---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Five
The city was wet. It had rained outside, during the night. There
were puddles in the street and rain dripped from the pavilion roof that
overhung the driveway in front of the hotel�s steps.
Dave held my hand lightly as I stepped up into the waiting taxi. Then
he gave my bottom a push. I gave a shout. The cab driver looked back. I
clutched my fur coat to me and sat down, careful to tuck my fur under my
naked bottom lest it come into contact with the cab�s well-worn back
seat. The cushion of the seat was lumpy under my bottom.
Katrina got in next, then Dave. He told the cab driver where to go, in
Italian. I couldn�t understand it, but knew what he meant. The driver
nodded. He looked at me, at Katrina. Then, letting out a low whistle, he
turned his head. He turned up the radio of his cab and the car lurched
forward.
We drove along rain-wettened streets. I felt sullen. I fogged the
window beside my face and drew a heart in the moisture left by my breath.
Then I speared the heart with a finger-drawn arrow. I felt like that heart,
well-speared. I shifted my bottom uncomfortably beneath me. I had beads
in my bottom. They�d been inserted by Joan, one by one, each connected to
the other by a long string. There was some space between them on the
string, but, inserted, they jammed up against each other inside me. Then
the natural movements of my rectum, most disagreeably, caused them to
gradually part, and work their way deeper into me, even as I wished
someone would pull them out.
There was a string sticking out of my bottom, with a ring attached.
I was sitting on the ring. But I dare not draw the beads out myself. Dave
told me very explicitly I must keep them up me, to train my ass to better
take his cock. And, worst of all, I had not been given small beads, the size
of marbles, as I�d seen other women receive. Mine were the size of cherry
tomatoes. They were big to help me learn to accept big cocks.
Katrina had escaped without any beads. She sat drowsily beside me
now, half-drunk from too many champagne enemas. But other women,
before leaving the party, had been beaded, just like me, though many with
smaller, token beads, not training beads as I was being forced to wear.
I shivered. I did not like Venice anymore. It was too exacting. I
wanted to go home and be me again. I wanted to climb trees and declare
that I�d poop on boys if they tried climbing up into my treehouse, as I�d
done when I was small. We�d argued about the size my turds would be and
my mom, hearing, had made me come inside and stand in the corner.
�Mmmm! Buy me that!� I insisted, suddenly, pointing with my finger
through the window. My finger touched the center of the heart I�d drawn
there.
�What?� Dave asked.
�Hello Kitty�s Adventure!� I said. My breath made new fog on the
window, fogging over parts of my heart. I pointed at a streetside store. It
was called �Video Value� and it had the new Hello Kitty video game
prominently displayed in its window.
�Ye Gods, you don�t even have anything to play it on,� Dave groused,
seeing what I was pointing at.
�Then buy me a Nintendo too, so I do,� I told him matter-of-factly.
�Pull over,� Dave told the cab driver. �I swear. I go out for a nice
long of drinking and womanizing and I wind up having to fetch my two
daughters from a party in some hotel!�
�They-- are your daughters?� the cab driver asked.
�Of course! And they should be home in bed, asleep with their teddy
bears, not out carousing with their friends!� Dave answered. �Not that I�m
too young to carouse, myself,� he added, winking at the cab driver.
�Oh! Yes! The women of Venice are the best!� the cab driver agreed.
He nodded vigorously.
It was left unexplained, however, why Dave would buy a Nintendo and
a Hello Kitty game for his naughty daughter when he�d just had to fetch
her from a suite party, however. Dave came trundling out of �Value Video�
a few minutes later, lugging a big Nintendo under his arm, as well as my
video. The cab driver pressed a button in his cab. The back of his trunk
flipped open. Dave put my game in there, along with my video.
�Just so I get to decide what you�ll wear when you�re wearing it,�
Dave admonished me, getting back into the cab. Katrina, sitting groggily
upright, slumped against him.
�Yes Daddy,� I replied. Then I giggled. Just so HE�D get to decide
what I wore when I played it? What did he mean by that? I knew he
wouldn�t be looking for me to dress modestly, would he? Did he really
want me to start playing his daughter?
�Yes, controlling what they wear is the first element in proper
discipline,� the cab driver said to Dave. He looked back at him in the rear
view mirror, as the cab pulled away from the curb. Dave nodded in
agreement.
I found myself standing in the hallway of our hotel clad in nothing
but a tiny white t-shirt. It was made for a much smaller girl, and its
sleeves, barely managing to stretch themselves off my shoulders, clasped
at the very tops of my upper arms. The edge of each sleevelet was
embroidered with a chain of small daisies. There was another chain of
them around the shirt�s neck. I�d had to stretch it and the sleeveholes
quite a bit, with my hands, before I could pull the shirt on. There was a
smiling teddy bear�s face on the front of the shirt. My breasts, lifting the
fabric of the shirt so that the undersides of my bosoms showed, looked
ready to rend the bear�s face at any moment. My nipples poked stiffly
from the tips of my breasts, indenting the fabric in tiny twin points.
My belly was bare. My hips were bare. My muff showed. Dave had
wanted me to shave it, but Katrina wouldn�t let him. She told him it was
still coming in, I mustn�t shave it off so soon. I patted it with my fingers.
The hairs were small, blonde fleecy. I liked having them. I didn�t want
them shaved off.
The door to Dave�s bedroom opened. I looked up at him, my eyes
wide, startled. He�d opened his door abruptly, angrily. He was stripped
bare to the waist. He wore blue jeans but the belt was removed. He held
it dangling in his hand, strap-like.
�Come in, little girl,� Dave said. �What do you want?� I nosed my
way into his room. My legs were naked, my feet. My toes felt the carpet
under them as I padded across it.
�I want to play my Nintendo,� I told him softly. My hands fluttered
back to my behind as I passed him. I didn�t want him to whip me. I saw
my game, all set up, waiting for me atop a low coffee table. It buzzed
happily. Hello Kitty was running through a maze, being chased by big
doggies. They had long tongues and they left trails of slobber on the
grassy maze-floor behind them.
�Then sit down,� Dave said. �It�s all set up.� I saw a plate of
cookies lying on the floor. They were my favorite, Oreo cookies. He�d
already separated them so that I had only to pick them up to lick up their
creamy centers. There was a glass of milk beside the plate, sitting on the
floor. It was cold. It had sweat trickling down its sides, from the
coldness. �Wait,� Dave said. He followed me across the room. I stopped
in front of my game, next to my plate of cookies. I turned around. He
unzipped his jeans and shucked them down his legs. Then he pulled down
his underpants. But he didn�t let go of his belt as he did it.
Dave�s cock sprang up toward me, hard and ready. I watched it
quivering in the air. It was like a tuning fork. A tuning fork of love. I
wanted to touch it, but it frightened me. It was too big for me, I told
myself.
I wasn�t wearing the beads anymore. Dave had pulled them out of me
when we got back to the hotel, one by one. Katrina had to hold me. I didn�t
like having them put in, or taken out. Dave told me I was wilful.
It was hours later now, after dinner. We would spend the evening
indoors, just Dave and I, playing my Nintendo. I had worn what he told me
to. He was nude now. He flung his pants and his underpants across the
room. But he kept his belt. We were alone, he and I. Katrina had gone out
for the evening.
�I want you sitting in my lap while you play your game,� Dave told
me. �But first I want to warm up your bottom.� He swung his belt at me.
It caught my leg and I flinched. My hands flew up to my face.
�It still hurts from last night,� I said. I reached back behind myself.
Lightly, with just my fingertips, I touched my fanny.
�No it doesn�t,� Dave said. �It�s barely red. Look yourself, in my
mirror.�
With Dave�s permission I slipped past him. I kept my hands planted
on my ass as I went to his mirror. Then I turned, facing him, but into the
mirror, showing it my backside. I lifted my hands. I turned my neck,
craning, looked at my heinie. It was not anything like I�d imagined it.
There were still pink streaks, showing I�d gotten some kind of punishment,
but the redness I�d seen this morning, examining myself in my own mirror,
was gone.
�Dave, I don�t want to get spanked again,� I told him frankly. Dave
walked over to me. His tread was heavy upon the carpet. His belt swung
as he walked. He lifted a hand and grasped my chin and forced me to look
up into his face. His eyes were severe.
�There is much that you don�t want,� Dave said to me. �Nonetheless
you must learn.� I tried to look away. He jerked my chin, made me meet
his eyes again. �Tomorrow I�m sending you to a school for virgins,� he
said. I blinked, shocked. �That�s right. A school. Where you�ll be trained
in the ways of womenhood. Tonight, you can have your game. It�s what you
want, I know. You even want this shirt, don�t you?� He grasped it
contemptously with his fingers, the same fingers that gripped his belt. He
lifted it. He exposed my nipples. He let go of it and it sprang backward,
too short to cover my nipples without being pulled down, landing instead
on the upper shelf of my breasts. �Tonight you�ll have your game, just like
you want it, and your favorite cookies. And milk, as befits a little girl
like you. But tomorrow be ready for them to come and take you away.
Don�t protest. Don�t resist.� He saw my fear and grinned. �And don�t
worry. It will only be for a few days. A week, at most. But it�s
necessary, if you and I are to be proper lovers.�
I looked down. My eyes grazed his chest. �I don�t want to be your
lover,� I lisped, my lips distorted by his gripping hand on my chin.
�That�s what I mean,� Dave said. He did not require me to look up at
him again. �All these games. They amuse me, but I�m tiring of them.�
�What-- What will happen to me there?� I asked him through my
pursed lips. Boldly I looked up into his eyes.
�You will be made to accept,� Dave said. �Do you agree to go? I
cannot force you. But I�ll not whip you tonight, if you say �yes.�� I gazed
from his eyes to his belt. It dangled menacingly in his hand.
�Yes,� I said softly. He let go of my chin. He whacked his belt hard
against the floor. It made a CRACK!, despite the carpeting. I jumped. My
hands flew to my chin.
�Over to the game,� Dave told me. Quickly I walked past him. As I
walked I was conscious of his eyes, fastened on my nude bottom. I clapped
my hands to it.
We spent the night with me sitting in his lap, his boner under me, me
wiggling excitedly as I maneuvered Hello Kitty from the clutches of all
the dogs. My bottom was warm, despite not being spanked. I felt him
sweating under me. I drank my milk and ate my cookies, licking the cream
up first. I asked him if he wished to play Hello Kitty but he said no, he
was playing it enough as he was, feeling my warm derriere move upon him
each time I pushed on the game�s joystick.
Sometimes I had to move to his thigh, to prevent him from spending.
He made me sit splayed upon it, with my cunt pressed to it, my knees bent
and my legs folded back underneath me. I rubbed my slit on his leg, still
playing my game, friskily. Four times I left a wet spot of orgasmed dew
on his leg when he moved me back to his groin.
In the morning, before dawn, with me randy again and him desperate,
he took me to his bed. He laid me on it, stretching me out, like a sacrifice.
He put a cloth under my bottom, to catch the spendings of blood between
my legs. Then he took me, viciously, right where I�d always wanted it but
never gotten it.
The bald man down the hall reported my screams to the management.
I had only a little time to pack my things and make myself ready
before the woman from the school for virgins showed up. There was no
time for breakfast. I protested. It was too quick, I said. And I wasn�t a
virgin anymore. She dismissed my complaints. She was tall, well-
dressed, with a prominent bust. She had a rich tan that reminded me of
the tropics.
�We will be travelling by train,� she said. �You can eat on the train.
And sleep, also. The school is in the Alps. It is a fairly long journey.� Her
voice was thickly accented, German or Swedish, I couldn�t tell.
�But Dave--� I said.
�He is downstairs at breakfast,� the woman replied. �With your
friend.� She picked up my teddy bear. �Is this yours?� she asked.
�Yes!� I said. I snatched it from her.
�Come, you will see your friends in a few days,� the woman said.
�There is no need to say goodbye. They will be waiting for you when you
return.�
�But--� I said. She took my arm. I was wearing my favorite torn
blue jeans, a (much bigger) t-shirt, my sneakers.
