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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
NUDIE NURSERY
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Chapter Three
It was all my mom�s fault. When I was 16, she insisted I get a job.
She said she was tired of me just playing on the beach. My grades had
dropped from a little too much partying. I think she thought I was up to
more than I actually was. But what was I going to say: �Don�t worry, mom,
I just blow the guys I like, I don�t bed them�?
I�d had fun at Kate�s, I must admit. I think I walked around in a daze
for about a month after that weekend at her place. She decided to sell it,
and moved back to New York. There were too many stories hidden down
there for her to play in that preschool dungeon guilt-free.
I went back to teasing guys. I loved to make them lust after me and
then leave them with nothing; yearning for me, desperate, jerking
themselves off someplace as they wished they could have me. It was
especially fun sometimes to make a hunky guy drop dead over me. After
all, what good is it knowing a nerd is creaming his pants for you? But a
hunk is another matter. To think that a cute guy who deserves you is left
with blue balls and sperm that just HAS to cum out, but can�t, but MUST;
that is wickedly fun. Unfair, perhaps, but fun all the same.
Sex just didn�t seem to sizzle after playing in Jeff and Sherry�s
canyon retreat, and at Kate�s. Everything was so heightened there, so
intense, so immediate. I think I missed the challenge of a dungeon. To be
commanded, to know you have to obey. In real life I was swamped with
choices. I could diss cute guys, or not. I got invited to teen parties where
we danced, or just got drunk. There was freedom but there was boredom
too. Pearl Jam on 10 is only so interesting. Beavis and Butthead might be
content to re-run their lives every day, watching the same old videos, but
I got annoyed with it all.
So when mom said I just HAD to get a job, well, I wasn�t really
bothered by it. I imagined I�d wind up in a boutique near the beach selling
cosmetics or trinkets or something but, well, what could you expect as a
teenager? I opened the paper to look for some job like that, but for some
reason my eyes were drawn to the Secretary page. I don�t know why. I
can�t type. I�m a terrible speller. Even my name, Kelly, I sometimes spell
Kellie, or Kellee, just to have fun. But I saw an ad that said, �Secretary
Desired: No Skills Required.� Somehow the way it was phrased, you
know? It seemed tantalizing. Who could possibly want a secretary who
didn�t know how to do anything?
I made an appointment over the phone. Then I had to buy clothes: you
can�t get a secretary�s job wearing ass-high cutoffs! (At least I don�t
think you can.) I bought a prim waist-length jacket and a white blouse
with a neckerchief. I also picked up some nice black stockings and silvery
heels. The skirt, I must admit, was too short. But I felt daring. I bought a
string of pearls to try to compensate. All businesswomen, I think, wear
pearls. It makes them look proper but elegant. Then I put my Hello Kitty
pencil in my jacket pocket and went off to see my new boss. (Well, I
promised myself I�d be successful; I practise the Power of Positive
Thinking!)
As I walked into the lobby of the building in downtown L.A. I was on
pins and needles. The floor tiles echoed my footsteps and I felt like
everyone looked up to watch me pass. I tugged nervously on the hem of my
jacket. It hung down a little lower than my miniskirt and I was grateful
that it could cover me where my skirt couldn�t! I took an elevator upstairs
to the 11th floor. The bellboy in the elevator made eyes at me. I
pretended not to notice. He was pretty cute but I was on a mission: to
become a working woman. Hopefully they�d teach me how to type at this
place.
I was let into Suite 1117 by a woman. She looked lovely, and seemed
to be in her mid-twenties. She had me sit down in a little anteroom
outside the boss�s office and she asked if I�d like some coffee. I
swallowed nervously, said �yes.�
�Is this your first job?� she asked politely. I nodded that it was. In
fact, I admitted, it was my first job interview. She smiled. �I think
you�ll like Brent,� she said. She handed me my coffee. It was hot. I had to
wait to let it cool before I could drink it.
I was just starting to sip my coffee when the woman tending to me
told me it was time to go in and see Brent. Another woman had just left;
twenty-something, beautiful, with long legs and a composed demeanor. I
felt a sudden rush of anxiety again. But somehow I gathered myself
together and walked into Brent�s office: my first job interview!
�Can you type?� he asked. He was big and strong and looked like he
worked out a lot. I judged he was about 30. He suit seemed barely able to
contain him. He sat behind a big desk but he had me pull a chair close so
we could sit facing each other without the desk between us. His assistant
helped me move the chair.
�How good is your spelling?� Brent asked. I admitted it was pretty
poor.
�How are your grades at school?� Brent inquired. I gulped and,
figuring all hope was lost and I may as well be truthful, admitted they
were bad.
Brent straightened up. He shuffled some papers. I braced myself for
the �thank you, we�ll call if we need you� dismissal. The thing they always
say on T.V. when the show�s about a woman who nobody wants to hire.
Because she�s black, or poor, or got fired from her last job for union
organizing. I wondered why I�d even bothered to come.
�I�ll be honest with you,� Brent said. He looked at me and his eyes
were unexpectedly gentle. Was he going to talk down to me? �Stay in
school, girl, study hard and learn to spell your name,� I could hear rising up
from his chest. So when the words broke from his lips I was stunned.
�I�m not really looking to hire a secretary. I�m looking to hire a love
slave. Would you like to accept the position?�
I didn�t say anything for a moment. My throat was constricted.
Somewhere on my lap my hands began to shake. �I�ll have to ask my mom,�
was all I finally managed to say.
Brent looked at me more closely. Despite my nervousness I actually
found myself worrying that his bulging arms and shoulders would rip his
nice suit. Couldn�t he at least take his jacket off? The poor thing seemed
about to burst at the seams. I felt a sudden urge to drop my eyes to his
crotch to see if his pants were equally challenged.
�I�m only at this location for today,� Brent said. �Obviously, hiring a
teenage girl to be my love slave isn�t the most popular thing to do, even in
L.A. So you�ll have to decide right now.�
I gazed at him. Our eyes seemed to merge. I felt myself breathing.
My breasts were held within a gossamer bra. It offered no support, but at
16 I didn�t need any. And that�s why he wanted me, wasn�t it? I let
myself drink in his frame and his powerful arms and shoulders. His face
was polite, discreet, but underneath it was like hardened steel.
I tugged on my skirt, pulling it down as far on my thighs as I could.
�Okay,� I said.
�Our plane leaves in an hour. We�ll have to go to the airport now,�
Brent told me. He stood up. He offered me his arm.
�So soon?� I asked meekly. I was a mouse.
�I wouldn�t want you to change your mind,� he smiled. He towered
over me, grinning down. I lifted an arm, to ward him off? I caught his
sleeve with my hand. He drew me up.
When I was standing he lifted my chin with his finger and looked at
me. My eyes raised to his. I felt bold as I let my eyes clash with his and
then, quite suddenly, he kissed me. I felt his hand clasp my back and then
sink lower. My skirt was in the way. He lifted it. He palmed my bottom
with his hand. I wore cashmere panties, thin as rice paper.
�DON�T!� I squeaked as his finger probed into the stretchy seat of my
undies, prying into the crack of my ass.
�You mustn�t say �don�t,�� he replied. I felt my throat constrict. He
kissed me hard.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door and we were apart; just
standing, it seemed, though I was blushing a little and my hair, so
perfectly coiffed and piled atop my head, had become a little mussed. He
was breathing hard. I dropped my eyes and inadvertently looked at his
crotch. I saw a tent there, trying to break open his zipper.
