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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HOLLAND HUNNIES
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Chapter Two
High noon, yet the street was deep in shade. Towering elms shrouded
the approach to the brownstone, a slim house sitting side by side with
other, more domestic abodes. Next door a woman in her sixties puttered
among flowers, slightly ridiculous in her broad hat and oversized work
apron. Me in 40 years, I thought. A woman shaped like a pear, my beauty
gone, battling insects amidst petunias.
ÒToo much shade,Ó my boyfriend announced. He was standing in the
middle of the quiet street. WeÕd parked alongside the curb. Other cars
were scattered here and there, concentrating toward the brownstone, but
not with any obvious motive. As if perhaps there were a party inside, no
doubt a garden party, the time being mid-day. A lecture on the ladybug and
its reproductive habits, given by an expert to selected invitees.
ÒGet closer, then,Ó Mark called. He was already at the foot of the
porch. Someone inside must have sensed him, for the front door opened. A
healthy looking woman, quite normal looking, though quite beautiful,
stepped onto the porch. She was older, perhaps 30, perhaps a little more.
She was dressed quite conventionally in a loose blouse, perhaps hastily
put on, I realized. And overalls, tied at the waist. She looked as if she
were stepping out to do some gardening.
ÒMay I help you?Ó she asked. Her voice had a droll diffidence to it,
as if she were uncaring, yet amused at our presence. Peering close I
spotted a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. They and her open,
unthreatened stance seemed to invite us. She would not turn us away. She
would be disappointed if we did not come in.
Mark advanced, a hound with a scent. Rob too walked forward,
quickly, taking me by the elbow and dragging me along. We caught up with
Elizabeth, hesitating between us and the house, and took her in on the
crest of our lovetide.
Before I could quite get hold of myself I was indoors, within the
house. The front door closed behind me. We stood in a parlor, everything
arranged just so, as if having arrived as ministers to discuss the bible.
Yet as my eyes adjusted to the light, within the room with its curtains
drawn, I began to notice little odd bits; a snakeskin lash hung over the
mantelpiece, candle holders in the shapes of long penises, with wax
candles thrust down into them as if piercing them with urethral tubes.
And on a table there was a flower vase, but it held colored condoms, in the
arranged shape of roses. Lubricants were scattered across the
mantelpiece, different flavors, colors. The fireset next to the fireplace
seemed to possess some added power, as if the tongs and such could be
used for more than just rearranging smoldering logs.
ÒHi, IÕm Mistress Wentworth,Ó our hostess announced, slipping the
ties of her pants and drawing her blouse over her head. ÒSorry about the
clothes. The neighbors, you know. Got to keep up appearances, even if
they do know what goes on here. To keep the neighborhood children from
suspecting...Ó her sentence trailed off as she drew her legs from her pants.
They were long, white, modelÕs legs. She had hips to match, wearing black
velvet bikini panties, tied loosely at the sides. Above she wore a simple
openwork mesh blouse, hiding nothing, her big bosoms looking as if theyÕd
been caught in a fishermanÕs net. The blouse, such as it was, had a
decorative ribbon tied in front. It held closed the two halves of her
blouse, which otherwise would have hung from her shoulders like a vest.
Indeed it was a vest, except its latticework design, made completely of
strands of black yarn, kept nothing from our boyfriendÕs eyes. They stared
at this mermaid from the deep, her buoyant bosoms netted, her pussy
saved from their prying eyes by the skimpiest of bikinis. Of course, I
thought. She was sunbathing out back, topless, but with a little net of a
blouse to offer a touch of modesty when she got up to answer the door.
Except, seeing strangers, sheÕd put on a blouse and overalls. My mind still
tried to find normality, despite the curios displayed frankly around me.
ÒYou may undress,Ó Miss Wentworth, as my mind wished to call her,
given her youth and beauty, said to the men. I saw another woman only,
nothing more. She wanted my boyfriend, but she wanted ElizabethÕs also.
And then her eyes were on me, expectantly, wonderingly. She wanted me
to take off my clothes too.
Rob cleared his throat. ÒWe, uh, just wanted to see the place,Ó he
said. Miss Wentworth blushed. She was a normal female, at least now,
momentarily.
ÒYou are not the Lamprights? The Aspens?Ó she asked. A fine-
fingered hand touched her throat.
ÒNo, weÕre just -- well, IÕm Rob, this is Mark, these are our
girlfriends Sally and Elizabeth.Ó
ÒOh! The mistake is mine, then,Ó Miss Wentworth replied. Her hands
seemed to search for buttons to fiddle, but she wore nothing save her net
and panties, tied with pretty bows. ÒI thought you were my reserved
American guests, come to play. You are from America, are you not?Ó She
could tell by our accent. Her own voice had a Dutch flavor to it, though
perhaps with a bit of French intermingled.
ÒThe pleasure is all ours, belive me,Ó Mark answered, saving Miss
Wentworth the shreds of her modesty. ÒYou exceed even our girlfriends in
beauty, and they turned half the heads in Amsterdam yesterday.Ó
ÒIn such shirts I should think so,Ó Miss Wentworth replied. Her blush
was gone, replaced by a cheery glow. Frankly she looked at me, Elizabeth.
Even in this light, lit only by an overhead chandelier of modest
proportions, you could see our nipples. I sensed their pique, knew they
were embarrassing me as much as Miss WentworthÕs attire before
unexpected guests was embarrassing her. I felt dryness in my throat, said
nothing. Elizabeth too was silent. If our boyfriends removed their shirts,
or Elizabeth and I our skirts, we would be no better dressed than Miss
Wentworth.
ÒWould you like to rent a dungeon, then?Ó Miss Wentworth asked. ÒI
require reservations, but the paper did misprint my ad. YouÕre here now, it
would be a pity if I turned you away.Ó Her eyes apprised us, our
boyfriends. We were healthy specimens for sex play, no doubt, but in a
dungeon?
ÒHow much does it cost?Ó Mark asked. Miss WentworthÕs eyes
seemed to consider waiving the charge as he regarded him. But then
perhaps her state of undress before us forced her to be less generous. She
had to regain the upper hand, somehow, standing before unknown tourists
in her own home with no clothes on. Nothing to speak of, anyway, though
on a European beach she would have been perfectly legal; modest even,
with her pretty net top.
ÒIt is $200 U.S. dollars per hour, dear,Ó Miss Wentworth replied. She
turned, giving us a view of her shapely, barely covered bottom. Her hand
slipped onto a charge card machine on a round cherry rosewood table. ÒWe
take all major cards; American Express, Visa, Mastercard, Discover. I
assume you only want a dungeon for an hour or so, given that it is
midday?Ó She turned back to us, grinning, looked at me, Elizabeth. ÒHave
your girlfriends been particularly naughty today?Ó
ÒNo, no, theyÕre little angels,Ó Rob answered. ÒCould we see a
dungeon? What do you do in it?Ó
Miss Wentworth grinned from ear to ear. ÒOh, darlings, you are
virgins!Ó Rob and Mark exchanged glances. TheyÕd been up us enough to
know they werenÕt still cherry, although they complained we still felt like
we were. Miss Wentworth laughed. ÒNot virgin-virgins, obviously!Ó She
took a step forward, patted both Rob and Mark on their considerably
aroused groins. ÒThough you bulge like high school boys on a first date, I
must admit. Dungeon-virgins. IÕll cut the price to $150. What do you say?
Decide quickly for I must be ready for my other guests when they arrive.Ó
ÒI guess we could, for an hour,Ó Rob said, looking to Mark.
ÒYou come with the dungeon?Ó Mark asked, and I wanted to claw him
for it, though in fact he wasnÕt mine to claw.
ÒNo, dear,Ó Miss Wentworth said, patting his cheek now instead of
his groin. ÒLet me show you a dungeon and let you decide one way or the
other.Ó She turned, her net vest swishing round her waist, and walked
quickly down a hall, opening a door at the back of the parlor first, stepping
confidently through the doorway even as we followed like lost sheep,
looking for a shepherd. Her spiked heels clicked on a hardwood floor. Our
sneakers shuffled across it.
At the back of the hall Miss Wentworth pulled open a door. It was
stuck a little, and when she got it free her large bosoms bobbled within
her net blouse. Twin mountains trying to shake off snow, they seemed,
though the net remained still when they had ceased wobbling.
ÒHere, this one has everything,Ó she replied. ÒWhatever your heart
desires. Simple spanking, birching, or even piercing, though IÕd do that
with an expertÕs help, if I were you, unless youÕve done it before. I just
re-habbed it, thereÕs some stuff at the back, awful, scary stuff, used in
the inquisition or something. You can remove penises and nipples with it,
so be careful. Anyway, hereÕs the rape rack, some over-large dildos,
thereÕs some cuffs here, a branding iron if youÕre adventurous...Ó We were
inside with her before we knew it, staring, goggle-eyed in our appearance.
I reached for RobÕs hand, pressed myself close to him.
ÒNo, no,Ó Miss Wentworth said, turning and facing us, the
spectacular equipment all around us. ÒYou are his girlfriend?Ó I nodded.
ÒYou must have, Mark is it? Yes, you must have Mark then, and Rob must
have Elizabeth. Be a little bold, at least.Ó She exchanged us, patting our
bottoms in encouragement, so that I stood huddled with Mark and Elizabeth
with my Rob. ÒThere. Now how about those skirts, girls? This is not a
bathroom, or a bedroom, but IÕll bet you wouldnÕt mind it if your new
boyfriends got buckets and washed you down, would you? Or fucked you on
the bondage table instead of in a bed?Ó I fiddled with the belt of my
miniskirt, unbuckled it but did no more.
ÒI guess we could, ah, look around for an hour or so,Ó Rob said. He
surveyed the room. ÒIt would be quite the thing to talk about back home.Ó
ÒHell, forget the talk,Ó Mark said. He spoke boldly but kept his
clothes on. ÒWe should enjoy ourselves. IÕd like to stay all day.Ó
ÒIf you wish, I could waive the charges entirely,Ó Miss Wentworth
offered. ÒI have a special couple. They live next door. They relish seeing
newbies try out a dungeon. All the doors to the dungeons have a peephole
in them, so I can check up on people. Usually they are closed. But if you
let me leave one open, for my voyeuristic couple, I will charge them
instead of you. That way you could enjoy the dungeon for as long as you
wish, for free! You wouldnÕt be expected to do anything, just do what
comes naturally.Ó She cast her eyes over our boyfriendsÕ substantial
groins, immodestly concealed in their tight little shorts.
ÒOkay,Ó Mark said, making the decision for all of us. ÒLeave the
peephole open. WeÕre from America, no one knows us, weÕll never be back.
Let whomever look at us, though I canÕt say weÕll do anything except
admire your equipment.Ó
ÒIÕm sure the same would please them,Ó she replied. ÒWould you
mind if I interrupt you now and then to bring you refreshments?Ó
ÒCanÕt say weÕll stay that long, but sure,Ó Rob replied. ÒPut them on
our tab, so to speak.Ó
ÒOh, refreshments are always free,Ó Miss Wentworth replied.
ÒThough IÕm not always the one who serves them.Ó There was promise in
her eyes. The men cast their glance over her figure again, relieving her of
her panties with their stare, leaving her the net perhaps. With an alluring
wiggle in her bottom, self-conscious perhaps, she made for the door. She
slipped out, closed it behind us. We heard it lock from outside. We were
alone. The room was cool, like a wine cellar. Yet I found my fingers at my
belt again, separating the tongue from the buckle completely.
Mark was the first to drop his shorts. His cock sprang free, released
at last from the binding fabric. Rob saw us girls dart our eyes to his
manhood, painfully erect and throbbing. He did not want to be outdone. He
dropped his own shorts, gave us a breathtaking view of his own dick,
powerfully hard and aroused.
ÒWhere did she say that cock-cutting off machine was?Ó Elizabeth
smirked at me. We both felt slightly embarrassed, seeing our boyfriends
displaying themselves to our eyes. Neither of us had ever seen the otherÕs
boyfriend naked before.
ÒThey are naughty,Ó I agreed. I stepped up to Mark and placed the tip
of my finger over his pee hole. The fact that we were being watched had
escaped me entirely by now, given how excited I was at being in such an
odd place, with ElizabethÕs boyfriend standing naked in front of me. ÒSir, I
hope you are not absolutely lewd. You arenÕt going to show me that white
stuff in your balls too, are you? IÕll keep my finger right here to keep you
plugged up if I have to.Ó Teasingly I indented the head of his cock, afraid
that his seed would come burbling up all around my fingerÕs tip. I could
not stop him if he wanted to cum, I knew.
ÒDonÕt worry, I can control myself as well as your boyfriend can,Ó
Mark assured me.
ÒCome on, girls, show us your panties at least,Ó Rob whined, perhaps
irritated a bit at how quickly I took to Mark. Elizabeth had her back to
him, contemplating perhaps the location of the penis removal device.
ÒWell IÕm getting totally buck naked,Ó Mark announced. IÕd stepped
back, denying him any further attention. I walked to Elizabeth and took
her hand. We exchanged smiles. ÒI want to be able to say that I stood
naked in a dungeon in Holland, with Miss Wentworth watching me through a
peephole.Ó Jealously I turned, watched as Mark removed every stitch of
his clothing, right down to his shoes and socks. My Rob did likewise,
lustily bandying his cock about when he was barefoot and bare, as if Miss
Wentworth herself were at this moment masturbating her clit on the other
side of the door, watching it all with relish.
I reached back, unzipped my skirt, my too short miniskirt that could
not be seen in polite company in the out-of-doors, if one were to believe
the prudes of this world. I showed my panties between the unzipped
halves, then let the dress drop to my ankles, leaving me only my undies
and tee. And my sneakers, of course, for walking, though there was not
much room to walk in here. ElizabethÕs dress slithered down her legs and
she stepped out of it. I left mine behind, advancing a step. Then she and I
both pulled up our t-shirts, lifting them with crossed-over arms so that
our nipples wiggled nicely when the hem passed over their stiff tips.
ÒThe panties too,Ó Mark said, as we strolled bare-chested toward
our boyfriends. I slipped mine down, hesitated at mid-thigh, then cast
them down the rest of the way and lifted my still-sneakered feet out of
them. Elizabeth did likewise.
ÒI donÕt care about the sneakers,Ó Mark said, as I bent over to untie
mine.
ÒLook! A swing!Ó Elizabeth remarked. She took my arm and led me to
it. There was a leather seat, suspended from two chains. It was a padded
bolster of leather, wide enough to perch the bottom on. Otherwise it was
like a childÕs swing at a playground. Elizabeth helped me step up onto the
swing, I had to step onto a little box to get on it. She kicked the box away
when IÕd seated myself. I felt my bottom cheeks splurge on the leather,
making me look bigger in back. I looked over my shoulder and saw an array
of whips hung on the wall behind me. I shivered. Surely Elizabeth did not
mean to whip me, did she? I had never done anything to her to merit such
punishment, had I? Were were just playing. A nice swing (if a bit odd,
perhaps) in a strange room in a strangerÕs house in Holland. Not something
you could put on a postcard and send to your Aunt Mary, but fun
nonetheless.
I settled onto the swing and wondered if someone would give me a
push. Elizabeth lifted my wrists up. I meant to merely take hold of the
chains but she drew my grip higher. When my arms were almost fully
extended she wrapped cuffs around my wrists. They were attached to the
swingÕs chains. I looked up and saw several sets of cuffs, positioned for
arms of varying lengths. One set was quite low down, as if for a little
girl.
In front, Mark took command. I saw that the swing was waist-
height, perfect for impaling me on his penis, which made itself quite
noticeable by still being quite erect, the bulbous head just inches from my
vulnerable cunny. He was doing something with my legs, I saw. He drew
my knees apart, keeping them level with my hips. I felt utterly exposed
before him. He could shaft himself right up to my womb at any moment.
Rob picked up a bar as long as my thigh. He twisted it, adjusting its
length. There were interlocking pieces inside which, when twisted
together, allowed one to extend the bar out or in to fit someoneÕs leg. Like
a telescope he adjusted it until it was just the right length for my thigh.
At one end there was a hook to fasten it to the bolster-part of my swing,
on the outside. Rob fixed the pole so that it stuck out at a wide angle
from my swing. Then Mark pressed my leg out until my thigh could be
bound to the pole. There was a leather cuff for my knee. Gently Rob fitted
my knee into the cuff and snapped it closed.
Another pole was put at the other end of my swing, for my other leg.
The boys drew it out and snapped it into place, leaving me with my legs in
a wide vee and my pussy defenseless. They stood before me, their cocks
rigid, admiring their handiwork, as Elizabeth gave my bare bottom a little
push with her hands.
ÒWheee!Ó I cried, pleased despite myself at the freedom of the
swing, although my wrists and legs were as imprisoned as if IÕd been put
in Alcatraz. As I neared the apex of my swing I nearly bumped MarkÕs
penis, his cockhead already drooling at the prospect of jetting his main
load into my cunt.
ÒShe looks nice, donÕt you think?Ó Rob asked. I blushed, swinging
again with a helpful push from Elizabeth.
ÒShe should do it herself, though,Ó Mark said, and I saw him nod to
Elizabeth. Taking his cue, she went to the wall and took down a pony whip.
Fearfully I watched her draw the thin tail of leather over her open palm.
She liked it. She was going to use it on me!
ÒSWWWICK!Ó I heard the whip crack lightly behind me and it landed
on my fulsome heinie, my spreading cheeks rebounding as I felt the stroke.
I could indeed swing myself, I realized, and my yelp proved it. I bumped
MarkÕs cockhead as I swung out. HeÕd stepped in. Each cut of the whip
would propel me directly into impalement. There was no fore-swing space
left to me, only the aft-swing that led directly to ElizabethÕs whip.
Oh, how did I wind up on a swing with a whip at my tender heinie and
my splayed legs inviting impalement? Did Elizabeth and Mark know some
tricks they hadnÕt told us about? Just what did Rob learn yesterday,
reading Penthouse?
The next awful slice of the whip drove me right into MarkÕs cock. My
pussy lips felt him bang against them. I swung back, then forward again,
hitting him where he wished it most, with my most tender aperture, soft
and moist and oh so invitingly vulnerable. Back and forth, back and forth
again, until suddenly he seized me in the upswing (such as it was) and
drove himself into me.
ÒAh! Please!Ó I begged. Elizabeth moved in for the kill, slicing up my
bottoms as if they were hams displayed on a cutting board for Christmas
dinner.
ÒNo! Oh! Please!Ó I cried aloud, my big tits wobbling all about as
Mark thrust himself into me, then in and out as if his hips were
themselves on some kind of swing. Elizabeth came round in front of me
and shared my tits with Rob, each taking one and sucking it. I felt like a
cow, my breasts squeezed and suckled, while Mark worked himself in and
out of me below, candidly fucking me even as eyes peered in through the
peephole.
ÒYes! Yes! Do her!Ó Elizabeth encouraged, coming up for air as she
suckled at my ample breasts, Rob echoing her encouragement. Mark
earnestly fucked me, sending me into transports of bliss atop my bottom-
aching swing, my reddened heinie still exposed for whatever else they had
in mind for me.
The dungeon door unbolted, Mistress Wentworth entered, tripping
over her high heels. She joined us at the swing and took up position behind
Mark. With her sharp-nailed fingers she grasped him by the cheeks of his
buttocks.
ÒOooh, yes, fuck your best friendÕs wife,Ó she urged. She grippingly
massaged his buttocks even as she forced him into me. ÒSpend your seed
in her womb, do it! Make her pregnant with your child, not his. Come, tell
me when you spurt and I will squish your balls for you so you get every
drop inside her.Ó In a mirror I saw her shift a hand down, find his
swelling pouch between his hairy thighs, indrawn, tight up against his
crotch. Her sharp-nailed fingers tickled him there. Then she had both
hands on his buttocks again, squeezing his haunches and urging him in and
out of me.
Amidst my bliss I turned my head. The dungeon door remained open!
Two figures, elegantly clad, stood there. They were mid-40ish, not the
gardening woman in her 60Õs who IÕd imagined would be watching us with
her husband. The man had his cock out and his wife or mistress (which I
did not know) was stroking it. Her gown had been opened in front, her
breasts showed. He seemed to be palming her ass, deeply. She jerked. I
guessed her dress must be slit up the back, too high perhaps to keep him
out.
ÒNo! Ah! Take yourself out!Ó I cried, foolishly. I did not want to be
seen fucking. What was I in there eyes that a whore on the strip was not,
in Vegas, fucking in public for private pleasure?
ÒMmmm, give her your seed,Ó Mistress Wentworth urged Mark, though
she seemed enthralled that he had lasted so long. Gallantly he fucked me,
a knight without his shining armor, or perhaps he was the knightÕs horse,
locked in the barn if no longer kept precisely in his stable, the door to it
being open. In the door stood the farmer and his wife, in my imagination,
watching the mare (myself) being inseminated. We would make foals
together, the foam of his balls mixing within the depths of my womb with
my little waiting eggs there.
ÒAh, you must have an Energizer battery up your ass!Ó Mistress
enthused. She jammed a finger into his rosehole and Mark groaned. It was
the kiss of death, I realized, her impromptu sodomization. She realized it
too and dug deeper, simultaneously dropping her other hand, as promised,
to his balls. She squeezed him hard, trying to yank his testes down to
prevent him from spilling even as she buggered him in behind, inspiring
him anew.
ÒGod, I canÕt--Ó
ÒYou must!Ó Mistress shouted, pulling hard to try to get his twin
nuts safely down, albeit slightly injured perhaps from all her yanking.
ÒNo! No! No!Ó Mark strove with himself, desperate to cum and yet
wanting to prolong his pleasure further, Mistress giving him double-
signals from behind, an alluring digit in his ass for green and a hard-
tugging fist on his balls for red.
For a long moment Mark teetered on the brink. Then, somehow, he
regained control. Mistress got his balls down a bit and held them tight.
Mark yelped. But he was in her hands, his own muscles inside contracting
hard to keep whatever lay below from bubbling up. Mistress grabbed
Elizabeth by her hair and tore her lips from my breast. Just by looking at
her, the girl knew somehow what was needed. Elizabeth, bare for her new
white sneakers, dashed to the wall, against which sat a narrow table. She
ran back to us, a leather cock ring in her uplifted hands. It was her own
boyfriend, and she was giving it to a strange woman.
Mistress Wentworth took the cock ring and secured it rapidly around
MarkÕs slightly descended balls. She had to knock his ankles into a winder
stance to get both her hands between his legs, but Mark seemed not to
mind, though the act of binding his balls was no doubt excruciating. At
least from the point of view of deprived pleasure, for his cockhead still
waited hopefully just within my pussy. I was wet there, his pre-cum
drooling within me and my own moistness readying my channel for
whatever new assault he intended. Elizabeth stroked the visible portion
of his prong. She encouraged him to hold himself in until she could mount
the swing in my place. My own boyfriend left his station at my side,
where heÕd supped on my breasts, for the equally tempting hillocks of
MistressÕ bottom. He stepped behind her and artfully lowered her panties
to mid-thigh. She scolded him but said nothing else. He jabbed his rock-
hard member playfully between the halves of her derriere. He searched for
and quickly found her anus. He assaulted her lightly in behind even as Mark
still assaulted me, though Rob had yet to bury his plum inside her
entrance. He merely knocked on the door, his cockhead lusciously trapped
twixt her flexing bottom cheeks. Mark had himself within me. Only
permission from Mistress kept him from thrusting up and spilling himself
in my womb.
ÒYes, that should do it,Ó Mistress said half-aloud to herself. Mark
emitted a groan as he experienced some new agony under the tutelage of
the cockstrap. I spoke the word aloud and Mistress corrected me.
ÒSally, it is not a cockstrap. MarkÕs cock remains totally free. It is
what we girls call a ÔballbusterÕ sometimes, for it separates the scrotum
into an upper half-tightly constricted, and a lower half, where, as you see,
his nuts bulge out lewdly like over-ripe fruit. She cupped his obscenely
distended and gorged testicles, holding them lightly in her palm as if they
were extraordinarily delicate, even as the ball-wrap kept him in mortal
agony. Well, perhaps he was not actually in pain, but his face looked it, all
scrunched up with a lingering desire to rid himself of his preciously-
saved seed.
ÒWe did not fuck last night,Ó Elizabeth admitted. She turned from
massaging his penis-pole to gently detaching it from my hungry cunt. It
popped out and she bent and licked the head. ÒI had a headache, didnÕt like
the room we were staying in. I was hoping weÕd find something more
romantic this evening. I guess we didnÕt have to wait for that, though, did
we?Ó she grinned up at me, Mistress, sharing female secrets with her
eyes.
ÒMy, such a sturdy husband. How naughty it was of you to deny him
last night,Ó Mistress scolded Elizabeth. ÒThere must be some special
punishment for that, donÕt you think, Sally? At least in a place like this
there must be.Ó
ÒI-I guess so,Ó I agreed. My mind was still swimming in expectation
and bliss, caught short in my own pleasure.
ÒElizabeth, take charge of things while I get us a tray of
refreshments,Ó Mistress told her, promoting her to substitute mistress
just seconds after nominating her for our new victim.
ÒOkay,Ó Elizabeth said, confused at her changing roles. Perhaps she
was both still, mistress now and pretty victim later, on some swing-like
device of her own. Looking at RobÕs cock I knew there must be something
in store for her. And her own eyes seemed to want it. SheÕd not tasted
pleasure yet. Mistress left, slipping past our admirers yet not ordering
them out, as if they might act as guards to keep others from entering,
saving her having to set down her tray to unbolt our door.
The three of my friends unfastened my legs and arms and helped me
down from my perch.
ÒMy bottom hurts,Ó I complained, with an accusing glance at
Elizabeth. She giggled, her hand to her mouth, said nothing. With awkward
steps I walked to a bench, Elizabeth guiding me by one elbow as Rob
helpfully guided me by the other. Mark, my assailant, seemed most
discomforted of all, walking with a duck-like gait to the bench, his balls
forcibly descended by his ball-harness and held there for future
spermings.
Mistress returned, her black panties still at mid-thigh where Rob
had left them. She seemed not to mind how they hobbled her step, made it
shorter. She retained her mesh blouse; it concealed nothing, held nothing,
and prevented no one from playing with her. Yet she looked half-regal in
it, though her hair was slightly mussed now, the clothed in the land of the
bare. (Save our admirers, perhaps, for whom the door was now closed,
leaving them in with us, though they remained at a distance.)
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-----Back issues (and stories): http://www.dejanews.com/
Click on ÒPower SearchÓ in the middle of the screen.
Change ÒstandardÓ archive to ÒcompleteÓ archive.
Type: roller666@earthlink.net into the ÒPower SearchÓ box.
Click on ÒFindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
-----Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
Or via the Web:
http://www.eroticstories.com
http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-----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 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF story EMISSION