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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Eight
I awoke amidst a tangle of limbs. For a moment I thought I was in
my own bed, at home, with my teddy bear beside me. Then I realized my
teddy, however fuzzy he might be, wasn�t HAIRY. And he didn�t have,
didn�t have, THAT! Omigod! I came awake then, fully, and rubbed my
eyes and looked around me. Twin pairs of naked bosoms lolled atop
gently moving ribs. And, ensconced between, lordly in his nakedness,
lay Arthur. A lion with his twin lionesses, and me a third. I pushed my
blonde hair from my face. It was tangled. I needed a brush. I needed
the bathroom!
Slowly I got up. I was lissome, free, my boobies swaying, my
cuntlips sticky. My joints ached. �Owww,� I moaned, flexing my hind
cheeks as I lifted my body from the others. My ass hurt! What had
happened to it? I clapped my hands to my behind. It felt hot, burny.
Like I�d sat down in nettles to sleep. I rubbed myself, gently.
�I have to go pee,� a small voice whined beneath me. I looked
down to see Mandy blinking up at me. �Who are you?� she asked.
�Shhh, I�m Barbi,� I told her. A finger snaked over Mandy�s cheeks
and mistress, her eyes still closed, stuck her finger in Mandy�s mouth.
�Ooopth!� Mandy gurgled. The O of her lips closed unwillingly.
The finger surged deeper within them.
�Suck, little one! Pretend it�s Arthur�s cock!� mistress urged
Mandy. Perhaps mistress had awakened before me, but had lain with
eyes shut, savoring the closeness, the warmth of our bodies.
�What? Time to get up already?� Arthur asked. His eyes opened.
�You�re up, sir,� I said ruefully. His cock stuck up like a post,
hard and quivering with some newfound need.
�So I am,� he answered. �Care for a seat, Barbi?�
�What? A free log for my ass?� I enquired.
�Do you have to poop, dear?� mistress asked me. Her eyes had a
wanton look.
�No, I just have to pee. And I have to do it very badly!� I blurted.
I hated being so frank, but my bladder would not allow any dancing
around on the issue. I guessed that in my excitement last night I�d
forgotten about my peehole. Now it was reminding me quite distinctly.
�Alright,� mistress said. �But we�re going to take our first group
pee together in a special way, on an old-fashioned chamber pot.� She
brushed her own hair from her eyes and got up. She adjusted a few of
the pins in her hair. It was drawn back; she arranged them anew so she
could pile her hair neatly atop her head. She was casual, graceful. I
wished she would hurry. What did she mean, a group pee? No matter. I
had to go, and the sooner the better. Beggars can�t be choosers. I
looked at Mandy and saw she wasn�t about to quarrel either.
�Please hurry!� Mandy pleaded. She stood beside me now,
expectant. She bit her lip and I saw that her thighs were squeezed
together quite tightly. Arthur lay still in regal splendor, admiring our
tushies. I clenched my bottomcheeks, involuntarily, with my need.
�Ooch!� I murmured. Sharply I drew in my breath. It was not a
wise idea to squeeze a scorched bottom.
The culprit of my harm, mistress, walked with the slothful stroll
of a Parisian model over to the armorie. She had a perfectly white
hiney, and seemed to swing it with sweet abandon, as if taunting us.
Perhaps that�s what determined the pecking order in a dungeon. Who
had a white ass and who didn�t. Stepping lightly, easily in her spike-
heeled boots, she paused before the armorie and bent down. She mooned
us with her fanny. It was bold, creamy, chic, her cuntlips peeping
between the smooth, incurving whiteness of her ass. She held her legs
apart, easily, utterly unconcerned that her most intimate parts were
now on full display. Her breasts hung beyond the graceful vee of her
legs, tremulous, with risen nipples, ripe and ready for love. Arthur
groaned and put his hand to his cock and fisted it.
