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                                  Andrew Roller Presents
                              NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
                                                 in 
                                        HONEY HAVEN

                         _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/

                                        Chapter Three

         Were we lovers?  No, we were not.  Definitely not.  I was sure of 
that.  I lay in my bed, my bedsheet quickly pulled up to my chin.  I stared at 
Dave, my eyes wide, surprised.  I realized that my legs were spread under 
the sheet and that he could see the outline of them.  Quickly I clipped my 
thighs together.  Teddy cowered beside me, lying on the big pillow at the 
head of my bed.  
         Katrina stood beside Dave.  She was dressed in the prim garb of an 
eighteenth century lady.  He was dressed like an Italian gentleman from 
the same period.  They were holding hands.  Katrina smiled, tossed her 
head.  
         �You�ll be late, sleepyhead,� she said to me casually.  Her eyes 
showed that she did not really care.  She smiled at Dave, squeezed his 
hand.  He squeezed hers in return.  She carried a mask on a stick in her 
other hand.  It was shapely, made to disguise the eyes.  It had dark gems 
studding it.  They were ersatz, I knew, but they looked real.  Her mask was 
pink, shading into lavender.  It matched her dress, a swirl of deep pink and 
light purple, abundant with ruffles, hugging her waist and her bodice but 
cascading down over her long slim legs in great brocades of silk.  
Underneath, I sensed her legs were bare.  It was in the way she stood, 
provacative, with her hips thrust forward, as if to invite one to look, if 
they could somehow lift the heavy folds of her dress.  She was poised, I 
knew, on the most delicate of high heels.  I�d helped her pick them out 
yesterday in a Venetian store.  They gripped her small feet like a china 
shop owner might clutch at his most precious wares, afraid to drop them, 
afraid, despite the closeness of his fingers around them, to even touch 
them.
         �We didn�t come down here so you could just spend the whole time 
sleeping in your bed -- alone,� Dave groused.  I think he was a little angry 
with me for oversleeping.  We had left Heloise three days earlier, all our 
assignments complete.  We were tourists now.  Dave, Katrina, myself.  
         I sat up in my bed.  My bottom felt smooth and soft against the sheet 
underneath.  I was wearing a sheer nightie, like the one I�d worn at 
Svetlana�s.  Dave had bought it for me, yesterday, in a lingerie store.  It 
was exactly the same as the one he�d taken me in, up my bottom, except 
this one was shorter.  It covered only the highest curls in my pubic thatch, 
leaving all else exposed.  In back it covered just the shelf of my bottom, 
where it bloomed from my back.  My ass cheeks were quite bare, and he 
knew it, since he�d picked it out for me, and �fitted� it to me by pressing it 
up against my clothed body in the store.  
         It was warm in the room.  We were staying in a cheap hotel.  It had 
clean sheets, though, and clean rooms, and that was all that really 
mattered.  An air conditioner set in my wall wheezed, combatting the 
warmth of early evening outside.  In an hour or two the night would cool 
the city, but now the blazing heat of the hot afternoon lingered, unwilling, 
like me, to depart.
         �Get up, silly!  Are you going or not?� Katrina asked irritably.  I 
wondered what they�d been doing all day.  We�d danced the previous night 
�til dawn.  Then we�d stumbled back to our rooms to sleep.  I slept by 
myself, Katrina and Dave across the hall.  It was an old hotel.  Bathrooms 
were shared between rooms.  I shared mine with a balding middle-aged 
man who used the toilet to read his mail and woke in the morning with 
smoker�s cough.  Katrina and Dave, in separate rooms across the hall, 
shared the same bathroom.  I was beginning to doubt that they were as 
careful about their privacy, though, as I was with mine.
         �Well if you leave I�ll get dressed,� I said.  I�d already picked out my 
clothes for the festival.  Long, opera-length gloves, granny boots, and a 
dress that hugged my figure like Katrina�s dress hugged hers.  My dress 
was yellow and green.  Underneath mine, though, I intended to wear 
panties.  No garters, though.  Katrina had insisted that I not be too formal.  
This was especially true of our breasts.  Our dresses were designed to 
clutch at our ribs and to rise high on our backs, where they gripped our 
narrow shoulders and arms.  Despite this careful layer of covering, though, 
all frilled silk mixed with ruffles, the front of each of our dresses was, at 
the breasts and above, completely nonexistent.  Katrina�s dress at least 
cupped the undersides of her breasts.  It lifted them unnaturally high.  Her 
bare nipples were perched just above the lacy top of her dress.  In my 
case, though, my dress left my breasts quite unsupported and naked.  I 
didn�t know which dress was worse.  Katrina�s, that presented her nipples 
like ripe strawberries, or mine, that left my own bosoms completely free, 
to sway or wiggle or wobble whichever way they pleased as I walked.
         Katrina tossed her head again.  She let go of Dave�s hand and tugged 
at the veil that shrouded the nakedness of her breasts.  It was separate 
from her dress, a large, puffy, cloud of fabric that she wore round her 
neck.  It was held in place round her throat by a slim thread.  It rustled 
when she moved.  Lightly it covered her arms.  It had no sleeves, but lay 
rather atop her arms, and was tied very delicately by a single thread to 
each of her gloved wrists.  It was also tied, by a thread so slim it might 
break, to the back of her dress.  It was made of diaphanous silk, but folded 
in on itself again and again, so that its sheer, playful layers might hide 
the nudity of her breasts.  Yet in a final touch of decadence, its designer 
had left it open in front, with no ties, save that round Katrina�s throat.  
Whenever she let go of her shawl-like veil, its halves spread away from 
each other, revealing what, through the sheer folds, had already been 
hinted at:  her naked bosoms.  For my dress there was a similar shawl.  We 
would dance in them, I knew, and in the motions of our dancing we would 
be helpless to keep ourselves hidden.
         �Dave, she wishes to dress in private,� Katrina told our friend.  She 
turned to him and kissed him briefly on his lips, careful not to smudge her 
lipstick.  As she did so, she let her hand touch his groin.  She gave him a 
gentle squeeze.  Then she walked to my bedside.  Dave, enticed, lingered a 
moment in the doorway.  Katrina turned her head, looked back at him.  
�Dave,� she snapped, quietly but firmly.  He gave a shrug and turned and 
walked out to the living room where the front door to my room lay.  I heard 
him open the outer door, step into the hall.  He closed the door behind 
himself.  I heard him turn the key in the lock, so no one would walk in on 
us.
         �He has my room key!� I said to Katrina.
         �He found it on the bureau in the living room,� Katrina said.  �You 
know how guys are.  You can insist he give it back later.�  Gently she took 
the sheet from my fists under my chin.  She drew it off my body.  �It might 
be safer in his hands for awhile, anyway,� Katrina said to me.  �You don�t 
have any pockets in your dress.�
         �But I can put it in my purse,� I told her.
         �No purse tonight, silly,� Katrina told me.  �For me or you.  Just give 
anything you think you�ll need to Dave.  He�ll keep it for you.�
         �But I don�t want Dave carrying around my things for me!� I said, 
stubbornly.  Katrina ignored my response.  Instead her eyes flitted down 
the nude expanse of my body.  My nightie hid nothing.  My flesh could be 
seen underneath it, deeply tanned, from my toes to my head, except where 
I wore my bikini when I was posing for Eveline Elginton on the beach.  
There I was white, round my breasts and in a band that stretched across 
my pubic hair at my hips, and on my bottom.  Katrina gazed at my bush, 
drew the sheet back more, revealed my bare legs.  
         �Roll over,� she said.
         �Huh?� I replied.  My eyes were still wide from waking up to Dave.
         �Roll over,� Katrina said again.  She took me by my slim shoulders 
and turned me in my bed.  I gave a squeak, then cooperated, until I was flat 
on my tummy, my chin resting on my pillow.  My palms flitted at my sides, 
uncertain.  
         Katrina pressed her palms into the flesh of my bottom.  I squeaked 
again.  �Well, you�re nice and healed,� she said.  She spoke of my ordeal 
under the cat at Svetlana�s.  �How�s your hole feel?�  
         �Good,� I replied.  A bubble formed on my lips as I spoke.  I felt 
babyish.  I wished she�d quit touching my bottom but I liked, all the same, 
being pampered by her hands in such an intimate place.  She eased my 
cheeks apart.  Perhaps I needed to be checked.  In my hole.  Dave had been 
rude to take me that way.  Katrina was 16.  She could check me and tell me 
I was okay.  It had been my first time.  Between my legs, where it really 
mattered, I was still virgin.  I liked that.  I had endured Dave, and suffered 
under his intrusion, and yet, I was still pure.  Virginal.  I wriggled my hips 
against the bed.  I arched them.  I slipped my hands underneath me.  I 
touched myself between my legs.  My lips felt squelchy, wet.
         �Why didn�t you go to Rome with Steve?� Katrina asked me.
         �I dunno,� I answered.  The pressure of the pillow on my chin, 
enveloping my jaw, made my speech slurred.  But I did know, didn�t I?  I 
touched myself.  My spot.  My virginity.  We would have been alone, he and 
I.  There would have been a honeymoon suite and we would not have 
emerged from it for days.  I would not be a virgin now, if I�d gone to Rome 
with him.  Instead I�d accompanied Katrina and Dave.  Well, it had really 
been me and Katrina, going by ourselves, just us two girls, and then 
somehow, at the last moment, after Steve had already left with another 
model, his second choice for his Roman honeymoon, Dave had showed up.  
Katrina and I had been stepping into a cab with our things, and there he 
was, suddenly, holding the door open for us as Heloise, on the mansion�s 
porch, waved goodbye.  The cabbie came round from the trunk where he�d 
stowed our luggage, and Dave handed him his suitcase.
         �What�s the matter, can�t get a date?� Katrina had asked Dave as I 
slipped within the cab.
         �You both can�t just go to Venice by yourselves,� Dave had replied.  
�Two girls, both underage, who�ve never been there -- with no chaperone?  
I won�t allow it.�
         �He can be our guide,� I�d called from inside the cab, foolishly.  I had 
been a little worried about being alone with just Katrina in Venice.  Sure, 
we had plenty of money from our modelling (especially from what 
Svetlana had sent us), but that was my worry.  Two girls, loaded with 
cash, wandering around Venice all by ourselves.  Dave seemed to me a 
sensible companion.  He knew I didn�t like him but that I respected him, 
and he�d already had his thing up me, so I felt like he was, maybe, just a 
little obligated to look after us.  Of course I had no intention of allowing 
him to get himself in me again.  Once was enough with somebody like him, 
big and rude and gruff and spoiled rotten from being a handsome model all 
his life.  But he did owe me, I felt, and we needed somebody big like him.  
Not Steve.  Steve was too boyish, too easily outwitted by the cons and 
crooks we might meet in Venice, not to mention that he was less strong 
than Dave.  Steve was cute, he had a nice male body, but Dave was big, like 
a monster in some ways, I thought, which was just what we needed to 
keep us safe in Venice.
