Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
FREE!    Internet Edition    June 2, 1995  

D R E A M G I R L S  S T O R I E S
Chambers of Love
Part Eight
by Andrew Roller 

Chapter Four

         Our host led us into the small restaurant.  The interior was much 
more elegant than one would have thought.  The tables were cloaked 
with linen tablecloths and set with golden silverware.  I wondered 
what the matchbooks were made of.  
         We were greeted by a maitre d' but made to wait in line for a 
table, like everyone else.  If he noticed our nudity he did not show it.  
As we stood there, patiently, the other patrons in the lobby began 
making rude comments about our bodies.  Julie and Helga and I were the 
only ones wearing so little, showing so much.  Our host gave us a glance 
as if to say, "Do not mind them...simple country folk, you know," but we 
turned visibly red.  Our lightly patterned asses seemed to especially 
intrigue the strangers.  Guessing that we were Americans or (worse) 
British, they purposely spoke in English, albeit with heavy French 
accents. 
         "What an arse she has!  She'll behave at dinner from the looks of 
it, I'm sure," one onlooker said.
         "What boobs that woman has.  She could nurse an entire army with 
those," another heckler commented.
         "She probably has!  Look how sultry her face is," a third said.
         Finally a table became available.  We followed the maitre d' as we 
twisted round nearly every other table in the place, and I wondered if 
our host hadn't purposely arranged this in advance, just to humiliate us.  
Every diner got a waist-eye view of our pussies as we passed.  Men, 
women, even the occasional child.  At last we reached our place, near 
the rear, yet in the center of the other tables there.  Clearly this would 
not be the night I would want to eat with my fingers.
         We seated ourselves with only the mildest of gasps.  Our lightly 
tanned bottoms hurt as much from bouncing remorselessly in the 
carriage as from being cropped.  We'd bounced to our host's house, been 
playfully stung there, then bounced to the restaurant.  I wondered if I 
might be developing saddle sores.
         The waitress who came for our orders made a point of addressing 
we females as "cunts."  This seemed especially to bother Helga, but I 
rightly suspected that our host had arranged this, so Helga could do 
nothing.  We ate quietly as we were gawked at by the other patrons.  
Despite our nudity, we exhibited the very best in table manners.  Our 
host urged us to drink freely.  By dinner's end we all had to use the 
bathroom but, surprisingly, were not permitted to do so.  We left the 
restaurant wriggling our asses with our need to pee, to the bawdy 
delight of the diners.  Endeavoring to step gracefully we mounted the 
steps of the coach.  Our jiggly bottomcheeks wobbled exceedingly, 
flashing their whiteness.  We had to bend to enter the carriage, and so 
inadvertently mooned the world with our waggling butts.
         Once more we set off across the country roads.  The rattling 
carriage repeatedly loosed our tits and we carefully tucked them back 
in with our delicate hands.  Our long nails caught the light from the full 
moon and glinted like little miniature knives.
         It was much more difficult to sit with our legs spread on the trip 
back.  Our host did not allow us to squeeze our pussies with our hands, 
either, to assuage our desire to pee.  We squirmed miserably, burning 
with our need.  Our host merely smiled benignly, drinking in our torment 
with obvious male pleasure.
         It was with trepidation that I alighted from the coach once more 
and climbed the steps to our host's house.  He had proven himself 
uniquely accomplished so far this evening in reducing young ladies to 
quivering, helpless mounds of flesh, and he hadn't even touched us yet.  
Yvonne clicked her tongue disapprovingly as we re-entered the house.  
"Tch!  Tch!  I think some little girls drank too much at dinner," she said.  
We danced our way down the hall, hoping against hope to be led to a 
bathroom.
         Our host introduced us to no less than the mayor of Paris this 
time, in a little room with yet another group of strangers in it.
         We were required to answer the mayor's questions with our 
pussies outthrust, our hips gyrating shamelessly with our urge to make 
water.  I cringed and bit my lip as he made his inquiries with increasing 
slowness.
         Finally I blurted, "Sir, I must pee very badly!"
         "What?  You come to our fine city and cannot hold your water until 
you go home?" he asked merrily.
         "No, sir," I answered imploringly.
         Helga, the very picture of ladyhood with her refined face and 
glorious bosom, twisted her hands pleadingly together in dumb appeal, 
all the while keeping her honeypot arched forward as required by our 
host.  Julie, the sweet young bride, thrust her cunt at the mayor as 
brazenly as any cheap trollop, anxiously begging for release.
         The mayor's wife appeared then, and instantly I knew we were in 
trouble.  She was much younger than the mayor, and very beautiful, with 
a wanton, devil may care look animating her features.  Most strikingly, 
she wore a skin-tight dress that made no attempt to cover her 
cantaloupe-sized mammaries.  A little black collar bound her neck and 
attached itself by eight pencil-thin strands to her dress, which was of 
the same color.  The dress topped-out along the undersides of her 
boobs, leaving the jellied white cones utterly exposed.
         "Marguerite and I plan to have a baby," the mayor explained.  "This 
dress will allow my wife to easily breast feed.  Do you like it?"  We had 
no choice.  We nodded mutely.  I gazed at Marguerite's belly to see if she 
was pregnant.  She seemed as slim as a model, but her breasts seemed 
already bloated with milk.  They wobbled deliciously, their big nipples 
promising to nurture any number of hungry infants.
         "May I practise on them?" Marguerite asked her husband of us, to 
our shocked surprise.
         "Of course, my dear.  And not only may you breastfeed them, but 
as you can see they are about to wet themselves!" 
         "I should wish to have them tied," Marguerite observed.  The 
mayor clapped his hands and three burly men entered and twisted our 
arms up behind us.  They shoved us forward toward a door.
         Captive now, our chests were thrust up and out, offering up our 
bosoms with their excited nipples protruding into our sleek shirts.  One 
of Helga's beautiful tits fell out of her shirt as she walked.  There 
would be no replacing it now.  It wobbled freely.  The nipple was a 
delicately offered bud of pencil-thin flesh, pink and aroused.
         Near the door we were introduced to a Dr. Johnson, who said he 
performed preventive mastectomies.  Would we care for his services 
today?  He asked.  No, we gulped fearfully, momentarily forgetting even 
our need to pee.  He gazed at our bosoms but did not touch them, 
thankfully.
         "I could remove just the nipples, if you like," he offered.  
"Sometimes that is all that is required."  Marguerite caught up with us, 
scolded him, told the burly men to get a move on.
         "Even good little girls such as these cannot hold themselves 
