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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BOTTOMS IN BONDAGE
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Chapter Eight
A week passed. We spent it in mourning, moping about Sandra�s
house. We attended Master�s funeral, our faces (mine especially) veiled in
black. Glancing about, I thanked God that nobody had spotted me at the
hospital either, where we�d conveniently been presented with medical
masks upon our arrival. Morgues were not known for their healthy air.
Sandra stood before me now, almost like we�d been before, when the
call had come. We were made up perfectly. We were going dancing. Foam
dancing. Sandra wore a nothing bikini, made of paper-thin velvet. It was
mostly drawstrings, though it did boast a full seat in back. Or, rather, it
had. Sandra had insisted on taking a scissors to her bikini, and those we
wore also, cutting up our seats until they were quite frayed, even showing
a bit of buttcrack here and there. �There! Better than thong bikinis, yet
still legal,� she�d boasted at last, admiring her handiwork. �Well,
nightclub legal, at least, for foam dancing!�
�Sandra,� I said, rolling my eyes. �You don�t really expect us to
wear these teensy black velvet bikinis in public, do you?�
�Not at all,� she replied. �We�ll wear clothes to the club, and
undress when we get there. As soon as the dancing starts foam will be
spilling out everywhere and we�ll be up to our necks in it in no time!
Haven�t you ever gone to a foam party before?�
�No,� I said, looking down in dismay at my boobs, barely held in by
the frayed, teensy bra that was meant to contain them.
�I�ve worn frayed jeans,� Rose offered. �I cut up the knees and the
bottom too. Me and my girlfriend walked to the mall and got lots of looks
from boys!� Linda shot her a disapproving glance.
�One thing I know, and I�ll say it again,� Linda announced. �My uncle
bought one of these for me this summer and it FELL APART when I tried to
swim a few laps in it in his swimming pool!�
�Fell off, you mean,� I said, tugging at my bra cups to see how much
they could take without bursting open. Not much, I guessed. It would
make for interesting dancing.
�Not �fell off,� silly! Fell apart,� Linda harumphed.
�Well, you shouldn�t have gotten it wet,� Sandra said seductively.
�Good girls never get their bikinis wet. This is just bubble dancing,
anyway. Bubbles are moist, but they�re not like being submerged
underwater, are they?�
�I suppose not, but you�re the only one who�s ever done it,� Linda
said.
Impulsively I reached out and felt Sandra�s belly. It seemed flat
enough. She�d decided to keep her husband�s child, as a memento of his
love. Somewhere in there a baby was growing. She�d swell soon enough.
�Shouldn�t you stay home, now that you�re an expectant mother?� I
asked.
�Not at all, dear,� she replied, lightly removing my hand. She turned
and posed herself before a mirror, admired her still-perfect figure,
bikini-clad for perhaps the last time. Or so I hoped. I could hardly
imagine a pregnant woman rushing around in a dance hall, naked but for a
string bikini, foam or no foam.
�Come, darlings, we must be on our way,� Sandra said at last,
satisfied that she looked desirable despite her impending motherhood.
�Don�t forget to pull on your mittens!� Ah, the lacy black mittens she
insisted we wear. Along with our open-toed pumps. We would wear these
dancing in the club, plus our gold hoop earrings that dangled alluringly
from our ears. Foam dancing. I marvelled at how seductive we�d look.
And, perhaps most intriguing of all, we�d allowed our breasts and bottoms
to whiten again. We�d worn our bikinis outdoors, religiously, so that you
could easily see now where our velvet bikinis failed to cover what our
swimsuits usually did. Sunning ourselves on the porch had become a more
modest activity than public dancing.
Sandra had arranged everything. The sunning, our bikinis, and even
the clothes she�d bought us at the mall to cover us until we arrived at the
club. It had gone hand-in-hand with her husband�s funeral, giving her
relief from the thought of his passing. Now she was determined to forget
her husband�s death, at least for one night. It was what he would have
wanted. A beautiful wife should not be kept at home, he�d said many
times, except as a love slave.
