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Subject: {ASSM} school girls in bondage!
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- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
Visit my FTP site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/
Paste the address into your browser. All my stories are there.
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holy joe lays down THE LAW
Today I went to McDonalds. It was seven o'clock in the
morning. Naturally, being at McDonalds, I wanted a hamburger. And what
did the girl behind the counter say?
"No."
But I could buy a burrito.
Why is it that I can't get a hamburger at McDonalds in the
morning, but I can get a burrito? For years now people like myself have
been trying to order a hamburger at McDonalds in the morning, with no
success. But several years back McDonalds added burritos to the menu.
They couldn't make any accommodation for red-blooded American patriots
like myself, who want a hamburger, but they changed their menu to
accommodate illegal Mexican immigrants!
As proof that it isn't just bums, perverts, and tramps like
myself who want hamburgers in the morning, let me add this fact. Right
behind me, as I grumbled to myself about having to eat an Egg McMuffin,
a little girl and her mother sat down. Guess what the little girl
wanted to eat? A hamburger. And she didn't ask just once. She asked
her mother several times for a hamburger, and her mother kept saying,
"No hamburger. Breakfast only." The girl didn't understand that her
mother was saying, "McDonalds doesn't serve hamburgers." She thought
her mother was purposely denying her the right to eat a hamburger at
McDonalds. So she kept asking, again and again, irritating her mother.
And what was even more interesting, the little girl was a Mexican! So
even the Mexican immigrants want a hamburger at seven o'clock in the
morning. Wake up, McDonalds!
As I was leaving McDonalds I overheard a man talking. This man
eats at McDonalds every morning. He likes to talk. And today he was
saying to his seat mate, as I emptied my trash,
"I was talking to a woman who specializes in child abuse. And
she went to a convention. And she decided, `I'm just going to make up a
kid. Online.' And so she put in various statistics about this kid [in
her online profile], adding that this child was 14. And pretty soon
guys were contacting her and saying `Do you want to go on a date, etc.',
even though it specifically said that this child was 14."
(That's a verbatim quote. I'm not sure what the part about
going to a convention has to do with anything, but that's the quote as I
heard it while emptying my trash.)
No, I did not answer the man. He's always looking for someone
to pigeon hole for his daily lecture and so far I've managed to avoid
getting nailed by him. But now that I'm safely at home and out of range
of his need for (endless) conversation, let me say this: It's time to
empty out some of the balderdash in this society. First of all, liking
a girl who's 14 does not qualify as "child abuse." Secondly, someone
who's 14 isn't "a kid" or "a child". A kid or a child is three years
old, not 14. Thirdly, these jealous women who make a career out of
so-called "child abuse" are an abomination. Listen lady (whoever you
are), I don't care if you raise the so-called `age of consent' to 47.
You still aren't getting a date with me. I have zero interest in
women. Attractive, unattractive, it doesn't matter to me. Women are
tedious, boring, manipulative... the list of negatives is endless. And
no, I don't have some axe to grind against some ex-wife or girlfriend,
and I don't hate my mother. My mother is a fine person. End of story.
I've never had a girlfriend so that rules out the ex-wife, ex-girlfriend
theory. Women are just completely of no interest to me. I would say
that my interest in public urinals is far greater than my interest in
women, since I use urinals and have never had any occasion to make use
of a woman. That is not to say that there aren't some interesting women
authors, like Barbara Tuchman, but I am interested in her as an author,
like I'm interested in Isaac Asimov. That doesn't mean I want to get in
bed with Isaac Asimov or Barbara Tuchman.
Now getting back to this woman's "Online profile," another
point I would like to make is that people can pretend to be anything on
the Internet. One famous case, reported in Newsweek, was of a
12-year-old girl describing herself as a "hot babe", who turned out to
be an 80-year-old man in a nursing home.
With regard to women police who pose online as young girls, in
order to get men to meet them, I say they are wrong for arresting these
men. Probably the man thinks to himself, "I know this is some lady
pretending to be a girl, but I don't want to let on because she might be
embarrassed." So he goes along with the gag, only to be arrested for
being nice to the lady and pretending to believe that she really is
12-years-old.
Right now I'm corresponding with a guy who says his name is
such-and-such. (I won't repeat the name, in order to protect his
privacy.) I have a strong suspicion that his name is made up, based on
several factors. In other words, what he's palming off as his real name
isn't his real name. But do I confront him with this fact? No. I
figure it's his business to use whatever name he wants. I don't want
him to feel embarrassed about having me point out that his name is
fake. In fact, I can think of another person who's doing the same thing
to me, writing me under an assumed name. But, again, I don't say
anything, because I value the relationship and figure it's his business,
not mine, what name he wants to use.
But getting back to meeting girls online who are 12. (Or 14,
for that matter.) What if she really is 12? Good, I say. Meet her!
Let me tell you something: in the olden days, the days of traditional
values, a girl was the property of her father until she got married.
Then she was the property of her husband. In order to protect her
chances of getting married, a girl's father made sure she stayed a
virgin until she met a husband. And in America until 1898 the age of
consent was age 10. So the girl didn't have to wait long to meet a
husband, and the guy didn't have to wait either. But he was assured of
getting a good deal when he did meet her, because she was still a
virgin.
Nowadays girls are allowed to run around loose and have sex all
over the place, as long as the guy is the same age as they are. I was
in the hospital one day and two nurses were discussing a 15-year-old
girl who had just passed through the emergency room. She had been
brought in by her father. He had found her with a boyfriend he didn't
approve of and he wanted to know if she was still a virgin. The nurses
were commenting to each other how attractive the girl was, and how
ridiculous the father's request had been.
"Of course she isn't a virgin," one nurse said to the other.
"She probably hasn't been for at least a year."
In other words, this girl probably hasn't been a virgin since
age 14, when she started high school.
I was reading an issue of People several years back. I learned
that it is common practise for girls starting high school to choose to
"initiate" themselves into high school by having sex, as 9th graders,
with a high school boy. They find someone they like, who is perhaps a
year or two older, already experienced with high school, and have sex
with him.
I read a zine by a girl and she stated how she was clueless in
junior high and her first year of high school about all the sex going on
around her. She caught up with her peers by having sex at the end of
her freshman year of high school.
The impression I got, when I myself was younger, was that any
attractive girl who was 13 or older was not a virgin. Maybe she might
have been a virgin at 12, but by 13, she wasn't.
So we have a slight problem here, don't we? The men of the
olden days were assured of getting virgins, but modern men are stuck,
thanks to our modern laws, with girls who have had sex innumerable times
by age 18. And asking someone for a date who is under 18 is considered
"child abuse."
Let me tell you something, ladies. I say it is time for us
guys to stop putting up with your stupid laws, and your dumb "child
abuse" philosophies. If you women are going to let your daughters run
around having sex for half a decade before they reach age 18, then it is
our duty to meet girls when they are 12. If you let your 12-year-olds
run around having sex, then it's our duty to meet your daughters when
they are 11. If you let your 11-year-olds run around having sex, then
it's our duty to meet your daughters when they are 10. And I will keep
pushing the timetable back. If you let your 1-year-old daughters run
around having sex, then it is our duty to meet them in the maternity
ward!
Well, that's my thoughts for today on these important matters.
Guys should be able to date 12-year-olds, since the cute 13-year-olds
are obviously not virgins. And McDonalds should quit clowning around
and start serving hamburgers in the morning.
(And, by the way, 11-year-olds are cute and I'll take cheese
with my hamburger.)
30
- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com http://www.nambla.de
---------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
Training Academy
Chapter One
Was she falling in love with a woman? She couldn't be sure.
The couple was dashingly handsome. All eyes were upon them as they
mingled in the room, or so it seemed to Emily, fresh from her college
exams and still dressed in the ripped jeans and t-shirt she'd worn to
take them in. Life was becoming mundane for Emily. She had been
looking forward to college but the sorority had turned out to be nothing
but snot-nosed chicks, who seemed jealous of her beauty. For Emily was
very beautiful, even if it wasn't apparent as she stood at the back of
the room at the party, watching the glamorous young couple mingling with
the other guests. Emily often purposely dressed this way, in grunge
clothing, for she had like Kurt Cobain when she was younger and the
plainness of her clothing seemed to give her a retreat from the stares
she would otherwise get if she dressed more fashionably. With her wide
blue eyes Emily watched the man and the woman, so comfortable in the
limelight, under the stares that made Emily cringe when she attracted
that kind of attention. She wished she could be like the woman she was
looking at now, easily accepting all that attention, living within it
and absorbing it and growing from it, instead of feeling crushed by it,
as Emily did.
Perhaps it was because her step-mom had always been jealous of
her that Emily had taken to disliking her beauty. That, and how every
guy, no matter how handsome or nerdy, hit on her. Guys who would feel
shy about talking to a less attractive girl seemed unable to help
themselves when they saw Emily. She was the sort they just had to talk
to, the kind they would kill themselves over for not talking to if they
let the chance slip by. So everyone, it seemed, made the attempt to get
hold of her. To make her their girlfriend. Yes, there were several
tiers of girls, as Emily had learned over the years. On the bottom
rung, or perhaps underneath it, lying on the floor, were girls so ugly
that no man would be caught dead speaking to them, unless he were
desperate, and then afterwards, after doing it to her, he would flee as
soon as his conscience returned.
Next up were girls who weren't too attractive, which guys used
as a sort of `back stop'. This was the sort of girl you fucked when you
were having bad luck, the `put a bag over head' sort.
Or perhaps that was the next rung up, Emily wasn't quite sure.
In any event somewhere above that were girls who were attractive, but
not in any smashingly beautiful sort of way. These were the girls who
served male needs in an ordinary way, the kind most men wound up
marrying.