�You�re bad,� Mandy said, turning her face briefly about. �Don�t
play with your penis. And don�t stare at my butt!�
�Who put your fat little ass in charge?� Arthur asked bluntly.
�I don�t have a fat ass,� Mandy breathed through clenched teeth,
but she was already facing forward again, praying for an opportunity to
relieve herself.
Mistress opened a bottom door in the armorie. Strands of her hair
fell down around her face and she brushed them back over her ears. She
reached into the cabinet. Grunting, she pulled out a big heavy old pot
from the previous century. It was made of cast iron. Perhaps to belie
its purpose, it had been moulded with an elaborate frieze. She picked it
up with some difficulty, her thin arms straining, and lugged it across
the room. She plopped it down in front of us. Arthur rose up, a great
bear rising to paw his way to the head of the line.
�Me first,� Arthur insisted. �Make way, honeypots!�
�No, no!� mistress scolded him. �Barbi, you woke up first. You go.
Then Mandy, then me. You can be last, Arthur, since you�re a big boy
with a big cock to hold all your pee. We girls just have our little clits.�
�The dick has nothing to do with holding pee...� Arthur protested,
but I used the opportunity to rush to the pot, beating out Mandy, who
clearly wanted to be first if she could. She was forced to hold her
cunny with both her hands, squeezing it, as she watched me go.
�Oh, hurry,� she simpered. She bounced on the balls of her feet,
amusing Arthur. Mistress absently stroked her hair.
Long-legged, waif-like, my bosoms bouncing as I settled with
obvious urgency on the big potty, I put my fingers to my cunt. I spread
my lips and, aiming for the depths, I let go of my bladder.
PISSSS! Was heard as the first quick stream of urine sprayed into
the metal bowl.
�Just do half,� mistress urged me.
�Huh?� I asked. I looked up from my belly. My eyes were wide,
unknowing.
�Save half your pee for later,� she said. �Just a little while.
When each of us has gone some we can enjoy the rest more fully. It�s
quite fun, peeing in front of company, and watching others.�
�Okay,� I replied, not really caring, just glad I was first and able
to let go of some of the awful feeling of need within me.
�That�s enough!� Mandy called out, eager to go herself.
�A little more,� I answered, and went more than halfway, just to
make her wait.
�Come on, dear, that�s more than enough for your first turn,�
mistress said finally. She grabbed my arm and yanked me up as I tried
to let more of my pee out. A little squirted onto the rug. �Now see
what you�ve done?� she slapped my ass.
�OWWW!� I whined.
�Me next!� Mandy announced, and quickly seated herself in turn.
She let out a big whoosh of air with her mouth, obviously relieved, as
her pee began spritzing. I could hear it splashing into my own.
Mistress unseated her next, for she was as greedy as I and would have
emptied herself completely if she�d been left to sit unattended. Arthur
went next, cutting ahead of mistress, and then she went.
�Alright! Now we can have some fun doing this!� mistress
announced, rising from the well-filled potty. �Barbi, you�re next, and
just let out what you wish. We can play quite awhile at this if we
like.�
�Mmm, okay,� I said. I sat back down again. The pot was getting
dangerously full. I knew I�d get a little baptism on my bottom this
time, the pee splashing up on me as I added more. No matter, I still had
to go. We were all in this together now.
We each took several more turns peeing in the chamber pot. True
to mistress� prediction, it proved quite sensuous. I felt immensely bad,
doing it in front of the others, watching them do it in front of me.
Never in my life had I experienced the heady pleasure of taking my turn
upon a toilet while others watched. I felt like a naughty little girl,
spreading my cunt lips with my fingers while Arthur and Mandy and
mistress stared, sinfully fascinated. And each of them too did the
same for me, in turn. Even watching the girls was special for me. They
had a fey look on their face, as if sure that mommie would enter any
minute and scold us, perhaps beat us. Arthur, standing proudly, was a
sight to behold. He looked like a living statue, all marble right down to
his cock and balls, spurting out dandelion wine for us girls. Perhaps for
us to lap up when he was done. He suggested it, we declined. When we
were done the pot was sloshing right at its brim with our pee. I think
we bonded with each other in some new way, doing that.
