Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 60    Monday    July 24, 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 Three
by Andrew Roller

Chapter Two

         John walked back over to his chair, his cock waggling lewdly with 
his every step.  It protruded from his pants like some thick leaf-shorn 
beanstalk that had suddenly sprouted.  Willette watched it out of the 
corner of her eye.  She popped Peter's cockhead from her mouth.
         "Come here, John," Willette said.  John hurried over to her, despite 
the imminent arrival of his girlfriend.  
         "What do they say, 'Two heads are better than one?'" Willette asked, 
taking John's cockhead twixt her little fingers even as she kept her other 
hand firmly on Peter's rod.  Willette opened her mouth wide and guided 
both boys' cockheads towards her lips with encouraging little strokes of 
her fingertips on the undersides of their penises.  A moment later and her 
eyes bulged as both big cockheads entered her at once.  Willette's tongue 
retreated to the back of her mouth, then tentatively came forward again to 
lick each boy's peehole in turn.  This time the licking was not for 
cleanliness, but merely titillation.  Both boys drove their cocks forward, 
hoping to gain even greater depths inside Willette.  With difficulty she 
held them back, allowing only their cockheads to be inside her mouth.
         Willette thought how strange the boys must feel, each having his 
cockhead rub against the other.  These were boys who wouldn't go within 
ten miles of anything even remotely connected with homosexuality, yet 
here they were, rubbing their dickies against each other.  Willette 
wondered whether if she cooked up a scheme that found one boy's cock up 
the other's butthole if they wouldn't comply with that too.
         Suddenly the doorbell rang.  Willette popped both boys' cocks from 
her mouth.  She took John's twixt her fingers and began stuffing it back 
into his jeans as best she could.  The doorbell rang again.
         "Coming!" John cried, throwing back his head, and Willette found 
herself praying that John's cry was intended to be interpreted in the 
conventional manner.
         "Now John,"Willette said, breathing a sigh of relief as no fountain of 
semen splashed forth from his dick.  "John, I don't want you to breathe a 
word of this to Lola, you hear?  If you do I'll never suck your little dick 
again."
         "MyÑmy dick is little?" John asked, mortified.  Willette managed to 
get him back inside his pants and yanked up his zipper.  She patted his very 
big bulge reassuringly.  "No John, your dick is nice and big.  Don't put a rip 
in your pants, now."
         "Uh, yeah," John mumbled, as the doorbell rang for what must have 
been the tenth time.  Then he stumbled away, heading for the front door.
         "As for you and me, we should finish our business in more private 
surroundings, don't you think?" Willette asked Peter, also forcing his dick 
back into his pants.
         "Yeah, sure, we can go upstairs," Peter agreed.  Willette rose and let 
Peter take her by the arm.  As they turned to leave she picked up  the 
television's remote control.  She aimed it at the T.V.
         "What a game!" the television announcer was crying.  "This is living 
NFL football history!"
         "We don't need to waste energy by leaving this on, do we?" Willette 
asked Peter.
         "Uh, no," Peter said, not even really seeming to be paying attention 
to what Willette was saying, only thinking of his need to get her 
someplace where she would feel comfortable enough to resume her 
servicing of his rod.
         A week later Willette had landed a brand new job as an airport 
ticketing agent.  It was only part time, due to her need to finish high 
school, but Willette loved what work she could squeeze in between her 
studies.  She loved the smart airline uniform she wore too.  And every man 
who bought a ticket from her seemed to long to buy her instead.
         Willette surveyed the line of people before her.  As summer 
approached more and more families were appearing.  Willette smiled at 
the young pubescent boys who nearly grabbed their crotches in delight 
when they saw her.  "Too bad, boys," Willette thought to herself.  "You'll 
have to grow your cocks a little more before you can get hold of me."  Even 
as Willette worked she continued to think of the lonely man.  She almost 
never saw him now.  Apparently he didn't even empty his trash early in the 
morning anymore.  Willette had been trying to stake him out whenever she 
stopped by Peter and John's, but the man was reclusive.
         Willette cursed whoever it was who had invented computers.  Time 
was when every man rose at dawn to go out into the world and earn his 
pay.  Now more and more people, especially highly valued professionals 
like the lonely man, worked at home.  Going to work consisted of nothing 
more than walking to your computer and dialing the office with your 
modem.  You didn't even have to put any clothes on.
         Willette wrote her last ticket for the night and shut down her 
terminal.  She said goodnight to the girl next to her and slung her purse 
over her shoulder.  If she hurried she would get home just in time to do her 
homework before Arsenio.  Perhaps in another week or two she would be 
able to buy her own VCR.  Then she'd probably wind up with dozens of 
unwatched VCR tapes, all loaded with unwatched Arsenio Hall programs.  
At least then the entertainer wouldn't be competing with her homework.
         As Willette walked across the airport parking lot she began to feel a 
gnawing sense of fear.  She felt as if someone was following her.  Willette 
walked faster.  Suddenly a hand with a chloroform pad wrapped itself over 
her face from behind.  Willette struggled to break free, even as she felt 
herself begin to pass out.
         When Willette awoke she was bound between two posts.  Each of her 
wrists had been lifted as high as her head and spread wide.  Cold chains 
held them fast to thick wooden posts that looked sturdy enough to 
withstand even the might of Samson.  Willette breathed a sigh of relief as 
she realized she still had her uniform on.
         A man who looked to be of Arabian descent eyed Willette with 
glinting eyes.  His arms were crossed before him and he sported a goatee.  
"Welcome to the New World Order," the man said in a flat, even voice.  "My 
name is Aram."
         "WhatÑwhat do you want with me?" Willette asked in a frightened 
little voice.  This was almost too much for her.  She felt like passing out 
again.  Perhaps when she woke up again she would be in the arms of the 
lonely man.
         Aram laughed.  A wicked, gleeful laugh.  The laugh of a man who has 
exercised self restraint in life only when absolutely forced to.  "What do I 
want with you?  I want many things with you.  But you've been kidnapped 
for your brain."
         "My brain?" Willette asked meekly.  It almost seemed impossible 
that a beautiful young girl like herself would be wanted by men for her 
brain.  The boys wanted her for her body, and men still looked on her as too 
immature to have anything more for them than a nice ass and tits.
         Aram was laughing again.  "Does that surprise you?"  His eyes grazed 
her cleavage.  It was ample, and stuck out vertically from her body even as 
it dangled slightly as she swayed between the two posts which held her 
fast.  Aram walked up to Willette and seized both sides of her blouse at 
her collar.  With one swift downward movement of his hands he tore 
Willette's blouse completely open.  
         Willette gasped and looked down at her chest.  Only her lacy white 
bra remained to keep Aram's hands from her boobies.  
         "I see no reason why I should not have a nice view while I 
interrogate you, hmm?" Aram asked, as if by way of apology for ripping 
open Willette's blouse.  "But let me get right to the point.  I am planning a 
terrorist attack on your country.  At the airport where you work...or at 
least where you used to work.  You'll be working for me from now on, I 
suppose, if I find you acceptable."  Willette looked at Aram with wide 
eyes.
         "Please, please let me go?" Willette mewed.
         "Not a chance," Aram said confidently.  "Your beauty keeps you 
captive, my dear.  And alive.  We just grabbed whoever we could...how 
fortunate it turned out to be you!  Of course, that does not mean your 
interrogation will be any gentler."  Willette could only stare back at Aram.  
She felt both loathing and fear.  If only the lonely man were here!  
Unarmed, brave, defiant, and all with a wry sense of humor!  He was so 
sad, yet so noble.  Certainly if anyone deserved to rip open her blouse it 
was the lonely man.  
         Aram grazed the exposed upper curve of her breast with his 
fingertips.  There was dirt underneath his nails.  "I want you to tell me 
everything you know about the airport," Aram said.  "Who goes in, who goes 
out, what time.  Who the security guards are, when they take their breaks.  
Who the baggage handlers areÑ"
         "Sir, I don't know any of that," Willette protested.  "I just started 
working there this week."
         "That is not an acceptable answer," Aram said.  His fingers dug into 
her breast.