�Mr. Carson?� the female who�d let me in asked. She opened the door
to his office, looked in. �A modeling agency wants to send several
applicants over. Would you like me to make appointments for them?�
Brent cleared his throat. �No,� he said. �That won�t be necessary.�
�Alright,� his secretary replied. She closed the door. I looked at
Brent with renewed admiration.
�Do you really want to hire me?� I asked him. I lifted a hand and
tried to fix my hair.
�Yes, I want to... hire you,� Brent answered. His voice was
commanding. He seemed to shiver for a moment with passion and then he
looked abruptly away, picked up some papers on his desk. �We must go at
once,� he said.
�I�ll have to call my mom,� I replied.
�On the plane,� Brent replied. �It�s noisy and the connection won�t
be the best. It�s expensive, too, so she won�t, in the end, expect you to
talk for long.� He looked at me again. �Is there anyone else you need to
placate?�
I glanced down at my shoes. �No,� I said. �I just live with my mom.
She said I should get a job because I party too much.�
Brent laughed. He pulled an expensive greeting card from amidst his
papers and handed it to me. �Here, fill this out,� he said. �We�ll mail it to
your mom at the airport. Tell her you�re taking a five day trip for
Genovese Diamond Co. and you�re to be interviewed in Bolivia.�
�Interviewed?� I asked. He gave me a business card with the face of
a kindly old woman on it. It said �proprietor� under her photograph.
�Yes, interviewed,� Brent said. �Your mom would never approve if
you were simply hired and spirited away, but she�ll probably accept the
fact that we flew you down to our headquarters to interview you. After
all, she told you to get interviewed, didn�t she?�
�Yes,� I admitted. I sat down with the card and filled it out. Brent
gave me a check for $2,000 to put into the envelope with the card. It was
a very proper-looking check, from the Genovese Diamond Co. �Is there
really a Genovese Diamond Co.� I asked him.
�Of course not. But the check will cash,� Brent said.
�What line of business are you in?� I asked him. I licked the
envelope as I spoke. He gazed at my tongue.
�I�m just a rich playboy,� he smiled. Neatly I pasted the back of the
envelope down with my hands.
�You should be put in jail for hiring someone like me to be your love
slave,� I said. I felt a sense of pride and power as I spoke. I was a play
policewoman again at Kate�s.
�I should be shot, I�m sure,� Brent said. He made me stand and he
took my arm. We walked out of his office. �Cancel all my other
appointments,� Brent told his secretary. And then it was just the two of
us, alone, in the hall. We walked to the elevator and he pushed the button
for us. When the car arrived the bellboy looked disappointed. Yes, I�d
found someone cuter than him, and much wealthier, and more powerfully
built, and... more demanding? Yes, I guessed that was true too. More
demanding.
We made a quick stop at a photographer�s and Brent got me fake I.D.
and a fake Visa and Passport. I looked cute in my photo, with my Hello
Kitty pencil sticking up, my hair repaired but just a little askew, as if I
were going someplace in a hurry, and my eyes wide, with extra makeup on
them, to make me look older. Brent kept my passport for me. He said I
wouldn�t need anything myself; he�d provide everything I required.
We were soon settled into First Class on a 747. The stewardesses
were nice; they didn�t pry like I feared they might. I think they mistook
Brent for my father. Either that or he was just too handsome for them to
pepper with questions. We were treated just like any other couple. I felt
unusually mature. Just think: if my mom hadn�t made me get a job I�d be
on the beach trying to make some boy have wet dreams. Instead I was
accompanying a very wealthy playboy, a man of the world, and he was
taking complete care of me. The stewardess offered me champagne and I
happily accepted.
Mom wasn�t home when I called. Breathing a sigh of relief, I left a
message on her answering machine. Fortunately I didn�t have a father.
I�ve known some girls who�ve met really nice guys only to have Dad decide
he didn�t like them. Well, I didn�t have that problem. I�d always wished
for a father who lived with me and mom but, really, at age 16 it was just
too late. So a quick message to mom solved all my problems, with a card
in her mailbox soon after. As I hung up the phone on the plane I felt giddy
and queasy at the same time. I was free! But my new love was not just
another boy who�d happily settle for a quick blow. He was possessive.
And he had my I.D.s. All I had was my Hello Kitty pencil and my purse with
my makeup and bubblegum in it. I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and
then walked back to my seat. He sat on the outside, I sat by the window.
He let me pick my way past him and when I sat down again he looked at
me.
�Did you call your mom?� he asked.
�She wasn�t home,� I answered.
�Fine,� he replied. He went back to reading his magazine. I looked
out the window and watched the clouds floating by beneath us. They
looked happy. I felt a happy tenseness inside myself and didn�t know
whether I was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. But then, I like
that. It makes me hold my breath and contemplate and worry a little. And
when, well, when whatever happens happens, it blows my mind.
The flight cruised on. They had us draw the shades so we could
watch a movie. The film was boring, but in the darkness Brent and I
necked. I was really getting to like him now. At the airport, despite the
high prices, he�d bought me a fur coat. It hung in the closet at the rear of
First Class at the moment, but I couldn�t stop thinking about it. Imagine,
my very own fur! I let Brent grope my breasts and I found the tent in his
pants and caressed it. We were really getting hot and heavy as the film
wound on through some boring plot about space aliens. �We have come to
conquer earth.� Yeah, right. Well, I�d come to serve man. My man, Brent.
Whenever a stewardess passed we had to stop. After all, they might be
thinking he was my father. We didn�t want to look improper!
Brent had me pretty high in all my erogenous zones when he drew a
pair of police handcuffs from his inner jacket pocket. They were metal;
suddenly I understood why I saw him passing money to the guard at the
metal detector. I bit my lip and watched as he took hold of my arms,
drawing them back behind me, the handcuffs lying for the moment on my
thigh; open, unlocked. When he had my wrists behind my back he locked his
handcuffs on them.
�Sit back, don�t let anyone see,� Brent told me. We kissed some
more. I was feeling really hot now. It was amazing to be sitting there,
wearing my prim business suit, in First Class, the stewardesses breezing
by now and then, but with my hands tightly locked behind me.
Brent had a new surprise in store for me a few minutes later. �Lift
up your bottom,� he told me. I obeyed. He reached inside my skirt,
someplace he�d not gone before. He did it quite frankly, without asking.
He grabbed the crotch of my panties. He drew them down my legs and,
when he�d got them past my heels, he put them inside his coat pocket
where the handcuffs had been just a little earlier.
�You�re wicked,� I said to him. It was one thing for him to feel my
bottom in his office and grope my breasts on the plane, but to actually
take off my panties? I wanted to make him put them back on but I didn�t
want to betray our love to the stews.
�You haven�t seen wicked yet,� Brent grinned. From someplace in his
jacket he drew out an ostrich feather. It was very delicate and fluffy at
the end. He lifted up the front of my dress. I let out a little gasp as he
introduced it between my legs and slid it up to touch my bare cunny.
�Don�t cry out,� he warned me.
�I won�t,� I whimpered. I didn�t want to get us in trouble. I bit my
lip and stifled a moan as he gently teased my clit with the feather. Up and
down, up and down it went, then round, and up and down and round again. I
was going wild!
A stewardess approached. He slid the feather out and dangled it in
the darkness below my knees. I gasped. She looked in on us.
�Can I get you anything?� she asked politely.
�Not now,� Brent replied, a little annoyed.
�Sorry to bother you,� she answered, and drifted away.
Brent picked up the feather again. He slid it back inside my dress.
�Don�t,� I begged, but I felt the feather touch me again as I spoke,
right where my legs met, where my cunny dwelled in all its girlish
ambivalence.