After we�d peed, eighteenth century style, mistress unlocked the
bathroom. It was more than a toilet, actually. There was an entire
storeroom here, with a pantry containing lots of food, a stove to cook it
on, and a big refrigerator, just in case the world ended and we�d need to
fuck for the rest of our lives, never going out again. I imagined what it
would be like, Three Eves and an Adam, no funerals please. Least of all
a funeral for Adam. He would have to be the last to die, unless I wanted
to violate my own son. God, I could not do that, even if the world did
end. Then again, if we were the last humans, and pregnant, without
pills, and we each had a son, then there would be Three Eves and Four
Adams, including Arthur. Mandy�s son, for instance, he would need to be
trained. He would need a womb of his own to sperm. And I would be the
youngest, save for his mother. Surely mistress would be too old for
him by the time he was �of age� to fuck.
Yes, life after a holocaust might not be so bad, I mused. How
many ladies in the world today HAD to, as a matter of principle, lie
with a young boy? And be his ONLY lover? Mandy�s son would love only
me. And mistress� too. She could have mine. He would be so handsome
that Mandy and her would tear each other to bits over him, while I had
their two sons to entertain me in my old age. �Thank God for the Bomb,�
I�d say to that. And it wouldn�t be incest. Even if it was, sort of,
there�d be no one to arrest us. Such odd thoughts I had down in the
dungeon, where so much of what usually remained private was now on
fierce display.
His muscles straining, Arthur hefted the big chamber pot. He
emptied it in the bathroom�s toilet and flushed our pee away. It took
several pourings and several flushes before the pot was totally empty.
Girlishly, we cheered him when it was done. He walked the pot back out
to the dungeon�s entryway. He parked it just inside the front door. We
were finished with it. He dumped some Lysol into it and tossed a towel
over it to kill any rude smells. Then we regrouped in the bathroom.
�Let�s wash,� mistress said. She turned on the tap in the
bathroom. There was no tub, no shower. Just a sink, and the four of us.
We all needed a bath, and we girls needed to douche too, except for
mistress, who had abstained so far from Arthur�s cock, preferring
instead to let me and Mandy have him. It was sweet of her, I realized.
Here I had hated her for belting me, and caning Mandy, but in fact she�d
deprived herself of Arthur to do it. I looked at her with renewed
appreciation.
�You�re special, you know that?� I asked her.
�Specially perverted,� she laughed.
�No, I like you!� I said. I leaned forward, let my nipples perk to
hers. I kissed her mouth.
�You will go far, darling,� she replied. She returned my kiss.
Then she and I parted and I waited with tingling skin for her next move.
Arthur ran his finger down my spine. I turned, my hair falling into my
eyes. It was beautiful in its unkemptness.
�Be good, Arthur,� I said. He dropped his hand. I patted the rock
hard protuberance of his organ, like one might pet a dog. But there was
nothing more yet, not yet. He must wait. We must all wait. Even
orgies have their moments of modesty.
Mistress considered plugging and filling the bowl, sharing the
water, but there were simply too many of us. Our communal bath would
have to be with the tap on, continually supplying fresh water into the
sink. She took a washcloth (there appeared to be only one) and wet it.
She reached out and ran it over my belly.
�Oooh, you feel pregnant,� she teased.
�Stop it!� I cried. I knew I hadn�t any protection that first night.
I prayed she was just joking. I didn�t feel pregnant. But then some
girls never knew, especially fat ones, until they were many months
along. But then, I wasn�t fat.
�If she is I�ll beat it out of her,� Arthur warned.
�Quiet, Arthur,� mistress replied. �I�ll wash your cock in a
minute.�
�Just trying to be helpful,� Arthur grumbled.
Slowly, luxuriously, we laved the washcloth over each other. It
was a kind of dreamlike existence, the water hot, the air a tad chilly.
