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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SULTRY SPRING
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Chapter Thirteen
The door closed. I heard the click of a lock being turned. My eyes
gaped at my aunt. We were locked in! I smelled earth. Turning my head I
saw soil piled amidst clay pots. There was a spade leaning against the far
wall. There were shelves. They had bags of seeds scattered upon them. I
saw a trowel lying on the wooden floor.
ÒWe must undress,Ó my aunt said, and immediately bit her lip, her
lower lip, as if her own words had frightened her too badly for her to be
able to speak any more. Nonetheless she reached behind herself and upped
the tail of her jacket. She found the zipper on the back of her pants and I
listened as she drew the zipper down.
zip! Small, quiet, yet sounding loud in this small, enclosed room, and
saying volumes. My aunt, her jacket hanging open, for her hands were upon
her pants, drew down her slacks. They were tight upon her hips and she
had to struggle a little to get them down. Beneath them I saw she was
bare; panties would have ruined the effect that her jeans gave her, of
smooth, flaring hips, and proudly molded bottomcheeks. (Which,
incidentally, the tail of her jacket had artfully concealed.)
Yet now as my aunt drew down her slacks, her bush was exposed.
The trim hairs of it sprang free in tight little curls as my aunt yanked
down her pants. I gazed at my auntÕs mons. How strange it was to look at
my auntÕs pussy.
ÒChloe, undress,Ó my aunt said. ÒOr you shall have to be sent home.Ó
ÒOh, auntie! Must we really go through with this?Ó I whined.
ÒThere are no men here, Chloe,Ó my aunt said. ÒWe should not be too
shy about being naked with only ourselves here, and one other female,
should we? It is just Vivian, our friend from the silk store. Perhaps we
shall all try on some lingerie and then go home. Hmmm?Ó
I gazed ruefully at my aunt, while unbuttoning my blouse.
ÒOh, auntie! You KNOW thatÕs not why you came here,Ó I said. ÒYou
told me yourself. ItÕs to be whipped!Ó
My aunt bit her lip again. When at last she ceased biting it I saw a
small mark there, left by her teeth.
ÒChloe, it is taking all my courage just to undress,Ó my aunt told me.
ÒPlease donÕt make this any harder for me than it already is. It is best--Ó
she paused. ÒIt is best if I donÕt think about it too much.Ó
My aunt kicked off her pumps. She stood barefoot on the wooden
floor. She drew her lowered pants off her ankles. She walked bare
bottomed to the single peg on the wall and hung her pants up on it. Her
rump wiggled beneath the tail of her jacket which, even now, kept her
slightly modest.
I took off my blouse. I hung it up, over my auntÕs slacks, on the lone
peg. My aunt looked at me and smiled. She reached back to unsnap her bra.
I reached back behind myself and found the hook of my own bra. Together
we loosed our tits.
ÒAre you quite naked?Ó a voice asked, unlocking the door and peeking
in. I was bare as the day I was born, just hanging up my panties when
Vivian looked in on us.
ÒYes,Ó my aunt said, biting her lip again. My breasts quivered as I
turned. My hair hung long down along the sides of my face. I pouted. I
tugged where my skirt should have been, along the flanks of my thighs, and
was surprised to find nothing there. Just bare skin, and the eyes of Vivian
upon me.
Our friend from the silk shop stepped into the little room. She was
as soft and calm as ever, a gentle smile upon her face, a slight hint of
amusement showing in her eyes. Yet now she wore a black hood on her
head. A single tress escaped it, golden blonde against the blackness of her
hood. There was a lone pink ribbon tied about an inch from where the
tress escaped the top of her hood. How incongruous it looked, adorning a
woman who was now dressed so severely!
Except for the single lock of hair, popping out of the top of her hood,
and the space left in front for her face, the black hood completely encased
VivianÕs head. Her ears, the underside of her chin, the back and sides of
her head, all was tightly encompassed by leather. Even her neck, formerly
so slim and white and delicate, was now gripped by leather.