�You�re not permitted to say �Don�t,�� Brent reminded me. I felt like
screaming out to betray him but I kept my lips pressed together. I wanted,
even as he made me feel feelings I knew were immoral, that could get us
both in trouble (him especially!), I felt an urgency. The binding of my
wrists behind me threw my breasts out. I felt my nipples standing up
inside my bra. Why, oh why, had I let this man, twice my age, steal me
away? I didn�t know. All I knew was I liked him better than boys. They
were fun too but he was, well, awesome. No boy would pay to fly me first
class and then lock up my hands and make me cum on a feather. But did he
love me? I wanted to look at him but the feather between my legs was so
intense... I had to fight hard not to scream. Despite his ruthlessness he
seemed to judge my every breath. Just as I toppled on the brink of crying
out he drew the feather slightly back. I gasped, my eyelashes fluttered.
He waited for my crisis to subside. And then, insidiously, he delved into
me with the feather again. We played like that seemingly for hours,
though probably no more than five minutes passed. I was only 16. Too
much of it and I would surely have blurted out my passion, lost my senses,
gone babbling down the aisle, perhaps, and confessed everything to the
flight attendants.
The plane descended into the clouds. The movie was over. Brent�s
feather was put away. He buckled my seatbelt over my lap. My hands were
still cuffed behind me. He�d fed me my in-flight dinner himself, with his
hand, stopping when a stewardess approached so our intimacy would not
be noticed. My drinks, too, he put to my lips himself. He made me drink
more than I wanted, insisting I drink it all. I couldn�t refuse; I didn�t want
to spill anything onto my blouse. I wasn�t allowed to pee after he cuffed
me. As the plane descended I found myself wriggling in my seat.
When we left the airplane I was wearing my fur coat again, just as I
had when we boarded. But this time I had my hands secretly cuffed behind
me, inside the coat. And my panties were gone. And I had to pee pretty
badly. Brent had taken control of me, there was no escaping that. He even
carried my purse for me. The stewardesses didn�t notice. They thought he
was merely being a gentleman. All was concealed, thanks to my fur. It
had proved a wise purchase for a man as decadent as Brent.
We travelled by airport limo a short distance to a small villa in the
city of Caracas. We were in Venezuela. I could smell the scents of the
Carribean sea as we stepped out of the car. Brent bustled me up to the
front door of the villa, passing through an iron gate hinged to a tall
concrete wall. A woman answered, we were let in quickly.
Brent took off my fur. The woman, dressed in a pantsuit and vest,
showed no emotion at seeing me handcuffed. She was a brunette, perhaps
23, with tanned skin and lovely hair that was pinned up seemingly for the
sake of efficiency. Her eyes possessed a cold diffidence, almost a tired
look, jaded. �Come,� she said, and crooked a finger at me. I followed. My
hips rolled more than they should have as I followed her. I needed to pee
badly and there was no concealing it anymore. She led me into a living
room where two couples stood chatting. They were holding drinks,
wearing business clothes. They looked at me with little emotion. They
were as jaded as the woman who�d brought me to them.
�I-� I began, wondering if I dared to speak to any of them of my need.
�Yes?� the woman who�d led me in asked. Her eyes were expectant.
I felt my throat constrict. I had to pee so badly! My eyes bulged. My
cheeks puffed.
Brent entered the room behind me. I turned to him.
�Tell Jasmine if you wish anything,� Brent said with eyes that
seemed suddenly hard. I looked at the woman who�d brought me into the
living room. From the corner of my eye a woman, waiting perhaps for me
to speak, plucked a little cream-topped cracker from a tray on a piano and
put it in her mouth and ate it. She sucked her finger a moment to lick off
some cream that had smeared onto her fingertip.
�I-I have to pee!� I blurted suddenly to Jasmine. The others laughed.
�Well, why didn�t you say so? All the necessary accommodations are
provided here,� Jasmine said with a smile. She walked to the piano,
reached underneath it, and took out a low, broad urn. It was made of fired
clay. She placed it down on the rug. �Step over it,� Jasmine urged me,
coming round behind me and pushing me forward. I found myself standing
with my legs apart over the urn. She lifted the tail of my jacket and
matter-of-factly unzipped the back of my miniskirt. It skittered down my
legs. She lifted my feet, one by one, and removed it. I gazed at the other
guests. I�d just arrived, yet I was already naked below my waist! My
knees trembled. How silly I must have looked, standing there, bare-
legged, showing my bush.
�Kneel,� Jasmine said. �Kneel down over the pot and release your
pee.� I trembled into a squat. Gently she held me from behind to guide me
as I lowered myself. With the guests watching, I suddenly released my
urine into the pot. I heard it hit the clay and then listened as the pot
slowly filled. Everyone listened. The room was silent, all eyes on me, I
unable to hide anything at all.
My very public private duty complete, Jasmine helped me stand up
again. Brent came up behind me and unlocked my handcuffs. I rubbed my
wrists. The woman who was eating the cream-topped crackers offered me
some. Another woman put a drink in my hands. They surrounded me,
seemed not the least abashed that they�d just seen me pee, or that I was
standing bare-hipped in their midst, wearing only my blouse, my jacket,
and (though they hardly counted for anything) my black thigh-high
stockings. And my pumps, of course. I tried to compose myself, to forget
that I was utterly nude from my tummy on down. The women chatted
politely, the men also. But they looked freely at my bush as we mingled.
�If her breasts are as nice as her pussy she�ll prove a fine mount,�
one man said to another. His friend nodded. A woman plucked at my pubic
hair with her fingers while telling me she�d gone yachting the day before,
out on the carribean sea.
�You�d like it, really,� she said. �We did a little fishing off the side
of the boat. I didn�t catch anything, though.� I felt her hands roving down
between my legs and had to stifle an urge to tell her that she was
catching something now, and I didn�t like her not asking permission. She
fondled for my cunt and explored with tracing fingers the lips of my
vagina. Her touch was feather-light, almost not there, yet it was there,
and I was too scared to stop her.
�Brent, you must display also,� Jasmine said to him. �How was your
flight,� she asked casually, reaching down and undoing his zipper. She felt
within his pants as he murmured something in reply. A moment later and
his dick was exposed. I turned around and looked at it. I gasped. The
others laughed, sensing I�d not seen him before. He was big and long and
the tip of him was wet already, oozing forth the precursor to his seed.
I was offered a hot dog bun. �Put it around his penis,� a woman told
me. I knew not what to do; she guided me forward and pushed on my
shoulders and made me drop to my knees.
I gazed up at Brent. His huge thing pulsed just inches from my face.
�Do as they say,� he ordered. �They always make new lovers perform for
them.� His words made me feel warm and somehow reassured me. We
were lovers, yes. I fitted the bun to his rod. It was like a big knockwurst
sausage. I had difficulty getting the bun to hold him.
�Do you have a bigger bun?� I asked aloud.
�No, that is fine,� Jasmine answered. Her voice was Spanish-French,
it seemed. Foreign, exotic. She handed me a bottle of Hershey�s chocolate.
It was a squirt bottle, made of plastic. �Put as much or as little as you
like on him,� she told me. �Have you ever had a chocolate dog before?�
�No,� I breathed.
�You�ll like it,� she said.
Carefully I squirted some chocolate syrup along the length of Brent�s
cock. It was so strange, holding him within a hot dog bun, applying the
chocolate as if it were mustard and he he was a human hotdog.
�Now eat all of the bun, sucking him into your mouth just as if he
were a real knockwurst,� Jasmine told me. I heard the others laugh.
