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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LAS VEGAS LUST
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Chapter One
My first exposure to kinky sex came when I was only 18. Actually I
was still 17 when it happened, but I had started college and was living
away from home so I passed myself off as an 18-year-old. I met a nice
boy, named Joe, a linebacker on the college football team. I went out on
several dates with him. About that time he had to switch apartments, and
I went over to his place on a Saturday morning to help him move.
I was dumping the contents of one of his dresser drawers into a
paper sack when I spied a gold lapel pin. I had never seen one like it
before. It consisted of the male and female sex symbols. It was quite
small, and unless one had been standing close to Joe when he was wearing
it one would not have been able to make out its design.
I wondered about it for a moment, and was about to pass it off as
some gag or fraternity trinket when I decided to ask him about it.
"Joe, what's this?" I asked, getting up and walking across the room
to him, turning the little bauble in my fingers as I went.
"Uh, that's a club I belong to," Joe replied. With some hesitation he
described it as a place where men and women, mostly single, met to
explore, as he put it, "the potential of their bodies." Now if he had said
"the body's potential" I might have given a shrug of my shoulders and
tossed the thing and my interest in it, into the nearest recycled grocery
sack. But I wasn't contemplating majoring in English because I had the
linguistic dexterity of a football player. I knew Joe usually managed to
mangle verbal obfuscations, with a result that he revealed more of the
truth than the original author of the statement had intended.
I didn't get much more out of Joe that morning, but that night, when
it was late and he was feeling romantic and I was deserving of his
gratitude for all the help I had given him, I managed to pry a little deeper.
It seemed the club was at best a sociable gathering, and at worst an
organized orgy. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to find out which. Joe,
however, had admitted to being a member, and if my boyfriend was
involved I felt the need to find out about it.
Who were these people? What exactly did they and Joe do together?
There were women in the club...that I had learned...and I wondered what
they looked like. Were they prettier than I was? More sophisticated?
What about them appealed to Joe? And what about the other men? Did
they look as handsome as Joe? Would they find me as attractive as Joe
did?
Needless to say, I kept digging for information until Joe finally
relented and came to class one day with an application. The teacher was a
bore, the subject was Chemistry, and I decided to quit taking notes for a
while and fill out Joe's application instead. The first page was pretty
standard: name, age, hair color. At the bottom however it asked for bust
size, waist, and hips.
Page two was a real shocker. I let out a little cry. People looked at
me, including the professor. I blushed. My mind scrambled to recall the
professor's last point.
"I didn't know hydrogen could, uh, mate with oxygen, professor," I
said. Several of the girls exchanged quizzical looks. The boys just
seemed glad for an opportunity to look at me instead of the teacher.
"Yes indeed," the professor said, apparently delighted that his
lecture had provoked such an aroused response from me. "That is how we
make water."
"You mean THAT'S how we go to the bathroom?" Joe asked. Between
his untutored remarks and my decollette blouses we were quite prominent
students.
But back to page two of the form. The first question asked me when
I had lost my virginity. Not IF I had lost it, mind you. I guess it either
assumed that everyone who applied to the club wasn't a virgin or it only
accepted those who weren't. Next it asked when I had first given a boy a
blow job, and finally when I had been penetrated anally. I'd never had the
courage to try the latter, so I just lied and put down the current year. Of
all the forms I knew I'd have to fill out as I matriculated into adulthood,
who the hell would think I'd have to put down the year I'd been fucked up
the butt?
Next the form asked, in clinical fashion, what sex toys I'd
experimented with and which were my favorite. A list was provided, and I
just checked off the names that I'd heard rumors about in high school. I
must say as I answered the obscene questions my pulse quickened and I
began to feel a longing between my thighs. I kept reading on, spurred by
curiosity. This was wild stuff!
Finally the form wanted to know about my sexual fantasies. What
had I tried? What was I afraid of? Did I have any "new and interesting
suggestions for sexual play?"
My mouth was wide open and my hand was at my throat as I looked
over the final lines of the form and attempted to make up something
believeable that I could put down. I tried to sound as cosmopolitan as
possible. Only much later did I realize that my age, combined with my
Midwestern background, colluded to make the awkward pretentions I
attributed to myself virtually unbelieveable. Needless to say, when my
form was turned into the club it was not approved on the basis of my
sexual experience.
