- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
---------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HOUSE OF FEAR
Chapter Seven
Rose led the way to the stairs. Wendy followed, Elena coming behind
her. Both Wendy and the young wife uttered gasps as they walked.
WendyÕs feet were sore. Her breasts throbbed where the boards had
pressed them. She wobbled nakedly as she began taking the steps, her
bosoms aching, her nipples feeling as if theyÕd nearly been bitten off.
Rose, in front of her, rubbed her wrists. The woman seemed thankful to
have gotten off with nothing but smarting wrists. As she mounted the
steps Wendy saw her reach back, twice, and rub her bottom. It had been
due for much, had gotten away with nothing. The young wife seemed
relieved. Had Jed not arrived unexpectedly early, her bottom would soon
have been bleeding.
Or would it? Wendy wondered. She was confused. Did Elena really
mean what sheÕd said, and did Scar, if ScarÕs real plan was to make them
all poop? It was wild, heady. Wendy felt torn between all sorts of
different emotions: fear, passion, revulsion, desperation. She had been
brought to the brink of bliss and denied. She quivered and yearned for
fulfillment.
But it did not come. Instead, Rose led the way to a bathroom. It was
brightly tiled with yellow and green tiles. There was a plant sitting in
one corner. Heavy white blossoms hung from its limbs. A tub built for one
sat empty, towels stacked at the back of it in desert colors: sand orange,
blue like the sky, red like the sunset. Rose went to the toilet and sat
down and pissed. Wendy pissed after Rose. Then, at ElenaÕs behest, both
girls got into the tub. They sat down in it naked, neither one wearing
anything. They had played in the dungeon nude, exposing their bare flesh to
its horrors, facing ScarÕs demands with nothing at all to protect them, and
the thought of how vulnerable she had been made Wendy shiver.
ÒPut in the plug. IÕm going to turn on the water,Ó Elena said. She
leaned in over the tub, reaching for its faucet. Her breasts swung like ripe
fruit. Rose found the plug for the bath. It was lying beside her hip. She
picked it up and then stuck it into the tubÕs drain hole.
Looking up at Elena, as she leaned in over the tub and turned on the
water, Wendy admired the way the woman could keep within herself her
own sense of passion, her own need. Rose had tasted the bliss of orgasm,
downstairs, and Wendy had come shudderingly close, leaving her a jellied
mass of tension. But Elena was ever calm, ever cool, despite the wetness
Wendy saw up between her thighs, and the thorn-like budding of her
nipples.
The water flowing into the tub was warm. Elena added bath oil.
Soon there was a layer of bubbles floating on top of the rising water,
smelling of daisies. When the tub was full Elena turned off the water.
Wendy looked around. At the rear of the tub, stacked along the back
of it, was a pile of thick, body-sized towels. Wendy looked among them
for a washcloth but found none. She could not find a sponge or scrub brush
either, and she looked first at Rose, who had slipped down into the water,
her head resting on the tubÕs enamel, and then at Elena.
ÒUse your hands,Ó Elena told Wendy. She got a bar of soap from the
sink and tossed it to her. Wendy tried to catch it but missed. It plopped
into the water, splashing her.
ÒEeeek!Ó Wendy cried. She plunged her hands into the water and
searched for it. The bubbles on the surface of the water obscured her
view.
ÒOh!Ó Rose said, as WendyÕs hands found her thigh. Wendy giggled.
Rose sat up. Wendy searched some more and, finding the soap between
RoseÕs thighs, Wendy pulled it out of the water. She began to wash. She
soaped her hands and then gave Rose the bar. They watched each other as
they palmed themselves, their fingers slick on their bodies. Meanwhile,
Elena sat down on the toilet. She didnÕt have to go again, Wendy noticed,
scrubbing herself as she watched the woman. Rather, Elena was sitting
down to decorously wipe herself. She hadnÕt done that downstairs. There
was no paper there, and the look Wendy saw now in her eyes, as Elena did
it on the toilet, was one of gleeful abandon. They were all intimate,
naked, sharing the most indiscreet things, yet they barely knew each
other. Elena gazed into WendyÕs eyes as she wiped herself. Wendy stared
back.
