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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
A Virgin�s Last Hours
Chapter Three
�Oooh! I can�t wear panties!� Sylvie insisted, when it came time to
dress and go home. Alessandra insisted she at least wear her skirt. When
the leather of the miniskirt tapped against Sylvie�s ass, she yelped and
stood on tip-toe. Alessandra zipped it up for her and checked to make
sure, just before they went out, that the girl hadn�t pulled it so far up on
her narrow waist that it left her showing the base of her bottom cleft.
In the cab, Sylvie pulled herself across Alessandra�s lap. The driver,
who had seen just about everything Sodom by the Atlantic had to offer,
was surprised, looking in his rear view mirror, to see that the cab�s
youngest passenger was arching up her behind, letting her skirt skitter
down toward the small of her back, her bare ass showing in the cab�s
bright interior light, which the driver suddenly flicked on with his hand.
�Yeeeek!� Sylvie cried. Alessandra blinked.
�Please turn that off, sir,� Alessandra ordered the driver. Sylvie
reached behind herself and lifted her skirt from where it had crumpled
against her waist. Pulling it taut, holding it aloft with her hands, she held
it above her ass, not letting it touch the skin. But in this position the
skirt also did not entirely cover her; as Alessandra had feared when they
were exiting the apartment, the girl�s little rump showed off its
lowermost parts, and the furrow inbetween. �Her father had to be rather
abrupt with her. She didn�t do her homework,� Alessandra told the driver.
The man arched his brows. The girl was small bodied, but was she the
size of a pre-teen? He didn�t think so, but perhaps, in the early morning
twilight, he had overestimated the size of the girl�s tits. She was lying
on them now, they still seemed substantial even in her belly-down
posture, but he couldn�t be sure, her aunt�s hand was sliding around to the
girl�s front and partly hiding his view.
And so they went home that way, and Alessandra had to giggle,
within herself, whenever Sylvie let out a little �Oooh!� or �Oh!� or other
surprised noise, doing it whenever the cab hit a bump. The girl wasn�t on
her bottom at the moment, yet she acted as if she was, and Sylvie knew it
was all just an act, engendered by her suffering on the hot metal chair.
The girl had not complained when she put on her bra, her nipples weren�t
still sore from the clamps. And she hadn�t offered any lament when she
slipped on her blouse, despite the way Beth�s whip had struck her ribs. No,
her complaint, or so she alleged, was that her bottom was still sore from
sitting on the hot seat, but Alessandra, with a perfect view of the girl�s
behind, especially when she let go of her skirt and the little garment
crumpled again against her lower back, knew it couldn�t be so. Sylvie�s
ass cheeks had returned, during the night�s long hours, to a perfect hue of
white, a fine pale delicacy of color, and they were as always high and
round and wonderfully shaped, so much so that Alessandra found herself
feeling a little jealous of her niece�s warm soft bottom, as she watched it
jiggle up and down in the cab.
When they reached home they both went to bed; Alessandra had been
given very little chance to sleep by Randall and Beth and Sylvie had
watched it all, wide-eyed and curious, spending half the time watching
sitting on the very ass she now claimed was so terribly damaged. It was
the pleasure of pain. Once it was endured the penitent could drag out for
hours afterward the experience, claiming all sorts of harm, loving every
minute of the attention and feigned regret that her tormenters inevitably
gave her.
Yet there was a type of pain that Alessandra knew she would crave,
one day, when she was bold enough. It was the pain unaccompanied by
gentle soothing regrets, after the torture had been delivered. And the pain
under such circumstances was much fiercer, like that delivered in a
prison, it tested the penitent to the absolute maximum, for she, or
sometimes he, knew that there would be no pleasure offered after the
fact.
In the early evening Alessandra found Sylvie lying on the couch, in
the den in front of the T.V. The girl had a blanket across her back, for the
room was slightly chilly. She had another blanket over her legs, and a
third covering her head like a draped scarf. But her bottom, white and
lovely in the pale blue glow of the television, was utterly nude. She was
eating cookies, a glass of milk was perched on the coffee table in front of
the couch. She flexed her bare ass a little, hearing her aunt approach.
