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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PUPPY LOVE
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Chapter Two
Beyond the smells of chickens and pigs, beyond the bales of hay and
the fields of grain, lay the farmhouse. It was quaint, old-fashioned
looking, with a weathervane on top, a rooster with a sharp beak and each
of the wind directions marked out with big capital letters. An
Argentinean flag fluttered out front, patriotic, in back a scarecrow
loomed amidst fast-growing corn. Clouds scudded overhead. The sun
streamed down its fertile rays amidst a refreshing breeze.
Inside the house was elegant. We were douched, bathed in a big tub,
like cattle, and tucked into a pair of beds in the guest bedroom. We slept
deeply, despite our fears, for the men had exercised us much that day. In
the morning we were roused, our nightÕs chamber pot was emptied. Taken
into the hall, we were sniffed enquiringly in our nudity by a big fluffy dog.
I tried to push him away but his nose prodded vigorously at my pussy. I
screeched as his big, wet floppy tongue emerged to lap at my sex.
Ms. Tuppence laughed. She had overseen us since our arrival. She and
her farm boys, who had bathed us the night before, themselves nude, their
cocks stiff beyond belief. The boys were made to handle us in gentlemanly
fashion, a relief after the too vigorous fucking the big, brutal-minded
Russians had given us. When weÕd stepped from the tub sheÕd let them dry
us and then permitted them to masturbate in front of us. WeÕd watched,
amazed, horrified. They were all about 13, randy as hell. This morning
they were all amazingly hard again, still as nude. When the dog had
sniffed us out he made for the boys, but Ms. Tuppence stopped him.
ÒDown, Samson,Ó she ordered. ÒYou are a boy dog. Do not become a
fag on me.Ó I suspected she must have to give Samson the same speech
every day, for he was quite feisty. ÒIt is nice that you girls were able to
arrive during my little summer camp that I hold each year,Ó Ms. Tuppence
smiled at us, wickedly, not really seeing us as people, rather as if she
were addressing cats, or trembling kittens. Perhaps the boys were dogs
and we ourselves kittens, with Samson being more human, in her mind at
least, than we ourselves were. ÒYes, I do not think I could have managed
you without the boys. My armed guards would be such an imposition, here
in the house. It is much nicer to control you with randy lads like these,
who are so cute in their obedience, so crazy and cute. Ah, IÕve a mind to
see you fucked by them. I should not wish my husband to know of it,
though. He would be jealous. Kneel down, cunts, each of you. That is all
you are to me. We have five of you, and seven boys. Kneel down and
present your asses. IÕll have you fucked first thing this morning, before I
take you off the pill. Have at them, boys. There is no need to masturbate
this morning!Ó
Glancing sideways at each other, we delicately dropped to our knees
as the boys, dancing like Indians, crowed and hooted and hollared. Tara
brushed back her hair, tried to take what was coming with as much grace
as she could maintain.
ÒGet your face right down on the floor,Ó Ms. Tuppence ordered Tara.
She put her booted foot right upon TaraÕs neck. It was an ankle-high boot,
most ladylike, but Ms. Tuppence used it viciously, pressing down on TaraÕs
neck until the young woman was fully upon the floor, her cheek hard-
pressed to the carpet, her ass lifted high by her sudden descent. Her knees
bumped against the carpet as her squat turned into a full-fledged
presentation of her bottom.
ÒYahoo!Ó three boys cried, fighting amongst themselves to be the
first to get at her. One, pressing harder than the rest, managed to push
himself forward and shove them away. He knelt quickly and introduced his
stemming cock right into TaraÕs sweetly offered cunt. ÒMmmm,Ó he
announced, licking his lips as he felt himself, small as he was, slip
quickly inside. He had a nice cock, big for a 13-year-old, but it was less
in size than the manly cocks sheÕd been trained to accept. He got inside
her with little difficulty and pumped her with abandon. She reached down
a hand to herself and massaged her own sex in anticipation of his quick
release. He came, crowed like a rooster, then stood. Quietly Tara kept her
own counsel, rubbing herself for a still unattained orgasm. The next boy
mounted her, even as the rest of us became victims ourselves. Soon they
had all shot, leaving us without orgasms, all except Rachel, who seemed
almost as youthfully excited as the boys themselves. They sensed a
commonality with her, liked her for it, but were even more drawn to those
of us who seemed older, more refined, especially Tara. Perhaps her raven
hair, her seductive eyes, reminded them of their mothers. Certainly the
mothers who had nursed them were little older than Tara when theyÕd
given birth. Samson danced around, hoping for a shot himself, quite frisky,
but Ms. Tuppence restrained him, holding him by his collar while she
watched us fucked. When weÕd stood up again she let him loose. He ran to
Tara, raised himself, and rubbed himself briskly against her thigh. Tara
shrieked, but Ms. Tuppence let him massage himself until he came. He shot
white sperm all the way up to her hips. The boys laughed, we stood in
shocked silence, except Rachel, who couldnÕt help giggling along with the
boys. Then were were marched off to the big bath tub, where the boys
were allowed much greater liberties in bathing us than theyÕd been given
the night before.
ÒHurry, the cows need milking,Ó Ms. Tuppence interrupted when the
boys had enjoyed our bodies quite freely and fully, making us shout,
tormenting us by poking us wherever they could, though all quite
childishly, they were as much in awe of us as anything, even as they
strove to slather their hands and mouths all over us. She did not let them
pull our hair, or pinch us, yet poking in our anal holes with questing
fingers, and between our furrowed lips, was not discouraged, so long as it
was done inquiringly, that we might be preserved intact for the real male
in our world, her as yet unseen husband.
Having milked the boys, we were dried and given sandals and two
pails each, made of metal, for receiving the essence of the cows. We
walked nakedly from the farmhouse. She did not permit us any clothes.