ÒWe will know each other more familiarly than this, in ScarÕs
house,Ó Elena assured Wendy. The girl blushed. Her eyes darted away from
the woman, only to fall on Rose. The young wife had pebble-like nipples.
Her ardor was rising. WendyÕs was worse, for she had yet to taste bliss on
this new strange morning. She shivered. She felt a gnawing hunger deep
in her belly. It made her nipples stiff. It kept her pussy feeling flustered
and empty.
Elena got up from the toilet. She flushed it. She went to the
bathroom mirror. Wendy gazed at her ass, seeing if sheÕd wiped herself
properly. She had. There were no traces of shit left on her ass.
ÒIÕm going to go find Scar and Jed,Ó Elena told Wendy and Rose. Her
eyes fell to Wendy. The girlÕs face stared at her, puppy-like, in the mirror.
ÒDonÕt make yourself cum while IÕm finding your boyfriend,Ó Elena told
Wendy, fluffing her hair with her hands as the girl looked at her bottom.
ÒAnd stop admiring my ass. IÕll make you lick it if it interests you that
much.Ó
Wendy looked away. ScarÕs wife, Rose, smiled at her. On an impulse,
as Elena stood fluffing her hair in the mirror, the two girls leaned forward
in the tub. Their lips touched. They kissed.
ÒGirls!Ó Elena said. She whirled about. She took her hands out of her
hair. She walked over to the tub and leaned in over it. She took hold of
both girlsÕ hair with her hands. Forcibly, she separated them.
ÒOw!Ó Wendy cried, her lips puckering at the air now, RoseÕs tongue
extending fish-like from her mouth, finding nothing.
Elena drew back the girlsÕ heads so that they were forced to look up
at her. ÒYou are to wash, not to kiss,Ó Elena told the two girls. Her naked
tits wobbled above them. Suddenly, like babes hungry for dinner, the two
girls grabbed at ElenaÕs breasts. Not with their hands, but with their lips,
each clasping a nipple and sucking it urgently.
ÒOh! Oh! Stop! Girls!Ó Elena gasped. But she could not bring herself
to pull them away, now that she was feeling their ardor directly upon her
tits. They sucked harder, as if infants starving for love. Elena clasped her
tits. She offered them. The girls seemed to swoon as they fed at her
breasts. Elena wished to be pregnant, suddenly, in that blissful moment,
that she might gorge their bellies and mouths with milk.
In the bathroom there was a suckling sound, above the gentle to and
fro sloshing of the water in the tub. Elena let go of one of her breasts.
She put a hand down to her belly. Oh, if only to have a manÕs seed in her at
this moment, a virile belly-swelling seed, uninhibited in its mission, she
gasped to herself. Then she could offer these hungry mouths at her tits
something substantial, something more than simply the taste of herself,
of her own pebble-tipped excitement. Elena rubbed her belly. It was, alas,
flat and supple, silky to the touch but without the stretching and fullness
that a baby would give. She let her hand drop lower, to the neat hairs of
her bush. Daringly, she slipped a finger inbetween her legs where her lips
met in a wet embrace. She touched herself, Her finger intruding.
Simultaneously the two girls, still sucking her tits, each reached down
into their own slits and began rubbing themselves. Within a moment all
three females were cumming deliriously, furiously, their slits oozing into
the bath or, in ElenaÕs case, sprinkling her thighs. All the while Rose and
Wendy kept sucking, squeezing ElenaÕs nipples between their lips as if
they were oral milkmaids.
ÒOh my darlings,Ó Elena gasped, when it was over. She gazed down
at the girls. They blushed at her. They found the soap at the bottom of the
bath. They began washing themselves once more. Elena stepped into the
tub. She sat down between them, joining them, kissing each in turn before
accepting the soap in her own hands. Suddenly, there was a sound of heavy
footfalls. Scar walked into the room. He was naked. His cock stood up
proudly. The girls, still redcheeked from their bliss, blushed harder. They
had guilty eyes. But Scar had not come to punish them for their female
embrace. Instead, standing over them with his penis as stiff as iron, he
said,
ÒI have news for you. I have decided to keep Ryan here. I want to
fuck him, and I want to fuck Jed.Ó
For a moment, the girls did not know what to say. They were so
certain that Scar had heard their cries of delight, and was coming to
punish them for it, that they could not respond. Then, suddenly, Elena let
out a yelp. Wendy and Rose each uttered a small cry. Scar laughed. He put
his hand to his dick. ÒYes, we are going to be gay together,Ó Scar said.