Then there were the beautiful girls. These were the girls who
guys felt shy about asking out. The ones who complained that they
didn't get enough dates because too many guys were afraid of how nice
they looked.
And, finally, there was Emily. The truly awesome girls. The
kind that every man felt he just had to ask. Which was why Emily had
taken to grunge, besides liking Kurt, to assuage her step-mom's
jealously and to escape from all the panting guys. Not that it
necessarily worked. Even now Emily could feel several pairs of male
eyes upon her, as she put her punch glass up to her lips, trying to hide
her face with it. She could feel the men undressing her, but she kept
her eyes on the glamorous couple, the couple so easy under all those
stares, and to her surprise, though she was tucked way back at the back
of the room, she found the so-pretty glamorous young wife meeting her
eyes, returning her stare.
She seemed to be coming toward Emily. The crowd parted to let
her and her husband pass, though reluctantly, wanting to be a part of
their beauty and glamour, to hold on to it. To Emily's blushing
surprise she found the woman coming up to her, even as she held her
punch glass protectively up in front of her mouth, wishing it was bigger
and she could hide her whole face behind it.
"Hello," the glamorous woman said to Emily. The words seemed
to drip off her lips, like honey. "My name's Beth. And yours?"
Emily felt her glass quivering in her hand. She lowered it a
little. The woman was truly gorgeous, perhaps 23, her husband, standing
tall and grand beside her, about 25. Eighteen-year-old Emily managed to
get her glass below her chin and whispered her name:
"Emily."
"Such a nice name," Beth said to her husband. "Oh, this is
Mark. My boyfriend," Beth said. Emily gasped. They were not married!
She let her eyes flick up to the man's face. He was truly handsome; a
god. She felt like she was meeting her favorite movie star, though she
had not even known he'd existed until the couple had walked in the room,
just ten minutes ago. She blushed and smiled at him. "I think she
likes you," Beth remarked to her husband, bringing titters from the
assembled host, those nearby enough to hear. Emily's blush deepened.
Yet something in the way the woman had said that intrigued her, as if
she were a little puppy, and the woman her newfound master. It was a
strange thought. The woman reached out and Emily felt the warm press of
her hand coming into her own. She squeezed Emily's palm, as if to
reassure her that her remark had not been meant to be demeaning. And
yet the callous streak remained in this glamorous woman as she turned
again to her husband and said, "I would so much like to take her home."
There were more titters. But Emily seemed to hear a sigh of desire in
this new round of laughter, as if, noticing her for the first time,
seeing through her grunge clothing, the crowd seemed to agree.
Much to Emily's surprise, she found herself leaving the party
two hours later under the woman's umbrella. It had taken to raining
outside, Emily was warm from dancing with a forgettable assortment of
men, and with the entirely unforgettable boyfriend of Beth. Emily's
hand was in the woman's hand, as she held her umbrella over them both.
"I'm so glad you decided to let us give you a ride home," the
woman was saying to Emily. "My, it's wet outside. And to think you'd
have gotten drenched if you hadn't come with us. Didn't you know rain
was predicted?"
"No," Emily said. "I just got through with college exams."
"I don't think we're the only ones who would have offered Emily
a ride," Mark said as they reached the couple's car by the curb.
"Yes but the others were so entirely uninteresting, don't you
think dear?" Beth asked the girl.
"Yes," Emily agreed.
"I could see the look on your face as you danced with them,"
Beth said. "Really it was rather a tedious crowd. More football
players than I prefer. They have their use of course, but such a
one-track mind. Now last week Mark took me to a party where there were
a lot of artists. They don't have much money but they can provide such
scintillating conversation!" Mark opened the car door. Beth put Emily
into the car and followed her, after closing her umbrella. Mark went
round to the other side of the car, after closing the passenger-side
door, and got in and started it. "Do you have a boyfriend?" Beth asked
Emily in the darkness of the car. They pulled out into traffic as Emily
answered,
"No. Not since I started college."
"What? No boyfriend? And here it is almost Christmas. Well,
almost Thanksgiving, actually, but I work in the fashion and planning
section of a department store and we're getting everything ready for
Christmas. Really rushing at it, you know, so we can hit the customers
with a big `oomph' the day after Thanksgiving. Did you have a boyfriend
in high school?" Beth asked the girl who was squeezed into the front
seat between herself and her boyfriend.
"Yes. Several," Emily said. "Mostly I found myself in the
back seats of their cars."
"High school boys are like college boys," Beth said. "One
track minds."
"It was okay," Emily said. She didn't want to sound like a
prude.
"Of course it's okay," Beth said, and startled Emily by putting
her hand on the girl's thigh. But after a quick blush, which Beth
fortunately couldn't see in the dark, Emily found she liked the warm
feeling of the woman's hand grasping her jean-clad leg. The fabric was
thin. She could feel the woman's pressing fingers, like a spider that,
to Emily's surprise, began to work its way up her leg towards her
crotch.
"My boyfriend and I have never been exclusive in our love for
one another," Emily found Beth telling her when they had reached their
apartment, Emily being invited inside for a quick nightcap before they
took her home. She was sitting in a state-of-the-art fashionably
appointed apartment. Beth's job as a fashion planner for a department
store really showed. It must be an upscale department store, Emily
mused, as she looked at the magazine-perfect furnishings. It was all
quite a change from her dimly-lit shared dorm room, with garish posters
of Axel Rose on the walls, tattered from one of her roommate's
boyfriends throwing jealous darts at it, and an old ripped poster of
dead rocker Kurt.
"My, it's really starting to pour outside," Mark said, standing
at the curtains that covered a big picture window and edging them apart
to look outside. "How would you like to stay the night?" Mark asked
Emily. The girl felt herself blushing again. It was forward sort of
thing to ask, but like Beth's tendency to treat her like a puppy it had
a certain allure.
"I-I don't know," Emily answered.
"She's quite shy," Beth said, and startled Emily again by
putting her arm around her. Beth was grinning at her husband but Emily
felt as if all the woman's attention was really directed at her, as she
felt the woman's hand on her shoulder, clasping it as she had clasped
her thigh in the car.
"I wouldn't want to get wet," Emily said, hearing for the first
time the sound of the downpour outside as its intensity increased.
"Yes. Already your clothes are little moist from hurrying in
from our car," Beth said. She looked at her own clothes. "Mine are
moist too," she said disapprovingly. Emily's clothes felt dry enough,
she thought to herself, as she felt the woman's arm clasping her, but
there was an obvious dampness to the air outside and she had been
exposed to it, as well as the uncomfortable chill that the night air had
descended into. Seemingly reading her thoughts Beth said, "Of course it
isn't a noticeable moistness, but the air was so damp outside."
"Yes," Emily agreed. She watched as the woman's eyes glanced
across her, falling on her breasts. With her own eyes she silently
retaliated, taking in her own view of her hostess' breasts. They were
big fine ripe breasts, about the same size of her own, which was saying
a lot since Emily was noted for her tit-size, which she tried to keep as
concealed as possible, admittedly with not much success, under her baggy
grunge t-shirts. Together the two females watched as their breath made
their bosoms rise and fall. They listened to the sound of their
breathing as they sat there on the fashionably-covered corded chenille
couch.
"We don't have a guest room. I suppose Mark could sleep on the
sofa," Beth said to Emily, addressing herself in fact to the girl's
breasts as she continued looking at them.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to put him out," Emily answered, still
gazing at Beth's cleavage.
"If you are to stay with us we would want you to join us in our
exercises before bedtime," Beth said to Emily. The girl's eyes flicked
up to the woman's face.
"Wh- what sort of exercises?" Emily asked her hostess. Beth
lifted her eyes from Emily's breasts and looked at her boyfriend.
"What sort of exercises are we going to do this evening, dear?"
Beth asked Mark. He coughed, self-consciously, and said,
"I thought we might go into the back room."
"Would you like to join us?" Beth asked Emily. Her hand fell
down from Emily's shoulder and touched Emily's right breast. The girl
flinched under the woman's touch but didn't refuse her as she began to
knead her bra-encased tit under her shirt. As Emily gazed now into the
woman's eyes, she saw a certain callousness there, amidst her beautiful
features, and to her surprise she liked it.
"I suppose I could," Emily found herself answering. "But I
didn't bring my gym clothes or anything. My jeans are kind of tight."
And they were, for the one pleasure Emily allowed herself, in her
grunge-attired life, was a good tight pair of jeans. She liked the feel
of them against her skin, wedging up into her in unexpected places,
making her feel held and loved even when she didn't have a boyfriend.
Of course she let her t-shirt hang down loose over her jeans. Otherwise
her tight-clad ass would have been a spectacle that every boy on campus
would have felt Hell-bound to view.
"Gym clothes?" Beth asked. She laughed, looking again at her
husband. "I'm afraid we don't wear any clothes when we exercise, dear,"
Beth told the girl. "After all it's just my boyfriend and I here."
"Oh," Emily said. The woman grasped Emily's tit-flesh more
firmly, making her shrink down into the seat a little.
"In fact if you want to join us you must first show us what you
have," Beth said to the girl.
"What- what do you mean?" Emily asked, her whole body quivering
a little as she answered.
"I mean you're wearing a big awful baggy shirt, and that
obviously has to go," the fashion-planner woman said to her, with
department-store sureness. "Stand up," she said to Emily. To the
girl's surprise, perhaps to escape the woman's grasping hand on her tit,
she complied. "Lift up your shirt," Beth said to the girl. "I know
you're in college but my boyfriend and I are not interested in you for
your scintillating conversation, I can assure you."
"Wh- what do you mean?" Emily asked, and blushed at the simple
naivete of her statement. Nonetheless with puppy-like obedience she
raised her shirt, revealing her tight-sheathed hips.