We explored the roundness of each other�s breasts, were careful of
wounded bottoms, bathed cunts with delighted pokes and douching
squirts of a handy syringe. Lastly we did Arthur, savoring every inch of
his massive frame, rubbing him until he was sparkling like a freshly-
licked cub.
�Oh, my! I�m afraid I have to poop!� mistress said when we�d
finished bathing.
�You don�t expect privacy for that?� I laughed.
�Let�s see you do it!� Mandy, bug-eyed with the decadence of it
all, insisted.
�Alright, but hold your noses, I think it�s going to be a stinky
one,� mistress said. At Arthur�s suggestion she sat down backwards on
the flush toilet. We quickly found we had to pinch our nostrils and we
watched, sinfully, as long turds oozed out of her back hole and plopped
into the water beneath.
�You can wipe in private,� I said when she was done, disgusted
with myself.
�Yes, please!� Mandy added, making every effort to embarrass her
by holding her nose theatrically. Together we trooped from the room,
out into the kitchen area. Arthur turned on the bathroom fan for her.
�Would you like me to clean you up?� I heard him ask her.
�No thanks, Arthur. See that the girls don�t make a mess out
there, would you? Fifteen-year-old girls are not generally prized for
their cooking,� she replied.
�No indeed! I shall have to chaperone,� Arthur replied. �To
protect the food!�
With stinging bottoms Mandy and I inspected the pantry. We did
not know what time it was, morning perhaps? There was no window
down in this dungeon which lay beneath the snow-laden earth. Perhaps
the world had been destroyed in a nuclear war and we were its last
survivors, I thought again. From the promising erection standing up
stiffly between us I had no doubt we would repopulate the planet
quickly. Never mind one son each, we would be more likely to rival the
wives of Abraham with our progeny. Arthur caressed our legs, the
backs of our thighs. He placed his warm palms on our bottoms.
�Arthur! Keep your hands to yourself!� Mandy chirped.
�Yes!� I said, wincing. �Keep your hands off our fannies, sir. We
are not just dolls for you to fondle whenever you please. Whenever you
are...inflated.� I cast a glance down at his cock. It was gorgeous in its
hugeness, stiff as wood for him in his first moments of wakefulness.
And still stiff now, as yet unsatisfied. He jabbed it between our close-
standing bodies, to Mandy�s renewed annoyance.
�Arthur, we girls are not endlessly interested in men,� she
reproved him. She continued rummaging about in the pantry.
�We like eating, too,� I smiled at him.
�Yes! Especially skinny girls like me and Barbi. We have a fast
metab-- metab-- metabotulism!� Mandy declared.
Mistress soon appeared. She found flour in the fridge, the big
refrigerator that stood before us now in the storeroom, with its
makeshift kitchen and shelves, and offered to cook us strawberry
flapjacks. We agreed that would be a delicious way to start our new
day in the dungeon.
�But I cannot have flapjacks without a sausage to go with it,�
Mandy insisted. I nudged her. Mandy and Beavis. She did not catch my
meaning. �Mommie always browns me a sausage with my flapjacks,�
she continued. She was feeling protected and infantile this morning, I
think, being the littlest amongst us, demanding her breakfast.
�Otherwise they are too gooey and syrupy, plus meat is good for you.�
�Alright,� mistress said, with a wink at me. �Let me see if I can
find some sausages in the fridge, dear. Did you see any in here?�
�I just looked in the pantry,� Mandy answered. �I can�t cook
flapjacks. I was looking for Lucky Charms.� She had them now, the box
pressed to her belly. She was sticking her hand into the box and
drawing out handfuls of cereal and munching on them. Wetly her tongue
drew in more cereal from her sprinkling hand. Her bosoms rolled atop
the box, big and juicy, with red tips like the little marshmallow hearts
in the cereal.
