Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 59    Sunday    July 23, 1995  
alt.stories.erotic  alt.sex.stories

D R E A M G I R L S  S T O R I E S
watermelon moon
Part Two
by Andrew Roller

Chapter One

         Willette sashayed out onto the club's stage with a bevy of other 
girls.  Relieving herself of her vest and skirt had left her with only a thin 
white T-shirt and matching white cotton panties.  And, of course, her 
steepled heels.  The other girls were dressed the same.  Those who had 
arrived at the club without the requisite attire for the contest had been 
given T-shirts or panties.  Willette never went anywhere without her 
panties on, even though many other girls as pretty as she did.  But she did 
like to wear T-shirts without bras underneath, plus an expensive vest or 
sweater.  
         A young man with an obvious bulge in his crotch came out from the 
far side of the stage carrying an iced tub full of champagne bottles.  Loud 
rock music began to blare from an overhead speaker, and Willette and the 
other girls began to sway their hips.  The men in the crowd roared with 
approval.
         As the dancing progressed Willette and the other girls broke into a 
mild sweat.  Gyrating under hot stage lights before a host of randy young 
men certainly was the perfect test for Secret deodorant.  When it was 
obvious that the girls were in heat, or sweating, the first of the iced 
bottles of champagne was passed down the dance line.
         When each girl had a bottle the boy with the bulge in his pants began 
walking down the line of girls, popping the cork from each of the girl's 
bottles in turn.  As champagne began to spout from each of the girl's 
bottles, she directed the stream at the body of the girl next to her.  
         Willette danced happily as the girl next to her suddenly hit her 
breasts with spurting champagne.  Without missing a step, Willette 
squealed and looked down at her cleavage to watch as her rosy red areolas 
came into view beneath her shirt.  A moment later and the girl next to her 
redirected the flow of champagne so that it hit Willette square on her 
pubis.  The front of her panties wettened and her matted blonde curls 
began to show through.  Suddenly Willette spun on her heels and stuck out 
her bottom.  The last of the champagne hit her right on her rump, 
delineating for all to see the seductive crevice of her bottom.
         Then it was Willette's turn, as the boy with the bulge passed her a 
champagne bottle of her own.  The boy uncorked the bottle and Willette 
turned to the girl to her right, who was still dry.  A moment later Willette 
was wetting down the poor girl's jiggly breasts.  As Willette then dropped 
the stream of champagne down the girl's tummy, she suddenly pulled open 
the front of her panties.  
         "Fill me up!" the girl suffering under Willette's stream of champagne 
cried.  Willette directed her steam into the girl's opened drawers and 
watched in fascination as the champagne bubbled up in a pool inside the 
undies to spill out the top of the girl's waistband and fall to the floor.  
         Willette became so enamored of filling up the front of the girl's 
panties before her that she never got around to wetting down the girl's 
rear end.  But the girl, when she obtained a champagne bottle of her own, 
found to her delight that the dry dancer to her right was already standing 
with her bottom thrust out, and her panties' waistband flipped down in 
back to present a bare bottom for attack.  The girl with the eager bottom, 
as it turned out, never got her breasts wetted down.  Later she rubbed her 
breasts against the girl beside her to attempt to wet her breasts with the 
dampness of the other girl's shirt.
         When the last girl in the lineup received a bottle, she  ran to the girl 
at the other end of the line and sprayed her with champagne.  Willette 
couldn't help thinking how much the spurting champagne resembled semen.  
Perhaps that was the real reason the men in the audience were howling so 
lustily.  The champagne was an erotic substitute for what was even now 
roiling in their balls.
         As the sun broke over the horizon Willette found herself standing 
outside Peter's apartment door, being kissed goodnight.  His hand wormed 
its way down the front of her champagne soaked panties.  She caught his 
arm and held him there, permitting him to feel her damp bush, but 
preventing him from reaching his true goal, her labia lips.  After a moment 
she broke their kiss.  
         "That's enough," Willette breathed.
         "You're no fun," Peter said unhappily.  "You're just a tease."
         "You'll get to screw me when I decide, young man, and not before," 
Willette said, putting a finger to the tip of Peter's nose.  In her heart she 
knew she would never allow Peter to lay her.  He was O.K. for keeping her 
looking cool in front of her friends, but didn't feel any particular need for 
his...ah...peter.
         Suddenly the apartment door of the lonely man swung open.  Without 
appearing to see them, but with a face so sad Willette knew he did, the 
man strode past with a sackful of garbage.  Peter drew Willette close and 
embraced her in yet another kiss, his hands wandering this time to her 
bottom, as the lonely man threw his garbage into the apartment block's 
dumpster.  This time Willette let the kiss last.  She enjoyed teasing the 
lonely man as he walked past her once more, back to his apartment.  Only 
when she heard his front door slam shut did she break her embrace with 
Peter.