         And so Dave had come along.  I fondled my slit as I thought of how 
safe I felt with him.  Katrina and I could go anywhere, and we already had, 
exploring even the meanest streets, plus of course the wonderful sights.  
With Dave by our side we didn�t have to worry at all.  Guys got out of the 
way for him.  Men with evil intentions straightened up when they saw him 
sit down next to us in a restaurant.  I felt wetness on my fingertips and 
remembered last night, before we went dancing, how Katrina and I had 
gone into a small cafe and Dave had gone immediately to use the restroom.  
Some guys had been watching us, from another table.  Then Dave showed 
up, sat down between us, and the guys� faces fell.  
         I felt a light slap on my bottom.  It intruded into my thoughts and I 
let out a small yelp.  
         �Don�t play with yourself,� Katrina said in an amused voice.  
         �Sowwy,� I replied.  My voice lisped in my pillow.
         �What were you thinking about?� Katrina asked suspiciously.
         �Nuthin�,� I breathed, softly.  My breath was pregnant with desire.  I 
sighed, lifting my bottom.  Katrina slapped it again.
         �Ow!  Quit it!� I cried.  I rolled over onto my back.  My breasts rolled 
on my chest, fell away from each other under my nightie.  Their tips were 
stiff, lifting the nightie up from the tips of my bosoms.
         �Let�s get you dressed so you can go out and party with everyone 
else,� Katrina said to me.  Her eyes gazed at mine.  �You don�t want to lie 
in bed by yourself all night, do you?�
         �No,� I replied.
         �Good,� Katrina said.  Expertly she took my shoulder and forced me 
to sit up.  My bottom felt good, pressed once more into the bedsheet.  She 
couldn�t slap me there now.  
         �How long will the party last?� I asked.
         �It�s the first night of the Carnival.  It should last all night,� 
Katrina answered.  �We�ll ride in a gondola and go dancing and feasting.  
There will be parties all over town and, dressed in our costumes, we 
shouldn�t have any trouble getting in anywhere, at least that�s what Dave 
says.�  She drew me from the bed, but I resisted a little, and sat with my 
legs dangling over its side.  My bare feet swayed in the air, too short, 
despite my long legs, to touch the floor.
         �Dave�s pretty cool, don�t you think?� Katrina asked me.  �I mean, we 
would have just checked into some five star hotel, and spent all our 
money, but he knew of this out of the way place, with its big rooms, and 
its inexpensive rates.  And now we get to party all over town, without 
paying anything.�
         �Yes,� I agreed.  �I�m saving my money for college.�  I pulled at the 
pink silk hanging rather uncertainly off my shoulders, cloaking my tits in 
its nothingness, letting them be seen while pretending to hide them.  �And 
nighties,� I added.  Katrina bent and tugged at the hem of my nightie.  It 
barely covered my belly, leaving my furred private all exposed between my 
thighs.
         �Why did you let Dave pick this out for you?� Katrina asked testily.  
�It doesn�t even cover your pussy.�
         �I know,� I answered.
         �Tsk,� Katrina said, trying in vain to pull my nightie down over my 
delta.  �If you let Dave pick out your clothes for you, dear, you�ll wind up 
buying nothing but this sort of thing.�
         �Well, he helped us pick our dresses,� I said.  I cast a glance at mine, 
waiting to be put on, hanging from a hanger in the open closet of my room.
         �That�s different,� Katrina said.  �This is a festival.  We have to 
wear costumes.  He�s been to the festival before and knows how we should 
dress.�
         �Do I get to wear a bra with my dress?� I asked.  I opened my thighs 
as I spoke.  I felt naughty, showing my breasts like I would in a dress like 
that.
         �No,� Katrina replied.  �You know that.  The party�s all about being 
uninhibited.�  She smiled at me.  She shook her hips slightly.  �Sexy and 
free,� she added.
         �Have you and Dave been doing it?� I asked her, seriously.  Katrina 
frowned.
         �That�s our own personal business,� she said.  She tossed her head.  
She urged me from the side of the bed and I dropped my feet to the floor 
and stood up.  �Maybe we have, and maybe we haven�t,� she said.
         �I�ll bet you�ve at least shared a shower,� I said to her accusingly.  
Katrina blushed, slightly.
         �Come on, Cindy,� she said, changing the subject.  �You do want to 
bathe before you go out again, don�t you?�
         �Yes, of course,� I replied.
         �Well hurry up.  Your roommate isn�t reading his mail on the toilet 
right now.  Get in there before he decides to make the bathroom his second 
home again.�
         �Yes,� I agreed.  �He can take forever in there.  Sometimes I have to 
knock really loudly!  And all the while I can hear him sitting in there, 
flipping pages and stuff, and opening envelopes.  And he grunts sometimes 
too.  I don�t know what could be so exciting about getting some envelopes 
and some magazines in the mail.�
         Katrina gave a smile that seemed like a knowing smile, but said 
nothing.  She walked with me to the bathroom I shared with the man next 
door.  It sat between my bedroom and his.  It was old, large, with a 
commode with an overhead tank and a claw-footed bathtub.  It had once 
been ornate, but now its tiles bore cracks and its walls, once painted with 
bright designs, had faded.  Still, it was clean.  It had an odd sensuality 
about it, a reminder of Venice�s ancient past, when my room would have 
included both my suite and the other man�s.  Grand rooms with high 
ceilings, a private bath, everything new then, and bearing the most lavish 
appointments.   I could tell how this hotel had once been.  I liked thiking of 
the lords and ladies who must have stayed here once, long ago, and how 
this hotel might have been used for their private assignations.
         �Hurry,� Katrina told me, giving me a pat on my bottom.  �Dave is 
already floating around in our gondola.�
         �Is it here?� I asked, a note of excitement in my voice.  Dave had 
taken us in one yesterday and I�d liked it very much.
         �I�m sure he�s busy renting one right now,� Katrina said.  �You know 
how handsome he is.  He�ll find two other girls to accompany him if we 
don�t hurry.�
         �Okay,� I agreed.  I pulled my nightie over my head.  I tossed it on the 
floor, unthinking, despite its expense, eager to hurry now, lest I miss a 
gondolo ride.  I got a towel from the bathroom closet while Katrina turned 
on my bath.  The old pipes leading into the tub guttered, wheezed.  A 
moment later a flow of water spouted from the tub�s faucet.  It was clean 
and fresh and frothing, despite what you sometimes hear about Venice not 
being the tidiest place.  Katrina adjusted the tub�s handles.  She picked up 
a Mr. Bubble I�d bought for my baths and sprinkled some in.  I was ready 
now, my clothes off and my bare feet cold on the bathroom�s tiles, eager 
to jump into the tub�s warm water.
         �Don�t splash around,� Katrina told me.  �The man complained to me 
and Dave last night when he met us in the hall.�
         �Oh, he thinks I�m just a baby,� I replied.  
         �Well, I guess he�s decided you�re not responsible,� Katrina said, 
watching me test the water�s temperature with my toes.  �He said he 
thought Noah�s Ark was going to come sailing up the canal behind our 
hotel, from all the water you left on the floor of the bathroom.�
         �I was playing,� I said.  I stepped over the rim of the tub with my 
other foot, satisfied with the water�s temperature.  The bubbles in the tub 
rose around my ankles.  
         �Oh, what were you playing?� Katrina asked.  I blushed.  I tugged at 
the small rope around my neck.  Dave had tied it there when we first 
arrived in Venice.  A small rope, completely unpretentious, that lay tight 
around my neck and that had been securely knotted in back so that it could 
only be removed with a knife.  Its ends were frayed, hanging down my back 
just an inch or so, like a collar one might find on a puppy whose master, 
either from poverty or disdain, prefers to secure with a length of rope out 
of his woodshed, rather than a leather collar bought from a store.  Dave 
had tied one around Katrina�s neck as well as my own.  
         �I had to be, well, disciplined,� I said.  I promptly sat down in the 
shallow tub water the minute I�d spoken.  I pressed my into the tub�s 
bottom, feeling the slickness of its white porcelian.
         Katrina laughed.  �You pretend to be so modest and then that�s what 
you play when you�re locked away in the bathroom, by yourself?�
         I blushed more fiercely.  �No,� I said.  �It�s just, I wondered, that�s 
all.  Wondered what it would be like if that man came in the bathroom and 
tied me to the faucet and spanked me with his belt.�  Katrina was still 
laughing.  A blush covered all of me, I think, right down to my toes.  I 
picked up the bath sponge and rubbed my arm.
         �Hurry and I�ll do your makeup for you after your bath,� Katrina told 
me.  �And then I�ll get you into your dress.�
         �Who helped you into yours?� I asked her.  
         �A very thoughtful person,� Katrina replied.  Her eyes glowing.
         �Well it must not have been Dave then,� I said.  Dave was somewhat 
less than the perfect gentleman I expected a man of his age to be, though 
he tried, I guess, and he wouldn�t have been as good a protector of us if he 
was too gentle.  Katrina drifted over to the bathroom�s sink and opened the 
medicine cabinet above it.  All my makeup stuff was in there.  The man 
hadn�t seem to like that I stored my stuff in the bathroom, instead of 
keeping it in my room.  But he had his laxative and his antacid pills in 
there, so naturally I thought I might put my stuff there too.  
         �When did you need Pepto-Bismol?� Katrina asked me.
         �That�s not mine,� I answered, raising suds on my breasts.  �It�s the 
man�s.�
         �Oh,� Katrina said.  �You know we�re only going to be here a few 
days.  You might lose this stuff if the man checks out and somebody else 
checks into his room.�
         �No,� I said.  �I think he lives here.  He told me he�s an executive of 
some kind -- for a beer company I think -- he said this is a great place to 
stay if you don�t want to have to rent a house while you�re in Venice, or 
stay in some expensive hotel room.�
         �Oh well, then I guess you can leave your stuff here,� Katrina said.  
�Though I doubt he liked seeing you put it all here.  Do you still use a Barbi 
compact?�  She laughed.
         �Sure,� I said, scrubbing my pussy.  �It works.  Why not?�
         �I�m sure he loved seeing this,� Katrina said.  �A Winnie-the-Pooh 
toothbrush.�
         �That�s not Winnie-the-Pooh, that�s Piglet,� I said.  �I like him.  He�s 
little like me and doesn�t know as much as Winnie and Tigger.  I almost 
bought Tigger, though.  I like him too �cause he�s fast and does lots of 
stuff.�
         Katrina turned toward me, holding up my toothbrush.  �I�ll bet that 
man thinks you�re in the third grade,� she said in a slightly reproving 
voice to me.
         �Well, then he won�t try to sneak into my room when I�m asleep,� I 
answered matter-of-factly.
         �That�s probably what you need,� Katrina said, twirling my 
toothbrush in her fingers and looking at it.  �A daddy like him to spank 
your bottom and make you grow up.�
         I lifted one of my legs out of the still rising tub water and began 
scrubbing my knee.  �He�s too fat,� I said.  Katrina turned and replaced my 
toothbrush in the toothbrush rack in the medicine cabinet.  The man�s, next 
to whose I�d placed mine, had since disappeared.  I guess he kept his 
toothbrush in his room now.  Maybe he didn�t like Piglet.