Chapter Three

         Willette was still hanging between the poles.  She had to go to the 
bathroom badly.  Aram had advised her that if she wanted to pee, she 
should just do so in her undies.  Through a grimy window set high in the 
wall Willette spotted the moon.  Watermelon moon.  Was it half empty, or 
half full?  Tonight it seemed half empty.  Willette wondered why she 
called the slice of moon, with exactly half its surface lit, a watermelon 
moon.  Surely a slice of lemon would be more appropriate?  But she had 
always called it watermelon moon, ever since she was a little girl.
         Fortunately the light in the room was dim.  Aram had torn her skirt 
from her, but she still wore her bra and panties.  Just when he seemed 
about to rip those off too, angered by her response that she knew nothing 
of the goings on at the airport, he had been called away.
         A small, portly man slipped into the room.  He also appeared to be of 
Arab origin, but he was much uglier than Aram.  He did, however, have a 
gentle looking face.  "Don't scream and I'll let you free," the ugly Arab 
whispered to Willette.
         "SÑsure," Willette agreed.  To her surprise the next thing the ugly 
Arab did was reach behind her and unsnap her bra.  Willette's breasts 
bounced forward.  Her lacy white cups hung tenuously upon them.  The Arab 
slipped a finger beneath the small slip of fabric that connected the two 
cups of her bra and lifted it.  Willette's breasts tumbled forth.  
         Willette's glossy white cones glowed nakedly in a shaft of moonlight 
that managed to pierce the grime of the room's lone window.  Along the 
uppermost curve of her breasts, where they joined her chest, her bra lay 
uselessly now, no more than an ornament.  Eagerly the Arab seized both 
her breasts with his pudgy hands and sucked one of her nipples into his 
mouth.  Little slurping noises could be heard as the Arab supped at her 
mammaries.  For Willette, the time seemed to pass with agonizing 
slowness.  No doubt for the Arab, however, it passed all too quickly.
         "So pretty," the Arab finally said, lifting his head from her breasts 
to admire her.  "You would not be pretty long with Aram.  I untie you, then 
you go.  I go with you."  Willette, sensing the man's intent, nodded.  The 
man pulled a large lock cutter from a pocket on his overalls.  Willette 
shuddered.  If the man was a loony...her perky nipples were closer to the 
Arab than her chains were.
         Fortunately, the Arab kept his word.  It was indeed the chains that 
were cut off her.  Willette gained her balance, standing freely on the floor 
for the first time since she had awoken.  She reached behind her and, with 
trembling hands, managed to rehook her bra.  
         "No," the Arab said.  Before Willette could even think how to react, 
he lifted his lock cutter and snipped right through the bit of material that 
held the two cups of her bra together.  The cups fell apart, away from each 
other, exposing her titties.  "You make less trouble for me out there if you 
topless," the Arab explained.  Willette could only look down at her breasts, 
shorn of their last vestige of modesty.  Her bra cups hung loosely, 
uselessly, on either side of her mammaries.
         The Arab stuffed the lock cutter back into the deep pocket on his 
overalls and took her arm.  Much as Willette detested the Arab, she would 
have to go with him if she hoped to escape.  Or was this all just a set up...a 
set up by Aram to test her 'loyalty'?  Was he waiting just outside the door 
to this room to punish her?
         Willette was led out of the room into a dingy hallway strewn with 
trash.  There was no time to pick her way delicately over the rubbish.  She 
ran right through it, kicking it up with her open-toed heels.  The ugly Arab 
ran beside her, panting loudly, though he seemed to be trying to restrain 
the volume of his breathing as much as possible.
         The ugly Arab kicked open a door at the end of the hall.  A chain on 
its handle kept it from opening all the way, and each of them in turn had to 
crawl underneath the chain to get out the door.  The ugly Arab led Willette 
up the side of a steep, sloping knoll.  It was hard for Willette to climb in 
her high heels.  She stumbled twice, and the Arab had to help her get back 
up.  The Arab hurried her over to an old Buick.  With an odd sense of 
gentility, he opened the passenger side of the car first and stuffed 
Willette inside.  
         Willette watched as the ugly Arab scurried around the back of the 
car.  If only she had the key to this thing!  The Arab opened the driver's 
side door and plunked his butt down on the seat.  He drew forth a key from 
his pocket.  Willette took a deep breath.  
