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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} night games, chapter one
Date: Fri,  4 Jan 2002 09:10:14 -0500
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                                      GOD BLESS AMERICA


         Imagine if all the terrorists had been too busy reading sex
stories to attack the World Trade Center?  Five thousand lives would
have been saved, and nobody would have had to jump out of the world's
tallest building.  (Admittedly, the television in the month of September
wouldn't have been as exciting.)
         As part of the Homeland Defense Initiative, I have tasked
myself with writing more sex stories, hopefully even steamier ones. 
This is in hopes of keeping terrorists like Mohammed Atta (or whatever
his name was) too busy jerking off to attack people.  The terrorists
were young men.  They visited a strip joint and rented some porno
movies.  Obviously the problem is not that there weren't enough checkers
at the airport (who weren't required to stop people with box cutter
knives anyway.)  It's that the porno industry has failed our country. 
Had the strippers these terrorists saw been better, or had the porn been
hotter, they wouldn't have managed to get their pants zipped up and go
attack an airplane.
         Larry Flint, shame on you.  Our country would be safe today if
you made suitably obscene pornography.  You have let our nation down.
         Yes, it has fallen to me, holy joe, a poor hobo living in an
outhouse, to rescue America.  I would prefer to sit quietly and read the
Bible, but our nation's safety demands that I act.  Please don't think
I'm a pervert when you read this story.  It is written exclusively for
horny terrorists, in hopes of averting future terrorist attacks.

30


                                        Andrew Roller Presents
                                   NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
                                                       in 
                                              Night Games


                                              Chapter One

         "Ouch!" Cindy's mother said as she bent down to get a pan from
the kitchen cupboard below the countertop.  Cindy, who was eating toast
smeared with jam at the breakfast table in their little apartment,
looked up from the mouse cartoon on their portable T.V.  They were new
in L.A., had just arrived two weeks earlier, and this was the second
time in that period that she had awoken to find her mother curiously
disabled.  The young blonde woman stood and brushed back her hair, her
other hand on her behind.  It was an ass that Cindy was just beginning
to realize men craved.  High, firm, the cheeks deliciously inviting,
with just the right amount of fat and proportion.  Men were amazed when
they learned that Cindy's mom had a child.  But that had been so long
ago, when the model thin blonde was only 12.  Cindy was that age now,
and her awareness of the opposite sex was just dawning.  Mom was a
catch; she was just learning that, and she was beginning to suspect,
despite her tender years, that she might be a catch too.  Boys, even
cute ones, turned their heads and stumbled when Cindy walked down the
street.  They suddenly had trouble talking, though back in Idaho, in
earlier years, they'd had no trouble teasing her on the playground. 
Now, in a new city, Cindy was more aware of herself than ever.  She was
wearing her first bra, and a big one at that, for her mother had delayed
buying her one, instead purchasing ever larger and looser shirts for
her.  Men, who hadn't seemed to notice her back in their small town in
Idaho (where word travelled fast), now looked at her with abandon,
making her afraid they might try to kidnap her.
         Cindy shook her hair back, which was blonde like her mother's. 
She hadn't bothered to comb it and already her mom had surprised her by
not scolding her about it.  She still had her P.J.'s on from bed, the
mouse ones that matched the cartoon she was watching.  Her mother wore a
long flannel gown but despite its soft easy comfort she seemed to be in
some degree of pain.
         "Are you okay, mom?" Cindy asked.  She had just recently
stopped calling her "mommie".  A girl who had visited three days before,
a new friend at school, had teased her when she heard Cindy call her
mother that.
         "Yes, I'm fine," Cindy's mom answered.  She still didn't have
the pot and she bent again, gingerly, and made a second try.  She held
her ass the whole way down, as she bent, and Cindy watched her.
         "You don't look okay," Cindy said, as her mother retrieved the
pot.  By some unfortunate accident just then, on the T.V., the little
mouse who had such grand adventures began hitting the big bear on his
ass with a stick.  Cindy heard the bear's anguished moans on the T.V.
and turned to look, then looked back at her mother.  Even a six-year-old
would have been able to make the connection.