And then, as if to confirm that the girls were something he no longer had
any interest in, he began peeing.
Wendy was the first to be hit by the stream. ÒNo!Ó she howled in
disgust. She lifted her hands to block it, sending it spraying off her hands
onto Rose and Elena, who screamed and scrambled to get out of the way.
But there was little room in the tub. They were all crowded in it, a tub
built for one, with Scar standing over them like a leering gaoler. He
directed himself hither and yon with his fist on his dick. He made sure all
three of them got hit, directly, by what was coming out of his bladder. He
paid the girlsÕ protests no heed, pissing freely, urgently, showering them
as if they were plants needing water. ÒYes,Ó Scar said, even as the girls
begged him to stop, speaking over his piss as if he were addressing
another man in a menÕs urinal. ÒWe are going to be three men together, Jed
and Ryan and I, discovering ourselves. As for you three, you would be a
distraction. I am sending you away. But do not worry. I will provide all
the spending money you need, and Elena will be paid to accompany you. You
will tour Saudi society. It is time, my dear Rose, that you make your
introductions to the members of the royal family. And as for you, Wendy,
you came to my country to visit. It is time that you saw a little of it.
Elena will chaperone you both. When I am finished with my new lovers I
will call for you.Ó
ÒOh, but-- !Ó Wendy gasped, recovering her voice.
ÒThis will not be argued,Ó Scar said. ÒAll three of us men agreed. I
think we have all been wanting something like this for a long time.Ó
And so they had, Wendy discovered, when at last, leaving the bath,
she found Jed down the hall, in another bathroom, shitting as Ryan
watched. There was an eerie sensation of desire in the two men, not for
her but for each other. Wendy left them to their bathroom games. She
hugged Elena when she found her again.
ÒYou saw him?Ó Elena asked. Wendy nodded. The woman stroked
WendyÕs blonde hair. ÒIt is a hard thing to discover oneÕs boyfriend is
gay,Ó Elena said. ÒBut perhaps it is only something new for him, a new
adventure, a new aspect of himself that he has found. Let him play. Let
him discover. When he comes back to you he will be more of a man for it,
knowing his body more fully, more completely, not only from the
perspective of his penis, but from the receiving part of it to, from the
anus.Ó
ÒPlease,Ó Wendy said. She looked up at the woman. There was
desperation in her eyes. ÒPlease take me away from here. I donÕt want to
watch my boyfriend shit for another man, even if itÕs Ryan. I donÕt know
whatÕs happened to my boyfriend. I canÕt stand to see him reject me for
someone else, especially a man!Ó
Elena patted WendyÕs head. It was rich, lustrous, blonde. Yet Jed,
whom she could hear grunting down the hall now as he sat bare-assed on a
toilet, preferred grey-haired Ryan.
ÒPoor dear,Ó Elena told Wendy. ÒThey must have put something up
him while we were bathing. It sounds as if heÕs having trouble getting it
out. It is quite heady, IÕm sure. I would love to be filled like that, to be so
full that I cannot get free of it. But it is not a slap on you. They simply
found a new game, one that does not include us.Ó
ÒBut heÕs so good-looking!Ó Wendy gasped.
ÒGay men often are,Ó Elena answered. ÒBut we will meet other men.
LetÕs get you dressed. The sooner we leave these men to themselves, the
sooner theyÕll finish and call us back!Ó Elena smiled. It was an artificial
smile, and her voice was artificially bright. But Wendy, naively, didnÕt
find the womanÕs optimism false. She kissed ElenaÕs lips.
ÒThank you,Ó Wendy whispered. She hugged the woman. Within the
hour both she and Elena and Rose were dressed. Wendy wore clothes that
Rose gave her. Elena, having come with several changes of clothes,
dressed in a new outfit.