After that memorable class, in which I was first exposed to a much
more frightening and exhilerating form of Chemistry, namely that between
adult men and women, Joe asked to see my form. Eyes wide with shaken
innocence, I presented it.
"Hmm, yes, well you look like you'd be the most experienced member
of our club," Joe said.
"I do?" I said, surprised and not a little taken aback.
"Why, yes," Joe said. "You've done more than even I have...and I'm no
novice in these matters, you can be sure." Joe was about to show the form
to several of his football buddies when I tore it out of his hands. He
grabbed for it, and, at a loss what else to do, I shoved it down my blouse.
We were in public, and that stopped him.
Later that night we were in Joe's apartment and I still had the form
secreted between my bosoms, though by now I had managed to fold it into
a neat little square. Joe sensed the form might be in my bra...and in any
event figured he could use the pretext of inquiring about the contents of
my bra to get it off. After some bantering I drew out the form. He took it,
commenting on how its proximity to my body had made the paper warm. He
unfolded it. When the night was over he still had possession of the form,
and he had talked me into letting him turn it in to the club.
A full two weeks passed without any word of the form's reception by
his fellow members. Then one day Joe mentioned to me, right in the
middle of Chemistry class no less, that my form had been approved. He
told me two members of the club would be stopping by for a visit soon.
Sure enough, two days later, a very pretty girl and a hunk of a man came by
in casual formalware and sat down with me in Joe's apartment to discuss
my form. They didn't go into too great detail, sensing perhaps that I had
made half the answers up. Nonetheless at the end of the interview they
congratulated me on being accepted, and gave me a little gold pin of my
own. It consisted of a solitary symbol of the female sex. They said I
would get a pin like Joe's after my induction.
Before I could be initiated, however, I was required to visit a local
doctor of their choice and submit to tests. A person who got as far as this
stage in the process was someone the club considered desirable for
membership. As a result, they picked up the tab. The doctor submitted
both the bill and his prognostication directly to the club. Needless to say,
I was found to be a healthy specimen. So healthy, in fact, that the doctor
implored me to come back if I had any other needs, medical or otherwise.
It turned out that the group always checked into a hotel room for
their "meetings," as they liked to call them, though during this time period
I heard Joe once refer to them as "matings." In any event, it was said that
the group liked hotel rooms because they could get into lavish suites by
pooling their money, and didn't have to worry about cleaning up when they
were done. Given the incomes of some of the members which were later
revealed to me, I believe the latter reason weighed more heavily. Even
household maids and butlers get annoyed if the mess becomes too great,
and a hotel room reserved under a false name reveals far less than a home.
Especially when it is not empty beer cans that one is tasked to pick up but
used condoms, empty jars of vaginal jelly, and cellophane wrappers torn
from the latest sex toys.
The day before I was to be formally introduced to the club the girl
who had interviewed me showed up on my doorstep. My heart sank for a
moment, thinking she was bringing news of a last minute rejection. This
was an unusual club, but if there was to be any backing out I wanted it to
be by me, not by them.
I invited the girl in. Her name was Monique. We sat down together
and shared chit chat over cups of coffee. She asked me if I owned a bikini.
I told her of course I did.
"Have your tan lines faded?" Monique asked. "You look pretty white."
Yes, I replied, they had. I figured she was simply asking to find out
the condition of other girls like her. It had gotten cold quickly this year in
Northern California.
"Then you need a tan," Monique said matter-of-factly. "A light tan,
as that is what is in fashion nowadays." I thought for a moment, and
agreed. If nothing else, it would make taking off my bra and panties more
fun for Joe. I knew many men relished the idea of stripping off a girl's
undies to reveal the contrast in hues between her private parts and the
surrounding skin. It created an indelible reminder for them of what they
had removed to get at one's charms, what they had conquered.