"Turn around," Beth said to the girl. Emily turned, so that
she was now no longer facing the woman she'd sat beside, whom she had
turned to show her belly as she raised her shirt for her. Instead she
was looking now at Mark, as the woman reached up and around her hips and
found her front clasp and jean buttons, her hands moving with
experienced grace as she undid Emily's jeans.
"Oh! What are you doing?" Emily asked, still holding up her
shirt to show the bareness of her flat belly as the woman pulled down
the front of her pants. Her white panties were exposed, simple neat
school girl panties. A moment later, as she shivered and twisted under
the woman's assault, she felt the back of her jeans worked down. Her
bottom bulged, modestly clad in her plain white cotton panties. The
adept woman's fingers took hold of the waistband of her undies. She
yanked them down, and Emily gasped as she felt the cool air of the
living room touch her naked behind.
"My, what fine merchandise, and so white and perfect," Emily
heard Beth say behind her, as her bare naked cheeks shivered under the
woman's gaze. Mark, who had been in front of Emily, deftly stepped
behind her so that he too could see what was now on display. He had to
lean forward some, for there wasn't enough room for him to actually
stand behind her, but the effect was the same, Emily standing there with
her shirt still abjectly raised, her naked behind making a spectacle of
itself as it jutted with brazen grace into the face of the woman sitting
behind her. "Shall we let her join us?" Beth asked her boyfriend.
"We must insist on it," Mark said,with not-too-effectively
disguised awe in his voice.
"Wh- What will we do in the back room?" Emily heard herself say
in a high squeaky voice, her hands trembling as she kept her shirt
inexplicably raised. Beth made her sit down again on the couch. But
she would not allow Emily to pull up her pants first. The girl, her
panties and jeans ringing her thighs, felt her naked ass press into the
chenille seat as she sat down again. It was soft, very comfortable, and
rather awkwardly alluring and special, a feeling Emily found to her
great surprise that she liked. Beth nodded to Mark and he came to the
girl and relieved her of the need to hold up her shirt. He pulled it
off her, leaving her clad only in her white bra from the waist up.
"We're into bondage," Beth said to Emily. She lifted a hand
and seemed to try to untangle the girl's long blonde hair with it. Her
own was perfectly coiffed, pinned up, jet black and lustrous, obviously
the product of long hours at a beauty salon. "You've passed the first
test. You have an excellent ass for it."
"Is-is that necessary?" Emily asked, glancing fearfully at the
woman beside her, feeling her boyfriend standing over them both, his
crotch rising rather obviously in his pants.
"Yes," Beth explained. "When we find a girl we think we might
like we invite them up," she said. "A girl or, once, a guy," she said,
blushing a little. "But it's important that they qualify physically.
My boyfriend and I have very exacting tastes. I like to see a
good-sized cock and pair of balls on a guy. And I'm not without
opinions on girls, since I see so many of them. A nice pair of tits,
which you obviously have. And a pretty young bottom. Nice and tight,
with perfect unmarked flesh. Not that it will be unmarked when we're
through with it, of course," Beth added, winking, and Emily, shivering
beside the woman, couldn't figure out whether she was telling the truth
or simply being casually forward and callous, as both she and her
husband seemed to have a tendency to be.
"So- so you've had a lot of girls j- join you?" Emily asked.
She didn't know what to do with her hands and modestly cupped them over
her bra's cups as she sat there, her hosts' eyes upon her, her bare ass
pressing into their chenille sofa seat. The woman's hand had fallen
upon her thigh again, pressing itself hotly to its warm naked skin,
above the place where her jeans ringed her legs. Mark seemed more
obvious than ever, in his crotch, as he stood over Emily, his prong
displaying itself through the expensive fabric of his trousers.
"Yes," Beth said. Her hand crept higher. Emily felt a wetness
come to the gusset of her panties. "And although we will spend time
quite intimately together in the back room, I don't want you to get any
ideas in your head about us loving one another. Especially my
boyfriend," Beth said, glancing at the man as she spoke of him.
"Oh, oh no!" Emily agreed. She felt herself swoon at the
realization that she might in fact have this dashing man standing over
her.
"So would you like to join us?" Beth asked.
"I- I don't know," Emily said, trying to recover her conscience
and her composure as she felt her eyes drawn to the prong sticking so
lewdly from Mark's pants. It was a big one. It would pin her to the
floor if he stuck it into her, like a trapped butterfly, like a little
puppy mounted by a big bad dog.
"Not knowing qualifies as a yes here," Beth told Emily. "Just
to make sure that you know you can't keep my boyfriend I'm going to
begin our exercises with a good smart caning of your pretty ass."
"No!" Emily said, but just then the woman's hand reached her
panties, pressing inbetween her legs, and she felt herself swoon more
deeply as Mark made to undo the fly of his pants. A moment later he was
free, his big cock sticking forth like some 12-inch weapon. It was a
very big one, Emily gasped to herself, and her lust for it was not being
dampened by the expert way Beth was now stimulating her between her
legs.
"How much pain can you stand? That is the question we'll
answer tonight, for you," Beth said to Emily when all three of them were
standing naked in the back room. Emily found herself gasping as she
looked around at the couple's display of `exercise' equipment. It was
the most up-to-date bondage gear, and she had never seen such things
before, although she had sometimes read of them, late at night, in
boyfriendless excursions into newsgroups on the internet, chastising
herself afterwards for her inexplicable interest, however fleeting, in
such dark subjects. Now for the first time such things were laid out
before her, indeed she had been stripped of the rest of her clothing by
her hosts' loving hands and was being invited to try these things.
"What- what must I do?" Emily asked. She wished she could turn
and run but somehow it was not in her. She stood rooted to the spot,
drinking in the awful things around her. They looked medieval, a far
cry from the tasteful modernity of the furnishings in the other rooms of
the couple's apartment. There was a rude simplicity to the things.
Bare wood, some of it cut and scarred, with iron shackles and chains
waited to receive her body. Awful devices of mysterious design loomed
on shelves and lay strewn on the floor. A toilet stood in one corner of
the room. It was brazenly utilitarian, leaking into a pan at the back
and with a single white roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall beside
it. In fact it seemed like a prison toilet, that one saw sometimes in
the movies, it was so bare and plain. It did however have a seat, but
without a comforter like her step-mom's toilet always had. It was
white, not made of metal but of porcelain. But there wasn't a hint of
fashion to it, it was there to be peed into, or shitted in, with the
eyes of everyone else in the room freely able to watch whoever made use
of it.
When Beth saw Emily staring at the toilet, at its rude
frankness there in the corner of the room, an idea came to her. Her
eyes lit up mischievously and she said,
"If you are hoping not to have to use that then we must cure
your inhibition," Beth said, as Mark locked the door to the back room
with a key. "Before your whipping, which is going to be an exploration
of your ability to endure pain, I want to see how you can handle pain
inside of yourself, as opposed to being laid across your naked ass."
She went to a shelf. She took down what looked to Emily like something
that belonged in a hospital. It was a pouch-like, elongated plastic
bag. It had tubing coming out of one end of it, which Beth held coiled
in her hand, her other hand holding the bag aloft and displaying it to
Beth's eyes. "This is an enema bag," Beth said to Emily. "I want to
put the end of it up your bottom and fill your guts with hot fluid. Not
too hot, since it will, I assume, be your first time, your first try.
Then, after a suitable interval of wonderful agony in which you are
forbidden relief, you will be allowed to rush to the toilet. You'll
probably cramp as you try to get all the fluid out of you. Some will
burst forth, of course, but getting it all out takes a little while, for
it will be pumped deep up into your bottom."
"Not- not in my pussy?" Emily asked, feeling quite wet between
her legs now and desiring to have something put there, after her many
long months without a boyfriend.
"No. In your bottom," Beth said. She laughed. "Will you let
me abuse you, my sweet?"
"Why why do you want to do this?" Emily asked, as she found
herself being invited to kneel down on a big fluffy towel, Mark setting
up an I.V. pole behind her and Emily hanging the bag from it. She
wanted Mark, wanted his big penis to take her and do her hard, but her
hosts seemed to wish to delay matters, for reasons she didn't
understand.
"Lift your bottom higher," Beth answered. Emily complied,
feeling like a wanton little puppy as she raised her bare ass before
Emily and her boyfriend. She felt her cunny lips tingling between her
legs. She wanted something in her so badly now, it had been high school
when she had last felt something good and hard riding her up between her
legs. And it had never been as big as Mark was! "That's good," Beth
said, when Emily had her bare seat arched up almost vertically, her
knees apart on the folded towel, which was hospital white, her toes
curling and wiggling as she felt a vaselined finger tip touch her
between the globes of her ass.
"Oh!" Emily gasped, realizing it was not Mark but Beth who was
touching her there! The finger wedged into her tight little hole. She
resisted, the finger pushed harder.
"You're very tight," Beth said with seeming disapproval. Her
finger, now inside Emily, just inside, lubricated the anal ring of
Emily's ass, despite the girl's clenching bottom halves. Emily felt
little explosions of breath escape from her throat as the finger greased
her. A moment later a hard plastic tip, itself greased, prodded Emily's
hole. Again she tightened her bottom, trying to deny the impending
entry, but it managed, after a moment, to slip into her. It threaded
her. Emily gasped aloud, feeling the tube worked up into her behind.
Mark gazed down at the girl, his cock stiffly saluting her.
She was a real beauty. Her ass was perfect, the kind he really liked, a
taut young school girl bottom, her legs and waist and back tanned, the
place where she usually wore a swimsuit, across her seat, girlishly
white. Her thin legs, which were long but without too much fat on the
thighs, more like the legs of a 14-year-old instead of an 18-year-old
trembled. Her bottom seat clenched as Beth finished sticking the enema
tube into it. The girl was fetchingly compliant. He knew why; she
wanted his cock up her. Well, she would get that last, at the end of
the evening, as a reward for her good behavior, if she behaved, Mark
told himself. Emily reached up to the bag and loosened its clasp.