However, beneath VivianÕs imprisoned head, her shoulders were bare.
How lovely and small they looked-- as if formed from china, and easily
broken. Her arms too were bare, all the way down to the elbows where,
suddenly, leather encased her again, right to her fingertips. In one of her
gloved hands she held, in quite a calm and businesslike manner, a large
paddle. I shrank back from her when my eyes met the paddle. It looked
heavy. Yet, to lighten it a little, and no doubt to speed its progress
through the air, it had been repeatedly punctured along its flat surface
with little holes.
Despite my fear of the paddle, my examination (was it admiration?)
did not end there. Still I gazed upon her. Her breasts were naked, but held
in a halter. It was a harness, really, made of three strips of leather,
hanging down from her collar. The leather was tough, unlike the lace bras
she sold in her store. It had been drawn tight along and between the sides
of her breasts. The effect was to push the bared skin forth, as if offering
fruit. At the very tips of her breasts, surmounting the naked, tightly-held
cones of flesh, were her nipples. They were pale and pink. How odd it was
to see such pretty, delicate nipples, offered in such a frank and ruthless
manner!
ÒDoes-- does it hurt?Ó I asked, trembling as my eyes gazed at the
bra.
ÒDoes what hurt, babykins?Ó Vivian replied, still softly smiling, her
delicate fingers tightening their grip on her paddle.
ÒThe-- the bra,Ó I said, hoping she didnÕt think I was asking about
her paddle. My hands flew to my nude behind and I cupped it with my
fingers.
ÒOh. Of course it hurts, dear,Ó Vivian said. ÒBut I will get used to it
in a little while. ThatÕs how pain is. At first one is shocked by it but
then, gradually, one builds up resistance to it. Finally, if one is
successfully taught, any amount of pain can be borne. IsnÕt that true,
Rebecca?Ó
ÒOh, I donÕt know!Ó Rebecca said, her voice quavery and alarmed. She
reached behind herself and held her bare ass. I wondered if now, seeing
VivianÕs attire and the paddle she held, my aunt didnÕt wish sheÕd kept her
pants on.
Alarmed as I was, and keeping one wary eye on the paddle she held,
my eyes nonetheless continued to drink in VivianÕs sexy outfit. There was
a heavy belt around her waist. It was made of the same tough, thick
leather as the bra which bit into the sides of her bosoms. Beneath that,
straps hung down, disappearing into a pair of panties. I wondered why she
should have straps. She was not a man. She had no equipment that straps
might bind. Just the soft declivity of her pussy, the slight swell of her
sexual lips, all of it shrewdly concealed by the skimpiest of leather
panties.
From VivianÕs leather undies, my eyes travelled down her thighs.
Fishnet stockings clung to the smooth white flesh of her legs. Each
stocking was banded at the top, by a tightly cinched horizontal leather
strap, with a buckle. The straps, I guessed, tight-gripping the tops of her
thighs, kept her stockings up. Perhaps elastic would have been more
efficient, sewn into the tops of her stockings, but it would not have
allowed her to wear the sheerest silk which she now had on her legs. This
silk, woven into a fishnet pattern, with artful gaps in the mesh, showing
her naked skin, was obviously very expensive. I sighed a little sigh of
relief as I saw it; the slightest brush would tear the silk. Surely we
would not be doing anything too rash, with such fine, expensive stockings
on VivianÕs legs!
At last, as my eyes travelled down to her ankles, I saw Vivian wore
leather booties. Each one was well-polished and sported a decorative
buckle. The boots had high heels; nonetheless Vivian walked in them as
surely as if sheÕd been wearing sneakers!
ÒWell, I am glad you were able to get your things off,Ó Vivian said,
glancing at our clothes which hung, rather haphazardly, on the peg. She
smiled. It was a beatific smile, as if she were sharing a secret with us,
her eyes sunny and warm as she gazed from her hood.
ÒOh-- canÕt we hang them up in your clothes closet?Ó my aunt asked.