Words had been spoken, and they could not be taken back. In the cab
ride to Riyahd Wendy regarded Elena with apprehension. The woman had
taken a hand in torturing her. Perhaps she had done it at ScarÕs behest, but
it had hurt, and the woman had promised much more. Elena felt WendyÕs
fear. She tried to take hold of WendyÕs hand but the girl snatched it away.
Sitting opposite Elena, Rose seemed more at ease. She clasped ElenaÕs
arm, as if holding a dear friend. She let Elena lift her skirt. Her
underwear came into view.
ÒYou have such pretty panties,Ó Elena told Rose. The young wife
blushed. She shifted her bare legs wider. She made no move to cover
herself. She did not draw her skirt back down. ElenaÕs hand touched her
leg. It crept up along the young wifeÕs thigh, her fingers crawling up her
leg like a spider. Elena brushed RoseÕs slit with her fingers.
ÒOooooh!Ó Rose gasped. Her panties protected her, but only a little,
for the material was thin. Elena brushed her again. ÒOOOOOH!Ó Rose cried
louder. The cab driver glanced in the rear-view mirror.
ÒPlease! Take me to the airport!Ó Wendy cried, leaning forward to
speak to the driver.
Elena, still stroking RoseÕs slit, looked at the girl. ÒBut you have
nothing. Ryan brought you here as his virtual prisoner,Ó Elena told Wendy.
ÒI donÕt care!Ó Wendy snapped at Elena. Her eyes regarded the woman
with terror.
ÒAlright,Ó Elena said. ÒIt is not something I have been permitted to
do, letting you go like this. And IÕm sure I will pay for it. And donÕt
expect me to give you anything. I need to claim you ran away if IÕm to
have any hope of saving myself. Scar can be so terrible!Ó
The cab driver went to the airport. Wendy expected this woman,
with whom she had shared so much in the space of a few hours, to give her
something. But she did not. She seemed reluctant to let Wendy go,
grabbing at her hand as Wendy stepped out of the cab. Wendy yanked her
hand away. Immediately the heat of the desert hit her. Wendy hurried
past the leering porters, past the tourists and the men hawking religious
trinkets and souvenirs, into the glass enclosed airport. She watched as
the cab pulled away. She studied the heat rising off the macadam
concourse outside, until the cab was lost in it, a vehicle amongst many
others in a hubbub of traffic.
And then, standing there, she suddenly realized her plight. She was
alone. Outside, beyond this small preserve of semi-Westernized glass and
steel, was a deeply religious, and very male world. She was not even
dressed for it, having no scarf for her head, wearing only a skirt, a blouse,
and high heels in which her feet, fresh from ScarÕs basement, still ached.
She rubbed her hands along her bare arms. She felt exposed, all skin and
whiteness, passed by people in robes and turbans, with only the tourists
to make her feel comfortable. And they were mostly in a hurry, hauling
their bags and corralling their children, paying porters and haggling with
ticket agents.
Wendy began to walk. She walked along the broad entryway of the
terminal, safely behind its glass but with lines of tourists waiting to
check in opposite her, trapped, seemingly, with no place to go. It was then
that she saw him. He was an Arab man, bearded, stocky like Scar. Despite
his resemblance to him she let herself approach him. He did not see her.
He was reading a newspaper. It was in Arabic. He looked wealthy and was
wearing a finely tailored suit, a white cloth wrapped around his head. He
was leaning against a cement pillar, one of the pillars holding up the
terminal roof, as if waiting for someone.
Walking close, Wendy let her hair brush against the manÕs arm. She
sensed he could smell her perfume as her blonde hair trailed briefly
across his suit. The man looked up. He seemed startled for a moment, and
then his eyes settled on her, and he allowed himself a smile.
ÒOh. Excuse me,Ó Wendy gasped. She was surprised at herself for
what she had done but now it was too late, he had seen her, and he was
much bigger than her.
ÒNot at all,Ó the man replied gracefully. Wendy brushed back her
hair, reclaiming possession of it, straightening it. She looked at the man,
at his newspaper, at him again, letting her eyes absorb him, trying to
decide what sort of man he was.