         "Goodnight," Willette cooed to Peter.
         "What's left of it," Peter groused.  He looked drunk and sleepy.  
Willette skipped back to her silver sports car, eager to be away before 
anyone else stepped out of their apartment to see her in only her T-shirt 
and panties.  She might have worn her vest and lambskin skirt, but she 
didn't want them smelling of champagne.  She hopped into her car, glanced 
back at her skirt and vest on the back seat, as if to reassure herself that 
they were still there if she really needed them, and then sped off.
         The following week Willette was once more bumping into disturbing 
literary descriptions of herself.  Her high school's version of gourmet 
popcorn, which she had managed to smuggle into the library, only partially 
relieved her mental discomfort.  Was she really like the heroine of this 
book she had been assigned?  Did she really care only for herself and her 
own advancement?  And what would happen to this girl in the story if she 
continued on with her selfish ways?  
         Suddenly a burst of gunfire tore through the still library air.  
Willette nearly jumped high enough to bump her head against the ceiling.  
More gunfire, then screams.  Then incoherent yelling.  Willette scrambled 
underneath the desk of a carrel.  
         The gunfire continued intermittently, accompanied by cries of pain.  
Willette also heard a strange knocking sound, as of something being 
repeatedly banged against something else.  The gunfire and knocking drew 
nearer.  Suddenly Willette saw a pair of grimy combat boots beneath her 
carrel.  And then a hand reached down.  Willette cringed, but the hand 
caught her by her long hair.  For once she wished she were a brunette.  
Gentlemen preferred blondes, and, yes!  Killers preferred blondes too!  
         Willette found herself on her knees before a very disturbed looking 
young man.  His face glared at her, with wild eyes of brilliant blue that 
seemed never to be able to behold her for more than a second at a time.   In 
one hand he held an assault rifle, in the other a pair of wooden castanets.  
With nervous twitches his hand holding the castanets rose and fell.  The 
castanets bumped loudly together with each flick of his wrist.
         "You're just what I'm looking for," the boy said with a growl.  He 
pulled Willette's hair upward and, to keep him from pulling it out, she rose 
to her feet.  The boy put his arm securely around Willette's slim shoulders.  
They were bare and a golden brown from the sun.  Willette wished she 
hadn't worn such a sexy peasant top.  With his other hand the boy stroked 
her bare, flat belly.
         Willette's reverie of fear was interrupted by the sound of wailing 
police cars pulling up outside the school library.  The disturbed boy turned 
and dragged Willette with him toward a row of shelving units.  His 
castanets lay easily now over the barrel of his assault rifle.  With each 
step he took they banged loudly together.
         Would this be where Willette died?  Here, of all places, in her high 
school library?  Her eyes lighted on her bag of popcorn lying on the desk of 
the carrel.  Would her obituary add that she had been eating popcorn 
illegally in the library?
         The boy positioned himself in between two tall bookshelves, with 
Willette in front of him, firmly in his grip.  He levelled his gun at her head 
and held it there.  Eventually the castanets hanging from his gun barrel 
stopped clacking together.  Willette felt an ominous dread grow within her 
from the silence of the castanets.  However nervous the boy might have 
seemed, the castanets were a sure sign that his precarious future did not 
trouble him in the least.  Surely the hands of anyone else holding a hostage 
at gunpoint would tremble.  But not this boy.  If he chose to pull the 
trigger of his gun, the bullet would not miss.  
         Everything was quite still now.  Even the low moan of pain from the 
boy's less fortunate victims had ceased.  The air itself in the library 
seemed to come to rest.  The place had always been dead, but now it was 
as dead as a...graveyard.
         Willette heard the front door of the library open.  "I'm not going to 
hurt you," Willette heard a confident voice call from below.  It was a 
policeman!  Willette couldn't see the man, of course, but who else would 
open the front door of the library and walk in?  Footsteps fell one after 
another as the man below paced about the lower floor.  Victims, sensing 
the possibility of relief from their pain, groaned to him.  Then Willette 
heard the man coming up the library's stairs.
         The lone figure cleared the top of the stairs.  He stared directly into 
the eyes of the killer.  Unafraid, yet inoffensive at the same time.  He was 
unarmed.  He was about 5'11".  He had a sad face.  Willette gasped.
         "What's the problem?  Can't get a date?" the plainclothes policeman 
asked the killer at Willette's back.  "We all have that problem sometimes."  
The lonely man smiled.  A tepid smile, a forced smile, almost as if it were 
something he never did.
         "You got no fucking business being here!" the killer snarled.  "This 
building belongs to me now, and everyone in it."
         "Some of the people downstairs are dead," the lonely man said.  "Mind 
if my people come in and remove them?"
         "No!" the killer barked.  "They will be food."
