- NND ---------------------------------------------------------
Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
---------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
A Binding Commitment
Chapter One
He chose his words carefully. As he spoke, he watched the light as
it filtered through the window of his apartment. It touched her blonde
hair. It turned its yellow to pure gold, making it shimmer. It was as if
the sun were anointing her for what he had in mind. He spoke in measured,
whispered tones. The glow of light spilling off her hair might be that of
an angel, a halo, marking her out as that most fragile of creatures, fearing
not only to go but perhaps even to tiptoe into places where, admittedly,
fools were most likely to tread. It was a dangerous game. One could be
injured, even killed, in unskilled hands. His hands were skilled but he
didn�t know if she would understand that.
�I belong to a club,� he said. He felt the pulse of her heart in her
wrist, where his fingers enclasped it. She jerked a little, her eyes
widening. As if she already knew what he was going to say.
�Yes?� she asked breathlessly.
�It is not the sort of club for everyone,� he said. He watched the
light of the slow-moving sun reach her eyes. They often said nothing, in
between their sentences, just staring, breathing, their hands slowly
gliding. He felt her right breast, weighing it. She shivered but did not
resist.
�I want to take you there,� he said. As he spoke he saw a small mark
appear in her blouse, at the tip of her right breast. It was echoed by a
similarly rising peak on her left breast. She shivered again. He knew her
excitement was rising. Her thighs shifted apart.
�Yes?� she asked again, her voice as breathless as ever. His hand
glided down to her skirt. Her thighs were slim. They were naked beyond
the hem of her skirt and now, slowly, he raised her skirt, inching it up her
right thigh, letting the hem along her left thigh follow. Higher and higher
he pushed the skirt. She moved her bottom forward on the couch, aiding
him, making her skirt slide higher still. Suddenly, he glimpsed her crotch,
covered by her neat white panties. Her breath came rapidly from her
throat.
�Will there be dancing?� she asked. She liked to dance.
�Yes,� he said. He imagined a whip striking her bottom, now
squirming slightly on the couch. �Of a sort,� he added, and felt an abrupt
need to clear his throat. He blushed a little. She saw his blush and her
cheeks reddened slightly, not knowing, but perhaps suspecting? He could
not tell, gazing into her eyes with the sunlight now shining into them.
From her vantage point the sun was now behind his head, making him
loom over her, light radiating from all sides of his head and falling into
her eyes and onto her hair. He looked Godlike, supreme. She snuggled
closer to him, at the same time fearing him a little, feeling the strength
in his hands which gripped at her with increasing ardor.
�There will also be conversation,� he said. �Introductions will be
made. You will not know anyone there, of course, except me. It is quite a
private club. We meet once a month.�
�And you dance?� she asked. Her voice was becoming more
tremulous, he noticed. He nodded. She watched the sunlight coming boldly
around his head as he nodded, as if the Lord himself were looking down
upon her, speaking to her, giving her instructions.
�You will have an honored place,� he said. �As a prospective
member.� His grip tightened on her wrist. His hand slipped down between
her thighs and touched her crotch very lightly. She jerked. She was wet,
her breast buds stemming up stiffly through the fabric of her blouse as his
hand searched for her love button down below, groping into the folds of
her vagina. �Everyone must prove themselves before they are allowed to
join,� he told her. She began to shiver. She tightened her tighs on his hand
but he kept searching. �I had quite an ordeal,� he said. �I was greatly
admired, in all my parts, and put through the most strenuous of
challenges.� Her eyes flitted down to his groin. He was prominent there,
his jeans full, filling out even more as he spoke to her, his hand making
her legs tremble as he found her secret place and touched it, only the
cotton of her panties saving her from the direct contact of his stiff
finger.
�Oh-h-h-h,� she answered. He rubbed her, enjoying her quivering
reactions in her limbs and legs and breasts and cheeks as he probed.
�It was very difficult,� he admitted to her. �I had to steel myself.
A female is given more leeway but a male is expected to perform.�
�A- And me?� she gasped, feeling him hard in her, his finger
uncompromising in its touch, violating her seemingly to her very soul.
�It is the same but different,� he said. �A woman is expected to
receive, a male to give. The woman is stretched, tested in what she can
take, how much she can take, and how deeply she can take it.�
�Y- Yes-s-s-s,� she said, exhaling, but he wondered if it were in
response to what he was saying or only to what he was doing to her.