forever.  Hurry them to the conservatory.  They have a performance to 
give!"  We were rushed from the room and down a hall.  The men walked 
beside us now, that our jiggling rumps might be admired, still holding 
us firmly.  Indeed, it was Marguerite herself who was first to take 
advantage of the sight of our retreating rumps.  She strode along behind 
us, smiling and praising them.  I felt like some captive Jane, taken 
prisoner by jungle natives.  Someone had given Marguerite a cat-o-nine 
tails and she idly cracked the air with it.  Tremors ran down my spine.
         Spraddle-legged, our cunts displayed obscenely, we were 
manhandled by our twisted-back arms into a large, ornate room.  
Murmuring guests in formal wear acknowledged our entry with hushed 
compliments.  Through my bleared vision, straining to hold in my pee, I 
saw that the women were mostly young and very attractive.  The men 
were somewhat older, as if out on the town for the night with women 
not their wives.
         We were taken directly through the crowd, which parted ever so 
slightly for our passing.  Bare waisted, my bubbies loomed within my 
shirt, twin peaks softly indenting its smoothness.  My every step 
jostled my bosoms, threatening to release them.  My offered cunt was 
wet now with my juices.  I felt a deep sense of yearning as I passed 
through a sea of gazing eyes and parted lips, delicately inquiring 
fingers brushing my flanks and sides ever so demurely.
         We stopped before a raised dias.  Three tall, stout posts stood 
side by side upon it.  At the foot of each was an ivory chamberpot.  The 
men let go of us.  I shook my hair and stood erect, no longer proffering 
my pussy.  Helga and Julie did likewise.  We were overcome by our 
surroundings, frightened and utterly unsure of what to do.  Even Helga, 
apparently, was in over her head now.  Raw bottomed and bare legged 
we stood, our makeup still exquisite, our long lovely locks piled up in 
shining curls.  With a shudder Julie let a fart.  There were giggles, 
laughter.  Julie blushed and put a hand to her bottom.
         "Mount the steps," Marguerite intoned in a severe voice.  She 
cracked her whip.  With mincing steps, bare fannies shivering, we 
gracefully ascended a mini-staircase which led up to the platform.  
Whistles sounded at the sight of our juddering white ass cheeks.  
Despite our best efforts we walked with a certain awkwardness from 
our desperation to relieve ourselves.  This seemed to please our hosts.
         Three men dressed as executioners mounted the platform from 
the other side.  With hearts pounding we stood quietly (we knew not 
what else to do) as they blindfolded us with soft black cloths.  Then we 
were turned and our backs set against the posts with determined 
efficiency.
         At once I noticed a hump on my post, pressing against my bottom.  
It had the effect of thrusting out my hips, displaying my pussy.  Taking 
me by the shoulders my captor pushed me down, forcing me into a mild 
squat.  My legs splayed wide, the hump becoming more obtrusive as I 
slid slightly down the pole.  My feet were  kicked apart so that I stood 
with them planted in a bold, inverted "V."  Knees bent, my back straight, 
I was bound to the post with a chain around my tummy and neck.  The 
metal felt cold against my skin.  My wrists were seized and lofted high 
above my head.  My captor lashed them tightly together with chains.  
Finally my feet were strapped to the floor, leaving me fearfully 
exposed, my pussy jutting outward.  Julie and Helga were secured in a 
like manner.
         "My, my, three little pussies, all in a row," Marguerite said 
tauntingly.  She flicked our tender thighs with her cat-o-nine tails.  We 
flinched, gasped.  "Come on, girls , everyone's waiting.  You said you had 
to go to the bathroom."  Suddenly, despite my unbearable need and 
Marguerite's encouragement, I found I couldn't go.  I ground my teeth and 
worked my hips.  Then, of a sudden, I heard Julie give a panicked cry and 
the sound of water splashing into her bowl.  To her intense 
embarrassment she was peeing in front of a roomful of strangers!
         Helga cut loose next, with a soft sigh, pleased perhaps at the 
accomplishment of this new perversion.  I yearned for panties to hide 
my impending release.  I clenched my teeth.  Could I really do this awful 
act?  I was but 15, neither a well-fucked wife or a seasoned 
dominatrix, a mere slip of a girl with charmingly large titties.
         With a shudder I suddenly let go.  I joined my friends in making 
golden rain, the three of us spurting at once, a unique display of human 
fountains.  Applause rang in our ears as we tinkled together for our 
audience.
         At last we trailed off into dying wisps, then droplets, plinking 
the last of our pee into mercifully large bowls in a now silent room.
         "There, you did very well," Marguerite praised us.  She and several 
women removed our blindfolds and unbound us.  "Come down and meet 
the guests and tell them what it felt like to pee in front of them."
         Flushed with shame, we descended the steps and found ourselves 
eye to eye with our audience.  Helga managed to replace her loosened tit 
beneath her shirt, a near futile act of modesty after what we'd just 
been through.  Reluctantly we accepted drinks and entertained rude 
questions about our figures and our bodily functions.
         These guests were allowed to touch, ever so lightly, and I was 
felt up in all my intimate places with gently seeking fingers.  The 
groove of my bottom was delicately explored, my snatch was caressed 
and tickled.  My breasts, still contained within my shirt, were patted 
and stroked.  I did my best to hold my drink as I was fondled.  My 
nipples and clitty grew even harder under the assault.
         "I hear you're quite tight," a woman breathed in my ear.  "But 
willing to work at it."  
         "Would you like your lovely ass branded?" another asked.  "I 
specialize in young girls.  I have my brazier and hot iron with me.  You 
need only give the word."
         After being teased for many minutes Marguerite told us to bid our 
new friends adieu.  I had grown to liking one man in particular and, 
despite my better judgement, I kissed my fingers and put them to his 
lips.  His eyes sparkled.  He had discreetly avoided touching me but now 
he reached out and gently clasped several curls of my pussy twixt his 
fingers.
         "They plan to whip you," he breathed.
         "I-I guessed they might," I said.
         "Shall I save you?"
         "I am resigned to it," I said of the whipping.
         "May I watch?"
         "I have no control over who does or doesn't," I replied feebly, 
almost in a trance as he stared down upon me, an Atlas in trousers.  He 
need not hold up the world.  Holding me was enough.
         I stood, hypnotized, utterly absorbed by this Adonis who held me 
solicitously by my sex.  I trembled, a torrent of emotions flooding 
through me.
         "We have three very naughty young bottoms here," a woman said 
officiously, inspecting my ass and those of Helga and Julie.
         "It is offensive for them to strut about without panties on," 
another agreed.  "Are their hineys so much fairer than ours?"
         "A good whipping would cut them down to size."