         Katrina closed the bathroom cabinet.  She�d taken out my hair brush, 
and she languidly began brushing her hair with it.  She stared at her made-
up face in the cabinet�s mirror.
         �I don�t like people using my hair brush,� I called to her from my 
now quite bubbly tub.
         �Well, mine�s locked in my room, and Dave has the key to it,� Katrina 
told me.  �Anyways we�ve already shared a little more than your hairbrush, 
at Svetlana�s.�  I said nothing.  I remembered our tryst there.  It had been 
strange, exploring another girl that way, my muff in her mouth, hers in 
mine.  I�d cum like never before on her tongue, as she�d tried to devirginate 
me with it.
         �Do you think we�ll meet any cool guys at the Carnival?� I asked 
Katrina.
         �We�ll meet lots,� Katrina answered, still brushing her hair.  �How 
many do you want to meet?�
         �Lots,� I replied.  Katrina giggled.
         Suddenly there was a sound of water gushing from a container.  
Katrina whirled around.  �Cindy!� she cried.  �Why didn�t you turn off the 
water?�
         �Ooops!  Sorry!� I said.  I leaned forward and gripped the handles of 
the tub�s faucet.
         �Hurry!� Katrina said.  �You�re flooding the bathroom!�  Water 
continued to pour over the sides of my tub, carrying all my bubbles with it.
         �I know!  I know!� I answered.  The tub�s handles were big in my 
hands.  I twisted them.  They moved slowly, graciously, as if to move more 
quickly would show disrespect to the princes and queens who once bathed 
here.  
         �Oh, my!� I heard Katrina say.  Hastily she lifted up her skirts so 
they wouldn�t become wet in the water.  Her stiletto heels barely kept her 
feet from being submerged.  She advanced, then had to back up, retreating 
away from me as my bathwater followed her across the room, threatening 
to wet her feet.  �My God, it will take hours to mop all this up!� Katrina 
said.  She retreated further as I struggled with the tub�s old, slow handles.  
They squeaked irritably as I turned them.  Katrina fled from the bathroom 
entirely.  The water followed her into my bedroom.
         �You do need to be disciplined,� Katrina said to me later, when we 
were both in our costumes.  Our heels clattered under our skirts as we 
descended the hotel�s broad, winding staircase.  The steps were old, 
squeaky, but still firm underfoot.  An elderly woman, sitting doing 
knitting in a chair behind the front counter that served as the hotel�s 
check-in desk, looked up.
         �Could you send someone up to her room?� Katrina asked the woman.  
The ancient clerk put her knitting needles into her lap.  She cupped her 
hand behind her ear.  She leaned forward in her chair.  �Room 2B,� Katrina 
told her.  We�d heard the man coming back to his room as we finished 
dressing in my room, avoiding the puddles my bath had made.  I knew we 
didn�t have much time to get help for the bathroom before the man decided 
to use the toilet.  �Her room is 2B,� Katrina said to the woman.  �She 
couldn�t get her bath off and the bathroom has water all over the floor.�
         �And lots of bubbles too,� I added.  Katrina glanced angrily at me, 
silencing me.
         �And her room, the floor needs to be mopped,� Katrina told the 
woman.  �Some of the water flooded her bedroom too.�
         �EEEEEYAAAHHH!� We both heard suddenly.  Even the old woman heard 
it.  Immediately there was a loud thump on the ceiling above us.
         �What was that?� I asked, wide-eyed.  I looked at the woman, at 
Katrina.  It sounded like something heavy had just dropped into the hotel�s 
second floor.  I imagined a U.F.O., or maybe an asteroid.  I�d seen a show on 
Italian T.V. about asteroids.  I didn�t know what the announcer was saying, 
but he�d showed a house where an asteroid had come crashing down from 
space, right through the ceiling.
         �The fat guy just slipped in your bathroom,� Katrina told me.  She 
still looked angry.  Even angrier than before.
         �Ooops,� I said.  I looked down at my toes.  They were hidden beneath 
my skirt.
         �God Damn Fucking--� I heard a deep male voice hollar from the 
second floor.  Suddenly, there was another scream, and another loud thump.
         �I�ll bet he makes me take my Piglet toothbrush out of the medicine 
cabinet now,� I told Katrina.
         �Never mind your toothbrush,� Katrina said tersely.  �Anyway the 
tub�s broken and it flooded her bathroom and I guess you might need an 
ambulance too,� Katrina told the woman behind the desk.  Then she took my 
hand and we hurried through the lobby to the back of the hotel, where Dave 
was waiting, hopefully, for us in the canal with a getaway gondola.

         We floated languidly on the canal.  Its waters lapped quietly against 
the buildings alongside it as we passed.  They were old, each one made of 
bricks and mortar, or stone.  Behind us the gondolier rowed our gondola.  
We approached a stone bridge.  Costumed revellers stood atop it.  They 
leaned out over the bridge�s parapet and offered handfulls of confetti to 
us.  It sprinkled down, we passed into it, like into snow.  I stuck out my 
tongue and caught one of the colored bits of paper on it.  Katrina, 
mischievously, opened her veil and let them see her bared bosom.
         She told Dave of how I�d let the water run over the tub into the 
bathroom.  He looked at me, as if sizing me up.  I shrank a little under his 
gaze.  �And the man came back, and he tried to use the toilet, and he fell -
- twice,� Katrina said to Dave.  She held up two fingers to emphasize 
what, no doubt, had proven to be two quite painful falls for my overweight 
neighbor.  Dave grunted, nodded.
         �We can help her learn to behave better,� Dave said.  He grinned at 
me.  I didn�t like his grin.  He had his arm around both myself and Katrina, 
sitting between us.  The gondolier behind us began to sing.  It was a 
romantic song, but I didn�t feel to romantic with Katrina telling Dave how 
I�d been bad.  
         Nothing more was said, however, at least not on that subject, and we 
floated from one canal to another as the gondolier took us on a watery 
tour of the city.  Dave and Katrina chatted.  Dave told us about the city�s 
seedier past and I blushed a little when he glanced over at me, speaking of 
how lords and ladies had once held great orgies atop the cities� roofs, out 
in the warm summer air, under the stars.
         �Of course, only the elite were invited to such festivities,� Dave 
said.  �But the whole city, I�m sure, could hear the screams of the ladies 
and the grunts of the men as they fucked away in each other�s arms until 
dawn.�  He looked again at me.  �It was before electricity,� he said.  �And 
they�d pick a moonless night, so they could rut without being seen, except 
perhaps by starlight.  But it was always on one or two of the tallest 
buildings.  And it would happen at Carnival time, when there was much 
merriment in the streets below, and even if people did hear screaming, 
which they certainly must have, they took less note of it than they would 
have on a night when the city lay asleep.�
         �You sound like you went to some of those orgies,� I told him.  I 
bumped his side with my elbow.  �You�re certainly old enough.�  Dave 
frowned.  Katrina let out a gay laugh.  
         �She�s right, you know, Dave,� Katrina said.  �I think I see a wrinkle 
on your forehead.�  She reached up and touched a gloved finger to his face.
         �I�m not THAT old,� Dave harrumped.  �For those days or to have 
wrinkles.  I�m only in my 20�s.�
         �Still you�re older than me,� I replied.  I flexed my back and felt my 
bare, pert breasts rise as I arched my chest.  I was secretly glad they 
were naked.  I could feel their freedom under my shawl and I wanted to 
open myself to the sky, to let whomever might wish to gaze at my young 
tits and handle them with lust.  I could feel the tips risen and stiff.  The 
shawl opened.  It had no tie, save that round my neck, in its front.  Hastily 
I gripped it with my hand, lest the gondolier, leaning forward, catch sight 
of them.
         �Here is the restaurant where we�ll be eating,� Dave said.  Our 
gondola approached a building with terraced steps.  They led right down to 
the water of the canal.  The lowest steps were submerged.  Above, on an 
open portico, I saw diners.  They were all in costumes.  Candles glowed on 
their tables.  I saw a trio of violin players drifting between the tables, 
playing soft music.  
         Our gondola bumped against the restaurant�s steps.  The gondolier 
came foward to help us, but Dave beat him, leaping up and expertly passing 
out of our craft to the steps without rocking our boat.  He turned, tipped 
the tri-cornered hat he wore, then leaned down and reached for Katrina�s 
hand.  She extened it.  He urged her to her feet.  Rising, she permitted him 
to escort her from our craft.  I followed, helped by Dave and the gondolier.  
I was younger and more unsteady on my high heels, especially in a boat, 
than Katrina was.  Nonetheless we both gained the firmness of the stone 
steps.  It felt good to stand on them.  Dave placed an arm round Katrina�s 
waist, then mine.  He walked us up the steps and into the open-air 
restaurant.
         After dinner we danced, slow dancing, to the tunes of the violin 
players.  A string quartet joined them, adding music from a stage.  At first 
Katrina danced with Dave, then I did.  Then a man, letting go of his wife 
after a dance, approached me.  He asked me to dance and I said �yes.�  As he 
offered me his hands and I reached for them, my shawl opened.  He gasped 
as he saw the nakedness of my breasts.  Quickly I pressed my chest to his 
to hide my nudity from the crowd.  My arms, caped in the shawl, kept me 
from being seen behind the concealing billows of silk.  His shirt was white 
and crisp.  It felt good against my nipples.  I let my head rest on the upper 
part of his chest.  He gazed down at me, wondering at my youth, my 
boldness.  I looked up at him and smiled.
         �I like your costume,� the stranger said to me.  
         �I like yours,� I answered.  I could feel the jutting of his thing in the 
groin of his Colonial-style breeches.  He wore boots on his calves.  They 
were black and well-polished.  He stepped carefully as we danced so as 
not to step on my small, pretty feet under my skirts.
         We parted when the tune ended.  I closed my shawl with my hand 
before anyone could see how naked I was.  They might, if the light were 
strong, see my nipples through the sheer billows, but in this restaurant it 
was too dark.  Candlelight was its only illumination.  The man gazed at me.  
I smiled, turned, found another stranger waiting hopefully for my hand.  I 
accepted.  He gasped as the first had done, as I raised my hands to take 
his.  I liked the feel of his crisp new shirt too.
         We departed from the restaurant.  We floated through a crowd of 
gondolas now.  The city was busy with life.  I saw all sorts of costumes.  
Women wore masks with flamingo�s feathers, or the feathers of eagles.  
Katrina and I used ours only sparingly, too delighted by what we saw to 
try peeking at it from behind a mask�s eyeslits.  I saw a woman with a 
long cape, open in front, and under it she wore only a sheer pantsuit.  It 
was all silk and decorated with a patterned design.  Another woman wore 
a sumptous blue coat.  It looked like a fur coat but it was made entirely of 
blue feathers.  She was standing in her gondola and under the coat, which 
extended to just her waist, she wore a cape, and under that a thigh-length 
negligee.  It was sheer, and hung open in front, just like her cape and her 
feathery coat.  Under it she was bare, save for a lingerie bra and panties.  