ÒNo, dear,Ó Vivian said. ÒSlaves do not hang their clothes in their
MistressÕs closet.Ó
Oh, how those words struck me! Were we to be slaves of hers, nude
slaves? My mind felt dizzy. I clutched at my auntÕs hand. I squeezed it as
IÕd squeezed it in the cab. How softly Vivian spoke those words, and yet,
how dire they seemed!
ÒI do not quite wish for you to be entirely naked,Ó Vivian said.
ÒOh! Then I shall put my panties back on!Ó I blurted, still gripping
my auntÕs hand. I turned, and made to drag my auntie back to the peg with
me, so we could both salvage some of our wardrobe.
ÒNo, Chloe,Ó Vivian said. Her words were crisp, direct. I stopped
cold. I turned and looked at her. How that single word sent a thrill up my
spine! ÒNo.Ó And to hear my name spoken like that, in such a no-nonsense
fashion, by a woman as beguilingly sweet as Vivian! I stared at her. How
intriguing she was, so delicate and sweet, and yet, at the same time,
capable of such sudden firmness! My aunt was not like that. My aunt was
all mushy. I think I could have talked my aunt out of anything, or into
anything, if IÕd set my mind to it. But not Vivian! Underneath that
breathtakingly soft exterior I sensed a will of steel! There were limits,
boundaries inside Vivian. She could be pushed just so far, and absolutely
not a whit farther. Her eyes, so soft and caring a moment before,
hardened. Just briefly, as if to give my trembling soul a hint of what was
to come. Then in a second she was her old self again; shy, modest,
perfectly feminine, unwilling, it seemed, to breathe, lest a flea
somewhere take offense.
Vivian opened her hand. It was her other hand, the one that did not
hold the paddle which, now, I was unwilling to look at. From the hand that
had appeared to hold nothing, small pieces of steel feel to the floor. I
gazed down at them. I saw there were several.
ÒWhat? Is it a... a bikini?Ó my aunt asked. Her voice was high-
pitched with alarm. She bent and looked more closely at the interlinked
steel.
ÒNo. There are several strands. Pick them up,Ó Vivian said.
My aunt obeyed. She plucked two strands from the small pile on the
floor. She held them up. The naked light bulb above our heads made them
sparkle.
ÒThey are wrist chains,Ó Vivian said. ÒMade of the hardest, most
well-tempered steel. They are thin, almost breakable in their appearance,
but I assure you that they are very strong. You see, I believe, a clasp
dangling from the mid-point of each chain? That is to allow them to be
connected together, so that your wrists may be held pinned to each other.
I think weÕll find that to be useful. After all, there are two of you, and
only one of me. Please put them on. That way, when it is necessary, I will
be able to make you secure for what must be done.Ó
ÒOh, what must be done?!Ó I asked, my words echoing hers.
ÒBend over and pick up the other two chains, Chloe,Ó was all Vivian
said in response.
I retrieved the chains from the floor. My breasts swung as I did so.
I felt naked, free. Yet here I was, bare-skinned, picking up chains off the
floor!
ÒPut them on each otherÕs wrists, please,Ó Vivian said. We looked at
her. ÒDo not look at me, put them on!Ó Vivian shouted.
Trembling, our breath gasping upon each otherÕs uplifted hands, my
aunt and I helped buckle the chains around our bare wrists. We marvelled
at how tight the chains were. Had Vivian, perhaps while weÕd been
drinking coffee together, secretly been apprising the width of our wrists?
Had these chains been made just for us? When my aunt and I had our hands
encircled by the chains, we looked at Vivian. We trembled; how direct and
forceful her voice had been when sheÕd yelled at us. How unlike the
cherubic smile that now possessed her lips!