The grass lay green under our feet. It was wet with the morningÕs dew. In
the east the sun was just rising over the treetops. We were late to our
milking chores, Ms. Tuppence bade us to hurry. She ushered us briskly
along, elegantly dressed in a full-bodice gown and gloves, with a parasol
to protect her from the soon-to-be sweltering sun. In her hand she
clasped a wickedly thin riding crop. She whisked it behind us,
breathtakingly close to our fannies. We walked in disorderly fashion, in
neither a column or line, five abreast, one sometimes pushing ahead,
another falling behind. In the distance workmen arrived, clambering off a
truck that drove up amidst a cloud of dust. They were heavy-set men,
ignorant Indians or old-time field hands, men who had traded whatever
life they had for a lifetime of backbreaking labor amidst the eternal crops.
They would work, I guessed, glancing at them, until they were old and
grey, stooped over from all their endless efforts, forever harvesting, only
to be wakened anew by a fresh crop of fast-growing seed in the spring,
until at last the ever-generative seeds won out and the men, useless,
wound up as old beggars on the city streets of Buenos Aires. I pitied
them, even as they looked at our fine young bodies, our tempting white
flesh glowing in the rising sun, fresh from our bath, worried at the wet
dew which stuck ickily to our feet. With some of the men were women,
clambering down from the truck. It was a dump truck, as if the humans
who rode in it were nothing more than refuse. Ashes to ashes, and in the
meantime human garbage. I did not pity the women. They glared at us,
bundled-up like the men in rags against the hot rays of the sun. Jealousy
and envy coursed through them, I could see, even from this distance. Then
some of them laughed, ridiculing our nakedness. I flushed deeply. I was
glad they were far away and could not see my embarrassment. Yet,
somehow, IÕm sure they knew how we felt, seeing them now as the
whooped and hollared, getting the men to laugh with them. We trundled
with our buckets, wondering...did they know something we didnÕt? We
were captives, they at least might steal away during the day, unnoticed,
never to return. But, glancing here and there, I saw armed guards, coolly
watching, sunglasses on, guarding the illegal poppy crop that the workers
had come to tend and harvest. And intermingled with the poppies I saw
other drug crops, marijuana, and others still, all laid out neatly, with
some maize and potatoes interspersed, perhaps for food, perhaps to give
the crops an accidental appearance, as if the poppies had sprung up by the
grace of God only, not by any plan. Perhaps the government was cracking
down and they were trying to sow a more careful seed, intermingling,
creating the appearance of compliance, even as Mother Earth gave up yet
more of her natural, euphoria-producing bounty. Some say civilization
began with the growing of crops for beer, well, it continued here, and
there were many in the world, I was sure, who would claim that the
euphoria of the drug crops mattered more to them than the fullness in the
belly of the humble potatoes and corn.
Our titties wiggled freely as we walked. We were all blessed,
jiggling in our nudity we entered into the barn. Ms. Tuppence showed us
the cows. They looked at us with wide, dumb eyes. Their moos greeted
our ears. I smelled fresh hay, as if someone had been here just before us,
to prepare the barn.
ÒTurn one of your buckets upside down and sit right down on it,Ó
Miss Tuppence ordered. With our hair loose, pushing it back from our faces
to get it out of the way, we sat down on our buckets. It was
uncomfortable, I found, sitting with my bare ass right on the hard, cold
bucket. Mine wiggled a bit beneath me until I adjusted it. I moved it off a
bump on the ground so that it would sit properly. I sat frankly with my
legs wide. Ms. Tuppence gave each of us clear disposable gloves so we
would not have to touch the cowÕs udders directly. The gloves were thin,
though. We would feel every movement of the cowÕs milk-giving teats. I
felt my own breasts jiggle as I reached forward and took hold of my
assigned udder. The big beastly cow shifted as it felt my hands take hold,
as if urging me to empty it. Her penis shaped teats hung down with tender
fullness. The cow swished her tail, brushing away something, a fly
perhaps, or maybe brushing back Ms. Tuppence herself, lest she swipe at
its hind end with her crop.
ÒMy cow has a bow on it!Ó I heard Rachel announce happily.
ÒGet milking, dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered.
ÒWell, mine has a bell,Ó I replied, answering her as I began squeezing
the teats. As if to make me happy, my cow moved her neck, causing her
bell to ring.
We worked. I felt a strange fulfillment, doing this labor amidst the
fresh-smelling hay, naked as the cows themselves, my own nipples stiff
as I worked the fulsome teats. They felt sensuous as I tugged on them,
over and over, working on them as I might a host of wet male penises,
each giving forth its white juice in abundance. Never before had I felt
such a special bond with my own breasts, heavy and perfect, sucked but
never milk-giving. I felt a longing to be a mother well up within me. I did
not care who the father was, I just wanted to serve, to nourish, to cherish.
Lightly I kissed the side of my cow, my fellow sister, giving her milk so
freely and happily and effortlessly to me. I sensed the other girls around
me felt a similar bond with their beasts. At last, my pail underneath the
udder full, I lifted my seat up off my upturned bucket and stripped off my
gloves.
ÒOooh, that made my butt sore,Ó I remarked. I cast my gloves onto
the ground and rubbed my fanny with my hands.
ÒDid I say you could rise?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked. I sat down at once.
ÒIÕm-IÕm sorry,Ó I replied. My voice quavered. She frightened me.
My face was sheepish. I had, believe it or not, forgotten all about her,
about my captivity, so absorbed had I become in the milking.
ÒLetÕs not be all day about it, girls!Ó Ms. Tuppence called out.