�Don�t eat too much of that junk,� mistress said. �Or you won�t
be able to eat the breakfast I fix you.�
�I always have room for a nice big sausage,� Mandy answered, her
eyes uplifted, watching as she dumped another handful of the
Leprechaun�s cereal into her mouth.
�Oh! Here�s some,� mistress announced, looking again in the
fridge. �Nice big long ones, straight from Bavaria.� She examined the
plastic packaging. �Made in Munich!�
�The capital of dicks,� I laughed.
�Are these good enough for you, little one?� mistress asked
Mandy.
�Good!� Mandy chirped in reply. She munched loudly on her Lucky
Charms, her cheeks stuffed with them.
�Then give me that!� mistress answered. She took the box from
Mandy and set it on a shelf above the fridge, where the girl could not
reach it.
�Oooh! Give me back my Lucky Charms!� Mandy whined.
�I�m going to cook you a nice big breakfast, and I expect you to
eat every bite,� mistress replied. She picked up an apron on the counter
and, unfolding it, tied it around her waist. Her breasts jiggled their
heaviness, ripe as summer gourds, as she leaned forward a little to tie
the apron upon herself. Then she took a chef�s hat and plopped it atop
her head, first pinning up her hair a little more, for it was falling in
many loose strands around her eyes. Mandy stood watching her, rubbing
her soft belly like some little teddy bear watching its mother.
�Okay,� Mandy said at last. She was content. She walked over to
Arthur, her saucy bottom cheeks rolling like firm mounds of jiggly
jello, with the crack between them tight as a girl�s legs on her first
date. Mandy struck Arthur�s cock with the flat of her hand. �Play with
me!� she commanded. She looked up at him expectantly. Arthur gazed
down at her, like some old dog roused by a puppy. I think he was
growing weary of Mandy and her childish ways. One minute she berated
his lust, the next she seemed to demand it, piquant, moody, expecting
the entire universe to revolve around and respond to her ever-changing
whims.
�I could play with you in such a way that you would never get up
again,� Arthur said with casual menace.
�Do it!� Mandy replied, smugly. He was the bull, but in her mind at
least, she was the bullfighter.
�You are a silly little bitch,� Arthur replied. He seemed glad
suddenly to have Mandy asking him for attention, and decided to lure her
on a bit, not give her what she wished. I saw that I was forgotten and
eased up next to the girl.
�I�m a silly little bitch too,� I smiled at him. I ran my finger up
the length of his cock and toyed with its tip with my fingernail. I stuck
it into his peehole. �Does this provoke you, sir?� I asked. Manfully he
just stood and watched. Mistress giggled. On a stove next to the fridge
she began preparing our meal, decked out in her little waist apron and
chef's hat, still wearing her elegant riding boots, as if she might mount
a horse at any moment and decide to ride through the city bare. She
would bring eggs and a muffin to all the men, to rouse them for their
day�s labor. Arthur, entranced by her graceful maturity, watched her
with renewed passion, while Mandy and I teased his cock. We batted it
about with our hands, watching it wiggle to and fro. He ignored us. He
let us play with him as an adult dog entertains puppies, its eyes fixed
on its master, waiting for dinner. Our chef smiled at her flapjacks,
aware of Arthur�s eyes. Her teeth were white, her lips lustrous. She
had a newlywed wife look to her, classy yet vulnerable. Her divine
breasts wiggled their rubicund tips over the steaming food. Her bottom
swayed easily, naked beneath the big bow of her apron. The sleekness
of the backs of her thighs was enchanting, stretching down to her
improbable boots. They had spiked heels, as stiff and implacable as the
cock Arthur absently presented us with as he watched our winsome
cook. Someday she would be old, flabby, irate at her husband, her hair
pinned up in curlers, perhaps wearing the remnants of a mudpack, a
flannel robe girding her ever-expanding middle. She would be a
feminist pin-up then, wrinkled, demanding, aware of her husband�s
every fault and certain to enumerate them at every morning meal. But
now she was still fetching and young, nonchalant in her nudity yet
aware of its effect on her hubby�s eyes. He turned away finally, unable
to bear the dreamy sight. He would cum too soon if he didn�t watch
himself.