ÒVery good,Ó Vivian said softly. ÒAnd now if you both will please
come with me. WeÕll make handcuffs of your wristlets in a little while,
buckling them to themselves, after weÕve had some tea.Ó
Barefoot and hesitant, I emerged from the potting room. How soft
and wonderful the carpet felt upon my feet as soon as I left the potting
room, with its clay pots and its hard wooden floor! I let my toes sink into
the plush rug. I loved the feel of it upon the soles of my feet as I walked
across it. At the same time I was aware of Vivian. She stepped along
beside me, bearing her paddle. It was made of wood, like the walls and
floor of the room weÕd undressed in. It had holes in it like the holes
drilled into the bottom of each pot, to let the moisture out of them.
VivianÕs hand stole to my trembling arm. It cupped my elbow. I
flinched at the touch of her fingers.
ÒDonÕt,Ó I said impulsively.
Vivian laughed. She touched the small of my back.
ÒDonÕt!Ó I cried, arching my back. My breasts wobbled on my chest.
My nipples, already excited, gave an extra sprouting thrust, like buds
coming forth to greet the spring.
Vivian laughed again. This time, boldly, she placed her hand on my
bottom. She cupped me hard. I wriggled on her palm but her fingers dug
into my flesh.
ÒDonÕt,Ó I gasped. Vivian ignored me. I felt her middle finger
impress itself between the cheeks of my ass. It found my hole. My dimple.
It rudely jabbed me, while at the same time her slender fingers, claw-
like, gripped the cheeks of my nude derriere.
ÒWe are all females here, Chloe,Ó Vivian said softly to me. ÒWhy are
you so shy?Ó
I quickened my pace. I hurried down the carpeted hall. VivianÕs feet
kept time with my own. Her grip on my bunching, frightened cheeks
increased.
ÒYou are being difficult. On purpose, I think,Ó Vivian whispered to
me.
ÒNo IÕm not!Ó I blathered. My aunt followed us. I wondered why she
did not speak, seeing how rudely Vivian had taken hold of my naked butt.
With waggling hips and swaying tits, as if in search of a bath tub, I
walked into the lace-decorated living room.
ÒPlease,Ó Vivian said. She placing her paddle in front of me. As if
slowing the forward movement of a pancake, she slapped it lightly against
my belly. I stopped. I stood on the deep-pile carpet in the living room.
ÒSit down,Ó Vivian said. She pointed with her paddle to a sofa. There,
lying upon the sofa, was a lace handkerchief. ÒYou have no panties on and
it will protect my sofa from the excitement of your naked sex,Ó Vivian
explained. She drew her finger from my bottom. I heard a small ÔpopÕ,
suction like, and felt strangely deprived. There was an exudation of
wetness there, between the cheeks of my ass, where there had been only
slumbering dryness before. In addition my pussy, already a little moist,
had become moister. I wriggled my hips. I gazed at the lace handkerchief
and then, turning, I plopped my bare bottom down upon it.
My aunt sat beside me. She smiled at me, shyly. Her wristlets
sparkled on her wrists, as did mine, chain links upon bare flesh. Our
bosoms quivered. Our nipples, despite our better judgement, stood up in
excited anticipation.
Vivian sat down in a loveseat, across from us. She lifted a slim,
delicately stockinged leg and crossed it over her other. Not in the way a
woman would, however, with the legs crossed, hiding the juncture
between her thighs. Instead she sat boldly, her legs crossed as a man
would, in order not to put undue pressure upon the reproductive organs.
My aunt crossed her legs, attempting to hide her bush. Vivian spoke
sharply.
ÒKeep yourself open, Rebecca!Ó she said. ÒIn the everyday world one
is trained to cover up, to conceal. Not here. In my house all will be open
and receptive. We will share everything. We are all girls here, after all.
We are free to be as sensitive and sweet as we please, without worrying
that some man will take advantage of it.Ó
Vivian rose. ÒI shall get us tea now,Ó she said. ÒTea is good for the
soul. It will fortify us for the night ahead.Ó
Vivian left the room. I looked at my aunt. She gulped. I watched her
throat constrict, release.
ÒAuntie, I think we should go,Ó I said.