�You dress poorly,� the woman said. �But it will be comfortable for
travelling, I suppose.� She hefted my bag. �I will carry it. Scoot! Out the
door with you! We will miss the train with all your delayings.�
I hurried from my room, my teddy bear clutched in my arms. �Why
take all my things if I�m coming back?� I asked. She was right at my
heels, driving me into the hall. She shut my door with a slam.
�The future is not certain,� she said. �It is best to prepare for
whatever transpires.�
I was about to ask her if that included never seeing Dave or Katrina
again, when the door to the bald man�s room opened.
�Young lady!� he said. His voice was like an announcer�s in the still,
musty air of the hall. I looked at him fearfully. He raised up his hand. I
wondered at it, then saw Piglet grinning atop his fist.
�Oh! My toothbrush!� I said. I scurried down the hall to him. I prised
Piglet up from his fist as his big, beady eyes watched me.
�I woke up an hour early this morning!� the man said sternly to me.
His breath was harsh upon my face as I rose on tiptoe, lifting Piglet out of
his fist.
�I�m sorry,� I said. Piglet popped out of his hand, at last.
�Are you leaving?� he inquired.
�I might be back,� I answered.
�I hope not,� he said. �And that boyfriend of yours should be
arrested!�
�He-- he works for the police department,� I stammered. I felt I
should make something up. Why, I don�t know. Dave deserved to get in
trouble for fucking me, and then sending me straightaway to a �school for
virgins.� I wasn�t even a virgin anymore!
�Poliza!!!� the bald man gasped. He threw up his hands. �In this
country, everything�s rotten. Bad food, bad water in the canal, bad old
hotels where nobody calls the police when some girl is getting her ass
laid by some guy twice her age! No wonder I hate this country!�
�Thanks for getting my Piglet toothbrush,� I said in a hushed voice.
I darted away from him.
�You should be learning your ABC�s, not getting porked!� the man said
angrily. He stepped into his room and shut his door behind him.
By evening our train was laboring its way up into the Alps. The
woman and I shared a private room on the train. She kept an eye on me
but, otherwise, did not keep me actually imprisoned in the room. I was
free to come and go as I pleased, with her permission. It felt strange,
being half-captive, half-free. I asked about the school but she only told
me that I should feel honored in going. Not all girls were admitted.
�Who, then?� I asked. I speared a smoked sausage and rolled it
across a pair of broken-open egg yolks on my plate. We were eating
breakfast, in the train�s dining car. Men, passing by or sitting at other
tables, sometimes eyed me with more than Platonic interest. I was not
wearing a bra. My tits wiggled freely beneath my t-shirt. It had a big
photo of a sullen, unshaven Kurt Cobain on the front of it. I guessed their
interest wasn�t in him.
�Only the prettiest girls,� the woman said. Her name was Matilda.
She pronounced it in such a way that it sounded, in her Swiss accent, much
prettier than it would sound in American.
�And how does this Headmaster, this man who runs the school (I did
not dare say its name in the dining car), how does he choose? He hasn�t
seen me, has he?�
�No, of course not,� Matilda said. She plucked a sausage from her
plate and inserted it between her lips with practised efficiency. She bit
off the end of it.
�Then how?� I asked.
�Dave has sent up other girls before you,� Matilda said. �They were
entirely satisfactory, in their face and figure. Of course the rest of them
needed instruction, which is why you�re going.�
�He�s sent--?!� I blurted. I cut off my sentence, lest the other
diners think me more than a schoolgirl travelling with her mother. Yet I
felt insulted. I wasn�t the first Dave had �sent up�?
�Darling,� Matilda said. She bit off another piece of her sausage.
�You are not the only person Dave has met in his life.�
�Of course, I know that,� I said. He was with Katrina right now! Yet,
still, how silly it was for me to feel special, when in fact he�d sent
perhaps legions of girls to the school.
�Dave is popular, as you will be,� Matilda said. She finished her
sausage.
�I�m already popular, back home,� I said to the woman. She glanced
over her shoulder. A man at a table nearby was showing an unusual
interest in our conversation.
�We will speak of it more back in the room,� Matilda told me. Then,
more loudly, she added, �You are learning your lines well, dearest. You�ll
be the smash of your school play!�
I nearly giggled out what little I�d eaten of my sausage. It was
intended for the over-curious man, that last line, I knew. It was fun,
being mysterious, pretending, like Mr. Rogers does. But I still wondered
what would happen when we arrived at the school. It was, after all, a
school for virgins. That wasn�t the most politically correct way to
categorize girls, virgin and non-virgin. Nor was it the best assurance that
I would just, as the man back at the hotel had suggested, be learning my
ABC�s.
The peaks of the Alps were tall, and capped with white. They
reminded me of Dave�s penis, sliding out of me what seemed so many days
ago now, though it was just a matter of hours. Slathered with sperm,
more bubbling up from its tip as he withdrew. That�s how the Alps looked.
Fertile, in a male way, despite their barrenness.
We disembarked from the train into a heated station. The woman had
me cross it briskly with her. At its other end we stepped out into a
glassed-off drive. It was open at both ends, but heat rushed down from its
ceiling, keeping us warm. When no cars were approaching the ends of the
drive were sealed by moving glass doors, to keep the cold out.
A limo was waiting. A driver let us into its back. I found myself
alone. Then the woman slipped in next to me, without my bag. I heard the
trunk of the limo open, close. The driver stepped round the car and got
into the front. We drove off. The end of the glassed-off drive slid open to
disgorge us. We passed out into a snow-laden street. The glass drive
closed behind us. I gaped at the mountains. I had never seen the Alps
before. I clutched at myself with my arms but it was unneeded. It was
warm in the limo.
�Take off your shirt,� Matilda told me.
�Huh?� I blinked at her.
�Your shirt. Take it off,� Matilda told me again. I drew my arms
closer around myself. My bosoms, braless, bulged within my tightly-
constraining arms.
�But it�s cold outside!� I protested.
�You are not outside, you�re in the limo,� Matilda said. �You wished
to be immodest on the train, not wearing your bra. Do you think you can
now play coy and modest?�
�But--� I said. Matilda opened her purse. She drew from it a short
whip. It had many thongs. �I can undress you myself,� Matilda told me.
�But I�ll seek payment for it, from your flesh.�
�Oh!� I exclaimed. I had no doubt she could. She was a tall, big-
bosomed Swedish woman. I was much littler, just 14, and petite, not
possessed with her genes. I unclasped myself. I took the end of my shirt
in my fingers. I drew it up, glancing down at good ol� Kurt Cobain as I did
so. �Incesticide,� that�s what he would have said. Kurt would have saved
me. But he blew his mind out instead, and would never see the lights of
our limo passing down the road now, in the gathering dusk.
I pulled up my shirt. It cleared my bosoms. They wiggled freely. I
felt my nipples harden as I lifted my shirt up over my head, blocking,
momentarily, my view of all the world. Then my shirt was off. Matilda
took it, folded it neatly, and put it in her purse.
�Now your jeans,� she said.
�My--� I stammered. Then I said nothing, for I�d let myself in for
this, hadn�t I? Surely I knew a school for virgins wouldn�t be like a
regular school. A real school. I wasn�t a virgin anymore, anyway.
I unbuttoned my jeans and eased them down my hips. I drew them
off my legs, over my shoes. Matilda took them from me. I was left
wearing just my sneakers, pink socks that just covered my ankles, and
white panties.
�Roll down your window,� Matilda ordered.
�What?! The cold air will come in!� I said.
�Only for a moment,� Matilda told me. I frowned. I reached over to
the limo�s door. I looked, pressed a button. A window slid down.
Somewhere up front I imagine the driver saw it on his dashboard.
�Everything alright?� the driver asked in an Italian-accented voice
over an intercom.
�Fine, Ben. Fine,� Matilda said. She leaned close to me, then pitched
my pants out my window. �Roll it up,� she told me.
�My pants!� I shrieked. �You just threw away my pants!�
�You will not need them at the school,� Matilda replied. �Now your
panties. I will save them for you.�
I felt a tear in my eye. �I don�t want to take them off,� I said,
fingering the waistband of my panties. Matilda lifted the many-thonged
crop that she�d laid lightly in her lap.
�Off, or your punishment will begin even before you arrive,� Matilda
warned me, wiggling the whip slightly in her fingers to cause the ends of
the thongs to dance.
�I�m to be punished?!� I gasped.
�You�ll be kept in a punishment cell, what do you think?� Matilda
asked. She gave the whip another wiggle, causing its tips to swing about
with greater latitude.
�But-- but I thought it was a SCHOOL!� I said matter-of-factly.
�All manner of lessons must be learned,� Matilda said. �You are
being changed from girlhood to womanhood. It is a complicated process.
Some girls are wilful, some not. Perhaps you will be more cooperative
than most,� she said. �Now do not speak again until you have your panties
off.�
With extreme reluctance, I slipped my panties down off my bottom.
I felt my cheeks connect with the bench seat of the limo, gasped at little
at the touch of the leather, then slid my undies down my long thighs. Over
my knees, down my calves they went, like a fragile, departing white dove.
I bent and yanked them over my sneakers. I wondered if those had to go
next.
�You may keep the shoes on, for now,� Matilda said, anticipating my
thoughts. �We will be stepping briefly through snow and I don�t want you
to freeze your toes.�
�Snow?� I asked. She lifted a hand, made me give her my panties.
She opened her purse, deposited them, rather diffidently, I thought, as if
she�d rather not had to put my panties in with her things, and then snapped
her purse shut.
�You will not have time to feel the coldness upon your skin, except
briefly,� Matilda said. �But I don�t want your feet getting wet in it.� She
lifted her fingers to my hair, fluffed it. It was long, blonde, like hers.
She seemed pleased that I�d spent a long time this morning washing it and
combing it out, on the train, making it as pretty as possible. She opened
her purse, took out two barrettes. �Here, pin up your hair,� she said.
�Otherwise it may fall and cover you.�
I reached for the barrettes. �You want me utterly naked,� I said. I
noticed my fingers were shivering, though it was warm in the limo�s
heated interior.
�Yes, utterly naked, except for your shoes,� Matilda replied.
�The school� didn�t look like anything in America. It was built
entirely of stone. Though no bigger than a modern house, it had the look of
a castle. There was a low, broken wall around it. Matilda explained,
conversationally, that the wall had been higher once, but had fallen apart
with age. The limo nosed between two gates that opened to receive our
car as it approached. Inside, within the low, broken down wall, were the
castle grounds. Small in area, like the castle was small in height and
width, compared to other castles. The limo glided across the grounds,
spirit-like, in the hushed Alpine night, guided by lights on the castle.
Otherwise, in the darkness, it would have been entirely hidden from view
from the road. We were in a remote place. The last house I�d seen had
been 20 minutes ago, further up the road, when the road was two lanes,
instead of just one. The instant the limo parked by the castle door all its
lights winked out. We�d found it. No others were invited, I guessed.
The driver opened the side door of the limo, where I sat. He extended
his hand. I took it, my own shaking, and stepped in my sneakers out into a
sprinkling of snow. I saw I was on a walk, freshly swept. The front door
to the castle, large and made of wood, was only a few feet away. There
was a knocker on it, carved in stone. It was in the shape of a lion�s head.
I moved across the darkened walk, briskly, my way lit by the illumination
from the open limo behind me. Momentarily all went almost black, as
Matilda blocked the light to get out. Then the light brimmed out again,
softly, bathing the snow, the front door, just reaching to the height of the
knocker.
The driver left the door open so I could see.
�Knock. Knock on it,� Matilda, coming up behind me, told me. I stood
shivering in the night air, stark naked, except for my shoes. �Knock on it
so you don�t catch cold,� Matilda said to me brusquely once she�d arrived
behind me. I felt the warmth of her large body in the gloom. I hesitated. I
didn�t want to go inside! Then I felt, very softly, a caressing of thong tips
sweep across the upper shelf of my bottom.
KNOCK! I lifted the knocker once, let go, more frightened of it than
before I�d touched it. Yet it fell, with a loud, clamourous announcement of
my arrival. Once, but I sensed that was enough. The driver shut the door
of the limo. Matilda and I were plunged into darkness. I heard crunching in
the snow behind me. I clasped myself, hard, both in fear and against the
cold. Then I realized it was the driver, returning by instinct to the front
of the car.