Opening my mouth wide, struggling to make him fit inside me, I put the
head of his cock between my lips. He urged himself forward. He was
eager. I gagged, found myself drawing him back a little, out of my mouth,
then I bit very carefully into the bun, biting his cock too, and sucked the
bread away from his pulsing meat.
�She�s not half bad at it,� a man said. Another agreed. I took
another bite. It was odd, biting him from below to get a chunk of the bun,
while making sure I didn�t bite too hard on top lest I bite into his cock.
Brent grunted and thrust himself at me. He wanted, I think, for me to eat
faster. Or perhaps he simply wanted to cum.
�Sir, this is a chocolate dog, not a sperm dog,� I reminded him,
feeling a sudden blush of confidence. I kissed his pee hole. Then I bit
more deeply, taking more of him, and chewed the bun. He waited for me to
swallow.
We played like this for some time. As I gradually devoured the bun it
suddenly occurred to me that I�d like to squirt his balls. I picked up the
Hershey�s and spritzed some chocolate up onto his hairy, hanging nuts.
Then, ignoring his cock a moment, merely rubbing my cheek against it, I
mouthed each of his twin nuts in turn, licking them clean of chocolate.
Brent groaned. He was enjoying me very much, even as I enjoyed him.
I finished the bun. I stood up and whirled around and greeted the other
guests again, a bright happy look on my face.
�Take off your jacket and blouse,� Jasmine said to me. Their eyes
glowed but they showed no sign of granting me any reprieve. I swallowed.
I flushed. Red-faced, I looked down and slowly removed my jacket and
then unbuttoned my blouse. I wanted to hand my nice new suit to
somebody to put away but they made me just drop my clothes on the floor.
�And your bra,� they added, when I�d stripped down to that. I reached
behind myself and undid it. My breasts popped out as the cups fell away. I
was truly free now, yet captive at the same time.
�Go to the piano, put your hands on it,� Jasmine told me. I obeyed. I
let my hips sway behind me as I walked. I wanted to show them what I
had. I was proud of my figure. �Brace yourself against it. Stick out your
bottom,� Jasmine said. Turning my head, looking fearfully back at her, I
offered her my heinie. What did she have planned for me?
�You do know how to pick a nice ass,� one of the men said to Brent.
A woman, the one who had been sampling the crackers when I�d squatted
over the urn, bent and took Brent�s cock in her mouth. Jasmine undid her
vest. She slipped her pantsuit down and stepped out of it. Wearing just
her undies, she came up behind me. The others began to undress, except
the woman who was busy suckling Brent�s penis.
�Why did you come here?� Jasmine asked me. She placed a hand on
my bottom and felt it as one might caress a pumpkin, picking it out for
slicing on Halloween night.
�Brent brought me,� I answered truthfully.
�To be a love slave?� she asked.
�Yes,� I replied.
Jasmine shocked me by suddenly slapping my bottom hard with her
palm. I gasped. I lurched in toward the piano and she waited for me to
recover my balance.
�A love slave requires training,� Jasmine told me. �We do that
here.� She slapped me again. It was a burning slap. It seemed to engulf
my bottom. When her hand fell away I could feel the impress of her slim
fingers against myself and it made my heinie wriggle. I felt shameful,
showing my ass to them, clenching my cheeks. They laughed at the sight
of my waggling bottom.
�Kiss my hand,� Jasmine said. She presented it palm upward, the
very palm that had just slapped me! I hesitated. She drew her hand away
and abruptly slapped me again.
�OWWWW!� I cried. I bent my head down and felt my breasts shiver
beneath me as my ass bobbed all around, brazenly displaying itself. I
squeezed my cheeks into themselves and then let go, squeezed again.
�Kiss my hand,� Jasmine ordered once more. This time when she
offered her palm to my lips I kissed her hand freely. �Very good,� she said
afterward. She made me turn around. �Your breasts are lovely, let me feel
them,� she said. I stood quietly and she fondled me roughly, squeezing my
tits like fruit in a market. She gave each of my nipples a little pinch. I
suppressed a cry. �You are young and healthy, fit for training,� Jasmine
said. �Let me see your teeth.� I opened my mouth. I said �ah.� She looked
inside. �Yes, you can wear a bit,� she said. She reached down and fondled
my dell. A finger intruded. �You have had sex before?� she asked. I bit my
lip and nodded. �You feel tight. We will work on that. Turn around again.�
I turned, fearfully. She spread my ass cheeks and looked at the dimple of
my hole. �Fine, good, let me feel,� she said, pleased with my appearance,
wanting to check me inside. �Don�t resist me, girl,� she warned. But
despite licking the tip of her finger she could barely get it in. �You will
have to be widened,� she said at last with a sigh. Again I sensed her jaded
nature. She had trained other girls before, I knew. I was nothing new,
just another 16-year-old, I realized. Had Brent brought other girls before
me, or was I his first, and Jasmine merely a woman old before her time,
her looks remaining, but her desire depleted? She made me turn to face
her again and I felt as if I were in the presence of a nurse, being examined
clinically, not for the purposes of love.
�Sit down on that chair,� she said. She pointed to a big furry
armchair and I walked self-consciously to it and sat down in its warmth
with my bare bottom. My bottom that would have to be widened. My
cheeks felt tight upon the soft fuzzy seat of the chair. I did not want to
be widened.
Jasmine lay a simple cloth beneath my left arm. Then she produced a
needle from a little bag and a tourniquet. I gasped, cringed. My nipples,
hard already, stiffened even further in fright. �A blood test is necessary
to make sure you�re free of disease,� Jasmine said. She did not stop to
ask my permission but merely took my slim arm and wrapped the tubing
tightly around it. She swabbed the crook of my arm with an alcohol pad.
�All our men here are free from disease, you can be assured of that,� she
told me. She stabbed. I screamed briefly but I couldn�t help it. �Don�t
resist any of them. They will not give you any diseases, nor the women
either.� When the syringe was full Jasmine removed the needle, popped
the tourniquet, and handed me a fresh piece of cotton. I daubed the place
where she�d stabbed me.
Another woman made me stand. I remembered from our
introductions that she was named Lisa. She clasped my shoulders and
guided me out of the room. As I passed Brent I saw that he was still being
entertained by the other woman, the one who liked cream-crackers. A
friend had undressed her and she was down on her knees now, sucking hard
on my new boyfriend. With a grunt he suddenly came in her mouth and she
began swallowing quickly. �We all share here,� Lisa told me. �Never
refuse anyone. It is not permitted.� I watched in dismay as my new
boyfriend�s seed spilled from the lips of the woman and ran down her chin
and speckled her breasts. �Do you feel jealous?� Lisa asked me.
�Yes,� I answered.
�Good, you have come to the right place then,� Lisa replied. �We can
train you not to.� She took my hand. Together we walked from the room,
as if girlfriends, and she guided me down a long hallway and out onto a
back porch. There were leaves on the porch. A small fountain tinkled
forth its essence, surrounded by rose bushes. Lisa, her hair as golden as
mine in the moonlight of a fresh summer evening, walked me through the
open air to a wing of the building. It was made of old stone, as if the villa
where the living room lay had been built years afterward, the newer
portion being of brick. �We keep the slaves here,� Lisa said. She produced
a key from the top of her stocking, which she�d neatly folded down to hold
it, and opened a wooden door in the side of the wall.