ÒChloe, please,Ó my aunt said. Her nipple-tips quivered as she spoke.
ÒDid you see what she had in her hand?Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó my aunt said. She gulped again.
ÒAuntie,Ó I said. ÒYouÕre sitting down right now. DonÕt you feel nice
and comfortable? But if you let Vivian do what she looks like sheÕs going
to do, with that paddle, you wonÕt be able to sit down for a week!Ó
ÒI-- I just want to be able to relax, Chloe,Ó my aunt said. She made
to cross her legs and then, remembering VivianÕs scolding, she uncrossed
them. She leaned back against the sofa. Sitting with both feet on the
floor, she nudged them apart. I gazed at her parted thighs, at her
unblushingly-presented sex.
ÒAuntie, you look like youÕre posing for Penthouse,Ó I said. I kept my
own thighs tight-pressed, though I didnÕt cross them.
ÒHere, here, what are you two discussing?Ó Vivian asked. She
bustled into the room, carrying a silver tea tray.
ÒRebecca looks like sheÕs posing for Penthouse,Ó I said.
ÒNonsense, Chloe!Ó Vivian scolded. ÒPenthouse is a menÕs magazine.
There are no men here! Sit back-- relax. Let me serve you tea.Ó
Vivian set down the tray on a low coffee table. Cups were arranged
upon it. Cups made of fine china, painted with pretty designs. Vivian
picked up a silver tea pot and poured tea into the cups. First one for my
aunt, who leaned forward to receive it from her. Then one for me. Then
Vivian poured herself a cup and sat back down again, across from us.
ÒIs it not nice to be free, all naked and bare, while sipping the most
elegant of teas?Ó Vivian asked.
ÒMmmm. What is it?Ó my aunt asked.
ÒA special recipe my grandmother gave me,Ó Vivian said.
ÒApparently it was invented by slaves in America. They used to drink it
before they worked in the fields, or before a whipping.Ó
My auntÕs hands, about to jointly lift the cup to her mouth for a
second sip, stopped cold.
ÒA whipping?Ó I asked.
ÒYes, they claimed it had an anesthetic quality,Ó Vivian said. She
smiled. ÒAlthough, I assure you, if it did, you would not be drinking it.Ó
ÒOh, then we are to be whipped?Ó my aunt asked. Her voice was
exceedingly nervous. She glanced at the wooden paddle, which Vivian had
laid on the broad arm of her chair.
ÒThat and much else,Ó Vivian said. She sighed. ÒIÕm afraid there
will be no pleasure in it, either. I specialize in admonitory beatings. The
nature of such an ordeal is to bring the penitent to a true sense of fear
that she will be hurt. Real, raw, actual fear, which is difficult to achieve.
That is why your training in pain will be long and exacting. Yet, when we
are finished, except for a few bruises, I donÕt think any real harm will
have been done. And you will feel much more confident. Liberated, even.
You will have faced your darkest fantasies and survived them. At least, I
hope you survive. I havenÕt lost anyone yet,Ó Vivian said. She laughed.
ÒOh, auntie!Ó I shouted. I gripped my auntÕs arm. Who was this
woman with the soft, selfless demeanor, who had such a bitter, harsh
streak underneath? I looked at her with loathing and fear and yet, at the
same time, a kind of curious intrigue.
Vivian tossed her head, reflexively, as if to brush back her long
golden hair. But it was contained in her hood. She blushed as she realized
this. Smiling, she said,
ÒI want you both to relax. I will control everything. Have I not
provided soft lace handkerchiefs for you both to sit upon? Have I not
given you my delicious tea? There will be pain here, yes. Extraordinary
pain. But mingled with it will be extraordinary care, too, in seeing that
you can be comforted whenever possible, and given every possible form of
pampering that your training allows. You will learn to feel the bite of the
whip one minute, and soft, caressing hands the next. You will have your
tongues clamped, and then, when the clamp is removed, you will be offered
cool sherbert to soothe your sore mouth. Always there will be a yin and
yang of pain and comfort. As I said we are all women, and there need not
be the rudeness that sometimes accompanies love-making with a man.Ó
ÒWell, at least I wonÕt have to worry about being fucked!Ó I said
frankly.