They were blue, semi-sheer, richly patterned with lace.  I looked at her 
naked legs, her bare tummy.  She caught my eye, smiled.  Then she slipped 
her mask in front of her face, hiding her eyes.  But the rest of her 
remained on view to whomever might care to gaze at her lovely figure.
         Katrina reached across Dave�s lap.  She put her hand between his 
legs, which were casually spread, and squeezed his crotch.  Dave grunted.  
The woman smiled, seeing it, though she kept her mask over her eyes.
         �You�re looking at that woman, aren�t you?� Katrina asked.
         �Uh, yeah, how�d you guess?� Dave replied.  Katrina massaged the 
bulge where his prick was straining to release itself from his pants.  He 
wore Colonial breeches, like the man who�d danced with me.
         �She�s lovely, and has a beautiful costume,� Katrina said.  I sensed a 
hint of jealousy in her voice.  Our gondola approached the woman and her 
two lovers.  I saw she was young, perhaps as young as Katrina and myself.  
Both the men were much older.  She stood between them, and at first I 
envied her, thinking her the wise owner of two perfect studs.  Then I 
realized that perhaps it was they who owned her.  There was a collar 
around her neck and one of the men held a leash in his hand that connected 
to her collar.  The other man, garbed like a prince on his way to his stables 
for a bit of evening riding, held a long, whippy crop.
         �Together we would exactly equal each other,� Dave called to the 
trio.
         �Yes we would,� one of the men grinned back.  The young woman 
looked from Dave�s crotch to Katrina and I.  Katrina drew back her hand, 
replaced it on her lap.  Dave�s bulge remained in the front of his pants.  He 
did not close his legs to hide it.  
         �We�re going dancing,� the man with the leash said.  He nodded 
behind himself, toward a building with flashing lights on his exterior.  
�Club Go,� it said in bright letters.  Sound from its interior drifted out 
across the water of the Grand Canal.  It was modern-sounding, not slow 
and romantic like the music we�d danced to after dinner.
         �We�re going there too,� Dave replied.  Our gondola passed theirs.  I 
glanced back.  I saw the man with the crop lift the back of the young 
woman�s cape, her coat, her negligee.  Then the other man, the one with 
the leash, grabbed her panties from behind and yanked them down to her 
thighs.  
         �Look!� I breathed, as I saw her white nether cheeks exposed to my 
view.  Dave turned.  Katrina turned.  Suddenly the man with the crop drew 
it back and applied a single, swift loud CRACK! to the behind of the woman.  
She shrieked.  Her voice carried across the water of the canal.  As soon as 
the blow had been delivered, the man with the crop let go of her clothing.  
As quickly as she�d been bared, she was covered, except for the panties 
which I knew must still ring her thighs, under her negligee and her cape 
and her coat.  Unsteadily the woman sat down in the gondola.  The two men 
sat down beside her.  Their gondolier, as if nothing had happened, began 
singing a slow, romantic song.  Their craft began a meandering turn and 
shortly was following us toward the nightclub.  Partiers in the other 
boats, momentarily distracted, glanced toward the sound of the shriek, 
saw nothing, save a slowly moving boat with a happy, singing gondolier 
and three occupants.  Did they know?  Had any of them seen what I�d seen?  
I couldn�t be sure.  Perhaps, perhaps not.  I guessed not.  It had been to 
brief, too quick.  Other people were standing in their gondolas, to talk or 
to throw confetti out on the water.  Others were sitting.  The festivities 
continued.
         Our gondola arrived at the landing of the Club.  Dave got out, then 
helped Katrina, then me.  The gondola with the girl who�d been whipped 
pulled up behind ours.  I saw her struggling to get her panties back up, 
under her many outer garments, before she was required to stand up and 
get out.  She succeeded, the men seemed not to notice, or to care.  She 
adjusted her bottom on the seat she shared with them.  When one of the 
men rose from her gondola, stepped out, and then turned to help her out in 
turn, she seemed relieved at the opportunity to rise and get off her seat.  
As she stepped from the gondola the other man, behind her, gave her a 
friendly push on her ass.  She winced.  I looked at her.  Her eyes met mine 
and she blushed.
         �You have cruel boyfriends,� I said to her as she approached me.  She 
was blonde, like me, almost my same height but a little taller.  She had 
promient breasts like my own.  They pushed out between the open halves 
of her garments.  I envied her bra.  I had none.  Hers was quite pretty.  I 
knew it would fit me if I wore it.
         �I know,� she answered.  She would have stepped closer to me, 
perhaps for solace, but one of her boyfriends caught at her leash and 
pulled it tight.  She stopped in mid-step, yanked back by her neck.  Then he 
turned, handed something to their gondolier.  I imagined it was a large tip.  
Dave tipped ours.  He said �thank you� in Italian.  �I only just met them 
too,� the young woman said to me.  She lifted a finger to her throat and 
pulled with it at the leather collar that bound her neck.  I saw it was a 
dog�s collar.
         We walked across the club�s landing to its front door.  Three men, 
three women, forming two mis-matched couples by gender, all of us 
costumed.  The doorman took money from Dave.  He seemed not to mind my 
age, or not to notice.  We slipped inside.  The couple behind us, with their 
female on a leash, passed the doorman as easily as we had.  It was 
Carnival.  The rules that might rein at other times had been suspended.
         The interior of the club pulsed with life.  I saw both costumed 
dancers and casually-dressed tourists.  They intermingled, easily, dancing 
with each other as if all dressed alike.  A flash of light struck my breasts 
and illuminated my nipples.  It passed away, just as quickly, but another 
followed soon, in time with the music, briefly showing my nudity to the 
crowd.  We walked onto the dance floor.  We were eager to dance.  I began 
dancing with Katrina and Dave, as before, but a young man intruded and 
lured me away.  He seemed surprised when a beam of pulsating light 
illuminated my nipples under my silken shawl.  I smiled.  I glanced at his 
legs and saw he was indiscreet, himself.  There was a huge bulge in the 
front of his pants.
         �Did you bring your kitchen sink along?� I asked chidingly, feeling 
mischievous.  He followed my eyes.  He saw himself.  The tightness in the 
front of him pants must have been killing him.
         �I wish I could dance like you,� he said, lifting his eyes to my 
breasts.  I smiled, let go of my shawl.  It fell open and my breasts showed 
themselves.  They swung and bounced as I danced with vigorous speed.  My 
hips pushed forward, drew back, gyrated.  I felt my skirts modestly 
swirling around my feet while my breasts jiggled wildly on my chest.  
Others looked, I did not mind.  I saw another woman with her breasts bared 
like mine were.  It was fun.  It was permissible, at Carnival.
         I did not leave any hearts unbroken.  I danced with every man who 
asked, dumping him as quickly as I�d let him into my life, so I could meet 
still more men.  The music filled my ears and vibrated inside my body.  I 
saw the young woman who�d been whipped out on the canal.  She was 
dancing, happy now.  Her leash hung free from her body.  It whipped about 
as she danced, striking others.  They seemed too entranced with her 
beauty, with the seductiveness of her costume, to mind.  I saw Katrina 
too, dancing with Dave a lot, but not always.  Once I saw her dancing with 
one of the men who�d cropped the girl in the gondola.  She let her nipples 
show.  They looked like twin treats, perched up above her bra, pushed up so 
that no eye, however unobservant, could miss them.  Her nipples were 
stiff.
         The man with the crop, which he now had thrust through a belt round 
his waist, so he could dance, pulled Dave aside.  I saw him whisper into 
Dave�s ear.  Dave nodded.  When there was a break in the music they walked 
over to me.  
         �Where�s Katrina?� Dave asked.
         �Over there,� I said, pointing.  She was dancing with the man who 
had been fond of the feathery girl�s leash.  
         �Annabelle, come,� the man with the crop called out.  I saw the girl 
in the feathery coat turn.  She bade goodbye to the young man she�d been 
dancing with.  She crossed the dance floor, weaving through the crowd of 
dancers.  
         �Yes?� Annabelle asked pertly.  She lifted her eyes to the man with 
the crop as a child might, obedient.  
         �We will go now,� the man replied.
         �We will go with them,� Dave told me.  He gestured toward the man 
with the crop.  �This is Carl,� he said.  The other man, with Katrina, came 
up beside us.  �And this is Jake,� he said.  I nodded, not sure what to do.  I 
wished to keep dancing, but I seemed not to have been asked for my 
opinion.  Katrina took my hand and looked at me anxiously.
         �Where are we going?� I asked her.
         �Downstairs,� she said in a hushed voice.
         �Can we dance downstairs?� I asked, curious.
         �Yes.  Yes you can,� Jake grinned at me.  But I didn�t like his smile, 
for some reason, and looked quickly away.  He grasped Annabell�s leash and 
urged her forward.
         We walked through the club.  At the rear, through the parting of 
people as we made our way, there appeared a door.  It was painted green 
and had a doorman standing by it.  He looked at me rather suspiciously, 
then at Katrina, at Dave.  Dave pulled out some bills and paid him.  
Overpaid him, perhaps.  The doorman opened the door for us.  We passed 
through to a flight of steps.  They descended down a narrow staircase.  
There was no railing, just the steps, and steeply rising walls on either 
side of them.  A single bare bulb, hanging from the ceiling, illuminated the 
passageway.  Dave went first.  He made Katrina hold his hand so she 
wouldn�t fall.  I held Katrina�s other hand, following her.  I heard the two 
men and Annabell come through the door behind us.  I turned once, briefly.  
I saw an ashen look on Annabell�s face.  It made me shiver.  Why was she 
sad?  We�d been admitted.  We were going to dance more privately, that 
was all.  There was no need to be sorry about it.  Perhaps this was a more 
exclusive place we were going to, surely it must be.  I liked dancing.  It 
didn�t matter to me where I danced, so long as I could.
         As we descended the steps I realized we were climbing down below 
the surface of the canal to our rear.  I hoped it would stay in its place.  I 
didn�t want to find myself being flooded, down here, like I�d flooded the 
bathroom at the hotel.
         Dave opened a door at the base of the steps.  We went in.  Him first, 
then Katrina.  At once I heard her gasp, sharply.  Yet, still holding her hand, 
I allowed her to pull me in behind her.