ÒAre you flying... out?Ó Wendy asked, after a moment. She tried not
to let the edge show in her voice. She didnÕt want him to know how
utterly alone she was, how completely vulnerable.
ÒYes,Ó the man said. He regarded her gaze. She tried looking away,
but felt drawn again to his eyes. They peered into her. She bit her lip.
The man folded his paper and put it under his arm.
ÒYou seem nervous,Ó he said to her.
ÒYes. A little,Ó Wendy laughed. She blushed. He took her hand. She
did not resist him.
ÒA lost bag?Ó the man asked. Wendy did not answer. ÒA lost
parent?Ó the man said after a moment.
ÒKind of,Ó Wendy said. She clasped her hands together.
ÒAre you still in school?Ó the man asked. Wendy nodded.
ÒI go to high school but... I got tired of it.Ó She blushed. She looked
at the man. ÒI met someone special.Ó
ÒAnd where is he?Ó the man asked. He held her hand lightly. She
liked the feel of him surrounding her hand, enclosing it with his own.
ÒHe is... heÕs gay!Ó Wendy confessed. Her blush deepened. The man
seemed to understand immediately.
ÒAh,Ó he said. ÒSo he is not available right now?Ó Wendy shook her
head ÔnoÕ. Her free hand reached out and clasped his, the one that was
holding her. The man stepped closer. He leaned his head down toward her
and she felt his breath on her face. She lifted her eyes. She smiled,
meekly. ÒI have a private plane leaving in half an hour,Ó the man said.
ÒOh!Ó Wendy gasped. Her hands gripped him more tightly. She could
feel her desperation welling up in her and she fought to contain it.
The man gazed at her. She felt a heat in his eyes, a sudden contest
of wills inside him. At last, relaxing his gaze a little, the manÕs better
nature seemed to win out. ÒIt is, however, an unconventional plane,Ó the
man told her. ÒI do not wish to scare you. You seem so young. It is a plane
built for pleasure. I am waiting to pick up the last of the stewardesses
for it. I donÕt know where she is. She is late. I could take you aboard
but...Ó
ÒOh, please!Ó Wendy suddenly gasped. In a moment she decided she
liked this man, admired him even, and she did not want to be left behind by
him when he took off in his plane.
ÒMay I ask you a question?Ó the man asked.
ÒYes,Ó Wendy breathed, clutching at his hand now, refusing to let
him go.
ÒAre you a virgin?Ó the man said very quietly to her. Wendy nodded
ÔyesÕ. Then, suddenly realizing what she was being asked, and tensing, and
biting her lip again, she nodded ÔnoÕ.
ÒYou are very young,Ó the man laughed. ÒBut I will take you.
However you must work for your trip. Do you think you are capable of
being a stewardess?Ó
Hastily Wendy nodded ÔyesÕ.
Still grasping her hand, the man began to walk. Wendy hurried
alongside the man, and he took her past the ticketing agents, nodding to
one, and up an escalator. He walked her down a long hall. Beyond the
glassed in walls of the hall airplanes were waiting. Some were boarding
passengers, others were discharging them. The man took Wendy to a
speedway leading out to one of the planes and she walked along with him,
without luggage, without even a purse, wearing the perfume Rose had
given her earlier in the day and one of RoseÕs blouses and skirts, and a pair
of RoseÕs skirts. Wendy felt awkward. Her feet still hurt from the
punishment theyÕd received earlier in the day. The Arab man nodded to a
woman waiting by the door of the plane. He turned Wendy over to her.
ÒThe last stewardess did not come,Ó the Arab man explained to the
woman. ÒI have picked up this girl. She has agreed to fly out with us.
Give her a uniform.Ó The man smiled at Wendy. The woman did too, but
she sensed a sudden predatory gleam in their eyes. It made her flinch.
ÒOh, she is so young,Ó the woman said.
ÒYes,Ó the Arab agreed.
ÒI must go,Ó Wendy said, pulling away. But it was too late, the Arab
still had her by the hand, and a man, coming down the speedway, made to
close the airplaneÕs door, shutting her in with them. ÒOh, my!Ó Wendy
gasped. She watched the planeÕs big door swing shut. It made a sound as
of air being slammed into a small space.