         "This is where you get off," Willette said suddenly.  She grabbed the 
ugly Arab by the crotch.  The technique was only moderately effective.  
The thickness of his overalls kept her from getting a really good grip on 
his loins.  The move, however, did allow Willette to grab away the car 
keys.  She stuffed them into the front of her panties.  The Arab had never 
gotten his car door closed, and now Willette gave a mighty push.  Perhaps 
the Arab was just too fat and weak to resist her strong, well toned 
muscles.  Perhaps the lock cutter in the bib of his overalls made him top 
heavy.  In any event, the ugly Arab tumbled out of the Buick onto the 
street.  Willette scooted her bottom across to the driver's side of the seat 
and stuck the key into the ignition.  The engine sprang to life and she hit 
the gas.  The car's tires squealed as she peeled away from the Arab.  The 
door on the driver's side of the car swung loosely, still unclosed.  Behind 
her the fat little Arab lay in the street, his arms and legs flailing the air.  
A moment later Willette thought she saw several men, one of them Aram, 
rush up the hill.  She rounded a corner and fled into the night.
         Willette knew where she must go.  There was only one place.  If she 
did manage to escape any Arabs that might follow her, the police would 
never believe her.  Visions of Tawana Brawley flashed through her mind as 
she envisioned herself standing in the police station in only a pair panties, 
damp with sweat. 
         If she didn't manage to outrun any pursuing Arabs, she might be shot 
down by the terrorists right on the steps of the police station.  Willette 
knew she needed someone who could think fast.  Someone who was 
experienced...not a bunch of young studs whiling away the late night hours 
down at the stationhouse.  She needed one man, who could act quickly, not 
three or four men mired in procedure and bureaucracy.  When Willette had 
gotten drunk and danced at the nightclub several weekends ago the lonely 
man had seen her in her wet T-shirt and panties.  Well, now he could see 
her in just her panties.
         Willette heard the squeal of rubber in the distance, behind her.  She 
knew now that there would be no escaping the Arabs.  She had not been 
given enough time to make good her escape.  She was ahead by a minute, 
but not much more.  She didn't even know this part of the city all that 
well.  Could she afford to careen around in back streets, trying to lose the 
terrorists?  That might well land her in a dead end alley.  Willette opened 
the accelerator to full throttle.  She whipped past a speed limit sign that 
read 35 mph.  She would head straight to the lonely man's house, at top 
speed.  Nothing would stop her.  Nothing, not even a police car.
         Willette was shooting past a sign on the highway that warned the 
maximum speed was 55 mph when she heard a siren behind her.  Below the 
sign it had read, "Conserve Energy."  That's just what she needed now, 
wasn't it?  She reflected with scorn on the proponents of engine 
regulators that would prevent cars from going faster than 55.  Just what a 
criminal would have too, wasn't it?  He'd be ready, willing, and able to 
blow up an airport, but console himself with a car with a regulator on its 
engine.
         A few hectic minutes of driving later Willette came to a screeching 
halt in front of the lonely man's apartment.  She burst from her car, even 
as the police car careened into the alley behind her.  She was in luck!  The 
lonely man was just walking back to his apartment from the dumpster.  So 
this was the time he emptied his garbage now, right smack in the middle 
of the night!  Willette prayed that the man really had what she knew he 
needed to save her life...again.
         "Lonely man!  You've got to save me!" Willette cried.  She ran up to 
him, her breasts bouncing violently.  The man spun about.  She crushed 
herself into his arms.  
         The police car's driver hit his brakes.  He failed to stop in time.  He 
slammed into the back of Willette's borrowed Buick.  The back window of 
the Buick shattered.
         "Afraid of getting a ticket?" the lonely man asked Willette.  She was 
nearly hysterical now.  Tears streamed down her face.
         "No!"  Willette cried.  "Fuck the cops!  I've been kidnapped!  Just like 
the killer you saved me from, except these men are much, much worse!"  
Willette began sobbing.  "Do something!" she cried.  Perhaps it was only her 
youth and beauty, but suddenly the lonely man seemed electrified.  Despite 
his apparently slender build, he scooped her up into his arms and ran with 
her into his apartment.  Behind them a car careened into the alley.