Instead of striking me, she passed by, just letting her crop tremble a bit,
in her hand, keeping it limber. I wondered then at myself, at her. Were we
really being enslaved, punished, or were we being treated to some special
experience? Perhaps that was why we had not fought more, though how
we could I did not know, given the men whoÕd taken us, and who now
guarded us, in the distance, their weapons at the ready, and their cocks
too, no doubt, if we acted up and fell from grace with Ms. Tuppence and her
sprightly crop. Yet I felt, somehow, as if perhaps IÕd earned this moment
in the barn. IÕd been to the Andes, and to London and its environs, and on
into the jungles of Mexico, seeking what I knew not, and finding danger,
passion sometimes, but mostly an otherworldly kind of loss of control of
my physical self, only to repossess myself at the last minute, before all
was lost. Now, again, I had brought myself into some special zone, where
few entered. Naked, shivering slightly in the coolness of the barn, the sun
hot already in the fields beyond. Made to work, yet in a freshened barn,
lined with sweet hay, with freshly scrubbed cows waiting to be milked. I
guessed not every day was this barn so clean, so well prepared. They had
done it for us, because we were special. And why were we special? Not
because of our minds, tho we might speak with special eloquence, or
tenderness, or warmth, or passion. No, it was because, of all the females
in the world, we were the best, the most perfect. And, most importantly,
we were young. We were the girls of this season, though I found it hard to
believe there would ever be any other seasons when I was not perfect and
special and just as unique as I now was. Yet, there were older women in
the world, like Ms. Tuppence, who had been girls once, with free-flowing
hair, long and fine and tumbling down over their swan-like necks and slim,
tightly-fleshed backs, swishing across their ribs and spine, touching the
outcurving of their ass, their tailbone. Ms. Tuppence rousted us from our
bucket-seats and made us each pick up our full pail, leaving our upturned
buckets on the floor behind, perhaps to be reclaimed by whomever had
freshened the barn for us before our arrival.
ÒCome, girls! Back to the house!Ó Ms. Tuppence ordered. With
sloshing pails we proceeded forward. I felt milk splash my thighs as I
gripped my heavy, full bucket with both my small hands. My mane of hair
swayed as I carried my swaying bucket. My ass moved freely, jiggling in
time with my efforts. My titties were squeezed between my close-
pressed arms, offering my teats like twin little towers, HersheyÕs kisses
made of pink flesh, capping my sumptuous breasts.
Exiting the barn, we found the field hands loitering nearby. Perhaps
they had been invited to witness us at closer range. Our faces reddened at
once. With lowered eyes, feeling ridiculous, we waddled with our heavy
pails toward the farmhouse. They watched our wiggly bodies, noted with
amused, heavy-lidded eyes each opening of our bottom cracks, our silken
bottoms working in time with our legs as we carried in the milk.
ÒDonÕt spill it!Ó Ms. Tuppence cautioned us. ÒThe field hands want
every drop of it. Nourishment is scarce in these parts. They have hungry
children who need it. Walk carefully, donÕt trip! You will drink
pasteurized milk at breakfast, but these field hands need this raw milk
right away, for their many children. If even one of you drops your pail I
will turn you over to them for punishment. ItÕs only fair you should get
the milk for their children, since you will eat sausages and eggs and bread
that they baked, or butchered, or collected from the henhouse. We all
share the work here!Ó Fixing my lips I carried my bucket more
deliberately. It seemed only fair. We had milked in a kind of erotic,
selfish introspection, yet the work of the field hands was only hard,
forced, peasant labor. They worked sunup to sundown, and there was no
passion in it, only sweat and blood, toil and grime. Sleek-limbed, my hair
lustrous in the morning sun, feeling its rays upon my body, I carried my
bucket with a sense of duty. I was serving. I was contributing. A child
would drink this milk this very morning, still warm from the cowÕs udder.
It would feed upon milk that I had provided, albeit with my squeezing
hands, instead of my breasts which squished between my close-pressed
arms.
We advanced with our milk pails to a big metal drum beside the farm
house. It looked like it might be for catching rain, but Ms. Tuppence told
us to dump our milk into the drum. It might have held oil once, now it was
old, bright from long years of use and reuse, not rusty though, as if it had
been well cared for, despite its long years of service. I bit my lip when
my turn came and hefted up my pail. I poured the sweet, fresh milk into
the drum.
ÒToss your bucket over there. It will be seen to,Ó Ms. Tuppence
ordered me. I cast my pail beside the house, with the other buckets that
my farmmates had emptied. We were special, I realized. Our chores were
to delight us, Ms. Tuppence too perhaps, and others besides, if they saw us.
Together, swinging our bottoms freely, feeling unique, tossing our heads,
we re-entered the farmhouse.
ÒWash up at the sink,Ó Ms. Tuppence ordered. ÒNo playing, and be
quiet. Take off your sandals and wipe your feet with a rag. There are
some clean ones piled there, beside the sink.Ó We crossed from the
entrance of the farmhouse into the kitchen, passing the parlor. I saw men
sitting in there, discussing business, wearing suits. I smelled the smoke
of fine cigars and felt their eyes upon me as I went to the kitchen. With a
newfound sense of uncertainty we washed at the sink. Men were here, not
guards, not little boys, not field hands, but real men from the city, men
intended for us.
When weÕd freshened up at the sink Ms. Tuppence ushered us into the
dining room for breakfast. Two maids, dressed neatly in white, curtsied
to us as we entered the dining room, though we were stark naked and they
were primly attired. They were middle-aged women, fat field hand women
brought inside for servant-work.
ÒGood morning, fine ladies,Ó they said in broken English, with heavy-
Spanish accents. The chairs around the table were upright, made of
polished wood. I saw that each chair had a small white pillow, fringed
with a ruffle, upon it.
ÒYouÕll appreciate those pillows at future meals,Ó Ms. Tuppence
smiled, a gleam in her eyes. I saw that underneath each pillow was a
velvet cushion. I might have sat right upon it this morning, but the
pillows were already there, lest we had needed discipline in the barn, or
coming back with the milk in the heavy pails.
I scooted out my chair and made to sit. A man, filing in with the
other men behind us, appeared at my back.
ÒAllow me,Ó he offered. I looked up at him, surprised, feeling
awkward in my nudity as he stood well-clothed, finely-attired, behind me.
He waited for my nod of permission. At last I gave it. With an ass
lurching push he shoved my chair forward, so that my torso came against
the table. ÒSorry,Ó he coughed. I glanced at him again, saw he was very
large in his trousers, where his legs met.
ÒItÕs alright,Ó I answered, softly. He saw my eyes gazing in curious
surprise at his crotch.
ÒI find you...a pleasure,Ó he answered, uncertain of his words.