Monique was already wearing her bikini under her clothes. I went
into my bedroom and dressed myself in the same fashion. Then we drove
downtown to a tanning salon. There we stripped down to our bikinis. I
wondered if Monique wanted me solely in a bikini for the purpose of
getting a tan. Could it be that she had been tasked to make sure I really
did have a great figure? As I lay in the tanning booth I also thought of
how I would look totally naked. Joe had been letting slip more and more
tidbits about the group. I had a feeling the real purpose of the tan was not
so much to bring pleasure to my boyfriend's eyes as to the eyes of those
who were going to initiate me.
I had never been one to dress terribly modestly, at least not since I
had started filling out. I had been told many times that I had a great
figure and I liked to see the boys pant. Even cultured, mature businessmen
would turn their heads when I strolled downtown. It was early afternoon,
a week after my interview, a day after my trip to the tanning salon, and
my initiation was scheduled for 4 p.m. As Joe had said, the group like to
get an early start on its "meetings."
I knew there would be other women there, and I didn't want to look
less adventurous than they. I put on a lacy black bra, and then a sheer
white blouse that left nothing underneath to the imagination. Next I
slipped on a tiny black leather miniskirt. I contemplated not wearing
panties. No, that would be too blatant. If I was to be fucked I wanted
whoever it was to at least have to first get me out of my underwear. I put
on matching black panties, made of sheer fabric but with a patterned
design sewn on that, like the bra, managed to conceal my most strategic
places. Then I pulled on shiny black stiletto heels and fastened them
about my ankles.
I put my hands on my hips and regarded myself in the mirror.
Seventeen, and looking all grown up already. Just let those other girls try
to compete with me for Joe's affection. A quick plug in the pussy would
be the most they could ever hope for. And as for the other men there,
well, I could always handle more than one boyfriend.
When Joe picked me up at my apartment he told me I looked "just
right." We drove to the hotel together, picking up not a few glances from
passing cars. When we arrived Joe hurried me through the hotel lobby. At
four in the afternoon one did not generally expect to see a minor walking
past in a transparent blouse and a teensy skirt that kept flipping up to
show her bottom.
We got into the hotel elevator and fortunately the desire for
annonymity that people generally feel in such a space took hold. The other
men and women in the lift stared at the buttons above the door as they lit
in turn, though I got the feeling that several of the men would rather have
been contemplating the brevity of my skirt.
Joe and I were the last to exit. We stepped out, hand in hand, on the
18th floor. The most lavish suites were on this floor, as one could tell by
the considerable distance between doors in the hall.
"You'll like this," Joe said, glancing at me as we walked. "I always
have a lot of fun at the meetings."
"I'm sure you do," I said.
"You will too," Joe said. "Especially after you've been initiated and
are a regular member."
We reached our destined door and Joe knocked. After a brief interval
it was opened by a woman. She stood alone in a sort of anteroom. We
entered. As I learned later, the club was networked with others across
the country. So anyone who was a member anywhere in the country could
attend any meeting he or she pleased. As a result, one was always
meeting new people. The clubs each exercised the same restraint in
admitting new members, however, and in fact an inspection team
circulated yearly to make sure everyone stayed up to snuff.
The consequence of all this was that neither of us knew the woman
who answered the door. Introductions were exchanged, and only then did
she lead us into the main room. As I followed her, watching the wiggle of
her hips, I let my illusions slip away as to what I was in for. My throat
felt tight. Joe had been kidding all morning about how my unwillingness
to exercise would be more than made up for by what the members had
planned for me.
Joe had hinted that my denoument would take place upon a coffee
table. When I entered the room, I noticed a polished hardwood coffee table
set in front of a couch. The men in the room all stood up upon my
appearance. They warmly took my hand and greeted me. The women also
received me at the same time. My figure drew a number of appreciative
glances.
In all there were about fifteen of us in the room, ranging in age from
late teens to early thirties. I seemed to be the youngest of them all. The
men were strong and athletic, with broad shoulders and bulging chests.
Considering the substantial muscles many of them sported on their arms
and legs, I wondered what marvels lay between their thighs. The women
were beautiful. Their busts jutted out gracefully, daring the buttons of
their blouses not to pop. Some of the women wore gowns. These were cut
low, exposing wide expanses of sumptuous cleavage.