�You will need to look your very best,� he explained to her. She was
a beautiful girl but only a college freshman, half his age, accustomed to
jeans and pullover t-shirts, or sweatshirts, with perhaps a plaid shirt as
a final touch. Grunge was big then. Kurt Cobain was making his way up
the charts. �A skirt, like you are wearing now, for me,� he said, glad that
she had put on what he�d asked her to before he came over to visit her in
her dorm. �And a blouse, or perhaps something sexier,� he commented.
�And then...�
�Yes?� she breathed, her voice growing uneasy and hollow as he
suddenly drew back his finger.
�And then it will not matter so much, as things go forward,� he said.
�After you have been introduced, they will give you things to wear, things
of their own. It will mean taking off what I have given you.� He paused.
�Have you ever gone skinny dipping?� he asked her.
�N- Noooo,� she said, shivering again, his hands feeling the warmth
of her thighs, not as warm as her crotch but still quite pleasantly heated.
�I have, and even when you are wet and dripping it is still essential
to think how you look.� He reached up to her face. He touched the wire
frames surrounding her eyes, that kept getting in the way whenver he
leaned forward to plant a kiss on her lips. �These glasses, for instance,�
he said. �I recommend you not wear them.�
�But if we are to go swimming, I would lose my contacts,� she said.
�We will not be going swimming,� he said.
�But you said I would be undressing? They would be giving me
something to wear? I can bring along my bikini. I don�t need them to give
me one.�
�You will not be wearing a bikini,� he whispered.
�Oh,� she answered. Her voice was as quite as his, but her eyes
were much wider.
�So you see, how you are dressed will matter very much at the
start,� he said. �We will have to put some thought into it, both of us,
choosing things for you so you look your very best. I will pay for
everything, of course,� he added. �And then the clothes will be put aside,
after you have been introduced. Other things will be given to you, and you
will put them on instead, still looking wonderful, as you always do, but
wearing your contacts, not your glasses.�
�Oh-h-h-h,� she answered, her voice a sigh.
�And then the work of the evening will begin,� he said. �Always
keep in mind that you are being admired, even as they do what they must
do to you, even as they push you to your limits, and beyond, exposing you,
uncovering your soul, filling you and embarrassing you with the
helplessness of your condition.�
�You frighten me,� she told him. Her wrist trembled in his hand. His
grip was tight.
�Yes. I know,� he replied.
�Don�t tell me anymore,� she said.
�Alright,� he replied. Her eyes tried to search his, but the sun was
too strong, leaving his face in shadow as it glowed behind him.
�We will be going this Friday,� he said. She trembled in his grasp, a
rabbit-like pulse in her hand.
�So soon?� she gasped.
�I have already gotten permission to bring you,� he said. �It is the
custom that when a new guest is to be presented, to be given to the group,
the men do not allow themselves to enjoy pleasure three days prior to the
event. It is already the second day. More than a dozen men are already
filling for you, aching with their urgency. You cannot let them down by
being a no-show.� He felt her wrist flex, testing his grip. She tried to
pull back her arm.
�There will be women there?� she asked in a high-pitched, nervous
voice.
�Yes,� he answered. �A dozen women, a dozen men.� He smiled. You
won�t be alone. �But you will be the guest of honor.�
Abruptly she turned her head away from him. The light of her hair
shone in her eyes, her face averted.
�I cannot,� she insisted. She tried to withdraw her arm from his
grip again.
�We will go to the mall this afternoon,� he explained to her. �You
will enjoy it.�
�No I won�t!� she insited.
�Come on, I know you love shopping,� he said. She gulped. She did
love to shop. Mostly she bought grunge but the thought of having him
there, with her, picking out clothes for her, making her try them on in the
presence of the sales assistant, looking like her father, but not being her
father, it made her blush. She looked at him. The sun still blocked all but
the shadow of his head, his shoulders dark below.
�Alright,� she heard herself say.
�Good,� he answered. She looked down at his crotch, bulging in
shadow. �I thought as men got older they thought less of things like...
parties,� she said, swallowing hard as she spoke. He watched her slim
neck, how it moved so sensuously, the way her breasts below shook their
uptilted conical forms in time with her nervous throat.
�You thought wrong,� he said.
�Obviously,� she answered, looking at his stiff-penised groin.