ÒDonÕt I need a ticket?Ó Wendy said in a frantic voice.
ÒNot at all,Ó the woman said. ÒYou are your ticket. You do not even
need to give me your name if you donÕt wish to. It is unimportant. All that
matters is yourself.Ó
ÒOh, no!Ó Wendy cried. Just then the plane lurched. It was beginning
to taxi backward, away from the terminal, away from the desert sand and
the heat, climbing into the sky and to freedom. But WendyÕs new friends,
though freeing her from the bonds of ScarÕs country, apparently had their
own plans for her, in the skies above it. ÒOh I cannot,Ó Wendy protested.
But she felt the plane begin to turn. The woman, a blonde woman with a
swedish accent, took her hand.
ÒCome,Ó she said. ÒI will give you your uniform. Do not be so
resistant. ItÕs fun being a private stewardess. I began just like yourself,
a few years ago. Now I am quite accomplished at it. I will show you what
to do.Ó Wendy looked at the woman. She realized that this woman, who
was tugging her now along the aisle between the seats, the Arab having
let go of her, was only a few years her senior. A college freshman
perhaps. The woman opened a door. She took Wendy into a small room.
Wendy saw closets, a padded leather bench, a mirror. ÒThis is the
changing room,Ó the woman explained. She judged WendyÕs size by
eyesight. She opened one of the closets. She lifted out, on a hanger, a blue
blouse and skirt, similar to what she was wearing. ÒThis is your
uniform,Ó the woman said. ÒItÕs pretty, donÕt you think? It was designed
by a an Italian, De Marblie. Be graceful in it, while you have it on. We like
to call ourselves princesses of the sky, in our designer outfits. ItÕs a
little far-fetched but it makes the flight more enjoyable. Be a little coy
too, which I expect youÕll have no trouble being. As you can imagine on a
plane full of men, with just myself and you and two other stews, things
can get a little rowdy.Ó She reached for WendyÕs blouse. She took hold of
it by the hem and lifted it up over WendyÕs head. Wendy let out a yelp but
the woman ignored her. Wendy felt the planeÕs floor underneath her begin
to accelerate. ÒWhatever the men ask, we agree to, but you can always
flirt a little at first,Ó the woman explained. ÒOh, we must sit down.
WeÕre taking off!Ó the woman blurted. She sat Wendy down on the leather
bench. Then she sat down beside her. The woman buckled Wendy in,
drawing a seat belt across her waist. Then she buckled herself in. Wendy
sat with her blouse in the womanÕs lap, her white brassiere showing. She
felt the plane increase its speed and suddenly it was at an angle, lifting
off, making WendyÕs belly feel queer.
ÒI donÕt want to be on this flight,Ó Wendy breathed to the woman.
ÒIt is too late,Ó the woman answered. She smiled. ÒThis flight is
for pleasure and you look well designed for it, if a little young. We will be
flying to Paris. You may do as you wish there. But in the interim, you
must be pleasing. Serve the men faithfully in all that they ask, okay?Ó
The womanÕs smile broadened. ÒCall me Trish,Ó she told Wendy. ÒIÕll help
you as much as I can. Oh, you remind me so much of myself when I
started!Ó she exclaimed.
Once the plane was airborne, Wendy, with TrishÕs assistance,
finished dressing. Just as she put on the tidy black shoes Trish gave her, a
girl, dressed like herself, opened the door to the room.
ÒThe men are growing restless!Ó she said. ÒThey want their drinks
and they want them now! And theyÕre asking for the new girl.Ó She looked
at Wendy. ÒHurry up!Ó she scolded Wendy. ÒYouÕll get us all in trouble
taking so long.Ó
ÒOh my,Ó Trish sighed. She had Wendy stand up. Quickly she looked
her over, front and back, and then she nodded. ÒOkay,Ó she said. She
turned her gaze to the girl who was waiting by the door. ÒSheÕs all yours,Ó
Trish said. ÒGive her a tray and send her out.Ó
It was only a minute or so later that Wendy, still feeling flustered
and hugely embarrassed, walked down the aisle carrying a tray of drinks.