�Yes?� a gruff voice announced. I found myself with the front door
to the castle flung open. A dwarf stared up at me. His eyes, finding no
answer, chose to slide down my figure and light upon my belly and bush. I
drew in my tummy, instinctively. I clapped my hands over my muff.
�I�m-- I�m here for the school,� I said, stammering.
�Ah, yes,� the dwarf answered, his eyes widening and rising, a bit
too slowly for my taste, back up my belly, over my breasts, to my face. �I
should�ve guessed. You�re wearing the proper uniform.�
My stomach sank. �Are you the headmaster?� I said, feeling utterly
ridiculous, and about to be made more so.
�Me?!� the dwarf laughed. He laughed like that little weird boy in
the Faithless video. Perhaps he couldn�t get any sleep either, just like the
boy. �Me?! No, I�m the help,� the dwarf said. �You�ll meet the headmaster
soon enough.� He turned. As he waddled away from me, beckoning me in
with a finger, he added, almost in a mutter to himself, �And wish you
hadn�t.� Then he laughed again, a raw, hard, raucous laugh that sent
shivers down my spine, right to my naked wiggling ass.
We passed through a lavish home. I saw a big sofa with cushions
piled upon it, in front of a hearth. A fire was crackling in the fireplace
and there was a pair of loveseats flanking the sofa. I thought perhaps I
might have a moment to rest myself in one of the chairs. But the dwarf
beckoned me on, Matilda following. As I passed the coffeetable in front of
the sofa I saw a hot pot of coffee steaming there, a fresh plate of
croissants, and a mound of ripe fruit. But, also upon the table, there was a
black riding crop.
�This way,� the dwarf told me. We passed from the living room out
into a hall. It was slightly drafty in the hall. We came to a large wooden
door. The dwarf had a ring of keys around his belt and he unfastened the
ring, lifted it, standing on tip toe, and inserted a key into the door. He
turned it. There was a creaking sound, quite spooky, and the door swung
back. I saw a flight of stairs beyond. They led down. �You�ll be staying
�downstairs,� as they like to call it,� the dwarf said to me. I felt Matilda
at my rear and hurried forward. I did not want her whipping me. The
dwarf led the way, flicking on a light as we went.
Steps groaned underfoot. They were old. They were made of wood. I
worried they might break, hoped a little they would, when Matilda,
following me, stepped on them. But there was no such luck, for either she
or I, and we descended, down the half-illuminated steps, into a glowing
chamber.
Like the castle, it was made entirely of stone. Stone walls, stone
floor. Much of it remained in darkness, for the light the dwarf had flicked
on at the top of the stairs only lit two lamps, one at the top of the stairs
and one at the bottom. The dwarf led me along a wall that ran behind the
stairs. It formed the back end of the chamber, the rest stretching out into
the darkness. He had to feel his way along the wall as we moved, for the
light grew dimmer as we left the base of the stairs. I felt my way too,
most tentatively, for the wall felt cold and a little slimy to my touch.
Matilda followed, her own fingers moving like a blind person�s along the
wall.
�Ah, here it is,� the dwarf said. He paused in front of another
wooden door. He was still holding his key ring, and he lifted it up, having
to stand on tip toe again, and inserted a key in the door. He seemed to
know his keys by touch. He did not have to look at them to find the right
one.
An ominous creak greeted my ears. I sensed the door was moving
inward. Then the dwarf reached back, and he found one of my hands in the
darkness. I tried yanking it back, but he�d caught it so suddenly, and held
it so firmly, that I could not. He drew me forward. He pulled me around
what I sensed was a corner. Suddenly I felt myself flung forward.
�Oh!� I cried. I stumbled, my feet lost in the darkness beneath me.
My arms flew out. The dwarf held me no more. I fell to my knees. They
connected with a softness and I found I�d been pushed onto something,
tripping over it, actually, as the dwarf threw me into the room. I ran my
fingers along it. It felt like a mattress.
The door slammed shut behind me. I heard a harsh laugh distantly,
through the wooden door.
I was completely alone in a pitch-black nightmare world. I sank
down on the mattress. It felt soft under me. I was grateful for it. I�d
have hit the floor otherwise. I smelled the sheet on the mattress and
found it was scented. It smelled like rose blossoms. Gradually my
confidence returned. Someone was taking a little care for my fortune. I
ran my fingers out to the end of the mattress, where I�d tripped. I reached
beyond it. I touched wood. The door! I pressed upon it. It remained
closed.
Time passed. I do not know how long. I sat lost in the darkness, on
my mattress. I did not wish to explore further with my fingers. The wall
I�d touched outside had been slimy. I had no idea what I�d find if I started
poking around in here, wherever �here� was. I would wait, at least for a
time.
I hummed my cock song again.
�Cock, cock, cock, are you in the dock... again?
�Did you pop a girl who was too young?
�And now you�ve got to pretend?
�That by her your balls were not rung?�
I�d surely put whoever was behind this �school� in the dock, that was
for sure, scented mattress or no. I felt an improvement in my confidence.
Yes, I would be Sherlock Holmes. I might suffer a little, myself, but then
I�d put an end to this wicked school, and to the evil men and women who
induced girls like me to cum here.
Ahhh, no! I scolded myself. �Come,� not �cum.� What was happening
to me? Why did I fixate so much on fucking lately? Was I a bad girl? I
should think only of getting home, yes! Of going back to my mom and dad
and of having my dad chaperone me again, wherever I went, personally,
like he still liked to do so much, interfering even with my few dates. And
I�d be under my mom�s supervision too, of course. �Clean your room,
Cindy,� I could hear her saying, even now. �I don�t know how many times I
have told you that, girl. Is your homework done? And take down that
awful poster of Nirvana! Three MEN with terrible haircuts and no shave.
That�s not a proper inspiration for a budding feminist!�
Femme fatale was more like it now, I feared. I wasn�t Paula Zahn, or
even Paula Jones. I was Pauline, and in peril.
No! I told myself. I was Sherlock Holmes, and I�d get to the bottom
of this school and expose it.
The door opened. A guttering lamp lit up my eyes. I saw a large
blonde figure beyond, holding it, and for a moment my heart froze in my
throat. The ogre! No! It couldn�t be, how could he?! Then I saw the figure
was much handsomer than he, and slimmer, though with his same broad
shoulders. He wore a cloak and breeches, with boots, but no shirt. The
hairy expanse of his chest showed between the open halves of his cloak.
His face was unshaven, like Kurt Cobain�s, but his hair was longer, much
longer. It fell over his shoulders and ended somewhere down his back. He
had a cigar wedged between his teeth. I smelled it, didn�t like it much.
The man placed the lamp in a bracket in the wall inside the front
door. I could see where I was now. In a room, with my mattress
underfoot. The man kept me fixed in his gaze. He reached for me. I tried
to retreat. He caught me, by one arm. With his other hand he reached back
around behind my small waist and drew me forward. Then he found my
other wrist, and had me caught by both my arms.
�Turn around,� the man said. His voice was hard, unsympathetic. It
brooked no disobedience. I turned about, quickly. I was too afraid of him
to even think of disobeying. I felt my wrists pulled together, abruptly.
The movement pushed out my bare tits. I felt my nipples harden.
Metal cuffs came against my skin. I heard them snap together. I
wrenched my wrists away, instinctively. Too late! My wrists were bound.
I struggled, but couldn�t free them. The man laughed, grabbed my fastened
arms with one of his hands, and pushed me toward the back wall of my
cell.
He turned me again. Against the back wall he fastened me to an iron
ladder running up the side of the wall. It led nowhere, from what I could
tell. It was the room�s only acoutrement, save for the mattress. The
walls were bare. I pressed myself to the iron ladder. It was cold. I
looked up at the man. I felt my knees trembling.
�I am the Head Master,� the man told me. �There are other masters
besides myself, but I am the one you will primarily be dealing with.�
�The Head--?� I gulped. �I thought you were--� He ignored me.
�You will obey each and every one of my instructions exactly and
precisely, no matter how repellent. Do you understand?� he asked in a
large, bold voice.
I shrank against the ladder.
�DO YOU UNDERSTAND?� the Head Master yelled angrily. I shivered.
My knees trembled and I felt a sudden need to pee.
�I--� I stammered, but it was the only word I could get out.
�You are unresponsive,� the Head Master said gruffly. �Come, let�s
see what you�re made of.� He reached behind me. He unfastened me from
the ladder. He turned me about, quickly, and unlocked my handcuffs. I was
about to breathe a sigh of relief when he ordered me to take hold of the
ladder in front of me. I didn�t respond. He grabbed me, hoisted me up,
clutching me under the belly with one of his massive arms. Frantically I
reached for the ladder. I caught it. Just as quickly as he�d picked me up,
he dropped me. He reached around me and seized my wrists and buckled
them back into the handcuffs. Then he fastened them again to the ladder,
using a small small clip between the cuffs to hook me to one of the
ladder�s rungs.
I found myself with my back to him. It was an even scarier position
to be in than the previous one, me facing him, with him glowering down at
me. Now I could only see him by twisting back my head. I did, and saw
him open his cloak. There was a riding crop thrust through the belt of his
trousers.
�I�m going to flog your bare behind,� the Head Master told me,
matter-of-factly.
�No!� I shrieked. At last I found my voice. �No!�
The blonde man laughed. �You�re not in a position to give orders
around here,� he told me. He turned me, slightly, and then stepped so that
he was almost beside me. He placed a hand on my belly and lifted me, so
that my bottom was offered.
WHACK! The tip of the crop, which was wide and flat, came down
hard against my ass.
�Ooooh!� I screeched. His palm held my belly, keeping me suspended,
so that my feet dangled some inches above the mattress. I clenched my
cheeks. The sting of the crop burned where it had struck me. Yet my
bosoms, wobbling heavily underneath me, retained their hardened tips.
WHACK! Again the crop. Again just the flat tip, biting into my flesh,
making me gasp, cry out, blink my eyes. I realized, somewhere deep in my
psyche, that I was receiving a school girl whipping, just the tip being
used, in deference to my age, not the whole length of the crop, which
would have left welts across my bottom. Still, it hurt like the dickens,
and despite the imprisonment of my hands against the ladder I struggled
to free myself from him.
WHACK! Came the crop again. This time he let just a little of the
crop itself touch me, the stem biting with sharp alacrity into my skin. I
hollared out, sure I�d been given a welt now, if only a small one. A welt
that would remain with me for days, for my entire stay here perhaps, as a
sign of my disobedience to him and his punishment of me for it.
WHACK! Again the crop burned into me. I felt as if a wasp had bitten
my bottom, for he gave me just slightly more of the blade of the crop,
singeing the undersides of my cheeks, lifting my struggling bottom up
momentarily as he swung it up underneath me.
�Hoooooo!� I bleated. �That�s enough!�
�You have a most delectable ass,� he answered, insulting me with
his crudeness. He held me aloft, watching me struggle. I could not escape
his uplifted palm, try as I might. He held me balanced, and shifted his
fingers across my flat tummy whenever I threatened to topple off him, so
as to continue to effortlessly hold me. �One more,� he breathed in my air.
�Still yourself, or I�ll use the full width of the crop and mark your lovely
ass quite distinctly.�
�No!� I screeched. But, suddenly, my limbs stilled. I felt myself
hanging off his palm, cradled, my feet dangling.
�Open your legs,� he said.
�No,� I breathed, but did so, then clenched my cheeks hard against
the expectant sting of his crop on my fanny.
WHACK!
�Yeeeeeek!� I screamed at the top of my lungs. The traitor! He had
not wished to strike my bottom that time! He swept the crop right up
between my legs, and bit into my very cunt!!! �Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek!� I cried,
wildly. The sting was intense, unknown completely, something I�d never
experienced, never even thought possible. I fell from his palm and he only
laughed. He did not try to pick me up again. Bitterly I stood, still
manacled to the ladder, my legs twisted in on each other, grinding my
thighs together in an attempt to assauge the awful sting. He laughed.