ÒThese men have all paid for the opportunity to dine with well-
cultivated young ladies,Ó Ms. Tuppence said, addressing us. ÒLetÕs be on
our best behavior and show them what perfect manners we have.Ó The men
sat down, on either side of each of us. I saw a very large man beside Ms.
Tuppence, still standing, gazing at us with a sense of ownership.
ÒThis is my husband, Frederick,Ó Ms. Tuppence said, introducing her
husband. I gulped, nodded politely as his eyes slowly regarded us. I
considered her lucky, I must admit, to have such a husband, for he was
physically imposing, with big arms, a big chest, almost bursting from his
Armani suit that he wore. He had piercing eyes and dark hair. His face
was deeply tanned, as if heÕd worked in the fields for years, building his
farm, until finally he could afford all that he had now, including us. I
trembled a little as he gazed at me, feeling the nakedness of my bottom
upon the ruffled pillow. I sensed he expected the best from us, with no
disobedience. Had I found my master? Did I want a master? For a
moment my prior master flashed before my minds, tall and slim but
powerfully built in his slimness, like a Vampire. Well, he had lost his grip
on me now. I was falling for this new man. He looked severe, though, and
that worried me.
ÒGood morning girls,Ó he said. ÒYou are my guests.Ó His voice spoke
of possession, making me feel like something he owned, like one of his
cows. Would he give me a ribbon to wear round my neck, or a bell?
ÒIÕm hungry!Ó Rachel proclaimed.
ÒAre you the youngest?Ó our new master asked, turning his gaze to
her. She shrank from the harshness of his eyes.
ÒNo, sir. She is,Ó Rachel answered. She pointed to me.
I wanted to slap Rachel for making me the special target of his
glare. His eyes turned to me. They did not look at my face, but at my
breasts.
ÒSit up straight,Ó Ms. Tuppence called to me. With flinching mouth,
feeling my spine tremble, I sat up straight and tall, though I wanted to
duck under the table and run back to the barn. The cows would protect me.
I stuck out my tits, as if they were udders, pulling my shoulders back.
ÒShe is no longer on the pill?Ó master asked Ms. Tuppence, as I
stared down at my plate, empty and waiting, conscious of the nude breasts
displayed all around me at table, and the men placed amidst us, admiring
us.
ÒNo, not as of this morning,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒA few days
perhaps, at most, and she will be fully fertile, although she might
conceive even this morning, if you wish to try.Ó
ÒI will,Ó he said. ÒThere is not much time. I must leave soon.Ó
ÒAgain?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked. She sat down at the front of the table,
next to her husband, who seated himself at the head of it, watching us all
the while.
ÒPolitics,Ó her husband answered.
ÒAlways there is something,Ó Ms. Tuppence sighed.
ÒAlways there is America,Ó he answered. ÒGreat women, but a pain
in the ass otherwise. These girls, they are all from America?Ó
ÒTwo of them,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒI think. Girls, tell us
where each of you is from. And your names too, please, that we may know
you better.Ó
We all looked at each other, awkward and blushing. I sensed the
males on either side of me, wanting to touch me, to take me. The maids
began serving us our meal, moving around us as quietly and stealthily as
cats. Their crisp white uniforms rustled as they began pouring juice,
serving bread, the aroma wafting up, making my mouth water.
ÒIÕm Tara,Ó our raven-haired former hostess began.
ÒWhich of you has been pierced?Ó our master asked Tara.
Tara lowered her eyes, blushed. ÒMe,Ó she replied.
ÒI let her take off her adornment,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒThere is
just a little ring there right now, barely visible, to keep the hole open. It
rubs her clitty sometimes. Does it not, Tara?Ó
ÒYes,Ó Tara answered, her voice soft. I looked at her. She had looked
a bit more passionate than the rest of us this morning. Now I knew why. I
wondered what it must feel like, to be constantly caressed, right where it
felt so special. For a second I wanted a ring of my own, on my clitoral
hood, but I dreaded the pain.
ÒIt is an excellent symbol of ownership,Ó Ms. Tuppence explained.
ÒThe chain, I mean, you will like seeing it on her.Ó
He harumphed, opened his napkin. He tucked it into his shirt collar,
in front, under his chin.
ÒIt is the sign of another man,Ó he said diffidently. ÒYou should have
brought me only unblemished girls, ones I could mark myself.Ó
ÒAll girls except the littlest ones bear the mark of another man,
dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered quietly. The maids served us eggs, once
over, trembling with egg yolk which threatened to break and run from
them at the slightest touch. ÒThe hymen, you know. Did you expect me to
bring you 12-year-olds?Ó
ÒNo, I must have bosoms and asses on my females, and they must be
capable of giving birth,Ó he answered. He looked at her. ÒWhen did you
lose yours?Ó
ÒAt twelve, dear,Ó she replied, with a little smile, remembering
briefly some long-lost lover.
ÒPerhaps that is the reason you have not borne ME any young,Ó he
answered.
ÒI have not borne anyone any Ôyoung,ÕÓ Ms. Tuppence said, taken
aback.
ÒWe will begin after breakfast,Ó master said, and cut into his egg.
Immediately the yolk flooded his plate. ÒI must have a heir.Ó
We ate a little while in silence, then, the men observing us, we
ourselves self-conscious, though a little proud too, like show ponies at a
fair. We were stunningly beautiful, I knew, me and my friends, all of us
with perfect nails, soft flowing hair, and faces men went to war and died
for, not to mention our bodies. I felt a bit queasy from my surroundings,
but the milking had done much to give me an appetite, and my desire for
food won out over my desire to keep my tummy empty so I could flee.
ÒYou will enjoy hosting parties, putting on your masterÕs long chain
before the guests arrive, greeting each one in turn, showing them your
masterÕs adornment,Ó Ms. Tuppence observed at last, turning to Tara. She
wished to fill our silence with pleasant conversation. ÒYour tinkling
little bell at the end of your chain will always announce you to be the
hostess, as you walk through the assembled guests. It is a wise use of the
pussy.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Tara answered shyly. She must have felt most irregular
talking about her pussy in front of all these strange men.
ÒDid it hurt?Ó Rachel asked. She forked a piece of egg-soaked bread
into her mouth.