"I'm going to start it now, dear," Emily told the girl. The
liquid began to flow. Mark watched the fluid trail down the tubing and
into Emily's ass. The girl let out a shriek.
"The first part won't hurt," Beth told Emily, "I didn't make
the water excessively hot." Nonetheless Emily felt shock as the
unexpected feeling of her colon being filled took her. It was strange,
like being filled up at a gas pump. She had never felt it before. She
looked up between her legs at Mark's knees. She wished she could see
higher, to the thing standing up between his legs. The sight of it
would make all this seem worthwhile.
After a bit Emily began to feel not just the lewdness of the
fluid in her bottomhole but a strange full feeling, as if her, or rather
her behind, had had a big dinner. It got worse, as the minutes passed,
and suddenly she felt quite full indeed. In fact she felt painfully
full, and she bleated out that Beth must stop the flow.
"A little more. You can take a little more," Beth urged the
girl, looking at the bag and seeing that she had taken only half of it.
She was a novice, but she was here to feel pain. Beth told her as much,
saying, "You are here to test your limits and expand them, dear. Take
some more. Ignore the pain, if you can. You must be widened in any
event. You are much too young and tight."
"Do you think she should be forced to sit on the phallus?" Mark
asked his girlfriend, a casual sureness in his voice which shocked
Emily, even more than the fluid that seemed to be splitting her guts.
"Yes. Absolutely," Beth said. She reached up and turned off
the flow. She told Emily, saying, "It's off now dear. Let us converse
about your bottom-training, that you will need, if you are to take
Mark's cock up your ass as you surely must learn to do."
"Oh! Please! Let me get up! I've got to--"
"I know what you've got to do, you're full of fluid and want to
shit it out of your pretty ass," Beth said, herself and her boyfriend
kneeling down on the floor now to hold Emily in place.
"Oh but I MUST!" Emily said, her bottom still sporting the
tubing that ran up to the enema bag.
"There are many things that we must do, and then certain things
that we have to do," Beth told the girl, running a hand through her
blonde unkempt hair. "You must go to the bathroom, but you have to
remain kneeling. And what is this that you do with your lovely hair?
Why is it not combed and brushed?"
"I- I had to take three exams today," Emily said. "I was late
getting up." Her voice came out gasping, and she was surprised at
herself for her ability to answer questions about her day as the painful
enema fluid remained in her ass, pushing her to the brink of her ability
to endure it. Was it really off? She felt as if it were growing still
in fullness inside her, a baby in her bottom, desperate to be born.
"I think we should let her get up now," Mark said after another
minute.
"Alright," Beth said reluctantly. Emily sprag to her feet.
"But she looked so nice kneeling there," Beth said. "She will have to
endure a whipping after this." Emily rushed toward the toilet, her
hands reaching back and clutching her bare schoolgirl seat. Her bottom
was jamming itself together, but she wasn't sure she could hold what had
been put up her. It was dying to come out, she was in dire need to
release it.
With a whooshing sigh Emily managed to turn herself around and
plop down on the commode. Immediately a violent splashing sound was
heard as her guts emptied themselves, dropping the enema into the
toilet. More and more fluid came, all embarrassingly shit-brown. Emily
felt as if her entire insides were being emptied into the toilet. It
was making a mess under her, splashing up all over her ass. Abjectly
she looked up at her hosts. At the same moment a powerful pain suddenly
gripped her stomach. She was cramping! Beth's eyes widened with
delight as poor Emily hunched suddenly over, a hand clapping itself to
her flat but terribly pained belly. She felt as if she had a knot in
her, traveling all the way up from her bottom hole to her naval. It
worsened. She screamed. Her disheveled blonde hair hung down in front
of her face, hiding her embarrassed eyes, as she groaningly released
more of the enema fluid into the toilet. Her breasts quivered nakedly,
her bottom arched more fully upon the commode. She was a creature of
shit, nothing more, naked and pitiable. To her horror, in her extreme
distress, looking up through her veil of unkempt hair, she saw that Mark
had begun to massage his big tool with his hand. And Beth's fingers
were busy, between her legs. The woman reached out and took the free
hand of her lover, keeping one hand up between the lips of her cunt.
The couple smiled at each other, then at Emily.
"You have been most stimulating, dear," Beth said, as Emily's
cramps began to fade. The girl sat up on the toilet. She tossed her
hair back.
"My ass is a mess," Emily confessed.
"Yes. We're going to give you a bath and comb that pretty hair
of yours before your whipping," Beth said to the girl. "I want you to
look your very best for it."
An hour later they were back in the room where Emily had
suffered the enema. She was sparkling clean, the mess in the toilet had
been flushed and forgotten. She felt strangely empty in back, in her
behind, as if something needed to be put in her there. Quickly she
dismissed the thought. She had never taken anything in her bottom!
That awful tube had been the first. She looked at Mark and Emily. Did
they plan to test her ass some more? Emily picked up a long thin rod of
wood that was lying on the floor. She gave it a swish. Emily jumped,
staring at it. The thing had remarkable flexibility. Beth took a pair
of leather gloves from a shelf and slipped them on.
"Sometimes I get blisters if I don't wear the gloves," Beth
explained to the girl. "Now turn around. Show me your ass again. I
want to see how much of this you can take on your pretty bottom."
To her surprise, Emily turned. She leaned forward a little,
making her breasts hang slightly, arching out her seat for Beth and Mark
to have a look at it. The couple inspected it with slow, lingering
caresses. Emily jumped as they again tested the resiliency of her
little hiney-hole between the cheeks of her ass.
"You're right. She is quite tight," Mark said to his
girlfriend.
"Yes," Beth said. "I want her to sit on the phallus stool
later tonight. And really ride it. Stuff herself with it and use it to
open herself. Perhaps we can invite the couple downstairs to come up
and help give her encouragement."
"Sure. She could serve them hors d'oeuvres before hand.
`Welcome to my little bottom hole opening,'" Mark laughed.
"Oh! You two are awful!" Emily said.
"And you love us for it, don't you?" Beth asked. The girl
didn't answer. Beth took her to a post in the center of the room.
"This is much more fun than anything you can find on campus, isn't it?"
Beth asked the girl. Emily bit her lip. Beth bound her to the post
with her hands lifted high and buckled into iron cuffs. Her belly was
pressed to the post. Her tits were split by it, resting with uptilted
grace on either side of it like saddle-bags. Mark slipped a fresh
folded towel between Emily's belly and the post. It made her ass jut
out. A leather band, bound around her waist by Beth, kept her ribs
forced against the tall round pole. Another band of leather was ringed
around both her thighs, pressing her legs more firmly, in unison,
against the thick pole, and ensuring that the pillow remained in place,
against her belly, forcing her to show her ass in a most brazen and rude
fashion, the stance of her legs gently opening her bottom crack, giving
a half-hidden, shadowed peek at her hole. Her back hole, that her hosts
threatened to have her accept a dildo later in the evening, in front of
their neighbors.
Mark told Emily to open her mouth. He put a rubber wedge into
it as Emily heard Beth swish the long whippy rod through the air behind
her. Then a cloth gag followed, holding the wedge in place, being bound
around the back of her head, against her beautiful hair, as Emily felt
the wedge settle on her tongue, forcing it back to the back of her
mouth, almost to her tonsils. Emily coughed, gagging. Mark put a
finger under her nose to check that breath was still able to flow in and
out of her, through her nostrils, despite the big rubber and cloth gag
stuffing her mouth.
"I don't want the neighbors to hear, for I'm going to make you
scream," Beth said to Emily with a casualness that frightened her.
Scarier still was the prospect that Mark would take no hand in her
punishment, standing idly by, his hand stroking his big wonderful dick,
while Beth punished her as much as her own deviant sense of pleasure,
and perhaps jealousy, dictated. The rod swished again, catching only
air. "I make no bones about it. If this is your first time it's going
to be quite painful," Beth warned Emily. "It would be quite painful in
any event, for I don't believe in going easy on a girl. "You will be
shocked at how harsh it is. Mark likes to see a good hard whipping
delivered as much as I do. We don't believe in coddling sissies. Do
you think you are ready for it?" Beth asked Emily. The girl remained
motionless, except for her ass, which was flexing nervously, making her
hiney-hole seem to wink at her hosts. Then, to her abject horror, she
nodded.
Perhaps it was her years of coping with her step-mom's
jealousy, perhaps it was the stares she always received, the lusting
stares, when she didn't wear the plainest grungiest clothes, and which
she received in any event even when she did wear them. Perhaps she was
trying to reject her incredible beauty. Indeed it seemed like she would
never be beautiful again as the rod came screaming down against her bare
bottom. Its force made her groan, then cry out with terrified pain.
There was of course no reason for this, there was nothing to be cured,
nothing to be fixed, if anything she would need fixing after it was
done, as her pretty white bottom suffered a bright red rod-mark across
its seat, her cheeks flexing frantically in an effort to throw off the
suddenly inflicted pain. Emily cried into her gag. Tears sprang to her
eyes. The couple waited, watching the lurid display of her ass as she
tried to recover from the terrible blow, feeling it all across her
bottom, like a hot brand laid forever against her formerly white flesh.
Then the second stroke came, again she cried out and again there was the
hot-asses, hip-wriggling waiting, as she endured the pain of the second
blow, the couple amusing themselves with her bottom-squirming display.