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

HOW TO POST STORIES
The Ultimate Guide for Newbies
by holy joe

         First of all, Compuserve is difficult.  IÕd say Òall fucked up,Ó but it 
is not impossible to post there, just difficult.  Good luck in finding your 
story once youÕve posted it, though.  They have some ÒfeatureÓ that 
severely limits what you can see at any given time, as best as I can figure.  
So my advice, dear newbie, is to subscribe to America Online.  They have a 
very easy interface.  ÒHow easyÓ will be described below, though, since it 
is still possible to get lost, even on America Online.

1.  You are on the Main Menu.  Do not go to the Post Office!  Click on 
INTERNET CONNECTION.

2.  You now see six little boxes.  Click on the one with a globe.  The globe 
has a thumbtack in it, with a note attached.  The box itself is marked 
NEWSGROUPS.

3.  The next screen appears.  You see several icons.  Click on the icon 
marked READ MY NEWSGROUPS.

4.  Your ÒsubscribedÓ newsgroups appear.  (The ones that you have 
ÒsubscribedÓ to.  See my article ÒWhere the Hell are the Sex Stories on 
AOL?!Ó if you donÕt know how to subscribe.)  Click on the name you want.  
alt.sex.stories, whatever.  IF YOU DOUBLE CLICK you will not see anything 
you've read before.  Click on a button down below.  It is marked "LIST ALL."

