hall.  Still hot but unfulfilled from Connie and Dave's 
nibbling, we thought a moment, then looked at each other and nodded.  
They took us there, our backs mashed up against the wall as they fucked 
us hard.  They'd driven a long way, and we were their first encounter.  
Finally they squirted into us desperately and we all screamed with our 
release.  Then, quick as we'd met, they left, leaving us half-plastered 
with sweat to the wall.  Julie and I unstuck ourselves from it and 
stumbled on our way.  We stopped in the bathroom just so we could sit 
on something to ease our plundered pelvises.
         A bit later we managed to make it out into the back yard.  The sun 
was up, bright and cheery and giving us a sense that we'd completely 
lost track of time.  There was an above ground pool, large and made of 
wood.  The bathers whistled and beckoned to us.  Politely we waved 
them off.  Next to it was a Jacuzzi in which two couples were lustily 
copulating.  The woodshed lay beyond, and there were several outhouses 
scattered back into the encroaching woods for the convenience of those 
who didn't want to traipse all the way indoors to relieve themselves.
         Julie and I stepped through the ankle-high, unmown grass to the 
woodshed, following a haphazard path of flagstones where we could.  
We swung open the door.  Helga stood bound against the far wall.   Her 
eyes lit up upon seeing us.  
         Helga looked like some ruined shell of a woman, all marked and 
bruised and wealed.  She'd been a toy in the shed for something like 12 
hours.  Her hair was a mess, all bedraggled and shot through with drying 
semen.  Yet her breasts stood out as proudly and magnificently as ever.  
Somewhere down in my naughty self I was secretly glad to see her get 
some of what she'd so casually dispensed to me earlier, or led me into.
         "Well, well," I said to Julie.  "I SUPPOSE we should untie her, 
although I wouldn't want to break a nail or anything."
         Helga gaped at us then, as if turned on by some switch.  "Get me 
outta here!" she cried desperately.  "Before Jim and Steve come back!"
         It was Julie and me's turn to gape now.  "Jim and Steve?"  Julie 
asked.  "THE Jim and Steve?!"
         "The one and only," Helga said.  "They went to get a pair of hedge 
clippers!"
         "Don't tell me what for," I said, as Julie and I leapt to untie her.
         We got Helga undone just as we heard tromping footsteps 
approach the door.  Julie and I looked at each other fearfully.  If that 
were really Jim and Steve, we could wind up imprisoned right beside 
Helga.  We were all buck naked, with nothing to resist them with.  Not 
even hedge clippers.
         The door swung open.  Helga screamed.  Two glowering male faces 
peered in at us, stepped inside.  They were young men, muscular, naked, 
with big, menacing erections.  Jim and Steve. 
         "Looks like the other two have come to join us, Steve," Jim said.
         "Where there's smoke, there's fire," Steve replied.  "Too bad 
Mistress Persephone fired us.  Guess we'll have to torture them all by 
ourselves!"  The boys broke into queer juvenile cackles, rubbed their 
sweaty palms together.  
         My mind raced.  Then I remembered the one weapon of the female 
gender.  Deep down, I knew, they didn't just want to break us, they 
wanted us to admire them, to thank them for dominating us.  To beg for 
it.
         "Oh!  You caught us," I said in my best Little Bo Peep voice.  "We've 
been very bad.  You'll have to punish us."  The nearer one, Jim, leered at 
me, surprised but pleased.  The male ego knows no bounds.  
         "Yes, I will punish you," he said.  "And I'm going to fuck you before 
and after, and maybe in-between too."  He laughed.  His hot, odiforous 
breath bathed my face.  He grasped my wrists and backed me roughly 
against the unfinished wooden wall of the shed.  Right beside where 
Helga had so recently been made to pay her penance.  Manacles dangled 
just above my hands, waiting, jaws open.  Jim's legs were planted 
widely, dominantly.  Menacingly his cock pointed directly at my dell.           
         "S-Sir?  May I ask you a question?" I stammered.
         "Yeah?"  He reached over to secure my left wrist.  A flash of my 
knee.  Suddenly he was bent over and bawling.  Touchdown!  
         "How will you fuck me if your balls are burst?" I asked, putting a 
finger to the corner of my mouth.  Helga kicked him in the rump.  Her big 
toe lodged in his asshole.  It took her a moment to remove it.  Julie, 
meanwhile, dispatched Steve with the same technique I'd used on Jim.           
         "How did you ever get involved with those bozos in the first 
place?" I asked Helga as we headed out the door.
         "I don't know," she panted.  "I dropped in on a very nice couple in 
the shed and played with them, but then they got called away.  They 
never came back.  I was left tied up, and those two idiots eventually 
showed up.  God only knows how they wound up here."
         "Well, I think check-out time has arrived," Julie said matter-of-
factly.
***
         We bid adieu to the hostel, our pussies aching, our nipples sore.  I 
plunked down in the front seat of the Lamborghini, glad to get off my 
tottering legs, only to wince as my bottom touched the leather.
         Julie was at the wheel, trying to sit comfortably.  Helga lay 
stretched out on the back seat, her feet, clad in high heels, sticking out 
my window.  I gazed idly at the outhouse that sat a dozen yards in front 
of us.  Beyond, the forest closed in.  Song birds flitted among the thick, 
entangled branches.  This was not sunny, Teflon-coated California, to 
be sure.  
         "I think it's time we headed back to America," Julie observed.  
"This vacation has worn me out, and both of you, from the looks of it."  I 
nodded my head, silently, wearily.  Helga emitted a soft, compliant 
groan.  Julie started the car.
         Suddenly two figures lurched from amongst the trees, charging 
full bore right at us.  They were out just beyond the wooden porta-
potty, but closing fast.  
         "Jim and Steve!" Julie cried.  She sat paralyzed, like a fawn 
caught in oncoming headlights.  The engine idled.  
         "Julieee!" I yelled, then knew our escape was up to me.  I reached 
over and shot the Lamborghini forward.  On a wild hunch, I aimed it for 
the outhouse.  I nicked the porta-potty's corner with the fender just as 
Jim and Steve rounded the other side of it.  With a loud THUMP! behind 
me now I watched in the rearview mirror as the structure toppled right 
onto our pursuers.  Their knees must have buckled as it hit, for their 
heads came splintering up out the top, which was now a side wall, and 
which lay as the uppermost part of the structure.
         On a crazy hunch I wheeled the Lamborghini around and pulled up 
beside them.  For once we might, just might, have the upper hand with 
these two boys.  It was a risk to stop the car and get out, but I took it 
anyway.  I was indeed becoming bolder, sassier.  I wasn't the shy little 
girl who'd never had a boyfriend anymore.
         I stepped out of the Lamborghini.  I left the engine running, 
though.  Sexily I walked over to the outhouse.  Jim and Steve blustered 
at me, half dazed, their necks sticking out of the topmost wall.  But 
they were trapped amidst the sharp shards of broken wood.  It was as if 
they had finally found a suitable coffin for themselves, I smirked to 
myself.  Well, I was going to bury them...alive.  
         A portion of the potty gleamed out at me, seemed to wink at me in 
the sunlight, conspiratorily.  It was surrounded by the remains of the 
ruptured wooden wall.  I spied the potty's flusher.  
         "Gentlemen," I purred.  "It's time for your bath.  I'm sorry, but in 
our rustic surroundings there isn't anything so modern as steam.  
However, there is something warm that we can surround your bodies 
with, all the same."  Gracefully I pressed the flusher.  Lying on its side, 
the toilet backed up with an ominous rumble.  The two boys gaped 
wide-eyed at me as shit suddenly flooded the entire inside of the 
porta-potty.  Soon they were buried right up to their necks in the feces 
of everyone who had used the thing for the last week.  Julie and Helga, 
staring from the car, burst into laughter.  Mocking laughter, the kind 
only really beautiful women can deliver.  I laughed too.  It was the most 
satisfying end to a vacation I've ever had.

