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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} cherry valley, chapter two
Date: Wed,  2 Jan 2002 07:10:04 -0500
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                                                 F.B.I. NOTICE

         Recently it has come to our attention that there are pedophiles
on the Internet.  Because of this disturbing development we have devised
the following test.  All citizens are required under the new
anti-terrorism laws (which extend to pedophiles, of course) to read the
following passage.  Please rub yourself as you do so.  If you do not
feel any arousal then call your police department and tell them you are
not a child molester.  You have passed the test.  If you fail, run
through the street yelling, "Osama our hero."  This will cure you.


                                        Andrew Roller Presents
 
                                              CHERRY VALLEY

                                               Chapter Two

         I am awake again.  My delirium has not passed.  I'm still
seeing half naked little girls.  Specifically, the "queen", as she calls
herself.  She busies herself in her leaf petal house, unaware that I am
awake.  Of course I'm really not, how can I be?  I must be lying in the
dirt somewhere, on the edge of life, breathing my last, filthy with this
rotten jungle and beset with flies.  Why do they not crawl in front of
my pupils and block my vision?  The queen bends over, as I think
longingly of my wife.  Her bottom is not as delicately round, with such
high-set cheeks as this little girl, this nursery school "queen."  Ah,
such perfection!  Where do these visions come from?  Why does such
luscious beauty beset me in my final moments?  Her skin is like ivory
where the bikini panties have been.  Her bending movement has caused
them to decline a little, over the curvature of her girlish ass, showing
the orb of it more completely.  Her flesh is sun-kissed but not where
her bikini usually covers it.  There, upon her behind, it is white as
snow, untouched and virginal.
         I remember putting my wife over my knees once and spanking
her.  We do not do that anymore.  Not since the children arrived.  Two
boys and a girl.  I love them dearly.  My daughter is in grade school,
just like these girls.  She has long hair as they do, but she doesn't
gather water with an acorn bucket or live in a house made of roses.  She
plays with commercially-made dolls, created out of plastic.  They come
with acetate gowns and you can buy expensive plastic cars for them to
ride in to imaginary In and Out Burger joints.
         The queen has long red hair.  Whether she has hair down below I
have yet to determine.  She seems not to notice how her teensy bikini
has fallen to show half her ass, revealing the delicate crevice that
separates the halves of her high child's bottom.  She stands up again,
having taken something out of a drawer.  She has a bureau in her home,
made of wood.  It has a fragility to it that seems toy-like.  I turn my
head.  I see a table, chairs, all with the same delicate fragility.  She
turns.  I see that her panties have fallen a little in front, owing to
her bending.  They are very low across her hips now.  I do not see any
pubic hair.  She is too young.  But her breasts press into her top,
healthy and growing, firm little apples to match her buttocks behind
her.  She is a charming vision, a junior playmate all decked out in her
ruby crown, wearing white gloves and boots like the other girls, secured
beneath her elbows and knees with ribbons.
         "Oh!  You're awake!" she says to me.  I nod.  What is the point
of fighting this dream?  It's lovely.  I never liked pedophiles, in fact
I hated them.  But here, in this dream world, surrounded by young lovely
things, I find I can no longer protest.  The delicious creature moves
toward me.  My cock, previously milked, rises again, excited by the
vision of her approach.  I feel her warm hand reach out and touch my
belly.  I was fat once, but after days of slogging through the jungle
and then dying in it I have finally become thin.  My wife would love
me.  I am lean and hard, like in my college days.  Obviously on the
brink of death but not feeling it at all, just feeling...
         "Hungry?" the red-haired queen asks me.  I nod.  She turns and
calls out in a musical voice, rather like the girl in Mad Max Beyond
Thunderdome,  a movie I never liked.  I guess in my death throes all the
things I never liked are crowding in on me, making themselves beautiful
in my demented mind.
         One of the girls I met earlier, the brunette with pigtails,
enters.  She is still wearing the white bikini I first saw her in.  Her
little breasts jut with as much perfection as before, seemingly
beckoning my mouth under her tiny bra.  Why do these girls wear such
scanty clothes?  Haven't they heard of The Gap or Land's End?  These
swimsuits they're wearing, they're like some man's bedroom fantasy. 