�You will obey more completely next time,� he told me. �And ere you
leave you�ll bring the crop to me, whenver you fear you�ve disobeyed, and
you�ll bend over and ask me to use it.�
�Noooooooooo!� I hooted. I would never do that! How dare he even
imply it? I couldn�t look at him, though, for my eyes were clamped shut,
much as my legs were, though with my eyes I cried tears while with my
legs I rubbed frantically, trying to make my cunt better but not able to
reach it.
�And when I�ve hit you as I�ve just done, you�ll open your legs to me,
so that I might rub it for you,� he gloated.
�No!� I told him, defiantly.
�We�ll see,� he said. �We have plenty of time. You�re not going
anywhere, manacled to that ladder.� He retreated across my bed. He
walked out through the door. Had it been open all this while? Worriedly I
looked back. There were two couples there, male and female, older than
myself.
�She takes the crop well, despite her struggles,� I heard a female
say.
�Yes, but she requires much training,� a man mused. �Much
training.�
Matilda stepped between them. She entered my cell. She had
changed into fresh clothes; a mauve jacket held by one button across her
chest, a matching short skirt. The thrust of her exceptionally large
breasts pushed out against the jacket. Her white skin could be seen, she
wore no blouse, no bra. Despite the lack of sun in this cold climate she
had an exceptional tan; except on her bosoms, which she�d carefully kept
from the sun. The contrast between the white flesh of her tits and the
smooth, richly-tanned skin surrounding them was alluring. I wondered if
her private and her bottom held the same lily-white charm. Despite my
tears, I vowed to tan myself like her, when I could.
How silly it is, thinking about sun tans, when your bottom is hurting
and you have no clothes and strangers are watching you. Yet I did, despite
my sniffles, my sobbing coughs, my twisting against the ladder as I rubbed
my legs frantically together, trying to assauge the pain in my snatch.
�How are we doing, little one, hmmm?� Matilda asked me. �Did you
take your punishment well?�
�No!� I blurted. My face was bathed in tears. Couldn�t she see I�d
suffered? She seemed to think my pain was some kind of game. Her hand
touched my head. She turned my face toward the wall. Her fingers, sharp-
nailed, caressed my right thigh, bidding it open. I worried she might
scratch me and let my legs part, just a little. My bottom wobbled hard, my
wish urgent to reclose my legs and rub them.
A finger trailed down between the cheeks of my bottom. �Yes, just a
few little marks,� Matilda said. �They will fade quickly, don�t worry. The
Head Master was kind to you. I�ll have to tell him to be more severe with
your subsequent whippings. You�ll learn nothing if you�re only teased.�
�OH!� I gasped. What a horrid woman! I couldn�t believe what I was
hearing -- much less that I�d agreed to accompany her here.
�Of course you will have to be fucked up the bottom too,� Matilda
said. She stuck a digit between the cheeks of my ass.
�Nooooo!� I screeched. I closed my legs, jammed my cheeks together.
I felt her finger trapped within my ass. The sharp tip of her fingernail
touched against my rosette. She pushed. My skin was moist with sweat
and her finger eased slightly into my hole. �Stooop! Take it OUT!� I
begged. She pushed harder.
�You are being difficult,� Matilda warned me. �We have ample ways
for dealing with difficult girls.�
�Is she being resistant?� I heard a woman call from the doorway.
Matilda had left my door open, denying me privacy.
�Yes, and the Head Master left her unfucked,� Matilda said in a voice
that brooked disappointment.
�Roger, see to her training,� I heard the woman say. A man entered
my cell. He was clothed, as the others were. Only I was naked. I glanced
back at him fearfully. He smiled, perhaps in an attempt to calm my fears,
but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes. In another life I might have
fancied him; he was tall, had dark hair, seemed perhaps college age, maybe
a little older. Without saying anything, he unzipped the fly of his trousers.
�Yeek! I don�t want to be fucked!� I squealed. He produced a large
prong that could have passed for a big smoked balogna at the grocery.
�Yes, very good, Roger, please come here,� Matilda beckoned. She
lifted her free hand, to waist height, crooked an inviting finger. Roger
advanced. His cock wobbled freely in front of his (otherwise well-
dressed) body. Matilda reached with her hand, caught it. She held it
lightly, as if she might be a little afraid of it. I know I was. It was big
and meaty and pulsed vigorously. Pre-cum already was dripping lewdly
from its tip.
�Here, I have some KY,� the woman said from the door. Hastily she
entered the room, her purse open, digging in it. A moment later she pulled
out a plastic tube. She flicked the top off its nozzle. Placing a hand
gently upon Roger�s backside, she peeked around to his front. I heard her
emit a little gasp as she saw his member. �You come bigger than
advertised,� she confessed.
�Squirt it on,� Matilda interrupted, perhaps fearing the woman would
wish to distract Roger from me. I heard a loud, squelchy sound. Quietly I
closed my legs, then began rubbing them together.
Matilda slapped my bottom, hard.
�OUCH!� I screamed.
�Keep your legs open,� Matilda reminded me. I needed no reminding.
I was wilful and didn�t want my legs open. I leaned back, tried to bite her.
She dodged my snapping teeth and smacked me hard again.
�Which route?� Roger asked matter-of-factly as I stood whimpering,
displaying my well-slapped bottom. His eyes glowed. The woman beside
him stared entranced at his cock.
�Up her tight little ass,� Matilda told him. A glimmer of a smile
flashed upon her lips.
�Do you think she can take me?� Roger asked.
�She must take someone up her tush every day, if she�s to be
properly trained to be receptive to it,� Matilda answered. �You can see
she�s a long way from that right now.�
�I rather fancy her hot little cunt,� Roger said. He leaned down, his
bare cock wobbling in front of him, and caught at my thighs with his
hands. He wrenched them apart. He peered up at my slit.
�No, it must be in the bottom,� Matilda said. �Her master fancies
her there.�
�Why?� Roger asked, still examining the space between my legs.
�She�s young, perfect, quite fuckable. Is she still a virgin?�
�Yes,� Matilda said. �Just deflowered the other day. She�s only been
sent here for bottom-training. Her master wants to keep her cunt for
himself.�
�Greedy bastard,� Roger swore. �But I�ll give her ass a good
reaming, that I can do. Don�t worry little lady,� he said, looking me in the
face. �You�ll have a well-fucked asshole by the time you leave here.�
�Oh, it�s such a waste to give it to her,� the woman who�d lubed
Roger lamented, still staring at his cock. �She�ll hardly appreciate it like
I would.�
Roger let go of my legs. He gripped my bottom hard with his fingers.
They were long, sinuous, commanding. He forced my pumpkin�s furrow to
open to him. He peered, made a sniffing sound. Then, pleased, apparently,
by my hole, he shoved his hips forward.
�YOOOOOK!� I hollared. I felt his cockhead wedge itself into my
bottomcrack. It felt huge! It split my cheeks and probed against them,
like a cork looking to plug up a bottle.
�Uhn!� I gasped. His peehole found my back hole and burrowed up me.
The knob of his cock forced open my anus. I screamed again, Matilda
slapped a hand to my face and silenced my cry. I squirmed. I tried to bite
her fingers. She pushed my head up, back, by my chin, keeping my mouth
shut. Roger ignored all this, focusing entirely on my ass.
I gave a gritted screech within the confines of Matilda�s hand. He
was going deeper! I could not stop him. I wriggled my ass, trying to
escape. Matilda slapped my flank.
�More, give her more,� Matilda urged.
�I�m TRYING!� Roger stammered. �I don�t think I�ve been in one this
tight in years.�
�Perhaps a little stimulation will help,� the woman who�d lubed
Roger said. I thought she�d reach for him, but instead her hand came round
my waist and touched my pussy.
�Unfff! No!� I protested, but Matilda�s hand kept me quiet.
With a doughty stroke Roger plowed into my fanny. I squeezed hard,
doing my level best to expel him. He groaned. My tightness was winning.
Matilda pushed my head back farther. I screeched into her hand as a spasm
of pain shot through my neck. Distracted, I let my bottom open again.
�HOOOOOF!� I screamed over Matilda�s hand. Roger had driven into
me deeper. My legs kicked. The woman�s hand at my snatch rubbed me
hard.
�Yessss, you must take him,� the woman hissed in my ear. My
breasts wobbled heavily on my chest, stiff-nippled. Roger was winning. I
could not keep him out. With another scream from me he rammed himself
home.
Both women kissed me. Matilda whispered a compliment. Roger
breathed a sigh of relief. It rasped from his throat, a half-sigh, really, for
he knew his well-clamped penis still had quite a job ahead of it. He must
stroke me, now. In and out.
�Twenty times, at least,� Matilda told him.
�God, I�ll try!� Roger said. �The feeling of her little ass is amazing.�
I felt a backward tug.
�Uhn. I think I�m -- stuck!� Roger said. Suddenly there was a hard
slap. He grunted. I realized Matilda had slapped his trousered ass.
�Get moving,� Matilda told Roger. �Denice, get his pants down. I
want his bare ass showing so he can feel it if I have to hit him again.�
�What about her?� Denice asked. Her fingers explored my slit freely,
making me honey them.
�Forget her. She�ll get pleasure enough from his cock, or ought to,�
Matilda replied. �I want Roger�s fat little bum on display.�
�Oh, alright,� Denice answered. �But I still think he�s wasting
himself in her.�
Slowly at first, Roger began to move inside me. I heard him grunt
again and then felt his member, tightly held by me, for I feared it greatly,
begin to slide out of my chute. It would have been a relief, but I knew he�d
ram it back up me a moment later.
�Ooooh!� I gritted, as he did.
�Hold still, girl,� Roger scolded me. �Move just your bottom. Quit
trying to hop away from me.�
�Move your bottom vigorously, girl,� Matilda told me. She slapped
my flank. I screamed in her hand. �That�s it, work your bottom, pump it in
and out,� Matilda commanded me. I found my ass jerking, I did not know
why. Had I ceased being afraid? Did I want it? Him? His big thing?
Roger worked his meaty shaft back and forth in my ass. I clenched
him with my cheeks. I felt him slide back. I pulled forward to help him
escape. Then, when we were almost apart, he shoved himself once again in
me. I arched my bottom back to meet him. I screamed. Tears sprang from
my eyes. But when Roger pulled back, I again pulled away, and tensed for
the moment when he would thrust forward and I would push my hips back
to him.
�She is learning,� Matilda said, quietly. �She�s a bit slow perhaps,
but she�s young. It�s excusable...� Her voice drifted over my ears. I was
one with her, with Roger, now. Denice, somewhere behind Roger, worked
his pants down so that his bum would be exposed to Matilda�s hand.
I lay on the sheeted mattress that served as my bed. It was rumpled
from all the people that had walked on it. I was cuffed to the ladder, but
only by one wrist, as an animal might be, that it�s master feared would
escape. My door had been left open to train me in humility.
Food was brought to my cell. Roast pork and green beans, a buttered
cob of corn, ice cream. A big jug of fruit-flavored wine. I was encouraged
to eat, and drink.
�Call for someone when you have to pee,� Matilda told me. �There�s
a bathroom down at the end of the room. The dwarf should hear you, if no
one else does. He�s in charge of the girls in the dungeon. Don�t wet the
bed, whatever you do,� she added, smiling. �I�d hate to have to give you
extra training for bed wetting.�
I ate with my fingers, lying on my back. There were no utensils. I
got messy eating, like a child. I saw no napkin. I knew not what to do,
wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, ate some more, found wiping my
mouth again only rubbed back onto my face what I�d earlier smeared over
my hand.
I fell asleep. Later, I awoke. My cell was dark. There was only
blackness in the direction of my open door. I could make out nothing, save
an urgent desire to pee, in my bladder.
I fought my need. I didn�t want to have to call someone to release
me to go pee. How embarrasing! I squeezed my thighs together. My pussy
still stung from where the Head Master had struck me with the crop, or I
imagined it did. I reached down with my hand, opened my legs, stuck it
inside. Tightly I shut my legs again. I held my snatch. I pursed my lips,
shut my eyes.