Sandra had us pull on our clothes. Then she ushered us out of the
bedroom, pausing by the broken bedroom door that she�d never repair, out
of respect for her husband. Then we hurried downstairs and met a waiting
cab.
We arrived at the club and piled out. It was well appointed, a gravel
drive leading through trees to a canopied promenade. We lined up there
with the other hopeful guests, certain we�d be picked to come inside. I
wore a t-shirt, my black bikini bra coyly visible beneath it, plus an open
vest made of black leather. I was going to be a wild child tonight, at least
in appearance. Around my neck, as a personal touch, I�d tied a black scarf.
Rose had copied me, while Linda was bare-necked (she thought the scarf
too seductive, though her choice of going bare-throated instead seemed, in
my mind, perhaps bolder still, given how little we�d be wearing when we
danced). For her own touch, Sandra had chosen a dog�s collar. Like us,
she�d keep her neckwear on when we stripped for the foam fest.
I wore shorts around my waist. They were made of tight denim, cut
up beforehand by Sandra with a scissors and a knife. You could catch
glimpses of my swim panties here and there, waiting to be presented.
Inside, when the dancing began, waiting for the foam.
Rose wore a seductive miniskirt, hiked up in back to offer a full
view of her pantied bottom whenever the wind nipped by. It was a soft
skirt, easily blown, colored black. Amidst the blackness of the fabric a
pattern of wine-dark cherries had been imprinted. An invitation to all
save little boys who had yet to learn of such things.
Linda, for her part, wore a sarong low on her waist. It was a
fetchingly makeshift one, made from a bandanna that she�d knotted about
herself. It both half-revealed and half-concealed her ripped panties. I
was surprised at her boldness. She squirmed as she stood, and had
silently evinced discomfort sitting in the cab. Suddenly I realized; she�d
been alone with Sandra for awhile while Rose gave me an �innocents
abroad� tour of Sandra�s basement. Sandra had spanked Linda, I guessed.
She would have insisted on foam dancing in a chador if she�d had her way.
Wriggling her ass, she kept her annoyance at her display to herself. A
secret humiliation, delivered by mistress, which she hoped we wouldn�t
discover.
My eyes turned to Sandra. Boldly, she�d selected no outer garment at
all. Like me, she wore a t-shirt, with a towel draped round her neck to
hide her perky nipples. Women could not be as openly seductive as girls
were. They were presumed to know better. She had a wide-brimmed
straw hat on, with pretty flowers in its banded crown. She wore
sunglasses. And, below, her bare legs rose to her ass, where her bottom
and pussy were clad only in her frayed swim panties. Made of felt. Not
something she�d want to do lifeguarding in, that was for sure. Her tee
covered half her ass, but the lower halves of her cheeks bulged out
prominently. A full young-wife�s bottom, deeply cleft and made for more
than just spanks and kisses. Little girls might have their bottoms
admired, or slapped, but women must offer theirs up for full-fledged
marital bedroom games. I glanced about, saw men glancing at her with
special pleasure.
It was an upscale crowd. Some were kids, dressed like us in urban
partywear, others were men in business suits, fresh from work. A number
of women wore elegant evening gowns, sheath-tight with nothing on
underneath. I noticed several ahead of me, sipping champagne. Their rear
cleavage showed nicely through their tight dresses. In front, their low-
swooping necklines offered views of bosoms white and full. Their nipples
rose in various stages of excitement, depending on the girl, and offered
themselves pointedly through the dress fabric.
�Champagne?� a girl asked me. She worked at the club, moved down
the line offering drinks to keep the customers happy.
�It�s free?� Linda asked.
�Of course! Even if you don�t get picked you still can get wasted,�
the girl replied. �Extras cost, of course, but I�m not too good in math, so
who�s counting?� She looked like she might have been sampling a bit
herself before bringing it out, I thought. I took a glass, but Linda refused,
saying she was a strict teetotaler. Except it came out, �tit-tailer,� which
gave us all a laugh. Rose and I took drinks, as did Sandra, while Linda
contented herself with wriggling her nose in disapproval and offering us
various maxims from Molly Hatchet.