Then there was a third stroke, and after a time a fourth. By now she
was crying openly. Mark undid the gag and pulled the rubber wedge out
of her mouth and let her hear her cries in the room, then gave her some
water to drink, holding a cup to her lips. Then the rubber wedge was
re-inserted, the gag retied, to Emily's shocked dismay. A fifth blow
came, fiercer than the others. It took her a lot of ass-grinding to
recover from that blow! When the pain had subsided a sixth came, the
worse of all, making a scream seem to rend itself from Emily's lungs,
which the gag could barely muffle.
"There. All done for now," Beth said, her voice quiet and
serene, in contrast to Emily's dying-away screams. Mark undid her gag
again, freed her mouth once more from the rubber wedge. Gasping Emily
fell into Mark's arms when the straps were loosed from the post. She
could no longer think, could do nothing but cry, a lost little puppy
with a very hot ass.
"Mmmm, her bottom feels wonderful," Beth said, touching Emily's
behind where it hung lewdly between Mark's enclasping arms. His thing
bumped against her seat, his big stiff prong, as Emily's fingers stroked
her hot burning flesh. "You are quite warm, dear," Beth told Emily.
"We'll put some cream on this good little bottom of yours and then when
you've rested a little you can show off your new marks to our
neighbors. And you can have a little sit too, to prepare yourself for
what Mark will want to force up your ass."
It was lewd. It was wonderful. Emily lay on the couple's big
soft bed, in their bedroom, as Mark and his girlfriend eased warm oils
into the injured flesh of her ass. Whenever Emily peeked up from the
pillow she could see Mark's big stiff prong waving above her ass like a
magic wand, healing her, precum occasionally dripping out of him to mix
with the oil being rubbed on her seat. While this was happening Mark
and Emily's neighbors arrived. The woman greeted her new guests at the
door, letting them see her naked, bringing into the bedroom to show them
Mark, who had leaned down to kiss Emily on the cheek. They sighed at
Emily's beauty, at Mark's virility. Quickly they disrobed, Emily
helping them, Mark continuing to knead Emily's bottom with his large
hands. A warmth invaded Emily's bottom now, not stinging but wholesome,
suffusing her injured cheeks with a strangely pleasant sensation. There
was still the pain, of course, that had only eased, not gone away, but
it mingled with the newfound warmth to give her a rather pleasant
feeling, an erotic bottom-dwelling feeling, all eyes seemingly on her
naked ass as she lay in the bed.
As Mark continued to massage Emily's seat, Beth used some of
the oil to greased Mark's penis. Then she did the neighbor, a big
strapping ruddy fellow, as the newcomer's wife surprised Emily by
reaching down and stroking her long blonde hair.
"Oh you are so pretty," the woman told Emily, as the girl
blushed. "And so brave too."
"This is Helen," Beth said to Emily of the redheaded woman
stroking her hair, as she greased the woman's boyfriend, making his
prong all shiny. "She likes girls as much as I do," Beth added, with a
laugh. Then she said, "Get up, dear. It's back to our special room for
you." Emily obeyed, blushing as her eyes met that of the new male in
the room. His cock was ready for her. She longed to feel its oiled
stiffness force its way into her. But Beth was still fixated on her
bottom, making her flinch as she patted it with her hand. "That's Ben,"
Beth told Emily. "Come and serve us hors d'oeuvres in the living room.
Then they'll watch you sit on the phallus stool."
There was quiet good cheer as Emily served the new guests in
the living room. They sat on the couch, oblivious to their excited
sweat which no doubt moistened the seat under them as they sat naked on
the chenille. Emily herself had a shiny oiled bottom and could not sit,
owing to the oil and also to the pain still streaking across it. But
she didn't mind standing, hurrying to and fro with hors d'oeuvres and
wine to see that the guests, and her own demanding hosts, stayed happy.
The men sat with their legs easily apart, their big heavy balls weighing
with promise on the chenille, but their oiled dicks sticking up proudly,
like flagpoles. Beth and Helen exchanged soft glances, and gave
encouraging words to Emily, making sure she kept their glasses filled
and their plates full, and those of their boyfriends, stroking each
other between their legs as they sat together until Emily was sure their
dells were wetting the seat between their legs. Meanwhile the men's
prongs dripped with tension, making little stains of their own on the
couch. But it was not the stains which bothered Beth, but Emily's
occasional tardiness in keeping the glasses full, which she said must be
brimming at all times. She gave Emily a slap on her bottom, causing the
girl to shout. It was repeated by Helen. Emily's breasts wiggled
lewdly as she stood with grinding hips before her hosts, accepting the
blows, holding on for dear life to her serving tray, so she wouldn't
spill what was on it. She had done her very best, yet it had not been
enough! Somehow she found this delightful, as her hosts surely did,
slapping her again, making her cry out from the pain of the hand blows
on her soft tender seat, still glowing with the oil they had so lovingly
applied in the bedroom.
"Really, she is such a lazy little slut," Beth told Helen.
"She didn't even brush her hair this morning before she took her exams."
"When they're young they're just spoiled," Helen, who was 23
like Beth, agreed. "Let her spend her time working like you and I do
and her lazy college ways would be driven out of her."
"She's going to work her bottom on the stool," Beth laughed.
"Good," Helen said. "Let's go there now. I want to see the
look of pain on her face when she's forced to sit on it."
It was a simple stool, with a rude big rubber dick sticking up
from the center of it. Emily gasped when it was unveiled. It had been
sitting in a corner of the couple's back room, draped with a white cloth
that covered the dick. Not the legs of the stool, or even all of the
wooden seat, just the dick and part of the seat, like a Princess'
handkerchief left behind when her prince came for her. Except this
thing sticking up was no pleasure tool for a lover-less captive
princess. It was too big and thick and long for that, more like
something a wicked witch might keep in her chamber. Emily gasped when
she saw how large it was. Could she really meet the challenge of her
hosts by sitting her ass on it?
"Of course you can," Helen said, patting Emily's bare bottom as
the girl stared at the thing. "You control the descent. Or ascent, as
the case may be, doesn't she Beth?"
"Yes," Beth said, folding the white handkerchief and laying it
on a shelf. "Really, Emily, such shock and dismay in your eyes. Both
men want your little ass. But you must open yourself first, on the
stool, so you can receive them."
"Oh! But I want Mark in my pussy!" Emily couldn't help
blurting. Helen laughed.
"You've come to the wrong place if you expect to get sex, at
least this early in the evening," Helen told the girl. "You must earn
any pleasure you get. By first suffering pain."
"Yes. By first expanding your boundaries," Beth told the girl,
agreeing with Helen. "Sex is easy. I want you to do what's hard, what
you've never done before."
"Oh, I've never taken a cock as big as Mark's before!" Emily
said, turning to openly admire, with blushing cheeks, the prong of
Beth's boyfriend.
"Then it will serve as an excellent reward for your efforts,"
Beth said. "But first you must sit on the stool, and then let Ben try
to get himself up your ass." Emily's shocked gaze turned to the ruddy
husband of Helen.
"Oh! I did not--"
"What? You thought such a fine big penis would not be yours
this evening?" Beth asked the girl.
"Oh but I'm not attracted to-- I mean, he does have a fine one,
but--"
"You will take whatever cock I put you to, girl," Beth told
Emily. "Now get over there and get up on the stool. Remember, it goes
up your ass, not your hungry little pussy. Put it where it doesn't
belong and I'll tie you to the post again."
"Oh but it does belong in my pussy!" Emily, starving now amidst
all the nudity and excitement and emotion for cock, said, staring at the
big dick sticking up from the stool.
"Perhaps someplace other than the back room it does, but we do
things differently here, don't we, Beth?" Helen said, smiling again at
their dark-haired lovely host.
"Yes," Beth said. She gave Emily's bare bottom a slap, making
her howl. "You're stalling, girl!" Beth told her. "Get that little
ass of yours moving!"
Emily got up on the stool She felt the bare wooden rungs of it
against her feet as she balanced herself spraddle-legged above the awful
thing sticking up from the seat. She dared not sit down. Doing so
would mean the big dick was all the way up her bottom! She looked
abjectly at her hosts. They only laughed at her, the women's tits
shaking with excitement, their nipples risen, the men's cocks saluting
Emily's impending doom. Now the girl knew why, as she lay on the bed
having healing salve put on her bottom, her hosts had occasionally
dipped a finger into her tight little ass hole. She was wet back there,
and ready for what she must take. It was pre-greased, to her dismay,
sticking up wetly from the stool. As Mark and Beth massaged her bottom
in the bedroom one of them must have snuck into the back room and done
up the cock for her. Gradually Emily's knees began to give way as she
balanced herself above the big thing. She hovered slowly downwards.
Lifting her eyes to her hosts, she made sure it was her seat and not her
pussy that eventually settled on the top of the big prong. It pushed
rudely into her cheeks. She adjusted herself so its hard stiffness
pressed against her hiney hole. She tried to balance herself there, her
little fleshy ring hugging itself tightly against the big knob's
knocking, but the grease that had been put in her behind, along with the
grease on the pole, didn't help her in her efforts. In fact it worked
directly contrary, helping the large rude phallus dig into her
backside. Emily gasped, looking directly at her hosts now as she felt
the big thing begin to slide ruthlessly into her. Her anal ring opened,
widened, then was pushed wider still, as Emily gave a cry of pain and
alarm. She tried to wrench herself up off the upward-sliding device but
it was caught in her now, her knees tiring as it slid more deeply into
her, her anal ring stretching painfully.
Up it went. Emily gasped. Tears came to her eyes and rolled
wetly down her cheeks. Her hosts and fellow guests laughed. Her tits
quivered as she felt the dong press more deeply into her.