�No! Don�t pee!� I told myself. I tried to go back to sleep.
Minutes later, I realized I had no choice but to call for help. I yelled.
I screamed. I clutched at my slit, wishing some one would hurry. Couldn�t
they hear me? I yelled again. I bit my lip and then, opening my mouth
again, feeling resigned, I called for the dwarf.
I heard small footsteps in the distance. A glow began beyond my
door, heightened as the footsteps approached. Oh, God! HURRY! I screamed
for the person to walk more quickly. The glow shimmered as it grew. I
heard the swinging of the big oil lamp in the hand of who ever was
approaching. I hoped it was not the dwarf.
�Ohhhhh! Please HURRY!� I hollared. I pressed hard into my slit with
my fingers. Too late! I felt a sudden wetness, more, and then screamed
again as I realized I was wetting my bed.
Twin eyes glimmered around the opening to my doorway. Small, set
in the face of a dwarf. I heard a chuckle. Frantically I stared at the face,
trying to hold back my pee, failing, as it flowed out over my hand.
�Did you call?� the dwarf asked me. I shut my eyes, tight. I strove
to contain my pee but could not.
When I had finished wetting the bed, I opened my eyes. Abjectly I
looked at dwarf. My bottom, my legs, lay in a wet mushy spot on my
mattress. The dwarf was grinning.
�Why didn�t you come?� I asked in a high, grief-stricken voice.
�You didn�t call -- me,� the dwarf smiled back.
�You mean you could hear me the whole time?� I asked.
�Of course,� the dwarf said. �But just calling anybody isn�t calling
me.� He laughed. �I figured you�d break down and call me eventually.�
�You -- you creature!� I blurted.
�Don�t insult me,� the dwarf replied. �Wait until you have to poop.�
�Young lady, your bed isn�t a potty,� Matilda scolded me when she
discovered what I�d done. It must have been the next morning, for it was
hours after I�d peed and I�d been forced to sleep in my pee, though I�d
managed to move partly off the spot. The handcuff securing me to the
ladder kept me from escaping it entirely.
�I�m sorry,� I replied. I knew not what else to say.
�This will have to be reported to the Head Master,� Matilda told me.
She examined the spot. �And recorded, of course, in your permanent
record, that�s sent back to your lover.�
�Ohhh, I do not wish to be here!� I sighed. My voice sounded resigned.
�You will learn to enjoy your stay, with proper training,� Matilda
told me. �Don�t worry. I had to learn, just like you, long ago.�
A man pushed past her. I froze, seeing him. Could they intrude on me
any time, at their whim? He stood over me. He had longish hair covering
his ears, a square jaw. A rude smile spread across his face as he stared
down at me and took in my small body. He was broad-shouldered, broad-
chested. But I huddled close to the ladder, trying to get out of his stare. I
didn�t like him. He had gray-hair. Thrust through his belt, as if he needed
it frequently and didn�t mind at all using it, was a thick riding crop.
I turned on my side, facing into the ladder. I wished I could mould
into the wall and escape him. But, rolled on my side, hiding my front side
from him, my bottom lay exposed behind me. What could I do? I reached
back, clapped a hand to the center of my behind. But my cheeks rose and
spread on either side of it. I slipped a finger into my crack to make sure
at least that part of me was hidden from him!
�You must learn to fuck not only men you enjoy, but those you do not,
also,� Matilda intoned behind me. �You are here to receive, young lady.�
The man crouched over me. I let out a shout.
�Get on your belly!� He growled. �Flat on your belly.� I was slow in
complying and he picked me up, like a man lifting a rag doll, and dropped
me onto my stomach.
�Ooof!� I blurted, as my chin banged down on the mattress, my boobs,
my flat stomach and pubis. He scissored my legs open, then saw my wrist,
now crossed under my belly, was still hitched to the ladder.
�She does not need restraints,� the man growled. �At least not when
I�m around.� He reached for the handcuff that banded my right wrist. He
yanked at it, found it secure, fished in one of his trouser pockets. He
pulled out a small keyring, with three dangling keys. It wasn�t a big
keyring, like the dwarf carried, but it contained the single key needed to
open my cuffs. Quickly, as if desperate to have me, he inserted the wrong
key, then the right one, into the cuff binding my wrist to the ladder.
Click! The cuff came free. My hand wriggled out of it and I drew it
quickly under my tummy. My wrist felt sore.
�Open your legs!� the man yelled. He pushed at my feet, kicking them
wider apart.
�YEEEK!� I screeched. The man threw down his keys. Matilda left,
but left my door open, that I might been seen and heard by any in earshot.
�NOOOO!� I blathered. The man dropped to his knees. He forced my legs
wider. I heard him undoing his belt. My bottomcheeks tensed. He husked
his pants down his legs.
�Clean up her cell,� Matilda told the dwarf. The little man entered
as I felt a big knob press to the right cheek of my bottom. He picked up my
food plate, the jug of wine.
�Hoooo! Please don�t!� I shouted. The dwarf turned, looked at me,
then saw to whom I was complaining. The man on top of me had pulled a
tube of vaseline from his pocket and was busy coating his dick.
�You want me to take the mattress after you�re done?� the dwarf
asked the man kneeling within my spread legs.
�I could care less if she wet in it or not,� the man growled. �I just
want her little hole.�
�Careful-- she�s quite tight,� the dwarf told him.
�Git, you little runt! What do you think I want, a loose-assed 40-
year-old whore?!�
�Beg pardon sir,� the dwarf said. He bowed, slightly, and left my
cell.
�NOOOOO! Come back!� I cried after him. Before, I had hated him.
Now he seemed the most considerate of me, though it was very little
consideration.
�Spread for me, little lady,� the man on top of me told me. I felt his
big hands press to the cheeks of my bottom. His fingers were long, thick.
They seemed covered with callouses and felt like sandpaper on my small
derriere. Still, flat on my belly, my ass cheeks rising behind me, I
provided a cushion for those awful fingers, with my seat! He squeezed
both my cheeks, enjoying my softness. �So you wet the bed, eh?� he
laughed. He squeezed my cheeks again. �My, how you�ll have to be
punished for that! Do you think you�re still 3-years-old?�
I wanted to say, �Of course not! Get your stinky hands off my ass!�
but instead it came out, �No, sir.�
�Obedience won�t save you now, girl,� the man laughed. �But it will
make it a little less painful for you when I enter you.�
�Oh, please!� I begged. I could sense he would be rough. In response,
without a single word of encouragement or endearment, he poked his big
sausage down between the cheeks of my ass. �No!� I cried at once. He was
so big! I felt like I was being speared by some huge native African spear.
I�d read of a girl once, visiting Africa, who�d bent over and found herself
with one lodged in her bottom. She did not survive the experience.
�Uhnnnn!!!� I gasped. His big knob pressed hard at my portal. I
tightened my sphincter against it. He pushed harder. �No! Stop!� I cried. I
beat my fists on my mattress. I felt the dampness of my pee under my
belly. �HOOOOO!� I shouted. He bore down on me like a big, leaden weight.
A well-greased weight. I struggled beneath him. Suddenly, my anus was
forced to stretch wider than I could have imagined. His big plum intruded.
�Yes!� he declared.
�Akhgkhhh!� I said. A scream strangled in my throat. I pressed my
face to my mattress. He was in! I could not stop him now. I squeezed my
fanny, felt him burrow deeper. He was big, thick, and greased like a ball
bearing. His giant poker slid deeper into me, a big slug, enjoying the
resistance my clenching ass offered him.
�Sir, your car has arrived,� a woman said. The voice came from the
door to my cell. I did not recognize it.
�Ah, at last!� the man said. �Those airport limos take FOREVER!� he
grunted. He gave himself a quick thrust in my behind. He seemed poised
between fucking me and not, between cuming and going.
�Do you wish to have assistance?� the woman asked.
�Yes, dammit! There is no time!� the man said. �I�ll be late for my
flight otherwise.�
I felt movement on my mattress. The woman crossed over from the
door. I smelled perfume. Her voice sounded young. I stole a glance,
wondering, hoping she might help me. She was elegantly attired in a sheer
peasant blouse. It left her shoulders and midriff bare. It let her tits show
through its fabric. Otherwise, she was naked, well tanned, save for a
small pair of black bikini panties tied round her hips.
�Suck my balls,� the man told her.
�Yes, sir,� the woman said. I sensed her go round behind him. He
waited, shafting me just a little, my bottom resisting his every push,
uselessly.
�Ah!� the man said. There was a sharp intake of his breath. �Yes!
Suck me while I fuck her. Harder, woman! I have to discharge and get out
of here!�
�Mmmmf,� the woman, somewhere behind him and lying down under
his ass, agreed.
�Now, little girl, let�s see what you�re made of,� the man groused
above me. I shrank under him, trying to descend into my pee-wettened
mattress. I felt a sharp jab in my bottom. �Oh! Don�t stick your finger
into my assHOLE!� the man cried suddenly. All at once I felt a spasm run
along his penis, half-embedded in my behind, a powerful spasm that felt
like a lightning rod receiving a bolt from the sky. A second later his big,
tense penis exploded into my rectum.
�HAAAAAAAK!� I protested. He was flooding my guts! Big geysering
spouts of him reamed into me. They were deep in me. He was deep in me,
and they discharged with great force well up inside my ass. �NOOOOO!� I
cried anew, beating my fists again on my mattress. But there was no
stopping him. I felt like I was sitting on a fire hydrant! Except it was
halfway up my ass.
He was gone. The woman lingered in my cell. She was a blonde, like
me, but I felt very little affinity towards her. She glanced at me, looked
around.
�Someone must come and take out your mattress,� she said, smelling
it. It had a distinct odor of pee to it.
�I wet the bed,� I confessed. I rolled again against the ladder. No
one had recuffed me. I was grateful for that. I pressed my breasts
against the cold steel of the ladder. It was my security, my sentinal.
Always standing there quietly, pitying me, unable to help but at least still
there when the others had left me. That awful man! I reached behind
myself and tenderly touched my ass. My hole hurt.
�Oh, he left his keys,� she said. �Well, he�s gone now anyway, he
won�t need them again unless he returns,� she added, talking to herself.
She went over to the corner of my cell where the man had thrown his keys,
and picked them up. �Men can be so messy,� she declared.
�Yes,� I agreed. Big clumps of his sperm were oozing out of my
bottom.
�Don�t speak unless you�re given permission, girl,� the woman told
me. �You�re to receive. Be receptive. Take things into your mouth, and
hold them there, gratefully.� She walked to my cell door, turned. �And be
glad I sucked him off,� she added. �He�s the worst. My hole took days to
heal when he fucked me, on his previous visit. If I hadn�t learned to be
receptive, do you think I could have so easily accomodated his big
testicles? Hmmm?�
I shivered against the ladder, facing into the wall. I gave her no
answer.
She walked over to me. She bent down.
�OW!� I cried. She hit me -- on my bottom!
�Do you?� she asked, testily.
�No! Yes! Oh, I don�t know!� I confessed. I couldn�t remember the
question. �OW!� She slapped my bottom again, hard.
�That�s for inattentiveness,� she told me. �You are wilful, girl. You
are here to be trained. Do not resist, more than a small sense of modesty
calls for. You�ll pay for it with skin off your fanny if you do!�
She stalked from my cell. She slammed my cell door behind her and I
heard her yell to the dwarf to lock my door. Then I heard a short jingle as
she sent the keys flying across the outer room and they landed somewhere
far beyond, on the flagstones. �Little mannnn!� she said in a disgusted
tone of voice. �Get your ass out of the toilet! Quit jerking off to Hustler!
Get out here and get me some light! Do you think I want to break my
ankle?�
There was a lamp in my room, turned low, but providing some light.
Outside my door, she must have been in blackness. Then I remembered
that, no, with the coming of morning there had been a very faint amount of
daylight in the basement outside my door. I wished it was black instead.
Then she would get frustrated and break her ankle.