ÒOf course,Ó Tara answered. ÒYou should know. You helped hold my
legs open.Ó
ÒOh, yeah. I donÕt want one,Ó Rachel informed master, her cheeks
bloated with her food.
ÒRachel, dear, your body contains b-endorphins, do you know what
they are?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked the girl. Rachel, munching with smacking
lips, shook her head Ôno.Õ
ÒWhen you feel pain, b-endorphins are released,Ó Ms. Tuppence
answered. ÒYou can feel a sense of euphoria from that.Ó
ÒWell, as long as it doesnÕt hurt, IÕll take the endorf-whatevers
then,Ó Rachel replied. ÒBut you can keep the bees. I donÕt like bees. They
sting!Ó A mild murmur of amusement passed among the guests. I shook
my head. Rachel reminded me of Mandy, all young and innocent and bold
and carefree, sure she owned the world, and was the center of attention in
it.
ÒTheir names, I was wondering...Ó a man piped up.
ÒIt is nothing,Ó master answered. ÒThey are walking wombs, that is
all. Beautiful wombs, IÕll grant, as I expected them to be. But I care
nothing for their names. This one is Tara, and has been owned by another
man, who had her pierced. That one is Rachel, who is as foolish and
childish as they come, yet she has been fucked by other men already, and
has no hymen to offer me.Ó
ÒYou sound upset, dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. She put a hand
lightly on his wrist. He brushed it away.
ÒI should go into the jungle, perhaps, and mate with the Indian
girls,Ó he snorted. ÒPerhaps they have virgins there.Ó
ÒAll girls are born virgins, dear, itÕs just that...Ó
ÒThey canÕt keep their panties on, and their parents pretend to care,
to ÔprotectÕ them, but look the other way when their boyfriend comes
calling,Ó master said. ÒIt is no matter. I will fuck these girls and we will
see what comes of it.Ó
I lifted my eyes from my plate, glanced at him. I think we all did. I
myself felt sorry for him. So handsome, yet somehow so disappointed
with the world. Perhaps his expectations were too high.
We finished breakfast. We ate strawberries for dessert, to make our
breath sweet. Our chairs were scooted back by the men and we rose,
princess-like, though we were naked as jaybirds and my bladder longed to
pee.
ÒCome, girls,Ó Ms. Tuppence beckoned us. ÒI want each of you to pee
into this little cup. ThereÕs one for each of you.Ó She handed out plastic
containers to us, as we stood around the breakfast table. The maids began
clearing away the plates and glasses. ÒDo it right here. Just hold the cup
beneath you, bend your legs a little, and open your cuntlips. IÕll test the
pee to see that youÕre not pregnant, so master and I can be sure any child
you bear will be his.Ó
ÒIf I have a baby, I want it to be MINE!Ó Rachel said.
ÒShhh,Ó Anna said, bumping her. She glanced at Ms. TuppenceÕs riding
crop, letting RachelÕs eyes follow her gaze. Rachel, who herself had
served as a slave under our previous master, got the message. Obedience
was required. She accepted her cup and, like the rest of us, dutifully peed
into it. I had trouble stopping my flow, but I managed. I had much left to
give.
Mistress collected our glasses, giving each of us a kleenex to wipe
with. I wiped myself, then darted forward and dropped my kleenex on my
plate. The maids would collect it. I stood fidgeting. How strange it had
been to pee so candidly, with the maids working around us, the men
standing amongst us. In a girlÕs locker room one might have gone ahead
and just peed, to get it over with. But here, it had been so unusual, peeing
in this wood-paneled room. There were paintings on the walls, perhaps by
Old Masters, or unknown artists of equal skill. They portrayed generations
past, two men, a woman, masterÕs ancestors perhaps, frigid and cold,
glaring out from the walls, with a layer of dust lightly covering them, for
someone had forgotten to dust their canvas surfaces, perhaps out of
respect for them, or indifference. There was no glass covering the
paintings. They hung in ornate gold-gilt frames. A plant stood in one
corner, leafy and green, with long-stemmed stalks. A bouquet of flowers
on the table seemed the perfect compliment to it, all buds and flourishing
color, female perhaps, to the plantÕs stern masculine growth. The plant in
the corner reminded me of master; cold, withdrawn, yet large in its
corner, imposing, proud of itself. Well, I was proud of myself too, though I
was much frailer, with my pink pussy lips wedged neatly between my
thighs, fringed with hair, and my pink colored toenails and fingernails. I
looked down at myself, over the offered fruit of my breasts, with their
tender teats. I ran my hand across my tummy. It was smooth, flat,
despite my big meal. It felt soft. I pressed my fingers into it. Would
master make me bulge there? I wondered what kind of child such a big
man would sire. A giant, perhaps. Still, I wished IÕd been given my pill. I
should choose when I gave birth, not him, shouldnÕt I? I looked up at him
with meek eyes. He was watching me, seeing me stroke my belly.
ÒI enjoyed watching you pee,Ó he said.
ÒThank you,Ó I replied, not knowing what else to say. I felt myself
blush. ÒI-I still have to go some more.Ó
ÒMe too!Ó Rachel said, a note of urgency in her voice.
ÒIÕm glad that chainÕs out of my way,Ó Tara said. We were feeling
free again, open. ÒAnd I do have to pee, sir, if you donÕt mind.Ó She
brushed her hair back with a flip of her hand, a toss of her head. She was
cultured, privileged. The only agonies sheÕd ever known were those
inflicted for the sake of pleasure. Her teeth flashed in a white, candid
smile.
ÒI see why your master pierced you,Ó Ms. TuppenceÕs husband said to
her. ÒYou must host a party for me sometime. I shall take you with me, to
Paris. You will greet the guests, and show each one your pussy as she or
he comes in.Ó
ÒI would be honored,Ó Tara answered simply. She looked down at
herself, bent her legs, opened herself, tugged lightly on the little ring that
adorned her most private place. ÒIt is special, though it hurt like the
dickens getting it in,Ó she admitted.
ÒI should have loved to have seen it,Ó master answered.