�Hey, come back with that penis!� Mandy admonished.
�I, uh, need to do some chin-ups,� Arthur croaked. He walked as
one might who had just barely averted an accident, trembling a bit, his
hugely swollen cock quavering deliciously. To clear his mind of
mistress he bent and touched his toes a few times. Mandy and I
watched his balls as they slowly descended from a height of
excitement to swing again in relative calm under his ass.
�You have a hairy butt crack,� Mandy told Arthur. She walked up
behind him and tugged at some hair in his ass. �Yuck!� she said. �How
disgusting!� Then, obviously not disgusted in the least, she poked her
finger into his hole.
�OWWW!� Arthur growled. He stood erect, forgetting his toe-
touches, and glared behind himself at Mandy. It was incredible, all of
us naked, fiddling with each other�s intimate parts, watching as
passion coursed through one or the other, climaxes surging, retreating.
Mistress, usually a paragon of restraint, rubbed herself a little
between her legs, so hot was the mood in our little kitchen, the
sausages sizzling on the grill as we waited to fill our hungry bellies. I
touched myself too, watching Arthur do his toe touches.
�Mandy, try not to stick your finger up Arthur�s ass, however
inviting it might appear,� mistress told her. She worked over the
stove, her cheeks rosy, her breath quickening as she toyed with her clit.
�It�s totally disgusting,� Mandy exclaimed. She walked round in
front of him and took hold of his cock instead. He shuddered anew, but
seemed to find some new strength and did not cum. I watched as his
balls tightened again, the sac drawing up until it seemed to be painfully
taut. Glad that Arthur would not keep us away, I quickly joined Mandy
at his front. Still diddling with my own private, I played my fingers
over his as well. We exchanged glances. Mandy, seeing masturbation
would not be discouraged, found her own sweet spot and hunnied it up a
bit with her fingers.
There was a chinning bar in the storeroom. It was, no doubt, for
exercising, so a male staying long days down here would not lose his
muscles. Arthur took hold of it and hoisted himself up and down on it,
biceps bulging, while Mandy and I continued to entertain ourselves with
his penis. All the while we kept fondling ourselves. Our breath became
increasingly fast-paced, even as Arthur huffed and puffed on the bar.
Mistress watched us playing out of the corner of her eye. Her own
breath was more rapid, her fingers strumming over her little private
bud while she cooked us breakfast. Happily, if breathily, she hummed a
tune, plotting new perversions for us. All our inhibitions were gone.
We were bare-ass naked, and very randy. Our tits wobbled, tender teats
erect as Arthur. Our bottoms wiggled with pent-up desire. Our legs
squeezed together and then flexed apart, like little girls waiting
outside a restroom that was locked and in use. Yet peeing was hardly
on our minds. We were already wet there, and wished to be wetter
still.
�Come, kids,� mistress said gaily. She laughed, took her hand
away from her own nest. �I mean, come, as in it�s time for breakfast!�
Savoring my own arousal, I desisted in frigging myself, and batted
Mandy�s hand away from her own cunt.
�Don�t!� Mandy reproved me. She returned her hand to herself,
eager to have her orgasm. With gentlemanly care Arthur took her wrist
and lifted her fingers from her cunny. They were wet with her dew. He
kissed her hand and then cleaned her little digits with his tongue, one
by one, as a father might kiss each of his baby�s toes. Mandy watched,
intrigued, and did not try to pleasure herself with her other hand.
�Tickle me,� she commanded at last. She was eager to continue
the game.