         "Such a pity, with a McDonald's right across the street," the lonely 
man observed.  "Wouldn't you rather have some ketchup and pickles with 
your meat?"
         "No!" the killer snapped.  With each sentence the lonely man had 
gotten a step closer.  He was only a few feet from them now.
         "Get back!" the killer ordered.
         "Why of course," the lonely man said, but he moved not a muscle.  
"You wouldn't mind if this girl here went across the street for a burger, 
would you?  I'm sure she wants ketchup and pickles on her meat, even if 
you don't."
         "This girl food too, after," the killer said.  Willette felt herself 
turning even paler than she already was.
         "Well now, did you ever consider that she might not want to be your 
next meal?" the lonely man asked the killer.  
         "Doesn't matter," the killer said.
         "Well, you know, no eating is allowed in the library," the lonely man 
said.  Willette felt the killer grow restless behind her.  The castanets 
banged once together, then again.
         "I eat!" the killer said.  "I eat here, I eat there, I eat her, I eat you!"
         "I don't taste very good without ketchup," the lonely man said.  
Suddenly, his hand was upon the killer's gun barrel.  He lifted the point of 
the barrel above Willette's head and at the same time drove the butt of the 
gun violently into the killer's chest.  The gun discharged.  Willette fell to 
the library floor.  Her ears rang and the top of her head felt as if it had 
been singed by the blast from the gun.  When Willette had the courage to 
turn around the lonely man was picking the killer up off the floor by his 
armpits.  The killer was bleeding from the nose and looked barely able to 
catch his breath.

CHAPTER TWO

         Willette parked her car quietly along the curb of sardine row.  She 
checked her makeup once more in the rearview mirror and then stepped 
out.  She smoothed down the front of her blouse.  She looked conservative, 
almost like the lawyer she one day hoped to be.  She wondered if the lonely 
man would receive her.
         As Willette walked toward the front door of the lonely man's 
apartment the events of the previous week flashed through her mind.  The 
police had burst into the library within moments after the lonely man had 
overcome the killer.  Ambulance personnel had followed right on the cops' 
heels.  Willette had been carried off on a stretcher, and seen nothing more 
of the lonely man.  He had saved her life, yet she hadn't even been able to 
thank him.
         Willette rang the lonely man's doorbell.  After a long wait the front 
door finally opened.  It was the lonely man.  He was unshaven.  His eyes 
were sad.  
         "IŅI just want to thank you," Willette stammered.
         "No need.  Just doing my job.  Get three of those a month," the lonely 
man said.  The crack in his doorway narrowed.  The door was closing, and 
Willette hadn't even been able to thank the man properly!
         "No!  Wait!" Willette cried.  She put her hand to the door.  Not on the 
edge of the door, but in the middle, as if that held any promise whatsoever 
of keeping the door from being closed.  "I mean, IŅI don't want to bother 
you, but, like, you did save my life!"
         "That's what I get paid to do," the lonely man said.  "Your tax dollars, 
or you mother's and father's, pay me to do that."  The crack in his doorway 
narrowed further.
         "CanŅcan I see you again?" Willette cried.
         "Get taken hostage again," the lonely man said, and then the door 
clicked shut.  
         Willette stood on the man's door mat.  WELCOME was printed on it, 
but his front door was closed.  She fidgeted for a moment.  Then Peter 
opened the front door to his apartment.
         "Willette!  Didn't know you were here, c'mon in!  The game is really 
getting hot!  Plenty of Bud too, even for a plebeian like you!"  Her eyes cast 
low, Willette stepped off the lonely man's doormat.  Another Sunday 
afternoon spent watching a stupid football game with the boys.  No doubt 
when this one ended, the networks would graciously serve up another, all 
to keep otherwise virile males glued to the television until nightfall.  
With slow, hesitant steps, Willette dragged herself into Peter and John's 
apartment.
         Willette seated herself on the edge of a ratty loveseat.  The thing 
wouldn't have brought two dollars at a garage sale, but Peter had made 
John get out of it just so Willette could sit in it.  Willette wondered what 
the boys' living quarters would look like once they got to college.  
         Both boys had managed to get kicked out of their homes by their 
parents, but a growing labor shortage had enabled them to get jobs that 
paid them enough to live alone.  Graduation was only a month away now, 
anyway.  Peter and John were both waiting for their letters of acceptance 
from the state college, even as they considered military service.  As 
Willette scanned the detritus laden apartment, she thought military 
service might prove the better option.
         John let out a loud burp and threw his empty Budweiser can at a 
basketball hoop mounted on the wall.  The hoop had come with a Nerf ball, 
but that had long since been lost and replaced by empty beer cans as the 
preferred projectile.
         "Miss!" Peter crowed, as John's beer can clanked against the wall and 
fell to the worn carpeting on the floor.  