�They�re too small,� she objected. She was holding a pair of panties.
He looked at her slender hips, with the bottom behind, still small, still
impudent, yet bigger now than when he�d first met her, filling out late, her
breasts having filled out first.
�They are not the young lady�s size,� the saleswoman agreed.
�They will be fine,� he said. �Put them on.� the saleswoman gave
him a puzzled look. �But they are for a child,� she said.
�They will be fine,� he said again. Kate disappeared into the
changing room. The saleswoman gazed at him, looked at the rack of side-
tied panties, racy lingerie for 12-year-old girls, or 14-year-olds, perhaps,
who wanted to wear underthings like Brittney Love, a teen pop-idol,
challenging Kurt in the charts.
�It�s unusual for a dad to help his daughter decide what to wear,�
the saleswoman said to him, her voice slightly accusing. He met her gaze.
He was aware of the grey at his temples, the lines etched in his face.
�I�m not her dad,� he replied. The saleslady flinched.
�Oh,� she said. Kate appeared, stepping out of the dressing room, a
miniskirt covering the panties she now wore tied to her hips. She held her
own panties in her hand.
�They�re much too small,� Kate said. Her voice had a gasping quality
to it. �I compared them to mine. They�re a lot smaller,� she insisted.
�I didn�t say they weren�t,� he answered. As the saleslady watched
them both he told her, �Walk. Back and forth.�
She strode in the heels he had already bought for her, at the shoe
shop on the mall�s lower level. The height of the heels made her hips move
with an exaggerated swing, making her look as if she might topple over.
She bit her lower lip. A cry escaped her nonetheless. The panties, wedged
in the crack of her bottom, stuck tightly up in the lips of her cunt, excited
her, the fabric pushing and rubbing against the wonderful place where he�d
touched her earlier in the day, on the couch, in the sunlight.
�We�ll take them,� he told the saleslady.
�I don�t want to wear them. They make me all hot and bothered,�
Kate said to him.
�Then put your own back on for now,� he answered her. �These are
for the party.�
They went on to another shop. He bought her a tight-hugging tee. It
was a midriff, pulled tautly over her breasts, held by a strip of elastic
below them, just below, leaving her lower ribs and her belly bare.
�It is too short,� she complained.
�I�ll buy you a jacket to go over it,� he told her. But when he did the
jacket itself was cut short, despite a high collar and long, cuffed sleeves.
So her belly still showed, although not as completely as with just the top
on. He gazed at the flatness of her stomach, at its negligible, soft child�s
swell, where the navel lay, offering itself to his eyes, but still sleek and
slim, moving with her breath.
�Is there anything else?� she asked, feeling his eyes on her, on her
new jacket, with the tight top underneath, the too-small panties in her
little purse that was slung over her shoulder.
�Yes,� he said. �Gloves.� She looked at her hands. Bright nails
shone at the ends of her slender fingers.
�But I just did my nails, yesterday morning,� she complained.
�You are always doing your nails. They are beautiful,� he agreed. It
was her one protest against grunge, the way she always kept her nails so
perfectly polished. That and her lustrous, well-kept hair, the hair he
loved admiring the sun in, which made it glow angel-like as it spilled
down round her face and fanned out across her slender, sweatshirt-clad
back.
�You like my nails but you want to cover them up,� she pouted.
�They will come off, like the rest,� he breathed quietly. His words
made her tremble. But she let him take her hand anyway, and lead her to
the glove store, where he bought her fine kid-leather gloves, and slipped
them on her hands for her. They were beige, matching her chocolate-
colored top, contrasting with her black leather jacket and irridescent
yellow skirt.
�And now we�ll go home and you can change back into a sweatshirt
and jeans, or perhaps you�ll wear a skirt and blouse for me, until the
party,� he told her.
�If you�ll be there with me I�ll wear a skirt and blouse,� she
answered. �But if you�re going to leave me to my homework then I�m going
to change into jeans.�
�I�m leaving you to your homework. I have a meeting tonight,� he
told her.
�Then you�ll just have to imagine me in a skirt and blouse, since I�ll
be wearing my favorite pink sweatshirt,� she teased him. He caught the
glow in her eyes, the excitement lingering there at the way he�d fawned
over her all afternoon, picking out clothes for her.
�Do me a favor,� he told her.
�Anything,� she answered.
