Message-ID: <1156eli$9706031247@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Love Child part 2 of 15 (NND) --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in LOVE CHILD _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Two If anyone in the study had been promised my hymen, the offer must have been withdrawn once Kimber received the note inviting us to the Andes. Apparently a woman at the party, approving of my looks and my demeanor, had telephoned a certain wealthy Argentinean general right from Kimber’s study. And he had issued an invitation, which she had passed along to Kimber. The remaining men who pumped me that evening came without regret, spending within my mouth quite happily. They were lined up three deep at one point, each determined to get his chance at my newly debauched mouth. My lips were sore when it finally ended. Several times more a woman came to my snatch, but tongued me gently so as not to damage my hymen in any way. It had, apparently, some new value. A small private jet whisked us toward our destination early the next morning. There was myself, Kimber, and Debbi on the plane, plus a pilot, co-pilot, and a middle-aged woman who fed us and served us cocktails. I asked Kimber if she was saving my virginity for someone. "A little at a time, darling," Kimber replied. "I was eager to see you lose it, but now, well, perhaps we can delay the ceremony a bit, hmmm?" "It's mine, isn't it?" I asked. "Of course." She rose, excused herself and went into the plane's bathroom. "Don't think your asshole will be so lucky," Debbi smirked. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I hear the general we're visiting is an ass man," Debbi said. "Oh, poof," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I only accepted an invitation to come, not to, you know, cum." I turned and gazed out the window. The fertile green fields below were giving way to mountains. They rose powerfully up from the landscape. Their tops were wreathed in clouds. This was, wasn't it, the 90's? A girl like me could do as she pleased. I could tease men, or not, as my heart fancied. There were rape laws to protect girls like me. Even Mike Tyson knew that. So let some man invite me to his mountain chalet. Janet Reno would protect me, and Oprah Winfrey too. I'd do just what I wanted, when I wanted, and no more. I pressed my nose to the windowpane. I watched as clouds drifted by. Sometimes they obscured the view below, sometimes not. I looked for Zeus in the darker clouds but did not see him. Some time later we broke through an underlying cloud bank and a vista of pure snow opened up before me. Where there was no snow, there was rock. It jutted up from the blanketing frost, rude, thrusting, certain of its destiny. The snow attempted to calm the rocks, it seemed to me, soothe their passionate yearnings. And indeed one day the snow would win entirely, submerging the once mighty precipices below the all-encompassing sea. In their youth the mountains would reign, the snow submissive, content to be mere icing, ornamental, amongst the steep crags and cliffs. In old age the mountains would be reduced to sloping, flabby hills, built upon by peasants, trod on by munching cows. All would end as sand. The ocean would cover up the remnants. Crabs and sea urchins would burrow in the residue, like worms infesting a corpse. But I was in the mountains now. Here vigor reigned still. A wrong turn of our gliding airplane would dash me to pieces against some cliff-face. Alive one moment, dead the next. Bristling winds buffeted our craft as the pilot carefully nosed his way amidst the enclosing crags toward our destination. “Oooh! Look! Santa’s Village!” I cried out suddenly. I pointed at a cluster of tiny dwellings down below. As our plane banked I saw more, here and there, across the snow. They were mansions, I realized, as our plane dropped down. Toy mansions now, to my view, not just dots. And then vehicles began to appear. The snow came down around us in soft bits of flurries. We descended as if into one of those round glass bubbles you see in stores, shake them and see Frosty get his head coated with drifting flakes. Down the plane slipped, circling, the buildings became more visible as we flew lower. Different shapes, sizes, different types of construction. We bumped down on the runway. The plane taxied a bit, then stopped. “Time to get out,” Kimberly grinned at me. I collected my purse, my teddy bear. The co-pilot came back and opened the door for us, tipped his hat to us as we stepped out. It was cold! I drew my fur coat close about me. Unsteady in my boots after sitting on the plane, I clambered down the gangway steps. A sleigh awaited us. Big horses, shaggy hoofed, with the enclosing sleigh to protect us from the whistling, icy winds. I was helped up into the sleigh by a uniformed footman. As I sat down on the sleigh’s leather bench I felt my skirt, inside my fur coat, slip up to reveal my pantied ass. Were it not for my coat, I would have been sitting on the leather, and it was moist with fallen snow. My skirt was short, miniscule, daring in its sexiness to the point of being obscene. Kimber had insisted that I wear it, as a sexy treat for myself, feeling my vulnerability even as I sat encumbered in the bulkiness of my fur wrap. I was ambivalent. Sure, it was sexy to wear the skirt, but what about when I took my coat off? Kimber’s dress was just as short. We were twin “cherry-bombs,” she said, and the general had better watch out if we went off in his mansion. Well, I was cherry, that was for sure. Kimber just looked cherry, passing for seventeen, perhaps, if you didn’t know her age. She liked toying with men’s minds, telling men she was too young for them, when in fact I suspected that she was vastly more experienced than most of the men in Buenos Aires, all put together. She exuded sexuality. Her walk, the casual toss of her head as she explained some finer sexual point to me, the swell of her bosoms, taunting in their bigness, bursting forth from her waif-like figure. Snowflakes drifted down onto my nose. I stuck out my tongue, let one settle on it, savored the taste. Well, it tasted like water, but clean, fresh water. Icewater, for a girl from a hot city. Our horses stamped the snow, waiting for the whip to crack. They exhaled into the morning air. They were impatient. They wanted to be made to run, to feel their limbs working, to know that they were alive. Wiggling in my fur coat, my tummy a little queasy, uncertain, I wanted to feel alive too. Kimber’s party had awakened me. I felt a newfound need for men, not just a curiosity about them. My womb felt delicately empty, like a child feels when she wants something, but isn’t sure, will asking for one thing necessitate dropping another? I used to pore over my Christmas list, making sure I didn’t ask for one item to the omission of something else. I wanted the best present, not one almost as good. And I couldn’t ask for something so expensive that it would wipe out three or four other things that I desired. Decisions, decisions. I used to love the days before Christmas, in a silly sort of way, worried that I might not be good enough, counting up my hoped-for booty, selecting this, deleting that. I think sometimes the fun was in the choices, weighing them. In my mind suddenly I saw a lewd picture of myself weighing men’s balls. This sac has more in it, but his dick is not quite as big, that one is heaviest of all, but he is so thick, can I get him inside without splitting myself apart? Kimber turned to me. There was a sly look in her face. Debbi sat between myself and Kimber. Debbi too seemed devilish, her eyes lively. “Open your coat a little, Barbi,” Kimber told me. I watched, obeyed, as she and Barbi each slipped a hand within their coats. To my surprise they began fingering themselves upon their spots, upon their cunnies, rubbing their undies, not touching themselves directly but massaging the fabric of their teensy panties. Right where it counted. Debbi let out a soft moan, Kimber emitted a similar sound into the snow-falling air. The footman, now our driver, turned himself briefly about, saw the spectacle, showed no emotion. He was the only one in the sleigh, save ourselves. Directly he brought his whip down upon the horses’ rumps and set them off. We bounced upon the sleighbench as the vehicle lurched forward. I stuck my hand in my coat, Kimber glowering at me, lest I should not participate in her game. Okay, I would play along, at least a little. How often did a girl get to take a sleigh ride to a mysterious mansion where a powerful man lay in wait for her? I touched myself. I rubbed, little whisper-rubs, trying not to arouse myself. Ah, I felt it then, in my rising excitement, my anxiousness. A moistening. A soft wettening in the crotch of my panties. With rising gasps of pleasure we crossed the snow. Behind us the sleigh tracks defaced the freshly laid powder, ahead all was still virgin, gentle hills and slopes, broken only by the sky-pointing thrust of evergreens. A bit later we arrived. It was a large house, old-looking, made with heavy lumber. Much of the surrounding forest had been cut down to build the mansions here, over the years. Now the whole place was a kind of private ski resort. The remaining trees were preserved for the pleasure they gave. They did not have to bear offspring any more to make houses for men. A chalet, when built, used imported lumber. But few new chalets were built now, Kimber had said, talking of our destination as we rode on the plane. Only the wealthy could afford to stay here now. The mansions were widely spaced, with acres of fresh snow between them, to give privacy. Inside, perhaps, things were more liberal, on the outside all was proper, with strict zoning and high taxes to keep out less fortunate residents. The footman helped me down. My gloved hand in his. I stepped onto the snow. It crunched under my feet. He herded Kimber, Debbi, and I forward. I wondered if he saw that my hips swayed more when I walked now. My steps were pleasantly awkward. To the door he took us, trembling with need, inspired by our fingers, unfinished yet, for Kimberly wanted us only to tease ourselves, our host. The door to the general’s chalet was huge. Perhaps it betokened other sizes. Quickly we were let in. A woman let us in, smiling. She had blazing red hair, as if her head were aflame, and seeing that it was natural, I wondered about her thatch below. The general himself stepped out to greet us, coming at us from a kind of vestry, off to the side, surprising us. My face was flushed as I greeted him. Graciously he took my coat himself, as the redhead relieved Kimber and Debbi. He wore his uniform, with all his shiny medals, as if he would look less virile in other attire. I smiled slightly. He smiled back, but with a predator’s gleam in his eyes. I was in his home, his guest, after all. I had come. (Well, almost.) Suddenly I realized that my short skirt was rucked up around my waist, my fanny showing in back, the skirt too high in front to block his view of my moist panties. Grabbing my skirt by its hem I pulled it down, flushed more deeply. “It is warm in Buenos Aires?” he asked me, eyeing my thighs, a little above. “Yes,” I breathed. He knew damn well I had not dressed this way because of the heat. My dress was too short, I could not bend without showing off my undies. Yet he was courteous enough to pretend. I liked that. Pretending was still my main game in life, dreaming and pretending. I admired him for not embarrassing me. I turned, saw Kimber and Debbi had got their skirts down. “You will enjoy yourself here,” the general said to me, gazing at me intently. His words had the air of a command. I nodded. I wanted to stick my tongue out at him, I don’t know why. But I nodded politely, and liked him then, though I felt determined to remain true to my hymen for as long as I wished. I would lose it on my terms. Yes. On my terms and no other, weighing the men’s testicles in advance, cutting off the hopes of one male only to advance those of another. “There is a bedroom waiting,” the general said. He spoke to me. When I did not respond he glanced over my head to Kimberly. “The girls need exercise after sitting so long,” Kimberly said in reply. “Oh, not me!” I piped up suddenly. I was recalcitrant, despite my busy finger in the sleigh. “Very well,” the general said. “There is a room for you three girls.” His emphasis on ‘girls’ was derisory. “The footman will show you. I am busy with another new guest, freshly arrived, as you are.” He turned his gaze to the redhead. There was wantonness in her eyes. “We should not have interrupted your introductions, my pet. Shall