I was offered a place in the middle of the couch. A man took my hand
and I sat down gracefully. A glass of wine was placed in my hand. I
sipped it. At the same time I attempted to smooth my skirt over the front
of my thighs, while keeping my legs pressed tightly together. One wrong
move on my part and my miniskirt would be above my pussy, baring the
black lace crotch of my panties. The sofa gratefully accepted my bottom,
letting it sink deep into the upholstery.
A decorous conversation ensued. State politics was discussed, along
with stocks, bonds, and a variety of leisure activities in which one or
more of the group had recently engaged. Expensive wines were imbibed
with apparently little thought to their cost. Cheese was passed about and
nibbled upon. Soft music enveloped the room, emanating from hidden
speakers. Inevitably my thighs began to part.
At first the men sitting nearest me confined themselves to stealing
furtive glances down the front of my decollette blouse, with occasional
hopeful glances at my lap. As our conversation bubbled on, however, their
eyes began to linger more and more on my mammaries, and their glances at
my crotch became more predatory. Several of the women also seemed to
find my breasts and lap of interest.
Whether by chance or design, the man nearest me began telling jokes.
And I began laughing. A little at first, my hand uselessly rising out of
habit to cover the skin above my breasts. Then more, my hand still poised
above my joggling tits. The bra I had chosen had been of sheer silk, little
more than decoration. It left my breasts nearly free reign to wobble as
they liked. That, however, had no doubt been taken note of when I first
entered, my tits jiggling freely as I walked. It was my pussy that the man
was really after. And not only him; other men and women took up the joke
telling too. Finally a really hilarious joke provoked a wild bout of
laughter from me. My legs accidentally flew open and suddenly, there I
was, my micromini above the tops of my thighs and the narrow crotch of
my panties fully displayed. My laughter died in a series of stifled gasps
and I looked down at myself.
One of the older women spoke up. "Well, Alexis, I'm sure you didn't
come here just to talk, but also to show us what you might accomplish
with that figure of yours." Her name was Melinda.
I nodded my head politely in agreement. Clearly, thanks to my
skimpy attire, a threshold had been crossed. I had selected the clothes I
wore to show off, prove I looked the best, and keep Joe's eyes firmly
planted on me, as much as that was possible in a roomful of beautiful
women. But now, like anyone who attempts to deny the consequences of
their actions, I had led myself into territory I wasn't sure I wanted to
inhabit. But I was there. An air of expectancy pervaded the room, and I
knew I was its focal point. What could I do?
Two of the men rose and each took the coffee table by one of its
ends. They lifted it and carried it to the center of the room. They set it
down on the plush carpet. I looked at it. Joe had alluded to my having to
offer up my orifices on a coffee table. I swallowed hard. I had always
said I would try anything once, but this?
Another man, meanwhile, went into an adjacent room and returned
with a large shopping bag. It was black with a pink pussycat printed on
its sides. He gave the bag to a cluster of women.
Melinda rose from the overstuffed chair in which she had been
sitting. She walked over to me and took my hand. She bade me to rise.
When I had done so she regarded my eyes warmly for a moment, then let
her gaze slip to my breasts. I felt uncomfortable.
Delicately Melinda lifted a finger and flicked open the top button on
my blouse. I shivered with apprehension and excitement. I couldn't
believe I was actually going to permit myself to fall into the hands of
these strangers. At the same time I wondered if they would actually
allow me to leave if I asked. Immobile, like a frightened rabbit, I raised
no protest at Melinda's intrusion. The jaws of fate closed more tightly.
Button after button on my blouse was popped open by Melinda. When
they had all been released the two halves of my blouse fell apart. Beneath
the open halves of my blouse the inner curves of the cups of my bra were
now visible.
Melinda's eyes seemed to grade my form as she reached up and
brushed my blouse from my shoulders. The judgemental look in her eyes
made me bolder. If she was going to evaluate me, by God, I would show
her! With a blank look in my face but defiance welling up in my heart, I
thrust out my breasts. Unlike other women, I had nothing to be ashamed of
when it came to looks.
A woman had sidled in behind me, to stand just off to my right, and
she caught my blouse as it fluttered down my back. She folded it and
passed it on to another woman who was still seated on the couch.
Melinda touched her fingers to the straps of my bra and slipped them
from their places. The straps fell down my arms. The cups of my bra
loosened and drooped to reveal my nipples. Several men drew in their
breasts.