"She's taking it! She's taking it up her ass!" Beth said with
delight. The two women who could not be satisfied as Emily rushed about
with her tray in the living room now gazed with delight at her
predicament on the stool. She tried to rise again. But the thing was
wedged up tight in her, and going deeper. Her own tightness now worked
against her, for instead of preventing the thing's entry it was
preventing her escape! Deeper and deeper the prong went, as Emily
squatted lower and lower towards the seat of the stool. It was awful,
this big indriving feeling in her guts, in her bottom. She felt as if
she went any lower the big dick would come popping out of her mouth!
"Oh, I can't stand it!" Emily screamed, wiggling frantically on
the thing that now pinned her so completely to the stool, drawing her
closer and closer to the wooden seat as her exhausted knees gave way.
"You must stand it. You must take it all," Beth urged. She
threatened to walk up to Emily and put her hands on Emily's shoulders
and push her down if she didn't finish the job herself. So, trembling
with fear, Emily let the big dong slide the final few inches up her. To
her amazement and relief she found herself sitting on the bare wood of
the stool, the big rubber phallus all the way up inside her. The pain
was incredible, making her cry and gasp, but she had made it! She felt
her knees relax.
"Bounce up and down on it," Beth ordered the girl. Emily's
face gaped in horror.
"You must work yourself on it. Really open yourself," Helen
agreed. "Don't just sit there. Rend your tight little ass with it. It
is necessary if you're to take my husband's big penis up your behind."
To her horror, Emily began to do as she was told. Despite the
pain of the big intruder up her guts she began to move herself up and
down, flexing her tired knees, feeling her breasts toss on her chest, to
the men's delight, as she opened her butthole with the big prong. She
feared she would make herself bleed on it, but she did as her hosts
demanded anyway, not wanting to be put to the whipping post again, which
stood sturdily by, waiting to receive her if she didn't comply.
"Imagine if her mother saw her now," Beth remarked to Helen.
"She would say, `What are you doing, you naughty little girl? Don't you
have a boyfriend at college?'" This remark made Emily gasp with shock
and horror. She could just see her step-mom walking into the room, and
seeing her this way. "Hi mom," she could almost imagine herself
saying. "Hopefully I won't be so beautiful when I'm done doing this.
Will you love me then?" Emily felt a sudden sharp pain in her bottom.
To her horror she realized that she had torn her mucosa, the inside of
her bottom hole. "Oh, God! I'm bleeding!" she said, as she felt a new
wetness in her behind. To her amazement, her hosts and her fellow
guests clapped. Then they came over to her. The men's help was
necessary in pulling her up off the big phallus. Their cocks bumped her
bare belly and hips as they pulled her off. When she was free of the
thing Beth got tissues and wiped Emily's bottom. She left a little
jammed up her butthole to catch the rest of the blood.
"You have done well," Beth told Emily. "You have a real sense
of adventure."
"You were marvelous, darling," Helen assured Emily, kissing the
girl's cheek. "I should want to have you in my bed sometime. When
you've been opened I'll give you something of my own, strapped around my
waist, to really get you nice and wide."
"Will it heal?" Emily asked, feeling the pain in her bottom,
wanting to reach back and touch herself.
"Of course your little bottom hole will heal," Beth told
Emily. "You have not torn your tight little anal ring. It has survived
intact. You have only ripped the lining of your colon a little. It
will be better in a few days. Don't be alarmed if you shit blood in a
little while."
"This is so strange, hurting myself and tearing my bottom like
this," Emily gasped.
"You must get used to it. We play with all the most private
parts of our bodies here," Beth told her.
30
- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
Visit my FTP site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/
Paste the address into your browser. All my stories are there.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Free Plug
School girls in bondage! Order Japanese Bondage 5, for $29.95 plus
$4.95 postage from Centurian Publishing, Vista Station, P.O. Box 51510,
Sparks, NV 89435-1510. http://www.centuriandirect.com
Benefists of this magazine (pun intended):
1. It has many pages.
2. Each page is printed on heavy glossy color stock (on both
sides), like Kodak color print photographs.
3. There is no text to fill up the magazine, just photos.
4. There are no women or ladies in this magazine, just girls.
5. The girls, although all Japanese, are cute.
6. This is an example of Japanese rope bondage, which can be
quite tedious. However these photos are done very creatively, with lots
of weird medical-type devices scattered around the photos (and stuck
into the girls).
7. You not only see the girls stripped naked and bound, you
also see a handful of photos in which they are demurely dressed prior to
their sexual torments.
It is a pity to see such nice, well-brought up girls in such
extreme sexual agony (mostly play-agony), but my dick certainly enjoyed
it. This book makes Playboy et. al. look like the tiresome Victorian
rags that they really are.
30
Perply's Tips for the Truly Perverted
First, pick up Japanese Bondage 5. Remove the dust jacket and
store it in a safe place. (Don't worry, the photos on it are repeated
inside the book).
Next, hold the book up in the air with both hands. Draw back
on the book, opening it in the middle. Keep going until you hear a
cracking sound. You have now cracked the book's spine.
Now go through, page by page, starting from the middle of the
book, and open it, bending it back so that each page cracks away from
the spine. Do this slowly. Don't rush it as you don't want to
excessively strain the pages.
When all the pages have been loosened pull back on the front
and back covers. They should, each in turn, crack away from the spine
also.
Now you have a loose assemblage of pages, still clinging for
life to the spine but separated from it in many places. (The pages are
falling out of the book.) Good! You have prepared this book for sexual
activity.
Now, to protect the girls inside, and prevent your (soon to be)
sticky hands from handling the pages, put a miniature Post-It Note at
the bottom right hand corner of each facing page (the right-hand page).
Place the notes carefully so you don't cover up any important parts of
the photos, such as tangled electrical cords, dildos, bowls, and other
devices. When you are finished the book should lie flat. The pages
will not flip by themselves, forcing the book to close, if you have
cracked the spine and done this page-by-page. Also, you will be able to
handle this book without getting sperm all over the girls. Now you can
sit down and occupy your other hand with whatever it needs to do,
turning the book's pages with ease and comfort! When you are finished
buy a Ziploc plastic bag. Put the book into the bag, so the pages don't
fall out while you are transporting it or taking it to or from your
bookshelf. Now you can put the book away with complete safety, knowing
that the pages won't spill out the next time you grab it. Or you can
rearrange the pages to suit your fancy. If you buy two copies of the
book then you can really get to work playing with all the pages, since
you can create complete photo scenarios of each girl, where you are able
to view all of her photos at the same time.
Happy "reading"!
- Perply
(Now you know why he's called Perply. - h.j.)
30
- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com http://www.nambla.de
---------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
Captive of the Queen
Chapter One
He did not love her, and she knew it. She held his eggs in his
hand. She enjoyed feeling the vulnerability of them. Always with men
she was able to find their weak spot; perhaps it was her beauty that
allowed her to do this. He was 19, a handsome broad-shouldered fellow,
the sort of man who stood a good chance of winning in the annual
jousting feast. He had won twice in the junior division. Now, in the
senior division, he presented the possibility of sweeping the contest
again, this time against the most fearsome knights of the realm.
But at the moment the most delicate part of his brawny frame
was in the palm of her hand. She squeezed him. He was full. He
groaned as, with her other hand, she stroked his massive 12-inch rod.
But he was paying no attention to her, despite the fulsome weakness of
him that she held balanced in her palm, squeezing it gently, letting it
overspill her hand and jut balloon-like through her grasping fingers.
He was staring through the key hole of a door. He was gazing at a girl
of nine, not at the beauty of 13 who held his family jewels. The girl
on the other side of the door was naked. She had just come back from
digging prawns and was just now casting off her summer dress, exposing
her body innocently to the eye in the key hole.
Farallon didn't know what attracted him about this girl more,
her youthful slender beauty, which was incredible, or the fact that she
was second only to her brother to the throne. For unlike the girl who
held his testicles in his hand, gently stroking him toward the orgasm
which he knew must come, this girl on the other side of the door was no
junior duchess. She was a princess, daughter of the king, and but for
her brother, who was a year older than her, she was destined to be the
kingdom's future queen. If anything should happen to her brother she
would take his place. And Farallon was just on the other side of the
door, scheming how he might marry this innocent girl and rule with her,
or indeed for her, as King.
Kate watched the well-built man respond to her caresses. Each
touch of her smooth delicate fingers brought his tool closer to
release. She loved this sturdy young fellow, this "beast with a lance,"
as spectators nicknamed him in the jousting ring, but he did not love
her. He used her, for his physical pleasure. He put her on display
when he needed a beautiful young thing to accompany him out on the town,
or to the dances. When he wasn't her he was using some other courtly
beauty, or a peasant girl. She felt him pulse against her finger. She
watched the big vein running down the upside of his tool as it delivered
blood all along his stiff prong. He looked at the girl on the other
side of the door as her nurse, a middle-aged fat woman, finished drawing
a bath for the young girl. He gazed at the princess's swelling paps, at
her smooth flat youthful belly, set off against her ribs, which stuck
out farther than her indrawn tummy, but not as far as her newly growing
breasts. He gasped with pleasure as his eyes ran along the 9-year-old's
gently flaring hips, and spied the delicate rolled cunt lips between her
slender, too-thin legs. The girl lifted her skinny arms and let loose
her hair. She had ribbons in her hair and she untied these now, letting
her wealth of gorgeous red hair overspill her narrow thin shoulders and
run down her childishly thin back. She turned, lifted a foot to step
into the bath. He saw her chubby bottom as she turned away from him.
It was high and round and sweetly cleft, still child-thin yet with a
pleasant swelling to it, as if it were adding adipose tissue at this
very moment, just as her young breasts were, growing with her young
energy into fine plump spheres.
"Now! Make me cum now!" Farallon gasped on the other side of
the door, his eye pressed to the keyhole.
"But I want you to make love to me," Kate, holding his balls
and stroking his big young cock, said poutingly.
