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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
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Chapter Three
Were we lovers? No, we were not. Definitely not. I was sure of
that. I lay in my bed, my bedsheet quickly pulled up to my chin. I stared at
Dave, my eyes wide, surprised. I realized that my legs were spread under
the sheet and that he could see the outline of them. Quickly I clipped my
thighs together. Teddy cowered beside me, lying on the big pillow at the
head of my bed.
Katrina stood beside Dave. She was dressed in the prim garb of an
eighteenth century lady. He was dressed like an Italian gentleman from
the same period. They were holding hands. Katrina smiled, tossed her
head.
ÒYouÕll be late, sleepyhead,Ó she said to me casually. Her eyes
showed that she did not really care. She smiled at Dave, squeezed his
hand. He squeezed hers in return. She carried a mask on a stick in her
other hand. It was shapely, made to disguise the eyes. It had dark gems
studding it. They were ersatz, I knew, but they looked real. Her mask was
pink, shading into lavender. It matched her dress, a swirl of deep pink and
light purple, abundant with ruffles, hugging her waist and her bodice but
cascading down over her long slim legs in great brocades of silk.
Underneath, I sensed her legs were bare. It was in the way she stood,
provacative, with her hips thrust forward, as if to invite one to look, if
they could somehow lift the heavy folds of her dress. She was poised, I
knew, on the most delicate of high heels. IÕd helped her pick them out
yesterday in a Venetian store. They gripped her small feet like a china
shop owner might clutch at his most precious wares, afraid to drop them,
afraid, despite the closeness of his fingers around them, to even touch
them.
ÒWe didnÕt come down here so you could just spend the whole time
sleeping in your bed -- alone,Ó Dave groused. I think he was a little angry
with me for oversleeping. We had left Heloise three days earlier, all our
assignments complete. We were tourists now. Dave, Katrina, myself.
I sat up in my bed. My bottom felt smooth and soft against the sheet
underneath. I was wearing a sheer nightie, like the one IÕd worn at
SvetlanaÕs. Dave had bought it for me, yesterday, in a lingerie store. It
was exactly the same as the one heÕd taken me in, up my bottom, except
this one was shorter. It covered only the highest curls in my pubic thatch,
leaving all else exposed. In back it covered just the shelf of my bottom,
where it bloomed from my back. My ass cheeks were quite bare, and he
knew it, since heÕd picked it out for me, and ÔfittedÕ it to me by pressing it
up against my clothed body in the store.
It was warm in the room. We were staying in a cheap hotel. It had
clean sheets, though, and clean rooms, and that was all that really
mattered. An air conditioner set in my wall wheezed, combatting the
warmth of early evening outside. In an hour or two the night would cool
the city, but now the blazing heat of the hot afternoon lingered, unwilling,
like me, to depart.
ÒGet up, silly! Are you going or not?Ó Katrina asked irritably. I
wondered what theyÕd been doing all day. WeÕd danced the previous night
Ôtil dawn. Then weÕd stumbled back to our rooms to sleep. I slept by
myself, Katrina and Dave across the hall. It was an old hotel. Bathrooms
were shared between rooms. I shared mine with a balding middle-aged
man who used the toilet to read his mail and woke in the morning with
smokerÕs cough. Katrina and Dave, in separate rooms across the hall,
shared the same bathroom. I was beginning to doubt that they were as
careful about their privacy, though, as I was with mine.
ÒWell if you leave IÕll get dressed,Ó I said. IÕd already picked out my
clothes for the festival. Long, opera-length gloves, granny boots, and a
dress that hugged my figure like KatrinaÕs dress hugged hers. My dress
was yellow and green. Underneath mine, though, I intended to wear
panties. No garters, though. Katrina had insisted that I not be too formal.
This was especially true of our breasts. Our dresses were designed to
clutch at our ribs and to rise high on our backs, where they gripped our
narrow shoulders and arms. Despite this careful layer of covering, though,
all frilled silk mixed with ruffles, the front of each of our dresses was, at
the breasts and above, completely nonexistent. KatrinaÕs dress at least
cupped the undersides of her breasts. It lifted them unnaturally high. Her
bare nipples were perched just above the lacy top of her dress. In my
case, though, my dress left my breasts quite unsupported and naked. I
didnÕt know which dress was worse. KatrinaÕs, that presented her nipples
like ripe strawberries, or mine, that left my own bosoms completely free,
to sway or wiggle or wobble whichever way they pleased as I walked.
Katrina tossed her head again. She let go of DaveÕs hand and tugged
at the veil that shrouded the nakedness of her breasts. It was separate
from her dress, a large, puffy, cloud of fabric that she wore round her
neck. It was held in place round her throat by a slim thread. It rustled
when she moved. Lightly it covered her arms. It had no sleeves, but lay
rather atop her arms, and was tied very delicately by a single thread to
each of her gloved wrists. It was also tied, by a thread so slim it might
break, to the back of her dress. It was made of diaphanous silk, but folded
in on itself again and again, so that its sheer, playful layers might hide
the nudity of her breasts. Yet in a final touch of decadence, its designer
had left it open in front, with no ties, save that round KatrinaÕs throat.
Whenever she let go of her shawl-like veil, its halves spread away from
each other, revealing what, through the sheer folds, had already been
hinted at: her naked bosoms. For my dress there was a similar shawl. We
would dance in them, I knew, and in the motions of our dancing we would
be helpless to keep ourselves hidden.
ÒDave, she wishes to dress in private,Ó Katrina told our friend. She
turned to him and kissed him briefly on his lips, careful not to smudge her
lipstick. As she did so, she let her hand touch his groin. She gave him a
gentle squeeze. Then she walked to my bedside. Dave, enticed, lingered a
moment in the doorway. Katrina turned her head, looked back at him.
ÒDave,Ó she snapped, quietly but firmly. He gave a shrug and turned and
walked out to the living room where the front door to my room lay. I heard
him open the outer door, step into the hall. He closed the door behind
himself. I heard him turn the key in the lock, so no one would walk in on
us.
ÒHe has my room key!Ó I said to Katrina.
ÒHe found it on the bureau in the living room,Ó Katrina said. ÒYou
know how guys are. You can insist he give it back later.Ó Gently she took
the sheet from my fists under my chin. She drew it off my body. ÒIt might
be safer in his hands for awhile, anyway,Ó Katrina said to me. ÒYou donÕt
have any pockets in your dress.Ó
ÒBut I can put it in my purse,Ó I told her.
ÒNo purse tonight, silly,Ó Katrina told me. ÒFor me or you. Just give
anything you think youÕll need to Dave. HeÕll keep it for you.Ó
ÒBut I donÕt want Dave carrying around my things for me!Ó I said,
stubbornly. Katrina ignored my response. Instead her eyes flitted down
the nude expanse of my body. My nightie hid nothing. My flesh could be
seen underneath it, deeply tanned, from my toes to my head, except where
I wore my bikini when I was posing for Eveline Elginton on the beach.
There I was white, round my breasts and in a band that stretched across
my pubic hair at my hips, and on my bottom. Katrina gazed at my bush,
drew the sheet back more, revealed my bare legs.
ÒRoll over,Ó she said.
ÒHuh?Ó I replied. My eyes were still wide from waking up to Dave.
ÒRoll over,Ó Katrina said again. She took me by my slim shoulders
and turned me in my bed. I gave a squeak, then cooperated, until I was flat
on my tummy, my chin resting on my pillow. My palms flitted at my sides,
uncertain.
Katrina pressed her palms into the flesh of my bottom. I squeaked
again. ÒWell, youÕre nice and healed,Ó she said. She spoke of my ordeal
under the cat at SvetlanaÕs. ÒHowÕs your hole feel?Ó
ÒGood,Ó I replied. A bubble formed on my lips as I spoke. I felt
babyish. I wished sheÕd quit touching my bottom but I liked, all the same,
being pampered by her hands in such an intimate place. She eased my
cheeks apart. Perhaps I needed to be checked. In my hole. Dave had been
rude to take me that way. Katrina was 16. She could check me and tell me
I was okay. It had been my first time. Between my legs, where it really
mattered, I was still virgin. I liked that. I had endured Dave, and suffered
under his intrusion, and yet, I was still pure. Virginal. I wriggled my hips
against the bed. I arched them. I slipped my hands underneath me. I
touched myself between my legs. My lips felt squelchy, wet.
ÒWhy didnÕt you go to Rome with Steve?Ó Katrina asked me.
ÒI dunno,Ó I answered. The pressure of the pillow on my chin,
enveloping my jaw, made my speech slurred. But I did know, didnÕt I? I
touched myself. My spot. My virginity. We would have been alone, he and
I. There would have been a honeymoon suite and we would not have
emerged from it for days. I would not be a virgin now, if IÕd gone to Rome
with him. Instead IÕd accompanied Katrina and Dave. Well, it had really
been me and Katrina, going by ourselves, just us two girls, and then
somehow, at the last moment, after Steve had already left with another
model, his second choice for his Roman honeymoon, Dave had showed up.
Katrina and I had been stepping into a cab with our things, and there he
was, suddenly, holding the door open for us as Heloise, on the mansionÕs
porch, waved goodbye. The cabbie came round from the trunk where heÕd
stowed our luggage, and Dave handed him his suitcase.
ÒWhatÕs the matter, canÕt get a date?Ó Katrina had asked Dave as I
slipped within the cab.
ÒYou both canÕt just go to Venice by yourselves,Ó Dave had replied.
ÒTwo girls, both underage, whoÕve never been there -- with no chaperone?
I wonÕt allow it.Ó
ÒHe can be our guide,Ó IÕd called from inside the cab, foolishly. I had
been a little worried about being alone with just Katrina in Venice. Sure,
we had plenty of money from our modelling (especially from what
Svetlana had sent us), but that was my worry. Two girls, loaded with
cash, wandering around Venice all by ourselves. Dave seemed to me a
sensible companion. He knew I didnÕt like him but that I respected him,
and heÕd already had his thing up me, so I felt like he was, maybe, just a
little obligated to look after us. Of course I had no intention of allowing
him to get himself in me again. Once was enough with somebody like him,
big and rude and gruff and spoiled rotten from being a handsome model all
his life. But he did owe me, I felt, and we needed somebody big like him.
Not Steve. Steve was too boyish, too easily outwitted by the cons and
crooks we might meet in Venice, not to mention that he was less strong
than Dave. Steve was cute, he had a nice male body, but Dave was big, like
a monster in some ways, I thought, which was just what we needed to
keep us safe in Venice.
And so Dave had come along. I fondled my slit as I thought of how
safe I felt with him. Katrina and I could go anywhere, and we already had,
exploring even the meanest streets, plus of course the wonderful sights.