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

          The first 58 issues of Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (NND) are now 
available as a Stuffit file.  Use UnStuffit Deluxe (or a similar unpacking 
utility) to unstuff the issues.  They will open as WriteNow documents 
in Macintosh format.  If you have a Macintosh, but no WriteNow 
program, use your own writing program and try the File, Insert 
command to open NND into your writing program.  Or buy the utility 
CanOpener.  If you have a non-Macintosh computer, take the file to any 
KinkoÕs Copies.  There you can probably UnStuffit and transfer it onto a 
PC readable format.  (Or there are, no doubt, ways to do this in the PC 
world without having to leave your house.)
         I can only upload (make this offer available to) users of America 
Online.  (I do not have a separate communications program on my 
computer at this time.)  The Stuffit file is about 650k, perfect for any 
800k disk, even one formatted to MacintoshÕs new Òfile exchangeÓ 
standard, which turns the average 800k disk into a 700k disk upon 
formatting.  So you can trade this thing around very easily.  My hope is 
that somebody with full upload/download capabilities will take over 
making this file available to people, so that I donÕt have to do it.  (That 
way I can concentrate on writing more stories.)  
         I may withdraw this offer, depending on how long it takes me to 
upload the file each time somebody wants it.  Include an age statement 
if you order.  Ask for:  drmthru58.sit  

Free Naughty Naked Dreamgirls e-mail subscriptions:  send (18 or up) 
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Andrew Roller.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 60 EMISSION