�Wear the sweatshirt, but not the jeans,� he said.
�I don�t feel like wearing a skirt if you�re not there,� she said.
�Did I say to wear a skirt?� he asked her. He watched as her eyes
widened.
�Oh,� she said.
�And no panties either,� he said. �Just the sweatshirt. And long
woolen stockings if your legs get cold.�
She squeezed his hand. It was mid-winter. It had gone without
saying that she would be wearing her overcoat, her woolen cap, over
whatever he bought for her at the mall. They walked toward the coat-
check place to get their winter gear before leaving the warmth of the
malls broad walkways.
�It gets chilly in my dorm,� she told him. �I think you are not
looking after my welfare.�
�Oh?� he asked her. He wondered if it would be storming outside.
The morning sun that had lit her hair had been a welcome, unexpected
relief from the winter gloom.
�You are not thinking of my bum,� she told him. He felt her hand
squirm in his own. He tightened his grip.
�You don�t have a bum,� he said. She looked at him. Softly, so that
others wouldn�t hear, as they approached the coat-check place, she said,
�My bottom.� He smiled. He glanced back at her ass, swinging
deliciously, but attracting too many eyes, as they walked, the heels
making her look salacious.
�I am always thinking of your bottom,� he said truthfully. �It is
your most gorgeous endowment. Along with your tits,� he said.
�And my legs?� she teased him.
�And your face and all of you,� he admitted.
�And what do you think of me missing your party because I�ve caught
my death, walking around my dorm with my bum naked?� she asked him.
�Just in your room,� he told her.
�You have a dirty mind,� she answered.
�I don�t think you�ll catch your death,� he said. �However if there is
some concern on your part about this, then I�ll warm it up for you before I
leave you to your homework,� he told her.
�No,� she objected. They reached the coat-check place. He handed
the male attendant a ticket for their coats.
�I insist,� he said.
�I won�t allow it,� she replied.
�It�s for your health,� he said, taking the coat from the young coat-
check man, who was gazing at Kate ardently, putting the coat over her
shoulders.
�It is not something to be discussed,� he said.
�Oh, you�re AWFUL!� she said with emphasis.
�Is your daughter a model?� the young coat-check man asked, his
voice awkward.
�She�s not my daughter,� Frank answered.
She walked out of her bedroom. He was waiting for her by the
fireplace. She wore her sweatshirt. Under it, under the roll of the pink
fabric where it clung to her hips, she was wearing the panties he�d bought
for her, the too small panties.
�I won�t do it hard,� he said. He was sitting comfortably in a chair.
In his hand he held the sorority item she�d been given when she joined Phi
Gamma, a long wooden paddle-like object, which she usually kept hung up
on a peg, by a leather loop through a hole in the end of the handle, over her
small fireplace.
�Last time you were wicked,� she said.
�That�s because you were naughty,� he replied. He hefted the paddle
off his knee, feeling its weight.
�And then you fucked me afterwards,� she said accusingly.
�That won�t happen tonight,� he told her. �I�ve got to stay ready for
our party. I will have to perform like all the rest. I�m still fairly new,
they�ll be expecting a lot from me.� He eyed her, her slender hips, the way
her too-tight panties were making her bell-like hips seem to ring, as they
swayed back and forth. But it was he who had the dangling thing in
between, not she, with her tight-cleft little cunt, visible due to the
awkward tightness of her briefs. �Take them off,� he said of her panties.�
�They�re barely on now,� she protested.
�Take them off and get over my knee,� he ordered her. He watched as
she obeyed. Her hands trembled, she bit her lip, but she took off the
panties for him, relieved to be rid of their tightness yet feeling all
exposed now, her bottom bare, her muff showing. She went past him, to
the peg where the paddle usually hung, and slipped her still-tied panties
over it. He admired her naked splendor, her long legs and her high, child�s
bottom. She turned. She pulled off her sweatshirt. She shook out her
blonde hair, the fire catching it and gleaming in it. She dropped her
sweatshirt on the floor.
Looking at her lovely breasts he said,
�I like you better that way.�
�I knew you would,� she said, teasingly, and then shivered and felt
her breasts shake on her chest, his eyes upon them.