She swayed a little as she walked, her feet still hurting from the way
Scar had mistreated them in his basement. Despite her fears she knew she
looked great in her new uniform. It came with a little blue cap that sat
prettily on her head, tilted back to show off her hair which was tied in a
bun. She felt conflicted; she had often dreamed of being a stewardess and
now here she was, but she was in a plane full of men that she didnÕt know,
gasping as she gazed at them for the first time.
They were businessmen, dressed in suits and ties, many of them
Arab, but a few European. Some read newspapers, some worked at laptop
computers, a few sat talking. There were perhaps twenty of them, but it
seemed like more, for when they realized she had come out, from behind
the little curtain separating the changing room and the kitchen from the
rest of the plane, they looked up. Wendy saw the Arab. He was reading his
newspaper again. His eyes caught hers above the top of his paper and,
lifting his head, he smiled at her. She blushed. She turned away from his
gaze and leaned over the nearest man.
ÒAnything to drink, sir?Ó Wendy asked primly. A very handsome
European man looked up at her. Wendy felt her blush deepen. He let his
eyes scan her uniform before he answered. He seemed to drink in her
little blue coat, the white collar of her blouse showing over her coat and
the long, wide, waist-length tie that she wore. He gazed at her skirt too,
a high skirt that hung partway down her thighs, not quite a miniskirt but
more daring than what the stews on the regular airlines wore. And his
eyes also took in her stockings, pretty dark silk stockings, that matched
her black modestly heeled shoes.
ÒIÕll have a Bloody Mary,Ó the man answered. Wendy searched among
the glasses. She found a red-colored one and hoped it was what the man
wanted. She handed it to him. He sniffed it. Then he swallowed it down,
all in one gulp, and handed the glass back to her. ÒAnd now a vodka,Ó the
man said. Wendy searched among the glasses again. She picked up another
one, this one clear in color. She gave it to the man. He drank this one
more slowly, savoring it.
ÒHey! DonÕt let him drink them all!Ó a man called out. Wendy turned,
gazed at the other men, found the ArabÕs eyes, saw approval in his gaze.
She returned her attention to the European. He was still drinking his
vodka and so, looking at the man beside him, she asked,
ÒAnd anything for you, sir?Ó
The other stewardesses appeared. They began working the aisles,
much as Wendy was doing, going from man to man and serving pre-poured
drinks off a drinks tray. Wendy guessed that the men had submitted a list
of drinks before the plane had taken off; it was merely a matter now of
getting the right drink, or the right combination of drinks, to the right
man.
ÒYou have not served yourself,Ó the Arab said to Wendy when she had
worked her way back to him, and given him his drink.
ÒI-- I didnÕt know,Ó Wendy said. The man reached for a drink on her
tray. It was, in fact, the last drink.
ÒHere. ItÕs a lemon screwdriver. Put down your tray and try it,Ó the
man told Wendy. She blushed. She liked this man, for some reason,
despite the fact that he had gotten her onto the flight with something less
than her full consent. Two of the stewardesses had already accepted
seats in menÕs laps and, being a little more coy than they, Wendy sat down
in an empty seat to the ArabÕs right. He gave her the drink. She tasted it.
It was sourly-sweet, like the trip itself. She sipped more of it. She felt
the bubbles in it tickle her tongue, the roof of her mouth. She giggled. The
Arab was looking at her and, shyly, still buttoned up in her tidy blue coat,
she let her hand hike up the side of her dress, showing more of her
stocking. The ArabÕs eyes widened. Wendy drank more of the screwdriver.
She slid her dress higher. The gartered top of her stocking showed, black
lacework topping the sheer length of nylon.
ÒYou are very young, but very pretty,Ó the Arab breathed. ÒPlease do
me a favor. I want you to keep your coat on, but to slip off your skirt. You
have on panties underneath, do you not? You would be showing no more of
yourself than you might show at the beach.Ó
Wendy, still blushing, felt her blush deepen. It was true, what the
man was saying. She had been given silky black panties, that matched her
stockings. But they were not see-through. She might parade herself
around in them showing nothing more, less even, than she would show of
herself at the beach. Wendy put down her drink on the armrest of her
chair. She leaned forward. She reached behind herself. She found the
zipper of her uniform dress, under the flap of her coat. She unzipped it,
lifting her bottom off her seat as she did so. She settled into the seat
again, once she had the dress unzipped, and pushed it down her legs to her
ankles. She stepped out of it.