My aunt gulped. Vivian smiled.
ÒOh, Chloe,Ó Vivian said, almost pityingly. ÒJust because there are
no men here doesnÕt mean there arenÕt any penises. You will experience
those, I assure you. In great abundance. And bigger ones too, than the
normal male sports. I myself shall wear them, strapped against my
pussy.Ó
I should have screamed. For some reason I did not. Perhaps it was
because, suddenly, I knew why Vivian wore a thick belt around her waist,
with straps running down between her legs. The revelation overwhelmed
me.
My aunt, sitting beside me, asked,
ÒWill you be going... very deep?Ó
Vivian laughed.
ÒOf course I will be doing deep, darling,Ó she said. ÒYou are not the
first two females IÕve trained and IÕve become quite accomplished in the
use of a cock, I assure you. Even though itÕs just fake-- strapped hard
against my quite useless pussy, nonetheless I have learnt, I think, to wield
a cock as well as a man. Better, perhaps,Ó she said, her eyes twinkling.
ÒEven if the pressure of the straps and the cock titillate me into coming,
nonetheless, the cock itself does not cum, but remains eternally hard, able
to ream you all through the night.Ó
ÒOh my,Ó my aunt said.
ÒYes, you will both be well fucked,Ó Vivian said. ÒAnd since theyÕre
in season, our main food will be bananas. We shall have them drizzled
with honey, or topped with whipped cream, or just in their plain, raw
form, where they so dazzlingly resemble a well-equipped male. But most
of all you both will be beaten, admonitorily, as IÕve said. My ultimate
speciality is the whip, and although I like to start with a good, hard
paddling, it is the crack of raw leather against tender flesh that is my
true calling.Ó
ÒOh, God,Ó my aunt gasped.
ÒStand up, both of you,Ó Vivian said. She stood up herself and said,
ÒI should like to photograph you both before we begin. For my scrap book.
And perhaps for a few other eyes too, but not too many, I assure you. My
aunt and I sat still, on the couch, like frightened rabbits. Vivian walked
over to us. She reached down and caught us by our wristlets.
ÒDo not resist, please, girls,Ó Vivian said. She tugged on our arms.
ÒPart of your liberation here will involve some humiliation. Come, wipe
those embarrassed looks off your faces and lets go have your first nudie
pics taken. Men enjoy seeing girls in the nude. Especially such pretty ones
as yourselves. You have neither of you been photographed in the nude, I
take it? Certainly not by the way youÕre blushing! DonÕt worry. IÕm just a
girl like you. Men will see you later on, but only in photographic form,
teasingly, unable to touch and savor what their eyes long for.Ó
Vivian escorted us out of her living room. We went down a hall to
another room. It was a smoking room. There was a row of whiskey
bottles lined up on a shelf. Bottles of wine were laid sideways in a
wooden rack. And there were several boxes of cigars, each with a Cuban
sticker on them.
I saw a camera lying on a table, next to a box of cigars. Vivian
picked it up.
ÒPlease kneel on that chair, Chloe,Ó Vivian said. She flicked on
several portable spotlights. She adjusted their beams so that they fell on
the chair.
Flushing, my cheeks red as my nipples, I knelt on the chair. Vivian
had me pose, on my knees, holding a bear skin rug. I was about to smile
into her camera when she said,
ÒTurn. Turn more, Chloe. These men will not be interested in your
face.Ó She reached down and took hold of my shoulder. Roughly, as if
miffed that she had to do it for me, she turned me so that my back was to
the camera. She aimed at my bottom. I felt a flash of warmth as the
flashcube lit briefly, and amidst the flash I heard a click. ÒThere,Ó Vivian
said. ÒNow another, to show how perfectly white and unblemished your
ass was before I began your whipping.Ó
When my aunt was posed, Vivian abruptly pushed her forward. ÒShow
your little brand,Ó Vivian said. ÒOpen the cheeks of your ass and let all
the men see it. Now even though no one will see your face, they will still
know itÕs you, if they know what sort of brand you have.Ó
ÒOh, no!Ó my aunt cried. But, with her face jammed into the back of
the chair, she reached back and spread her bottom. Vivian clicked a
picture of her that way, her ass white and unmarked, her brand showing,
next to her bottom hole.