�How is your bottom?� Alessandra asked, pretending to believe it
might still be hurt. Sylvie looked up from under her draped headdress, like
a little Indian being approached by the cavalry. Delicately, holding a half
eaten cookie in one hand, she reached back and touched her hind cheeks,
their bareness, softly examining her roundness there with her fingers.
�They�re-- a likkle better,� the girl confessed, in a childlike voice.
Even Sylvie could no longer pretend that her bottom was somehow still
suffering.
�Oh poor dear,� Alessandra said. She sat down on the couch next to
Sylvie�s white ass. She touched its round upturned twin globes, spreading
her hand across them, almost able to encompass both little cheeks with
her slender delicate fingers.
�Oh!� Sylvie said, in a hesitant voice. Her ass cheeks clenched. She
remained looking up at her aunt, back over her shoulder now as the woman
sat by her ass.
�Are you sure your bottom doesn�t still hurt?� Alessandra asked,
savoring the way the girl�s cheeks tightened and then released, then
tightened abruptly again, innocence and shamelessness bound up together
in the same movement.
�It still hurts a likkle bit,� Sylvie insisted. She bit her cookie,
perhaps to suppress the lie she knew she was telling.
�Then you absolutely must stay here and have a babysitter, if your
bottom is still so tender,� Alessandra told the girl. At once Sylvie turned
over, sitting smack on the very ass she had just complained was still so
tender. Without any complaint whatever about putting her full weight on
her butt, she cried,
�No! I want to go to the party!� Alessandra arched a brow, gave the
girl a slightly disgusted look. Sylvie blushed; her ruse, that her bottom
was still somehow in pain, had been discovered.
�I mean, IF my bottom doesn�t hurt too much,� Sylvie added, and
finished in one big bite the cookie she was holding.
�You�re getting crumbs all over my couch,� Alessandra told the girl.
�I said not to eat here without a plate.�
�Sowwy,� Sylvie said, still blushing, looking down at the crumbs
she�d sprinkled on her naked breasts, for she was nude under her blankets.
There were more crumbs in the folds of her blankets and on the couch.
Alessandra reached down and brushed the crumbs onto the floor.
�You�ll have to vacuum here when you�re done eating,� Alessandra
said to Sylvie.
�Oh but what if my bottom--?� Sylvie began.
�Your bottom doesn�t hurt so much that you can�t stand up and
vacuum,� Alessandra replied, and gave the girl another wry look, for
indeed the youngster was still sitting on her ass even now, pouting that
she should have to do housework.
They dressed for the party in long fishnet stockings. The stockings
came up to their thighs, where bands of elastic sewn into the tops of the
stockings held them aloft without garters. Above the stockings they wore
panties, black silk panties of an abbreviated nature. They were not so
small as to get caught in their asses or thread inbetween the lips of their
cunts, but they rode low on their hips, teasingly offering a glimpse of
their pubic mounds, failing, in the rear, to cover the entire length of their
cheeky young bottom cracks. Along with their panties they wore
brassieres of black silk. They also wore strands of pearls, around their
necks, little expensive collars that hinted their willingness to be slaves.
�Will they make me sit on a hot seat again, like at Beth�s?� Sylvie
asked, pulling on a pair of black opera-length gloves to compliment her
underwear outfit.
�Perhaps,� Alessandra answered. �But in your case, since you insist
on going, you should know that the men will want to spank your bottom.�
�Spank me?!� Sylvie cried. Her hands flew to her ass, so recently
covered by her black panties. �I�ll wear jeans and not let them take them
off me!� Sylvie said. Alessandra frowned at the girl.