we continue?” She exchanged smiles with him and he offered her his arm. In a moment they were gone. The footman, grave as ever, moved us ahead of him down a long hall. Our high heels clicked on a parquet floor, the boards creaking sometimes, as if many females had come this way before, perhaps leaving heavier than they arrived, with swollen bellies. We went up a staircase, our bottoms peeking out from under our skirts, showing the footman the color of our panties. Down a corridor we went, and he let us into a bedroom. It was well-appointed, with cushions and a big four-poster canopied bed, a bureau, and a lockable jewelry box. The footman closed the door behind us and was gone. I lay my teddy bear on top of the bureau, next to the jewelry box. There was a pitcher of steaming coffee there. Debbi poured a cup for herself, looking slightly melancholy. Kimber fluffed a pillow on the bed. She dropped onto the bed and spread her legs. Her skirt was up, showing her panties. Kimber raised her arms, put them behind her head. She eyed me. I loitered by the jewelry box, checking out all its little compartments. “You are a little devil,” Kimberly said to me. “I did not want to, that’s all,” I replied. “I wonder if he’s fucking her now?” Debbi asked aloud. She smiled at me. “In and out, in and out,” she teased. “Oh, stop it!” I cried. I had never been fucked and she knew it. She wanted to play with my mind and humiliate me over it. “Perhaps we should have invited the footman to stay,” Kimber mused. Her eyes were dreamy. “I don’t want a foot man, I want a man who’s interested in me right there,” Debbi said. She pointed to the place where little girls fear being poked. “Yes, right there!” Kimber laughed. She drew up her legs, showing off her pantied cunt, letting her knees fall wide apart. “Oh, you two need a lecture from Bill Bennett!” I cried. With that I ran into the adjoining bathroom and slammed the door. Within the bathroom, I moped. There must have been another bathroom beyond the far wall, for I could hear water, laughter. We three were not alone in our journey to the general’s. There were others, many others, I guessed, for the house was huge and I had heard sounds of distant parties as the footman led us upstairs to our bedroom. I filled the tub and sprinkled in bubbles. I would be pure, I would be Venus, enshrouded in the bubbles, a seashell over my pussy to protect my purity. Cherubs would attend to me. I would stay in the tub always, ordering room service, ducking below the bubbles when it was delivered so the footman could not see me. I would nibble quietly, a mouse. A mouse in a big house. And I would never, ever ‘party naked.’ I was a reformed girl now, a good girl. Let the others have their fun. I would be the mansion’s attending nun, looking after their holiness. They could consult me when the mood of penitence overtook them, when they were bubbling-over with sperm and wondering whose child they might have become impregnated with. Alas, the white-foam bubbles looked like sperm to me suddenly. Naked, my clothes gone, I leapt in among them. I could not resist. I found my finger busy once again, my lips soon gasped. Somewhere in the distance, in the bedroom, I heard twin female voices moan out an accompanying hymn. Kimber and Debbi were exploring the comforts of the bed together, making a wet spot together on the sheets, perhaps so the footman would have to come and change them. I rubbed myself more energetically. I was getting my exercise after all, as were they, though we all were as relaxed as could be. Dissolute, recumbent, not busy with our legs, not running, but with our naughty fingers only, skillfully touching. We had succumbed. I had succumbed. I knew I could not last much longer, a day perhaps, maybe two. Then I would have to give in completely. But would I surrender, or position myself so that someone else would force my surrender? That was the only question that remained, and it made me gulp hard, realizing it. **** With a flick of my head, confident and aware of my sexuality as never before, I stood naked before the general. He sat in a chair, a big, high-backed, padded number that resembled a throne. He sat along the side of the large room I now found myself standing in. Ranged on either side of me were girls and young women, as nude as myself. A broad swath of plush carpet stretched out before us, wall to wall carpeting. Opposite the general, across the room from him, was a fireplace. It roared, giving off generous doses of heat to keep even us bare girls warm. Every effort had been made to provide for our comfort. We were to go crawling across the carpet, and wore long, elegant leather boots that topped out just above our knees in front. No rug burns would assail our knee caps. Our hands were gloved in soft animal skins. But I knew when I knelt there would be one part of me that might not be so well favored. My hiney had not been offered any protection at all. I was to be a horsey, as were the other girls. Already I spied several pony lashes in the hands of the spectators. Fleetingly I wondered if I shouldn't back out. But then what would I do, sit in my room, alone and bored? The general had been a perfect gentleman so far. We'd arrived at his chalet three days ago. He'd given us sumptuous dinners, which he held every night for his assembled guests. There were other girls there, as guests, almost as young and definitely as pretty as I was. And there were some older women and men also. And servants, of course; butlers, cooks, maids. Despite the sexual goings-on in the rooms of the mansion the dinners were always polite, restrained, as if the guests needed someplace where convention still reigned, where morality was the norm, not the exception. Every day we'd gone skiing. In clothes, of course, bundled up against the cold, enjoying the purity of the snow and its overwhelming whiteness. There'd been a party every evening, slightly risque, but still with the ‘safe haven’ decency standard prevailing, though one could easily slip off for more intimate adventures. I'd shared a hot tub with two gentlemen the first night. They were young, randy, though older than myself. College men. They seemed to like me for my affected purity, blowing bubbles with my bubblegum to seem younger still. They'd danced with me, then invited me to have a soak with them. We'd stolen from the party and they’d led me to a tub where, after a moment's hesitation, I'd undressed with them. We splashed about and kissed. Then I had them both sit on the edge of the tub while I sucked them off, weighing their testicles in my palms. That was all, nothing more. They didn't seem to mind my hesitancy at going all the way. I was young, after all. I could have been their little sister. They would have wanted to ‘protect’ me if I was, driving off boyfriends their age, making sure I only went out with my peers. But since, you know, I had them by the balls, they let me play with them. It was acceptable for me to date men their age, if they were the ones who would get to shoot in my face. It was all relative. And my relativities were fast coalescing in my womb. We met again the next night and enjoyed a sauna together. Just the three of us, hot and bothered, enjoying our agitations, our perplexities. Amidst the billowing heat I sucked them off again. Last night was perhaps the best, so far. We went swimming in a heated pool, buck naked. Half of it was inside the chalet and half outside, under the glittering stars. We'd had a snowball fight on the decking next to the pool. I'd sucked them off at last, squeezing their balls and pumping them with my little fists more furiously than I'd ever done before. I wondered if I was turning into a little sexual tigress. A virgin tigress still, to be sure. I amused my mates, I think, my non-mating mates. They were veterans of frat parties, jaded; I was young, sweetly hesitant, yet I gave them their reward each night. We enjoyed each other. There were no commitments. They were both so strong, they would have destroyed each other competing to see which of them would pop my cherry. So instead they let me be in charge. And we played together like children, on my terms, they enjoying my youth and innocence even as I and they together set about corrupting it. The general had not mentioned my reluctance again, seemed to accept it. Or, rather, he accepted what I knew now was inevitable. That, coming a virgin, I would not leave one. My cherry would be added to his trophy case, symbolically, of course. In his mind he knew that I would give it up here, in his home. To somebody. And I could not deny that he was almost certainly right. It scared me to think of it. I would be changed. I would be different. I would not be a scampering little girl anymore. I wondered if Helga knew I was here. Deep down, I guessed she did. There were secrets between her and Kimberly. Now I realized that they’d both been my age once, and they’d accepted the challenge at last, they’d stepped through the door of no return. And they cherished the result. I wanted to cherish it too, to love and be loved in the deepest way. Today I'd awoken to a fierce snowstorm. There would not be any skiing today. We'd all huddled at breakfast, more guests than usual present for the morning meal. Usually we did our daytime things in little groups, even the skiing, gathering all together only for the evening banquet and the party afterwards. But this morning we sat gloomily as the wind whipped round the building, keening and screeching and trying to reach through to us. Snow splattered the big picture window in the dining room. It drifted up against the pane, rising steadily. Icicles drooped from the top of the window, outside, growing by the minute, it seemed, intent on mating with the snowbank beneath. The general had appeared, and proposed a day of indoor games. We'd all thought this a great idea. Then someone, a woman no less, suggested that the contestants compete as the ancient Greeks did in sports, without clothes on. The general said he'd see if the heat could be brought up enough to allow this. Sure enough, it was soon reported by a butler that it could be. And that's how I wound up bare-assed, booted, and gloved in a big room with a roaring fire. A mature woman, about 40, with blazing red hair, strode out from the group of spectators milling around the general's throne. I recognized her as the woman who’d greeted us on our arrival, three days ago. In her hand she carried a trio of birch rods, bound together with a black bow. You would have thought she was a very attractive secretary on her way to work, the way she was dressed. Perhaps she’d cut the birch branches for a decorative item, one might muse, to spruce up the office. A blouse was stretched taut over the redhead’s generous breasts. An open vest complimented the blouse, as did a scarf tied fetchingly round her neck. She wore a daringly short skirt and high heels. Yes, she was just a very sexy secretary, one might assume, riding to work next to you on the morning train, or passing you on the sidewalk on her way to work. Admittedly, there were a few signs that something might be amiss: the height of her skirt, the length of her heels, the way her breasts moved freely beneath her blouse. Yet, perhaps, she merely worked for a permissive boss, an admiring male might assume, hoping one day to secure a treasure like that himself. Then I spied the short, slender whip stuck through her dress' slim belt. No secretary of any firm would be allowed this accessory. And, sure enough, no sooner did the woman lay down her birch on a chair than she cast off her vest and, shockingly, ripped open her blouse. She told us her name was Janet just before unleashing her boobs. Then, tits bouncing, firm and high as those of any 20-year-old, she said, "Let's get down to business, shall we?" I gulped. I felt flocks of stiff-winged butterflies take off in my tummy. I was stark naked before this woman, my blonde muff freely displayed, itself no more or less special than the furred dells of all the other females present. My boobs jiggled with my nervousness. I tried to still them, tried to take slow, easy breaths. My nipples perked upon my breasts like tiny Eiffel towers, red and stiff. Janet glowered at each of us for a moment, ranging her eyes over the line-up of nude, booted females that stood before her. Then she matter-of-factly instructed us to kneel. I got down on all fours, anxious and shivering. Janet was one hell of a no-nonsense woman! I couldn't figure out whether I was trembling from the sexual thrill of being naked, or of some arousal related to Janet herself. Or, perhaps, the room was simply a bit too chilly. Of course. That was it. I