Inside, despite the age of the building, was a room with new
furniture. There was a chair with a rattan seat, a soft carpet on the floor,
and, in the corner, a vanity with a mirror and a place for me to sit and do
my makeup. In the center of the room was a big bed with brass railings at
both ends. Above, ominously, hung chains, two on the stone wall at the
head of the bed and two suspended over the bed, fixed to the ceiling.
A bathroom beckoned in an adjoining room, seen through an open
door. �It�s a communal bath,� Lisa said. �But the bedroom�s private, if
your master permits the door to be closed.� She drew me to the vanity.
There was a vase of fresh roses there, still dripping with dew. She let me
bend close and sniff them. �Jasmine will come in a little while and whip
you,� Lisa said. �She may bring your master to watch, or she may do it
alone.� I started, my face bent to the flowers. Lisa saw my surprise and
patted my bottom. �You are well-formed for it,� she said. �You would not
have been selected if you weren�t. Brent�s very picky, and only the best
girls are accepted here. The photographer in L.A. faxed us your photo, did
you know that?� She pointed to jars and phials arranged on the vanity.
�Don�t worry, there�s plenty here to soothe your bottom when she�s done.
I�ll take care of that. Would you like a mint?� she opened the top of a
small glass container. Inside were small wrapped mints, expensive ones,
with a German name stamped on each of them.
�Thank you,� I said. She plucked one from the bowl and unwrapped it
for me. I felt submissive. She made me open my mouth for her and she
popped it in. �Let�s get you all ready for Jasmine,� she said. The mint
melted on my tongue. I swallowed. �Come, it�s my duty to give you your
bath.�
We stepped into the communal bathroom. It was made of cedar
wood, with a rich odor wafting up from the planks which surrounded us.
Along one wall a sunken tub waited to be filled. There was one commode,
and a bidet, plus a long countertop with plenty of room for the sink and
various brushes and combs and bottles and lotions. I saw a glass with
three toothbrushes standing up in it.
Lisa began the tub water and then opened the medicine cabinet.
Inside was a small packet of birth control pills. She removed it and filled
a glass with water. �Open wide,� she told me. I did and she popped in the
pill and made me take a big gulp of water. �There, now you�re all set,� she
said, and patted my fanny. She made me take off my stockings and shoes
and get in the tub. She added bubbles to make the water scented. I
splashed awhile, enjoying the heat, the freedom, Lisa kneeling beside the
tub, watching me, happy, observant but unobtrusive. Finally she made me
stop playing and she had me stand up in front of her and she scrubbed me
very freely and thoroughly with a sponge.
When I got out of the tub my whole body was tingling. Lisa dried me
with a big fluffy towel. Then she drew me back into the other room,
leaving the bathroom door open. Beside the vanity she put a leather collar
around my neck. It was black, like soft felt inside, shiny on the outside.
She locked it around my throat so that I couldn�t remove it. �This helps us
control you, if we need to grab you or tie you or anything,� Lisa explained.
�It�s also a sign of your submission. It�ll be replaced by a black frill, like
I�m wearing around my neck, when you graduate.� She kissed my cheek.
�Now hop into bed. Jasmine will be here soon.�
�I-� How could I say this to her? That I was having second
thoughts, that I wanted to go home. �I don�t want to go through with
this,� I said in a small, halting voice.
�That�s fine,� Lisa said. �We�ll be sterner with you if you resist.
Some girls need that.�
�No, I mean, REALLY--!� I said, but she simply took my arm and led
me to the big bed and, when I refused to get in, she tumbled me into it. I
was afraid and as a result my knees were wobbly and so when she pushed
me, unexpectedly, I fell quite easily.
I lay under her gaze, awkward, newly fallen, my knees partly drawn
up to my chest, my legs long and coltish. My chest heaved with my fear
and my bosoms wobbled. My nipples were stiffer than I�d ever felt them. I
raised my hands, covered them. I tried to close my thighs to keep her from
seeing my bush. �Resist if you like. Jasmine has trained all kinds,� Lisa
smiled. She walked from the room, naked as myself but wearing only a
frill round her neck, plus her stockings and heels. I was utterly nude now,
without a single stitch of clothing, collared like an animal.
Lisa stopped at the door, turned, and blew me a kiss. Then she
stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her. I heard her turn
the key in the lock.
I jumped up. I was free as an Indian. This wasn�t like other books,
other stories, I�d heard of, where girls were chained up in their bedrooms.
I ran to the door, struggling with my collar. It wouldn�t come off. I
grabbed the door�s handle. It wouldn�t open.
I looked about. There had to be a way out! Suddenly I heard a door
open within the bathroom. There were three doors, one inlaid within each
of the walls, with the sunken tub having a wall all to itself. A girl
stumbled into the bathroom. Her hair was lovely but she was naked and
crying. Her bottom seemed to have a deep blush upon it. I was about to
run up to her, to help her, when a huge monster-like man emerged from the
door she�d just come through.
�Drink from the toilet, bitch!� he yelled. I gasped. My hands
clutched at my throat. I crept to the door to see into bathroom. They�d
passed by my door, both of them, not seeing me, and were now out of sight.
I snuck up to the door, frightened as a deer, but curious about its
hunter. I looked in and, to my shocked surprise, I saw the poor sobbing girl
bent down, dog-like, on her hands and knees with her lovely auburn hair
tumbling all over the open bowl of the commode. Her face was somewhere
down inside, and I heard a lapping sound.
The big monster-like man was behind her. He was hugely muscular
but in an obnoxious way, like those weightlifters you see in the Olympics,
not sculpted brawn but just raw, almost unformed brawn. He was hairy
and he wore a big belt with rivets in it, as if the belt had been bolted to
his stomach. He was not fat, though. He was hard and lean in his bulging,
unsculpted hugeness. He was not overly tall and he had big huge legs and
wore boots, as if he were some medieval fetishist. Gloves of leather
contained his enormous hands and, thankfully perhaps, he wore a hood of
black leather over his head. In his hand was a cat o� nine tails. It looked
as if it was made of soft leather strips, but he made up for that by
striking it hard against the weeping girl�s bottom.
�Drink more, bitch!� the ogre-man commanded. I saw that the girl
had indeed been getting spanked, for her bottom was bright red, like a
tomato, even though her skin on her limbs and her back and her breasts,
squished against the rim of the toilet bowl, was creamy white.
�Why are you making her drink from the toilet?� I blurted. It was a
mistake, but I was so shocked I couldn�t help myself and my words
escaped before I could stop them. The Hunchback of Caracas turned and
noticed me for the first time.
�INTO your bedroom, slave!� he roared. I retreated, scared out of my
wits. I heard a voice behind me.
�The toilet is clean,� Jasmine said. I whirled about. Jasmine! �We
wouldn�t harm a girl by making her drink from a dirty bowl,� she said to
me. She didn�t smile but I sensed there was a smile lurking behind her
lips. �Get on the bed for your first whipping,� she said. She gestured at
my bed.
�I-I don�t want one,� I said.
�I can tie you down or Olaf can,� she said, actually smiling now.
With her hand, which held a long, thin riding crop, she gestured at the
bathroom door. �You will, of course, be whipped much more sternly if I
have to put you down forcibly,� she added. �Either way is acceptable to
me. Olaf can have you chained down in no time. I only handle the whip.�
�I-I�ll go with you,� I said meekly. I put my hand to my breasts. I
was completely nude and defenseless. What could I do? Jasmine simply
gestured at my bed.
With greatly hesitant steps I inched toward my bed, all the while the
whipped girl in the toilet sobbing in my ears. Reaching the bed, I pressed
my knees against it.