ÒJasmine is still to get one, according to our old masterÕs orders,Ó
Tara offered, casting a quick glance at Jasmine, who flinched and cupped
her hand to her nest.
ÒTake away your hand,Ó master ordered Jasmine. ÒYour pussy is as
pretty as hers. You deserve the same. And I do too, for I wish to watch it
put in.Ó Jasmine took away her hand, mumbled something, inaudible, a
protest probably. She looked down at her toes, hefted her breasts in her
palms self-consciously.
With dainty fingers, Ms. Tuppence dipped paper in each of our urine
cups to test our pee. She did it right on the dinner table, laying each strip
of paper out in a neat row, side-by-side, to see the results.
ÒOne, two, three, four, five fertile females,Ó she announced to her
husband. ÒNone pregnant.Ó
ÒGood, let us proceed,Ó he said simply. ÒHave them pee in the
bathroom on their way to the delivery room.Ó
Feeling quite powerless, we let Ms. Tuppence usher us down the hall
and into a well-appointed bathroom. Each of us sat on the toilet and peed,
while masterÕs fine-suited friends gathered round and watched us. Then
we were permitted to check our make up in a mirror, and to brush out our
hair, which the wind had tousled on our trip to the barn. Feeling odd, and
not a bit frightened, I let myself be led from the bathroom into an
adjoining room, where five wooden trestles awaited us. Each was topped
by a leather pad, and I saw that a table sat beside each trestle, busy with
vials of ointment and salve, and with rubbers. Boldly Tara walked up to
one of the trestles and ran her fingers lightly over its leather top.
ÒIs this for me?Ó she asked coyly. ÒHow unlike a marriage bed, to be
bent over like some animal and fucked from behind.Ó
ÒIt must not be too pleasant, dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒYou are
competing with me, after all.Ó She touched TaraÕs elbow.
ÒNow?Ó Tara asked. She turned her her face to Ms. Tuppence. Their
eyes seemed to clash a moment.
ÒYou are a beautiful animal,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒOffer your
cunt to your master.Ó
ÒOh, this is so silly!Ó Tara answered. ÒI shall simply take RU486
afterwards.Ó She bent, an impelling push from Ms. Tuppence at her back,
showing us her hiney and finally bending so low that her hair brushed the
floor.
ÒLegs apart,Ó Ms. Tuppence called out. She wedged her palms
between TaraÕs close-pressed legs and urged them apart, showing us her
fig. Rachel giggled.
Master unzipped himself. His penis popped out. We gasped, all of us,
it was so big. Veins ran along its shaft, pulsing, the head was a proud
plum of flesh, wriggling with his unspent need as he strode up to Tara.
Quickly Ms. Tuppence squirted him with oil. It was warm, from a special
little heater placed just for the purpose upon the table. Master grimaced
at the pleasure of it, all wet and oily as it laced over his penis. Then he
opened up Tara in back, wedging her ass cheeks apart with his hands so he
could fully expose her cunny. He shoved himself into her. She yelped, bit
her lip. He pushed deeper.
ÒHow romantic!Ó Tara gasped.
ÒShut up,Ó master snarled. Tara tried to rise but Ms. Tuppence kept
her down with a quick, cautionary hand on her back. Master must not be
upset. He was already in a bitter mood. Why, I did not know. Perhaps he
was spoiled.
As we watched, master quickly rodded Tara, as if she were some
sheep in a barnyard that the stable boy wished to relieve himself in. All
her dainty preparations, combing her hair, fixing her lipstick, powdering
her cheeks, all was for naught, for master took her with casual
indifference.
ÒUh! Uh! Uh! Uh!Ó Tara moaned, as she was reamed by a our
implacable master. Within a minute or so he came, spurting freely, not
saving any for later for the rest of us. He withdrew after that, leaving
Tara bent over, shocked, feeling bereft. She did not even want to stand up
again, she was so humiliated. Master zipped himself up and left the room.
ÒYou may take the others,Ó he said to his friends, the men who had
watched us pee, eaten with us. ÒI am needed downtown, at my business.Ó
And with that, despite his promises of trips to Paris, or of claiming us for
his own, he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
Suddenly, our male companions stirred, found us objects they no
longer had to be polite to. Our master, our new, now-departed master, had
abandoned us. I felt a shiver of fright run down my spine, and quickly
deepen in my tummy. I did not know these men and, suddenly, I did not like
them. KimberlyÕs words of Òplaying RiskÓ rang within me. I felt a sudden
wetness between my legs. But it was cold, not the shivery anticipation I
felt when fear stalked me with quiet grace, somehow assuring me that I
would come through it okay. Now, a man seized Anna, brutally, and began
gnawing on her breast like it was a piece of meat to be consumed. We
were so perfect, so beautiful, and these men seemed about to tear us
apart, loosed wolves who would break us and leave us as our newfound
master just had.
Tara began to rise, but a man claimed her from behind and thrust his
newly exposed penis into her cunt. He fucked her like a machine, soulless,
working only toward his own release, caring nothing for her. Tara cried
out in anguish but Ms. Tuppence grabbed her by her hair and held her down.
A man unzipped himself, drew out his cock, and came toward me with it
swinging like a long sausage, expecting me to make it hard for him. I was
young, beautiful, yet he did not find me so pleasing that he was
automatically hard. Perhaps this was the difference between these men
and the Russians, who had taken us just yesterday. They had screwed us
lustily, bawdily, celebrating our sexuality with us. These men seemed
bent on destroying us.
In the distance I heard a hollow, repeating sound, just audible
through the walls. I cocked my head, wondering. Did some sixth sense
alert me to it? And, bright with youth, my mind suddenly clicked upon it.
ÒSomeoneÕs shooting!Ó I yelled. I had been the only one to hear, to notice,
and I spoke without reflection, almost hoping, perhaps, somewhere in my
subconscious, for a miracle. But was it the Argentinean government? I
might get in trouble, having quit my job. Even as a large, menacing man
advanced upon me, I began wondering what I might say if confronted by my
old employers and asked why IÕd left, without giving notice. ItÕs odd,
sometimes, how the mind works. It can speculate on the strangest things
sometimes. A picture flashed in my mind of Jesus, hanging on the cross,
in utter agony, and having to use the bathroom too. Certainly, if it took
three hours to die, youÕd have to go to the bathroom, wouldnÕt you?