Their charms, if I may call them that without feeling truly perverted,
are barely covered by their little outfits.  When they move their
growing teat-like breasts seem to want to jiggle out of their bras,
which cling to them seemingly half-heartedly, as if disappointed that
such succulent young gourds should be covered at all.  Below their trim
bellies, well below, their bikini panties ride low on their hips,
seemingly wishing to drop further, to expose, with only the slightest
downward movement, all that these girls have to offer, for what is this
but some bizarre dream of underage cunts?
         I seem obscene but I'm angry at myself.  To surround myself
with a prepubescent harem in my final moments!  Am I trying to send
myself to Hell?
         The girls gaze lovingly at me, but they look with even greater
interest at that which I am valiantly trying not to offer to their view,
my penis.  It stands up at the attention.  The dratted thing!  Why do I
find myself excited by the innocent eyes of grade school girls?  Why do
I dream that they're looking at me, inspecting my length, seemingly
evaluating it and finding it beautiful?
         I shiver.  I'm not cold.  The weather seems perfect.  But I am
ashamed, and I move my hands to cover my erection.  But the redhead
easily bats my hands away when they come close to my penis.
         "It is gorgeous.  Please do not cover it," the redhead queen
begs.  I let my hands fall to my sides.  I am weak from not eating.  But
now the brunette with pigtails calls out, musically as the queen had.  I
see a shadow in the doorway of the queen's petal house and then a moment
later a big cherry is being rolled in.  "We will prepare it for you to
eat," the queen says to me.  She strokes my hair.  No, not the hair on
my head, alas.  My pubic hair.  The blonde who I met before, accompanied
by the six-year-old, who is also a blonde, come into the queen's petal
house.  They are carrying acorns.  They lift them up, not without a
struggle.  Their little limbs tilt the acorns.  A sweet odor comes to my
nostrils as I watch the sides of the big cherry doused with something
glossy and flowing.  I realize a moment later it's honey.  The girls
drop their acorns when they have emptied them and roll the big cherry
closer to me.  They are beaming with their effort, a little winded from
lifting the buckets.  When the cherry is very close the queen urges me
to roll on my side, on her bed of daisies, and eat the cherry.  I move,
after a moment.  The girls giggle as my erect cock bumps the cherry. 
Honey gets on my cock head.  Immediately the queen draws close and
begins to lick my penis.  She looks at me, her eyes seemingly asking
permission, but I can see in her cupid-like face a hint of greed.  She
does not want to let this moment pass.
         Neither do the other girls.  In my perverted fantasy I suddenly
have four little girls all feasting on my cock, fighting each other a
little as they now all crowd around me, their little hands grasping me,
clutching me, their mouths and tongues laving me, licking the honey from
me as I fight not to spurt into their perfect little faces.
         The queen lifts her head, letting the other children have at me
a moment as she opens her mouth and speaks to me.
         "Do not let us stop you from eating," she tells me.  I find
this all horribly strange but my love of assertive women kicks in and I
do as the queen tells me.  I lean forward and bite into the cherry, even
as the girls continue to lick my cock.  The cherry is big but the skin
is not tough.  It accedes easily to my attempt to eat it, letting me
chomp into its skin despite the fact that any cherry this big, in the
real world, would be too wide for me to get my mouth into.  I chew and
swallow, loving the taste of this obviously fictitious cherry.  I could
eat a lot of cherries like this, especially with four little ones all
sucking my cock.
         I feel a sudden hunger.  Food brings that out when one is
alive, which I'm obviously not.  I bite into the deliciously soft and
pliant cherry again, eating it with relish.  At the same time the little
ones feast on my cock.  It takes an effort of will for me not to spend
in their faces.  But, ruddy-cheeked now, breathing with some effort due
to a rising excitement within me, I feast on the cherry, somehow holding
back my sperm from my little dinner-mates.
         I am wishing I would awaken from this marvelous repast, despite
its succulence, when the queen lifts her head and speaks to me again.
         "Why do you hold back?" she asks me.  "You came before."  I
look down at her sweet face.  It is so delicate, with perfect pink
cheeks!
         "I don't want to get you all sticky," I tell the perfect little
apparition.
         "I won't mind," the queen answers.