ÒNow when I take the ÔafterÕ pictures, showing what a thorough job
IÕve done with both of you, the men will be truly impressed,Ó Vivian said.
ÒAnd in your case, Rebecca, they will laugh long into the night, for your
identity will not be hidden from them, because of your brand, even though
your pretty face is.Ó
With our photos taken, and the camera safely locked in a drawer,
Vivian drew back a curtain. To my astonished eyes, I saw that there was a
room adjoining the smoking room. Metal gleamed within it. I saw strange
machines and weird instruments. Gasping, I looked at Vivian, while taking
hold of my auntÕs hand.
ÒYes, girls,Ó Vivian said. ÒIt is time for us to begin now. As you can
see, IÕve gone to much trouble and expense to see that my slaves are well-
provided for. Nothing, I think, will be lacking, that can be used to liberate
you from your inhibitions. But first I have one other item I should like
each of you to wear.Ó
ÒOh, thank God!Ó I blurted. ÒShall we at least be allowed panties?Ó
ÒNo but you do wear this in the same area,Ó Vivian said. ÒThey are
here in the drawer next to the one I locked the camera in, I believe.Ó
She opened a drawer, under the shelf of whiskey bottles. She drew
out two strands of beads.
ÒAre those for our ankles?Ó I asked.
ÒNo,Ó Vivian laughed. She took from the drawer a jar of vaseline.
ÒThese are anal beads. They are to be ÔwornÕ, if that is the proper term,
jammed up your bottom.Ó
ÒOh, I donÕt want anything put up my bottom!Ó my aunt said. She
reached back and cupped her ass. Her cheeks, so rounded and chubby,
became tight like a ball as she instictively retracted them. Her fingertips
played on her skin. They stole towards the tightened crack. Did she, even
now, speculate on what it would be like, to be opened and fed those beads,
one by one up her ass, as she nonetheless voiced her refusal?
I would have spoken too, telling Vivian that my bottom was for
things coming out of it, not going up it, but I was too scared.
Vivian reached down to the floor. She picked up a metal tube that
was the size and shape of a bullet. Then she uncapped it. I saw it was a
tube of lipstick that someone had left lying on the floor.
ÒShhh. Your lips are not for speaking, they are for decorating,Ó
Vivian said to my aunt. As my aunt nervously cupped her own bottom,
Vivian glossed her lips with the lipstick. She worked with slow, erotic
precision, loving the feel of my auntÕs trembling lips agains the lipstick.
She glanced down twice at my auntÕs nipples, watching as they quavered
with frightened anticipation. When she was done she turned to me. ÒYou
have such pretty lips, Chloe,Ó Vivian told me. With my mouth agape, too
amazed at the mixture of fear and desire washing through me, I let her
paint my lips. When she was finished I smacked my lips.
ÒIt isnÕt as tasty as LipSmackerÕs,Ó I managed to say.
ÒHmmm?Ó Vivian asked. She capped the lipstick and dropped it back
down onto the floor.
ÒItÕs... ItÕs a lipstick she buys at the supermarket,Ó my aunt said.
Finding my courage, regaining my composure (while still holding
onto my bottom), I said, ÒThey have all different flavors: Grape Galore,
Choice Cherry, even Lime Lollipop!Ó
ÒOh-- I see,Ó Vivian said. ÒI havenÕt shopped in the toy section of
the grocery store for some years now.Ó
***
We went home with very sore bottoms from that lady!
30
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-END OF story EMISSION