Chapter Eighteen

         A chubby-cheeked moon was already overhead when we arrived.  
Its plumpness reminded me of my bottom.  All around us the sere 
landscape was illuminated by its light.  There was nothing for miles.  
Just cacti, standing bold and prickly, casting long moonlit shadows 
across the sand.  And the errant tumbleweed, pausing in its never-
ending journey across the Mexican desert.  Julie and I stepped from her 
car and followed a narrow path up to the brightly lit hacienda.
  
         On the jet back toward home I'd worn an exquisitely sexy outfit.  
A black, above-the-knee skirt hugged my hips.  A tight little top, 
matching the skirt, clung to my breasts and torso.  It had no sleeves, 
and a very low neckline.  A matching hat completed my outfit, plus 
heels.  Beneath I wore only panties, no bra.
         On the plane I sat next to a Spanish gentleman, who took a great 
interest in my outfit.  I think what intrigued him most was that the 
upper halves of my areolas peeped continuously out of my decollete top.  
We were in first class, otherwise I would never have worn such a 
naughty outfit.  The whole trip he kept waiting, with baited breath, for 
my nipples to pop out entirely.  But they never quite did, although I 
almost lost them a few times, when I moved abruptly.
         Julie sat across from him, on the other side of the aisle.  Not as 
provocatively dressed as me, she did, nonetheless, catch his eye.  
         I wasn't out to attract any man in particular.  I just felt 
exuberant and wanted to "push the limits" with my attire.  Turn a few 
married men's heads and annoy their stuffy wives.  Helga, though, 
intercepted the Spanish gentleman in the kitchen area at the back of 
first class.  She was intent on arranging something profitable with him.  
         "Oh, are you with them?" I heard the gentleman say to her, before 
their voices lowered.  When we landed and disembarked she reported 
happily to us that we'd been invited to a party at the gentleman's.