She went to him. She kissed him once, fearfully, and then put
herself over his lap. His muscled thighs pressed into her belly, into her
slender ribs. Her upraised bottom squirmed. Her breasts dangled with
fulsome weight beyond his farther leg, her head out beyond their conical
shapes, her eyes looking at her nipples. They were rigid, perfect pebble-
like peaks of excitement at the tips of her lovely tits. She knew she
would see this part of her self, this udder-like splendor of herself, shake
mercilessly as he did what he wished with her. She felt his legs move.
She guessed he had just raised the paddle.
�I hate you,� she said to him, and then bit her lip again.
He brought down the paddle. It struck her hard, making her let go of
her lip, her teeth jarring open, her ass quivering as the wood slapped her.
�OHHHHHHHH!� she cried. Tears came immediately to her eyes. She
balled her hands, which had been dangling down past her head, into fists.
She lifted them and batted the air with them. But his eyes were on her
bottom, which, in addition to reverberating under his blow, squirmed
madly with the pain he had given her. The cheeks, winter-white, turned
pink.
�Why do you hate me?� he asked. His voice was gruff. He waited for
her to stop uttering little cries, short little gasps of hurt and injury. He
waited for her hands and her ass to settle down.
�I hate you because people think you�re my father,� she said, still
squirming, her cheeks tensing and releasing before his eyes as she
answered his question. He was aware of her hands clasping themselves
tight into fists again. Futile fists, fists that she would keep dangled
down past her head. He had trained her not to reach back and try to cover
her bottom with them.
�Yes, people do think that,� he told her.
�And sometimes I can�t sit down in class,� she said, exaggerating a
little, for although their meetings always left her hurting, she did manage
to sit, for he was not as hard on her as she imagined he was.
�Yes, good,� he said. He lifted his hand. He swatted her behind
again, watching its sudden movement, listening to her awkward cry, her
pained frantic wail. As her fists beat the air again, and her breasts shook
beneath her, her ass turned a brighter pink.
�Very good,� he complimented her, when at last her spastic
wrigglings had abated.
�I still... hate you,� she gasped.
�But you are a quick learner,� he told her. �This is only your tenth.�
He meant not the number of swats but the number of times he�d put her
over his knee. �Some girls need many more spankings before they stop
reaching back to cover themselves,� he explained.
�You�re keeping track?� she asked shrilly.
�Yes. Of course,� he said. He lifted his arm again. She felt the
movement. Her rubbery cheeks, pink with his blows, drew tightly
together.
SPLAT!
�Waaaah!� she cried, tears running down her cheeks this time, her
bottom taking on a red hue as she once more wriggled her bare, bell-
shaped hips.
�You�re enjoying this,� he teased her, when she had finally calmed
down.
�I want a young boyfriend, not an old fart like you,� she told him.
�You will have them tomorrow evening, some young and some old,�
he told her.
�No,� she gasped. �No, I don�t believe you,� she said, her breasts
wobbling heavily as she spoke, knocking against the outside of his right
thigh. Always their liasons ended with a spanking like this one. He told
her the wildest stories, while he was spanking her, inbetween his blows,
making her turn red with them, as red as her bottom.
�I am not kidding,� he said.
�There is no party,� she said. �But I adore you for stretching it out,
for making my whole day special.�
�I didn�t have to work today,� he said to her. Painfully she
contracted her cheeks, feeling the heat of the paddle in them.
�You never stretched it out like this before, teasing me in the
morning, buying clothes for me in the afternoon,� she said.
�Sometimes an abrupt spanking is better,� he said. He hit her again.
She screamed.
When the tears finally stopped coming, leaving trails on her cheeks,
her bottom settling down again, she managed to say, between gulped
breaths, as she tightened her ass against the next blow,
�You scared me the first time you did it.�
�I know,� he answered.
�I couldn�t believe how you followed me to my room,� she said.
�Finding me, following me... I should have called the police.�
�But you didn�t,� he said.
�No...� she said in a puzzled voice. �No I didn�t.�
�And so I came into your room, and made you pull down your
panties,� he said.
�You were very unromantic then,� she said.
�And you loved every second of it, you little bitch,� he told her.
�I was scared to death,� she said.
�Your father never spanked you and here, at last, was someone
willing to do it. Someone who didn�t even ask permission, who you didn�t
even know, like the people I�ll introduce you to tomorrow night,� he told
her.
He slammed the paddle into her bottom again, and as she sceamed, he
wondered if he�d hit her too hard, if he�d broken something, her hip bone
perhaps. It took her a long time to grow quiet. He wondered if the other
students in the dorm could hear them.
�I think you�re the worst man in the universe,� she told him. He
studied her bottom. It was quite red now. He feared he had perhaps broken
one of her veins, in her cheeks, but studying the redness, which tended
toward the color of bricks now, he guessed he had just fallen short of
giving her a bruise. He put the paddle on the table.
�I have given you all I can,� he told her.
�The very worst,� she gasped.
�There is something in you which craves something very deep and
dark and awful,� he told her. �You are fearful like a little angel but I can
sense something else, something that you think I can�t.�
�No,� she breathed.
�I spank you and then we fuck but I have not ever gotten anywhere
near it, that thing inside of you,� he said. �I have felt the back wall of
your uterus with my dick head, my pee hole jamming itself against your
very soul, but I have never even gotten near it, that thing inside you.�
�What thing?� she asked, trembling bottom-up over his knees.
�The party will be only the first step,� he told her. �I know you�ve
only had me... and one other... at 14. All the rest of the time you�ve been
hiding from this thing inside of you, this intensity of feeling, this desire
that allowed you to let me up into your room and yank down your panties
and spank you.�
�No!� she cried.
�When you were 12, or 13 perhaps, you fell in love with the Middle
Ages,� he told her. His mind raced. �Lords and ladies, chivarly... and then
one day you read about the dungeon... a graphic, explicit book that you
found in the back of some bookstore. Torture and pain,� he told her.
�No!� Her voice was a scream, as loud as when he�d given her his
hardest blow, but now his hand was only patting her flesh gently, the
creamy statuesque flesh of her thighs, just below her too red bottom.
�Yes,� he insisted. �To be stripped naked. To be offered not only to
men, but to vain, self-centered women. People who care nothing for you,
who only wish to delight in the torment of your young body, inflicting
unbearable pain on it.
�No!� she screamed, so loudly that it hurt his ears.
�To be tied to the rack. To have your bones broken, as your jellied
tits wobble helplessly in front of you. To feel their hanging weight, at the
same time feeling the utter uselessness of your shattered limbs. To
watch as they heat a hot poker to an awful glow, and then to feel them
loosen you, only to turn you over and tie you down again, your bottom
upreared, your broken legs helpless, your cheeks pressed apart so that the
poker, mercilessly, can enter where no man ever has, burning itself into
your soul, into your bowels.� She panted beneath him, her body covered in
sweat. �And as they violate your ass, every man in the room will push
himself into your mouth, one by one, making you gag on his stiffness,
drowning you with his seed.� He passed his hand through her golden hair,
hanging down from her head. �You would not survive, of course,� he said.
�Or perhaps they would stop at the last possible moment,� he continued.
�They would put you to bed, your limbs broken, and they would fuck you
thoroughly, day after day, as your arms and legs healed. When they were
whole they would take you downstairs again, and break them all over
again, over and over, making you utterly helpless uncountable times, until
at last, in vile-hearted mercy, they would let you pass out of this life.�
She was breathing hard underneath him. Her ass churned, the cheeks
tightening and releasing, the skin a softer hue now, for at least an hour
had passed as he spoke. He felt a fullness in his bladder. He stroked her
hair again. With a weak voice, feeling no doubt what he himself was
feeling, she said, timidly, awkwardly,
�I have to pee.�
�So do I,� he said. �And another thing also.� She squealed. Boldly
she squirmed on him, in his lap, lifting her bottom a little, feeling more
urgently her desire.
�Pee on me,� she whispered, so softly he almost couldn�t hear it.
�We have never done that before,� he said.
�Take me to a party and pee in my mouth, in front of everyone,� she
teased, lifting her bottom again. She gave her hindcheeks a shake. He
watched them, entranced by their sleekness, their fullness, their bright
red color.
�I�m going to fuck you now,� he told her. �The party will have to
wait.�
�No!� she said. She turned her head. She looked up at him, from
where she was lying, turning her head so that her hair spilled down over
one shoulder, leaving her back bare. �Is there really a party?� she asked
him.
�Yes. Tomorrow night,� he answered.
�I want to go,� she said. Her eyes widened at her honesty with
herself but she continued. �And--- and I want you to be the hardest one
there. And I want you to pee... in my mouth,� she added. She shivered.