         "Did Dave spank you?" Cindy asked.  Immediately she broke into
giggles, and the half-chewed toast in her mouth, slathered with jam,
came spitting out a little, onto her plate.  Cindy's mom turned.  Her
face was red.  
         "No, nobody-- ooch!" Cindy's mom, whose name was Sasha, said,
her denial interrupted by another flash of pain as she imprudently put
one foot forward to walk across their kitchen.
         "Dave DID spank you!" Cindy cried, and her eyes were full of
mischievous glee, albeit of an utterly innocent variety.  Sasha reddened
more and then managed to walk to the stove, and place her pan upon it,
treating the fact of her behind's condition as something that could no
longer be denied, but that didn't need an explanation either.  She
waited for her daughter to finish laughing, turning on the heat under
the pan, and hoped there would be no more questions.  But of course,
Cindy being 12 and not so completely absorbed in the adventures of the
little mouse as she would have been, say, a year ago, there were.
         "Why did Dave spank you?  I thought he was taking you to a
party," Cindy said.
         "He did take me to a party," Cindy's mom answered.  She turned
and attempted to walk to the refrigerator to get some eggs, only to have
her hand fly to her ass again.
         "Did he spank you after the party?" Cindy asked.  In
frustration, upset with the questions but even more with the pain in her
buttocks as she tried to cross the kitchen in front of her daughter,
Cindy's mom answered,
         "No, he spanked me at the party."  It was an imprudent remark,
and as Sasha was aware of Cindy's eyes widening she knew just how
ill-advised it was.  Cindy might be only 12, but going to school in L.A.
now, and junior high at that, she had already picked up a few rumors
about sex.
         Cindy's questions did not cease.  They continued after school,
despite the fact that her mother was no longer hobbling around.  The
idea that her mother had been spanked at a party, which conjured up
visions of being spanked in front of people, caused the girl no end of
curiousness.  One question followed another and finally, that night,
after blushing and dodging through dinner at their little kitchen table,
Cindy's mother decided to sit her daughter down and explain everything. 
Or, at least, as much as she could without completely embarrassing
herself.
         "Cindy," Sasha said to her daughter as the little girl plopped
down next to the woman so many men craved, and, in L.A., craved to do
obscene things to.  "Sex isn't just about two people making love."
         "It isn't?" Cindy asked, her eyes wide an innocent, but
sparkling with a knowledge gained from school yard rumors and watching
her mother grab her behind.
         "No.  Sometimes it involves other things," Sasha said to her
daughter.
         "Like being spanked in front of everybody?" Cindy asked, no
longer able to hide her glee at such an awful and yet intriguing event.
         "I wasn't spanked, Cindy," Sasha said.  "I was whipped." 
Cindy's eyes, already wide, sprang open further.  She had seen a horse
whipped by a rider in Idaho.  Had her mother been a horse?  Not entirely
cognizant of where her daughter's innocent alarm was taking her, Sasha
continued,
         "And you shouldn't get angry at Dave for doing it, either,
because I was told in advance that it would happen to me."  Sasha
reached down and stroked her daughter's long blonde hair, straightening
out the locks with her fingers, for the girl had again failed to brush
it, after playing out back, despite her mother having told her to.
         "You went to the party even though you knew you'd be hit with a
whip?" Sasha asked, imagining her mother shod hand and foot in horse
shoes, and forced to bear Dave on her back, like a beast of burden, a
bit in her mouth and blinders along the sides of her face, as Dave hit
her and told her to gallop.
         "Yes, and it wasn't just Dave who hit me.  Other people hit me
too.  I was the guest of honor last night," Sasha said.  "And-- and the
previous time, when you saw me like this, it was just two people who hit
me, because I was new to the group."
         "What group?" Cindy asked.