5.  You will now see a list of the various posted items.  (Naughty Naked 
Dreamgirls, etc.)  Go above this and Click on SEND NEW MESSAGE (this icon 
has wings on it).

NOTE:  Make sure you do not have any of the existing messages open when 
you click on SEND NEW MESSAGE.  If you click on this while you are reading 
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls, you will wind up posting an addendum to 
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls.  People will have to wade through my story 
before they can read yours.  This, presumably, is not what you want.  Also, 
your wonderful Subject Heading will not appear in the listing of messages.  
Instead there will be a little 2 after Naughty Naked Dreamgirls, instead of 
the 1 that is usually there.  (The 2 wonÕt appear for awhile, though.  See 
the part about the Òtime lagÓ below.)

6.  A big box with blank spaces in it appears.  The blank spaces are for you 
to paste your Subject Heading and Message into.

7.  Paste in your Subject Heading and your Message.  You can write it in 
while you are online, but it will take forever and cost you a lot of money.  
Switch back and forth between your writing program and America Online 
to get everything pasted in.  (I.e., WRITE your message OFF line, then post 
it when you go ON line.)  This is especially necessary if you are trying to 
post a story.  If you just want to comment on the weather (or whatever), 
it is probably easiest to just type it in while you are online.

NOTE:  When you paste in your Message a box will appear telling you that 
there are special symbols in your writing that will be stripped out.  Ignore 
this.  Even when you compose your Message offline in a Òtext onlyÓ format, 
this stupid box will still appear.  Just click on O.K., which appears within 
this stupid box.  (I actually like the box, because it slows things down and 
lets me check that I am pasting in what I actually think I am pasting in.)

8.  Click on the button down below.  It is marked SEND.

9.  In a few seconds YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN SENT appears.  Underneath it 
is a button that says O.K.  Click on O.K.

10.  The next day, visit alt.stories.erotic and read your story (Remember to 
click on LIST ALL!) to see that it arrived intact.  (Your story will not 
appear the minute you post it.  There is a Òtime lagÓ between the time you 
post and the time your posting appears.  The sex story newsgroups are, 
however, much faster in posting submitted stories than other newsgroups.  
(Like, for instance, Òhome and gardenÓ newsgroups, etc.  I am making up 
the Òhome and gardenÓ label, of course.)

11.  Finally, if youÕre in a hurry, hereÕs where to post:

alt.sex.stories - a ÒbeginnerÕsÓ newsgroup for all the lusty folks who are 
just getting online and getting their feet wet.  You will see all sorts of 
interesting and crazy messages here.  At one time it was reserved 
exclusively for stories (and still officially is).  However, it has now taken 
on a life of its own.  I post there but I do not waste my online dollars 
going back there the next day trying to find any of my posted stories.  
There are simply too many people posting in there, all the time, to find 
anything on a cost effective basis.  It does make for enjoyable reading, 
though, if you donÕt mind having your sensibilities insulted.  I consider it 
the most enjoyable newsgroup on the Internet.  But donÕt take it seriously.

alt.sex.stories.d - the ÒofficialÓ newsgroup for discussions, insults, etc.  
(Not for your sex stories to be posted into, however.)  Personally, I would 
just let alt.sex.stories be the discussion group, but I am not in charge of 
anything and these definitions themselves are just my own Òholy joeÓ 
interpretation of the various newsgroups.

alt.stories.erotic - The ÒlibraryÓ of the sex story newsgroup forums.  This 
is the ideal place to post your stories and to check that they arrived okay.

         If you have any trouble using the Òmessage postingÓ directions that I 
have detailed above, just e-mail me.  My address is:  roller666@aol.com 
(ROLLER 666).  If you should have trouble getting your e-mail to actually 
mail out, try eliminating the matter in parenthesis.  In other words, try 
mailing to:  roller666@aol.com.  (Ignore that last period.  It just shows 
that I am ending a sentence.)
         In this way we will refine the directions above so that many, many 
people are posting stories to the sex story newsgroups.  We will form our 
own interest group, lobby in Washington, and soon be so powerful that we 
will take complete control of the government and eliminate all those 
other newsgroups that are wasting all our space on the InternetÕs limited 
facilities.

ROLLER PUBLICATIONS  Free for a greeting-card SASE (or $1.00) from:  
Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868.  COMIC UPDATE 
(Library of Congress ISSN: 0894-5195): small press comix.  NAUGHTY 
NAKED DREAMGIRLS (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427): sex stories.  
(Include an age statement-18 or over.)  DREAMGIRLS WITH SHAMAN: 
poetry.  This is online issue number 8    END OF TRANSMISSION