With Dave by our side we didnÕt have to worry at all. Guys got out of the
way for him. Men with evil intentions straightened up when they saw him
sit down next to us in a restaurant. I felt wetness on my fingertips and
remembered last night, before we went dancing, how Katrina and I had
gone into a small cafe and Dave had gone immediately to use the restroom.
Some guys had been watching us, from another table. Then Dave showed
up, sat down between us, and the guysÕ faces fell.
I felt a light slap on my bottom. It intruded into my thoughts and I
let out a small yelp.
ÒDonÕt play with yourself,Ó Katrina said in an amused voice.
ÒSowwy,Ó I replied. My voice lisped in my pillow.
ÒWhat were you thinking about?Ó Katrina asked suspiciously.
ÒNuthinÕ,Ó I breathed, softly. My breath was pregnant with desire. I
sighed, lifting my bottom. Katrina slapped it again.
ÒOw! Quit it!Ó I cried. I rolled over onto my back. My breasts rolled
on my chest, fell away from each other under my nightie. Their tips were
stiff, lifting the nightie up from the tips of my bosoms.
ÒLetÕs get you dressed so you can go out and party with everyone
else,Ó Katrina said to me. Her eyes gazed at mine. ÒYou donÕt want to lie
in bed by yourself all night, do you?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I replied.
ÒGood,Ó Katrina said. Expertly she took my shoulder and forced me
to sit up. My bottom felt good, pressed once more into the bedsheet. She
couldnÕt slap me there now.
ÒHow long will the party last?Ó I asked.
ÒItÕs the first night of the Carnival. It should last all night,Ó
Katrina answered. ÒWeÕll ride in a gondola and go dancing and feasting.
There will be parties all over town and, dressed in our costumes, we
shouldnÕt have any trouble getting in anywhere, at least thatÕs what Dave
says.Ó She drew me from the bed, but I resisted a little, and sat with my
legs dangling over its side. My bare feet swayed in the air, too short,
despite my long legs, to touch the floor.
ÒDaveÕs pretty cool, donÕt you think?Ó Katrina asked me. ÒI mean, we
would have just checked into some five star hotel, and spent all our
money, but he knew of this out of the way place, with its big rooms, and
its inexpensive rates. And now we get to party all over town, without
paying anything.Ó
ÒYes,Ó I agreed. ÒIÕm saving my money for college.Ó I pulled at the
pink silk hanging rather uncertainly off my shoulders, cloaking my tits in
its nothingness, letting them be seen while pretending to hide them. ÒAnd
nighties,Ó I added. Katrina bent and tugged at the hem of my nightie. It
barely covered my belly, leaving my furred private all exposed between my
thighs.
ÒWhy did you let Dave pick this out for you?Ó Katrina asked testily.
ÒIt doesnÕt even cover your pussy.Ó
ÒI know,Ó I answered.
ÒTsk,Ó Katrina said, trying in vain to pull my nightie down over my
delta. ÒIf you let Dave pick out your clothes for you, dear, youÕll wind up
buying nothing but this sort of thing.Ó
ÒWell, he helped us pick our dresses,Ó I said. I cast a glance at mine,
waiting to be put on, hanging from a hanger in the open closet of my room.
ÒThatÕs different,Ó Katrina said. ÒThis is a festival. We have to
wear costumes. HeÕs been to the festival before and knows how we should
dress.Ó
ÒDo I get to wear a bra with my dress?Ó I asked. I opened my thighs
as I spoke. I felt naughty, showing my breasts like I would in a dress like
that.
ÒNo,Ó Katrina replied. ÒYou know that. The partyÕs all about being
uninhibited.Ó She smiled at me. She shook her hips slightly. ÒSexy and
free,Ó she added.
ÒHave you and Dave been doing it?Ó I asked her, seriously. Katrina
frowned.
ÒThatÕs our own personal business,Ó she said. She tossed her head.
She urged me from the side of the bed and I dropped my feet to the floor
and stood up. ÒMaybe we have, and maybe we havenÕt,Ó she said.
ÒIÕll bet youÕve at least shared a shower,Ó I said to her accusingly.
Katrina blushed, slightly.
ÒCome on, Cindy,Ó she said, changing the subject. ÒYou do want to
bathe before you go out again, donÕt you?Ó
ÒYes, of course,Ó I replied.
ÒWell hurry up. Your roommate isnÕt reading his mail on the toilet
right now. Get in there before he decides to make the bathroom his second
home again.Ó
ÒYes,Ó I agreed. ÒHe can take forever in there. Sometimes I have to
knock really loudly! And all the while I can hear him sitting in there,
flipping pages and stuff, and opening envelopes. And he grunts sometimes
too. I donÕt know what could be so exciting about getting some envelopes
and some magazines in the mail.Ó
Katrina gave a smile that seemed like a knowing smile, but said
nothing. She walked with me to the bathroom I shared with the man next
door. It sat between my bedroom and his. It was old, large, with a
commode with an overhead tank and a claw-footed bathtub. It had once
been ornate, but now its tiles bore cracks and its walls, once painted with
bright designs, had faded. Still, it was clean. It had an odd sensuality
about it, a reminder of VeniceÕs ancient past, when my room would have
included both my suite and the other manÕs. Grand rooms with high
ceilings, a private bath, everything new then, and bearing the most lavish
appointments. I could tell how this hotel had once been. I liked thiking of
the lords and ladies who must have stayed here once, long ago, and how
this hotel might have been used for their private assignations.
ÒHurry,Ó Katrina told me, giving me a pat on my bottom. ÒDave is
already floating around in our gondola.Ó
ÒIs it here?Ó I asked, a note of excitement in my voice. Dave had
taken us in one yesterday and IÕd liked it very much.
ÒIÕm sure heÕs busy renting one right now,Ó Katrina said. ÒYou know
how handsome he is. HeÕll find two other girls to accompany him if we
donÕt hurry.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I agreed. I pulled my nightie over my head. I tossed it on the
floor, unthinking, despite its expense, eager to hurry now, lest I miss a
gondolo ride. I got a towel from the bathroom closet while Katrina turned
on my bath. The old pipes leading into the tub guttered, wheezed. A
moment later a flow of water spouted from the tubÕs faucet. It was clean
and fresh and frothing, despite what you sometimes hear about Venice not
being the tidiest place. Katrina adjusted the tubÕs handles. She picked up
a Mr. Bubble IÕd bought for my baths and sprinkled some in. I was ready
now, my clothes off and my bare feet cold on the bathroomÕs tiles, eager
to jump into the tubÕs warm water.
ÒDonÕt splash around,Ó Katrina told me. ÒThe man complained to me
and Dave last night when he met us in the hall.Ó
ÒOh, he thinks IÕm just a baby,Ó I replied.
ÒWell, I guess heÕs decided youÕre not responsible,Ó Katrina said,
watching me test the waterÕs temperature with my toes. ÒHe said he
thought NoahÕs Ark was going to come sailing up the canal behind our
hotel, from all the water you left on the floor of the bathroom.Ó
ÒI was playing,Ó I said. I stepped over the rim of the tub with my
other foot, satisfied with the waterÕs temperature. The bubbles in the tub
rose around my ankles.
ÒOh, what were you playing?Ó Katrina asked. I blushed. I tugged at
the small rope around my neck. Dave had tied it there when we first
arrived in Venice. A small rope, completely unpretentious, that lay tight
around my neck and that had been securely knotted in back so that it could
only be removed with a knife. Its ends were frayed, hanging down my back
just an inch or so, like a collar one might find on a puppy whose master,
either from poverty or disdain, prefers to secure with a length of rope out
of his woodshed, rather than a leather collar bought from a store. Dave
had tied one around KatrinaÕs neck as well as my own.
ÒI had to be, well, disciplined,Ó I said. I promptly sat down in the
shallow tub water the minute IÕd spoken. I pressed my into the tubÕs
bottom, feeling the slickness of its white porcelian.
Katrina laughed. ÒYou pretend to be so modest and then thatÕs what
you play when youÕre locked away in the bathroom, by yourself?Ó
I blushed more fiercely. ÒNo,Ó I said. ÒItÕs just, I wondered, thatÕs
all. Wondered what it would be like if that man came in the bathroom and
tied me to the faucet and spanked me with his belt.Ó Katrina was still
laughing. A blush covered all of me, I think, right down to my toes. I
picked up the bath sponge and rubbed my arm.
ÒHurry and IÕll do your makeup for you after your bath,Ó Katrina told
me. ÒAnd then IÕll get you into your dress.Ó
ÒWho helped you into yours?Ó I asked her.
ÒA very thoughtful person,Ó Katrina replied. Her eyes glowing.
ÒWell it must not have been Dave then,Ó I said. Dave was somewhat
less than the perfect gentleman I expected a man of his age to be, though
he tried, I guess, and he wouldnÕt have been as good a protector of us if he
was too gentle. Katrina drifted over to the bathroomÕs sink and opened the
medicine cabinet above it. All my makeup stuff was in there. The man
hadnÕt seem to like that I stored my stuff in the bathroom, instead of
keeping it in my room. But he had his laxative and his antacid pills in
there, so naturally I thought I might put my stuff there too.
ÒWhen did you need Pepto-Bismol?Ó Katrina asked me.
ÒThatÕs not mine,Ó I answered, raising suds on my breasts. ÒItÕs the
manÕs.Ó
ÒOh,Ó Katrina said. ÒYou know weÕre only going to be here a few
days. You might lose this stuff if the man checks out and somebody else
checks into his room.Ó
ÒNo,Ó I said. ÒI think he lives here. He told me heÕs an executive of
some kind -- for a beer company I think -- he said this is a great place to
stay if you donÕt want to have to rent a house while youÕre in Venice, or
stay in some expensive hotel room.Ó
ÒOh well, then I guess you can leave your stuff here,Ó Katrina said.
ÒThough I doubt he liked seeing you put it all here. Do you still use a Barbi
compact?Ó She laughed.
ÒSure,Ó I said, scrubbing my pussy. ÒIt works. Why not?Ó
ÒIÕm sure he loved seeing this,Ó Katrina said. ÒA Winnie-the-Pooh
toothbrush.Ó
ÒThatÕs not Winnie-the-Pooh, thatÕs Piglet,Ó I said. ÒI like him. HeÕs
little like me and doesnÕt know as much as Winnie and Tigger. I almost
bought Tigger, though. I like him too Ôcause heÕs fast and does lots of
stuff.Ó
Katrina turned toward me, holding up my toothbrush. ÒIÕll bet that
man thinks youÕre in the third grade,Ó she said in a slightly reproving
voice to me.
ÒWell, then he wonÕt try to sneak into my room when IÕm asleep,Ó I
answered matter-of-factly.