         "The group that parties," Cindy's mom answered.  She
straightened her daughter's hair some more with her fingers and said,
"Honey, I've tried for a long time to be, well, a good example for you. 
I don't know if you realize it, but I didn't date much in Idaho, because
I wanted to be home with you, and not leave you with some teenage sitter
who might--" Cindy's mom blushed, for that had been how Cindy had been
conceived, "Who might, you know, have invited her boyfriend over.  Then
you might have come across them having sex, and I didn't want you to
find out about sex too soon, and certainly not from your babysitter.  So
I stayed home with you, and I didn't see many men."  Sasha paused.  Did
her daughter need more?  She looked at the girl's big blue eyes, so
similar to her own, and then she was aware of her daughter's growing
breasts, which pushed forth with lovely promise into her blouse, which,
although only recently purchased, was already too tight for her.  It
wasn't one of the big loose blouses that her mother had previously
bought for her, but a sexy belly-showing blouse, like the girls wore at
Cindy's school.  Yes, Sasha realized, her daughter needed more.  Sasha
tossed back her own lovely blonde head, clearing her eyes of two strands
of hair that had fallen into her vision as she spoke, and went on.  "I
didn't just come to L.A. to take the secretarial position I was
offered," Sasha told her daughter.  "Sure, it pays more, but I came for
myself as well," Sasha said.  "I was feeling restless.  About men, I
mean.  There wasn't a whole lot to do in Boise and I wanted to, well,
experiment," Sasha said.  "I'd heard things and finally a mood just took
me and I said, `Alright, I'm going to find out about this.  My daughter
is old enough.  She's wearing a bra now, she's having her period." 
Cindy blushed, but her interest in her mother's words remained
undimmed.  "So I decided to come to the place where I knew things would
be fast and where I knew I could get some answers.  And I have," Cindy's
mom said.  She shifted her behind on the couch, as if to relieve some
nagging pain.  "Twice," she added, and blushed and laughed.  "And I want
to get some more answers," she told her daughter.  "It hurts, but I
don't want to stop now, because it's exciting, and I haven't been
excited in a long time."  Sasha suddenly became defensive.  "I deserve
to be excited, don't I?" She asked her daughter.  "I mean, I had such a
strict father, and then I did what I shouldn't have, once, and I got
pregnant with you.  But I didn't have an abortion, like so many other
girls my age, and I didn't give you up either.  I kept you, and I loved
every minute with you, don't get me wrong," Sasha said, suddenly
apologetic, almost kissing her daughter now, still nervously
straightening her disheveled blonde locks.  "And I worked, first as a
bagger girl at the grocery and then as a waitress.  And I turned down
guys just to be with you, to protect you and see that you were raised
properly."
         "I was, mom," Cindy said, her eyes showing pity for her mother
now, almost ready to spring forth with tears, feeling a little bad about
pressing her mother to speak to her this way.  And perhaps knowing and
fearing what would come next:
         "Then why did I find you sucking the cock of that Thompson
boy?" Sasha's mother suddenly shouted, cross and red-faced and angry. 
Cindy slunk down, escaping her mother's hand for a moment, but her mom
quickly followed her down and clamped her fingers atop her daughter's
head.
         "I couldn't help it.  He made me!" Cindy gasped.  Tears rolled
down her cheeks, big ones, big like the Thompson's boy's cock.
         "No he didn't.  I was watching you from my back window and I
saw you pull down his zipper," Sasha said to her daughter.
         "Is that why we left Idaho?" Cindy said suddenly, becoming a
little cross herself.
         "That's one of the reasons," Sasha answered.
         "Well you shouldn't have interfered in my life," Cindy said.
         "I had to.  You were giving blow jobs!" Sasha said.
         "Just ONE blow job," Cindy corrected.
         "And what are you doing at school?  At your new school?" Sasha
asked.  Her eyes accused, and Cindy's looked guilty.
         "Just two more blow jobs," Cindy said.  "Only of the very
cutest boys."  Sasha glared at her daughter.  She felt like hitting her,
but her little ivory face was just too pretty.