�Get in, get on your knees,� Jasmine said. �Don�t make me get mean
about it, dear. Your bottom will be sore enough as it is.� I dropped down
onto the bed and crawled forward. I plunked my head down on my pillow,
but let my bottom stay up in the air.
�Where�s Brent?� I asked.
�Brent�s busy,� Jasmine answered. And I knew doing what, too.
Getting his penis sucked by all the other girls, as if he were King Tut or
something.
Jasmine kneed onto the bed behind me. She placed a hand on the
small of my back and brushed me lightly with her fingers. �You have a fine
darling ass,� she complimented. �A bottom like this is always a delight to
whip. Scream and cry if you like. Crying is preferred. It lets me know I�m
doing my job. Try not to wiggle around too much. And whatever you do,
don�t put your hands over your seat. That will earn you extra strokes.�
She patted my long golden hair. �Bite your pillow, dear. This is going to
hurt, I won�t kid you.� I obeyed, wordlessly, and put my teeth into my
pillow. It felt so soft. Was I really to be whipped?
Jasmine raised her hand, her whip hand, lofting her whip high. It
was stiff and whippy, springy, a cross between a crop and a whip. She let
me look over my shoulder at it, fearfully, mouthing my pillow, my eyes
wide.
�You should see how you�re tensing your bottom cheeks,� Jasmine
laughed. �Such a little kitten. Lisa will come and make you all better
when it�s done.�
And then her hand swung down. I felt a biting, scorching line of heat
dig into my bottom. I bounced forward. My mouth sprung from its hold on
the corner of my pillow. My bosoms smooshed onto the silky surface of
the sheet beneath me and my hands flew back and clapped themselves to
my tush.
�WAAAAAH!� I shouted. And in my shouting, to my utter humiliation,
I realized that the ugly ogre, Olaf, in the bathroom could hear me.
�Take your hands away,� Jasmine said sternly.
�No, please,� I blubbered.
She caressed my hair. �I have trained so many girls,� she murmured.
�Some submit willingly, others refuse. Still others try to submit and then
find they can�t. It�s up to you, my dear. You are not the first to kneel upon
this bed, and you are far from the last.�
�Oh please,� I sobbed. I buried my head in my pillow. Quietly she
lifted my hands from my bottom and placed them beside my face. She was
naked as I, and lovely in her nakedness, wearing just a frill round her neck
to show her own submission to... whom? And her stockings, pulled tight,
plus her pumps, and glistening earrings which dangled down from her ears,
making her look delicate even as she was uncompromising. �This is just a
taste,� she said. �There is much more to come, poor baby. What did you
think being a love slave involved?�
�I don�t know,� I sobbed.
�Well, neither did I, when I started,� she said. �Now lift up your
bottom high. This is not gym class, and I am not your gym instructor.
There you�re given demerits if your shorts are too short. Here you must
bare all, yes, your precious fanny. And you must let me whip it so I can
see your cheeks clench and release. It will help me judge your tightness
so I can open you more effectively.� She slapped my fanny, making me
clutch at my pillow. �Bottom up, girl! Open your thighs. Very good. Dip
your back. Now you�re showing as you should.�
My reward was another stinging sweep of the whippy cane across my
fanny. I howled, lifting my head, but somehow I managed to clutch onto
my pillow.
�OooooWhooo!� I shouted. Jasmine stroked my back, as if pitying me.
I heard small footsteps. I turned my teary face and saw the spanked girl
from the next room enter. Her tears were drying now. Sniffling, she held
a lollipop and was softly licking it. It was a huge lollipop, swirled,
colorful. She held it above her nakedly swinging breasts. Her tummy
sighed. Her bush was chestnut colored and fleecy. A heavy tread followed
and Olaf stood behind her. She did not notice him now. Her punishment
was done and she watched me, bug-eyed, as I received mine. She looked no
older than me, younger, perhaps. Olaf crossed his arms behind her. I could
not see his face because of his hood and I was glad.
WAHCK! Came the cane again. It whirr-whipped down onto my tushy
and I rolled it urgently about, burying my face in my pillow again,
somehow holding on to it.
�She�s been bad,� our nude visitor said over her lollipop.
�No, Missy, she�s being very good,� Jasmine corrected. �She is not
like you, brought here by your parents because you�re unruly and insist on
playing with boys when they tell you not to. She didn�t pee on my flowers
outside like you did. She�s being trained for love, to serve her loving
master in whatever way he pleases.�
Jasmine smacked my bottom hard again, with the whip, sending me
into a new ululation of urgent appeal. She ignored my pleadings. She
didn�t even bother to answer my �no�s� anymore, because I kept my hands
on my pillow, and my ass, somehow, up high. Another blow fell, searing
itself into my soft ass flesh, and I howled and spilled new tears on my
pillow.
�Well, good or bad, she�s being punished just the same,� Missy piped
up again, showing remarkable spunk given the state of her bottom and
Jasmine�s unremitting discipline on mine.
Jasmine whacked me again, very hard, as if angry with Missy but
taking it out on the most immediately convenient target, me! I hissed and
hooted with pain and lurched forward, bumping my head against the brass
rails of the bed. My hands flew back to my fanny and I collapsed onto my
tummy. I held my bottom tight and shouted, �NO MORE! NO MORE! NO
MORE!�
Jasmine bent and gave a lick between the lowest part of my hinds,
right along my crack. Then she leapt up from the bed, tossed her hair, and
walked with the gait of an Olympic victor to the outer door. She opened it,
turned, and spoke to Olaf.
�See that they behave, Olaf,� she ordered. �Missy, you are
insufferably naughty and I�ll have a crack at your hiney just as soon as I�m
done partying in the West Wing. Until then, you can worry and wait for it.
Kelly, you�ll be whipped again in the morning. And we�ll start your dildo
training then, after you�ve been turned to toast to make you more
receptive. For now, enjoy the last hours of your tight little ass. Olaf,
make sure Missy drinks from the toilet all night!�
�Aye, Miss!� Olaf responded to Jasmine.
�...And Missy, to show your contrition, put some lotion on poor
Kelly�s bottom. Lisa�s probably too busy having fun at our orgy. Tootle-
loo, kids. You�ll play with us as soon as you both grow up!�
Oh, I felt horrible, lying there on the bed, clutching my burning
bottom, knowing Brent was having the time of his life without me in the
West Wing, with the women, leaving me here bereft, with a bratty
insouciant child and some big molester dude in a hood. I coughed, I wept, I
held my hinds, rubbing my bush against the sheets, squeezing my thighs
and my cheeks.
Small knees dented the sheet beside my hips and I felt sticky hands
lift my palms from my ass. A cold squirt hit my shuddering hinds.
�This will help,� Missy said to me. She began rubbing lotion into my
wounded bottom with her lollipop fingers. It lay on my vanity, staining
the wood. I imagined by the time she was finished Missy would find to her
dismay that it was stuck there. And I�d have a big sticky swirled lollipop
to keep me company in my bedroom for the rest of my stay.
�You�ll have to pee in the chamberpot under your bed if I�m to drink
from the toilet,� Missy said to me. I was beginning to see why her parents
didn�t like her. Despite her impish size, smaller than me, she seemed to
have no qualms about assuming command. She was blessed with large
tempting breasts that I had no doubt had gotten her in trouble. Perhaps
she bared them, I thought, in Sunday School, or on the Playground. Her legs
were breathtaking. Their slimness made up for her undeveloped height.
She was grow, I was sure, but she was, at least, a year or two younger
than me, perhaps more. I looked at her over my shoulder, still clutching
the sides of my bottom as she spread oil in between.