         "I don't even know your name," I tell her.
         "Chloe," she whispers.  She strokes my cock with one of her
little hands, where the mouths of her compatriots have not attached
themselves to me.  Wet little tongues work me avidly, but I manage to
offer them nothing, and the queen frowns.  "Don't you have any more?"
she asks me, pumping me like some junior whore eager for payment.
         "I have plenty," I tell her, and it's the truth too, at least
in my delirious state.  I dream of bulging balls, newly refilled despite
being pumped only hours earlier.  Even my wife couldn't get me this hard
again, this fast.  I'm 40, after all.  Sex isn't exactly new to me. 
Well, with little girls it is, but of course this can't really be
happening.
         "Girls, stop," the queen commands.  At once her fellow
apparitions lift their little mouths from my penis.  I relax, slightly. 
Not my dick, unfortunately, but the rest of me, relieved not to be so
urgently solicited.  "We are expecting too much from him too soon," the
queen says.
         "Has he not come to give us his milk?" the six-year-old asks
with guileless eyes.  I see other girls now in the doorway, and their
mouths smile with delight at my erection.  Only the queen's obvious
hesitancy, new-found, holds them back from attacking my cock as the
other three little girls have.
         "He is not a beast, as the bees are," the queen says, her voice
regal and fine, musical and yet not singing, merely speaking.  "He is a
man," she continues. 
         I'm stuck now with blue balls but too embarrassed to admit it,
as the girls rise up, leaving me to my damnable erection, my cock waving
like a flag pole and my balls tight and roiling.  The queen pats my
belly again and tells her eager little friends to go back to their
play.  The eyes and faces disappear from the doorway.  The blonde, the
ten-year-old blonde that is, opens the jar of cream and begins to rub it
on my chest, obviously loving the feel of my hairy skin, so different
from her smooth little body.
         "Do you have any needs?" the queen asks me.  I shake my head
no, then go back to eating.  After many minutes, all the while conscious
of the state of my erection, and wishing my wife were here to relive it,
I finally finish the honey-drenched cherry.  It was delicious.  The
queen takes something soft from her chest of drawers and hands it to
me.  It feels like the petal of a lily, or rather a piece of a petal.  I
realize after a moment she intends me to use it as a napkin, for I have
gotten rather messy from the honey and the cherry.  I wipe my face and
realize this is no ordinary lily petal.  The cherry juice and honey wipe
off onto it like magic.  I finish my face and wipe my hands, even one of
my shoulders where a little juice has fallen, and my neck.
         "Thanks," I tell the queen.  I hand the lily napkin back to
her.  It's soiled.  She crumples it and places it outside the doorway to
her home.  Immediately I sense someone coming by.  The lily napkin is
taken.
         "Your panties are falling down in back," I tell the queen.  I
had to speak of it.  Her bottom is so perfect, it's giving me a desire
to see all of it.  
         "Thanks," the queen says.  She reaches behind herself and pulls
up her little swimsuit.  As she reaches back I find myself terminally
tempted by her small breasts.  Her bra stretches, almost losing its grip
on her teats with the backward movement of her arms.  The queen notices
my interest and says,
         "I can take my top off if you wish."
         "No!" I gasp.  To require a young girl to undress in front of
me would be unthinkable, even if she is just a girl in a dream.  The
blonde's hand moves lower.
         "I want to take mine off," the ten-year-old rubbing cream on me
tells me suddenly.  I look at her.  It's getting difficult to handle
these multiple illusions.  Suddenly on a whim, annoyed that all these
little girls should still be around me despite every effort on my part
to make them disappear, I say,
         "Sure."
         The unthinkable happens.  The little blonde stops creaming me
and reaches back and unties her top.  A moment later it's fallen onto my
belly, and her small breasts are jutting out at me, naked and perfect,
twin cones of delight.  I gaze at her white flesh, white like the
queen's bottom.  Her nipples are pink to a degree that can only be
described as flawless, a Barbie-pink, as if crafted by Mattel's finest
machinery.  Except these pink nipples shiver and sprout little tips as
the blonde gazes at me.  Oblivious now of her lack of a top, letting the
garment lay upon my stomach, she picks up the cream and begins anointing
me again, rubbing me with her little hands.  I notice, for the first
time, that she's wearing sparkly nail polish on her fingernails.  Did
she paint her nails while I slept, just to impress me?  Of course I
prefer the red of a grown woman's manicured hands.  Purple with sparkles
looks rather silly, but I say nothing, instead obscenely enjoying the
feel of the girl's hands on my ribs and watching her little teats wiggle
as she works.