         "I got a call from your principal today, while I was at work,"
Cindy's mom said.  "At my new JOB, Cindy."  The little girl, already
blushing and crying, turned more red-faced and shed even bigger tears. 
"Cindy was caught in the boy's bathroom-- in the BOY'S bathroom, Cindy,
sucking the penis of a boy while another one, with his cock out and wet
with saliva, looked on.  Did you do that?!"
         "Yes mom!" Cindy cried, and suddenly buried her face in her
mother's prominent chest.  It was a chest many men lusted for, both when
Cindy's mother was at work and when she went to and from work, and of
course at the party, where men and even women had sucked with delight
upon the perfect young gourds, even decorating them with whipped cream
to make their succulence all the more appealing.  As Sasha watched her
daughter she was well aware of how she had responded to such attention. 
In fact, of how she had invited it:  prior to being put on a table and
decorated with cream, she had been tasked with roaming under the table,
on hands and knees, undoing the flies of the men and relieving the women
of their undergarments.  She had prepared the guests, tempted them with
her mouth, sucked and licked them to a state of readiness for the
festivities that were to ensue.  Festivities which culminated with
everyone `rewarding' her for her work with a whip on her bottom.
         "Tell me the truth," Sasha said, when her daughter had finally
ceased crying.  "Do you enjoy sucking cock?"  Cindy looked up at her
mom, her face tear-stained.  She wanted to lie, but looking into her
mother's face, which was red with anger and embarrassment and hidden
knowledge, she suddenly found she couldn't.
         "Yes mom," Cindy confessed.  "I like it.  The boys are so
eager, and then when I put my lips to them they get so awkward.  Even
the raddest boys are reduced to huffing and choking, like they're going
to die.  And then they're desperate to do something-- I'm not sure what
it is.  They're just absolutely desperate, like they have to pee or
something, but they want me to keep my mouth to them while they do it!" 
Cindy gaped at her mother, her eyes wide with inexplicable innocence,
yet questing for an answer, just like her mother had found she needed
answers.
         "Yes," Cindy's mother said.  She returned to stroking her
daughter's hair.  "They want to give you their seed."
         "Oh," Cindy said.  She thought a moment, frowning a little. 
"But my eggs are in my tummy!" Cindy said.  Sasha laughed then, and
Cindy laughed too, until they were both red-faced with their mutual
embarrassment and their thoughts of boys and men.
         "Yes, dear," Sasha finally said to Cindy, when she'd recovered
herself and her daughter was able to listen again, no longer laughing. 
"It doesn't matter where your eggs are.  Men want to cum, above all
else, and seeing a pretty young thing like you, just as pretty as I was
when I had you, and the same age too, they will spurt their seed most
anyplace.  In your mouth, in your pussy, or--" Cindy's mom paused.  Her
ass wasn't just hurting because a whip had found her behind.  
         "Or?" Cindy asked, all 12-year-old curiosity.
         "Or your bottom," Cindy's mom said, and her eyes showed her
guilt at having been taken by two men there, the previous night.
         "My bottom?!" Cindy cried.  Her hand flew back to that part of
herself which her mother had felt so pained to bend that morning.  The
girl felt her 12-year-old hiney and seemed mortified that the cocks she
had learned to suck might long to penetrate her there.
         "Yes," Sasha said.  "Even in your bottom.  Men like it because
it's even tighter than your pussy, and seen as someplace that's
forbidden.  That's how they are.  They want to violate whatever is most
forbidden to them.  Dave himself remarked how pretty you looked.  Do you
remember that, last night?  Even though he's dating me I'm sure he'd
love nothing more than to get his cock into you.  Into your mouth, and
even into your little ass."  Sasha said the last a bit vengefully, as if
thinking, perhaps, that for all her questions her daughter deserved just
such a fate.  Suddenly she slapped Cindy's behind, for the girl was
sitting now facing her mother, with her ass not bearing her full weight,
instead sitting on her right thigh, curled up like a kitten beside her
mother.