I looked down at the cones of my bared breasts. They stuck straight
out, perfectly formed from base to tip. The nipples had risen in response
to my apprehension and excitement. Melinda was also eyeing my tits. She
touched a finger to my lips. It pressed against them, demanding entry. I
parted my lips prettily and let my tongue touch her fingertip. The men
squirmed, dreaming of placing their cocks where Melinda's finger was.
After a moment Melinda drew her digit back and touched it to the tip of my
nipple. It felt wet.
Melinda lifted her finger from my teat. She raised her other hand to
my remaining nipple and inserted the end of her chisled fingernail into the
indentation at the tip of my nipple. Several times she lightly dug into the
sensitive pore with her fingernail. I bit my lower lip.
The woman behind me, who I later learned was named Belinda, lifted
the back of my leather miniskirt. Then she sat down on the couch, still
holding it up. A woman leaned in close on either side of her. Sipping wine,
they commented on the beauty and usefulness of my bottom. Several of
the men shifted their stances as they stood watching the display.
Melinda's finger left my nipple. It grazed down my tummy and
inserted itself in my belly button. I unsucessfully attempted to stifle a
giggle. Melinda smiled. I felt like a little baby being inspected by her
mother.
The tail of my skirt was dropped. This hardly precluded the view of
my pantied bottom, however, for a moment later the women behind me
unzipped my skirt. It slipped from around my waist into their hands and
was folded up.
Melinda let her finger fall from my belly to the waistband of my
panties. It lingered a moment, then slipped inside to the first knuckle.
The woman ran the pad of her finger all along the inside of the front of my
waistband.
Behind me I felt a fingernail touch the crack of my bottom where it
broke free of my panties. It slipped inside the panties as the person,
Belinda, I assumed, hooked her finger in the waistband of my panties.
Slowly, relishing the consequences such a move portended, Belinda pulled
down the rear of my undies.
I stood bare bottomed before a roomfull of strangers. The panties
were left to bunch at the back of my thighs, while in front they still clung
to my pubic triangle, desperately trying to conceal my last vestige of
modesty.
Melinda's finger still loitered inside the front of my waistband, but
she seemed in no rush. Belinda, however, reached up and unhooked my bra.
It was stolen away, leaving my breasts without any hope of protection.
"I see you cut your hair, as you were instructed. That is good,"
Melinda said. I looked down at my golden locks. When I first met Joe they
had flowed all the way down my back. Now, shorn, they just reached the
upper curve of my breasts. I had considered their request an odd one, but
had complied. As Melinda stood before me now, however, the full import
of their requirement came home. Of course! Now my hair wasn't long
enough to cover my breasts.
"I would like you to walk over to the shopping bag and take out the
things we have bought for you," Melinda said. Happy to relieve myself of
her finger, I headed for the bag. I sensed that it was desired that my
panties be left around my legs, so I made no attempt to pull them back up
over my bottom. I could feel the guests relishing my rear as I walked.
Perhaps the black shopping bag would provide a clue as to what they had
planned for it. Would I still be an anal virgin when the night was over?
Upon reaching the bag I bent forward and touched my finger to its
serrated edge. Inside was a pile of leather. I reached in and fished out the
first thing that came into my hand. It was a thick leather band that looked
like it could be wound around a person's limb. Thin little strings, like
shoelaces, dangled from it. Obviously they were meant to be tied to hold
the band together. Two heavy metal rings dangled from the band. I asked
what they were for and was told that ropes could be passed through them.
I handed the band on to a woman and reached into the bag again, once
more making a display of my bottom as I did so. Legs straight, tits
dangling, I pulled out a whip. I stood up. The cool air from the air
conditioner washed over my bottom.
"Do I get to use this, or do you?" I asked of the whip.
"Honey, everything in the bag is for you," a girl no older than myself,
named Gina, said. But she took the whip from me.
Several more leather restraints followed, and then I found a dildo.
"Oh! I guess this is a dildo," I said. "But it certainly is skinny."
"It's a butt popper," Gina said. I wasn't certain what she meant, but I
could guess. That too, like everything else, was taken from me.
30
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