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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
SULTRY SPRING
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Chapter Three
The spring air was warm. I sat on my auntie�s back porch, wearing
my new bikini. Beyond, the water of her swimming pool glistened. It was
a day of still air, somnolent thoughts. I let daydreams flit through me.
�It is a game the Romans used to play,� I heard Sarife�s voice say. I
turned my head, slightly, then let a carefree laziness keep me from
turning it farther. I settled into the chaise lounge once more. I shut my
eyes, absorbing the sun. But my ears perked up, listening.
�And someone plays the lion?� my aunt asked. Her voice sounded
apprehensive.
�Yes,� Sarife said. �She will be blindfolded, of course. She must
find the prey by following her nose!� Sarife laughed.
�Oh, I cannot. Not with Chloe. Not in a whorehouse,� my aunt said.
�A brothel, dear. Use that word. It is a much better term,� Sarife
said. �How is your brand? You are proud of it?�
There was a pause. I knew my aunt was clothed, and thinking of her
in the house, wearing clothes, discussing a brand on her bottom was
somehow, for me, strangely erotic. I shifted on my chaise lounge,
wondered idly if I too wished to bear such a mark.
�It is within the cheeks,� my aunt said. �The two marks are small.
Nobody can see them unless...�
Sarife laughed. �Unless you open your ass for them,� she said. �So
you see, only the most intimate of acquaintances will know. Is it not far
better than a girl who pierces her belly? So many people can see that. It
is meant to be intimate and personal but a girl only has to wear a short
shirt for anyone to see it. But a brand, a small brand, placed just right,
opposite the anus, on both sides of the cheeks, that is much more personal.
Now I should think that a party in a brothel should have the same
combination of sinfulness and discretion. You may be masked if you wish.
Your face will be concealed. Only your pussy will show. Your lovely body
and your pussy. Your face may be hidden if you insist upon it. In any event
the men will be from out of town. It will be anonymous, however intimate
it becomes.� Sarife laughed. �You will not see them if you go shopping.�
�Oh, I don�t know,� my aunt answered. �Chloe is so young.�
�Do not use her for an excuse if you truly do not wish to do it,�
Sarife said. �Perhaps I should ask her. Perhaps you shall sit at home and
watch television while Chloe enjoys the party.�
�I want to go to a party!� I hollared from the porch, having no idea
what I was getting myself into.
I wore a bikini, but it was not for swimming. I entered the dining
room. The men, seated around a large table, set with a linen cloth and
silver utensils, looked at me. I walked with self-conscious steps to a
place at the table reserved for myself and my aunt. And one other. A boy.
He too wore a swimsuit. He entered the room behind me. After him came
my aunt.
�Such lovely suntans,� one of the men said. He spoke with a Russian
accent. �It is still winter in Leningrad,� he told Sarife, who sat at the
table with the men and with the proprietress of the brothel. Her name
was Monique.
�They have been tanning for our party,� Monique said. Her hair was
flame-red, but her face had no freckles. She wore a dark dress, quite
formal, as did Sarife. I blushed as I crossed the room in my bikini. I
walked up to my place at the table. One of the men stood up. He held my
chair for me. When I had seated myself on my chair he scooted me up to
the table with a forcefulness that surprised me.
My aunt, dressed like myself in a teensy bikini, took her own seat at
the table. Her breasts shook in her bra as the same man who had scooted
me up to the table now shoved her own chair forward. She gasped. The
boy, wearing just a swimsuit, looked rather nervous as she sat down in his
own chair. But the man, perhaps out of respect for a fellow male, was
more gentle in sliding his chair forward.
We might have worn gloves, my aunt and I, or boots, or long
stockings. We might even have worn clothes. But we were told that the
men wished to admire our bare skin. So we sat at the table as one might
sit at the beach, wearing only bikinis. They were made of silk, however,
not of cloth. Even the boy�s swimsuit, a racing suit, was made of silk.
The effect was that, even though the silk covered our privates, it was so
soft, so delicate, that an outline of what it covered could be discerned.
One item that my aunt insisted upon wearing was a mask. It was
shaped like a bandit�s mask, covering the bridge of her nose and
surrounding her eyes. It was black, like the silk of her bikini. I wore one
also. So did the boy. Our identities were more protected than our
privates.