         "Ow!" Cindy cried, suddenly, and her hand, which had started to
drift off her behind, suddenly flew to where her mother had hit her. 
"Why did you do that?" Cindy asked.
         "Because you deserve it, for asking so many questions," Sasha
said.  "Ask any more and I'm liable to take you to one of my parties."
         "CAN I?" Cindy asked.  Her sudden interest, expressed with a
kind of childish glee, surprised her mother.  Sasha thought that, after
hearing about whips and cocks going up hiney holes the girl would have
no interest, at the tender age of 12, of being a part of such things. 
But far from finding her mother's tale fearful, the girl was still full
of curiosity.
         "No of course you can't," Sasha said.  
         "But I want to," Cindy begged.  Sasha realized she had taken
her daughter, unwittingly, from the frying pan to the fire.  She had
been trying to allay her daughter's questions with a truthful, of
somewhat edited, explanation.  Instead she had simply fanned the flames
of her daughter's interest even further.
         "Cindy, the parties I go to are for ADULTS," Sasha said,
stressing the word.
         "But you had me when you were 12," Cindy answered.
         "Yes but that was just a tryst with some boy and I--"  Sasha
looked at her daughter, at her lovely perfect pink lips, and knew where
those lips, so full of curiosity, would be again, at school tomorrow. 
Back on the penis of some boy, a very cute and "rad" boy of course, but
further embarrassing her mother with calls from the principal about her
daughter exploring the forbidden territory of the boy's bathroom.  She
didn't want that.  If the little minx was to be controlled, she would
have to be tamed the only way her mother knew how:  not by bans and
restrictions, for what was a ban on watching the little mouse on T.V. in
the morning compared to the lure of cute boys with their cocks hanging
out, being made to cough and stutter?  No, she would have to do just as
Cindy was asking, despite screams from her conscience that she should
not.  She would take Cindy to a party, let her explore the temptations
of the flesh, under her mother's watchful eye of course.  She would let
her bathe in eroticism and then she would be as Sasha herself had
become, after having Cindy:  mature, responsible, a bit older perhaps,
but not a little slut sucking cock in the boy's restroom at school.
         "Alright," Sasha said, surprising her daughter with her sudden
reversal.  "You can come along to the next party Dave takes me to." 
         "THANKS, mom!" Cindy cried.  She leapt upward and threw her
arms around her young mother's neck, kissed her hard on the cheek.  With
the same lips that had explored the boy's cocks in the restroom that
day.  Sasha hoped her daughter hadn't picked up any diseases.
         "I'll have to take you to the doctor's," Sasha said to her
daughter, when the little girl had finished kissing her.  "I'm sure
they'll let you come to the party, but everyone who goes must first be
inspected by a physician and get a clean bill of health.  I'll have to
start you on the pill, too, because even if I keep you out of harm's way
at the party I can't count on you not getting into it with some of your
radical boyfriends."
         "You can trust me, mom," Cindy said, eyes wide and beguilingly
truthful.  But Sasha knew better.  She had said the same thing to her
mom the night she'd given in while babysitting.
         "Of course I can trust you, dear, but I can't trust men.  Or
cute boys," Sasha said.  She pushed her daughter's hair back, where it
had fallen into her eyes.  
         "Oh.  Right," Cindy agreed.
         "So we'll start you on the pill and make sure you haven't
picked anything up in the boy's room," Sasha said.  "And promise me you
won't get into anything I don't know about," Sasha said.  "With the boys
at your school, I mean.  I can't take you to the party if you come down
with something, period.  Whether I want to or not.  Understand?" Sasha
asked her daughter.
         "Yes mom," Cindy answered.  But from the look in her eyes Sasha
was glad the next party with Dave was only a week away, for she could
see that her daughter's little devil side, which was just beginning to
show itself, was dying for more.

30

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-- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427)
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     (It is case sensitive, i.e. type Roller, not roller).

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