�Missy, how old are you?� I inquired. My voice was trembly with my
subsiding sobs.
�13 and a half this month,� Missy replied proudly. She lifted her
breasts as she spoke, arching her back, and let out a big contented sigh.
Olaf stood in the background, silent, mute, his arms crossed. �Why were
you sent here?� she asked before I could ask her the same.
�I-I don�t know,� I answered.
�Of course you do,� she said. �All girls do. Don�t pretend you don�t
when you do. You can�t fool me!� She grinned and moved my hands off my
fanny onto the sheet beside my hips. She squirted more lotion on my
bottom. It warmed as she spread it on my seat. I was beginning to feel a
slowly increasing glow there, and the lines of the crop were fading into
sharp striations of burn amidst a deeper more fulfilling warmth.
�I met a man and...� I began. My voice caught in my throat. �I wanted
to submit?� The last word trilled high, making a question, though perhaps
I�d not intended it to be.
Missy patted my bottom. �You�ll learn to submit here, that�s for
sure,� she said. She breathed a big childish sigh again. �They say it
makes you feminine, submitting.� I nodded without nodding, moving my
chin a little on my pillow in agreement.
�Why did you cum?� I asked. We both giggled at the allusion. I felt
soft and warm and cared for.
�I came because I�m naughty,� Missy said. She was confident as
Oliver Twist on a pickpocketing spree. �I get naughty sometimes. My
parents say I�m hard to handle.�
�What did you do?� I asked.
�Oh, various things,� she replied mischievously. �They decided
they�d had enough when they came home early and I was having a big party
for all the kids and we were having nude footraces up and down my
driveway. That was fun. I got laid too!�
�Did you like it?� I asked.
�Sure, it was a great party. Everyone got laid and drunk and our
parents all said we were going to be whores when we grow up, and the
boys were all going to prison. Of course, everyone blamed my parents,
�cause its their house and I�m their daughter. So they decided to send me
here.�
�There!� Missy announced, and proudly slapped my bottom.
�YeeeOW!� I shouted. She plopped down onto her tummy beside me
and offered me the squirt bottle of lotion. �Do my ass,� she said. �I got
whipped too, by Olaf!� She turned her face to him and stuck out her
tongue. He ignored her. He apparently had no power over her now, except
to keep her in the prisoner�s wing and under reasonable control.
I brushed my hair back and got up. What an unusual girl! She
actually ASKED for trouble, seemed to relish it. I wondered what would
happen to her in life. She was well brought-up, despite her naughtiness.
But she seemed to need to test life even more than I did. I squirted lotion
on her bottom and had just begun to rub it in when we both heard a sobbing
scream from the bathroom.
�Oooh! That�s Sally!� Missy said, propping her head up on her elbows
and listening alertly. �Let�s go peek!� We leapt from the bed. I thought
Olaf would stop us but he didn�t, merely standing, sentinel-like, as we
rushed with quiet footsteps to my door and looked into the bathroom.
There, before my astonished eyes, was a woman, perhaps 25, with
big slumbrous breasts and gorgeous hips. Her waist was narrow and her
legs long and lean and perfectly tanned. She dropped to her knees, sobbing,
as a man emerged from her bedroom and began whacking her bottom with a
belt. She�d clearly received much already; her bottom and even her back
and thighs were scored with broad, bright red weal-like marks.
Sally knelt on the floor like a dog and received blow after blow
across her lovely heinie. Her breasts, big as gourds, swung with every
flailing blow of the belt. Her nipples stuck out like thorns, as if lusting
for more. Her master was beautifully formed, not ugly like Olaf. He had a
large, broad chest and column-like legs. His ass seemed tight and small
and he clenched it as he swung the belt again and again in painful strokes
across Sally�s rump. Most tantalizing of all, his dick stuck straight out,
unsatisfied. Perhaps Missy and I would get invited to an orgy after all!
�That�s David,� Missy said. �He can be mean.� We watched with
wondering eyes as Sally received her due and then, forced on her knees to
the toilet, was made to drink from it. As she did David dropped down to
the floor behind her and prodded her with his cock.
�Ohhh, no!� Sally cried. Her voice burbled somewhere inside the
toilet bowl as David rudely forced his prick into her from behind and began
humping her.
Missy fingered her clit. �David�s the worst,� she confided in me.
�He treats his women terribly, even worse than Olaf. Fortunately we don�t
have him for our guard. He�s usually assigned to the ladies.�
�Who�s Sally?� I asked, succumbing to the same temptation that
gripped Missy, dropping a questing finger to my cunny and seeking pleasure
there, or, rather, relief.
�She�s a private secretary, but she likes to get it sometimes,� she
replied. �She checks in and begs not to be hurt, and they don�t, actually, I
guess, hurt her, I mean, but they have David here sometimes and he really
puts her through her paces. This is her third time, I think.�
�How do you know all this?� I said, turning briefly to her. I felt
silly, standing naked in the bathroom door, frigging myself, her beside me,
doing the same, the two of us conspiratorial children, but I couldn�t help
it. My senses were overwhelmed.
�I live three blocks away,� Missy whispered. �I sneak over here and
spy on them. I�ve done it all year, ever since my mom and dad moved to
Caracas. I was too scared to ever play here. And I never thought my
parents would find out about this place and send me here!�
�Ohhh,� I replied. I felt a tremor seize my tummy as an orgasm built
inside me. Missy rubbed herself more eagerly. We watched as David
fucked Sally. Olaf, seemingly unperturbed by our naughtiness, or simply
confident that he could report it all to Jasmine when she returned, did
nothing to stop us.
I rubbed myself faster. Missy showed no inhibition as she frigged
herself. The sight of David plunging his rod in and out of Sally was just
too much for us. And the thought that Olaf, however reserved he appeared
at the moment, might choose to spank us with the cat he still clutched in
his gloved hand, sent us over the top. I keened out my lust, rubbing my
spot furiously, bulging my bottom out behind me, almost hoping Olaf would
strike me for my misbehavior. Missy, too, seemed smitten with the
thought of being punished for frigging herself. She danced on tip-toe like
an orgasmic little elf and at the same time jutted her cute bottom back,
flaunting it at Olaf, then at David, then at me, as she shuddered through
one orgasm and then another.
When she�d been thoroughly fucked Sally recovered herself and
managed to stand. David, who�d been so cruel to her before, helped her, his
hands kind, gentle, almost loving. She saw us, smiled, and walked over to
us. We stood like Beavis and Butthead now, our orgasms shiveringly
subsiding within us. She put her arms around us and we let our mouths be
put to her bosoms. I suckled one of her tits as Missy nipped and suckled
the other.
�Missy dear, don�t bite me!� Sally laughed. David, tantalizingly,
watched over us, as if he might master Missy and me now that he was done
with Sally. We supped at her tits as if we�d missed breakfast and dinner.
I found myself awakened to a new kind of love. Soft, nurturing, feminine,
but with the male presence right behind me, in the person of Olaf and
David, forever ready to break in and seize me.
�Go to bed, dears,� Sally said at last, pulling our sucking babyish
mouths from her teats. Missy and I were starting to feel frisky again and
we didn�t want to go.
�Drink from the toilet, both of you!� David said. He ordered us over
to the commode and we were forced to sink down to our knees next to each
other and put our heads inside.
I tasted the water. It was no different from ordinary water, but the
thought of drinking from a toilet--! Missy lapped without complaint. I
decided, reaching back to feel my wounded bottom, that I�d best follow
along. We drank like deer from a stream, just using our tongues. When we
were finally permitted to lift our heads from the bowl I found myself
smacking my lips.