         My God!  I couldn�t believe my eyes!  I saw we were in a large, bare 
room.  Its walls were as bare as the walls of the steps we�d just 
descended.  In the middle of the room was a large stone block.  A nude girl 
was stretched across it.  Her hair was coiffed, pinned up neatly, and her 
face was painted as prettily as mine, I saw, when she turned her head to 
look behind herself.  But the similarity between us ended there.  Her dress, 
which she�d apparently been wearing, was held by a costumed woman.  She 
had it folded over her arms.  The girl on the block was on her knees.  Her 
arms were chained to manacles in front of the block.  They were made of 
old, rusted iron, but they seemed to hold her fast all the same.  I saw 
someone had made her don cotton wristlets, as if she were going out for a 
round of tennis.  They protected her wrists and kept them from chafing 
against the rusted iron.  Behind her, her legs were also bound.  They were 
forced apart in a wide vee.  Her fig nestled tightly between her splayed 
thighs.  Its only covering was a light fringe of pubic hair.  The room was 
brightly lit, especially where they block lay.  The poor girl had no hope of 
remaining modest.  Her ankles, like her wrists, were banded with small 
cotton bands, to protect her from the rusted iron manacles which held her 
feet.  She looked straight at me.  I don�t think she even noticed me, though, 
for she was trying to see the brutish man who stood behind her.  In 
contrast to her lily-white skin, he was tanned and swarthy.  He had on a 
hood, masking his face, but from the rough, gnarled look of his limbs, the 
excessive hairiness of them, I guessed he was no handsomer under his 
hood than he was across the rest of his body.  He was tall, but stocky, and 
seemed most disagreeable to me, for he wore an undershirt, stained with 
sweat, and had a fat belly.  He reminded me of sergeants in the Army, 
strong but fat too, a sort of sergeant-biker, with his fat belly and his 
black hood and the tight black pants he wore.  They ended at his knees, 
leaving his calves bare.  His calves were as hairy as the rest of him.  On 
his feet he had boots, but they lacked polish and ended round his ankles, 
like short little galoshes a pervert might wear, exposing himself on dark 
nights in the park.
         Two men, gaily costumed, and much better looking than the 
executioner (for what else could he be, with his hood?) checked the bonds 
of the girl over the block.  She struggled.  It was hopeless.  A woman in the 
crowd laughed, not without pleasure, at her struggles.  Under the girl�s 
belly someone had placed a worn cushion.  But her breasts dangled free, 
off the block, twin pendant ripe fruits, waiting to be spurred into wildly 
swinging action.
         The executioner held aloft a long whip.  The two men who had bound 
the girl to the block stepped back.  The whip looked menacing.  They did 
not wish to be struck by it.  One of them handed the executioner a wad of 
bills.  He took it, looked at it, counted it quickly with just his thumb, 
going through the bills like a man in a fish market might, in the dead of 
winter, counting the bills hastily because the cold was worse than being 
underpaid.  But here, in this brightly lit room, the denominations on the 
bills looked generous.  There was too much in the wad, if anything, not too 
little, but the executioner pocketed it all.
         �We are in luck,� Dave said quietly to myself, to Katrina.  �They are 
just starting.�  I saw another girl, still in the crowd, but standing slightly 
apart from it, being undressed by a man and a woman.  They helped her out 
of her costume.  She was young, young as the first, over the block.  She 
glanced worriedly from the woman to the man but said nothing.  Her 
breasts were revealed, her belly.  The woman, getting her dress to her 
hips, pushed it down off them with the help of the man.  They handled her 
gently, yet I knew what they must be undressing her for.  I saw her pubis.  
I did not want to be like this, in this room, seeing poor girls undressed to 
be beaten, but I was so transfixed by the scene I could not turn away.  
Annabelle entered behind us.  I heard her gasp, a small frightened yelp.  
Then she was quiet.  Her boyfriend held her by her leash.  
         �What�ll it be?� the executioner asked the man who had paid him.
         �How severe can you make it?� the costumed gentleman inquired.  
The executioner laughed.  It was a sharp, unpleasant laugh.  His big belly 
shook as he laughed.
         �I can kill her with this,� he said, dangling the whip before the 
man�s face.  
         �Not - not that severe,� the costumed gentleman replied.
         �We still have other uses for her,� the other man, his companion, 
told the executioner.
         �Just the bottom,� the first of the poor, unfortunate female�s 
boyfriends told the executioner.  �Smarten her up a bit.  You know, give her 
something to remember you by.�
         �Permanent?� the executioner asked.  His voice was gruff.  He 
seemed bored by the men�s inexperience in such matters.
         �No.  Not permanent,� the second man said.  �A good, thorough 
striping, that�s all.  We don�t want her tattooed with the thing.  Just a 
good lashing to make her ship shape.�
         �Ship shape,� the executioner said, rolling his eyes.  �I�ll whip her 
into shape alright, but she won�t be able to sit down for a few weeks.�
         �A few days,� the second man, who seemed slightly better versed in 
things whippable, said to the executioner.  His companion nodded, mutely.  
The executioner yawned.  
         �Nobody ever really exercises my talents,� the executioner said.  
�Okay, a thorough whipping, but don�t leave anything for her to remember 
ME by, eh?  I�m just a hired hand.�
         �That�s right,� the second man said, firmly.
         �It�ll hurt like hell all the same,� the executioner told him.
         �That�s what we want,� the second man said.  
         The man and the woman who�d just finished undressing the girl who 
would follow whispered in her ears.  They seemed to be trying to comfort 
her.  She was shaking.  Her knees wobbled.  The woman bent and lifted her 
leg and extended it.  I could see the girl�s puss, up between her legs.  The 
girl stared at her ankle, and watched as the woman slipped a cotton anklet 
around it.
         My eyes scanned the room, perhaps looking for the brave little 
toaster who would appear, or some more manly hero, and stop the 
proceedings.  Instead, all the men seemed transfixed by the plight of the 
pretty coiffed girl poised over the block.  The women, wickedly, seemed as 
entranced as the men.  Yet among some younger girls, at least, girls like 
me, I saw troubled faces.  Was there excitement mixed with their worry?  
I guessed there must be, for I felt it in myself.  My nipples were stiff on 
my breasts.  I saw eyes glance at me and, among those nearest to me, they 
discovered my secret.  I wore an elegant dress, but my breasts were 
utterly bare.  They could see my flesh, my red nipples.  I blushed, I hung my 
head.  
         SCREEEEAAACK!  All heads snapped to the center of the room.  I felt 
my own lift, stare, as a wild shriek escaped the girl bound over the block.  
I watched as her bottom tensed, contracted, a new red line marking its 
otherwise pure, lovely white surface.  My hands flew to my own bottom in 
empathy.  Is that how I�d looked, when I�d tasted the crop at Svetlana�s?  
Yet this was no delicately-tailed crop the executioner swung.  It was a 
bullwhip.  Made for big, sturdy bulls, yet used instead on this soft young 
girl�s bottom.
         �Ohhhhh---aghghgh!� the blonde with the coiffed hair cried.  Her 
bottom relaxed, then tightened again.  She bit her lip and ground her teeth.  
Her hips waggled.  She could not escape her fate, but at least her voice 
could escape, to our listening ears, and she could shake her ass for all it 
was worth.  She was caught, pinned by her limbs to the floor, but her 
lovers had wickedly left her ass room to shake and to strive under the 
lash.  The pretty victim relaxed her cheeks again, then tightened them 
once more, squeezing them repeatedly to try to throw off, or at least to 
better endure, the whip�s sting.
         Oh, why must men find delight in such awful things, I wondered?  I 
looked again through the silent figures standing in the room, looking for a 
hero.  I saw a tourist girl, young like myself, flanked by a man and a 
woman.  She gave them beseeching looks.  Though neither she nor they 
were decked out in costumes, they�d decided that they would participate 
in the Carnival after all.  In its deepest, most intimate ritual, here in the 
room that was submerged under the water level of the Grand Canal.  As the 
girl watched their hands, her two lovers began to undress her.  She lifted a 
hand of her own, tried to resist, but the woman slapped it away.  Casually, 
as if the girl had no right to refuse, or even to complain.  Glumly the girl 
saw her blouse undone, her shoes untied, her shorts lowered.  Then the 
man, with a flourish, as if unwrapping a precious gift, but one meant to be 
consumed, like Christmas sweets, lowered the girl�s white panties.  She 
was left standing half-naked, her bare pubis showing while her bra 
remained on her chest and her small, pink socks still carefully sheathed 
her small feet.
         The girl over the block was still grinding her hips into the pillow 
atop the stone.  Her asscheeks contracted and relaxed, rhythmically, 
rudely.  She still bore but one stripe.  The executioner, less vulgar than I 
had first thought him, was letting her make a show of herself (though she 
had little choice in it), and to be admired.  She did, I had to admit to 
myself, have a lovely round bottom.  With the application of the whip, it 
was made to move in sensuous ways that could only have been imagined 
without it.  Tensing, releasing, tightening again at the thought of what 
still lay ahead, for the executioner, to keep the girl�s mind absolutely on 
him, struck his whip aimlessly against the floor.
         CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  Each slap of the whip upon the floor caused 
the girl to start, to freeze, expecting it was her the whip would connect 
with.  When it proved to be only the hard, stone floor, she seemed relieved, 
yet frightened too, for it meant she still had to wait for what was yet to 
come.
         �Oh, please!  Get it over with!� the pretty small blonde said at last.  
She lifted her head, tried to free herself.  I watched her legs straighten 
and she tried to pull her feet from the manacles.  Her bottom hung quietly, 
still flexing a little, but waiting now, waiting for the inexorable moment 
when she would be struck again.
         A low wooden bench was set near the block.  It was empty.  I had 
thought little of it, barely noticed it.  Yet now, I saw the girl who was 
waiting to be whipped led forward by her lovers.  She was nude.  The 
woman carried her clothes.  A man I�d not noticed, one of many costumed 
revellers, turned and received the girl from her lovers.  He bade her to turn 
and, drawing a rope from his coat pocket, he pulled her hands behind her 
back.  Quickly he knotted the rope around her wrists.  Then he took her by 
her small, diminutive shoulders and pushed her ahead of him.  They walked 
round to the front of the bench.  He sat her down.  She tried glancing down, 
perhaps to check for splinters in the wood, but he plopped her right down, 
before she could look, and told her not to move.  He left her there, walked 
back behind the bench, and turned his eyes to the fate of the girl over the 
block.  I did not like him.  He was old, grey-haired.  Yet he had a 
magisterial look about him, as of an ancient inquisitor, or bishop, or 
judge, passing upon the fate of those who fell into his grasp.  All were 
guilty.  All had to be delivered to the executioner for a penitential 
flogging.  With serene eyes he gazed at the gasping girl over the block.  He 
apprised himself of the state of her bottom as a judge might, reviewing a 
parolee�s sentence.  Yet he kept silent, for it was the girl�s two male 
lovers who got to choose what would be done to her.
         I started.  I felt fingers at my back.  I twisted my head back.
         �No!� I breathed.  My voice would have been louder, but I was too 
frightened to speak in the hushed silence of this wanton, buried room.
         �Yes,� Dave replied.  Katrina sidled up to me and took my hand.  She 
smiled.  A little abashedly, yet pleasantly, as if she had already resigned 
herself to Dave�s suggestion that I be put over the block.
         �I must see him do it to you,� Dave whispered in my ear.  His words 
sent an erotic thrill up my spine, even as my mind reeled.  He had picked 
me!  Not Katrina, but me!  For this most intimate act it was me he wished 
to see.