could hear the wind whistling in the rafters, let in through little chinks in the walls where the joints had separated. My long hair hung down over my eyes, hiding me. I would hide within it. Through my locks, I glanced over at Kimber. She smiled back at me. She was confident, demure, bare as myself and kneeling beside me, a horsey just like me. She gave her lovely ass a quick waggle. Janet came along the line of kneeling girls and stuck a silver spoon into each of our mouths, the handle between our lips. It felt like a long, thin dick in my mouth, this silver handle, and I sucked on it, thinking of my college men that I’d partied with on the previous nights. Where were they now? I did not see them. Perhaps they were watching me. I cast my head about, gazing at the faces that gazed at me, that gazed at the other girls. Some of the eyes were open in their admiration, others more clinical, doctors observing deviant behavior, perhaps, or cynical, “been there, done that,” eyes. Who cares what happens to those females, anyway? They’re just meat. Meat in the slaughterhouse, their cunnies tingling, their boobies swaying, waiting to be slain and fucked by the general. They would barbecue me afterward, and eat me at dinner. “Would you like a leg or a breast?” I could see myself, carried between mighty guards to the spit over the fire, tied to it and turned, roasted, given an indoor suntan until I was crispy, golden brown. Janet deftly placed a ripe lemon in my spoon. She favored each of the other girls with the same fruit, weighing down our spoons as if with heavy weights of testicles, though I could still keep my spoon up properly. “Chin up, old girl,” Admiral Halsey might say. “Chin up.” I shook my hair from my eyes to better see the long expanse of carpeting stretching away from me. Janet told us we must crawl as fast as we could to the other end of the room, where we must each tip our lemon into a bucket. Each of us had our own special bucket, I saw; mine was waiting all the way at the other end of the room, ranged in a line with the buckets of the other girls. “Drop your spoon outside your bucket.” Janet instructed us. Simple enough, I thought. The lemon in the bucket, the spoon outside. “And,” Janet continued, as if instructing children in a recess game at school, “Give a blow job to the man waiting for you at the other end.” A gasp went up from the girls at this. Sure enough, a line of men began arranging themselves at the far end of the room and stripping totally naked. Soon I was witness to the spectacle of a dozen wangling schlongs swinging lazily or, in some cases, standing stiffly at the other end. It was like a sausage factory! And I was the official sausage taster, at least for the man assigned to me! A big blonde hunk, fresh from surfing along the coast from the looks of his tan, spread his stance out at the far end of the room from me. He was at least six feet in height, with a dong to match. He stood casually, as if a lifeguard, patrolling the beach for drowning girls. I imagined his radio playing somewhere in the background, grinding out hit after hit as he whiled away the hours of his duty. Well, I would be drowning soon enough on his sperm if the game were to go as planned! His balls were huge! His dick stood out at attention, a soldier on stiff duty, even if his shoulders and biceps had a relaxed, ‘what’s happenin’ look to them. “You may NOT use your hands,” Janet admonished us. “For that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it? Just your mouths girls, such pretty mouths...” Her voice trailed off momentarily. A woman, naked and beautiful as Janet, came down the line and touched up our lips with lipstick. She asked which color I preferred, I chose to keep my gloss, she matched it to a stick she had and brightened my lips with it. Kimber smiled sexily at me. Her lips were a delicious red. They would mark a man’s cock soon, ring him just as the scar from his circumcision did, right around the shaft, a memento of her services (perhaps her winning services?) upon him. The blow job, Janet explained, actually served a wonderful purpose. Each of us had to suck for thirty seconds on our partner's penis, at the other end of the room. If I could make my hunk cum in those 30 seconds, he would have to take my place! Otherwise he would replace the spoon and lemon in my lips after 30 seconds and send me scampering back across the room. There a second man would now be waiting, and I must perform orally on him too. Instinctively, I turned and looked behind me. I think all of us did. There, waiting behind me with my tushy lofted up to him, was a man! He was some distance back, as if in deference to the fact that our game together had yet to begin. There was a man for each girl. Mine was a tall, darkhaired guy. He looked like a student from law school, too long behind the books, a little skinny, a little pale. But he had broad shoulders and a penis throbbing with desire. His eyes met mine. He seemed awestruck. I smiled sweetly back at him, liking him despite his obvious eagerness, perhaps because of it. Yes, I will suck your cock, you libraryboy, fresh from your studies. Don’t worry, I’m experienced, I’ve sucked cock every night for three nights now, and the night before that too, at a special party, a “coming” party, where I had my coming out. You will be between expert lips, sir, I assure you. Janet continued her lewd explanations, a dozen men before us, a dozen more behind, their cocks fully bared and waiting for our attention. We were like racehorses, all lined up and ready to go, but with boobies hanging down, cows perhaps, but sleek and firm, with only our udder-like titties likening us to milk-producing heifers. Back and forth I would go between my two men until one of them finally ejaculated. Having lost his load, he would have to take my place. The first girl to get herself excused from the race this way would be declared the winner, the last girl the loser. (And, Janet told us, a special series of punishments awaited the losing girl, at the hands of the general himself.) "A small incentive," Janet smiled, "to keep your bottoms rushing right along." We giggled, nervously, I at least not knowing quite what to make of the awful fate promised to the losing filly. I was here, though, in the room. I had chosen to participate. I flicked my hair from my eyes and glanced at the general. He saw me, staring at him through my veil of blondness. He grinned. I quickly looked away. I needed a cowbell, that was all, to be his complete pet, his chattel. I would scurry along the rug with the other girls, my cowbell clanging, my big nippled boobs swaying beneath me, heavy with arousal. His men would pump me until I brimmed with their milk. Nine months later I would bear for him, and he would suck at my teats until they hurt. “Fresh milk for breakfast, from our special cow,” he would announce to his guests. They would celebrate. I would lie on fresh straw in the barn, cared for, attended to, mooing for my lover, a bit in my mouth, properly shoed with fresh leather boots and kid gloves. He would come to me at night and give me my evening fuck, to keep me healthy and with child. I would have all his children, each healthy and bouncy. My breasts would squirt out milk until I was old and grey and they had to send for the doctor to give me a hysterectomy. Janet fastened a broad leather belt around each of our waists. I felt her hot breath on my hiney as she did me. So kinky, yet so real, so perfectly in accord with my daydreams. Janet told me I had a sweet bottom and she looked forward to seeing it in action. I glanced down my smooth belly at my newly acquired ‘clothing,’ so little, yet so significant. Before I’d been as slick and free as an otter, my boots and gloves my only clothing; now I had a halter, something a man (the general, perhaps?) could grab on to. Big brass loops hung from my belt. I glanced about, saw the other girls were similarly encumbered. I wondered what the belts, the loops, were for, asked Kimber. "Chains," she replied casually, sexily. Apparently someone had clued her in on what the general had in mind. Or perhaps she had asked him herself. Boldly, freely, sure of her allure, her hold on him, perhaps she had asked him, at breakfast, maybe. “What game shall we play, general?” “Oh, I will chain you, I think, bind you with a belt and chain you up in it.” “If it pleases you, general,” she might reply, with a bat of her eyelashes that warned him he might find her too appealing. Her beauty would overpower him. He would spurt, lose his virility, sign away his lands and his life to her. “Half my kingdom for one such as you, my dear! And every drop of sperm I can ever from henceforth produce!” “Of course, sir, I hope you’re up to it. If not, I might have to replace you with the stable boy, such a fine young king he would make in your place, with his balls swinging and bouncing with his every step, off to the woodpile to cut us wood...I will rendezvous with him there and he will bear my children, he will wear your crown.” I wished to be like Kimber. I would wrap men around my fingers like colored ribbons, putting them on, loosing them, wearing them always, or only sometimes. I was a little like her now, wasn’t I? I could claim a little credit, couldn’t I? Playing nighttime games with my secret college boyfriends, my two male sperm-men, making them cum in my mouth, sucking and squeezing them dry. Yes, I had risen up a little, after all. I was still sweetly virgin but I knew now how to please a man, how to make him beg. I felt wicked. My heinie wiggled an invitation to whomever might be behind me to see. Come, student boy, loose yourself in me and take my place in the race. Spare me from whatever naughtiness they had in mind and serve valiantly in my stead, my white knight, down on your knees. Would he have to suck the blonde surfer dude if I was excused? The thought revolted, excited me. Janet clipped steel manacles to each of our wrists. More attire, but only just to imprison us, to make our nudity all the more apparent. A loose chain ran between the pair of manacles, connecting them. I wanted to protest but couldn't find the courage to. After all, the same was being done to all the other girl contestants. Manacles were put around my thighs then, right above the knees, with a loose chain connecting them also. Finally a chain was run from one manacle on one of my knees, to the other manacle on my other knee, but through the brass loop hanging down from my belt on the way from my one knee to my other knee. The purpose of this, I learned, was to keep any of us from standing up. Still kneeling, I tried erecting my back and found that I'd only got partway up when the chain running from knee to knee, through my belt, became taut. I had to admit to myself that the general was possessed of quite an imagination. Naked games were as common among couples and lovers as sex itself. Even a virgin like me knew that. But chains? Manacles? Lemons? Surely not everyone played games like this. I found myself wondering, in a serious way, what sort of punishments the general had in mind for the losing girl. Certainly if I lost, there was no escape now. I was chained to myself, unable to stand. I could not count on my fleet feet to carry me away, as they had from boys at school. If the general wanted me, he would have me. In my spiked boots, belted, weighed down with manacles, I could do little more than show off my naked bottom to him. Janet's languid, slow shackling of us had one final effect, no doubt intended by the general. We were all beginning to have to go to the bathroom. He'd urged us to drink a lot at breakfast, orange juice in particular, which he shipped in fresh-squeezed from the lower elevations, the little villages which dotted the foothills of the great Andean range atop which we were now cavorting. I'd unthinkingly heeded his call to benefit my health, downing several glassfuls of juice. Now my bladder was full, and I couldn't even stand up! A girl, no doubt less prone to embarrassment than the rest of us (or having to go even worse), asked if she could be let up to pee. Janet replied that as soon as she'd freed herself from the race (according to the rules, with a man replacing her), she could pee. But not before then. It was another incentive to fire up our tushies...and our tongues, to make us really RACE across the carpeted floor. My bladder tingling, I found myself wishing I knew more about how to give a man a really good blow job. A professional blow job. I turned to Kimber. She rimmed her lips with her tongue. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” Kimberly asked me. “Not enough,” I replied, blushing. She knew my secrets. It was hard to keep a secret in a place where everyone specialized in getting naked. Janet strolled behind us, inspecting her handiwork, as we waited tensely for the race to begin (and end!) She gave each of our bottoms a teasing flick with her pony lash. I flinched as she saluted my heinie. She openly admired it by saying aloud that she thought it the prettiest in the room. Except, she called me “Lisa,” instead of “Barbi.” She didn’t even know my name, yet already she’d gotten an intimate look at my fundament. Below it my cunny pouted, waiting for Mr. Right to shove his lance in and undo me once and for all. The general asked us if we were ready. We nodded, growing more desperate each minute for the race to begin, our bladders complaining inside us. I shifted my hips back and forth with my need, uncaring now of the rudeness of my display, wishing I'd never agreed to participate in this silly sport. And then the starting gun went off, fired by the general. At once I leapt forward, kneeing my way frantically across the carpet, the other girls neck and neck with me. With clenched teeth I hung on for dear life to the lemon perched in my spoon. Janet ranged along behind us, birch rod at the ready, to admonish any girl who spilled her fruit. Volleys of whipped cream streamed into the air as we crossed the middle of the room. The shock of this unexpected tribute nearly lost me my lemon. Spectators on either side of the race course, I saw, were firing randomly up at the rafters, letting the shooting cream settle where it may upon us scuttling girls. Cream landed on my back, leaving a white trail across it. On I raced, eyeing now the man who waited for me. His cock was stiff as a pole and shockingly large. I wondered if I could even fit it in my mouth! This again nearly lost me my lemon. A girl somewhere behind me squealed as Janet fustigated her for dropping her fruit. Kimber beat me to her man and neatly tipped her lemon into an iced bucket, then spat out her spoon. Rising up, like a stallion rearing, she grabbed her paramour's penis with her mouth. It was one of my college boyfriends, one of the two I’d played with just last night! Immediately she began bobbing her head upon his shaft, swallowing him deeply, sucking ferociously, possessively. She would have his seed tonight, not me. Did he like her better? He looked at me, grinned a twisted, crooked grin. His eyes seemed to challenge me to do better. Or to say, ‘begone, little girl, I have a REAL woman now.’ I looked again at Kimber. So perfect, so self-possessed, obedient to him yet undeniably in control of his most precious possession. One bite would seriously impair his future performance. I felt vengeance, wanted to claw her, but could not. She was a goddess, my idol. Her lovely blonde hair streamed out behind her, swaying and loose. Her breasts jiggled heavily. The nipples at their tips were like thorns, as dangerous as the teeth she used to lightly graze his cock, tease him with her power. A bee stung my bottom. I bucked. “Lisa!” Janet yelled. She was right behind me. She did not know my name, only my figure, my lips, my bottom. A tear welled in my eye. I tried to rub away the sting of her pony lash, found my chains prevented it. “This is not a spectator sport for you dear,” Janet said. “Perhaps when you are older,” she added thoughtfully. “Now SUCK COCK!” She gave my ass another nip, more lightly, as if admiring my bottom too much to strike it as deeply as she might. She was in awe of my ass, I realized. I lived in a crazy upside-down world now, more wild than any wonderland Alice had ever slipped into. I plopped my lemon into the bucket reserved just for me. My valuable lemon, which spared my fanny from a whipping so long as I kept it aloft. I dropped my spoon on the floor beside the bucket. I hoped the floor was clean. It looked clean. I gazed up at the cock which loomed over me. My new boyfriend grinned down at me. My lifeguard. What was his name? Would I ever know? My hands pressed to the carpet between my knees, I lifted up as best I could and enclosed him with my lips. "Mmm," I said, sucking on his cockhead, hoping to inspire him to cum. I was mindful of Janet right behind me, watching my every move, judging my performance. The lifeguard just kept grinning, as cool and calm as any suntanned god guarding the beach. He was seemingly unaffected by my ministrations. Janet passed back and forth behind me, impatient, her pony lash aimlessly flicking the air. Vigorously I began blow-jobbing the man. I imitated Kimber as best I could. Silently I prayed for him to release his seed. "Thirty seconds!" a woman keeping time behind my boyfriend yelled. There was a woman for each man, serving as judge, like at a swim meet. Reluctantly I let go of the lifeguard. His cock quavered wetly before me. I looked at his balls. They were tight, but he was contained. He would not cum on this round. He helped me get my spoon and lemon back into my mouth. I turned around and once more raced back across the room. More whipped cream assailed me as I passed through the middle. The partiers were aiming more directly now, even stepping out into the racecourse to hit each girl squarely. I had to dodge one of them who stood in my way. He was spraying another girl. I'm sure they weren't supposed to block our path but, with all the people involved, there were bound to be a few mishaps. I raced on, whipped cream splotching my bottom, fired from somewhere behind me. I reached my second eager boyfriend, also a stranger to me, and began suckling away. My second paramour proved as sturdy as my first, able to withhold himself despite my best efforts. Back across the room I went, and this time the guests were to give each of us a lash across the bottom. I howled and nearly lost my spoon as a woman struck me quite smartly right across my seat, a perfect hit for a girl who was proving to have a less than perfect record in the blow job department. Some men were already filling in as replacements now, and they got the same treatment as we girls. I shot an admiring glance at their dangling pricks and balls, which no doubt would hurt even more than my bottom if they met with a whip. The job of each man in the race, each horsey man, was to eat the pussy of the woman at either end who had kept time, there being one woman keeping time for each man. When he finally made one of the timekeepers orgasm, the man could leave. The man himself had to keep time of his own efforts. Janet, though, was never far off, making sure that no cheating took place. Armed with a birch and a whip, she was not to be messed with. Suddenly I dropped my lemon. I was out in the middle of the rug, not near the ice bucket that calmly waited for me at the other end. Janet was upon me instantly, giving my poor tushy two brisk swats with her birch rod. Ah! That was cruel. Those little buds were much worse than her whip, stinging me all across my bare seat. Tears burst from me as I fumbled my spoon and lemon back into my mouth. My chains clinked, my manacled wrists were heavy. With trembling hands I restored my spoon and lemon. Then I scurried off again, my bottom flaming. I sniffled, wet cheeked. An unexpected sense of eroticism washed over me. My clitty budded in my cunt. My breasts felt deliciously alive, full and ripe and dangling down from my chest. My bottom felt enormous, my every movement seemed to flex my hot hind cheeks in sensual new ways. I reached my lifeguard and sucked him passionately. I was aware as never before of my nakedness, stiff nippled, my clitty burning. I wanted to rub myself there but was too shy. Back across the room I went, still sniffling from my brush with Janet’s birch. A whip stung me twice on the way back, wielded by yet another avaricious woman. Two swift cracks through the air, bringing just the tip of the whip into contact with my hiney, yet they impelled me ever faster toward the safety of the far side, the waiting cock of the law student. As luck would have it, I eventually found myself the second to last girl in the race. A petite brunette, about my age, still struggled on, all the other females were gone. By now I'd been hit in the face with whipped cream, and my hair was sodden with the stuff. My bottom burned from being swatted and stung by the gleeful partiers. I hurried between my men, milking each in turn, but neither would come. All of a sudden the petite brunette began crying loudly. I looked over and saw her peeing in the middle of the room, right on the carpet! Janet was livid with rage, lifting her birch rod, about to strike as never before. And then, just as suddenly, I was aware of a sprinkling between my own legs as well. I looked down between my heavy breasts, saw a stream of urine gushing forth from my own dell! Before Janet could castigate either of us the general called a halt to the contest and said he'd take care of us naughty girls himself. Men with freely displayed cocks and balls came to us and lifted us and carried us bodily from the room, our pee still spritzing out all over the place. We were taken, just the two of us, down a long hall. Paintings on the wall stared out at us as we passed. Ancient relatives, smug in eighteenth-century attire. They would not approve of buck-naked girls scampering about in front of their son, the noble general. I felt like a trollop, disgraced. I wanted to hide my eyes from the haunting portraits and call 911. We were carried through a door. It was big, heavy, made of sturdy wood, banded with iron. It slammed shut behind us. The men hauled us down a flight of stairs into a cold, dimly lit cellar. They put me down, put down the other girl. I felt the cool flagstones beneath my feet. They were hard, uncompromising. I was in a prince’s dungeon. He would force confessions from me. I would tell all. I would keep nothing from him. A drop of pee liberated itself from my cunny and plinked upon the floor. Our masters stripped everything off us, hastily, as if tearing down a pair of horses after a long ride. I was afraid. I thought for sure they intended to rape us. But instead they re-shackled our wrists, and did the same to our ankles. I felt some relief at this, knowing that they probably wouldn't go to this extra trouble if they were eager to get their cocks up us. We were turned about. Twin girls, our wrists and ankles chained, completely naked. I saw two cages. They were such as a child might stand in, but not an adult. They had long slim bars of wrought iron. Our guards pushed us forward, stuffed us into the cages with the wrought iron bars, one for each of us. The cages were too small to stand up in. I crouched, found a velvet cushion to sit upon. It was sprinkled with rose petals. It had been placed there intentionally, just for me, for my naked bottom. Amidst the perfume of the petals the guards left us, still nude and shackled, shivering. I saw a coarse woolen blanket in the corner of my cell and pulled it up around me. I was so scared I sat right on my hiney, ignoring the flaming pain in my tush. As I sat, stunned, for what must have been many minutes, the stinging in my ass began to be transformed into a kind of deep warmth. Slowly I started to enjoy the feeling. It was nice, in such a chilly dungeon. I felt like a naughty mare who had been punished, no doubt deservedly, by her stern master. He would train me and use my bottom to teach me lessons I needed to learn. I touched my clit and shivered. I touched myself again. Swearing silently at myself, I began to masturbate. Thankfully the other girl began to do the same. When the general arrived we were both in the throes of self-inflicted passion. We were swooning in our cages, bursting with repeated orgasms. Our breasts shook; our legs, bent, opened and closed like scissors, scissoring thighs, wishing to clamp upon the torso of a man. He got a cold bucket of water and threw it on each of us, through the bars, to cool us down. Ashamedly we paid attention to him then, sitting contritely as he told us of his plans for our young, errant bodies. He spoke of the army, and how he learned as a soldier in it of the need for discipline. He said it must be applied fairly but firmly. He said we were fortunate to have him, for he had served as a boot camp drill instructor. Once we were trained properly we would not cum at our own whim, like little girls, but would behave as proper young women and cum only when our "paramour," as he put it, told us to. The general ordered a hose brought and we were sprayed with it, still in our cages, by the same men who had brought us down into this dank cellar. Like little girls at a pool we screamed, were we happy? “Stop screaming, girls!” I heard my mother admonish