�Well, I�m not at all thirsty so I won�t need any more drinks
tonight!� Missy assured Olaf and David.
�Any time you get up to pee you�ll also take a nice long drink from
the toilet,� David assured her. Was he in charge of us too? Looking at
Sally, with marks all over her back, her bottom, and her thighs, made me
shiver at the prospect of being his slave. Yet, he was already growing
hard again, watching us. Freely he put his hand to his penis and gave it a
quick massage.
�Ah, that feels better,� David grinned. �God, what a gorgeous pair of
girls you two are! Missy, those breasts are like plump little melons!
Who�s your new friend?�
�This is Kelly,� Missy smiled coyly. She put a finger to my bosom
and pushed on my nipple as if it were a button. David put his hand to his
cock and massaged it briefly again, his eyes gazing at me appreciatively.
�Pleased to meet you, Kelly,� he said graciously. I was surprised at
his gallantry.
�Your reputation precedes you, sir, as does your thing,� I replied. I
smiled. I was not entirely unlearned in the art of love. �I can do that for
you if you like,� I suggested. I crept closer to him, a little afraid, and
made to cup his big bulging penis head in my hands.
�Yes! I can do that for you, sir!� Missy agreed. She jumped forward
and tried to grab his penis shaft even as I went for his head.
David stepped back. �I do not have permission,� he said. �If I were
given it, I�m sure it would be for the purpose of punishment. You must see
Jasmine if you want my cock, much as I�d like to give it to you. I serve
her, not you.�
�We are prisoners then,� I admitted, watching in dismay as he pulled
his cock back from our seeking hands.
�Most definitely,� David answered. He was much bigger than me. I
didn�t want to anger him. �Both of you go to bed. Sleep together. That
much of an order I can give. Missy, try not to wet the bed tonight.� I
looked at the girl beside me. She blushed fiercely and hung her head.
�It�s all that drinking out of the toilet!� she protested.
�She�ll make a good playmate for you, even if she does wet the bed,�
David assured me.
�I don�t want a playmate...� I told him. My voice was firm and I tried
to make it sound as mature as possible. He reached out, took my hand, and
lifted it way up to his lips. I stood on tiptoe, breathless, my bosoms
rising with my chest, and watched as he kissed my hand.
�Put Missy against the counter and lick her pussy,� he said to me. I
gasped. I heard Missy gasp behind me. �Do it!� he roared. I turned about
on my heels, my stomach churning, and ran to Missy. She hesitated, I
moved her to the counter and made her bottom bump up against the edge. I
could feel my bottomcheeks burning still, I had no intention of getting
punished by David!
�Ouch!� Missy said, as I made her press her spanked seat against the
counter. I turned my head and looked wide-eyed at David.
�Must I?� I asked. His look was so fierce I dropped to my knees at
once again put my tongue to her slit.
�Ooooh! Don�t! You�re naughty!� Missy declared. Even so, she opened
her thighs a little to give me easier access. I nosed my face into her dell
and licked as if my life depended on it. My bottom, did, that was for sure!
Behind me I heard David smoothing his belt across his palm, deeply
tempted. And Olaf, who I feared even more, if only because he might
strike me without permission, slapped his cat o� nine tails impatiently
against his thigh.
�Get me some lotion,� David ordered Sally. Feeling a little bereft, I
think, she walked to the medicine cabinet and got out some K-Y jelly. I
watched her from the corner of my eye. She had a big bottom and it was
seared very vividly with marks. But she held it out proudly, letting it
sway, even flaunting it. Her bosoms bounced seductively on her chest, big
milk-giving bosoms that only needed a baby to make them squirt.
Sally applied the K-Y to David�s penis with soothing, liberal fingers,
tickling his balls, hoping to make him want to fuck her again. But as soon
as his pole was greased he brushed her aside. �I�m going to shoot in her
hair,� he said quietly. And, as I felt his big greased pole stick itself into
my mane of tumbling blonde hair, I realized it was MY hair he was talking
about!
David fixed his eyes on Missy as he nested his big dick in my hair. I
felt mortified, humiliated! He was going to go on me, but it was Missy
that sparked his desires. She looked at him, bug-eyed, her childish cheeks
puffing as I worked her slit with my tongue. I was but an obedient doggie,
serving Missy, my mistress, who in turn was being used by David for his
own masturbatory enjoyment. Sally, left to herself, got some cream from
the medicine cabinet and ordered (yes, ordered!) Olaf to rub it on her poor
fanny.
In this way did our most unusual arrangement unfold: Olaf, standing
behind Sally, with her presenting her bottom to him, the two of them
standing, frigged Sally�s slit with his one gloved hand while his other
gloved hand spread soothing cream on her ass. Meanwhile, Sally, standing
behind David, began slapping his ass. Quite hard, it sounded, from her
slaps. I could just imagine how her boobies looked, swinging around like
big cantaloupes as she smacked her sadistic lover. He, meanwhile, had his
penis in my hair, and was hoping to spurt into my long blonde locks while
I, kneeling, the only one down on my knees, licked Missy. She jigged and
bounced on her toes, pleading with me to stop, but loving it too, heaving
her young breasts about and letting David watch her antics as he massaged
himself.
�Finger yourself,� David told me. I didn�t want to, but with that big
man so close behind me, still holding his belt, I wasn�t about to question
him or refuse. I reached down into my slit and began rubbing my spot.
Soon my breath was gasping as much as Missy�s, the two of us rising
toward orgasm. Behind me, I could hear from David�s panting that he was
now on the verge of cumming himself. And Sally, with a pleased scream,
announced that Olaf had made her cum.
�Ahhhh!� I heard above me as David shot his load into my hair.
�David!� I screamed, but my protest was mingled with a cry from my
throat as I felt an orgasm rip through my slitted loins. Missy, above me,
locked her knees as she called out an orgasm of her own. Only Olaf did not
cum. He was wearing trousers. None of us cared. I kept my mind focused
on Missy�s little slit while feeling David�s hot jism shoot into my hair and
run down my neck and trickle in rivulets down my back. I wiggled my ass
and felt his semen anoint me there, where so recently Jasmine had
whipped me raw.
I sighed into Missy�s pussy and let my orgasm finish and subside.
She pried my head back a few minutes later, eager to be free of me. I took
my hands off my thighs and guiltily looked up at her.
�Sorry,� I whispered.
�Well, at least you�re not a brown nose,� she smirked.
�I�m a honey nose,� I agreed.
�Let�s sleep together,� she suggested.
�Don�t wet the bed!� I cautioned.
�I won�t,� she promised.
We stood up. David and Sally were gone, back in their bedroom. I
heard Sally moaning and howling but didn�t even want to know what they
were up to. Their door was closed. I hoped it was locked, perhaps from
our side, to keep David out. I didn�t like him anymore. Using me as a dog--
what a brute!
Missy and I filled the tub and gave ourselves a bath. She played with
a rubber ducky she found among the towels piled by the side of the tub. I
washed my hair. She helped a little. She felt sorry for how David had used
me. Olaf, ever our chaperone, merely watched. He had a bulge in his
trousers but, unlike David, he had the courtesy not to massage it.
We retreated to my bedroom and Missy and I straightened the covers
of my bed. Then we hopped in, Missy fetching her lollipop, which Olaf had
to pull off from the surface of my vanity. We embraced, me getting my
hair a little sticky again as I tried, and failed, to avoid her big lollipop.
Then we curled up and went to sleep, the sound of her tongue licking her
lollipop the last sound that I heard.
30
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