         "Really, Helga, you must simply get over the idea that our bodies 
are for sale," Julie demurred.  I agreed.
         "Not for sale, darlings, such a nasty way to put it," Helga 
countered.  "Available, to only the finest gentlemen, in the plushest of 
surroundings.  Really, I cannot see how you can refuse.  He's agreed to 
pay our way through to Mexico, and put us up in a fine hotel that will be 
entirely of our choosing.  And heÕs given us a week's spending money.  
All for your attendance for one night at a party at his hacienda.  He was 
most impressed with your beauty."
         "I'll say!" Julie gasped, adding up all the ÒchargesÓ in her head.  I 
could see that already she was softening to the idea.
         "It might be fun," Helga offered with a knowing smile.  
         "Wealthy, hot-blooded Spanish gentry," I said, turning over each 
word with my tongue, finding myself wanting to suck upon them.
         "Helga, I wish you wouldn't go out of your way to meet men for 
us!" Julie said, turning to her abruptly.  She was flushed, flustered.  She 
was caving in.
         And so it was with a delicate knock that Julie and I made known 
our presence at the hacienda.  Helga was not with us.  The arrangement 
had been made for only Julie and I.

D R E A M G I R L S  N E W S

HOLY JOE WEIGHS IN
Against the Òreality checkÓ crowd

         Recently a.s.s. has been invaded once again by anti-pedophiles.  When 
they are not out in the street attacking us physically (or killing us), they 
are busy logging on to a.s.s. to leave their (absolutely stupid) Òmessages.Ó  
(Which donÕt even belong in a.s.s.--youÕd think they, at least, would OBEY 
the law.)
         Their main argument is, ÒItÕs illegal.Ó  Well, obviously itÕs illegal.  
Some ÒfeminizedÓ assholes MADE it illegal, just like they made healing 
the sick on the Sabbath illegal in the time of Jesus.
         Then they say, ÒitÕs immoral.Ó  This is an entirely relative term.  
Morality belongs to the strongest.  He then ENFORCES his brand of morality 
on EVERYBODY, regardless of their own personal relationships or beliefs.  
This is the curse of human society.  Someone is always grabbing the 
monopoly on violence and then shoving their morality down everyoneÕs 
throat.  This is the basis of EVERY war, every fight, every disagreement.           
So, on the one hand, we have the (consensual) touching of little girls, and 
on the other we have piles and piles of dead bodies.  (World War 1, 2, The 
Civil War, The Holocaust, etc.)  The world was almost blown up in the 
early 60Õs because of a spat between two groups of white people over the 
timely issue of Capitalism vs. Communism.  Everyone and everything on 
earth was supposed to die because two groups of rich, white assholes 
(ÒnormalÓ people) couldnÕt get along.  And now folks have the temerity to 
complain about Òchild molesters.Ó  JFK is the one you should complain 
about.  Thank God somebody shot him.  (In which case, of course, we 
promptly got President Johnson, who butchered 50,000 American boys in 
Vietnam.)
         So, you see, it is the ÒnormalÓ people in the world who are the 
problem.  I ask you:  when has a war ever been started by a child molester?  
I say it is the ÒnormalÓ people who are DANGEROUS to society.  When a 
normal person is identified he should be locked up right away.  You never 
know--he might be the one who starts World War 3 and kills everybody.  
(That goes for the normal women too, since we are told a woman is 
certain to be president someday.  Just look what our first woman Attorney 
General, Janet Reno, did--she killed all those people at Waco.)

HOLY JOEÕS FAQ
For alt.sex.stories

         alt.sex.stories, originally conceived as a stories-only newsgroup, 
has transcended this limitation.  By a vote of the majority of the users, 
through their daily use of alt.sex.stories, it has become a 
story/discussion/sex announcement newsgroup.  As believers in 
democracy (whether in America or China), we, as the users of a.s.s., are 
obligated to allow the majority to rule, while respecting the rights of the 
minority.
         Anyone is free to contribute a story to a.s.s. (the minority 
viewpoint), while the majority is free to post comments and 
announcements.  
         As with any plan, it must be allowed to evolve over time.  
Ultimately, the users of a thing must be allowed to dictate its use.  It is 
clear, based on 4,000 messages posted to a.s.s. per day, that the public 
wishes to have ONE CONVENIENT LOCATION where they can post stories, 
argue about sexual issues, contribute flames, and attempt to outwit each 
other with ÒbozoÓ messages about non-existent naked lady Web sites.
         There are a number of sex story newsgroups on Usenet, both 
moderated and unmoderated.  But there is NO 
story/discussion/announcement newsgroup for sexual issues.  Hence, for 
as long as the USERS THEMSELVES dictate, through the posting of their 
daily messages, a.s.s. is now the UsenetÕs official 
story/discussion/announcement newsgroup in the area of sexually-related 
issues.
         Here endeth the FAQ. 

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