The man behind Tara began humping Tara. But Ms. Tuppence had
turned white. Her grip loosened on TaraÕs hair. Among the men, there was
a new awareness, a sense of impending danger, perhaps even approaching
doom.
ÒWhat-who--?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked. TaraÕs unwanted lover kept
thrusting into her, mechanically, unfeeling.
A 13-year-old boy leapt into the room. ÒMs. Tuppence! WeÕre under
attack!Ó he cried. His cheeks were rosy. He seemed as excited by the
news as anything, as if some grand new adventure were opening: Rambo
Four, coming to a farmhouse near you! His news was all the confirmation
the men in the room needed. From underneath their suits they produced, as
if defending Reagan from assassination, guns of every caliber and
description. It was as if each man needed his own unique weapon,
specially selected. They left us, hurriedly and with desperation in their
eyes. TaraÕs lover was yanked away by one of his fellows and forced to
follow. I slipped out behind them. I was curious. I felt safer in the room
but I could not resist finding out what was happening.
From a window in another room, I watched fascinated as a group of
irregular soldiers advanced on the farmhouse. They were dressed in black,
ninja-like, with dark sunglasses, as if war must take second place to
fashion. They seemed to come at the farmhouse from all sides. Bullets
peppered the old masonry of the farmhouse walls. They were thick walls,
defensible, but the soldiers advancing on us seemed to have already
dispatched many of Ms. TuppenceÕs armed guards. In the distance, I
thought I saw a familiar figure. He was hooded, with a deep black cloak
shrouding his body. Scarecrow-like, he seemed to stalk the fields, moving
ever closer. His irregulars advanced ahead of him. But he was just behind,
pointing, directing, yet not shouting, simply issuing orders, mouthing them
almost, as if by telepathy. His soldiers would duck, or crouch, or dive
from one point of cover to another. Yet he moved unblinkingly forward,
tall and handsome, striding like Aragon, king-like. He presiding over the
hard-fought advance like a statesman. He urged his men forward almost
as if they were children. Yet these were deadly, fierce soldiers,
mercenaries or veterans of the drug trade, hard-bitten men who would
rape and kill without a second thought. In His presence, though, they
seemed mere preschoolers, hustled forward by One who dominated them
with a power and presence I had not seen since, well, since the Emperor in
Star Wars 3, I guess, and I felt like little R2-D2 as I watched him. Who
was this dark prince, advancing through the fields, his image shimmering
in the hot sun. I gazed at him more closely. His cloak and hood were thick.
Bullets kicked up the dirt around him as he drew closer, as the men
defending the farmhouse realized he was the leader, the one who must fall
if the battle should be turned in their favor. Yet he did not seem to mind
the bullets. No, he feared something....it was the daylight! The hot,
blazing, unrepentant sun, that was what he feared, and his cloak, flanking
his legs on this breezeless, blazing summer-hot morning, shrouded him
from it.
ÒMaster!Ó the words formed in my rosebud lips. Like a little girl
caught up with excitement, I almost peed then, crouching by the window.
It was my Dracula-Druglord master, Lord Shaftsbury. He had come to fight
for us, for me! To duel on the field of battle. To reclaim his women, his
loveslaves. I watched with wondering, awestruck eyes as he advanced.
His ninjas fell, bleeding, shouting at their mortality, as the battle
thickened. Yet Lord Shaftsbury strode on, and I thought momentarily of
Adolf Hitler, marching forward in his first, failed coup, all the others
fallen, or fearful, yet he and one other only marched forward with demonic
determination. I did not think Shaftsbury capable of HitlerÕs evil, yet he
had the same, demonic quality. Even as his Nazi-like Ninjas fell around
him he came on with smooth grace. I could not see his eyes, though, or his
face. The hood kept all in darkness even under this bright noonday sun.
Yet in my gut I knew it was him. Who else would be so strange, so deadly
and erotically beautiful, a naughty girlÕs wet dream in the middle of the
night?
A face appeared beside mine. It was Tara, panting, her hair all
tousled, as if sheÕd had to fight her way from the room, as if the 13-year-
old boys, perhaps, had tried to stop her, or Ms. Tuppence. I felt her breath
on my bare shoulder. Her breasts heaved as she drew in and exhaled her
breath in quick gasps.
ÒLook, master!Ó I breathed.
ÒYes,Ó she replied quietly. She touched a hand to my shoulder. Her
nails pressed deep as she watched him with a close intensity, even as I
did. ÒHe is truly awesome, is he not?Ó she asked.
ÒMmmm,Ó was all I could say in reply, even as her sharp nails cut
into my skin with raw excitement.
It was a long and furious battle. There were no survivors. Except
one. The house had been difficult to take, but at last I heard him enter
down below. The door opened, and shut. Somehow he knew there was no
one in the house but us. The 13-year-old boys had scattered, off into the
fields where perhaps they might return from, or perhaps not. Ms.
Tuppence, too, was gone. Perhaps she had fled with the boys at last,
realizing her husband was dead, caught in the crossfire, caught defending
her homestead. And all his guests, his guards, even many of his male field
hands, perhaps all of them, were dead. And master too, my real master,
my Vampire master, who had earned my love, truly earned the right to take
me and keep me, all his vigorous ninjas were slain. Most had died up close
against the house, trying to break in, trying to enter, as if attempting a
virgin. Only master came in at last. His footsteps were slow and
measured across the floor down below. We girls, hearing him, not knowing
quite what to expect, retreated to the room where Tara had been fucked.
The trestle stood empty now, as did the four others that had been intended
for each of us. ÒInsemination stations,Ó I think theyÕd been called. And in
the center of the room a Òbirthing station,Ó where each of us, squatting,
might deliver her baby into Ms. TuppenceÕs arms nine months later. Well,
all that was finished now, and I was grateful. There was only one man
whose child I wished to bear.