�We shall eat now,� Monique said. She clapped her hands. A girl
entered. She wore a mask too, and a silk bikini. She carried a tray of food.
She was young, no older than me. She had long yellow hair. It cascaded
down over her shoulders and looked strikingly beautiful against the tanned
skin of her body.
�This is Jillian,� Monique said. �She will be our serving girl, as well
as the lion.�
The men were not masked, nor was Sarife, nor Monique. The men
were from Russia. It was rumored that they were part of a Russian Mob,
but of course they did not say exactly why they were in Paris. Their
leader, who sat at the head of the table, was a big, burly man. He kept
glancing at me and I blushed as I felt his gaze. He had hungry eyes.
We ate. Little was spoken. When at last the men were finished
Monique turned to my aunt.
�We shall have an entertainment now, Rebecca, is it?� Monique
asked. My aunt blushed. She was silent. She bit her lip and looked at her
empty plate. There was a crumb from a roll on her plate and she daubed at
it with her finger. She lifted it to her lips. She licked her finger. The
crumb slipped from her fingertip into her mouth.
�Listen, Rebecca,� Sarife, sitting beside my aunt, scolded.
�We shall go into a room where there are three posts,� Monique said.
�I want each of you, that is, Rebecca, Chloe, and you, boy, what is your
name?�
�Will,� the boy said.
�I want each of you to take off your swimsuits. As if you�ve had a
lovely swim, instead of a meal, and are now ready for a bath. Except it
will be a tongue bath, once the lion finds you.� Monique looked at the
serving girl. She was clearing our table. Her blonde hair glistened. She
shrugged and picked up a plate, but I sensed she was nervous.
�I want to keep my mask on,� my aunt said.
�Of course, dear,� Monique said. �When you are naked you will go to
the posts. I will bind you to them. Only your wrists will be bound to the
posts. Then, between your ankles, I will put a spreader bar, so that your
knees are kept wide and your genitals are fully exposed. Then the lion will
be blindfolded, outside the room, and she will have to enter it crawling, on
her hands and knees, as a lion does.�
�To--?� my aunt asked. Her question was a gasp, an outrushing of
air from her lungs.
�In ancient times, a real animal was used,� Monique said. �In the
Roman Coliseum. A hungry animal, I might add,� Monique smiled. �Males
and females would be bound to posts and the animal would be let loose to
have at their genitals. Often, their genitals would be coated beforehand,
with a rude delicacy, in the scent of meat, or blood. This would cause the
animal to attack first and foremost that part of the victims, their loins,
to the amusement of the crowd. Usually it was Christians who were
sacrificed in this way, as food for lions, feeding their privates to them.
Quite involuntarily, of course,� Monique added.
�It sounds terrifying,� my aunt gulped. I felt speechless, and rubbed
my tummy, thinking of how it would feel to have a lion gnawing at my
cunt.
�It sounds like a good time,� the man at the head of our table said, in
his thick Russian-accented voice.
�Yes. We shall be both more reserved and more naughty than the
Romans,� Monique said. �Firstly, the privates of our victims will be
coated with honey. Just lightly, for we would not wish to drown out their
more natural odors.� She smiled. �Secondly, we shall not use adults, but
boys and girls. Even Rebecca here is only 19. But lastly our lion shall be
our serving girl, 13-year-old Jillian, with her lovely golden mane of hair.
She shall have to find our victims wearing a blindfold, and not knowing
who is bound where. Her aim will be to find Will first, if she can. But
there are no rules beyond that, and as you can see, she was busy serving
us, not eating dinner. So I expect she will feed on all three of our guests
before she is no longer hungry.�
Jillian�s cheeks flushed. She picked up a plate off the table. She
turned and walked from the room, passing through a door into the
bordello�s kitchen.
�She has a fine bottom. Will it be bare?� the man at the head of our
table asked.
�Oh yes. She may need to be smacked if she can�t find our guests
quickly enough,� Monique said.
I stood with my legs splayed. My arms were bound above my head. I
blushed behind my mask as I contemplated my position. My thighs were
wide-spread, my cunt was an open invitation. A spreader bar enforced my
posture.