me, in my mind. Would she mind, now, I wondered? But mommie, big men with big cocks are spraying me as I sit in my little cage. Then it was a pretend cage, formed by two chaise lounges. Now it was real. But how real was it? How captive was I? I seemed very captive, but was I really only captivated by my own desires? No, surely not. A nice girl like me did not have desires. Oprah Winfrey could tell you that, any day of the week on T.V. Teenage girls did not have desires. Certainly not for big men with big cocks. Maybe for the pimply boy next door, sure, still waiting for his cock to grow. But never for men. We had chastity belts locked round our minds. Except, somebody had unlocked mine, I feared. The men’s stiff cocks wiggled all about as they vigorously directed the jet of their hose into every crevice of my body. The brunette received no less thorough a cleansing. The men then opened our cages and yanked out our drenched cushions. I thought of trying to bolt free but the general was standing right there, tapping a leather riding crop aimlessly against his leg. I remembered my bottom and thought better of the idea. I didn't necessarily enjoy being imprisoned like some zoo animal, but my poor hiney absolutely insisted that I not do anything that would get it into further trouble. Today was not the day for this little urchin to play ‘chase me,’ no indeed. New cushions were placed in our cages. The men closed the wrought-iron doors once more and locked them. We were each given a battery operated blowdrier and told to dry off our "lovely hair," by the general, "both on top of your heads and between your pretty legs. You must expect from now on to be admired equally in both places." I must confess that by now, having cooled off from my orgasm, I was much more circumspect about my prospects at his hands, but I did as I was told. The general left then, with his well-hung servants right behind him, their cocks still at attention. The brunette and I gazed after them with dreamy eyes, admiring their sculpted, compact haunches, which were as bare as their genitals. When we had dried ourselves we used the hot air from the blowdriers to keep ourselves warm. The brunette seemed to be particularly chilly between her legs. Finally I asked her her name. "Mandy," she replied, with a Spanish, south-of-the-border drawl. I told her my name was Barbi but otherwise we did not speak. Despite her accent her skin was as white as mine. It glowed softly in the dim light of our dungeon. We had been alone for about an hour when a woman appeared. She was blonde, with a haughty demeanor, and dressed in an evening gown. She held a pony whip in one hand, trifles of silk in the other. I wondered at them. They were pretty. "Here, put these on," the blonde said to each of us. She passed a pair of panties through the bars of each of our cages. "You are to be seen in polite company," the woman explained. Hunched in my cage I struggled into my new undies. They were shockingly brief. I couldn't get them up over the half-way point of my bottom cheeks, wincing as I strove to pull them higher. They were luxuriously soft, made of some fine white lace, but my red bottom still burned from the horsey race. My pussy hairs curled springily, naughtily, out of the so-called "waistband" of my panties in front, which should more properly have been called a "pussy-band." The woman then unlocked our cages and beckoned us out. Gratefully we stood up and stretched, relishing our new freedom outside the cages. We were nymphs, fawns. We were free of our trappy cages, though still captive. The hunter would make pets of us. He would keep us for our beauty. My chains clinked coldly against my skin. I felt fresh, alive. I wished to run naked in the snow outside and climb upon the nearest peak and sit on it. The woman barked at us and ordered us to stand at attention. Shiveringly we obeyed. I was lost in myself, lost in my body, young and pulsing with the heat of my naughty desire. I could feel my young, weighty breasts upon my chest. My nipples were unbearably stiff. Between my legs I was aroused again. It was the dungeon, its chilliness, its certainty. I was still a virgin but I knew I was in perilous straights. I was at the mercy of a male, virgin for only so long as he kept me so. He could impale me at the slightest whim. This woman would take me to him and he would spread me out on his bed and fuck me. Our blonde commander surveyed us all about with an examining eye. I was grateful for my miniscule panties. They kept her from prying into my special places. I wished for a bra to hide my stiff nipples from her. “You have one more piece of attire to put on,” the woman intoned. I felt a wave of relief. A bra! Yes! What else could it be? I would be restored to as much modesty as I had on any beach. I would be pure again. I would slip away in my little silken bikini and return to my high school virginity. I would tease boys again, and be teased by the girls for holding out. So what? It didn’t matter now. I’d been to the general’s, and my hymen had survived. Could they say the same? Could they say as much? Had they been horseys in a race, little rabbits, surrounded by wolves with big, bad penises? I would boast that I’d bearded the lion and made off with my innocence intact. To my glum surprise, the woman produced a pair of blindfolds. My breath caught in my throat, audibly, but I said nothing. I was still captive. I was still manacled, barely clad. I was still Pauline. I stood at attention, trying not to shake, as the woman wrapped the fearful band over my eyes. Another appeared. I could not see who. A woman, a friend of the blonde. She put a collar on me, on the brunette beside me. She leashed us together. Following the click of her footsteps, listening to her voice, I felt her line up the brunette behind me, position herself in front of me. She would draw us forward, pulling on a leash that ran from my collar to her hand. The brunette would stumble after me. Speaking from behind, I heard our blonde commander. She would follow, whip in hand. Our obedience was assured. A walk ensued, just as I’d predicted. It was made rather difficult by our shackled hands and feet. Mercifully, the blonde did not insist on a fast pace. She walked behind us, controlling all, the small pony whip in her hand flicking the air. We went upstairs, trod some distance on a soft carpet, and were finally made to halt. The blonde told us we were back in the chateau's dining room. Sure enough, as our blindfolds were removed we found that we were. There was just the general, though, in his uniform, plus two men, wearing tuxedoes. I guessed that they were his special guests this evening, invited just to see us. Myself and Mandy, special treats for their evening meal. The woman who’d led us into the room disappeared. She was not needed, apparently. Only the blonde remained, our blonde commander, elegant in her evening gown. The general, sitting composed at the head of the table, bade Mandy and I to sit. The two men in tuxedos rose and drew back our chairs for us. I noticed that my chair had an extra cushion on it for my bottom. Nonetheless I let out a little cry as I sat my poor butt upon it. The men smiled broadly at each other. Even the woman who’d brought us seemed amused. The three of them sat and the general called out for dinner. It would be a spaghetti dinner, with meatballs, sauce, and red wine. Candles were lit. The lights were dimmed. As the meal was brought forth by servants I began eating as I had here before, but my status was clearly different now. I was no longer the casual guest. My wrists were chained together. I could not kick my feet back and forth like a school girl as I had before. Or, rather, I still could, but the noise from the chains would be too obvious. It would get me a scolding. I must eat daintily, quietly, keeping my chains from clinking as much as possible. This I knew without being told. The meal was to be decorous, civilized. We were to be polite young ladies, Mandy and I. Unlike the others at table Mandy and I were practically nude. I ate with lowered eyes, accepting for the moment at least my new role as slave. A love slave, I had no doubt, yet I was still a virgin. I wondered if the general actually knew. Of course, he had to, that was why I was here. Yet I felt that I had been chosen somehow, over the other girls. Myself, and Mandy too. Was she a virgin also? Briefly I looked up at her. She ate submissively, as I did. Yet, did I sense a certain pride in her manner? She twirled her spaghetti on her fork and lifted it to her lips, her soft, full breasts jostling one another as she moved. All eyes at the table were on us. Proudly I lifted my fork to my own mouth, feeling my own breasts move as I did. I felt a ripple of excitement run through me. My nipples, already hard, seemed to stiffen further. I might have gotten straight A's at school, but that was not what I was wanted for now. I felt safe and, despite the whining of my bottom, I was comfortable. I knew the general could and would protect me from every danger in the world, save those he wished to impose on me himself. Yet, is that not every girl's fate, to be protected from all harm except that wrought by her lover's lust? The bloody piercing of the hymen, the fierce rodding of the cunt, the mouth, the bottom; the swelling of pregnancy and the pain of birth? Only the general, the woman, and the two new gentlemen guests were present at table. I wanted no one else. I did not wish to be seen like this by everyone, just by the special few, the chosen. The gentlemen had a satisfied air about them, like two cats admiring captured canaries. They remarked on my beauty, analyzed my breasts as if they were fine art, compared them to Mandy’s. The woman too evaluated our looks, spoke a little jealously perhaps. She was our chaperone, not to protect our virtue but to divest us of it. How much more could we be divested, though? Alas, I knew. Had we been but children, 10-years-old perhaps, or 8, female children, perhaps this little naked presentation of ourselves would be enough. “Their teats are budding nicely,” the men might say. Or, “such an angelic face, I do hope she keeps it past puberty.” But with older girls, sleek, well-formed, there would be more. Such men would not permit us to simply show off our charms. They would have to test them, to mold them perhaps, to squeeze and feel us...and to stick their things in us. I glanced at the general. My hair was perfect. Not combed, but youthfully perfect, carefree. Such men must like it this way, I knew, hanging down, loose. My eyelashes fluttered, I sucked in a strand of saucy spaghetti. I felt a droplet of sauce fall to my breast. I lifted my gourd, my bosom, licked off the sauce directly with my tongue. I looked at the general as I did it. The men complimented my boldness. But the general just gazed at me, half-watching, half-not, seeing through me as much as anything. He seemed ambiguous. Probably, he had entertained so many young ladies that he was now rather jaded. He’d probably spent in the party room. He was waiting to refill. We would eat and he would fill his balls and want to come again. At least I hoped so. I felt emboldened by his diffidence. He would love me above the rest. He would remember me, though he forgot all the other girls. I flicked my eyes toward the woman. She seemed spoiled. I admired her gown out of the corner of my eye. It glittered, moulding what promised to be an amazing figure. I had little doubt I might see her naked before the night was out. But--I thought of the lash--would I be watching her mainly from between my legs, with my head upside down? Kimber had told me of such things, being strapped to a trestle, legs apart, blonde hair falling, touching the floor. The tender bottom your highest point. Your ankles, wrists pinioned. The lash would fall smartly. It would make me hurt much more than our games in the party room had. The thought made me tremble and I put it out of my mind. Again my eyes returned to the general. I must not be too free with my eyes, I knew. Perhaps I did not want to be. I would be coy. I kept my glance surreptitious. As I appraised him a sense of recognition dawned within me. Had I not seen him before? On T.V., perhaps? Those jowls. That goofy haircut. Was there a hairpiece atop that goofy haircut? And the gut. He tried to sit straight and tall, but you could not deny the gut. Omigod! Yes! I realized it now. He was no general. He was Senator Exon, from America. Down from the Capitol to take his vacation here. A junket, paid for by taxpayers. Could I be sure? Was it really him? I looked again, more boldly. He seemed to shift under my gaze, wish I