I lay disconsolate, pressed against my sentinel ladder. I liked its
hardness. It was smooth, hard. I kissed it. I liked the taste of it. It
tasted like iron. I marvelled at myself. Before, I had always liked sweet
things. Yet now, here I was, in my hour of need, kissing iron. Iron was not
sweet. It wasn�t something you just... kissed. It had a bad taste to it. But
I liked my friend, my iron ladder. Was I growing up, just a little? Was I
trying to escape my little girl self? Surely that must have been why I left
Peoria, even America! Because they only let me be a little girl, there. And
not a real little girl, no. A Feminist, manly little girl. A star swimmer.
Even a quarterback! I liked admiring quarterbacks, but I didn�t want to be
one. I liked cheerleading instead. It was fun, being happy, showing off. It
was how I had become a model. But my mother didn�t like my cheerleading.
My teachers seemed to disapprove. My female teachers, anyway. They
wanted me to be a Senator. To pass their views into law, not my own.
I sobbed a little. I felt confused. I wanted to be me, but what was
me? Everyone kept pulling me in different directions. Time passed. I
think I might have slept a little.
The woman returned. The tall, elegant woman with the black panties
and the peasant blouse. Now she was topless. I rolled over, hissed as my
bottom made contact with my mattress, then realized I was, perhaps,
being a little silly, because my bottom didn�t hurt anymore.
�Get up!� the woman commanded. She spoke to me in a tone of voice
that I didn�t like. I broke into tears.
�Ohhhh! Why are you doing these horrible things to me?� I asked her
through watery eyes. My breath sobbed. She knelt down. She passed her
hand across my forehead and pushed back my once perfect, now disorderly
hair.
�Poor child, you don�t understand, do you? So few virgins do who
come here.� Her tone was solicitous, almost imploring. I cringed under
her touch. I expected her to roll me against the ladder, exposing my fanny,
and slap it. Instead she kissed me. �What is a man�s job?� she asked me.
I sniffled.
�I don�t know!� I snapped through my tears.
�Think,� she said.
�To be STRONG!� I said.
�Hmmm,� she replied. �This is your first lesson then. Listen up. Be
attentive.� She put her hand to my long hair and stroked it. I cringed
again, thinking she�d pull me to my feet by it. She kissed me again. �A
man�s job,� she said slowly, waiting until my tears had abated to begin.
�A man�s job, is to retain his seed. That�s why. How tight you are! And
your pretty little bot-TOM,� she said with emphasis, �is even tighter.
What a challenge to men to fuck you! To go in, and out, and in again, and
yet again, and not cum. THAT�s a man�s challenge. Why do you think you
were brought here? Or even permitted here, hmmm? Because the people
who run this place knew you would be a challenge, for men to be tested
upon.� She kissed me again, as if to keep my attention. �And what is your
challenge, hmmm?�
�I still don�t know,� I confessed.
�Yes, and that�s why you�re here,� she answered. �Your challenge is
to maintain your feminine beauty and charm no matter what happens to
you. No matter what. Do you understand now, hmmm? You�re being tested
too. You must also be strong, not just the men. But, being a female, you
must be strong in an entirely different way. Get up. You have many tests
today, and I expect you to meet each one with beauty and poise.�
�And if I don�t?� I asked her.
�Then you will be punished,� she answered. �But remember, even the
punishments are a challenge, so don�t dismiss them as mere punishments.
That would be too cruel. Get up! Get up!� She pushed at me. I expected
her to grab my hair, but she didn�t.
At her urging, I finally stood. She turned me and looked at my
bottom.
�Do you know why you have a bottom?� she asked.
�No,� I pouted. I sniffled.
�To keep you in step,� she said. �In all things. Your bottom will be
used to keep you in step with our program.� She made me flinch by placing
her hand there. I thought she would slap me.
�See?� she said. �How well trained you are, already.� A simple
touch, and already you�re obedient.
In revenge I leaned back against her. I felt her perky nipples
pressing into my back. The nakedness of her breasts cushioned me.
�Where is your blouse?� I asked. I slipped my hands behind my
bottom to keep her from slapping me again. Her hand was gone, surprised
away when I leaned back against her. She took hold of my shoulders and
pushed me lightly forward. We stepped down off the mattress and through
the open door to my cell.
�A man and a woman, new visitors, wished to suck my tits,� she
answered. We entered the dim daylight in the room beyond.
�And you let them?� I asked.
�Darling, I have breasts. Outside of here, someplace else, I wouldn�t
no. Because I didn�t particularly like them. But here, with my breasts, it
is my duty to nurture, to suckle, to nourish. If people wish to suck my
breasts, I must let them. What, do you think they would take a man�s
chest instead of mine? I don�t think so. So hairy! So flat, except for the
simple development of the muscles. But not my breasts, as a female. Mine
are big and sumptuous and inviting to kiss, and to feed upon. Not that I
have milk to provide, alas. But I can give them the tenderness of my teats,
and shout if they bite me. A man wouldn�t shout, or cry, would he? No,
he�d hold back his tears.�
�Ohhh,� I breathed, almost stumbling in the dim light of the room.
�Don�t stub your toe, silly,� she told me. �Lift your feet. Don�t
shuffle. Walk proudly. Now, my name is Trish. What�s yours?�
�Mine�s Cindy,� I said meekly.
�Ah, yes,� Trish replied. I remember that name on our list of new
pupils. �I�m glad to meet you, Trish. Up the stairs now!� She pushed
lightly upon my bare bottom.
We went up the stairs. I felt worried. Her words had aroused me,
made me more confused. A part of me wanted to be totally female, totally
accepting. Of everything. At least for a little while...
We passed out to the living room. I saw several couples there. They
were naked, relaxing. They gazed at me. I was surprised at their
openness, for they struck me as tourists. One woman, with short blonde
hair, had her head propped back against her arm, which was propped up by
the shoulder of a woman sitting slumped beside her. Both woman�s legs
were apart, freely showing their pubises, their furred slits. One woman
wore pink socks. The other had on a robe, but it was flung wide apart, so
that it would hide nothing. Otherwise their bodies were totally unadorned,
save for makeup and earrings.
The men were erect. They followed me with avaricious eyes. Trish
remained behind me, pushing me forward.
�Ohhh, she�s so beautiful!� one of the women said of me.
�You may meet her later,� a woman sitting on a couch with the men
said. She was nude, but for a graduate�s tassled black cap on her head.
She seemed to be there on the couch with the men to restrain them, to
keep them seated. The other women sat across from the men in a couch
facing them. �First we must get acquainted,� the woman with the
graduate�s cap said. �When people first arrive we like them to meet each
other, first.� I realized, oddly dressed (or undressed) as she was, she
must be a kind of instructor.
The woman who was slumped in the sofa giggled, nervously. I saw
she was more anxious than I�d suspected. The pose had merely been a
cover for her own inner fears.
�Now, you�re all freshly showered, in separate locker rooms,� the
instructress smiled. �And you�re all undressed and ready to �mingle,�� she
added, laughing. �Keep your legs apart, dear,� she said to the woman who
was slumped. �Sex slaves will be made available to you, but first you
must make yourself available to others.� She chuckled, stroked the cock
of the nearest man. �That�s why I like men so much. They have no problem
understanding that point.� She tickled the tip of his penis. He gasped.
�You don�t mind me touching you there, do you?� she asked him.
�No, please continue!� he told the instructress eagerly. He looked
studious, a liberated student from some library stack somewhere.
�No, dear, I�m not just going to make you cum in my hand,� the the
instructress told him. �You�re going to fuck, and fuck well, and *then*
you�re going to cum.� She drew away her hand. �And if you don�t, that�s
why I keep this riding crop handy.�
�Let�s move on,� Trish told me. She�d let me pause to watch. At her
whisper I stepped forward again, and felt proud, knowing their eyes all
turned again to me, even those of the instructress. I heard again a
comment on my looks. The men desired me, greatly. The instructress told
them they had to earn me, by first doing an excellent job of fucking the
women across from them, on the sofa.
I was led to a locker room. It was brightly tiled, clean, but smelled
of steam, as of showers freshly taken.
�Sometimes you will bathe for show, usually when you don�t need a
bath,� Trish told me. �And sometimes you will bathe because you need to.
This morning, of course, it is the latter. I want you to bathe, and then I�ll
supervise you while you douche, so that I can insure you know how to do it,
and are able to do it properly. Everything is ready. I�ll wait out here,
away from the water and steam of the shower.� She stepped away from
me. We happened to be standing next to a curious shelf of paperback
books. I looked at their spines, all neatly arranged in a row like soldiers,
waiting at attention. Some of the titles they bore looked pornographic.
Others looked romantic. �Yes, I think I�ll read this, while I wait for you,�
Trish told me. It was a romance novel. On the cover of it a man was
ripping a woman�s blouse off. It reminded me of Trish, losing her blouse
to a couple that wished to suck her tits. She looked at me, then sat down
on a bench and opened the book. �We mustn�t read anything that doesn�t
stimulate us,� she said, looking up at me. �Of course, always remember,
you mustn�t touch your special places without permission. Not to arouse,
anyway, though its okay if you must wash them. Or put perfume or makeup
on them... honestly...� she added, and gave me a knowing look. �NOT
dishonestly,� she said. �Not to arouse. So go take your shower. But don�t
take too long. I�ll be positively swooning if you do, and I can�t touch
myself either, though perhaps I�ll wish to when you return.�
I felt confused. But I knew I needed a shower, too. At the end of two
rows of lockers there was a shower room. Just outside it I saw newly-
laundered towels in a neat pile, on a bench. There was unwrapped, fresh
soap waiting in a small pile beside them. I walked to the towels, picked
one up, then put it down again. I would need that afterward, I remembered.
I picked up a bar of soap. I read the new letters carved into it. �Ivory,�
they said. I liked Ivory soap. It was for females. And babies. Lifting my
chin, I walked into the shower room and turned on the hot water.
I was dressed in black panties. I wore shiny silver heels on my feet.
Their heels were spiky, but modest. Trish walked beside me. She still
wore her black panties, though she�d told me she�d gotten a wet spot in
them, reading that paperback novel. She had on heels that glittered like
gold. They had tall heels, as if she�d earned them, deserved them.
�This is the hot house,� Trish told me. We stopped in front of a
glass door. Within I saw flowers. Most of them were roses, though I spied
carnations, and two large sunflowers pointing skyward toward the winter
sun. We were at the back of the house, in an enclosed porch. It was
protected only by a mesh of screening and I was eager to depart from it.
At our backs, the house itself lay, warm and cozy. A brisk winter wind
ruffled my hair. I shivered. My teats stood up on the tips of my breasts. I
glanced at the Alpine peaks beyond the screen. They looked jagged and
sharp and forbidding.
�Open the door, silly,� Trish told me. She patted my bottom. I
squeaked, still fearing a slap from her. She told me she longed to put me
over her knee and spank me, but wasn�t allowed to, unless I disobeyed.
Quickly I stepped forward and pulled open the door to the hot house.
I stepped inside. It was hot, but pleasantly so. The glass of the
house was moist with steam. Beyond I could see the Alps. They looked
threatening, but we were obviously safe in here, where even roses could
find refuge.
Trish followed me in. Quietly she closed the door behind me. I heard
cameras whir, click, buzz. I looked up, startled. I saw a camera in a
corner, up near the ceiling. I guessed there must be others.
�Are we being filmed?� I asked.
�Visibly filmed, yes,� Trish answered complacently. �Cameras are
present everywhere in the house. They make them quite small nowadays,
you know. But here it�s important that you *know* you�re being filmed.
You�ll know why in a moment. Here, have another drink of water. There�s a
whole water cooler of it in here. See? Doesn�t the heat make you
thirsty?� She picked up a paper cup. She filled it under the tap of the
cooler.
�Yes,� I said. �But there was a cooler in the locker room too, and we
already drank plenty there, thank you.�
�Nonetheless, you must drink more,� Trish told me. When I resisted,
she quit trying to hand me the cup and stepped right beside me. She placed
her palm on my bottom. �Tilt your head back,� she told me. She let her
palm massage my bottom, but I knew the signal she was trying to send me.
She�s slap me if I failed to obey. Maybe even put me over her knee. Right
here, in front of all these cameras.