ÒThatÕs probably what you need,Ó Katrina said, twirling my
toothbrush in her fingers and looking at it. ÒA daddy like him to spank
your bottom and make you grow up.Ó
I lifted one of my legs out of the still rising tub water and began
scrubbing my knee. ÒHeÕs too fat,Ó I said. Katrina turned and replaced my
toothbrush in the toothbrush rack in the medicine cabinet. The manÕs, next
to whose IÕd placed mine, had since disappeared. I guess he kept his
toothbrush in his room now. Maybe he didnÕt like Piglet.
Katrina closed the bathroom cabinet. SheÕd taken out my hair brush,
and she languidly began brushing her hair with it. She stared at her made-
up face in the cabinetÕs mirror.
ÒI donÕt like people using my hair brush,Ó I called to her from my
now quite bubbly tub.
ÒWell, mineÕs locked in my room, and Dave has the key to it,Ó Katrina
told me. ÒAnyways weÕve already shared a little more than your hairbrush,
at SvetlanaÕs.Ó I said nothing. I remembered our tryst there. It had been
strange, exploring another girl that way, my muff in her mouth, hers in
mine. IÕd cum like never before on her tongue, as sheÕd tried to devirginate
me with it.
ÒDo you think weÕll meet any cool guys at the Carnival?Ó I asked
Katrina.
ÒWeÕll meet lots,Ó Katrina answered, still brushing her hair. ÒHow
many do you want to meet?Ó
ÒLots,Ó I replied. Katrina giggled.
Suddenly there was a sound of water gushing from a container.
Katrina whirled around. ÒCindy!Ó she cried. ÒWhy didnÕt you turn off the
water?Ó
ÒOoops! Sorry!Ó I said. I leaned forward and gripped the handles of
the tubÕs faucet.
ÒHurry!Ó Katrina said. ÒYouÕre flooding the bathroom!Ó Water
continued to pour over the sides of my tub, carrying all my bubbles with it.
ÒI know! I know!Ó I answered. The tubÕs handles were big in my
hands. I twisted them. They moved slowly, graciously, as if to move more
quickly would show disrespect to the princes and queens who once bathed
here.
ÒOh, my!Ó I heard Katrina say. Hastily she lifted up her skirts so
they wouldnÕt become wet in the water. Her stiletto heels barely kept her
feet from being submerged. She advanced, then had to back up, retreating
away from me as my bathwater followed her across the room, threatening
to wet her feet. ÒMy God, it will take hours to mop all this up!Ó Katrina
said. She retreated further as I struggled with the tubÕs old, slow handles.
They squeaked irritably as I turned them. Katrina fled from the bathroom
entirely. The water followed her into my bedroom.
ÒYou do need to be disciplined,Ó Katrina said to me later, when we
were both in our costumes. Our heels clattered under our skirts as we
descended the hotelÕs broad, winding staircase. The steps were old,
squeaky, but still firm underfoot. An elderly woman, sitting doing
knitting in a chair behind the front counter that served as the hotelÕs
check-in desk, looked up.
ÒCould you send someone up to her room?Ó Katrina asked the woman.
The ancient clerk put her knitting needles into her lap. She cupped her
hand behind her ear. She leaned forward in her chair. ÒRoom 2B,Ó Katrina
told her. WeÕd heard the man coming back to his room as we finished
dressing in my room, avoiding the puddles my bath had made. I knew we
didnÕt have much time to get help for the bathroom before the man decided
to use the toilet. ÒHer room is 2B,Ó Katrina said to the woman. ÒShe
couldnÕt get her bath off and the bathroom has water all over the floor.Ó
ÒAnd lots of bubbles too,Ó I added. Katrina glanced angrily at me,
silencing me.
ÒAnd her room, the floor needs to be mopped,Ó Katrina told the
woman. ÒSome of the water flooded her bedroom too.Ó
ÒEEEEEYAAAHHH!Ó We both heard suddenly. Even the old woman heard
it. Immediately there was a loud thump on the ceiling above us.
ÒWhat was that?Ó I asked, wide-eyed. I looked at the woman, at
Katrina. It sounded like something heavy had just dropped into the hotelÕs
second floor. I imagined a U.F.O., or maybe an asteroid. IÕd seen a show on
Italian T.V. about asteroids. I didnÕt know what the announcer was saying,
but heÕd showed a house where an asteroid had come crashing down from
space, right through the ceiling.
ÒThe fat guy just slipped in your bathroom,Ó Katrina told me. She
still looked angry. Even angrier than before.
ÒOoops,Ó I said. I looked down at my toes. They were hidden beneath
my skirt.
ÒGod Damn Fucking--Ó I heard a deep male voice hollar from the
second floor. Suddenly, there was another scream, and another loud thump.
ÒIÕll bet he makes me take my Piglet toothbrush out of the medicine
cabinet now,Ó I told Katrina.
ÒNever mind your toothbrush,Ó Katrina said tersely. ÒAnyway the
tubÕs broken and it flooded her bathroom and I guess you might need an
ambulance too,Ó Katrina told the woman behind the desk. Then she took my
hand and we hurried through the lobby to the back of the hotel, where Dave
was waiting, hopefully, for us in the canal with a getaway gondola.
We floated languidly on the canal. Its waters lapped quietly against
the buildings alongside it as we passed. They were old, each one made of
bricks and mortar, or stone. Behind us the gondolier rowed our gondola.
We approached a stone bridge. Costumed revellers stood atop it. They
leaned out over the bridgeÕs parapet and offered handfulls of confetti to
us. It sprinkled down, we passed into it, like into snow. I stuck out my
tongue and caught one of the colored bits of paper on it. Katrina,
mischievously, opened her veil and let them see her bared bosom.
She told Dave of how IÕd let the water run over the tub into the
bathroom. He looked at me, as if sizing me up. I shrank a little under his
gaze. ÒAnd the man came back, and he tried to use the toilet, and he fell -
- twice,Ó Katrina said to Dave. She held up two fingers to emphasize
what, no doubt, had proven to be two quite painful falls for my overweight
neighbor. Dave grunted, nodded.
ÒWe can help her learn to behave better,Ó Dave said. He grinned at
me. I didnÕt like his grin. He had his arm around both myself and Katrina,
sitting between us. The gondolier behind us began to sing. It was a
romantic song, but I didnÕt feel to romantic with Katrina telling Dave how
IÕd been bad.
Nothing more was said, however, at least not on that subject, and we
floated from one canal to another as the gondolier took us on a watery
tour of the city. Dave and Katrina chatted. Dave told us about the cityÕs
seedier past and I blushed a little when he glanced over at me, speaking of
how lords and ladies had once held great orgies atop the citiesÕ roofs, out
in the warm summer air, under the stars.
ÒOf course, only the elite were invited to such festivities,Ó Dave
said. ÒBut the whole city, IÕm sure, could hear the screams of the ladies
and the grunts of the men as they fucked away in each otherÕs arms until
dawn.Ó He looked again at me. ÒIt was before electricity,Ó he said. ÒAnd
theyÕd pick a moonless night, so they could rut without being seen, except
perhaps by starlight. But it was always on one or two of the tallest
buildings. And it would happen at Carnival time, when there was much
merriment in the streets below, and even if people did hear screaming,
which they certainly must have, they took less note of it than they would
have on a night when the city lay asleep.Ó
ÒYou sound like you went to some of those orgies,Ó I told him. I
bumped his side with my elbow. ÒYouÕre certainly old enough.Ó Dave
frowned. Katrina let out a gay laugh.
ÒSheÕs right, you know, Dave,Ó Katrina said. ÒI think I see a wrinkle
on your forehead.Ó She reached up and touched a gloved finger to his face.
ÒIÕm not THAT old,Ó Dave harrumped. ÒFor those days or to have
wrinkles. IÕm only in my 20Õs.Ó
ÒStill youÕre older than me,Ó I replied. I flexed my back and felt my
bare, pert breasts rise as I arched my chest. I was secretly glad they
were naked. I could feel their freedom under my shawl and I wanted to
open myself to the sky, to let whomever might wish to gaze at my young
tits and handle them with lust. I could feel the tips risen and stiff. The
shawl opened. It had no tie, save that round my neck, in its front. Hastily
I gripped it with my hand, lest the gondolier, leaning forward, catch sight
of them.
ÒHere is the restaurant where weÕll be eating,Ó Dave said. Our
gondola approached a building with terraced steps. They led right down to
the water of the canal. The lowest steps were submerged. Above, on an
open portico, I saw diners. They were all in costumes. Candles glowed on
their tables. I saw a trio of violin players drifting between the tables,
playing soft music.
Our gondola bumped against the restaurantÕs steps. The gondolier
came foward to help us, but Dave beat him, leaping up and expertly passing
out of our craft to the steps without rocking our boat. He turned, tipped
the tri-cornered hat he wore, then leaned down and reached for KatrinaÕs
hand. She extened it. He urged her to her feet. Rising, she permitted him
to escort her from our craft. I followed, helped by Dave and the gondolier.
I was younger and more unsteady on my high heels, especially in a boat,
than Katrina was. Nonetheless we both gained the firmness of the stone
steps. It felt good to stand on them. Dave placed an arm round KatrinaÕs
waist, then mine. He walked us up the steps and into the open-air
restaurant.
After dinner we danced, slow dancing, to the tunes of the violin
players. A string quartet joined them, adding music from a stage. At first
Katrina danced with Dave, then I did. Then a man, letting go of his wife
after a dance, approached me. He asked me to dance and I said Ôyes.Õ As he
offered me his hands and I reached for them, my shawl opened. He gasped
as he saw the nakedness of my breasts. Quickly I pressed my chest to his
to hide my nudity from the crowd. My arms, caped in the shawl, kept me
from being seen behind the concealing billows of silk. His shirt was white
and crisp. It felt good against my nipples. I let my head rest on the upper
part of his chest. He gazed down at me, wondering at my youth, my
boldness. I looked up at him and smiled.
ÒI like your costume,Ó the stranger said to me.
ÒI like yours,Ó I answered. I could feel the jutting of his thing in the
groin of his Colonial-style breeches. He wore boots on his calves. They
were black and well-polished. He stepped carefully as we danced so as
not to step on my small, pretty feet under my skirts.
We parted when the tune ended. I closed my shawl with my hand
before anyone could see how naked I was. They might, if the light were
strong, see my nipples through the sheer billows, but in this restaurant it
was too dark. Candlelight was its only illumination. The man gazed at me.
I smiled, turned, found another stranger waiting hopefully for my hand. I
accepted. He gasped as the first had done, as I raised my hands to take
his. I liked the feel of his crisp new shirt too.
We departed from the restaurant. We floated through a crowd of
gondolas now. The city was busy with life. I saw all sorts of costumes.