         Neither boy had complimented Willette on her attire.  Did they just 
expect her to always show up at their door dressed to kill?  Now, as she 
watched them sit in fascination before the television, she decided to have 
some fun.  She rose and smoothed her blouse.  Her breasts stuck out nicely.  
She put her hands on her hips and gave her blonde mane a toss.
         "Dear, sweet boys, how could you possibly watch a football game 
with your pants all zippered up like that?" Willette asked.
         "Oh, what do you mean, Willette?" Peter asked, suddenly not quite so 
captivated by the game.  His hips shifted forward on his chair.
         "What I mean," Willette said, walking over and kneeling before John, 
"is that such big penises as you boys have shouldn't be forced to remain all 
afternoon in such tight jeans."  Neither boy had sported a bulge in his 
pants when Willette first began addressing them, but now both quickly 
developed one.  
         Willette kneeled before John.  She looked him straight in the eye and 
ran her pink little tongue across her upper lip.  John stared back at her.  
Peter looked across at John, not sure whether he should intervene.  The 
game, despite being in the final two minutes, was suddenly just so much 
background noise.  Willette unzipped John's fly.
         "My, I know you're in here somewhere inside this underwear," 
Willette said in a seductive, whispery voice.  Her polished nails pried open 
the flap in the front of John's Jockeys.  Her fingers lighted upon the 
substantial head of his cock.  She pulled it forth.
         "Holy shit," Peter whistled as John's 9 inch cock came into view.  It 
extended in a long, easy arc, its veins bulging and throbbing.  Willette 
extended her tongue and lightly touched it to John's pee hole.  Then she 
wiped the tip of her tongue on the back of her hand, to get rid of any 
microscopic residue that might be left over from John's urinating.  
         "Say Willette, you're MY girlfriend," Peter whined.
         "Don't worry," Willette smiled over John's erection.  "You're next."  
Then she began touching the tip of her tongue in quick, feathery strokes to 
the underside of John's bulging cockhead.
         "She's saving the best for last," Peter assured himself.
         "Fine with me," John grunted, pushing his hips forward.  He was 
eager to get his entire cock into Willette's succulent mouth, but she held 
him back.  It was just like males to always want to dispense with the 
exciting preliminaries and just squirt out their load!  
         Willette ran her tongue down John's rod in long strokes, then back up 
again.  John trembled.  "You'll have to learn a bit of self control, John," 
Willette said between tongue strokes.  "I'm not Lola.  I expect you to make 
my little tongue very happy before you spill."
         With a loving look in her eyes Willette ran her lithe tongue along the 
side of John's shaft.  She would take her time with this boy, turn his 
pleasure into torment.  John's penis wiggled.  "You can hold yourself back, 
can't you?" Willette asked John.
         "AŅa little bit," John stammered.
         "Well, a little bit isn't good enough, John," Willette said.  She licked 
along the top of his shaft, then curled her tongue along the flange of his 
head.  "You must learn to give a woman's mouth pleasure, and then her 
pussy too.  Maybe even her asshole.  All without spilling a drop of your 
precious sperm."
         "Willette!" Peter moaned.  "I don't want you letting John up your 
pussy before I get to fuck you!"
         "Dear Peter, did you think I was speaking of today?" Willette asked.  
"Why, that would surely interrupt too much football!  I'm just giving you 
boys a little suck today."  She released John's rod from her grasp.  "There, 
John, I'm afraid that's about all you can stand."  John looked at her with 
wide, fearful eyes.
         "FŅFucking finish the job, Willette!" John cried.
         "Perhaps in a little while," Willette cooed.  "My boyfriend needs me."  
She rose and sashayed over to Peter, still looking as conservative as ever.  
Peter thrust his hips forward in his chair.  His zipper was already undone.  
Willette thought he reminded her of a monkey at the zoo eager for a 
banana.
         Willette drew Peter's 9 1/2 incher from his pants.  She flicked her 
tongue over his peehole, just as before, then wiped her tongue on the back 
of her other hand.  Then, delicately, she ran her tongue around the flange of 
Peter's rod.  "I hope you let me lick you longer than John did," Willette 
murmured.
         "Uh, yeah, Willette," Peter grunted.  He thrust his hips even farther 
forward.  John, meanwhile, had risen and was on the phone, frantically 
trying to get hold of his girlfriend Lola.
         "John?  Is that you?" Willette heard a small voice pipe from the 
telephone's receiver.
         "Lola!" John cried.  
         "John, aren't you busy watching the game?" Lola asked.
         "Uh, something's come up!" John said with a note of desperation in 
his voice.  
         "Do you need me, Johnny?" Lola asked.
         "Yes!  Yes!  Come right away!" John yelled.  Willette sucked the entire 
head of Peter's cock into her mouth.  Peter, sensing an opportunity, tried 
to force in even more of his shaft, but Willette bit down just hard enough 
on the stem of his cock to prevent further movement.

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