�My strict Mormon upbringing would never permit me to drink,� Linda
said, quoting from her religion�s substitute for the Bible, and giving us an
800 number so we could order one. We sipped quietly, pleasantly listening
to her in our little group, with an attentive male ear cocked here and there
nearby. It was shady and cool. In the distance the sun was setting.
The girl with the drinks returned again, and I noticed she�d lost her
shirt. She wore a wafer-thin woolen bra, ripped here and there along the
cups to offer glimpses of her bosoms, beyond what already bulged up.
Below, her shorts had been seductively unbuttoned, showing her matching
panties. It was swimwear, or sold as such, so no bluenose (not even
Linda!) could complain. Her shorts, made of denim, hugged her hips so
tightly they seemed unable to fall. Yet I wondered if some errant male
hand might not give gravity a bit of assistance. We took more drinks. The
line began to sluggishly move forward.
At the door, just beyond a bouncer, a woman picked who would enter.
She was Alexis, Sandra told us, and picked on the basis of looks and
status. �Don�t worry,� Sandra assured us. �Thanks to my husband, I have
the status, and you have the looks. Alexis isn�t fussy about I.D.�s and such,
if you�re good looking!� To my delight she picked us, and we proceeded
inside. Some people behind us got turned away, but the free drinks they�d
gotten more than assuaged their hurt feelings.
The doors to the club closed. �Get your things off, everyone!� Alexis
called out, smiling. �Unless you want them ruined by bubbles, that is! Of
course you must keep SOMETHING on, according to the law, since this is a
public club. But your streetwear, or whatever you wish, can be piled into
the lockers along the wall.
There was much bustling then, as each of us took a waiting key from
a lock on a locker and opened it, then stripped down for dancing. Alexis
herself walked about, keeping everyone happy. I marvelled at her dress. It
was a sheath-dress, like the women outdoors had been wearing. In back,
though, Alexis� dress dipped all the way down to her derriere, showing the
uppermost part of her buttcrack. I could make out where her swimsuit
usually covered her, and it certainly wasn�t there now! Yet despite the
nudity of her entire back, her dress clung to her tightly in front. Alexis
was literally wrapped in it, or so it seemed, for it moulded her breasts as
well as the indipping space where her thighs joined. All over her
shoulders and halfway down her back a ravenous, flowing mane of red hair
made up for her lack of clothing. Alexis� hair was more useful to keeping
her properly covered than her dress was, in my opinion. Her nipples,
somnolent at first, perked up as she monitored the ritual of undressing for
the dance. When at last we were all as naked as we could be, and still be
seen in public together, she addressed us.
�There is a �no sex� pledge you must sign,� Alexis said. They were
handed out and we each attested with our signature that we would not
engage in any sex while hidden with the others in the foam.
�Next, for you girls, there is a condom required, just in case you feel
your partner might get carried away. Both the men and girls will each
keep a condom somewhere on their person. I recommend to you girls that
you keep the condom reasonably visible, as a warning to the males. Stick
it in your bikini bra or panties. Let it flap around so he can see it. This
will remind him of his �no sex� pledge. And men, you should have put your
condoms on your penises before you even arrived, to remind yourselves of
what you�re NOT supposed to do. But just in case here is another one,
courtesy of the club.� She pointed to several girls bringing them around
on trays. �Go into the restroom and put on a condom, men, if you haven�t
got one on already.� A few took condoms and retreated to the men�s
lavatory. The rest seemed to have partied in foam before, or been warned
what to have on hand (or on dick!) by friends.
Sandra and I and Linda and Rose took the offered condoms. I chose
pink, Sandra yellow, and Rose took Red. Linda picked white, �for purity,�
she said. I tucked my condom into the waistband of my panties, as did
Linda and Rose. Sandra put her condom through the front of her dog collar.
You could not look at her without seeing it.
Without any further delay, the low throbbing of music began
emanating from the wall. Sandra, with us clustered around her, moved out
onto the dancefloor. It still looked like any other, and the women in their
body-tight cocktail dresses took to it with all the elegance of women
attending a formal party. And then there were the men. Some were
stripped down to their boxer shorts, cleverly disguised as swimsuits.
Others, the men from the city center, wore their business suits onto the
dancefloor, as if foam, like reversals of fortune, would leave them
untouched. Pretty soon everyone was gaily dancing, in pairs and groups
and threesomes. I found myself intermixed with two girls in evening
gowns, with Rose dancing nearby with two admiring men. They wore
business suits, their ties neatly pinned, their shirts starched, pinstriped
jackets spreading broadly across their shoulders. She looked quite small
and vulnerable, dancing with them in her pleasingly torn panties and bra,
wearing her neckscarf and heels. Her hoop earrings bounced as easily as
her breasts, I thought, which threatened to pop from her bra any moment.
�Oh, my!� Rose announced suddenly, and her boobs bounced right out
of her top, just as I feared. Her companions strode forward and gallantly
helped her stuff herself back in. Then they danced on. A man intervened,
blocking my view, choosing me for a partner in dancing. Blushingly I
danced with him, aware of how his eyes avidly studied my breasts. I
turned finally, gave him an inviting flip of my tail, reminding him of what
else could fall off. Then I slipped into the crowd to escape him.
Balloons began spilling from the ceiling. I glanced over my shoulder.
My male pursuer, intent on following me, became ensnared amidst a clutch
of balloons that dumped down right on top of him. And then the foam
came. Big clumps, driven by fans, coming in from the walls, across the
floor, and spilling out of the ceiling behind the balloons. There were
screams of delight, laughter, as the room began literally filling with
foam. The music throbbed all around us. We were in a womb, it seemed,
being inseminated by the sperm colored foam.
Glasses tumbled to the floor, spilling half-finished cocktails. Cries
of glee went up as foam-fights erupted. People slipped and slid on the
floor if they weren�t careful. And then my breasts popped out from my
bra, spontaneously, as I gave myself an extra vigorous wiggle in response
to the music.
But who could see? The man easing himself close to me, a new man,
very gorgeous, with a wife (or mistress) to match, could not see me. I
smiled at him, conscious of how naughty I felt with my naked boobs
bouncing away, out of sight under the bubbling foam.
�It�s good clean fun, you�ve got to admit!� the man�s wife smiled at
me, a mischievous look in her eyes. I could see the straps of an evening
gown on her shoulders, though the straps seemed precariously close to
falling off.
I smiled back at her, greeted the man.
�I�m Gary,� he said, dancing easily despite the formality of a
business suit he wore. I smiled again, rubbed my bare shoulder with my
hand.
�A fun place to scrub up, don�t you think?� I asked him. I scooped up
a handful of bubbles and blew them at him.
We danced closer. He guided his hands by memory, found my
thoroughly female hips in the foam and traced their gentle, youthful
curvature. He discovered my felt bra hanging around my waist like a belt.
�Hmm, a very interesting belt,� he remarked. We exchanged glances.
I looked over at his wife, saw her straps were missing from her shoulders.
She seemed to puff up big gobs of foam from just in front of her, as if she
were tossing them up with a pair of large, unrestrained breasts. Diamonds
dangled incongruously from her ears, flashing strobe lights at me,
reflecting the colored lights beating all around us in time to the music.
She seemed truly delighted to be free of her expensive dress. I moved
closer to her, let her husband run his hands up my ribs. �And your bra, it
is very much like real flesh,� Gary remarked.
�That�s because it is, and my belt isn�t,� I laughed. He squeezed my
twin globes. I danced on, the woman moving up next to me. Her playful
breasts bounced against me from the side. The man eased back, running
his thumbs over my risen nipples before removing his hands. I and the
woman turned to each other, face to face. Our breasts thudded into each
other, nude boobs clashing with nude boobs. I felt like some kind of jello
wrestler, exploring the preliminaries with my partner in the foam.
Hands came to my waist. Gary�s, from behind now. He found my
bikini undies, ran his fingers along the waistband. �I�m Juliette,� his wife
murmured, and kissed me. Her hands touched my waist, travelled round to
my pantied rear. Her fingertips scanned it, found two holes to explore. I
heard a rip in the foam and my panties felt as if they�d been torn open
behind me.
�Sir, you�d better have your condom on if your wife is going to do
that,� I said naughtily. I was wanton. I felt Gary�s hands graze my ass,
pressed it boldly into his hands to discover what remained of my panties.
Flesh to flesh. Had I nothing left in behind. I could not feel any
fabric intervening. He palped my hinds, spread them. I guessed I must be
bare in back, after all.
Gary�s helpful wife inserted her fingertips into the front of my
panties next. I looked at her, feeling the presence of her fingers
dangerously deep within the triangle of fabric covering my muff. As our
eyes studied each other she eased down my undies in front. I felt bubbles
flow in against my thighs, within them. Then a hand, cupping me, slipping
between my thighs, as her husband, his hands between my legs in back,
parted them. Offering to rub me as we danced she cupped and held the
pouting lips of my pussy. I waggled my ass, perching myself on her hand.
�Let me get your dress off at least!� I laughed. I put my hands to her
waist and yanked her cocktail dress down over her hips. I was an Indian. I
would run wild in the foam. Juliette cried happily as she felt the dress
pulled free of her vase-like hips, skitter down her legs. We were both
naked now, private dancers in the foam for her husband.
I felt something sheathed in light rubber wedge itself between my
legs. No! I thought to myself. I just wanted to play naughtily in the foam,
to dance. Gary, who had so recently pressed my legs apart, now pushed
them together, closing them over his inthrusting penis. Between my
thighs I held him now. I felt him begin to push back and forth.
�This isn�t sex, strictly speaking, is it?� he breathed over my
shoulder. I held his cock tight between my legs. He eased my clamping
grip a little. His wife�s hand reasserted itself in front, finding my pussy
again after a momentary lapse.
�Ah, please don�t!� I cried, as from behind he began to suavely
pleasure himself twixt my close-pressing thighs. In front Juliette
fingered my clit, using her finger only, lest she spread me too wide for her
husband�s pleasure.
�Oh, I wish not to do this,� I begged, but let Juliette guide my hand
to her own pussy. In response to her, in retaliation perhaps, I rubbed her
in return.
Our moans rose up, wafting across the bubbles. But we were hardly
alone. Others, Rose no doubt, Linda even, and Sandra most certainly,
amidst many others, all strangers in the foam. Naked strangers.
It was so exciting for me, making love like this, so easy and
uninhibited in the disguising foam, that I was pealing forth an orgasmic
scream within moments. Juliette, older, took longer, but was soon
bleating happily upon my furiously rubbing hand. At last Gary, somewhere
twixt my legs, jetted into his condom. Slowly I felt him soften. He
withdrew, kissed each of my shoulders. Juliette and I parted as our
orgasms subsided. We gazed at each other, kissed once. Then I turned,
found Gary, kissed him also. Within the foam he found his wife�s hand
then, and they bid me adieu. We parted company, safe as we�d been when
we met, yet much happier now.
I danced awhile longer, met another couple and shared intimacies
with them, stroking the husband�s naked cock until his cockhead, still
inside his condom, jetted forth his seed. Then I made my way to the
lockers along the wall. Around my wrist, held there by pink telephone
cord, was my locker key, safely tucked in a little pouch. I took it out and
unlocked my locker. Still hidden in the foam, I drew my clothes out one by
one and slipped them on.
Outside I waited for the others. There was a little juice bar, under
an awning. It had not been there earlier. Only non-alcoholic beverages
were offered. With bits of foam still clinging to me I walked up to it, my
hair tangled and damp.
�hi!� a girl greeted me. A small, cheery greeting. She was not the
same girl who had served me champagne. She looked younger, perhaps 13.
Too young possibly for the festivities inside, where I guessed the
champagne girl was receiving payment from the males for all her
kindness.
�I came with others. I have no money,� I said softly, a bit guiltily.
�Oh, drinks are always free for those who have partied,� the girl
replied. �What flavor would you like?�
�Have you no champagne?� I asked. I�d guessed the answer already,
but asked anyway.
�No, people have to drive home now,� the girl replied. �Plus I�m too
young to sell it anyway.� I giggled. She caught the mischievous look in my
eye.