might look less perceptively. I returned my eyes to my meal. Yes, it was him. I ate quietly. I dwelt within my thoughts. Mandy slurped up her spaghetti noisily. “Eat properly, dear,” the woman scolded her. Time slipped by. Naked, like little animals, Mandy and I devoured our meal. We were hungry. The running, crawling on our knees, the fright, the cages, the whips. The sense of unease, uncertainty, yet within it all the Senator’s hand, guiding us, toying with us. Two weeks ago I had been but a girl, excited by a log ride. Now I was something more. I was love, erotic feeling. My bottom was cupid’s bottom. My hands played on the bowstrings of the men’s hearts. Summer pastures, ripe and lush, were the milk-white wineskins of my breasts. I would nurture herds of children with them. After dinner Mandy and I were blindfolded once more. My tummy was full. I felt slightly tipsy from the wine. My breasts wobbled nakedly on my chest as they blindfolded me. My hiney felt comfy. I did not want it to be spanked again. My chair was removed. I was made to rise. I felt my asscheeks sticking out on both sides of my panties. They were jammed in my buttcrack from my sitting. I tried to fix myself in behind, but my hands were slapped away. I could not reach all the way back anyway. My wrists drew the chain between them taut against my thighs. But I could have got my panties out of my cunt, bent, flexed my knees, tried. “We like you as you are,” the woman in the elegant evening gown told me, Mandy. With my ass cheeks hanging out, my little panties bunched in my crack, I was led down what seemed to be a long corridor, Mandy following. The woman guided us. The men followed. The carpeting under our feet gave way finally to wood. Eventually, passing into a room, we were on carpeting once more, especially plush and squishy. I heard a door close behind us. The woman unwound our blindfolds. Mandy and I gasped as we took in our surroundings. We were in a huge master bedroom, with an equally large bed. There could be no doubt that it was the senator’s. The bedcovers were already turned back. The bed had gleaming brass posts with twin pairs of scarf ties already looped about them. Next to the bed hung a single black whip, and beneath it was a nightstand busy with vials of ointment and cream. A vase held colored condoms, arranged like the spreading petals of a flower. Mirrors reflected our youthful beauty back at us. Behind us stood the two men, the senator, and the woman. "You may remove your panties," the woman intoned. "You won't be needing them here." I did not know what to say. I guessed a verbal response was unneeded, unwelcome. A part of me wanted to go ahead, to get it over with. I’d teased and been teased. It was time to fuck. I did not know what to make of the whip. It scared me. Mandy looked like she might wilt. But, boldly, we both made the same decision. Did we have a choice? We did not ask for one. Apprehensively I drew down the wisp of fabric that passed for my panties. They were so delicate, so chic, I hated to lose them. But they were in the way, weren’t they? Of what? I could only hope nothing bad would happen to me. Looking in the mirror, I saw the men waiting. They were bulging, down where it counted. The senator too. Ah, he liked me now, did he? Of necessity, my wrists still chained, I drew my undies down by tugging on them in front. As they passed snappily off my bottom I fearfully clenched my soft cheeks. I looked over my shoulder at the senator. His eyes were fixed on my ass. The two gentlemen's eyes seemed pasted to it. In a mirror I saw that the stripes from the horsey race had faded, leaving my butt mostly white. Twin snowy globes, eyed by vultures. I did not know what to do. I slid the last morsel of my modesty down my thighs and stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor. Mandy did likewise. "A pretty pair, are they not?" the woman asked the gentlemen with a toss of her blonde head. For a moment I thought she was speaking of our discarded panties. Alas, they were forgotten, except by Mandy and me. The gentlemen eyeballed our asses, nodded. "Perhaps an enema would help them to sleep?" one of the men asked hopefully. "It is still a bit early for sleep," the senator intoned. "Quarter to midnight," the man replied. "But they are big girls now," the woman said smilingly. "I'm sure they're eager to stay up late and play with us adults." A magical moment ensued then, seemingly timeless, where we stood simply staring at one another. Mandy and I were raw naked, trembling deliciously. We exchanged glances. I knew only her first name, yet I felt sure that before the night was out I would be intimately acquainted with her privates, forced to lick and titillate them while she did the same to me. 69, it was called, wasn’t it? You go down on me, I go down on you. Each is captive to the other. With our guardians standing all around us. Indeed it was then that the woman asked us to show our tongues. Giggling we opened our mouths and stuck them out, impishly. The men, eager for more than a mere view, unzipped themselves. In their case I did not even know their names, yet I was about to be forcibly introduced to their manhood. I hoped they would prove worthy of the attention I knew I would be required to lavish upon them. And they were! Mandy and I gasped as their twin pulsing rods of flesh sprung from their flies and wiggled temptingly in the open air. Only the senator remained zippered. A slightly bored grin had settled on his face. He'd seen all this before, too many times, perhaps. It had become nothing more than a nightly ritual for him, a Packwood ritual, yet one he might as well partake of, for lack of any better sport. "Come girls, I'm sure you will prove most delightful," the woman said, stepping forward and cupping us by our bottoms. She turned us around, so that we faced the men directly. Giving us each a gentle squeeze on our fannies she urged us the few paces forward toward our suitors. Then, as if not wishing to waste a moment, she lifted her hands and pressed down upon our tousled heads. We dropped to our knees upon the floor. Our breasts jiggled. Our mouths opened. We had only to lean forward slightly to complete the lewd contact. The men, randy and eager, thrust forward their hips and forced their bristling members twixt our lips. My paramour drove himself in a full four inches, hitting the back of my throat and even driving down it a bit, causing me to choke. The woman grasped him by his swollen balls and eased him back, letting me catch my breath. I swirled my tongue around his rod to get the feel of him. Then I sucked him encouragingly, and he pushed himself in again. "She is a virgin," the woman whispered to the man, pumping his testicles in her palm. He started, his cock quivered, he nearly lost himself, uttering a startled groan. Beside me Mandy was paying tribute, and her lover nearly lost his load. She looked up at him with an admonishing glance. I giggled at the misfortune I'd nearly caused. My man groaned again, practically a torture victim at this point. And it was his penis which was the focus of such exquisite torture. Soon both men were properly wettened by our saliva. It was time for the gentlemen to be oiled, the senator said. “So that you will meet as little resistance as possible.” “Doing what?” my suitor asked. His voice was haggard. What answer did he hope for? “In a moment both of you must display your manly vigor...up within my girls’ bottoms,” the senator said. My breath caught audibly in my throat. I rose, a bit shakily, a foal newly born. This would be the last night of my anal virginity. My bottom cheeks tightened at the prospect. Debbi was right. Our senator was "an ass man." He eyed the two gentlemen with their finely displayed, hair-trigger cocks. Could they hold themselves? Both of them were desperate. I guessed they had not had virgin girls before. Was Mandy virgin? I did not know. She was my age. The senator’s eyes fixed on the gentlemen’s cocks like an eagle, eyeing prey. “It will be a tight fit, boys,” he said. “I’ve been known to do a Bobbitt on boys who can’t make the grade.” They shivered. Were they to master me, in my virginity, or was I somehow to be master of them? I might wiggle, resist, make them cum when they might not have. Did I hold the key to their continued virility? It was strange, playing virgin goddess like this. I glanced at Mandy. She caught my eye. We felt a rush of giddy power. Yes, boys, have your little virgins, but beware. We might be naughty. The senator might cut off your offspring if you don’t please us. I remained politely receptive. The senator had Mandy and I offer up our palms. The woman poured oil into our cupped hands and told us to grease up our stallions. Laughingly we obeyed. Sleek-limbed, naked, we were graceful, tossing our heads, smiling sweetly. The men with their hairy chests and tufted groins, cocks sprouting, balls clenching, stood like soldiers in service to the Queen. They relished our touch at first. Soon, though, to their astonishment, the oil began to take on a burning warmth. I could feel it upon my own hands. They protested as more of the oil was poured into our palms and we were told to apply a second coat. Chuckling to himself the senator watched. The men became torn between the pleasure of our ministrations and the dastardly effect the oil was having on their loins. They gaped down at their stiff members, eyes wide, confused. "It burns," Mandy whined, for it was all over her hands as well as my own. We both drew back our hips a little to avoid spilling any of the nasty stuff on our own privates. The men, who at dinner had been quite certain that Mandy and I were there just to be used by them, seemed shocked. We were their torturesses now. With every loving stroke of our hands they stiffened all the more, agonizingly, the oil streaking their cocks with fire. Mentally, I’d been preparing myself for the fate of a pet. A slave, nothing more. Used, perhaps abused. A living love doll. Yet now the refined taste of the senator had exacted a price from the gentlemen themselves. We were all in this together. No one, it seemed, would escape without some sacrifice. Mandy and I, our wrists still shackled, chains clinking, worked our stallions with ever more enthusiasm. The woman undressed herself, proving to be as stunning as I'd imagined. Sumptuous bosoms rose startlingly up from her chest. Above them her shoulders were waifishly frail. Below them her ribs could be seen, each one, ready to be counted. Her waist was waspishly thin, but her hips full and developed, ready to birth as many children as any man might desire. Long slim legs stretched down to her feet. I stared at them. They were as small as any Japanese Geisha's. Her toes wiggled with pent-up enthusiasm. Ten little piggies, going to market, across a plush carpet. Truly I would not be deprived by having to go to bed with such a beautiful female. The senator thanked her for undressing and came round and tapped me on the shoulder. I thought then that I must be made to pay obeisance to this woman. My eyes showed a little fright at the prospect. She was gazing at me sternly. She was an Amazon, not to be crossed. I might play with the men, my Tarzan gentlemen. But Jane was another matter. "Anoint her nipples," the senator said to the woman. She poured a little oil on her fingers. She applied them to my stiff titties. I cried out, shocked. The oil did not burn yet, indeed her touch was tantalizingly pleasant, but I knew what soon would follow. I kept on frigging my lover, my Tarzan-man. His eyes took on a pleased, vengeful look, even as he still suffered under my oiled touch. “What’s good for the gander is most definitely good for the goose,” he muttered. I bit my lip. Both my nipples glowed with the awful ointment, and I began to feel an itching upon them. The woman pressed her pussy against mine. She rubbed my muff with her own. Our curls intertwined. Our cuntlips sought, each of us indrawing, neither satisfied. It happened all in a moment. Jiminy Cricket told me to draw back but I remained fixed in place. She whispered soothing words, baby sounds, lover's nonsense. I gurgled a half-audible reply, loving her touch as she worked my nipples like combination knobs on some safe with treasure inside. I threw my head back then, as tongues of flame seemed suddenly to spring from my teats. They were on fire! In my mind I saw them as they'd been when I was 8, budding churlishly, to the dismay of my mother. Swelling, puffing, now they seemed consumed by the devil himself. The woman twisted them now, almost severely, making my suffering yet worse. The man opposite me, whose cock I still held, laughed