I leaned my head back.
�Open,� Trish said in an expectant voice. Reluctantly I parted my
lips. She placed the edge of the paper cup against my lower lip. Slowly
she titled it upward. The cool water from the cup began pouring into my
mouth. �Swallow,� Trish reminded me. I needed no reminding. Her palm
on my fanny was already plenty of reminding. I gulped. She paused,
waited, then poured more into my mouth. I gulped again. �Take all of it,�
she insisted. I lifted my hands to resist, but instead, thanks to her hand
softly brushing the bare cheeks of my ass, I would up taking the cup in my
hands. I held it with both my hands, childlike.
�Yes, drink,� Trish told me. �Drink it all.� She stepped away from
me. She let me drink by myself. She took another paper cup and, filling it,
fed herself a glass of water. �We must both drink all we can,� Trish told
me.
We stood drinking for a few minutes. I got another cupful of water
and drank it, under her watchful eye. The room was hot. She took another
cupful, drank it down.
�Now, remember,� she said. �In here, we must always be naked
below the waist. So, please dear, doing it gracefully, sexily even, take off
your little black panties.�
�But it�s all I have on!� I protested. It was one thing to be observed
in panties, but topless. That was like going to a European beach. Even
little girls did that. But naked? In front of all these inquisitive cameras?
I didn�t feel I could do it.
�There is a cane, here in the corner, for me to help you with. Would
you like some assistance?� Trish asked me, stepping toward the cane.
�No!� I cried. �I�ll- I�ll take off my panties.�
�Yes, and I will too,� Trish told me. She loosened the bows at her
hips. �Off they come!� she said, taking them off with a flourish. I stood
with my fingers poised at my own bows. �No you,� Trish said. Reluctantly
I loosed my drawstrings. My panties skittered down my legs, pooled at my
feet. �Bend over. Pick them up. Don�t leave them lying on the floor,�
Trish told me. �That�s what this hook is for.� She walked to a hook on the
wall, next to the cooler, and hung up her undies. They looked very small,
perched over the hook, their drawstrings dangling down like lost threads.
I picked up my panties. I walked over to where she was standing and
carefully placed my own over hers. �Very good,� Trish told me.
I looked at my panties. They looked orphaned. I put my hand over my
bush, lest the cameras see it.
�No,� Trish said. Lightly she took my hand and made me remove it.
The cameras aimed, recorded. My bush was immortalized, there among the
roses. I was Venus, freshly scrubbed from the shower, blooming in the hot
house.
Trish led me to a flight of wooden steps. I found it curious. It led
upward to a wood platform that stretched across the hot house. The
roses, in pots, sat beneath the platform. Their bushy stems, laden with
open and budding flowers, rose up toward the platform. Some of the
bushes had actually grown through the platform, for above each plant, as
if to let it grow, there was a hole.
�These are rose bushes purposely kept small, so that they always
are able to flower toward the platform, but only to breach it a little, at
most. Then they must be trimmed back,� Trish told me.
�But why have the platform at all?� I asked her.
�You�ll see,� she replied. She put a hand to my bottom and patted it.
�Mount,� she said. Quickly, fearing her hand or, worse, that awful cane
poised in the corner, I hurried up the short flight of wooden steps that led
to the platform. I stepped onto it gingerly. It held. It was quite a solid
platform. Trish came up behind me and pushed me toward the first hole
that had been cut into it.
�This is like a floor,� I said.
�Yes, it will support your weight quite easily,� Trish assured me.
�And me too.� She patted my bottom again, as if to keep me attentive.
Then she said, quite casually, �Please squat.�
�What?� I asked. I turned, looking over my shoulder at her. Squat?
What for?
�Squat down over this hole,� Trish told me. �We have a lot of work
to do, and we�d better get going.� She smiled. �We can always pause to
refresh ourselves, of course.�
Not understanding, I stepped to the nearest hole. She pushed on my
shoulders, taking them firmly between her slim fingers, and made me
stoop down. �Squat, dear,� Trish said. I obeyed, guided by her hands, until
I was squatting. The hole was beneath me, under my bottom. I felt a
rosebud, poking up through the hole, brush the underside of my ass. �Be
careful of the thorns,� Trish told me.
I looked up at her, wide-eyed. So? I was squatting. The cameras
were watching, obviously pleased as they focussed in on me. I looked
down. Under me was the hole, the stemming rose bush, reaching up at my
bottom. I gasped. Through the leaves of the bush I saw another camera,
quieter, gazing with its lens up at my twat.
�Oh!� I said. Instinctively I thrust my hand down between my legs
and covered my nether lips.
�That�s it, spread the lips of your pussy,� Trish told me.
�Why?� I asked, again looking up at her, dumbly, but obeying, though
I cringed doing it, for I was mindful of the cane. With my other hand I
joined the first, spreading myself.
�Now piss!� Trish told me.
�WAHT?!� I asked, startled.
�Do you want more to drink first?� she asked.
�No! I�ve had enough to drink!� I gasped. �I feel like a balloon inside.
Really, Trish, don�t you think we better leave and go find a toilet?�
Trish smiled. It was a suave, knowing smile. �This isn�t just a hot
house,� Trish told me. �For girls, its also an out house. That�s what the
men call it, despite all the roses, though they aren�t permitted to relieve
themselves here. Pee, darling. It�s such a treat, to piss on roses! We
must make water on all of them, for that�s how they�re made to grow!�
�Nooooo,� I gasped. But with my lips spread, and my bladder full,
and the warm heat of the room, and the cane in the corner, I suddenly, in
my nervousness, peed. �Eeek!� I cried. I looked down at myself, but I
couldn�t stop. Nature, helped by too many cups of water, had called.
Trish laughed. The cameras worked overtime. My pee spilled out and
I watered the roses freely.
�Good, good,� Trish said. �Don�t give them all, though, or you�ll have
to drink lots more. We still have a lot of plants to water after this one.�
I stared up at her. �We have to water all of them?!� I asked,
astonished.
�As many as we can,� Trish said. �As many as we honestly can. One
is hardly enough, dear. That�s why there�s a water cooler here, so we can
drink lots more, until we�ve done a good job.�
�Noooo,� I said, but I continued peeing. The leaves and rosebuds and
flowers beneath me received my water. I rained upon them, a kind of
goddess, making water from above. At last, I was finished. Trish picked
up a box of kleenex nearby and handed it to me. �Wipe,� she told me. �It�s
important always to wipe. Someone else will pick up the kleenex, dont�
worry. Just drop it through the hole when you�re done.�
I felt wicked. I felt awful. But I wiped myself and, when I was
done, I dropped the kleenex through the hole. It caught on the thorns of the
bush.
�See? Now anyone can see that we�ve done our job,� Trish told me.
�Before they had cameras, they used to come in after a girl, and count the
number of kleenex. And, rest assured, she got a walloping on her bottom if
she was found to have dropped dry kleenex through the holes, trying to
trick them.� Trish rubbed her fanny. �I know. I tried that once, when I
was new, and wilful.� She smiled. She let me stand. �You�re lucky,� she
told me. �You have me. I can show you the ropes, so you�re only punished
when you need to be trained, not because you�ve been bad.�
�Yes,� I agreed. That was a good bargain.
�And if you have milk, one day,� Trish told me, pushing on one of my
nipples, indenting it into my breast with her finger, �If you have milk, you
may lie on the floor and squirt your milk down through the holes,� she
said. �Always being careful of the thorns, of course. You don�t want to
get your breasts pierced unless your master requires it.�
We pissed. Over each hole we pissed, and whenever we needed �to be
watered,� as Trish called it, we paid another visit to the corner water
cooler. It waited patiently, the cane beside it, burbling its big bubbles up
whenever it had been emptied a little. I liked seeing the bubbles. They
rose full and round, reminding me a little of semen, and men�s sperm
sacks. I wondered if men with full balls were watching us. Were they
excited, seeing me pee? Did they have trouble keeping their sperm in,
when they saw my lips open and release water? Did they like seeing my
wetness? I limned my lips with my tongue. I liked being watched, just a
little, if it made men have trouble holding on to their wicked sperm.
At nightfall I was served for dessert. I was told by that I made a
wonderful dessert. I had no choice in the matter. Trish made sure, with
warning pats on my bottom, that I let myself be squirted with cream and
taken, on a big silver platter, out to the table. My nipples, my pubis, these
were covered by cream, but the rest of me was left bare, save for a
strawberry placed in my mouth, and a cherry in my navel. My toes held
stalks of cheese-laden celery between them. A carrot, its tip in my ass,
made my bottom uncomfortable. It was coated with vaseline. A cushion
supported the small of my back, lifting my bottom, giving the carrot room
to wedge under my cheeks. There was a big, seedless grape holding open
the lips of my cunt.
The guests who had seen me earlier in the evening were the people I
was served to. The women gorged themselves on my tits. The men went
straight for my private, one licking eagerly at my nest, another
swallowing the grape, a third seeing how much deeper he could push the
carrot into my ass. I squeezed hard, trying to keep it out, but the carrot
probed me, deeply. It made me scream with its roughness and ridges.
After my labors upon the table, fed upon, devoured, I was taken to
bed. It was a real bed, with covers and pillows. It was in a room by
itself, with a toilet next door. I smiled, my eyes bleared with sleep and
with tears. I had earned a bed. I was moving up. I would graduate
someday, if I did well. With my hands I held my bottom, and assured
myself that, if I endured, it would all somehow be worth it.
�Bend over,� Trish told me. �I must cane you before I tuck you in.�
�No!� I cried.
�It is required,� she answered. �There is a cane here, see?� She
reached, pulled a cane away from the wall. I shrank. I had not seen it.
Were there canes waiting in every part of the house?
�Bend,� Trish told me. �There are much worse things that can
happen to a girl here than to be caned. Bend over, present your bottom.
You must learn to present. You must willingly give your bottom to the
cane, whenever its wished. Unthinkingly, obediently.� She kissed my
cheek, holding that awful cane, and I hated her for it. �Bend. As soon as
you here that, you must bend over. On command. Perhaps it is to be
fucked. Perhaps to be whipped. You are not to question. Not here. Bend,
and wait for your master�s decision. Perhaps you will be lucky, or
unlucky, depending on your preference. Perhaps he is just teasing.
Testing. But you must bend unhesitatingly, or you will be punished, for
sure, for your disobedience.� She kissed me again, then said softly.
�Already you have earned three extra strokes for stalling. Don�t make me
be any more severe on you than I must.�
I went to bed that night with a very sore bottom.
The days passed. I was fucked frequently. Often it was in my
bottom, but sometimes in my cunt. I never knew which, though I knew
Dave had expressed a preference to them for having things up my bottom. I
tried hard to accept, as the days passed. Wickedly, they used bigger
objects on me as the days went by. I was punished when I refused, or
proved, in another favorite word of theirs, �inadequate.�
Trish stood trying pajama pants round my waist. I watched her
fingers. They were practised, nubile. I breathed in. She tied the pants
tighter.
�There,� Trish said. �All set. And look, you have a little flap in
back. Sorry, but I�ve got to undo it, dear, so it hangs down and shows your
fanny.�
Where�s the top?� I asked, looking about the room. My hair was tied
off in pigtails with big pink bows. I was in a bedroom decorated for a
little girl. It had a small bed. There were stuffed animals, quite cute
ones, piled in the corner. I held a teddy bear in my hand. I liked its fuzzy
feeling.
�The top?� Trish laughed. She undid my flap in my pants, in back,
and I felt cool air suddenly touch my bottom. �There is no top, dear. A
real little girl would have a top, of course, unless she has a lusty daddy.
No, you�re a big girl, even though you�re to play a little one. No top for you.
But you do get these cute footed pants, with the flap in back. That�s
something, isn�t it?�
�I guess so,� I answered.
�Now get in bed,� Trish told me. Reluctantly I got into the bed. I
pulled the covers over me. Right up to my chin.
�Oh, you are a naughty one,� Trish teased me. �But I�ll let you keep
your covers up, tonight. After all, you�re a scared little girl, aren�t you?�
�MmmmHMMM!� I agreed, nodding my head vigorously. I hoped she
might take the larger point. Trish laughed.