�No problem, I�m too young to drink it,� I said.
�Me too,� she smiled. I could see that in her innocence she had
nonetheless trespassed as far into the land of Adults Only as to get drunk.
A junior Drew Barrymore, perhaps.
�I�ll have Cherry,� I said softly. I felt naughty. I wanted to rip her
blouse open and present her to Gary.
�A delicious choice!� the fruit-stand girl said gaily. �Then, with an
innocent wink, asked, �Are you?�
�Mostly,� I replied. �My bottom, you know.�
�Mmmm,� she said. �Me too. But I have a boyfriend and he wants me
there. Does it hurt?�
�I don�t know,� I said. �It sounds like it would!�
�Here�s your cherry,� the girl said, handing me my drink. A glass
bottle with a slim, long straw and bits of cherry she�d chopped up and
sprinkled into it for me.
�And here�s to yours,� I said, lifting my glass to her in thanks before
sipping on my straw. She blushed.
�Not for long, I�m afraid.� I turned away, into the night, strolling
along the sidewalk under the canopied promenade. People were coming out
of the club, cars were pulling up to take them away. The night was warm.
My drink was icy, sweet.
A hand tapped upon my shoulder. Surprised, I turned. My mouth in a
little O of wonder. Alexis had emerged from the shadows behind me. She
stood frankly before me now, in her same slinky dress, though it had
obviously come off at some point and been trampled in the foam dance.
She�d slipped back into it now, looked like some delicious whore waiting
to go home. Bits of foam clung to her wrinkled dress. Her hair was
mussed like mine.
�You give a nice party,� I smiled sweetly.
�Oh, it is nothing,� she said dismissively. �It pays the bills, that�s
all.� Her eyes scanned me approvingly. Standing in my little tee with my
big teenage breasts bulging against the fabric, my nipples rising again as I
felt the excitement of my vulnerability before her. She was Dracula, or
Dracula�s wife, come from the grave to get me, I thought. A beautiful
Vampire. I might interview her, discover her secrets.
She saw the admiration in my gaze as I looked at her perfect face,
her voluptuous body. And then her eyes. Soft, caring eyes. But there was
a glint of steel in them too, as if she were never denied anything.
�I give private parties,� she offered. �A sweet young girl like
yourself would be most welcome.�
�I-I�ll think about it,� I lied. I wanted to go, out of simple curiosity,
if nothing else. When would I meet such a woman again? She gave me free
cherry drinks even when she didn�t know me, and free champagne too. To
me and everyone. What gifts awaited a guest at her private parties?
�What is there to think about?� she asked. �You are Lisa. Lisa
Beckworth. Did you leave your mommie because you wanted to?�
�Yes,� I breathed. She knew me! I glanced instinctively over my
shoulder. Were the police coming? Was I to be sent back to that awful
religious school where mom sent me, with its strange celibate, feminist
nuns? More lectures on why women should be admitted into the
priesthood? Fuck the priesthood. I did not like swearing, but I hated
those lectures. And we were made to write letters to the pope supporting
female priests, and give lists of reasons from Papal Encyclicals and the
Bible.
�I cannot come,� I said softly, lowered my eyes. I had not the
courage.
�You came already this evening, did you not?� In the foam, she
meant, I guessed. Few probably escaped the mass grope in the foam
without some kind of pleasure being induced. Forcibly, or voluntarily.
�I cannot come,� I said again. I looked up at her with sad eyes,
almost begging her to make me find a way.
Suddenly she was upon me. A bat from Hell. A cat upon prey. Her
arms enfolded me, pressed me in against herself. My breasts mashed
against hers. Behind she grabbed my shorts and shoved them down,
presenting my ass to the waiting traffic. A car turned. Suddenly my bare
bottom was caught in its twin headlights! Silky, firm globes, offering
themselves to public view. Cruelly, Sandra pulled open the halves of my
pumpkin and showed off my hole.
Then, suddenly, we were running across grass, through tall trees
that cast long, deep shadows. My shorts hugged my thighs, making me
want to trip. Mistress drew me by the hand, quickly, running with her in
our high heels.
30
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