My bikini lay in a crumpled tangle of strings at the door to the room.
Monique had untied it for me. I gazed at it now, from behind my mask,
wondering at its uselessness. It was so small, and now I did not even have
its slender, silken threads for protection. My hips offered the spectacle
of my white privates. The tan lines left by my bikini served to heighten
my nudity. My breasts stuck up like twin pointed gourds on my chest, my
breasts heavy but uptilted, my nipples hard. My belly sank and lifted
below my ribs, rising and falling with my breath. I waited. The honey that
had been daubed onto the curls of my mons glistened. I could smell it. I
could feel my rising excitement, my wetness, and I wondered if the lion
would find me by the smell of the honey or my natural scent.
Beside me, between myself and my aunt, Will waited. He also had a
tan, newly acquired, and it accentuated his nakedness now that his suit
was gone. It lay near his post, while his penis, freed from it, stuck out a
good foot from his body. For a mere boy, he certainly was well endowed.
�He�s cheating,� the man who had sat at the head of our table
laughed. He pointed to Will.
�Well, you did not expect me to find just any young man to be tied,
did you?� Monique said.
I looked past the boy at Rebecca. She was silent behind her mask.
Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted but they did not speak. She
seemed nervous, and suddenly her tongue darted from her mouth and licked
around her lips.
�Which is your favorite?� Monique asked the leader of the Russians.
He considered all three of us and then, finally, said,
�The boy.�
There was laughter.
�The boy?� Monique asked, when she had stopped giggling.
�It is the size of his cock,� the man said. �It is truly impressive.
But the girls, they are pretty also. I am eager to see all three of them
pillaged.�
�Then let us bring in the lion,� Monique said.
She entered wearing a collar. Her golden hair shimmered. Her eyes
were blindfolded. Her mouth was open, slightly, and she smelled the air of
the room with her small, petite nose, sniffing.
I gasped. I looked at the serving girl on her hands and knees, just
like an animal would be, and I felt a pang of fear. What if she got carried
away? She looked so satisfied with her role, after her blushes in the
dining room. Her breasts hung down, naked and free, but she did not seem
to mind. Her bottom was bare, but like a real lion, she seemed undisturbed
by how she made a display of the nakedness of her ass. She crawled
forward. Her leash, which Monique was holding, stretched taught.
�Ah. I must unclip you,� Monique said. She walked forward to the
girl and bent and undid the leash from her neck. �Go. Enjoy your supper,�
Monique told our serving girl, now transformed into a lion.
Suddenly there was the sound of a whistle. I looked up from the
advancing lioness toward the door. In through it, his bark preceding him,
came a real dog, a doberman!
�Good heavens,� Monique said, turning. The men laughed. A woman
strutted into the room wearing a police uniform. Meanwhile the dog,
which she had apparently been holding but which was now free, bounded
across the room. The floor had several bearskins spread upon it and I
watched in surprise as the dog was permitted to step all over the rugs.
Jillian shrieked as the dog sniffed her bare ass. Then he mounted her, and
tried to thrust into her, but just as quickly he smelled myself and my aunt
and Will. He dropped down off of Jillian and ran to me. He nuzzled my
cunt. I shouted. He lapped at my slit.
�Come here, Arrow,� Monique called to the dog. The woman in the
police uniform, apparently a whore, lifted a whistle to her lips and blew
upon it.
Surprisingly, the dog responded. Nervous but obedient, he went
running over to the police woman. She grabbed him by his collar.
�Just a little something to keep your blood curdled,� Monique said,
smiling at my aunt, then at Will, finally at me. �Jillian, do continue
please, dear,� Monique said.
�I felt a dog!� Jillian gasped. She was standing up now, but her
blindfold was still tied over her eyes.
�He is under control, dear,� Monique said.
�He tried to fuck me!� Jillian said.
�Pay no mind to it, dear. He�s under control now,� Monique told her.
Jillian reluctantly dropped to her knees. She tossed back her long
mane of hair. Then, getting into her role again, she licked her lips. She
sniffed the air.
�I think I smell someone,� she said in a high, sweet voice.
She came straight towards me.
30
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