He entered. His presence was awesome. His cloak was torn. He
stooped a little, and I glimpsed blood within the darkness of his shroud
and gasped. With a brush of his hand he threw back his hood. I saw his
face, streaked with grime. He had blood running from the corner of his
mouth.
ÒMaster!Ó I cried aloud. I ran up to him, so in awe of him. I flung
myself at him, even as the other girls did, naked and trembling like a child
welcoming home her long-lost daddy. I managed to press myself to his
chest and I tossed my arms up and looped them around his handsome neck.
He permitted me to kiss him. He lowered his lips to mine and I kissed him
more passionately than IÕve ever kissed any man in my life, before or
since. With wild abandon I pressed and ground my pussy into the
substantial bulge in his pants. Then I lifted my body off his. Delicately I
touched his abdomen. ÒMaster, youÕre bleeding!Ó I whispered.
ÒI am not quite undead,Ó he breathed in reply.
ÒOh, my God! We must get a doctor!Ó Tara exclaimed. Carefully we
laid him down on the floor. We opened his cloak, his clothes. There were
guns slung from his chest and tucked within folds of his cloak. All sorts,
a kind of arsenal like Mad Max would carry. We pulled the guns out of his
clothes and lay them in a pile on the floor with ever-so careful hands.
Tara ran to the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit. Working
frantically, her nude limbs tense, her pussy still seeping semen from the
men who had fucked her, her bosoms quivering, she broke open the kit and
drew out the articles of healing. Tape, antiseptic, q-tips. Anna ran to the
bathroom and came back with a pail of water and a sponge. We bathed
master right there, removing his clothes, nursing him as best we could.
His wounds were not as bad as IÕd feared. Five diligent girls, nude nurses,
could do a bang-up job on a man, even with just a first aid kit and a bucket
of water. At last, feeling better, he eased himself up on his elbows. He
watched with amusement as each of us in turn insisted on mounting his
cock, newly wakened, and bouncing upon it.
ÒDonÕt. ThatÕs the last lively organ IÕve got,Ó he protested weakly.
But each of us took a turn on the cock, selfishly perhaps, getting it deep
inside us and feeling his presence in our womb.
ÒOnly you, master. Only you,Ó I said, looking at him with my deep,
liquid eyes.
ÒHurry up. Another bounce of your ass and heÕll cum!Ó Rachel urged
me. Tara and Jasmine lifted me off him so she could have her turn. And,
once mounted, she bounced with abandon, ignoring all our pleas, until she
got the victory spurt.
For my sixteenth birthday I was awakened early, carefully made-up,
and presented to master with a gift-wrapped bosom and tiny panties.
ÒI might tear the panties,Ó he said, and slipped them off. To
preserve the ribbon as a souvenir he undid it and had it put away. Then he
took me to a post and beat me all day long, letting me feel each stroke of
the strap, or the cane, each incurling bite of the whip. He fed me at the
post, and watered me there. I peed at the post, into a little china dish.
Guests came, admired my suffering. He took me in the ass for them,
twice, to show his dominance over me, and to let me know how much he
loved to have me as his slave. Frequently my hair was combed, my makeup
checked by the girls, by Tara especially, who delighted in seeing me
become a full-fledged women under masterÕs hands. I cried often in the
first hours. Later my tears dried and I just endured, but there was a
sweetness in the endurance. All the girls dutifully sat around me
sometimes, but at other times they partied with the guests, ignoring me.
Master came and went, letting me feel his presence, then his absence.
When I was untied at dusk my bottom glowed with a redness of its own,
red as the setting sun. Master quietly carried me to my own bed, feeling
me weeping in his arms, coughing, trembling. My thighs were bruised,
front and back, long thin bruises from a riding crop. I could feel bitter red
curlicues of fire up and down my back. Master flopped me onto my belly in
the bedroom, like a fish, right onto a cool, sheeted bed that received me
with a comfort I relished. He watered me again, right there on the bed,
pouring water into my mouth from a little cup, letting it drool out the
corner of my mouth and stain the bed under my face. Then, as a final
tribute, he inserted his cock right into my wet mouth and fucked me a
third time, until he came. The girls gathered around my newly broken-in
16-year-old body and immediately began applying ice and salve to my
wounds.
I slept fitfully that night, tortured by the remnants of my
punishment, the stripes burning me, reminding me of masterÕs power over
me. At last a sense of satisfaction lulled me into dreamland. I had
pleased master. He had enjoyed me. To the full. With no restraints, save
those which kept me bound to the post. Curiously, the post had been
covered with soft cottony velvet, to protect me from its hardness, its
rough surface. I would only bear the marks that master gave me, with his
hands. No others, not even from an inanimate, lifeless post. I was
masterÕs alone.
When morning came, master awoke me. ÒI want to sleep,Ó I groused.
I turned away from him and yelped at the pain that shot through my bottom
and up my back, that rippled through the bruises on my thighs.
ÒGet up,Ó he commanded. He drew me from the cool, comforting
sheets. ÒYou are going swimming,Ó he said. He took me out back. He made
me dive into the pool, as perfectly as I could, and swim in it. The water
felt soft, comforting against my body. When I got out, I trembled with a
freshness of feeling IÕd never experienced before. In the cool morning, the
sun just rising, master toweled me off.
ÒAm I yours?Ó I asked, sniffling at the water that seemed to be in
my nose.
ÒI am a man,Ó was his only answer. I knew it meant he would always
have other women. But now I was his too. I would share him with a few
special others. We would play together, dine out, go to films, even travel
together to faraway lands, always his faithful wenches, to be used as he
saw fit and whenever he wished. And we would be cared for, cosseted. He
had oodles of money and he delighted in buying us precious things, that
only he ever saw. Nighties, and panties, and jeweled collars and special
whips to make sure we behaved. We were pets, like expensive Siamese
cats or frisky toy poodles. Poor men in apartments, with balding heads
and fat tummies, kept a cat or two for company. Master, wealthy and
handsome, kept us.
30
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-END OF story EMISSION