Arthur slapped her soft belly. �Into the living room, tummy girl!�
he told her. �Let�s see if we can get something into that belly of yours
besides Lucky Charms!�
�Oh, okay,� Mandy relented. But, walking ahead of him, she was
visibly agitated, her legs jittery and her bottom wriggling with her
pent-up need. I followed, my own hips swaying like some mare in heat,
inviting the stallion none-too-subtly to mount me. Arthur, himself
fighting down a surging of his lively sperm, walked behind me stiff-
legged, awkward in his gait. Mistress got us plates and napkins and
arranged us for our meal. She served us steaming cups of hot cocoa
along with our food. Then she took off her chef�s hat and her apron and
joined us. Arthur eyed her bush. He seemed glad that it was hidden no
longer.
We sat on the dungeon's soft carpeting to eat. Cross-legged,
pussies open and displayed, we sat round Arthur like Indian maidens,
worshipping the Pilgrim Father who�d come to teach us to mend our
primitive ways. Arthur, his cock large and looming, sat with his own
legs apart. His dong stuck up, fixing our eyes, a Pilgrim spear, a
Spanish lance. He was a Conquistador, I thought, come to conquer us,
not save us. We were enslaved by his lance. Hotly we desired to give
our honey-golden cunnies to it. Shivering, we ate with our fingers.
Syrup dribbled down my wrist, lacing my arm with sweetness and
dripping off my elbow. I cared not. Others would clean the rug when
we were gone. Our job was only to play, carefree in our bondage, naked
and unfettered by any responsibilities. Yet, in our nudity, our freedom,
we were bound by our own desire. I did not feel comfortable. I felt
agitated. I popped a sausage in my mouth. I bit off the end of it,
vengefully. I should be sitting primly in my seat at school, my loins
quiet, not restive, not hungrier than my belly, which gnawed at me. I�d
skipped dinner to feed my pussy, yet it hungered still. I pushed more of
the sausage into my mouth. Mandy played with her food, too full of
Lucky Charms. She took her longed-for sausage and prodded her
cuntlips with it.
�Don�t play with your food, dear,� mistress cautioned her. �It�s
not polite.� I giggled, put my hand over my face, laughed harder. My
food in my mouth wound up in my palm. We were wicked, decadent.
�Oooh, I can�t help it, I need it more here than in my tummy!�
Mandy said frankly. She nosed the big sausage into her tightly
proffered lips. Mistress thought to slap her, then relented. We were
too far gone. Modesty had fled, never to return. �Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!�
Mandy cried. Her face tilted up in a swoon as she stuffed the sausage
into herself and then brought it out again, wet with her need, only to
ram it back up. I tried to ignore her. I wanted to do the same, but I was
eating mine. Arthur watched bemused, knowing his cock was pledged to
mistress� plans, not to the unseemly display of a little girl who could
not control herself.
�She needs tutoring,� I said to mistress, trying to distance
myself from Mandy and her antics. I brushed my hair back from my face
with my sticky fingers. I lifted my own sausage to my lips and bit
delicately into it, chewed properly, swallowed discreetly.
�Yes, she needs to be pussy-trained,� mistress replied. Mandy
screamed, bucking upon the sausage as if it were a live male penis
filling her. �But you are my favorite,� mistress continued, turning her
face toward mine. �You are not just some little beaver, like Mandy, all
untrained desires and appetites. You at least try to be lady-like, and
often succeed, I might add, which is more than I can say for myself,
when I was your age. You intrigue me, dear. With Mandy it is all just
untrained passion. She needs a belt, nothing more. You, though, have a
newlywed�s charm about you.�
�And you,� I answered.
�Yes, but I am �of age� for it, darling. It is nothing in my case. In
yours, though, you could still be brattish, yet you are not. And your
reservations are now just for show, as they should be. You enter into
the sport as eagerly as any woman. It is good that you do not fight it,
but come to it with lowered lashes, moistened lips, and sweetly opened
legs. I watched you upon Arthur last night, and it was a marriage-fuck,
I tell you, a bride with her groom, both of you earnest. I wish to see
more trysts like that, and we are well equipped for it. Your pussy is
well-opened now, yet still tight as a virgin�s; Arthur is huge and seems
to renew himself as often as we require. And this room, ah...� She
surveyed it with sparkling eyes as Mandy, kneeling now, bounced on her
sausage, ignored by us even as she keened into the the highest reaches
of orgasm.
I squirmed as I thought of what lay ahead. Mistress ceased
talking, but hinted that much was still in store for me, for all of us,
but me especially, and much of it decadently inventive, as if the sex act
alone would not satisfy her, but must be embroidered with the most
outrageous perversions. I gazed around me, examining the possibilities.
They were scary. Yet, like a rabbit caught before headlights, they
burned into me with their awful intentions. There was a pillory, where
the hands and head of a wayward Puritan might be imprisoned. I would
play the part, I guessed, drafted out of my Indian-maiden status and
into that of a Puritan girl, her dress and petticoat torn away, her bare
bottom on view to all who might see, her bosoms sweetly offered,
though her neck and hands were clamped securely within the wood.
There was a rape rack, where I might be left for days, to be fucked
again and again at Arthur�s leisure, or even at the leisure of other men
who might be invited downstairs. There was a whipping post, silent
and ready for my discipline, where I could be bound for the slightest
infraction of made-up rules that, in fact, were impossible to obey. And
there was a wooden ladder, standing upright against the wall. It led
nowhere, but left the ass of any �climber� wonderfully exposed. I felt
a kind of lightheadedness. Clouds flitted before my eyes. I looked down
at my flapjacks. It was too much for me, this room, yet I could not
escape it. My own burning between my legs told me I could not escape
it.
Mandy, her passion spent at last, quietened and replaced the
sausage on her plate, guilty-eyed.
�I�m full,� she announced.
�I guess you are,� mistress answered. Mistress ate her flapjacks
with refined grace, as if at a formal dinner, though still with her
fingers. They were long, delicate. Her nails were glossy and perfectly
polished. She opened her lips and popped in small pieces of dough as
she tore them from her flapjacks. Her earrings glittered. She looked up
at Arthur. �Do you ever read, dear?� she asked politely. She wished he
had a Ph.D. now, that he might entertain her with his mind. All women
wanted that, I guessed, a truck driver...with a Ph.D.
�Sure,� Arthur answered. �I read about sports, when I�m not, you
know, busy...�
�Oh,� mistress replied. She wanted more. I giggled. I did not say
anything, but the word �watersports� glided through my mind. I did not
wish to spoil mistress� discreet conversation. I put my cup of hot
cocoa to my lips and sipped upon it.
�I like Jane Austen, myself,� mistress offered. �And the Bronte
sisters.�
�I didn�t ever see them writing about sports,� Arthur mused.
Mistress waved her hand dismissively. Arthur had many assets, but
they were all before us now. There was nothing else, nothing more. I
thought of talking about my impression of Hamlet. I�d been forced to
read it in high school, but had skipped a lot of it. I guessed mistress
wouldn�t find my observations to be quite on the level she was looking
for. Too bad. I wanted to help her, but could not. Perhaps we�d read
together, she and I, sometime. We�d lie on our tummies in bed and read
aloud from Wuthering Heights. We�d take college classes together.
We�d go to university dinners, dressed in ravishing gowns, and chat
with Al Gore about the information superhighway. Afterwards we�d pop
by Bill Gates� house, and marvel at his technicolor walls, each
different, while he gazed at us, prettier still than anything his money
could buy. Living flesh, in shimmering evening wear, with long, glossy
hair. He�d court us with jewels and precious gifts, hoping to buy the
electronic rights to us. We�d succumb at last. A hundred years later,
dead in our graves, we�d stalk across his walls still, lovely and fresh.
He would even create new images using our video selves, and place us
in films with Clint Eastwood and J.F.K., men we�d never met. We�d have
sex together, mistress with Elvis, me with Luke Skywalker. C-3PO
would bring us drinks to refresh us. Spock would observe us,
fascinated. Senator Exon would vow to ban us.
30
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-END OF story EMISSION