ÒGive it to me,Ó the Arab said. Wendy leaned across the aisle
separating herself from the Arab and handed him her dress. He put it to
his face. He inhaled. He smiled. Then he set it aside on an empty seat
beside him.
ÒDoes my dress smell good?Ó Wendy asked. She couldnÕt help
giggling. She took another sip of her screwdriver.
ÒIt smells like a uniform, like a dress,Ó the Arab said. ÒStand up. I
want to see you in your pretty panties.Ó
Wendy waited, still sipping her drink. There was laughter from the
other seats. Then a stewardess screamed. Abruptly Wendy stood up. The
Arab gazed at her. Wendy went up the aisle to see what was the matter,
her pantied bottom swinging to and fro as she walked, her long legs
moving quickly, albeit a little stiffly, taking short steps due to the pain in
her feet.
ÒIs everything alright?Ó Wendy asked Trish. The woman was sitting
in the European manÕs lap, the one Wendy had served first. Wendy saw that
the stewardessÕs blouse was off. The man was undoing her bra.
ÒYes,Ó Trish breathed to Wendy. Her breasts sprang into view as the
man took off her bra. Trish had big, gorgeous breasts, with dollar-sized
nipples capping them. The tips of her nipples were already hard, poking at
Wendy like thorns.
ÒMmmm, I think IÕll have some milk,Ó the European man said. Trish
let out a new scream as the man wrenched her around and sucked one of
her tits. Wendy retreated. Then she noticed that the Arab had gotten up
out of his seat. He was coming toward her. A moment later he grabbed her
arm.
ÒWe will be going back to my private compartment now,Ó the Arab
told Wendy. He tugged on her arm, but she resisted. He tugged harder, and
a moment later she was stumbling down the aisle, screaming for Trish but
completely ignored, the other passengers paying her no mind as they
played with the three other stewardesses. Wendy passed the girl who had
come looking for her as she changed. She was down on her knees, in front
of a man, still in her stewÕs uniform but sucking his cock.
ÒOh, please!Ó Wendy begged, of the girl, of anyone who might listen.
The Arab opened a door near the back of the plane. Wendy thought it was a
door to a restroom. A moment later she was pulled through the doorway,
by the Arab, who flicked on a light as he dragged her through.
To WendyÕs screaming surprise, she found herself in an airborne
dungeon. It seemed an impossibility, something that belonged under the
ground, instead 30,000 feet in the air. Yet here it was, looking very much
like ScarÕs dungeon, only more compact, and the Arab slammed the door
behind them and locked it to make sure no one else came in.
ÒOh my God!Ó Wendy blathered.
ÒTake off your panties!Ó the Arab told her. ÒI want to see your ass.
And then I want you to fix me another drink, wiggling your bare behind as
you serve it, and then IÕm going to flog you.Ó
ÒNo!Ó Wendy shrieked.
30
--------------------------- Dreamgirls! ------------------------
----- Back issues (and stories): http://www.deja.com/
Search by typing: roller666@earthlink.net
DonÕt forget to click on ÒPower SearchÓ.
Change ÒstandardÓ archive to ÒcompleteÓ archive.
----- Other providers:
Eli the Bearded: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
ArtÕs Erotic Stories and Photos: http://www.eroticstories.com
AnyaÕs LilÕ Hideaway: http://www.insatiable.net/
Silver: http://www.mr-yellow.com/goodies
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
----- Great books by David Hamilton: The Age of Innocence, A Place
in the Sun, Twenty Five Years of an Artist. By Jock Sturges:
Radiant Identities Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
----- Great sites:
http://www.nambla.org
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
-----Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427)
is copyright 2000 by Andrew Roller. Naughty Naked Dreamgirls and
NND are trademarks of Andrew Roller. All rights reserved.
----- Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
-----END OF story EMISSION