         The queen follows the blonde's lead and takes off her own top. 
Her breasts are slightly larger.  I gaze at them with mouth-watering
awe.  Even the nine-year-old with pigtails and the little six-year-old
join in.  Suddenly I'm surrounded by little girls whose names I don't
even know, who are all happily topless, showing me what they have grown,
seemingly just for me, the six-year-old only able to offer the slightest
puckered set of paps, like two little mosquito bites, but the ten and
eleven-year-old impressing me with the size of their childish tits.  I
want to suck on them, as they earlier sucked on my cock.  But I hold
back.  I let myself relax.  The blonde finally works her hands down to
the root of my cock.  I do not stop her.  Exploringly she reacquaints
herself with my shaft.  She rubs her hands up and down it.  Why are
these little females so damnably interested in my penis?
         I shudder.  Despite my now churning balls I feel excellent. 
There is a tension running through me that I relish, and it concentrates
itself in my cock.  I feel my testicles tighten further.  I am going to
cum again and I know it is only a brief matter of time before I do.  I
look down at the topless blonde.  She is so luscious!  I want to stop
her but suddenly the queen, seeing my condition, the way my chest heaves
and my cock seems to grow thicker with need, calls out.  A girl comes
through the doorway to the queen's home.  She is carrying the gourd. 
She carries it easily.  They must have emptied it.
         "No.  Really.  I should not be doing this," I protest.
         "Do not give us your milk if you do not wish to," the queen
tells me gently, drawing near, bending down and stroking my forehead.
         Suddenly I let my delirium overwhelm me.  If this is going to
be my dying fantasy, it's going to be done my way, I tell myself.  I
look at the queen.  Her face is so pretty!  She has no freckles, despite
being a redhead.
         "I prefer dominant women," I tell her.  There is no sense in
holding back now.  I may as well confess all my fantasies to this
child.  "Command me, and I'll give you whatever you want," I tell her. 
My conscience screams at me, but my balls do to.  The queen looks
slightly perplexed.  Then I guess the illusion's royal demeanor kicked
in for she nodded slightly and said,
         "Dick, darling, I command you to give me your milk."  My cock
leaps at her words, so gentle and yet firm.  But I want more.  It's my
fantasy, after all.  Perhaps if I press this illusion with demands it
will finally go away.  "Get a stick or something," I tell the topless
redhead.  "Tell me you will hit me with it if I don't cum."  She
understands, after a moment, what I want.  She calls out and a girl
brings a stick through the doorway.  She gives it to the queen, bowing
slightly as she does so.  She is a lovely blonde like the ten-year-old
and six-year-old, and she surprises me because she is topless like the
other girls.  I wonder if all the girls in this place are topless now. 
I'm tempted to order the queen to take off her bikini panties and show
me whether she's got any lovely red hair between her legs.
         The illusion has still not passed so I decide to test it
further.  Surely it will go away any minute now, if I press it with
ridiculous demands.
         "Hit me with the stick," I tell the apparition queen, certain
that she will be unable to accomplish this.  To my dismay I feel a sharp
pain suddenly along my ribs, where the blonde has just rubbed me with
cream.  Sure enough the stick the girl is holding, despite being as
ephemeral, surely, as the girl itself, has swished down and hit my
side.  It hurts, after all the delicacy I've been surrounded with for
the last few hours.  But perhaps this is the way out.  Pain will waken
me from my demented reverie.  "Hit me again," I order the queen.  "Tell
me I'm bad for not cumming and keep hitting me until I spurt."
         Stunningly, the queen obeys me.  She tells me I must obey her,
and unfortunately this has an electric effect on my cock.  The other
girls notice and press the open neck of the gourd to the head of my
penis, enveloping my pee hole, gazing at me with expectant smiles as I
writhe slightly under the blows the queen now delivers to my ribs.
         "Ow!  Ow!  Ow!" I cry, but the queen, puffing slightly, her
pink cheeks reddening, seems to delight in her newfound dominance.  I
have awakened a part of her she never knew existed, I realized, though I
still am sure, even in my pain, that she herself does not exist!  The
stick flashes down again and again, and she tells me in no uncertain
terms that I must provide milk for the girls when they tell me to, that
I must not deprive them of what the story promised them they would
receive from me.  Suddenly in my agony my cock gives way.  Not in a
manner that would save me from embarrassment, of course.  I spurt
thunderously into the gourd.  I do not try to stop myself any more, the
stick keeps hitting me, all along my right side, the queen determined to
exercise her newfound authority over me. 
         After a good long minute I am finally done spurting.  I breathe
a sigh of relief as the queen, sensing I have no more to give to their
infernal gourd, stops hitting me.  The vegetable is withdrawn.  I feel a
complete relaxation, despite the pain along my right side.  Immediately
the blonde, amazed at the punishment I have taken, for I have welts now
where the queen has hit me, resumes rubbing me with the cream.  I watch
the ten-year-old's tits as she works and again toy with the notion of
asking these little girls to take off their panties for me, to show me
what must be the utter delight of their hairless little crotches.
         Ah, God!  I am turning into some kind of pervert!  I try to
think of my wife but the sight of the little blonde's tits juddering in
front of me, the sight of the queen's fine little chest heaving as she
breathes hard from having hit me, blots out any redemptive vision of my
spouse.  I try to summon up a view of my daughter but she appears
topless, and I quickly chase that vision out of my mind.
         "Do you wish to sleep again?" the queen asks me solicitously.
         "I want to wake up!" I tell her frankly.
         "You are awake," the little six-year-old blonde, who has been
watching the whole obscene affair, tells me. 
         I do not try to argue with the six-year-old.  I let myself
relax, commenting to myself that I've never seen a first-grader with
such a perfect little set of mosquito bite tits.  Then I remind myself
that, except for my daughter, I've never seen any six-year-old topless,
at least not since my days swimming as a child, when little girls would
sometimes take off their tops because they had basically nothing to
hide.
         "I hope this fantasy ends soon," I breathe aloud.
         "Have we not pleased you?" the brunette, watching all the while
like the six-year-old, asks in a sudden panic.  She leans close, asks
the ten-year-old for cream so she can join in rubbing me.
         "No!  No!" I cry.  The last thing I need is more soft little
hands rubbing me and arousing me.  I manage to keep the brunette back. 
"I feel fine," I gasp.  Is there no way to end this dream?  Frowning, I
decide to try to push it past its limits again.  I look at the girls,
again impressed with their little titties that jiggle nakedly before my
eyes.  "If I'm to provide, uh, milk for you girls, I don't want to just
be treated like some hand pump," I tell them.  "I want you, at all
times, to call me `sir'."
         "Yes, sir," the girls at once say merrily, even the queen.
         "Oh, shit!" I gasp.  They seem puzzled that I would be
disappointed.
         "Do you want me to hit you with the stick again?" the queen
asks.
         "No, no," I tell her.  "Only when you want me to do something,
like give you milk.  Or something like that," I tell her, and an utterly
depraved thought rises in my mind, specifically, whether I would fit
inside these little ones.  You know what I mean.  I chase the thought
away as soon as I feel it.  "And keep your panties on," I add hastily. 
The queen nods.  The other girls nod too.  I sigh, still showing
disappointment.  There is no way to rid myself of these little
creatures.  I'm doomed to live in some weird pedophile fantasy until the
jungle destroys me.

30

---------------- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls! -----------------
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-- Great art books by David Hamilton and Jock Sturges are at:
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-- Naked little girls/politics:  http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
     Man/boy love:  http://www.nambla.de  Politics:  http://www.lp.org
     http://www.isil.org  http://www.fear.org  http://www.fija.org
     http://www.aclu.org
-- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427)
     is copyright 2001 by Andrew Roller.  All rights reserved.
-- Visit me at:  http://home.earthlink.net/files/Authors/Roller/www666/index.html
     Or at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/www/index.html
     (It is case sensitive, i.e. type Roller, not roller).

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