�It is why I think you should stay here and have a babysitter,�
Alessandra said. She hugged Sylvie and kissed her nose. �Poor dear,� she
said, looking down at her little niece. �Don�t you know that I�m not just
picking this outfit at random?� She went to her dresser and found
Wesley�s invitation, among her underwear in the top drawer. She showed
it to Sylvie. �See? You won�t even be wearing jeans. Wesley has chosen
our outfits. Panties and a bra and stockings and gloves are all you get.
Plus the pearls,� Alessandra sighed. It was a nice touch. Wesley had sent
the pearl necklaces over that afternoon, while Sylvie was out playing
video games.
�But won�t we be seen?� Sylvie cried, looking at herself in her
aunt�s bedroom mirror, aghast that she should appear at a party wearing
only her underwear!
�We�ll wear our fur coats, dear,� Alessandra said. At Wesley�s
instruction she had bought two fur coats, both of them black and trimmed
with ersatz fur; it was, after all, to be a debauched party. There was no
sense in going to an extravagant expense for the coats.
�I�ll be hot if I wear a fur coat indoors all night,� Sylvie said, still
looking at herself in her bra and panties, reflected in her aunt�s mirror.
Alessandra laughed.
�We shall be divested of our coats as soon as we get inside, silly,�
Alessandra said. �And knowing Wesley, it won�t be all he requires of us.
So that�s why a babysitter--�
�No!� Sylvie shouted.
And so they caught a cab that night, the two of them riding together
in it, Sylvie sitting on her bottom, and contemplating what Alessandra had
told her as they waited for the cab to come and pick them up.
�The men will surely want to spank you,� Alessandra explained to
the girl. �Your cheeks are so young and delectable, and so innocent, are
they not?� Sylvie had nodded at her aunt, wide-eyed, as she�d been so
often in recent days. She confessed to her aunt that she�d never been
spanked. �So you see,� Alessandra had continued, �Rear cheeks such as
yours simply demand punishment. The men won�t be able to resist. It was
the same for me at my first party, and I�m still playing the sub tonight.�
�But why will they want to spank me?� Sylvie asked, reaching back
and examining with her hand the pantied spheres which Alessandra
promised her would not escape the night unscathed, again recommending
that she have a babysitter.
�Because your ass is so darling,� Alessandra said. She ran her
fingers through her long blonde hair, which was now pinned up loosely,
checking its weight and fullness to see that it was properly in place,
without being too tightly drawn, for there must in such affairs be a
casualness of the hairstyle, while great elegance also. Sylvie�s hair was
dressed the same way, though the woman knew they would both have their
hair down around their shoulders and quite tangled by morning. And
sticky, if previous parties were any indication. �Your sweet face will of
course be admired, but you must understand that at a party like this it is
your private parts, most of all, that are admired. Your tits, and your
bottom,� Alessandra said, for she didn�t want the youngster to
misunderstand what was in store for her. �Especially your bottom,
because it is still the bottom of a child, and some men like that very
much. So they will want to punish it. They will probably say it needs,
how did Robert put it?� Alessandra asked herself. �Ah! Exemplary
punishment. I don�t entirely understand men�s interest in this but there is
something about seeing a young female wiggle and squirm that delights
them. What is so often covered is uncovered and made to jerk and wobble
and tighten itself, and to bear things such as intrusions. You are cherry of
course and that will attract them even more, but I will try to keep them
from putting anything up you. However don�t expect not to be put over
someone�s knee; are you sure you wouldn�t rather stay here?�
�No,� Sylvie said. In truth the girl, despite what she�d suffered at
Beth�s, didn�t believe her aunt. She was sure that in a party of adults she
could spend most of her time just watching, as she had watched Beth and
Randall and her aunt fucking, without participating. The idea that grown
men would specifically seek her out was not yet understood by her, or if it
was, just a little, she tried to hide the fact from herself. �You can�t scare
me into not going,� Sylvie told her aunt.
�All right, but you�ve been warned,� Alessandra said.
�Yes,� Sylvie said. �Anyways it�s just a party. Knowing how grown-
ups are, it�ll probably be boring.� Alessandra smiled but said nothing
more.
30
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