�If I take you to the party there is a... procedure you will have to go
through,� he told her. Her eyes, already wide, widened further. A blush
showed in her hot cheeks. She pursed her rosebud lips, thought a moment,
and then asked,
�What?�
�Every girl who goes to the party must be fucked in her ass,� he said.
Her eyes grew really wide when she heard that, the lids fluttering
nervously, only to open wider upon her moonlike gems.
�Not me!� she said. �I�m a virgin.�
�I know,� he replied. He patted her bottom. She let out a howl. Her
skin was still tender. Frank smiled. �With your hair perfect, with your
perfectly polished nails, still even wearing your gloves perhaps, you will
feel something shoved up your ass,� he told her. He relished the way she
trembled at his words. �At first it will be a toy, inserted perhaps by a
woman. Then it will be a man. I am too big for you but there will be
several who can take you.� He stroked her hair, lifting it up again onto her
back, admiring the bareness of her tight-clenched bottom below the
farthest strands. �When you have been opened then it will be my turn,� he
said. �You will be sore, having had several penetrations already.�
�No please!� she gasped.
�But I will go in anyway, and my passage will be made easier by the
excitement the other men have already expelled into you, from their balls,
their balls emptying themselves so that your ass hole is slick and ready,�
he told her. He passed his hand down along her angelic hair, then up again
to her face. �Nobody has any diseases,� he assured her. �That�s why I had
you get that blood test two weeks ago. It wasn�t because I thought you
had pink eye. It was so I could give the results to the club. You passed, of
course. You�re ready for the fray.�
�NO!� she breathed, her voice sounding determined. But he did not
believe her. He knew of the thing inside her, the secret deep-hidden hope.
�And when you have been violated at the party, there will be other
things,� he told her. �Other places we will go. I met a man once, on an
airplane. He was from Iraq. He was travelling with his wife.� He smiled.
�She is a very demanding woman,� he told Kate. �They will give you what
else you need, the tortures.�
�No!� she said, her voice a cry, but he ingnored her protest. Stroking
her hair he said, �I saw what they did to one pink-cheeked girl, a girl like
yourself. From America, with lily white skin, with innocent eyes but dark
hidden thoughts like you have.�
�NO!�
�They took her downstairs to their homemade dungeon, under thier
house. They were awful to her. Really wicked. She thought she wouldn�t
survive. They kept her tied up for days, but with her cunt shamelessly
pried open, jammed full of their toys, her mouth stuffed, her bottom...�
�NO! NO!�
�They spanked her hard every day, using a whip, a cane, leaving red
marks on her white flesh, decorating her flesh with their instruments, as
all the while kept her stuffed full, like some obscene turkey. Some
slender, beautiful turkey, her eyes brimming with tears at what they were
doing to her, how merciless they were, how they would prod and pry at her
with their toys, opening her up in ways she thought impossible.� He
leaned down. He kissed the back of Kate�s head as she shivered beneath
him. �But they did not break any of her bones,� he said. He touched her
face. She was crying, softly. She lifted her mouth and bit his finger. He
didn�t flinch. He let her taste his blood, flowing into her mouth.
�Whenever a girl draws blood I assume she wants the same,� he told
her.
They received her warmly. There were over 20 of them, male and
female. She tried counting them but lost track each time. They pressed
close to her. They placed a drink in her hand, into Frank�s hand. He and she
stared at each other as they drank their drinks, she with a bloody mary, he
with a gin on the rocks.
30
--------------------------- Dreamgirls! ------------------------
----- Back issues (and stories): http://www.deja.com/
Search by typing: roller666@earthlink.net
Don�t forget to click on �Power Search�.
Change �standard� archive to �complete� archive.
----- Other providers:
Eli the Bearded: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
Art�s Erotic Stories and Photos: http://www.eroticstories.com
Anya�s Lil� Hideaway: http://www.insatiable.net/
Silver: http://www.mr-yellow.com/goodies
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
----- Great books by David Hamilton: The Age of Innocence, A Place
in the Sun, Twenty Five Years of an Artist. By Jock Sturges:
Radiant Identities Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
----- Great sites:
http://www.nambla.org
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
-----Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427)
is copyright 2000 by Andrew Roller. Naughty Naked Dreamgirls and
NND are trademarks of Andrew Roller. All rights reserved.
----- Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
-----END OF story EMISSION