�No, darling, even scared little girls are required to stay here and
complete their education. No going home for you, much as you might wish
it.� She put a finger to my lips, to silence an incipient protest, and kissed
me on my nose.
Trish stood up. �Do you want the night light on?� she asked me. I
looked at it. It was in the shape of a pumpkin. It had a happy face on it. It
glowed, warmly.
�On,� I said firmly.
�Very good,� Trish said. �I�d read you a story, but I�m needed
downstairs. Your door will be locked, but men have a key, don�t worry.
Visit the toilet as you wish. In the morning someone will come and get
you, if someone hasn�t already, during the night. Try to sleep until then.�
�What will happen to me?� I asked. Trish laughed again.
�No sense giving it away,� she said. �Something special. That you
can take back to your lover with you.�
I tossed and turned after she left. What could it be? What? What
could I possibly take back to Dave, except my education? At last sleep
crept into me and I slept.
In the wee hours of the night someone awoke me. It was a woman,
but I didn�t know her name. She was new. She was a brunette, with dark
hair. She was pretty, like a model, but her eyes seemed hard.
�Get up,� she told me.
�Where�s Trish?� I asked.
�She�s downstairs, in the basement, serving a new girl,� the woman
replied.
�Who�re you?� I asked impudently. I didn�t like her pulling down my
covers. It was cold in the room. The night air made my breasts chilly.
�I�m your new mistress,� she said. �I watched you being trained.
She always went easy on you, didn�t she? Well, I am not so easy. You will
find me more demanding. Roll over.�
I did nothing. I was frightened.
�NOW!� she insisted.
Shivering from the cold, blinking, I rolled over. I felt my breasts
against the warm sheet and was grateful for that, but now my bottom,
sticking up through the flap in my pants, was exposed.
SLAP! The woman�s hand came down very hard.
�Yeeeech!� I cried.
SLAP! SLAP! Twice again the hand came down, striking both my
cheeks, as if to ensure they both suffered equally. It was a hard hand,
implacable. I screamed very loudly.
The woman, my new, harsh mistress, took me downstairs. I walked
mincingly. She had to pull hard on my hand to make me take bigger steps.
She led me into the living room. I saw the fire flickering in the hearth. It
looked warm. I wanted to run to it, to find comfort in it. Facing it, at
least. My bottom was already warm enough. The woman, Circe, my
mistress, had spanked it until it was bright red. On both its cheeks.
Suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks. In front of the fire, there was
a small brazier. It stood on the carpeted floor. I saw, even from this
distance, a long metal thing lying across it. My heart skipped a beat.
Several beats. I was from Iowa. I knew what a brazier meant, and a long
thing, too. It was a brand.
�Yes, see? You�re to be branded,� Circe told me, pointing. With her
other hand she gripped me hard, by my bare shoulder. There was a woman
sitting near the brazier. With a long stick, she was stirring the coals.
�Ohhhh!� I cried. I fainted. It was the worst possible thing to do.
When I came to, I was tied. My arms were around a post. They were
tied on the opposite side, very tightly. A rope crossed around behind the
small of my back and held me firmly to the pole. It felt scratchy against
my back. It was a bristly rope, the kind used to lasso cows. My feet were
spread, and the same kind of rope that bound my wrists, my waist, also
bound my feet. They, at least, were still in my footed stocking bottoms,
and did not have to feel the awful rope. But I couldn�t budge them. They
were fixed in place on either side of the pole, near its back, making my
bottom hang out of my P.J.�s. The flap in the seat of my P.J.�s was still
unbuttoned. My reddened asscheeks stuck out of it, and despite my
spanking I could feel the flame of the fire, behind me, warming it, making
it sweat.
I did not have a gag in my mouth. I had a bit. But it wasn�t a rubber
bit. Someone, perhaps that wicked woman Circe, had pushed a pacifier
into my mouth. I felt it between my teeth. It was big, and hard. It filled
my mouth and forced my jaws apart, so I couldn�t grind my teeth. It
shoved my tongue back into the rear of my mouth. I gagged, once, feeling
it. I tried to gag again but couldn�t. It had been pushed back just enough,
no more, to serve its purpose. To keep me quiet while I was.... branded.
�NOOOOO!� I screamed at the very thought of the word. The pacifier
silenced my scream. Behind me, I heard preparations being made. I tried
to spit out the pacifier. It was tied to my head. A scratchy rope passed
behind it, through its looped handle, and then over both my cheeks. It was
tied in a knot at the back of my head.
My hair was tied off in pigtails, exposing my back. I was bare all
down my back. I felt the fire burnishing my back with its heat. Behind
me, I heard preparations. Someone was stirring the coals. Someone else
was whispering, quietly.
Suddenly Circe appeared beside me. �There has been a delay,� she
said. Her voice was angry. She looked at me harshly. �No, you are not
getting off,� she assured me. �But the Head Master wishes to see it, and
he�s off right now, off with Trish.� My eyes widened hopefully. I felt my
breath caught in my chest. My breasts, splayed by the big pole, seemed to
spring forth at their tips at the excitement of being released. �I�m
keeping you downstairs,� Circe told me. �No more sweet little girl
bedrooms for you. Downstairs, in a proper cell. And as soon as I get the
word, or convince the Head Master to change his mind, it�ll be back to this
post for you. And you�ll feel that brand going right between the cheeks of
your bottom. Where it belongs.�
�NOOOOOO!� I screamed. Circe laughed. She laughed at my scream.
She seemed to enjoy it. I screamed again, and kept screaming, until she�d
locked me away in my cell. It took three women, including her, to muscle
me into it.
A day passed. The dwarf brought me bread and a jug of wine. Circe
had cut my rations. She wished me to have only bread, the dwarf said,
because I didn�t deserve better. She wished the wine to make me drunk, so
I couldn�t refuse... next time. The dwarf warned me that �next time� was
any time, any time the Head Master changed his mind. He was in Zurich,
with Trish. They were due back, at the latest, in one week. They were
drumming up new business for the school.
�More men to have their way with me,� I said, frowning.
�Yes,� the dwarf agreed. He nodded. His eyes were bright, happy.
I was taken from my cell and fucked whenever someone asked for
me. Circe dealt with me angrily. But she was allowed only to spank me.
The Head Master feared arming her with a cane. I heard her once, in
another room, pleading with him on the telephone, as a man and two
women decorated me for dessert.
�But she is so WILFUL!� Circe shouted. I could not hear the reply.
�It is always less fun when the Head Master�s away,� one of the
women, sprinkling bits of chocolate across my tummy, sighed. �So little
can be done.�
�He fears leaving us in charge,� the man said.
�We are the help,� the woman agreed.
�This one, she thinks she�s so precious,� the other woman said.
�Circe will change that,� the first woman said. She looked into my
eyes. �Wait �til you feel the brand going between the cheeks of your ass,�
she told me. I shivered.
�We only have six guests right now,� the second woman said. �See
the effect? Less happens, and less people stay.�
�We don�t get the best tips when nothing is happening,� the first
woman agreed. �But people will pay to see this one branded. I�ll bet
that�s why the Head Master�s putting it off. He�s showing her picture
around, trying to drum up the maximum crowd. What�s the use of branding
a girl if you can�t make a profit off it?� She looked at the other woman.
�Extra income,� she said, and nodded meaningfully, seeking agreement.
�Yes, extra income,� the second woman agreed. �And extra tips too.�
�I haven�t been tipped,� I said.
�Quiet. Open your mouth,� the second woman told me. She pulled at
my lips. She presented an apple, and I was forced to accept it. It was a
big apple. It spread my mouth wide. It made my jaw ache. Saliva ran out
of the corners of my mouth. I felt like a pig, served for dinner.
�They tip when they leave,� the man said to me. He was slightly
solicitious, though he made me open my legs so he could insert the de
rigeur carrot into my ass. Just the tip. The guests would take care of the
rest. I prayed it had a good coat of vaseline on it.
�Of course they tip when they leave,� the first woman said to the
man. �Why, haven�t you gotten a tip lately?�
�I was telling her,� the man said.
�OUCH!� I cried. He stuck the end of the carrot into my bottom.
�Oh, her!� the second woman scoffed. She leaned over me. My eyes
looked up at her, frantically, hoping for relief from the carrot. �Yes,
dearie,� she said with feigned sweetness. �They tip when they leave. No
money is permitted during their stay. They have to lock it away. This is
supposed to be a paradise, don�cha know.� She pinched my breast. I
screamed.
�Don�t leave marks on her breasts like that,� the man warned her.
�You know the Head Master wants her unblemished for her branding.�
�Yes, poor child. She�ll be plenty blemished then. For life,� the
second woman said. She pressed her sharp fingertips against my breast
again, but didn�t pinch me this time. Both woman laughed. Even the man
laughed, and I felt forlorn. Hopeless.
I lay upon my mattress. I was well-fucked. Again. The guests had
enjoyed their dessert. The women had let them take me to the Mat Room
afterward. It contained just mats. That�s all that was needed, for
fucking. The men had their way with me. The women watched, kissed me
when I needed it, encouraged me, but offered no relief. I was an object.
To be used. To test the men. My tightness verses their cocks. They spent
in me. In my bottom. In my cunt. My tightness won, but the price was
high. I dripped with their seed, and I was sore.
I gazed out the door to my cell. Why did they always leave it open?
Weren�t cameras enough? Was the humiliation of always being on view,
even when chained in my cell, so very needed? Anyone could come down
and look at me. Anyone.
I called for the dwarf. He came. He unlocked me so I could go to the
potty. He put cheese and meat on my plate, beside my uneated loaf of
bread. He liked feeding me, nowadays. He liked doing it to defeat Circe.
He didn�t like Circe.
I went to the toilet. The dwarf led me, bringing his lamp. He
watched me pee. He liked watching me pee. I didn�t like that, but I could
do nothing to stop him. He led me back to my cell.
�Don�t pee on the mattress,� he said. �I much prefer just changing
the sheet.�
�You could put plastic under the sheet,� I told him.
�Not allowed,� he said. �Thank God there aren�t more girls down
here. Sometimes there�s dozens, all peeing away, because they�re all new
and too bashful to call for me.� He paused. �By name.�
�It took me a lesson,� I admitted. I liked the dwarf, a little. He
brought me food, water. I liked the water much better than the wine Circe
insisted I have. The water didn�t make me drunk. I could fake
drunkenness, if I had to. But if I knew I was to be fucked, then I always
drank the wine. It made it easier.
I don�t know when I discovered it. What hour of the night, that is.
There was no clock down in my cell. But I remember distinctly the
moment, all the same. I was lying on my side, against my ladder. My
fingers were idly toying with the edge of my mattress. The sheet had
come undone from it. Sticking my fingers down, feeling the wedge of the
wall and the mattress, and my finger between, I found that hard,
wonderful object. The keyring. The man�s keyring, from long ago. The man
who had been interrupted, because he needed to go to the airport.
In the days that followed I made very sure I never peed in my bed. I
kept the keys hidden behind my mattress, where I�d found them, where the
dwarf, strugging with the mattress, had missed them when he�d had to
swap it out. I didn�t want to take any extra chances. He�d see them for
sure, if he had to swap out my mattress again.
I hatched plans. I liked hatching plans, there in the dark, when the
room outside was pitch black and I had only a small, guttering lamp in my
cell, so people could come by and look at me sleeping. I kept my face
pressed to the ladder. I let them see my bottom, when they came, but very
few came. We were down to just the help, mostly, and a half-dozen
guests.
All my plans involved fire. I would brand them, much better than
they could ever hope to brand me. Yes. I was wicked. They�d taught me to
be a good little bad girl, and I�d learned my lessons well.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser�s �Location� window. Press your �return� key.
Click on �Power Search� in the middle of the screen. Next,
Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the box that appears.
Click on �find� (the button to the right of the box).
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock Sturges� Radiant
Identities and David Hamilton�s The Age of Innocence. Support art!
- JOIN the world�s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF story EMISSION Need a book? http://www.amazon.com