"Another time," Farallon said. "Now do me, let me feel the
pleasure of imagining myself to be in this girl, and sitting on her
father's throne."
"If you insist," Kate said. She grasped the young man's
bone-hard erection. He was too big for her to encompass completely with
her fingers but she did her best. She jerked him with her fist. She
jerked him again. She felt the fullness of his balls in her other
hand. Just then the maid turned. Perhaps the hushed words and muffled
groaning on the other side of the door had somehow caught her
attention. But the door was thick; perhaps it was just her feminine
intuition. For whatever reason, as young Princess Emily finished
stepping into the bath, the middle-aged fat woman came walking swiftly
to the door. Had he been in the jousting ring, his lance at the ready,
Farallon would have been lightning-quick. He could have removed her
head from her body three times over. But it was not his lance that he
was now exposing, it was his penis, and he was caught in the throes of
lust. Just as his seed welled forth, which he would have
surreptitiously wiped up with a scarf Kate wore around her neck when he
had cum, the maid opened the door. Instead of splattering himself
noiselessly against the wood, biting his lip as he did so, he came
open-mouthed right upon the fat maid's apron. She gazed at him with
stunned anger; he with hopeless fear and humiliation. And beside him
stood Duchess Kate, bringing about his release with her fingers.
They were banished from the kingdom, these two interlopers who
had violated the privacy of the king's daughter. Instead of living
amidst the luxury of the palace on Earth they were forced to live in the
outlying lands, on Triton, circling Saturn. It was a rough-and-ready
existence out there, amidst the miners digging up ores and sending them
back to earth. But it proved fortuitous, in the long run, for when the
Rebellion came these two royal outcasts were ideally placed to lead it.
Princess Emily sat at her lessons. A wizened old man, the
court wizard, was instructing her in some tiresome subject. She
pretended to listen but really she was gazing past him, out the window
behind him, at her brother. He was young and handsome; the future
king. She adored him. He was practising with his lance for the junior
jousting tournament and she prayed his partner, a young boy his own age,
didn't injure him. Just yesterday she had argued with him about the
jousting match.
"Why must you put yourself through that?" she asked her
brother, Marcus. "You are king; or will be, one day, when father dies.
There is no reason for you to put yourself at risk jousting." He
smirked at her.
"I want to," he said. "I don't care about being king." He
looked at the tall strong trees growing in their play yard. "Yes, I
guess I'll be king someday," he acknowledged, but I would rather be a
miner."
"A miner?" Princess Emily had asked, shocked.
"Yeah, living out there in the Badlands, the outlying lands,
working hard and getting rich, not being rich because my father is rich
but earning it with my own hands. Going to the bar at night and
drinking with the other guys. Playing cards, listening to the piano
music. Falling in love maybe with the girl playing at the piano, not
having a marriage arranged by my father for political reasons." He
looked at his sister. "I would be free. Rich, but a face in the crowd,
not so rich or powerful that I would attract attention. Just enough to
attract the eye of the piano girl." She scowled at him.
"You've seen Raiders of the Lost Mine too many times," Princess
Emily had said to him.
"You don't like the movie because Jim dies at the end," Prince
Marcus teased her.
"I don't want you to die. I want you to be king!" she had said
to him. And now there he was, out in their play yard, running amidst
the trees, with his lance, his friend chasing him and trying to knock
him down.
"So then after many centuries, during which mankind was ruled
by monarchies, the age of the Great Democracies came," the white-haired
wizard who was standing in front of the palatial window explained.
"Yes, it was a time when there were no kings, sad to say. Many people
thought that was the end of monarchy forever. But they were wrong.
They did not realize man's need for order, for discipline. Democracy
comes from a Greek word which means, literally, rule by the mob. Well,
the mob eventually realized its incapacity, and that is when the new era
of the kings began. First the great king, Peron, and then your
grandfather, Emily, are you listening girl?" The white-haired wizard
frowned. "You asked me to leave the curtains open but now you aren't
paying attention to me. I must close them."
"No!" Emily cried. Her brother looked about to be hit in the
back with a lance. But the wizard did not heed her cry, and he turned
and flicked a switch which dimmed the windows to blackness. When the
windows were completely dark, which only took a moment, he picked up a
chalk stick, with a lighted tip. He turned and wrote on the darkened
glass, "Age of Monarchies, II".
"Oh, my," Emily groaned, for she could no longer watch over her
brother in the yard. The wizard beckoned to Emily.
"Come and write on the board the names of the kings in the
Second Great Age of the Monarchs," he told her. Emily rose from her
seat. She shuffled up to the black board. She took the chalk stick and
tediously began to write out the names:
"Peron. Alfandia. Dreck. Pearl."
"Yes. Very good, Emily Pearl," the wizard said to the
nine-year-old. She turned to him.
"You must always address me as Princess Pearl," she said to
him.
"Of course. An oversight my highness," the wizard corrected
himself. He cleared his throat. "I grew up with your father, and
fought with him when he was a miner, before he regained the throne.
Before you were born."
"Is that why my father is so old?" Princess Emily asked the
wizard. The old man nodded.
"Yes, your father had other children, before you and your
brother were born," the wizard told her. "But life was hard in those
days. His family didn't survive."
"What was my sister like?" Emily asked, though she had heard
the story many times before, had indeed asked these questions many times
before, but she knew the wizard loved to tell it and she wished to
listen to anything instead of his boring history lesson.
"She was beautiful, as you are, Emily," he said to her. "But
the plague came. The airborne plague. Your father was able to get hold
of a drug that gave him immunity. He gave me some; I got it to my
family in time but he didn't reach his before the plague did. And so
she died. He came home to find her swollen in her bed, drowned in her
own vomit."
"Gross," Emily said, and made a face like she had made so many
times before.
"Yes. She wasn't beautiful anymore," the wizard said. "And
that is when your father resolved to re-impose order. Dreck's
corporations were ruining everything. The earth's temperature was too
high, the forests were dying, the Badlands were even more lawless than
they are now. So together we recruited an army. It was hard at first,
we only had a few followers. But gradually our numbers grew, your
father's message was heard. Alfandia had his flaws, but he was a better
king than Dreck." The wizard paused. He cleared his throat again.
"But you are a clever little child, aren't you?" the wizard asked
Emily. "You know that your lesson plan for today isn't about the Second
Age of the Monarchs. We are to study the Great Democracies today. Have
you done your homework? Are you ready to write out the major presidents
of the United States and Europe?" Emily hung her head.
"No," she confessed. The wizard frowned.
"So all you can write out is the Second Monarchs?" he asked.
Emily looked hopefully at the board.
"Perhaps I could write one or two presidents," she said.
"Good. We have done the easy part, the Second Monarchs. Now
do the presidents," the wizard told her. Emily went to the board again,
her chalk stick in hand.
"Naxonis," she wrote.
"Very good. The last president of the United States," the
wizard nodded. Emily thought for a moment and wrote,
"Hopwellian."
"Yes. The last president of Europe," the wizard said. "Now
what other names do you know?" Emily hung her head again.
"Not too many," she said.
"Who was the United States' greatest president?" the wizard
asked. Emily frowned at her feet.
"Clapton?" she asked. The wizard scowled.
"That's the name of the janitor!" he said.
"Ferukkan," Emily said with conviction.
"That's the fellow who cleans your private swimming pool," the
wizard said.
"Oh, I don't know!" Emily gasped. "It's all so long ago. Who
cares about those tiresome old farts anyway?"
"Emily, Emily! You aren't doing your homework," the wizard
admonished. "You've been watching too many movies in the royal
theatre."
"I like watching the Princess of Perranna," Emily smiled, a
faraway look coming into her eyes.
"Rubbish," the wizard said. "Pure tripe. You are a princess,
Emily. You don't need to be wasting your time on such nonsense."
And so the day proceeded, in a tedious and long-winded fashion,
Emily forced to learn the presidents of the United States and Europe,
the wizard correcting her spelling as she learned the names. Meanwhile
the banished Duchess and Farallon were at that very moment landing on
Triton, against their will. But little did they know, at that moment,
as they were hustled off the space ship by the king's guards, and
surveyed the ruined landscape, scarred by the mines, that it would serve
one day as their base of operations.
He took her again past the place where they had killed her
father. It was a simple stone block. The blood had been cleaned up off
the floor by the servants but, by the Queen's order, the stone was left
unwashed. There Princess Pearl had seen her father's head cut off the
night before. She had screamed in horror as it had fallen off the end
of the block, no longer connected to his body, and had plopped with a
sickening sound into the hay-lined basket at the block's base, in front
of her mother, who was forced to stand there, watching, waiting for her
turn.
Emily had screamed even louder when her mother was put to the
block, her blood soon joining that of her father. Now Farallon made her
gaze at their commingled blood again, then took her to the queen. He
was still a step away from the throne; it had been necessary, in the
final battle, to rally the troops behind the beautiful Kate. She sat in
her bed chamber with an attendant, a female of great beauty like
herself. Farallon brought in Princess Pearl, her hands unbound. There
was no need to tie her, for she was only 13, a young slender girl.
Behind came her brother, a strapping capable lad of 14. He had his
hands bound behind him. And his mouth was gagged, because he had a way
with words and the Queen feared he might say something to the servants
to get them to change their allegiance.
Queen Kate nodded to Farallon.
"I will deal with the royal children," she said to the knight,
who was now a grown man of 23, but still a beast, with or without his
lance.
"We should kill them right away," he told the Queen. "You see
how they escaped last night, when their parents were killed. Even in
the shock of that moment they were not without resources. As the wizard
was put to the block--"
The queen raised her hand.
"Enough. I was there. I was as surprised as you when the
servants betrayed us and rebelled." Farallon made a half-hearted
attempt to bow down on one knee.
"My queen. Your rule is newborn. Your tenure is uncertain,"
he said. But Queen Kate was still thinking of last night.
"I stabbed Grayskull the wizard myself," she said. Her eyes
flicked to Emily. "If it hadn't been for him you would be dead by now,
with or without the treachery of my servants." Emily spit on the
ground. Her cheeks were flushed and hot. Her brother, standing beside
her now, could not spit, owing to the gag in his mouth, but he made an
attempt to indicate that he wanted to, peering briefly down at the
floor. "You may leave," the queen said to Farallon.
"Madam I will carry out the death sentence myself, with my own
sword," Farallon offered. He began to draw his blade from its sheath.
The queen's face grew red.
"Put that thing away!" she told the man. "Your work is
finished here. Attend to your other duties. Emily and her brother are
my cousins. You are not of our blood." Farallon realized that his
time, at least for this hour, was up. He nodded briefly. He made no
attempt to bow. He turned on his heel and left the queen's bedchamber,
which had been a guest chamber until yesterday, but was now the royal
resting place of the new monarch. When he had passed through the door
leading out of the bedroom, taking the servants with him, the door
closing behind him, the queen turned her attention to the two royal
children standing in her presence.
"Hello, Emily," Kate addressed the young girl. Emily wished to
spit on the ground again but her legs trembled with fear and her throat
was dry. Kate smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Even before I was
banished I had a certain reputation in your father's court," Kate told
the girl. "And now that I am queen I intend to continue it. I have
reconsidered my decision that I made last night, concerning you and your
brother." Her eyes glanced at the young man standing beside Emily.
"You are both quite attractive," she said. "The executioner's blade
would be too good for you. Too swift, to easy. You were waiting for
your turn on the block. But it was your decision to get my servants to
rebel, and to escape. So now I have decided upon a different course for
you. Yes," she said, her eyes glinting, a smile spreading across her
lips, glancing briefly at the woman sitting beside her, who was without
any covering upon her lovely white breasts. "I am going to use you
both, sexually," she told the royal brother and sister. "I want to see
you degraded, humiliated, before I kill you. In fact I am going to
challenge you both with what I'm going to order up for you. Who knows?
You may manage another rebellion. I want to see the hope in your eyes,
as you try to survive, dreaming of escape. And meanwhile I'm going to
enjoy what you both have to offer me, physically." She turned to the
woman sitting on the edge of the bed, beside her. "Get up and undo the
young man's pants," she told her companion. "This is the first rule you
must learn," she said, addressing herself again to Emily and Marcus.
"You must expose your most vulnerable parts to me at all times. Marcus,
that means your cock, and your balls." Letting her eyes move to Emily,
she added, "For you my dear that means your breasts. Always they will
be naked in my presence, your sweet fine young nipples rising to
attention for me, upon which I may hang clips or subject to whatever
other abuse I desire." The queen's companion, who was named Savannah,
undid Marcus' trousers. She pulled them down his legs, baring his
thighs. Then she attacked his underpants. "Do not expect to feel any
pleasure, no matter how naked I require you to be," the queen told the
young man. To his horror his penis stood up proud and erect, when his
underpants were pulled down. Despite the fact that this woman had
killed his father and mother the night before, in front of his very
eyes, his cock now stood forth pulsing with excitement. Savannah's
naked breasts brushed his cock. She rose up, gently petting his rod
with her hand when she was upright again. Marcus, behind his gag,
gasped. Emily looked at her brother, as shocked and dismayed as he was
that he would be so stiff and hard in front of these treacherous women.
Wiggling her hips seductively, Savannah returned to the bed and sat
again beside her queen. Kate looked at Emily.
"Now it is your turn, young lady," Kate said to Emily. She
picked up a sheath lying beneath the folds of her dress. It was a knife
sheath. She drew out the blade. "Don't make me cut off your brother's
cock when I've not even enjoyed it yet. Take off your blouse and your
dress, girl, and then your bra. I want to see your naked titties. Show
me how they have grown since you were nine and I was caught with Marcus
outside your door."
To her shock and humiliation, Emily obeyed. She undid her
clothes, the queen and her companion watching her with interest as she
exposed her body to them. It was a lovely figure; she had stood in the
mirror admiring her newly grown form on the nights when she was still a
princess and her father the king, in her bedroom, in front of her royal
mirror. Now she took off her clothes, her fingers trembling, and showed
herself to these interlopers who had taken her father's place. Her
breasts sprang from her bra cups when she reached back and undid the
clasp. She lowered the brassiere, watching as her young nipples stood
up with frightful excitement at their newfound nudity. When she was
reduced to panties, shivering beside her brother whose pants ringed his
knees, the queen smiled.
"Very good. You have at least some modicum of obedience in
you," she said. "Now we will see what other talents you possess. Kneel
down on the floor. Put your mouth to your brother's cock." Emily
blanched. But Kate brandished her knife. "Do as I say," she ordered.
"Or it will be your brother's cock you see placed on the block, with
your fat young titties following."
Emily got down on her knees. The carpet was soft under her.
She felt her loose hair shiver against the sides of her face as she
leaned forward, brushing her lips against her brother's cock. She
kissed the head of him, right on his pee hole. To her surprise a
droplet of precum oozed forth from his dick. She licked it off, so the
queen would not see it. He tasted salty. He groaned in his gag at the
touch of her tongue on his flesh.
"Milk him," the queen ordered Emily. But then another idea
struck her. "No," she said. "Marcus, I want you to pee in your
sister's face!"
It took the knife blade pressing against the root of his cock
for Marcus to obey. With the queen standing on one side of him,
Savannah on his other side holding his balls, pinching them with her
sharp fingernails, he peed on the once-future queen. He pissed his
royal urine in her face, and she let him, kneeling abjectly there before
him, screaming as he did it to her but not stopping him, for the knife
was right up against his cock. When he was finished she was required to
put her drenched lips to him and suck him. His excitement grew until
suddenly he spurted. She took this second emission, this one of his
salty sperm, between her lips, sucking him that he might not embarrass
himself by spilling his seed on the floor. It was difficult for her.
She was a virgin and had never had a man's thing in her mouth before.
She swallowed diligently as the queen laughed at her. Some of her
brother escaped her lips despite her best efforts. His seed ran down
over her chin and down her neck, droplets of him staining her naked
breasts. When it was over she was allowed to stand.
"Take off your panties," the queen said to Emily. "I want to
see the bottom Marcus was staring at when the maid found him at the
door." Quietly Emily reached back to the cheeks of her ass. She pulled
down the seat of her panties. "No, take them completely off," the queen
said. Emily drew her hands down her thighs, taking the panties with
her. Down past her knees they went as the queen gazed at her bared
ass. It was a taut young behind, the flesh white and shivering slightly
under the queen's gaze. Emily stepped out of her panties. "Give them
to me," the queen ordered. Emily handed them over. She was completely
naked now, her brother's piss staining her face, his sperm decorating
her breasts and throat and cheeks. Kate let her gaze fall upon the
girl's breasts, Marcus getting a view of his sister's bottom as she
turned over her panties. "Open your mouth," the queen said to Emily.
Seeing the knife in the queen's hand, the young girl obeyed. The queen
stuffed Emily's panties into her mouth. But she did it with a certain
gentleness, the princess noted, as if there was some hidden admiration
that the queen felt for her. "Close your lips," the queen said. Emily
obeyed. Her panties made her cheeks bulge. Her eyes were wide from the
feeling of the cotton jammed into her mouth. The queen let her eyes
fall to Emily's plump young breasts, wobbling helplessly on her chest,
her hands down below her waist in an attempt to cover her pussy. "No.
Take your hands away," the queen instructed Emily. The girl obeyed,
putting her hands back behind herself onto her bottom, to her brother's
relief, for the sight of her naked ass was making his penis rise again.
"We will go downstairs," the queen said to Emily. "You were not aware
of it, I'm sure, but your father shared some of my interests. My
servants found a dungeon that he and your mother must have used to amuse
themselves. Now I will entertain myself with it, enjoying the services
of you and your brother. Let us see what games we can play together."
Much to her chagrin, Emily was forced to go downstairs to the
place where the new interloper queen claimed her father used to play
with her mother. The servants saw her as she went down, saw the tears
running silently down her pee stained face, whistled at her naked young
body and that of her brother, still gagged and with his hands tied, his
cock sticking out in front of him as if to lead the way. The servants
gazed upon Emily's cheeks full of her panties, looked at her staring,
shamed eyes. When she reached the relative safety of the dungeon she
sighed behind the cotton that was mashing her tongue. It was good to be
in the semi-darkness of the dungeon, at least until Kate turned on the
lights.
Emily screamed in her gag as she saw the things around her in
the room. There was a cage, where she might be kept like an animal,
forced to kneel behind its bars. There was a horse-like structure, but
without a head and tail, with a seat so narrow it would surely invade
Emily's cunt lips, like sitting on a ledge, but with the sides of the
thing angling outward to support the weight of her legs. There were
cocks galore, as if a hundred men had visited the block upstairs,
leaving only their appendages behind, arrayed in stiff rows on shelves
along the dungeon walls. There were hanging chains, from which Emily
might be forced to dangle, just her toes touching the floor. There were
whips and canes, lying on the floor next to the wall, some of them hung
up on pegs like prized possessions.
30 excerpts below
Duchess Kate 13/17
Farallon 19/23
Princess Emily 9/13
Brother Marcus 10/14
Fat middle-aged maid
Wizened wizard teacher Grayskull
chalk stick
Savannah, queen's companion
30
--------------------------- Dreamgirls! ------------------------
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http://www.aclu.org
-- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427)
is copyright 2001 by Andrew Roller. Dreamgirls, Naughty Naked
Dreamgirls, and NND are registered trademarks of Andrew Roller.
All rights reserved.
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--
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