         �I- I do not wish to,� I said.  I felt my breasts rise and fall as I 
spoke, softly, so as not to be heard except by Dave.  He towered behind me, 
kept unbuttoning my dress.  I felt it open in back and the air of the room, 
slightly dank, cool despite the bright lights, touched my shoulders, my 
shoulder blades.  My spine tensed.  Dave kept unbuttoning.  I felt his hands, 
behind me, spread my dress open.  Katrina untied the shawl where it 
attached to my wrists.  Then she reached up behind my neck, and untied it 
there.  My dress was dropped to the floor.  My shawl was lifted off by 
Katrina.  I looked down over my breasts, at my knees.  They wiggled in and 
out, back and forth, nervously, as if I had to go to the bathroom.
         Eyes drifted toward me.  Dave grasped my wrists and pulled them 
behind me.  Then he pushed me forward.  I found myself padding barefoot 
across the room.  My naked bosoms bounced in time with my stride.  The 
minister of the whip (what else to call him?) received me.  He turned me, 
took my hands, bound them with rope.  Then he sat me down, next to the 
other girl.  As soon as I sat, the girl who was a tourist was brought 
forward.  She still wore her bra.  The minister, receiving her, told her 
lovers to take it off.  They complied.  Her young breasts sprang into view.  
They were like delectable fruit released from a basket.  Plump peaches, 
with hard pink-tipped nipples.
         �She will not scrape them on the block?� the woman asked the 
minister.
         �No.  She�ll be pushed forward, like the blonde, so her breasts dangle 
freely,� the minister answered.  Then, with the greatest deference, he 
asked the girl, �Would you like to keep on your socks, or should I take them 
off?�
         The girl nodded, mutely.  The minister looked bemused.  Then, 
smiling, he said, �I know not for which answer you nod, but the floor is 
cold.  Keep your socks.�  He smiled.  He brought her round to the front of 
her bench and sat her down.  I envied her socks.  The floor was cold and I 
sat with my feet poised, only my toes touching it, to keep my feet from 
getting cold.  The nude girl next to me, who would be second over the 
block, sat with her feet poised like mine.  Thanks to her socks, the tourist 
girl was able to sit with her feet flat on the floor.
         WHACKCK!  The tourist girl�s knees jumped at the sound of the whip.
         �Eeeeyooooh!� the blonde over the block shouted.  She had finally 
gotten her second stroke.  Two red lines now marked her bottom.  She 
strove to escape, to rise, but the block held her fast.  Her ass ground its 
cheeks together, uselessly, a consolation prize for being unable to escape.  
Tears plopped from her eyes and hit the floor.  Her mouth drank in air and 
her young breasts waggled wildly on her chest.  Her back arched, her 
bottom jutted into the air, then shrank as the sound of the whip hitting 
the floor met her ears.  
         Time passed.  The blonde took another stroke, a fourth, each 
measured for the maximum impact, each separated by a long interval so 
she could fully taste and absorb the whip�s sting.  
         �May I fuck her?� one of the girl�s lovers asked at last.  Boldly he 
unzipped the fly of his trousers.  The executioner looked at the minister.
         �Do not drop your pants,� the minister said.  �It would be unseemly.  
A certain decorum must be maintained.  But if you wish to, ah, release 
yourself, and have your way with her, I shan�t object.�
         �Thanks,� the man answered.  To the delight of the women in the 
room, he pulled forth a huge, snake-like penis.  It wobbled on the air.  I 
heard the tourist girl gasp beside me.  How he�d managed to keep that big 
thing confined in his pants, I had no idea.  The man, his dick now exposed 
to the air, hard and pulsing, turned to his companion.  �I�ll do her cunt, you 
do her ass,� he said, matter-of-factly, as if discussing who would drive to 
a sporting event, and who would take the wheel on the way home.
         �Sure,� the other man said.
         I closed my eyes as the girl received her lover.  She was 
embarrassed, and her bottom was sore, as she was quick to point out to 
him, but one could not say that, when he was fully within her, she didn�t 
enjoy him.  I heard her sigh and gasp.  I heard him grunt happily.  He 
sounded like a hedgehog rooting in the bushes, content and happy as he dug 
into her with his cock.  
         Then the other lover, the one assigned her nether route, took his 
place.  The girl screamed at this.  She did not want her bottom fucked.  I 
could hardly blame her, having tasted it once myself.  I glanced at Dave.  
He grinned at me, wickedly.  I looked away and shut my eyes again.
         The girl was at last released.  She couldn�t get up.  Her lovers had to 
lift her and carry her back down into the crowd.  There, at the back of the 
room, I saw them sit her flaming bottom into a big wooden tub.  It 
apparently had ice water in it, for she shrieked at the first touch of the 
chilly water on her bottom.  It was big a wooden tub.  The men sat her over 
its lip.  Her feet dangled outside the tub.  A soft pink towel hung over the 
tub�s lip, to protect the undersides of her knees from the raw slatted 
boards that made up the top and sides of the tub.  The men supported the 
girl as she sat.  They held her arms, so she would not topple backward into 
the tub.  A woman approached, took out a towellette, and daubed at the 
girl�s eyes.
         �There, there,� I thought I heard her say to the girl.  The girl 
sniffled.  She must have tensed her bottom for suddenly her mouth gasped, 
worked in a kind of rictus of pain, and then stilled again.  Oh, how sore she 
must be behind, I thought, gazing at her.  How awful that I too was fated 
to undergo the same journey, strapped to the block, flogged, fucked, and 
finally dealt with a little more tenderly, by a woman with cheap moist 
towelettes.
         The journey for the girl beside me had already begun.  The man and 
the woman who had undressed her now fitted her arms and legs into the 
manacles alongside the block.  The rope that had bound her wrists lay 
untied on the floor.  The minister walked over to it, picked it up.  He put it 
back into his pocket.
         Her punishment was delivered.  When it was through her lover, the 
male, ground himself into her newly injured backside.  And then, seeing 
her released, I knew my own turn had come.
         I did not wait for them to come and get me.  As soon as the girl 
ahead of me had been lifted up from the block, I rose from the bench.  The 
minister, thinking I was trying to escape, darted forward.  But he did not 
stop me when he saw my intention.  With my chin lifted high, my pretty 
coifs bouncing on my cheeks and down the back of my neck, I walked 
proudly up to the block.  I felt my breasts bobbing on my chest and heard a 
gasp from the crowd.  No other girl had shown such temerity.  I reached 
the block, looked down upon it.  Then, carefully, I bent my knees.  The 
minister rushed forward and caught me round my tummy before I could, as 
I�d intended, drop my knees to the stone floor.  He lowered me gently, lest 
I lose my balance and hurt myself.  My knees touched the stone floor 
gracefully, lightly.  He eased me forward.  I felt my belly touch the worn 
cushion atop the block.  It was damp from the sweat of the other girls.  
There was a stain of semen upon it where a male lover had given his all.  
Yet, in its way, it was comfortable.  I let my weight bear down upon it.  I 
felt like a fish put over the block at a fishmarket, or weighed, wiggling 
still with life, in a scale.  My arms were bound behind me and my head and 
breasts hung low to the floor on the far side of the block.  My hair dangled 
down off my head, long loose curls of blonde hair glowing under the bright 
lights that flooded the area round the block.
         �Oh, she is so brave -- and so young!� I heard a woman exclaim.  I 
heard zippers unzipping.  Men, unable to contain themselves at the sight of 
my willingness, presented themselves in the crowd.  They found female 
hands to work their stiff rods or, absent that, began pleasuring 
themselves.  I felt a thrill of excitement.  I was victim, yet inspiration 
too.  As I heard zipper after zipper undone I realized not a man in the room 
could contain himself at the sight of my young, voluptuous body placed so 
receptively over the block.  To tease them, I willingly spread my legs.  I 
straightened them.  I was mindful, too, of the whip, and glanced back, 
anxiously, yet I couldn�t resist causing all the men to milk themselves at 
the sight of my open cunt.
         �Ah, God!� I heard a man exclaim.  I looked round to see if I could 
catch sight of Dave.  Turning my head, looking far back behind myself, I 
saw him.  He was out too!  His big banana-like prick hung stiffly in front 
of him.  Katrina, a little ashamed to be touching him so publicly, 
nonetheless flitted her hands in admiration over his organ.  I saw Dave�s 
face, casual at first, tense.
         �Not yet,� I thought I saw Katrina mouth.  Not yet, wait �til she�s 
whipped, don�t spend on the floor, I knew she must be saying.  Dave was 
twice her age, but with his thing forced from him pants and in her hands, 
he was like a small boy too, being tutored.
         �So this one thinks she can challenge me, eh?� I heard the 
executioner grouse.  His whip hit the floor.  I froze.  My knees locked.  My 
elbows straightened.
         �Ah, you are not insensitve then,� the minister said gaily, in my ear.  
He unbound my wrists.  �I was worried, thought perhaps a girl your age had 
somehow matured too quickly.�
         No, I had not been, I assured him.  Not by speaking, but by suddenly 
beginning to shiver involuntarily.  What was I doing?  Oh, that whip would 
hurt!  It would make me scream.  I would be debased and fucked and left to 
the care of a woman and her disposable moist towellettes.  I resoved to 
trick them, to leap up and run.  But suddenly, in my fear, I found that all 
my limbs had turned to water.  They were lifeless.  I could not move them.  
But the minister moved them, and gently clothed them in cotton wristlets 
and anklets.  Then, as I felt the life begin to return to my limbs, he locked 
them swiftly into the rusty old manacles.
         I wriggled hard over the block.  I tried to rise, pressing my tummy 
into the pillow for leverage.  I felt my ribs bulge from my sides with the 
effort.  
         �Ah, she is so slim,� I heard a woman say.
         �Yet with a bumptious bottom,� I heard another add.  Traitors!  I 
thought.  
         �Please not too hard,� I squeaked to the minister.  He lingered by my 
face, contemplating me.  He cupped my chin.  He raised it.  Helplessly my 
breasts dangled heavily beneath me.  
         �Yes,� the minister assured me.  �Quite hard.�  He saw me gasp.  My 
limbs quivered still.  My springy nipples danced in the air, at the tips of 
my pendant breasts.  I felt a sense of deep communion with him, somehow.  
He�d placed the old rusted manacles on my hands and wrists himself, and 
protected them first, so considerately, with the small cotton wristlets.  
It was as if the rings were extensions of his body.  It was his strength 
holding me, I felt, though in fact he had cheated and used evil clamps to 
hold me down.  He squeezed my cheeks, my jaws.  My lips puckered into a 
receptive O.  
         �You adore the attention, don�t you?� the minister said to me.  His 
voice did not accuse.  It seemed to express understanding.  I tried to shake 
my head �no.�  His hand gripped my face.  I could not move it.  My lips tried 
to move but remained in the forced O of receptivity.  
         My eyes glanced down fearfully.  Beyond the thickness of his wrist I 
saw his crotch.  It bulged.  Despite his grey hair, his age, he sported a hard 
on.  I marvelled at it.  In his youth he must have been a stallion, I thought, 
having any girl he pleased, breaking many hearts.  Now, lined with age, he 
retained his virility still.  I wished suddenly I could kiss him there, 
console him, forgive him all his years and make him young again.  Just as 
quickly my mind recoiled.  No!  He was old and I was young.  We did not 
belong together.  Yet, in his menancing, prying hands, I felt a kind of 
security.  He was wise, graceful in his cruelty, knowing just how far to 
push a girl, I sensed... and when to stop.
         �I�m-- I�m a virgin,� I managed to stammer through my pursed lips.  
He stroked my hair.  He coiled a finger in the ringlets that made up my 
coiffure.  
         �Then this is your audition,� he replied, suavely.  �Your grand 
opening.�
         �No!� I squeaked.  My eyes gazed at his crotch.  At any moment I 
expected him to unzip himself and make me take him.  I did not want to 
take him, ever.  He was old.  I was just a baby.
         Every man in the room now had his penis out.  I did not have to look 
to know this.  I could hear the sighs, the grunts of male pleasure, as the 
woman present pleasured them.  It was, I knew, a light pressure they 
applied, just a touch of fingertips.  The men were being teased, prepared.  
At the right moment an orgy would begin.  Then all would be wild, 
unscripted.  Now a rude decorum still obtained, the men�s pricks out, the 
females slowly bringing them to the brink of madness.  
         I lay over the block.  I felt the length of my long legs, pinned at the 
feet, rising in sweet slim lines to the apex where my cunt lay.  It showed 
itself between them.  Fleecy, inviting, virgin.  I felt a wetness upon its 
lips.
         The minister thrust his hips forward.  I gasped.  
         �Take my zipper with your teeth,� the minister hissed at me.  His 
voice sounded like that of a snake.  I shivered.  I resisted.  His hand, under 
my chin, forced my face forward.  My knees bent in rebellion, my hips 
bucked, but I could no more refuse him than a horse could, locked into a 
mating box.  I felt my lips press against the sharp coldness of his zipper.  
Unwillingly, his fingers gripping my cheeks, I bit the metal tab.  In a 
sudden act of vengeance, feeling so exposed myself, I yanked it down.  
         �Good.  More, more,� the minister murmured.  I saw his underpants 
bulge up between his opened zipper teeth.  They bumped my nose.  I 
smelled a musky scent.  Unwillingly, guided by his fingers on my chin, I 
tugged the metal tab of his zipper to the very bottom of his fly.  �Now dig 
it out,� the minister snarled at me.  He squeezed my cheeks harder.  My 
lips pursed more.  I could not keep from doing as he ordered.  My lovely 
curls hung down round my face, my eyes, down the back of my neck, 
shivering, as he forced my perfectly coiffed head into his crotch.  I 
smelled his lust, his need.  I licked involuntarily at his underpants, hoping 
that was all he wished.  
         �Don�t get my shorts all wet.  Pull out my penis!� the minister told 
me angrily.  I heard laughter somewhere, behind me, all around me.  People 
were enjoying my torment.  The executioner waited with his bullwhip for 
permission to flay my naked ass.
         I sucked at him.  I strove with my lips to open his underpants.  �Suck 
harder,� he ordered.  He reached down and sliced two of his fingers 
between us; between my lips and his awful thing.  He used them to help 
me, opening his cotton fly in his underpants so I could more easily pull out 
his organ with my mouth.
         �Ack!� I cried.  I felt the fleshy strength of his penis against my 
lips.  He pursed them harder.  I was young.  I might bite him if he wasn�t 
careful.  He kept my lips pushed out so that I could not get my teeth on 
him.
         �Suck it out,� the minister ordered me, again.  I pressed my lips 
against his cock.  It felt like I was kissing the back of a snake.  
Somewhere, buried in his underpants, lay the cock head, hidden from me 
still.  I extended my tongue between my lips and licked along the shaft of 
his trapped cock.  �Suck,� he ordered.  I withdrew my tounge.  I kissed hard 
with my lips against his cock.  I sucked.  I pulled at his organ, searching 
along the shaft of his cock for the still-buried head.  
         �Eeeek!� I shouted.  Suddenly his head popped out.  It landed right in 
my lips.  I silenced my scream.  I heard him yell at me to suck him.  I felt 
my lips, split wide by his massive organ�s head, begin to suck upon him as 
one sucks upon a straw.  His pre-cum oozed into my mouth.  It was salty.  I 
was repelled by it.  My tummy tightened.  My hips bucked again upon the 
block.  There was laughter.  I heard a rustle of skirts as several women, 
inspired, apparently knelt upon the floor to service the cocks of their men.
         �It is good,� the minister said.  Abruptly he drew back.  It was good, 
for him, for I was just pressing my teeth to the skin of his cockhead when 
he pulled it from me.  Another moment and I might have succeeded in 
biting him.  I longed to do it.  He deserved it.  He would torture no more 
girls with his wicked thing if I bit it off.  
         �She�s all yours,� I heard the minister say.  He stepped away from 
me.  I heard a crack.  I sobbed, clenched my cheeks.  My bottom wobbled 
naked on the block.  I flexed my ass, realized it had only been the floor the 
executioner had struck.  I sighed, whimpered.  My apple-round bottom, its 
cheeks split receptively, waited.
         �She is a virgin!� I heard a male exclaim.  The minister, wicked man, 
had shared my secret.  There was laughter.
         �She will not be, after tonight,� I heard another male say.
         �She wishes to lose it theatrically, or is afraid to consent,� a 
woman said.
         �She wants to be brought to it.  Some girls are that way.  They 
cannot bear to just say �yes,�� a woman added.  Several men groaned.  They 
lost themselves, I think, in their wives mouths, upon hearing, 
unexpectedly, of my virgin state.
         �Give her bottom a good licking,� a woman declared.  �She wants to 
be punished for giving herself away tonight.�
         Did I?  I wondered.  No, surely that was not it.  I�d been struck by the 
cat at Svetlana�s and that had been no pleasure, except perhaps 
afterwards, when it left my bottom strangely glowing.  I struggled again 
to get up.  The manacles that held me were old, rusty.  I was young.  
Perhaps I could break them.
         A sudden touch upon my bottom.  Fierce, hot.  It splatted across both 
my cheeks and impressed itself into them.  A moment later it was gone.  
The sound of its cracking rang in my ears.
         �Eeeeeeyaaah!� I cried.  The whip!  It had struck me at last!  I felt my 
bottom cringe, release, cringe again.  I jammed my cheeks together.  I felt 
them open.  Air touched my bottom now, nothing more, yet my cheeks were 
raging.  Oh, how they hurt.  A bright red line, I knew, now spoiled the lily-
skinned purity of my ass.  
         Laughter.  More groans as yet more men spent into their wives hands 
and mouths, or hung uncertainly at the brink, striving, fighting, to hold 
themselves back under the assault of my sufferings, my screams.  Did they 
find this sexy, seeing me splayed like this over the block?  Wicked men!  
Yet I could only cry, spill my tears upon the floor.  It was damp, wet from 
the tears of the girls who had preceeded me.
         �See how she works her cheeks.  So round, so pretty.  They should 
make this an event at the Olympics!� a woman remarked.  She sounded old, 
mature.  Decadant, like the minister.  I rebelled against my bonds and tried 
again to free myself.  It was no use.  The iron held me fast.  I gasped, 
sagged.  My bosoms swayed ripely underneath me.  I was defeated.  I could 
only wait for the next stroke of the whip.
         SKEEEEERCK!  Ah!  It caught me anew.  Wickedly it struck on my 
bottom�s underside.  I felt the blaze of it across the base of my cheeks.  It 
lifted me up, momentarily, then leapt away, leaving a streak of redness 
and pain in its wake.
         �Yeeeeooouuuuch!� I cried.  My bottom shivered.  My cheeks tightened, 
squeezing hard, then opened with complete surrender, only to bunch up 
again with utter fright, and then to open still again.  I squeezed them 
repeatedly, trying to throw off the pain.  It was no use.  I wept, coughed, 
let out a smaller scream.  My breasts danced underneath me, swaying like 
gourds, like coconuts on a palm beset by a storm. 
         �How sweetly she struggles,� a woman remarked.  I heard a loud 
shout as a male, apparently, shot his seed into his lover�s mouth.
         �I would give her first place if she were in the Olympics,� another 
woman said.
         �I�d pin the ribbon right on her ass,� a man said.
         �You may pin yourself right up her cunt, perhaps, if her boyfriend 
lets you,� a woman said.  �Or, better yet perhaps, right in her ass, if that 
what suits you.�  There was more laughter.
         CRRRAKK-AKK!  A double blow!  Twice the whip scourged me, hitting 
first one of my cheeks, directly, then leaping to the other.  I ground my 
tummy into the cushion upon the block.  My hips rose, fell, rose again.  I 
screamed, loudly, lifting my head, my eyes gaping.  My nostrils snorted 
like a woman�s, in the deepest pangs of birth.  My legs froze rigid, then 
bent a little, at the knees.  Twin sparks of pain radiated hotly outward 
from where the whip had struck my cheeks.  Like fire racing across an oil 
spill, the pain seemed to envelop my whole bottom.  I screamed more 
loudly.
         SCRAAAAAK!  Again the whip coursed across my seat.  My scream 
intensified.  They had not let me wait!  They were beating me!  I was being 
flayed alive!
         WHAAAAAACK!  Oh, God!  I couldn�t believe it!  The bullwhip tore a 
new scream from my lungs as it bit yet again into my tender ass.  I 
wriggled my bottom.  I bucked my hips.  I ground my tummy into the 
cushion underneath me and squeezed my bottom�s cheeks as tightly as I 
could.  They opened just as quickly, then tensed again.  My bottom was on 
fire!  I balled it tightly, felt it spring open again, huddled my cheeks once 
more.  I pushed it out into the air.  Oh, please, let it cool somehow.  It 
must cool!
         WHIIIIIIACKCK!  The whip glided in, masterfully, and struck my 
cheeks anew.  I shuddered under the blow.  I screamed.  I wished the 
minister would return.  I would not try to bite him, this time.  I�d use his 
cock to gag myself and die, so as not to have to suffer from the whip.
         SCRAAAAK!  It struck again.  I was being given more strokes than the 
other girls, though I was younger.  My mind was in torment.  My ass cheeks 
were tumultuous.  I screamed perpetually now.  I cried.  I was being lost, 
ruined.  I could not save myself and no one else wished to.  I heard, 
somewhere beyond my screams, more gasps of male pleasure as men used 
my plight to sperm their lovers mouths.
         A finger pressed insistent at my bottom.  It was slim, finely nailed.  
A woman�s finger.  No!  It felt slick, oily.  It had been dipped in oil to 
prepare me.  It prodded between my cheeks.  It dug in my anus.  I tried to 
clamp my cheeks, to push it out.  Flames seared my bottom with every 
movement of my seat.
         �Ahck!� I yelped, half gagging on my tears.  My hair matted itself 
across my face where my locks, wettened by my tears, had found 
themselves stuck, much as I was being stuck by the finger.
         �She needs someone slim.  I am too big for her,� I heard a familiar 
voice say.  Dave!  No!  Dave was asking... was asking for a male with a 
slimmer penis than his own to plow my bottom!  
         �Yes, he looks good,� I heard a female say.  Katrina!  I heard people 
behind me.  Someone, I sensed, was being examined.  �The discharge looks 
clean,� Katrina reported to Dave.
         �You�d better not give my girl any diseases,� I heard Dave say to 
someone.  I twisted my head.  Somehow I managed to look back over my 
shoulder.  There was a man.  He was slim, athletic.  He was presenting 
himself to Katrina and she was kneeling in front of him, inspecting his 
cock.  She kissed it.  I sobbed.  My bottom hurt so badly!  I could not bear to 
have a male stick his awful thing up it!
         �He is too young to have any diseases,� I heard a woman laugh.
         �Have him use a condom, if you�re so worried about it,� I heard a 
man, bitter that he�d not been chosen, grouse.
         �No, I want her to feel him as he really is,� Dave answered.  �She 
must get used to the feel of cock.  She is still too anxious.�
         �I could break her in,� I heard the minister say.  
         �Perhaps,� Dave answered.  I felt a shock of fright run down my 
spine.  Perhaps?!  Perhaps?!  Did Dave intend...  No!  Oh, I should have gone 
with Steven, to Rome!  He was my favorite.  Why had I held back, balked?  
Now I would pay for it, awfully.
         �Mount her,� Dave ordered.  I felt hands touch the backs of my legs.  
Was it him?  I tried to twist my head around again.  I was too weak.  I was 
scared.  I dropped my head and sobbed new tears upon the floor.
         The hands had callouses on them.  They slid up the backs of my legs 
to my flaming ass.  �Ack!� I cried, as they touched it.  Oblivious to my 
pain, they gripped my aching, whip-marked cheeks.  �Yeeeeek!� I screamed 
at the male touch.  Such hard, calloused hands, and they paid no attention 
to my bottom�s state.  With relish the male rubbed my ass.  He seemed to 
savor my condition, my soreness, how his hands alone could pain me, his 
touch as harsh, upon my wounded flesh, as the whip had been, when first it 
coursed across the softness of my pretty, rounded ass.
         He quartered my cheeks.  With his thumbs he pulled them open, 
peered with lust between, at the dimple of my anus.  I felt the heat of his 
member.  It was close, hovering just above my seat.  He had no place to put 
it and, bending slightly, he brought it into contact with my ass.  It bounced 
once against my right cheek.  He moved just a little and it settled hotly 
between my bottom�s halves.  I stirred on the cushion.  I did not want him 
and yet, somehow, it thrilled me to have a penis caught between my 
bottom�s cheeks.  Precociously I pushed out my bottom, caught him more.  
He was deeply impressed in my ass�s furrow now.  I could feel his 
throbbing.  I squeezed my cheeks together.  I would milk him there, deflate 
him.  He would spend up across my back and leave my anus pure, 
unviolated.
         �No,� he murmured.  �I must get myself in you.�  I felt him rise.  His 
cock swept upward from where I�d tried to trap it.  Then it pushed down 
again, this time the head alone.  It was big, bulbous.  It made a target of 
my ass and pressed hard, arrow-like, against the bullseye of my anus.  
�Don�t squeeze your cheeks,� he told me.  His thumbs gripped me harder.  
He yanked my cheeks ruthlessly apart.  �Don�t squeeze yourself.  I have to 
get myself inside you.�  
         �No!  Not there!� I yelped.  I wished to have him in my cunt.
         �I cannot deflower you.  That is for your master to have,� the young 
man at my backside replied.  His voice was deep.  It sounded a little 
ragged, half overcome with lust.  �I can only help your master,� he 
explained.  �Your backside must be prepared for him.  He is too big for 
you.�
         With that he stabbed hard against my rose.  I screamed.  Katrina, 
appearing suddenly before me, placed a soft hand across my mouth.
         �No!� I blurted into her palm.  She caressed my head.  She pulled at 
the curls of my coiffure that had become stuck against my tear-stained 
face.  
         �There, there,� Katrina murmured.  She patted my head.  �It must be 
done.  I was deflowered not so long ago.  You must be too, if we are truly 
to have fun together here in Venice.�
         The man at my rear pushed again at my hole, between my cheeks.  I 
felt a giving.  A receiving.  His head jammed itself into my hole.  His pee 
hole, I realized, gasping as his head split into my cheeks, was now within 
me.  I stammered �no�s into Katrina�s hand.  They went unheard.  Small 
puffs of breath, the sound of my refusal muffled.
         �I�m going to take you gently at first, and then, when I�m fully in, 
I�m going to fuck you,� the man in my behind told me.  �It will be rough at 
the end.  But I�ll try not to tear you up inside.  But you must be made to 
take it.  There is no other way.�
         �See?  He is an expert,� Katrina told me.  She patted my head.  �Then 
we�ll have fun back at the hotel.�
         �Unh!  Unh!  Unh!� I gasped.  I felt the man�s penis intruding into me.  
I flexed my ass.  I tried to squeeze him out.  He slapped my behind in 
response.  I shrieked.  The slap was light but, upon my whip-marred 
bottom, it sent flashes of pain coursing all across my ass.
         Deeper he penetrated.  I sobbed.  I could not keep him out!  He was 
wet with oil.  Someone had lubricated him.  Hard as I squeezed, he intruded 
deeper.  
         �Put more on,� I heard him say.  I felt a squirt upon my bottom.  No!  I 
realized then he was being oiled as he fucked me.  I twisted my head back.  
I caught a glimpse of a woman�s body.  She was oiling him!  Katrina gripped 
my face and made me turn my head to her again.  
         �Lift my skirts,� Katrina called to a man.  She chose one at random, 
apparently.  He came at once.  Her skirts were drawn up as the boy at my 
backside continued to drive himself into my ass.
         Katrina pressed her hips forward.  Her legs were bare now, her 
skirts lifted up to her belly.  I was forced to kiss her panties.  I smelled 
the sweetness of her cunt.  The man behind Katrina slipped the ties of her 
black undies.  They were small, they fell with a quiet flutter to her feet.  
Her nest showed.  Katrina urged her hips forward again and pushed my nose 
into her curls.
         �Lick.  Lick my pubis,� Katrina told me.  �Concentrate on finding my 
spot.  Do not worry about the man in your behind.  Forget him.  Concentrate 
on me.  Find my spot and give me pleasure.  Do it now, girl!� she added, 
throatily.  I heard her yelp.  The man who�d helped her lift her skirts was 
now poking at her bottom.  
         �You both need it,� the man husked to Katrina.
         �No!� Katrina shouted.  �Dave!�  
         �Eeeeyack!� I screamed.  I was penetrated with a lunging thrust.  It 
speared me to my core.  I worked my hips, pushed them back.  The man at 
my rear was too deep, too deep!  He was forcing himself deeper than I 
imagined anyone could go!  We were both in peril now, Katrina and I, both 
of us with our bottoms at pillage.  I ground my mouth against her mound.  I 
smelled her, I licked at the honeyed sweetness of her cunt.  
         �Oooohhhh!� Katrina gasped.  Had I found her spot?  I did not want to.  
I bucked my hips, trying to rid myself of the man in my ass.  Katrina 
sighed again.  In revenge for what she�d done to me I stuck my tongue into 
her cunt.  �Oooooh!� Katrina murmured.  I did not want to please her.  I 
wanted to fuck her, to make her know what I was suffering.  My head 
lurched forward.  My ribs strained.  The nipples on the tips of my breasts 
stood out in all their tiny glory.  
         �Ahckck!� I gasped.  The man in my derriere made himself go deeper 
still.  �Noooo!� I sighed.  But my tongue was up Katrina�s twat and it only 
served to tickle her.  The man in my bottom ignored me.
         Then the fucking began.  Dave proved no help to Katrina.  Perhaps her 
bottom needed to be opened too.  Perhaps he�d tried her, when they played 
together in their room, and found himself too big for her.  We both needed 
experience, I realized, though I did not want it.  If Dave, with his big cock, 
was to enjoy us, he needed lesser men to open us for him.
         My head swooned.  I gave a screamy moan.  Katrina clenched her 
thighs.  My tongue was trapped up her slit.  I could not remove it.  The man 
behind Katrina had her asscheeks yanked apart and he was hammering her 
behind.  In and out I could feel him move, each stroke more rapid and 
complete than the one before it.  Her bottom ground against him.  She tried 
to get away but couldn�t.  She cried out for mercy.  He fucked her harder.
         I was a hole, nothing more.  The man at my ass used me, plunging 
deep, drawing back, then gouging his way in again.  I felt the air ripped 
from my lungs.  I tried to scream, Katrina held my tongue.  
         �We must thrust in unison,� I heard the man behind Katrina call to 
the man in my own ass.
         �Yes,� the man up my ass replied.  �Let�s see if we can�t.  Pull back.  
Are you back?�
         �Yessss!� came from the man who�d suggested they rape us together.  
         �Okay, now in,� the experienced boy in my bottom called.  I gasped 
into Katrina�s nest as he forced his way into me.
         �Oohhhh!  GOD!� Katrina cried.  It was a double salute, a double 
penetration.  There was no stopping the men now.  They were in unison.  
They paced themselves.  Each man�s thrust complimented the other�s.  I 
was forced forward at the same moment as Katrina.  My tongue slid deeper 
up her twat as we bunched together.  Each of us, she and I, put pressure on 
the other, letting the men leverage themselves into our heinies.  We were 
captive.  We could only scream.  (She better than I, with my trapped 
toungue!)  We could not resist.  We were helpless.  We waited for the 
throbbing members to release their seed.  We prayed for it, clenching 
ourselves.  It was the only way to set ourselves free.
         
         Standing unsteadily, I leaned forward.  I was free again.  Nude but 
free.  I kissed Annabelle.  She was being undressed for the block.  The 
executioner would whip her next.
         �Goodbye,� I breathed.  My teary cheeks wet her own.  
         �Goodbye,� Annabelle replied.  Her voice was all nervous, trembly.  
She didn�t wish to be whipped.  I felt semen trickling out my bottomhole 
and tried to clench my cheeks to stop it.  �Goodbye,� I said again, stupidly.  
My head felt dazed.  Somewhere Katrina, herself barely able to stand, was 
getting my clothes collected.  I couldn�t leave nude.  I had to be dressed 
again, before we went upstairs.
         �Ooooh, I don�t want to,� Annabelle breathed nervously to me.
         �I know,� I answered.  I had not wanted to either.  But now I had 
received, both the whip and the young gentleman�s cock.  He had left my 
bottom raw inside, yet fingered me at last, upon my clit, giving me my 
sinful, hoped-for pleasure.  I was wobbly kneed, satisfied despite the 
soreness of my bottom.  �Mmmmm,� I said, pressing my lips to 
Annabelle�s.  �It will not hurt too badly,� I lied.  I pressed my palm to her 
tummy.  It was bare, warm.  It drew in at my touch.
         �Don�t,� Annabelle answered.  I think she feared I would pass my 
hand down to her muffin.
         �Goodbye,� I breathed again.  Then I toppled over, unable to stand, 
but Dave, holding me lightly by my shoulders, swung his arm down and 
caught me across my belly with his arm.            

30

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