grimly. "Find her clitty," the senator said. "No!" I cried, but it was too late for resistance now. My feet clanked with the chain that ran between them. I lifted first one foot, then the other, thinking of fleeing, but I could not with such a cumbrous weight upon my ankles. The woman's hands dove between my legs, sought my button, found it. Beside me Mandy still stood with her bottom slightly back, to keep oil from splashing her pussy in front. She looked over at me with frightened eyes. She gripped her paramour’s penis. It was a thick vine. He would use it to swing with her to safety. "Ooh, yes!" I sighed helplessly. I gaped at the ceiling, the woman. My eyes roved round the room. My tongue lolled. The woman's fingertips brushed my aroused clitty. Lightly she fingered it, pouring more oil on her digits. The ointment was applied ruthlessly, making me squirm and wriggle. My spot soon burned within. I groaned at my misfortune. Nothing else was touched save my clit. She was precise, skillful. Like a girl needing to pee I stomped, danced on the carpet. But I could not relieve myself, even in the toilet. I was truly in the hands of a master sadist, a senator who knew tricks beyond the Marquis’ fondest imaginings. The woman moved to Mandy next, who stood like a fawn caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Slowly I was able to conquer my own agony and turn my head to watch her. She shivered, nakedly, a child in a chilly bathhouse. My lover and I grinned knowingly as Mandy succumbed to the oil. When the deed was done the woman stepped back and admired us all. The senator complimented her handiwork. "Now they know what it means to sprout nipples and cocks in the house of the senator," he said laughingly. "Such audacity must not go unpunished." "May I play also?" the woman asked. Her eyes were wanton. She loved the game. Her hips weaved a little, seeking. "Of course. The girls will do you while I have the men present themselves to me for inspection," the senator said. Mandy and I were taken from our lovers and the bottle of oil, so wicked, was given to us. We held it together, sharing it, afraid of the genie within. I rubbed the bulbous base of the bottle. It had a long stem, fluted, made of purple glass. Like Hera, queen of the gods, the woman presented herself to us. Her full breasts bounced on her chest. She wriggled her bare hips. Her legs were apart, letting us glimpse her cunny. She offered us a better view, thrusting forward her fleecy pubis. She seemed to expect a kiss from us. We each pecked her on the cheek, then set about doing to her what she'd just done to us. She squirmed under our touch. Meanwhile, behind us, the senator announced, "Men, present cocks!" The men stood stiffly at attention as best they could, given the fire engulfing their randy penises. The senator strode about them. He ordered them to drop their pants. I sighed as I saw their haunches come into view. Mandy looked also, gave a little breathy gasp. Ceaselessly the men flexed their buns, so terrible was the fire burning along their shafts. It was a sight to behold, such muscular butts, all ready for service. Gallantly the men thrust their lances at the senator. “Do you wish to impale me?!” the senator cried. “No, sir!” the boys answered, and I knew they were utterly truthful. Yet the sizzling of their cocks left them no choice but to repeatedly urge their members upon him. Mandy and I returned our gaze to our mistress. We cooed appreciatively as we applied the awful oil to her, knowing what it would do to her. We tweaked her nipples and complimented her figure. Like fish on a dock Mandy and I wriggled with our own need, perpetually burning, our own nipples and clitties afire with the same oil she now so bravely received. For her part she ran her fingers through our luxuriant manes. She did not feel the oil’s sting yet, only its slick wetness. She was calm, Queen Antoinette before the guillotine’s fall. I was told I was wonderfully blonde, and Mandy that she was the perfect brunette. Indeed we suffered not a bit in comparison to our mistress, for although younger and skinnier, still growing, we already had a charm that surpassed our years. And our boobs were glorious, such as any full grown woman would envy, though our mistress, being older, had bigger ones. "Will mine be as big as yours someday?" I asked mischievously of mistress. As I said it my mind thought of some little boy, perhaps my lover in younger years, addressing the senator about his cock. Surely that must have been my motive, to speak in fact of what was going on between the men. My tits were not all that much smaller than mistresses'. She sensed my true intent. "Big enough to squish a nice sized cock between them," Mistress answered. Mandy and I giggled. Behind us the senator ordered the men to play with themselves. "You must remain hard for the night's festivities," he said, "Which I'm sure you can do but I'll take no chances. True soldiers keep their weapons presentable at all times, ready for duty. Polish them up, boys!" "Yes sir," the men mumbled. They clapped their hands to their cocks and rubbed them. The senator made them repeat their answer, and repeat it again, until they shouted it lustily. Mandy and I glanced at each other, a little worried. The men were getting ready for battle! Meanwhile Mandy and I had moved to mistresses' clitty. She swooned. Her nipples felt raw, burny. Below, between her tender thighs, our hands were causing her to feel the first pangs of the ointment there. "Hurry up, girls!" the senator shouted. "These men cannot be kept waiting forever." We finished up. We left mistress in agony. She stood sleeking her hands down her thighs and bucking her hips. She dared not touch herself without the senator's express command. I did not touch myself either, though I longed to do so, as did Mandy. It was then that the senator showed himself to be a true connoisseur of perversion. Mandy and I resumed our posts at our lover's cocks. We touched them uncertainly. I looked at the general. Was this it? Was I to get down on all fours now, was the act to be consummated? He smiled, sensed that I wanted the night prolonged. Actually, I simply dreaded the loss of my virginity, though I desired it now, hotly. But in my mind I teetered, Jiminy Cricket on one side, nature on the other, supplemented by the oil. The senator grinned at Mandy and I. He bade us desist. We let go of the men. They would have to wait. I glanced at them. Haggardly they stared back. “Such eager boys, aren’t they?” the senator asked me. “I’m sure they can hold on a little longer,” I replied. My voice was sassy. “Surely they are picked troops?” “Picked on,” one of the men groaned. “Silence, men!” the senator shouted. Then, with gentle hands, he took out a key and unshackled us. Mandy and I felt like little children as he got the iron cuffs off our wrists, our ankles. Grandfather helping us down from a pony, or out of our snow boots. Stepping from the irons I brushed my hair from my eyes. My belly felt suddenly empty, despite my dinner. Did I want the shackles? I did not know. Delicately I drew my toes from them. They lay like broken promises on the floor. I stretched, trying to enjoy my newfound freedom. “Be good, now, or I will replace those with little shackles...on your nipples,” the senator told me. I nodded. My eyes were wide. The senator beckoned mistress from where she stood, dancing like a snake, cherishing her torment. Her sexual parts were afire. She could think of nothing else. None of us could. We were just our nipples, our clits. The men were reduced to their penises. All thoughts amongst us four naked jaybirds centered entirely on our “private” parts. But the senator had more games in mind. He had mistress call on the phone for a servant. It turned out to be a middle-aged woman. I felt terribly embarrassed when she opened the bedroom door. Here I was, buck naked, oiled, and obviously aroused, a love slave in attendance on Senator Exon. But the woman’s eyes passed over me as smoothly as those of a librarian, monitoring properly behaved children busy with homework. She had seen girls like me before. We came, we left. The senator stayed, or flew back to Washington perhaps, only to return for a new round of parties. And girls. The senator ordered the woman to bring furs. The servant must have known what he meant, for I certainly did not. A rack of clothing was wheeled in by the woman a few minutes later. Senator Exon ordered us to dress. I thought at first, with a kind of sinking relief, that we all must be going home. My clit was on fire. Although I would accept an offer to leave, I knew my body didn't want to. The clothing brought for us was all made of soft animal skins, trimmed with fur. Mistress smiled, realizing the senator’s plans. I guessed they did not involve chastity. She was not a woman who favored leaving cocks stiff and unspent, though she might play with them awhile, testing their virility. And, I thought, she was not one to leave frisky girls unhappy either. So it was with a sense of deep, awed curiosity that I obeyed the senator’s orders to dress. Mandy too was cowed, tantalized. We tugged on fur boots that came halfway up our thighs, and long-sleeved fur jackets. But the jackets could only be buttoned over our tummies, leaving our titties sticking lewdly out, bare as ever. And while the jackets cinched themselves tightly about our waists when closed, almost like corsets, they left our bottoms and pussies totally exposed. They were too short to cover us where it counted, down below, and too meagre to contain our breasts. What good were these jackets, I wondered? At least mine kept my back warm. But I had long hair. I wasn’t worried about my back. My bare bottom, though, could have used some warmth, or at least some protection. Little fur caps and earmuffs completed our ensemble. There was nothing more to put on. No skirts, no panties, no bras. The men put on leather boots and leather jackets, after first removing their shirts and ties. They too were left with bottoms bare and loins fully exposed. Finally they put on earmuffs. The senator said we were going outside then, "to enjoy the air," and brought a riding crop with him. Ah, how crisp and delicious the air outside was, though my bottom instantly got goose pimples. We drew in long breaths, exhaled them. “Look, I’m smoking!” Mandy cried, delighted. She tried to make smoke rings with her lips. Mistress bent and made a snowball and tossed it at the senator. He ordered us to form up then, just as we'd been inside, except mistress took my place. The two soldier-boys faced off against Mandy and mistress. Across a space of a few inches the two genders stared at each other, the boys rudely sticking their cocks out, the girls admiring, their pussies hungry, not minding the display. Senator Exon drew me aside and gave me four black blindfolds. He told me to bind them over the eyes of our friends. Mistress, meanwhile, produced the bottle of horrid ointment from a pocket in her jacket. It had not been left inside, alas. She said to the men that they must have yet another coating. The men flinched at this, but Senator Exon ordered them to behave. Mandy, cupping her hands, received her share of the oil from mistress. Together they began once more to lave the prized members with the insufferable ointment. I set about blindfolding the four as soon as mistress and Mandy were busy applying the lotion. They did not need their eyes anymore. They could feel where the men’s cocks were. When I'd finished, Senator Exon handed me his riding crop. "While their loins are warm, especially the men’s, their bottoms are cold. Apply a little heat to them,” he said solicitously of our friends. “But don't hit them in any regular order. Let them be surprised." I smiled. How wicked of him! With trembling hands I took the crop, not really wanting it, yet mesmerized at the thought of hitting the men right on their butts, their lovely butts, even as mistress and Mandy tormented their throbbing, aching cocks. And, of course, mistress and Mandy must not be spared, the senator assured me, for their burning nipples and clits must enjoy the complimentary warmth of the crop as well. With a determined look on my face I set about sizing up my intended targets. I felt a sense of newfound power. I was a child with a brand new squirt gun, eyeing my older sisters. Mistress' bottom was full and firm, a juicy target indeed. She wiggled it slightly in anticipation, yet I knew she must dread it as much as she wanted it. Ah, little Mandy, how I yearned to sting her ass, so trim and saucy, just like my own. How dare she compete with me for the attention of the men, flaunting her