Women wore masks with flamingoÕs feathers, or the feathers of eagles.
Katrina and I used ours only sparingly, too delighted by what we saw to
try peeking at it from behind a maskÕs eyeslits. I saw a woman with a
long cape, open in front, and under it she wore only a sheer pantsuit. It
was all silk and decorated with a patterned design. Another woman wore
a sumptous blue coat. It looked like a fur coat but it was made entirely of
blue feathers. She was standing in her gondola and under the coat, which
extended to just her waist, she wore a cape, and under that a thigh-length
negligee. It was sheer, and hung open in front, just like her cape and her
feathery coat. Under it she was bare, save for a lingerie bra and panties.
They were blue, semi-sheer, richly patterned with lace. I looked at her
naked legs, her bare tummy. She caught my eye, smiled. Then she slipped
her mask in front of her face, hiding her eyes. But the rest of her
remained on view to whomever might care to gaze at her lovely figure.
Katrina reached across DaveÕs lap. She put her hand between his
legs, which were casually spread, and squeezed his crotch. Dave grunted.
The woman smiled, seeing it, though she kept her mask over her eyes.
ÒYouÕre looking at that woman, arenÕt you?Ó Katrina asked.
ÒUh, yeah, howÕd you guess?Ó Dave replied. Katrina massaged the
bulge where his prick was straining to release itself from his pants. He
wore Colonial breeches, like the man whoÕd danced with me.
ÒSheÕs lovely, and has a beautiful costume,Ó Katrina said. I sensed a
hint of jealousy in her voice. Our gondola approached the woman and her
two lovers. I saw she was young, perhaps as young as Katrina and myself.
Both the men were much older. She stood between them, and at first I
envied her, thinking her the wise owner of two perfect studs. Then I
realized that perhaps it was they who owned her. There was a collar
around her neck and one of the men held a leash in his hand that connected
to her collar. The other man, garbed like a prince on his way to his stables
for a bit of evening riding, held a long, whippy crop.
ÒTogether we would exactly equal each other,Ó Dave called to the
trio.
ÒYes we would,Ó one of the men grinned back. The young woman
looked from DaveÕs crotch to Katrina and I. Katrina drew back her hand,
replaced it on her lap. DaveÕs bulge remained in the front of his pants. He
did not close his legs to hide it.
ÒWeÕre going dancing,Ó the man with the leash said. He nodded
behind himself, toward a building with flashing lights on his exterior.
ÒClub Go,Ó it said in bright letters. Sound from its interior drifted out
across the water of the Grand Canal. It was modern-sounding, not slow
and romantic like the music weÕd danced to after dinner.
ÒWeÕre going there too,Ó Dave replied. Our gondola passed theirs. I
glanced back. I saw the man with the crop lift the back of the young
womanÕs cape, her coat, her negligee. Then the other man, the one with
the leash, grabbed her panties from behind and yanked them down to her
thighs.
ÒLook!Ó I breathed, as I saw her white nether cheeks exposed to my
view. Dave turned. Katrina turned. Suddenly the man with the crop drew
it back and applied a single, swift loud CRACK! to the behind of the woman.
She shrieked. Her voice carried across the water of the canal. As soon as
the blow had been delivered, the man with the crop let go of her clothing.
As quickly as sheÕd been bared, she was covered, except for the panties
which I knew must still ring her thighs, under her negligee and her cape
and her coat. Unsteadily the woman sat down in the gondola. The two men
sat down beside her. Their gondolier, as if nothing had happened, began
singing a slow, romantic song. Their craft began a meandering turn and
shortly was following us toward the nightclub. Partiers in the other
boats, momentarily distracted, glanced toward the sound of the shriek,
saw nothing, save a slowly moving boat with a happy, singing gondolier
and three occupants. Did they know? Had any of them seen what IÕd seen?
I couldnÕt be sure. Perhaps, perhaps not. I guessed not. It had been to
brief, too quick. Other people were standing in their gondolas, to talk or
to throw confetti out on the water. Others were sitting. The festivities
continued.
Our gondola arrived at the landing of the Club. Dave got out, then
helped Katrina, then me. The gondola with the girl whoÕd been whipped
pulled up behind ours. I saw her struggling to get her panties back up,
under her many outer garments, before she was required to stand up and
get out. She succeeded, the men seemed not to notice, or to care. She
adjusted her bottom on the seat she shared with them. When one of the
men rose from her gondola, stepped out, and then turned to help her out in
turn, she seemed relieved at the opportunity to rise and get off her seat.
As she stepped from the gondola the other man, behind her, gave her a
friendly push on her ass. She winced. I looked at her. Her eyes met mine
and she blushed.
ÒYou have cruel boyfriends,Ó I said to her as she approached me. She
was blonde, like me, almost my same height but a little taller. She had
promient breasts like my own. They pushed out between the open halves
of her garments. I envied her bra. I had none. Hers was quite pretty. I
knew it would fit me if I wore it.
ÒI know,Ó she answered. She would have stepped closer to me,
perhaps for solace, but one of her boyfriends caught at her leash and
pulled it tight. She stopped in mid-step, yanked back by her neck. Then he
turned, handed something to their gondolier. I imagined it was a large tip.
Dave tipped ours. He said Ôthank youÕ in Italian. ÒI only just met them
too,Ó the young woman said to me. She lifted a finger to her throat and
pulled with it at the leather collar that bound her neck. I saw it was a
dogÕs collar.
We walked across the clubÕs landing to its front door. Three men,
three women, forming two mis-matched couples by gender, all of us
costumed. The doorman took money from Dave. He seemed not to mind my
age, or not to notice. We slipped inside. The couple behind us, with their
female on a leash, passed the doorman as easily as we had. It was
Carnival. The rules that might rein at other times had been suspended.
The interior of the club pulsed with life. I saw both costumed
dancers and casually-dressed tourists. They intermingled, easily, dancing
with each other as if all dressed alike. A flash of light struck my breasts
and illuminated my nipples. It passed away, just as quickly, but another
followed soon, in time with the music, briefly showing my nudity to the
crowd. We walked onto the dance floor. We were eager to dance. I began
dancing with Katrina and Dave, as before, but a young man intruded and
lured me away. He seemed surprised when a beam of pulsating light
illuminated my nipples under my silken shawl. I smiled. I glanced at his
legs and saw he was indiscreet, himself. There was a huge bulge in the
front of his pants.
ÒDid you bring your kitchen sink along?Ó I asked chidingly, feeling
mischievous. He followed my eyes. He saw himself. The tightness in the
front of him pants must have been killing him.
ÒI wish I could dance like you,Ó he said, lifting his eyes to my
breasts. I smiled, let go of my shawl. It fell open and my breasts showed
themselves. They swung and bounced as I danced with vigorous speed. My
hips pushed forward, drew back, gyrated. I felt my skirts modestly
swirling around my feet while my breasts jiggled wildly on my chest.
Others looked, I did not mind. I saw another woman with her breasts bared
like mine were. It was fun. It was permissible, at Carnival.
I did not leave any hearts unbroken. I danced with every man who
asked, dumping him as quickly as IÕd let him into my life, so I could meet
still more men. The music filled my ears and vibrated inside my body. I
saw the young woman whoÕd been whipped out on the canal. She was
dancing, happy now. Her leash hung free from her body. It whipped about
as she danced, striking others. They seemed too entranced with her
beauty, with the seductiveness of her costume, to mind. I saw Katrina
too, dancing with Dave a lot, but not always. Once I saw her dancing with
one of the men whoÕd cropped the girl in the gondola. She let her nipples
show. They looked like twin treats, perched up above her bra, pushed up so
that no eye, however unobservant, could miss them. Her nipples were
stiff.
The man with the crop, which he now had thrust through a belt round
his waist, so he could dance, pulled Dave aside. I saw him whisper into
DaveÕs ear. Dave nodded. When there was a break in the music they walked
over to me.
ÒWhereÕs Katrina?Ó Dave asked.
ÒOver there,Ó I said, pointing. She was dancing with the man who
had been fond of the feathery girlÕs leash.
ÒAnnabelle, come,Ó the man with the crop called out. I saw the girl
in the feathery coat turn. She bade goodbye to the young man sheÕd been
dancing with. She crossed the dance floor, weaving through the crowd of
dancers.
ÒYes?Ó Annabelle asked pertly. She lifted her eyes to the man with
the crop as a child might, obedient.
ÒWe will go now,Ó the man replied.
ÒWe will go with them,Ó Dave told me. He gestured toward the man
with the crop. ÒThis is Carl,Ó he said. The other man, with Katrina, came
up beside us. ÒAnd this is Jake,Ó he said. I nodded, not sure what to do. I
wished to keep dancing, but I seemed not to have been asked for my
opinion. Katrina took my hand and looked at me anxiously.
ÒWhere are we going?Ó I asked her.
ÒDownstairs,Ó she said in a hushed voice.
ÒCan we dance downstairs?Ó I asked, curious.
ÒYes. Yes you can,Ó Jake grinned at me. But I didnÕt like his smile,
for some reason, and looked quickly away. He grasped AnnabellÕs leash and
urged her forward.
We walked through the club. At the rear, through the parting of
people as we made our way, there appeared a door. It was painted green
and had a doorman standing by it. He looked at me rather suspiciously,
then at Katrina, at Dave. Dave pulled out some bills and paid him.
Overpaid him, perhaps. The doorman opened the door for us. We passed
through to a flight of steps. They descended down a narrow staircase.
There was no railing, just the steps, and steeply rising walls on either
side of them. A single bare bulb, hanging from the ceiling, illuminated the
passageway. Dave went first. He made Katrina hold his hand so she
wouldnÕt fall. I held KatrinaÕs other hand, following her. I heard the two
men and Annabell come through the door behind us. I turned once, briefly.
I saw an ashen look on AnnabellÕs face. It made me shiver. Why was she
sad? WeÕd been admitted. We were going to dance more privately, that
was all. There was no need to be sorry about it. Perhaps this was a more
exclusive place we were going to, surely it must be. I liked dancing. It
didnÕt matter to me where I danced, so long as I could.
As we descended the steps I realized we were climbing down below
the surface of the canal to our rear. I hoped it would stay in its place. I
didnÕt want to find myself being flooded, down here, like IÕd flooded the
bathroom at the hotel.
Dave opened a door at the base of the steps. We went in. Him first,
then Katrina. At once I heard her gasp, sharply. Yet, still holding her hand,
I allowed her to pull me in behind her.
My God! I couldnÕt believe my eyes! I saw we were in a large, bare
room. Its walls were as bare as the walls of the steps weÕd just
descended. In the middle of the room was a large stone block. A nude girl
was stretched across it. Her hair was coiffed, pinned up neatly, and her
face was painted as prettily as mine, I saw, when she turned her head to
look behind herself. But the similarity between us ended there. Her dress,
which sheÕd apparently been wearing, was held by a costumed woman. She
had it folded over her arms. The girl on the block was on her knees. Her
arms were chained to manacles in front of the block. They were made of
old, rusted iron, but they seemed to hold her fast all the same. I saw
someone had made her don cotton wristlets, as if she were going out for a
round of tennis. They protected her wrists and kept them from chafing
against the rusted iron. Behind her, her legs were also bound. They were
forced apart in a wide vee. Her fig nestled tightly between her splayed
thighs. Its only covering was a light fringe of pubic hair. The room was
brightly lit, especially where they block lay. The poor girl had no hope of
remaining modest. Her ankles, like her wrists, were banded with small
cotton bands, to protect her from the rusted iron manacles which held her
feet. She looked straight at me. I donÕt think she even noticed me, though,
for she was trying to see the brutish man who stood behind her. In
contrast to her lily-white skin, he was tanned and swarthy. He had on a
hood, masking his face, but from the rough, gnarled look of his limbs, the
excessive hairiness of them, I guessed he was no handsomer under his
hood than he was across the rest of his body. He was tall, but stocky, and
seemed most disagreeable to me, for he wore an undershirt, stained with
sweat, and had a fat belly. He reminded me of sergeants in the Army,
strong but fat too, a sort of sergeant-biker, with his fat belly and his
black hood and the tight black pants he wore. They ended at his knees,
leaving his calves bare. His calves were as hairy as the rest of him. On
his feet he had boots, but they lacked polish and ended round his ankles,
like short little galoshes a pervert might wear, exposing himself on dark
nights in the park.
Two men, gaily costumed, and much better looking than the
executioner (for what else could he be, with his hood?) checked the bonds
of the girl over the block. She struggled. It was hopeless. A woman in the
crowd laughed, not without pleasure, at her struggles. Under the girlÕs
belly someone had placed a worn cushion. But her breasts dangled free,
off the block, twin pendant ripe fruits, waiting to be spurred into wildly
swinging action.
The executioner held aloft a long whip. The two men who had bound
the girl to the block stepped back. The whip looked menacing. They did
not wish to be struck by it. One of them handed the executioner a wad of
bills. He took it, looked at it, counted it quickly with just his thumb,
going through the bills like a man in a fish market might, in the dead of
winter, counting the bills hastily because the cold was worse than being
underpaid. But here, in this brightly lit room, the denominations on the
bills looked generous. There was too much in the wad, if anything, not too
little, but the executioner pocketed it all.
ÒWe are in luck,Ó Dave said quietly to myself, to Katrina. ÒThey are
just starting.Ó I saw another girl, still in the crowd, but standing slightly
apart from it, being undressed by a man and a woman. They helped her out
of her costume. She was young, young as the first, over the block. She
glanced worriedly from the woman to the man but said nothing. Her
breasts were revealed, her belly. The woman, getting her dress to her
hips, pushed it down off them with the help of the man. They handled her
gently, yet I knew what they must be undressing her for. I saw her pubis.
I did not want to be like this, in this room, seeing poor girls undressed to
be beaten, but I was so transfixed by the scene I could not turn away.
Annabelle entered behind us. I heard her gasp, a small frightened yelp.
Then she was quiet. Her boyfriend held her by her leash.
ÒWhatÕll it be?Ó the executioner asked the man who had paid him.
ÒHow severe can you make it?Ó the costumed gentleman inquired.
The executioner laughed. It was a sharp, unpleasant laugh. His big belly
shook as he laughed.
ÒI can kill her with this,Ó he said, dangling the whip before the
manÕs face.
ÒNot - not that severe,Ó the costumed gentleman replied.
ÒWe still have other uses for her,Ó the other man, his companion,
told the executioner.
ÒJust the bottom,Ó the first of the poor, unfortunate femaleÕs
boyfriends told the executioner. ÒSmarten her up a bit. You know, give her
something to remember you by.Ó
ÒPermanent?Ó the executioner asked. His voice was gruff. He
seemed bored by the menÕs inexperience in such matters.
ÒNo. Not permanent,Ó the second man said. ÒA good, thorough
striping, thatÕs all. We donÕt want her tattooed with the thing. Just a
good lashing to make her ship shape.Ó
ÒShip shape,Ó the executioner said, rolling his eyes. ÒIÕll whip her
into shape alright, but she wonÕt be able to sit down for a few weeks.Ó
ÒA few days,Ó the second man, who seemed slightly better versed in
things whippable, said to the executioner. His companion nodded, mutely.
The executioner yawned.
ÒNobody ever really exercises my talents,Ó the executioner said.
ÒOkay, a thorough whipping, but donÕt leave anything for her to remember
ME by, eh? IÕm just a hired hand.Ó
ÒThatÕs right,Ó the second man said, firmly.
ÒItÕll hurt like hell all the same,Ó the executioner told him.
ÒThatÕs what we want,Ó the second man said.
The man and the woman whoÕd just finished undressing the girl who
would follow whispered in her ears. They seemed to be trying to comfort
her. She was shaking. Her knees wobbled. The woman bent and lifted her
leg and extended it. I could see the girlÕs puss, up between her legs. The
girl stared at her ankle, and watched as the woman slipped a cotton anklet
around it.
My eyes scanned the room, perhaps looking for the brave little
toaster who would appear, or some more manly hero, and stop the
proceedings. Instead, all the men seemed transfixed by the plight of the
pretty coiffed girl poised over the block. The women, wickedly, seemed as
entranced as the men. Yet among some younger girls, at least, girls like
me, I saw troubled faces. Was there excitement mixed with their worry?
I guessed there must be, for I felt it in myself. My nipples were stiff on
my breasts. I saw eyes glance at me and, among those nearest to me, they
discovered my secret. I wore an elegant dress, but my breasts were
utterly bare. They could see my flesh, my red nipples. I blushed, I hung my
head.
SCREEEEAAACK! All heads snapped to the center of the room. I felt
my own lift, stare, as a wild shriek escaped the girl bound over the block.
I watched as her bottom tensed, contracted, a new red line marking its
otherwise pure, lovely white surface. My hands flew to my own bottom in
empathy. Is that how IÕd looked, when IÕd tasted the crop at SvetlanaÕs?
Yet this was no delicately-tailed crop the executioner swung. It was a
bullwhip. Made for big, sturdy bulls, yet used instead on this soft young
girlÕs bottom.
ÒOhhhhh---aghghgh!Ó the blonde with the coiffed hair cried. Her
bottom relaxed, then tightened again. She bit her lip and ground her teeth.
Her hips waggled. She could not escape her fate, but at least her voice
could escape, to our listening ears, and she could shake her ass for all it
was worth. She was caught, pinned by her limbs to the floor, but her
lovers had wickedly left her ass room to shake and to strive under the
lash. The pretty victim relaxed her cheeks again, then tightened them
once more, squeezing them repeatedly to try to throw off, or at least to
better endure, the whipÕs sting.
Oh, why must men find delight in such awful things, I wondered? I
looked again through the silent figures standing in the room, looking for a
hero. I saw a tourist girl, young like myself, flanked by a man and a
woman. She gave them beseeching looks. Though neither she nor they
were decked out in costumes, theyÕd decided that they would participate
in the Carnival after all. In its deepest, most intimate ritual, here in the
room that was submerged under the water level of the Grand Canal. As the
girl watched their hands, her two lovers began to undress her. She lifted a
hand of her own, tried to resist, but the woman slapped it away. Casually,
as if the girl had no right to refuse, or even to complain. Glumly the girl
saw her blouse undone, her shoes untied, her shorts lowered. Then the
man, with a flourish, as if unwrapping a precious gift, but one meant to be
consumed, like Christmas sweets, lowered the girlÕs white panties. She
was left standing half-naked, her bare pubis showing while her bra
remained on her chest and her small, pink socks still carefully sheathed
her small feet.
The girl over the block was still grinding her hips into the pillow
atop the stone. Her asscheeks contracted and relaxed, rhythmically,
rudely. She still bore but one stripe. The executioner, less vulgar than I
had first thought him, was letting her make a show of herself (though she
had little choice in it), and to be admired. She did, I had to admit to
myself, have a lovely round bottom. With the application of the whip, it
was made to move in sensuous ways that could only have been imagined
without it. Tensing, releasing, tightening again at the thought of what
still lay ahead, for the executioner, to keep the girlÕs mind absolutely on
him, struck his whip aimlessly against the floor.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Each slap of the whip upon the floor caused
the girl to start, to freeze, expecting it was her the whip would connect
with. When it proved to be only the hard, stone floor, she seemed relieved,
yet frightened too, for it meant she still had to wait for what was yet to
come.
ÒOh, please! Get it over with!Ó the pretty small blonde said at last.
She lifted her head, tried to free herself. I watched her legs straighten
and she tried to pull her feet from the manacles. Her bottom hung quietly,
still flexing a little, but waiting now, waiting for the inexorable moment
when she would be struck again.
A low wooden bench was set near the block. It was empty. I had
thought little of it, barely noticed it. Yet now, I saw the girl who was
waiting to be whipped led forward by her lovers. She was nude. The
woman carried her clothes. A man IÕd not noticed, one of many costumed
revellers, turned and received the girl from her lovers. He bade her to turn
and, drawing a rope from his coat pocket, he pulled her hands behind her
back. Quickly he knotted the rope around her wrists. Then he took her by
her small, diminutive shoulders and pushed her ahead of him. They walked
round to the front of the bench. He sat her down. She tried glancing down,
perhaps to check for splinters in the wood, but he plopped her right down,
before she could look, and told her not to move. He left her there, walked
back behind the bench, and turned his eyes to the fate of the girl over the
block. I did not like him. He was old, grey-haired. Yet he had a
magisterial look about him, as of an ancient inquisitor, or bishop, or
judge, passing upon the fate of those who fell into his grasp. All were
guilty. All had to be delivered to the executioner for a penitential
flogging. With serene eyes he gazed at the gasping girl over the block. He
apprised himself of the state of her bottom as a judge might, reviewing a
paroleeÕs sentence. Yet he kept silent, for it was the girlÕs two male
lovers who got to choose what would be done to her.
I started. I felt fingers at my back. I twisted my head back.
ÒNo!Ó I breathed. My voice would have been louder, but I was too
frightened to speak in the hushed silence of this wanton, buried room.
ÒYes,Ó Dave replied. Katrina sidled up to me and took my hand. She
smiled. A little abashedly, yet pleasantly, as if she had already resigned
herself to DaveÕs suggestion that I be put over the block.
ÒI must see him do it to you,Ó Dave whispered in my ear. His words
sent an erotic thrill up my spine, even as my mind reeled. He had picked
me! Not Katrina, but me! For this most intimate act it was me he wished
to see.
ÒI- I do not wish to,Ó I said. I felt my breasts rise and fall as I
spoke, softly, so as not to be heard except by Dave. He towered behind me,
kept unbuttoning my dress. I felt it open in back and the air of the room,
slightly dank, cool despite the bright lights, touched my shoulders, my
shoulder blades. My spine tensed. Dave kept unbuttoning. I felt his hands,
behind me, spread my dress open. Katrina untied the shawl where it
attached to my wrists. Then she reached up behind my neck, and untied it
there. My dress was dropped to the floor. My shawl was lifted off by
Katrina. I looked down over my breasts, at my knees. They wiggled in and
out, back and forth, nervously, as if I had to go to the bathroom.
Eyes drifted toward me. Dave grasped my wrists and pulled them
behind me. Then he pushed me forward. I found myself padding barefoot
across the room. My naked bosoms bounced in time with my stride. The
minister of the whip (what else to call him?) received me. He turned me,
took my hands, bound them with rope. Then he sat me down, next to the
other girl. As soon as I sat, the girl who was a tourist was brought
forward. She still wore her bra. The minister, receiving her, told her
lovers to take it off. They complied. Her young breasts sprang into view.
They were like delectable fruit released from a basket. Plump peaches,
with hard pink-tipped nipples.
ÒShe will not scrape them on the block?Ó the woman asked the
minister.
ÒNo. SheÕll be pushed forward, like the blonde, so her breasts dangle
freely,Ó the minister answered. Then, with the greatest deference, he
asked the girl, ÒWould you like to keep on your socks, or should I take them
off?Ó
The girl nodded, mutely. The minister looked bemused. Then,
smiling, he said, ÒI know not for which answer you nod, but the floor is
cold. Keep your socks.Ó He smiled. He brought her round to the front of
her bench and sat her down. I envied her socks. The floor was cold and I
sat with my feet poised, only my toes touching it, to keep my feet from
getting cold. The nude girl next to me, who would be second over the
block, sat with her feet poised like mine. Thanks to her socks, the tourist
girl was able to sit with her feet flat on the floor.
WHACKCK! The tourist girlÕs knees jumped at the sound of the whip.
ÒEeeeyooooh!Ó the blonde over the block shouted. She had finally
gotten her second stroke. Two red lines now marked her bottom. She
strove to escape, to rise, but the block held her fast. Her ass ground its
cheeks together, uselessly, a consolation prize for being unable to escape.
Tears plopped from her eyes and hit the floor. Her mouth drank in air and
her young breasts waggled wildly on her chest. Her back arched, her
bottom jutted into the air, then shrank as the sound of the whip hitting
the floor met her ears.
Time passed. The blonde took another stroke, a fourth, each
measured for the maximum impact, each separated by a long interval so
she could fully taste and absorb the whipÕs sting.
ÒMay I fuck her?Ó one of the girlÕs lovers asked at last. Boldly he
unzipped the fly of his trousers. The executioner looked at the minister.
ÒDo not drop your pants,Ó the minister said. ÒIt would be unseemly.
A certain decorum must be maintained. But if you wish to, ah, release
yourself, and have your way with her, I shanÕt object.Ó
ÒThanks,Ó the man answered. To the delight of the women in the
room, he pulled forth a huge, snake-like penis. It wobbled on the air. I
heard the tourist girl gasp beside me. How heÕd managed to keep that big
thing confined in his pants, I had no idea. The man, his dick now exposed
to the air, hard and pulsing, turned to his companion. ÒIÕll do her cunt, you
do her ass,Ó he said, matter-of-factly, as if discussing who would drive to
a sporting event, and who would take the wheel on the way home.
ÒSure,Ó the other man said.
I closed my eyes as the girl received her lover. She was
embarrassed, and her bottom was sore, as she was quick to point out to
him, but one could not say that, when he was fully within her, she didnÕt
enjoy him. I heard her sigh and gasp. I heard him grunt happily. He
sounded like a hedgehog rooting in the bushes, content and happy as he dug
into her with his cock.
Then the other lover, the one assigned her nether route, took his
place. The girl screamed at this. She did not want her bottom fucked. I
could hardly blame her, having tasted it once myself. I glanced at Dave.
He grinned at me, wickedly. I looked away and shut my eyes again.
The girl was at last released. She couldnÕt get up. Her lovers had to
lift her and carry her back down into the crowd. There, at the back of the
room, I saw them sit her flaming bottom into a big wooden tub. It
apparently had ice water in it, for she shrieked at the first touch of the
chilly water on her bottom. It was big a wooden tub. The men sat her over
its lip. Her feet dangled outside the tub. A soft pink towel hung over the
tubÕs lip, to protect the undersides of her knees from the raw slatted
boards that made up the top and sides of the tub. The men supported the
girl as she sat. They held her arms, so she would not topple backward into
the tub. A woman approached, took out a towellette, and daubed at the
girlÕs eyes.
ÒThere, there,Ó I thought I heard her say to the girl. The girl
sniffled. She must have tensed her bottom for suddenly her mouth gasped,
worked in a kind of rictus of pain, and then stilled again. Oh, how sore she
must be behind, I thought, gazing at her. How awful that I too was fated
to undergo the same journey, strapped to the block, flogged, fucked, and
finally dealt with a little more tenderly, by a woman with cheap moist
towelettes.
The journey for the girl beside me had already begun. The man and
the woman who had undressed her now fitted her arms and legs into the
manacles alongside the block. The rope that had bound her wrists lay
untied on the floor. The minister walked over to it, picked it up. He put it
back into his pocket.
Her punishment was delivered. When it was through her lover, the
male, ground himself into her newly injured backside. And then, seeing
her released, I knew my own turn had come.
I did not wait for them to come and get me. As soon as the girl
ahead of me had been lifted up from the block, I rose from the bench. The
minister, thinking I was trying to escape, darted forward. But he did not
stop me when he saw my intention. With my chin lifted high, my pretty
coifs bouncing on my cheeks and down the back of my neck, I walked
proudly up to the block. I felt my breasts bobbing on my chest and heard a
gasp from the crowd. No other girl had shown such temerity. I reached
the block, looked down upon it. Then, carefully, I bent my knees. The
minister rushed forward and caught me round my tummy before I could, as
IÕd intended, drop my knees to the stone floor. He lowered me gently, lest
I lose my balance and hurt myself. My knees touched the stone floor
gracefully, lightly. He eased me forward. I felt my belly touch the worn
cushion atop the block. It was damp from the sweat of the other girls.
There was a stain of semen upon it where a male lover had given his all.
Yet, in its way, it was comfortable. I let my weight bear down upon it. I
felt like a fish put over the block at a fishmarket, or weighed, wiggling
still with life, in a scale. My arms were bound behind me and my head and
breasts hung low to the floor on the far side of the block. My hair dangled
down off my head, long loose curls of blonde hair glowing under the bright
lights that flooded the area round the block.
ÒOh, she is so brave -- and so young!Ó I heard a woman exclaim. I
heard zippers unzipping. Men, unable to contain themselves at the sight of
my willingness, presented themselves in the crowd. They found female
hands to work their stiff rods or, absent that, began pleasuring
themselves. I felt a thrill of excitement. I was victim, yet inspiration
too. As I heard zipper after zipper undone I realized not a man in the room
could contain himself at the sight of my young, voluptuous body placed so
receptively over the block. To tease them, I willingly spread my legs. I
straightened them. I was mindful, too, of the whip, and glanced back,
anxiously, yet I couldnÕt resist causing all the men to milk themselves at
the sight of my open cunt.
ÒAh, God!Ó I heard a man exclaim. I looked round to see if I could
catch sight of Dave. Turning my head, looking far back behind myself, I
saw him. He was out too! His big banana-like prick hung stiffly in front
of him. Katrina, a little ashamed to be touching him so publicly,
nonetheless flitted her hands in admiration over his organ. I saw DaveÕs
face, casual at first, tense.
ÒNot yet,Ó I thought I saw Katrina mouth. Not yet, wait Ôtil sheÕs
whipped, donÕt spend on the floor, I knew she must be saying. Dave was
twice her age, but with his thing forced from him pants and in her hands,
he was like a small boy too, being tutored.
ÒSo this one thinks she can challenge me, eh?Ó I heard the
executioner grouse. His whip hit the floor. I froze. My knees locked. My
elbows straightened.
ÒAh, you are not insensitve then,Ó the minister said gaily, in my ear.
He unbound my wrists. ÒI was worried, thought perhaps a girl your age had
somehow matured too quickly.Ó
No, I had not been, I assured him. Not by speaking, but by suddenly
beginning to shiver involuntarily. What was I doing? Oh, that whip would
hurt! It would make me scream. I would be debased and fucked and left to
the care of a woman and her disposable moist towellettes. I resoved to
trick them, to leap up and run. But suddenly, in my fear, I found that all
my limbs had turned to water. They were lifeless. I could not move them.
But the minister moved them, and gently clothed them in cotton wristlets
and anklets. Then, as I felt the life begin to return to my limbs, he locked
them swiftly into the rusty old manacles.
I wriggled hard over the block. I tried to rise, pressing my tummy
into the pillow for leverage. I felt my ribs bulge from my sides with the
effort.
ÒAh, she is so slim,Ó I heard a woman say.
ÒYet with a bumptious bottom,Ó I heard another add. Traitors! I
thought.
ÒPlease not too hard,Ó I squeaked to the minister. He lingered by my
face, contemplating me. He cupped my chin. He raised it. Helplessly my
breasts dangled heavily beneath me.
ÒYes,Ó the minister assured me. ÒQuite hard.Ó He saw me gasp. My
limbs quivered still. My springy nipples danced in the air, at the tips of
my pendant breasts. I felt a sense of deep communion with him, somehow.
HeÕd placed the old rusted manacles on my hands and wrists himself, and
protected them first, so considerately, with the small cotton wristlets.
It was as if the rings were extensions of his body. It was his strength
holding me, I felt, though in fact he had cheated and used evil clamps to
hold me down. He squeezed my cheeks, my jaws. My lips puckered into a
receptive O.
ÒYou adore the attention, donÕt you?Ó the minister said to me. His
voice did not accuse. It seemed to express understanding. I tried to shake
my head Ôno.Õ His hand gripped my face. I could not move it. My lips tried
to move but remained in the forced O of receptivity.
My eyes glanced down fearfully. Beyond the thickness of his wrist I
saw his crotch. It bulged. Despite his grey hair, his age, he sported a hard
on. I marvelled at it. In his youth he must have been a stallion, I thought,
having any girl he pleased, breaking many hearts. Now, lined with age, he
retained his virility still. I wished suddenly I could kiss him there,
console him, forgive him all his years and make him young again. Just as
quickly my mind recoiled. No! He was old and I was young. We did not
belong together. Yet, in his menancing, prying hands, I felt a kind of
security. He was wise, graceful in his cruelty, knowing just how far to
push a girl, I sensed... and when to stop.
ÒIÕm-- IÕm a virgin,Ó I managed to stammer through my pursed lips.
He stroked my hair. He coiled a finger in the ringlets that made up my
coiffure.
ÒThen this is your audition,Ó he replied, suavely. ÒYour grand
opening.Ó
ÒNo!Ó I squeaked. My eyes gazed at his crotch. At any moment I
expected him to unzip himself and make me take him. I did not want to
take him, ever. He was old. I was just a baby.
Every man in the room now had his penis out. I did not have to look
to know this. I could hear the sighs, the grunts of male pleasure, as the
woman present pleasured them. It was, I knew, a light pressure they
applied, just a touch of fingertips. The men were being teased, prepared.
At the right moment an orgy would begin. Then all would be wild,
unscripted. Now a rude decorum still obtained, the menÕs pricks out, the
females slowly bringing them to the brink of madness.
I lay over the block. I felt the length of my long legs, pinned at the
feet, rising in sweet slim lines to the apex where my cunt lay. It showed
itself between them. Fleecy, inviting, virgin. I felt a wetness upon its
lips.
The minister thrust his hips forward. I gasped.
ÒTake my zipper with your teeth,Ó the minister hissed at me. His
voice sounded like that of a snake. I shivered. I resisted. His hand, under
my chin, forced my face forward. My knees bent in rebellion, my hips
bucked, but I could no more refuse him than a horse could, locked into a
mating box. I felt my lips press against the sharp coldness of his zipper.
Unwillingly, his fingers gripping my cheeks, I bit the metal tab. In a
sudden act of vengeance, feeling so exposed myself, I yanked it down.
ÒGood. More, more,Ó the minister murmured. I saw his underpants
bulge up between his opened zipper teeth. They bumped my nose. I
smelled a musky scent. Unwillingly, guided by his fingers on my chin, I
tugged the metal tab of his zipper to the very bottom of his fly. ÒNow dig
it out,Ó the minister snarled at me. He squeezed my cheeks harder. My
lips pursed more. I could not keep from doing as he ordered. My lovely
curls hung down round my face, my eyes, down the back of my neck,
shivering, as he forced my perfectly coiffed head into his crotch. I
smelled his lust, his need. I licked involuntarily at his underpants, hoping
that was all he wished.
ÒDonÕt get my shorts all wet. Pull out my penis!Ó the minister told
me angrily. I heard laughter somewhere, behind me, all around me. People
were enjoying my torment. The executioner waited with his bullwhip for
permission to flay my naked ass.
I sucked at him. I strove with my lips to open his underpants. ÒSuck
harder,Ó he ordered. He reached down and sliced two of his fingers
between us; between my lips and his awful thing. He used them to help
me, opening his cotton fly in his underpants so I could more easily pull out
his organ with my mouth.
ÒAck!Ó I cried. I felt the fleshy strength of his penis against my
lips. He pursed them harder. I was young. I might bite him if he wasnÕt
careful. He kept my lips pushed out so that I could not get my teeth on
him.
ÒSuck it out,Ó the minister ordered me, again. I pressed my lips
against his cock. It felt like I was kissing the back of a snake.
Somewhere, buried in his underpants, lay the cock head, hidden from me
still. I extended my tongue between my lips and licked along the shaft of
his trapped cock. ÒSuck,Ó he ordered. I withdrew my tounge. I kissed hard
with my lips against his cock. I sucked. I pulled at his organ, searching
along the shaft of his cock for the still-buried head.
ÒEeeek!Ó I shouted. Suddenly his head popped out. It landed right in
my lips. I silenced my scream. I heard him yell at me to suck him. I felt
my lips, split wide by his massive organÕs head, begin to suck upon him as
one sucks upon a straw. His pre-cum oozed into my mouth. It was salty. I
was repelled by it. My tummy tightened. My hips bucked again upon the
block. There was laughter. I heard a rustle of skirts as several women,
inspired, apparently knelt upon the floor to service the cocks of their men.
ÒIt is good,Ó the minister said. Abruptly he drew back. It was good,
for him, for I was just pressing my teeth to the skin of his cockhead when
he pulled it from me. Another moment and I might have succeeded in
biting him. I longed to do it. He deserved it. He would torture no more
girls with his wicked thing if I bit it off.
ÒSheÕs all yours,Ó I heard the minister say. He stepped away from
me. I heard a crack. I sobbed, clenched my cheeks. My bottom wobbled
naked on the block. I flexed my ass, realized it had only been the floor the
executioner had struck. I sighed, whimpered. My apple-round bottom, its
cheeks split receptively, waited.
ÒShe is a virgin!Ó I heard a male exclaim. The minister, wicked man,
had shared my secret. There was laughter.
ÒShe will not be, after tonight,Ó I heard another male say.
ÒShe wishes to lose it theatrically, or is afraid to consent,Ó a
woman said.
ÒShe wants to be brought to it. Some girls are that way. They
cannot bear to just say Ôyes,ÕÓ a woman added. Several men groaned. They
lost themselves, I think, in their wives mouths, upon hearing,
unexpectedly, of my virgin state.
ÒGive her bottom a good licking,Ó a woman declared. ÒShe wants to
be punished for giving herself away tonight.Ó
Did I? I wondered. No, surely that was not it. IÕd been struck by the
cat at SvetlanaÕs and that had been no pleasure, except perhaps
afterwards, when it left my bottom strangely glowing. I struggled again
to get up. The manacles that held me were old, rusty. I was young.
Perhaps I could break them.
A sudden touch upon my bottom. Fierce, hot. It splatted across both
my cheeks and impressed itself into them. A moment later it was gone.
The sound of its cracking rang in my ears.
ÒEeeeeeyaaah!Ó I cried. The whip! It had struck me at last! I felt my
bottom cringe, release, cringe again. I jammed my cheeks together. I felt
them open. Air touched my bottom now, nothing more, yet my cheeks were
raging. Oh, how they hurt. A bright red line, I knew, now spoiled the lily-
skinned purity of my ass.
Laughter. More groans as yet more men spent into their wives hands
and mouths, or hung uncertainly at the brink, striving, fighting, to hold
themselves back under the assault of my sufferings, my screams. Did they
find this sexy, seeing me splayed like this over the block? Wicked men!
Yet I could only cry, spill my tears upon the floor. It was damp, wet from
the tears of the girls who had preceeded me.
ÒSee how she works her cheeks. So round, so pretty. They should
make this an event at the Olympics!Ó a woman remarked. She sounded old,
mature. Decadant, like the minister. I rebelled against my bonds and tried
again to free myself. It was no use. The iron held me fast. I gasped,
sagged. My bosoms swayed ripely underneath me. I was defeated. I could
only wait for the next stroke of the whip.
SKEEEEERCK! Ah! It caught me anew. Wickedly it struck on my
bottomÕs underside. I felt the blaze of it across the base of my cheeks. It
lifted me up, momentarily, then leapt away, leaving a streak of redness
and pain in its wake.
ÒYeeeeooouuuuch!Ó I cried. My bottom shivered. My cheeks tightened,
squeezing hard, then opened with complete surrender, only to bunch up
again with utter fright, and then to open still again. I squeezed them
repeatedly, trying to throw off the pain. It was no use. I wept, coughed,
let out a smaller scream. My breasts danced underneath me, swaying like
gourds, like coconuts on a palm beset by a storm.
ÒHow sweetly she struggles,Ó a woman remarked. I heard a loud
shout as a male, apparently, shot his seed into his loverÕs mouth.
ÒI would give her first place if she were in the Olympics,Ó another
woman said.
ÒIÕd pin the ribbon right on her ass,Ó a man said.
ÒYou may pin yourself right up her cunt, perhaps, if her boyfriend
lets you,Ó a woman said. ÒOr, better yet perhaps, right in her ass, if that
what suits you.Ó There was more laughter.
CRRRAKK-AKK! A double blow! Twice the whip scourged me, hitting
first one of my cheeks, directly, then leaping to the other. I ground my
tummy into the cushion upon the block. My hips rose, fell, rose again. I
screamed, loudly, lifting my head, my eyes gaping. My nostrils snorted
like a womanÕs, in the deepest pangs of birth. My legs froze rigid, then
bent a little, at the knees. Twin sparks of pain radiated hotly outward
from where the whip had struck my cheeks. Like fire racing across an oil
spill, the pain seemed to envelop my whole bottom. I screamed more
loudly.
SCRAAAAAK! Again the whip coursed across my seat. My scream
intensified. They had not let me wait! They were beating me! I was being
flayed alive!
WHAAAAAACK! Oh, God! I couldnÕt believe it! The bullwhip tore a
new scream from my lungs as it bit yet again into my tender ass. I
wriggled my bottom. I bucked my hips. I ground my tummy into the
cushion underneath me and squeezed my bottomÕs cheeks as tightly as I
could. They opened just as quickly, then tensed again. My bottom was on
fire! I balled it tightly, felt it spring open again, huddled my cheeks once
more. I pushed it out into the air. Oh, please, let it cool somehow. It
must cool!
WHIIIIIIACKCK! The whip glided in, masterfully, and struck my
cheeks anew. I shuddered under the blow. I screamed. I wished the
minister would return. I would not try to bite him, this time. IÕd use his
cock to gag myself and die, so as not to have to suffer from the whip.
SCRAAAAK! It struck again. I was being given more strokes than the
other girls, though I was younger. My mind was in torment. My ass cheeks
were tumultuous. I screamed perpetually now. I cried. I was being lost,
ruined. I could not save myself and no one else wished to. I heard,
somewhere beyond my screams, more gasps of male pleasure as men used
my plight to sperm their lovers mouths.
A finger pressed insistent at my bottom. It was slim, finely nailed.
A womanÕs finger. No! It felt slick, oily. It had been dipped in oil to
prepare me. It prodded between my cheeks. It dug in my anus. I tried to
clamp my cheeks, to push it out. Flames seared my bottom with every
movement of my seat.
ÒAhck!Ó I yelped, half gagging on my tears. My hair matted itself
across my face where my locks, wettened by my tears, had found
themselves stuck, much as I was being stuck by the finger.
ÒShe needs someone slim. I am too big for her,Ó I heard a familiar
voice say. Dave! No! Dave was asking... was asking for a male with a
slimmer penis than his own to plow my bottom!
ÒYes, he looks good,Ó I heard a female say. Katrina! I heard people
behind me. Someone, I sensed, was being examined. ÒThe discharge looks
clean,Ó Katrina reported to Dave.
ÒYouÕd better not give my girl any diseases,Ó I heard Dave say to
someone. I twisted my head. Somehow I managed to look back over my
shoulder. There was a man. He was slim, athletic. He was presenting
himself to Katrina and she was kneeling in front of him, inspecting his
cock. She kissed it. I sobbed. My bottom hurt so badly! I could not bear to
have a male stick his awful thing up it!
ÒHe is too young to have any diseases,Ó I heard a woman laugh.
ÒHave him use a condom, if youÕre so worried about it,Ó I heard a
man, bitter that heÕd not been chosen, grouse.
ÒNo, I want her to feel him as he really is,Ó Dave answered. ÒShe
must get used to the feel of cock. She is still too anxious.Ó
ÒI could break her in,Ó I heard the minister say.
ÒPerhaps,Ó Dave answered. I felt a shock of fright run down my
spine. Perhaps?! Perhaps?! Did Dave intend... No! Oh, I should have gone
with Steven, to Rome! He was my favorite. Why had I held back, balked?
Now I would pay for it, awfully.
ÒMount her,Ó Dave ordered. I felt hands touch the backs of my legs.
Was it him? I tried to twist my head around again. I was too weak. I was
scared. I dropped my head and sobbed new tears upon the floor.
The hands had callouses on them. They slid up the backs of my legs
to my flaming ass. ÒAck!Ó I cried, as they touched it. Oblivious to my
pain, they gripped my aching, whip-marked cheeks. ÒYeeeeek!Ó I screamed
at the male touch. Such hard, calloused hands, and they paid no attention
to my bottomÕs state. With relish the male rubbed my ass. He seemed to
savor my condition, my soreness, how his hands alone could pain me, his
touch as harsh, upon my wounded flesh, as the whip had been, when first it
coursed across the softness of my pretty, rounded ass.
He quartered my cheeks. With his thumbs he pulled them open,
peered with lust between, at the dimple of my anus. I felt the heat of his
member. It was close, hovering just above my seat. He had no place to put
it and, bending slightly, he brought it into contact with my ass. It bounced
once against my right cheek. He moved just a little and it settled hotly
between my bottomÕs halves. I stirred on the cushion. I did not want him
and yet, somehow, it thrilled me to have a penis caught between my
bottomÕs cheeks. Precociously I pushed out my bottom, caught him more.
He was deeply impressed in my assÕs furrow now. I could feel his
throbbing. I squeezed my cheeks together. I would milk him there, deflate
him. He would spend up across my back and leave my anus pure,
unviolated.
ÒNo,Ó he murmured. ÒI must get myself in you.Ó I felt him rise. His
cock swept upward from where IÕd tried to trap it. Then it pushed down
again, this time the head alone. It was big, bulbous. It made a target of
my ass and pressed hard, arrow-like, against the bullseye of my anus.
ÒDonÕt squeeze your cheeks,Ó he told me. His thumbs gripped me harder.
He yanked my cheeks ruthlessly apart. ÒDonÕt squeeze yourself. I have to
get myself inside you.Ó
ÒNo! Not there!Ó I yelped. I wished to have him in my cunt.
ÒI cannot deflower you. That is for your master to have,Ó the young
man at my backside replied. His voice was deep. It sounded a little
ragged, half overcome with lust. ÒI can only help your master,Ó he
explained. ÒYour backside must be prepared for him. He is too big for
you.Ó
With that he stabbed hard against my rose. I screamed. Katrina,
appearing suddenly before me, placed a soft hand across my mouth.
ÒNo!Ó I blurted into her palm. She caressed my head. She pulled at
the curls of my coiffure that had become stuck against my tear-stained
face.
ÒThere, there,Ó Katrina murmured. She patted my head. ÒIt must be
done. I was deflowered not so long ago. You must be too, if we are truly
to have fun together here in Venice.Ó
The man at my rear pushed again at my hole, between my cheeks. I
felt a giving. A receiving. His head jammed itself into my hole. His pee
hole, I realized, gasping as his head split into my cheeks, was now within
me. I stammered ÔnoÕs into KatrinaÕs hand. They went unheard. Small
puffs of breath, the sound of my refusal muffled.
ÒIÕm going to take you gently at first, and then, when IÕm fully in,
IÕm going to fuck you,Ó the man in my behind told me. ÒIt will be rough at
the end. But IÕll try not to tear you up inside. But you must be made to
take it. There is no other way.Ó
ÒSee? He is an expert,Ó Katrina told me. She patted my head. ÒThen
weÕll have fun back at the hotel.Ó
ÒUnh! Unh! Unh!Ó I gasped. I felt the manÕs penis intruding into me.
I flexed my ass. I tried to squeeze him out. He slapped my behind in
response. I shrieked. The slap was light but, upon my whip-marred
bottom, it sent flashes of pain coursing all across my ass.
Deeper he penetrated. I sobbed. I could not keep him out! He was
wet with oil. Someone had lubricated him. Hard as I squeezed, he intruded
deeper.
ÒPut more on,Ó I heard him say. I felt a squirt upon my bottom. No! I
realized then he was being oiled as he fucked me. I twisted my head back.
I caught a glimpse of a womanÕs body. She was oiling him! Katrina gripped
my face and made me turn my head to her again.
ÒLift my skirts,Ó Katrina called to a man. She chose one at random,
apparently. He came at once. Her skirts were drawn up as the boy at my
backside continued to drive himself into my ass.
Katrina pressed her hips forward. Her legs were bare now, her
skirts lifted up to her belly. I was forced to kiss her panties. I smelled
the sweetness of her cunt. The man behind Katrina slipped the ties of her
black undies. They were small, they fell with a quiet flutter to her feet.
Her nest showed. Katrina urged her hips forward again and pushed my nose
into her curls.
ÒLick. Lick my pubis,Ó Katrina told me. ÒConcentrate on finding my
spot. Do not worry about the man in your behind. Forget him. Concentrate
on me. Find my spot and give me pleasure. Do it now, girl!Ó she added,
throatily. I heard her yelp. The man whoÕd helped her lift her skirts was
now poking at her bottom.
ÒYou both need it,Ó the man husked to Katrina.
ÒNo!Ó Katrina shouted. ÒDave!Ó
ÒEeeeyack!Ó I screamed. I was penetrated with a lunging thrust. It
speared me to my core. I worked my hips, pushed them back. The man at
my rear was too deep, too deep! He was forcing himself deeper than I
imagined anyone could go! We were both in peril now, Katrina and I, both
of us with our bottoms at pillage. I ground my mouth against her mound. I
smelled her, I licked at the honeyed sweetness of her cunt.
ÒOooohhhh!Ó Katrina gasped. Had I found her spot? I did not want to.
I bucked my hips, trying to rid myself of the man in my ass. Katrina
sighed again. In revenge for what sheÕd done to me I stuck my tongue into
her cunt. ÒOooooh!Ó Katrina murmured. I did not want to please her. I
wanted to fuck her, to make her know what I was suffering. My head
lurched forward. My ribs strained. The nipples on the tips of my breasts
stood out in all their tiny glory.
ÒAhckck!Ó I gasped. The man in my derriere made himself go deeper
still. ÒNoooo!Ó I sighed. But my tongue was up KatrinaÕs twat and it only
served to tickle her. The man in my bottom ignored me.
Then the fucking began. Dave proved no help to Katrina. Perhaps her
bottom needed to be opened too. Perhaps heÕd tried her, when they played
together in their room, and found himself too big for her. We both needed
experience, I realized, though I did not want it. If Dave, with his big cock,
was to enjoy us, he needed lesser men to open us for him.
My head swooned. I gave a screamy moan. Katrina clenched her
thighs. My tongue was trapped up her slit. I could not remove it. The man
behind Katrina had her asscheeks yanked apart and he was hammering her
behind. In and out I could feel him move, each stroke more rapid and
complete than the one before it. Her bottom ground against him. She tried
to get away but couldnÕt. She cried out for mercy. He fucked her harder.
I was a hole, nothing more. The man at my ass used me, plunging
deep, drawing back, then gouging his way in again. I felt the air ripped
from my lungs. I tried to scream, Katrina held my tongue.
ÒWe must thrust in unison,Ó I heard the man behind Katrina call to
the man in my own ass.
ÒYes,Ó the man up my ass replied. ÒLetÕs see if we canÕt. Pull back.
Are you back?Ó
ÒYessss!Ó came from the man whoÕd suggested they rape us together.
ÒOkay, now in,Ó the experienced boy in my bottom called. I gasped
into KatrinaÕs nest as he forced his way into me.
ÒOohhhh! GOD!Ó Katrina cried. It was a double salute, a double
penetration. There was no stopping the men now. They were in unison.
They paced themselves. Each manÕs thrust complimented the otherÕs. I
was forced forward at the same moment as Katrina. My tongue slid deeper
up her twat as we bunched together. Each of us, she and I, put pressure on
the other, letting the men leverage themselves into our heinies. We were
captive. We could only scream. (She better than I, with my trapped
toungue!) We could not resist. We were helpless. We waited for the
throbbing members to release their seed. We prayed for it, clenching
ourselves. It was the only way to set ourselves free.
Standing unsteadily, I leaned forward. I was free again. Nude but
free. I kissed Annabelle. She was being undressed for the block. The
executioner would whip her next.
ÒGoodbye,Ó I breathed. My teary cheeks wet her own.
ÒGoodbye,Ó Annabelle replied. Her voice was all nervous, trembly.
She didnÕt wish to be whipped. I felt semen trickling out my bottomhole
and tried to clench my cheeks to stop it. ÒGoodbye,Ó I said again, stupidly.
My head felt dazed. Somewhere Katrina, herself barely able to stand, was
getting my clothes collected. I couldnÕt leave nude. I had to be dressed
again, before we went upstairs.
ÒOoooh, I donÕt want to,Ó Annabelle breathed nervously to me.
ÒI know,Ó I answered. I had not wanted to either. But now I had
received, both the whip and the young gentlemanÕs cock. He had left my
bottom raw inside, yet fingered me at last, upon my clit, giving me my
sinful, hoped-for pleasure. I was wobbly kneed, satisfied despite the
soreness of my bottom. ÒMmmmm,Ó I said, pressing my lips to
AnnabelleÕs. ÒIt will not hurt too badly,Ó I lied. I pressed my palm to her
tummy. It was bare, warm. It drew in at my touch.
ÒDonÕt,Ó Annabelle answered. I think she feared I would pass my
hand down to her muffin.
ÒGoodbye,Ó I breathed again. Then I toppled over, unable to stand,
but Dave, holding me lightly by my shoulders, swung his arm down and
caught me across my belly with his arm.
30
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