ass all about. No doubt she hoped to lure both men's big cocks up her fore and aft, leaving me with nothing. My mind made up allegations, just to punish them. I did not need proof. I had the crop. They had only their naked bottoms. It was then I drew back the crop and struck, but found I'd hit only very lightly, for I was totally new to this game. "Harder," the senator said. "Or I shall put you in mistress' place and have her hit you doubly hard." With this encouragement, as it were, I assumed a more serious demeanor. Certainly I didn't want any more stripes on my bottom than I'd already had earlier this evening. Poor Mandy, she must be made to suffer once more. I drew back the crop, stood poised for a moment, my breasts displayed to the senator's watchful eye, heaving their heaviness as I fearfully let my breath out, drew it in. WHACK! Mandy squealed, gyrated her hips helplessly. A bright red streak appeared across her pretty ass. "Very good," the senator said, even as the blindfolded Mandy wailed out a protest. "Oooh! Not so hard, please!" I left her then, my heart beating hard as I contemplated doing the same to the gorgeous haunches of the men. To see them work their hips under the searing pain I would inflict, just the thought made me flush. I felt warm, yet I was outside in freezing snow. The morning’s blizzard had stopped, leaving only a few flakes to occasionally drift down. The moon caught them as they drifted. They settled on our exposed skin, providing a moment's relief to those areas so wickedly heated. Not just by my crop, but by the dastardly oil too. The men prayed for snow to settle on their cocks, but the girls rubbed just as quickly, eager to cool their hands. I felt a snowflake fall on my nipple. I savored it. It was cool, icy. Welcome relief. I wanted to dive into the snow, grab handfuls of it and shove it up my twat. But I was well-behaved. We were all well-behaved. And well punished, too. The senator played our bodies like harp strings, never touching us. Only words, only words. Yet we obeyed him, doing horrid things to each other. Would he have forced us to? Would he have punished us with the crop himself, if we’d refused? I did not know. I was having too much fun with my riding crop! I strutted from person to person, lifting my boots high, dealing out sizzling blows with my crop. Angie Dickinson had nothing on me. Linda Hamilton, Signourney Weaver, all amateurs. I was Miss Bitch, the Ice Princess, and these were my shuddering slaves. Beautiful, trembling, all nude for me where it mattered, suffering royally. I gave each one of them something to think about, something to remember me by. I prayed none of them would have the opportunity to repay me. The senator surveyed all, bidding me to hit harder when my stroke faltered. I obeyed as faithfully as I could. I did not want to be made to stand in mistress' place. Her bottom began to take on the appearance of a road map, though few of the stripes were more than pinkish lines, soon to fade. In their extremity the two couples began to kiss. The women worked the men harder as their mouths joined with them and meshed. I wondered if I was but spurring them, complimenting their ardor. Certainly, though I might be flaying them alive in my mind, I was too weak-wristed to give them absolute punishment. Instead they were just getting what they wanted, needed. Cold...heat...an extra ‘kick in the pants’ to startle them to peaks of arousal. Blindfolded, only able to grope, their senses were heightened further. Only the girls could touch. The men had to stand stiffly, though they bent to kiss, but nothing more. The senator warned the men that they were on duty. Like White House Marines, they could not turn, or reach out. They were ornamental only. They must endure the teasing of the females. Little girls asking curious questions, prodding perhaps, poking. Unzipping a zipper. Did Chelsea ever unzip a marine? “Excuse me, sir, but your fly is up.” Would that break his concentration? His single-minded devotion to duty? “Excuse me, sir, but when do you pee? No matter, I’ll help you. Just let me get your thing out. You can pee in my purse, no one will notice. Your commander will think you have an excellent bladder. He’ll give you another medal.” I admired the four of them. Trembling, they skittered from peak to peak of passion, always so close, the men closer, but the women not too far away, though they lacked the tactile attention the men got. I know the men would gladly have traded places. But it is the man’s lot to be teased sometimes. So strong, you men are, well now you can prove it. But the females, flexing their thighs, endured their own private agony. They wished to be fucked, had the means in their hands, yet the senator would not let them. Not yet. They must play the game out, and they wished to. Little Mandy, virginal, unsure. And mistress, loving every second of the awful game. She could find no other like it, I guessed. The senator was a master at it. He held us captive. We obeyed his commands. We were among strangers, each of us, the men nameless, we girls only known by our first names. All our most precious, most private parts were exposed to pillage, to plunder. There was the tenseness of the unknown. It hung in the air like the northern lights. The senator had threatened to Bobbittize the men. Mandy and I had been shackled. I gazed at them, their skin white, bared to me. Their silly costumes covered nothing. They were kept warm enough, I suppose, but how ridiculously! To wear clothes that left your bottom bare? What sort of attire was that? With schoolmarmish indignity I swept the crop in again, slashing their reddened bottoms, loving their squirming response. The black night enclosed us. Snow-filtered moonlight made our skin glow. The flakes came down heavier, faster. They powdered my breasts. They sprinkled themselves nicely across the curved upper portions of my victims’ fannies. All four were moaning now, the men on the brink of orgasm and the women wishing they could be. The senator told the men that they could caress the women's breasts. They responded eagerly. “Momma!” one man breathed, though his hands actually found little Mandy’s breasts. Perhaps he lusted for the Virgin Mary. Mandy and mistress cried out at the new attention, grateful for it. I watched, amazed, stunned that the men could hold themselves in for this long. They were quite a pair of troopers. I longed to give them relief. "Ah, to suffer so gloriously, so valiantly," the senator said. "I am indeed impressed." We all looked at him hopefully, the men tearing their mouths from the women, looking like beggars starving before a feast. "Yes, you have all earned your keep this evening, including you, dear Barbi." He had me take off their blindfolds. They stood like sheep, the girls holding the men by their cocks, the men grasping Mandy and mistresses’ breasts. Senator Exon led us inside then, each of the females leading her man by his prick, while I contented myself with holding hands with Senator Exon. He felt large and manly beside me, imposing, sure of his every move while I trembled under the scourge of the oil and my own arousal. The bed waited. Gratefully we tumbled into it. We drew the cool sheets up around us. The senator watched, seemingly only half-interested, retreating to a chair and lighting a cigar. He had not told us we could hop in bed, yet we seemed to know it instinctively. We had shorn ourselves of all our clothing as quickly as if we were naughty children. We rolled and groped and sought each other's bodies as if possessed of some fever. Hotly we clasped each other's most intimate parts, held them tightly, rubbed them, sought to impale and be impaled by them. I lurched at the first knocking of a cock upon my cunt. Quickly I spread my legs, opening myself up as wide as I could for his entry. Who it was I did not care, so long as he was quick. He grasped my thighs and found his purchase, lodging his head sweetly twixt my clenching lips. My girlish tightness, my skittishness, only encouraged him. Suddenly his flaming rod was breaking through and I was lost, saved, both at once. Deeper he plunged and I heard Mandy cry out even as her own cunt was violated. Amidst the swirl of teasing tongues and clutching fingers mistress played the ringleader, ensuring that both Mandy and I got fucked just as Senator Exon intended, firmly and without pity or remorse. I cried as the lance thrust up within me, opening me, bloodying me. Mandy too proved to be virgin, and suffered her own sweet demise at the hands of her lover. Nameless they took us then, humping us fiercely, riding us like the stallions they had proved themselves to be. At last I swooned in a pure bliss of emotion, passing out as the world seemed to spin out from under me. When I awoke I found myself nestled in the crook of mistress' arm, her fingers idly straightening my blonde locks. Mandy was on her other side, where mistress tried a similar feat with her pubic hair, the springy curls of that private place proving much less receptive. Mistress brushed my hair from my eyes and asked me if I'd enjoyed my first fuck. I lisped something in response, a babyish gurgle. The men were in the bathroom, I heard then, peeing lustily into the toilet. I looked over my shoulder and saw the senator watching all, satisfied, smoking his elegant cheroot. A wreath of smoke curled round his head, making him look not unlike Santa Claus. I had just received my first present from him. "Well girls, now that you're unwrapped, so to speak, I think perhaps we should consider spending the next several days trying out your new talents, hmmm?" the senator asked. I took the question to be rhetorical, as did Mandy. We would no doubt stay just as long as he wanted us to, no longer, and no shorter either. "In any event I imagine your cunts are going to be on fire soon from those oiled cocks unless you get yourselves into the bidet," he laughed. It was then that I began to feel a burning sensation all the way up my vagina, right into my uterus. "Yeek!" Mandy cried, and I leapt up along with her. We scrambled off the bed and raced toward the bathroom. Behind us mistress and the senator laughed, eyeing our hastily retreating bottoms. "Make way! Make way!" we cried upon seeing the men, who seemed to hope that we were running into the bathroom to have them fuck us again. We found the bidet and awkwardly plopped down together on it. With manly generosity the two lovers who had put us in our present state helped us get the spray nozzle going. They directed it with loving care into our cunts, spraying us deeply as we twisted and gyrated under the jet. Gradually we were soothed, and finally we arose from the ceramic potty, brushing back our hair like schoolgirls done with our homework. The men were hard again. Mandy suggested we let them complete our denouement, so we turned and bent forward, clasping our knees and presenting our bottoms to them. Happily they oiled themselves up (this time with an ordinary lotion) and, with encouraging sighs and breathless grunts from us, they forced their way up our hineys. I felt as if all the air were being driven from me as my lover worked at opening my backside with his rod. "Oooh, no, maybe I shouldn't, you're too big," I breathed, but this only made him spread my cheeks wider with his gripping hands and drive his cock forward more eagerly. Mandy too expressed second thoughts, which only encouraged her lover. Moaning and gasping, trying to pull our bodies forward even as the men yanked our bottoms backward, we suffered the penile assault. Mistress and the senator came to the door of the bathroom and watched with contented eyes. I puffed and shuddered, my heavy breasts swinging beneath me with every in-driving thrust from my lover. Mandy's titties swung like ripened fruit; together we must have looked quite the pair for anyone with a passion for hooters. When the men jetted at last, we both got the enemas of a lifetime. Their balls seemed not to have suffered the least depletion from their forays up our cunts. Drippingly they finally withdrew themselves, and after a round of kisses between us they left Mandy and I to clean out our asses upon the bidet. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians. -Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net -formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com, roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.) -Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com - Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. =20 -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder. =20 -END OF 272 EMISSION -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /