Message-ID: <1562eli$9706202019@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!not-for-mail Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Honey Haven part 1 of 1 (NND) --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in HONEY HAVEN _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter One I go to Teddy Bear High. Don’t laugh, that’s its real name. Theodore Rooseveldt High. President Theodore Rooseveldt invented the name “teddy bear,” so all my friends and me like telling people that we go to Teddy Bear High. At least, I used to go there. Then I got hired away, as a model. At first my parents weren’t too thrilled about it. After all, I was only 14. But the agent told my parents that I had an excellent figure and face and needed to get started in the business at 14 if I wanted to get ahead in it. Of course, my mom wanted me to be a star swimmer, and my dad still somehow thought that his “little girl” was in the third grade. The idea that I might have a sexy figure almost caused him to punch out the agent. But, fortunately, I prevailed. I’d always dreamed of being a supermodel. Being stuck in Peoria, Iowa, I’d never imagined an agent would actually find me here. But she did. So off I went to New York, and then to my first assignment. It was in Italy. Little did I know what I’d get myself into. My father insisted that I be “chaperoned at all times,” as he put it. The agent assured him I would be. But when I boarded the plane for Venice, my only ‘chaperone’ was a fellow model, like me. Her name was Katrina. She was 16. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a soft, angelic face. But her eyes gave off a worldly flash whenever she looked at you. She was from Chicago. She’d done a little modeling before, but this was her first overseas trip, for a major agency. Naturally I had all kinds of questions for her. She spent the flight telling me all about modelling. She was quite excited to be going abroad. We’d be working for an important photographer, she said (Eveline Elginton -- the name meant nothing to me, yet) and staying in a mansion outside Venice, not in some hotel. She was right on both counts. We were met at the airport by a private limo. It whisked us out into the Italian countryside, leaving the city and its charms, and problems, behind. We were told we could sightsee all we wanted after our assignment was done. They’d give us three extra days, paid, just for that. In the meantime, however, we were introduced to Heloise, who’d rented the mansion where we’d be staying. I have no idea who actually owned it. But Heloise was sort of our house mother there, though not in any censorious way. She showed Katrina and I to our private rooms. As the other models arrived, she showed them to their rooms. A young bellboy carried everyone’s luggage. I thought he was kind of cute -- almost cute enough to be a model. From my bedroom window I watched everyone as they arrived. They were all young, up through the mid-20’s perhaps, both male and female. I noticed all of them were older than me. I felt sort of special, being included with models who were older and more experienced. The sun set over the Italian hills as I watched the models arriving. The bellhop appeared at my door and told me we’d all be boarding a bus to go to a nearby restaurant, if I wanted to come along. He said there was no food in the mansion yet, although Heloise was busy getting it stocked. There had been a delay or mixup of some kind. So, still wearing my clothes from the plane, I went downstairs. We all got aboard a bus. It was interesting, seeing all the other models close up. I sat in a seat next to Katrina. We watched the scenery pass from our window as the bus rolled into a nearby town. We offloaded at the restaurant. You can imagine the other customers’ pleased looks when they saw a whole bevy of voluptuous girls and dreamboat men walk into the place! But we managed to have a nice meal, spread out among the tables of the restaurant. I sat with Katrina and another woman, who was perhaps 22. Her name was Angela. She was from Russia She had flaming red hair that hung in loose, natural curls all the way down her back. I felt sort of jealous of her. I was just a typical American blonde, with long straight blonde hair down my back, that had just a few waves in it. She looked at my bosom and told me my breasts might get too big for me to be a fashion model. They were already fairly large and heavy, as big as Katrina’s, and she was 16, two years older than me. “Have you ever considered getting your breasts reduced?” Angela asked me. I looked back at her with wide eyes. “No,” I said. “Well, it’s a possibility,” Angela said. “Keep it in mind, or you may wind up doing cheesecake work.” “Have you had your breasts reduced?” Katrina asked. Her voice seemed a little worried, for if I had breasts that were too big, she surely did too, for our bosoms were almost identical. Angela brushed her hair back. Her own bosoms, I thought, seemed a bit big, compared to some models I’d seen on runways and in magazines. “No,” she said. She sipped at her drink through a straw. “A doctor in Russia offered to do it for free, if I would let him bed me.” Katrina and I giggled. Angela smiled, kept sipping. “It’s not fair,” Katrina said. “We’re told to get our tits reduced, but guys don’t have to get their dicks reduced!” Angela smiled. “You’d like for them to have to get their dicks reduced?” she asked, still sipping on the straw in her drink. I giggled into my hand. “Well, I guess not,” Katrina said. Angela smiled, looked at me. I smiled back, feeling conspiratorial, though she seemed, I think, to have a deeper sense of it than I did. We finished our supper and were loaded back onto the bus. We were all pretty tired from our flights. Dinner at the restaurant had been our first good meal all day, thanks to airplane food. Our stuffed stomachs made us rather listless and sleepy on the ride back to the mansion. Goodbyes were said as we filed from the bus and into the house. We all went to our rooms. Heloise reminded us that we’d have to be up early the next morning, for our first day’s shoot with Eveline Elginton. I fell right asleep. I didn’t even bother to bathe. I don’t know about the others, but I slept right through the night. The excitement of my first day abroad, all set to be a model, had kept me keyed-up all day. The supper, mixed with a little wine, knocked me out. When I awoke in the morning I belatedly took a shower. Then I slipped into my clothes and hurried downstairs, to be ready for our departure at 7 a.m. Heloise had apparently been trying to get a breakfast together for us but Eveline, who I had yet to meet, had vetoed that. It was felt the restaurant would be quicker. So, boarding the bus promptly at 7, we went back to the restaurant. Then it was off to the place where we’d do our modelling. It was a beach. It was open to the public, but fortunately it was a weekday and there weren’t too many bathers there. The beach was fabulous, with slow, rolling waves gently washing its sandy shore. Being from Iowa, I guess I found most any beach impressive, but this one was quite photogenic. Eveline Elginton was already there, the famous international photographer. She was set up with a crew of helpers. There were lights, and cameras, just waiting for us to provide the action! We offloaded from the bus. There was a small crowd of onlookers but they were kept back by ropes. An assistant of Eveline’s greeted us. His name was Enrique. I thought he was rather handsome, in a fatherly way. He had greying hair and looked mid-fortyish. His figure was straight and erect, with broad shoulders. I wondered if he was a model too, or had been one when he was younger. Enrique walked us to a long table. It had a wind screen behind it, to keep back the breeze. The table was piled with swimsuits that we’d be modelling. All the latest, of course. I knew my friends back in Iowa would be jealous when they saw me in a new swimsuit they hadn’t even had a chance to buy yet. Posing in a fashion magazine, no less! I was quite excited. There were two cabanas and we were told the one on the left was for the men to change in, the one on the right for the women. There were privies in them too, in case we needed to relieve ourselves. Walking with Angela, Katrina and I made our way to the cabana. There were perhaps a dozen females in all. Quickly we changed into the bikinis Eveline’s assistant had helped us pick out. Then it was back outside, where we sat under sun umbrellas for the makeup people. There were three of them in all, and they worked quickly, for they had two dozen of us to do in all, both men and women. It looked rather strange to see people stripped down to almost nothing, save for small bikinis or Speedos, sitting having their makeup done. The guys, wearing newly fashionable ‘ball hugger’ swimsuits, sat with their cocks upstanding in their suits as makeup women assiduously combed their hair and powdered their features. I admit I got a few hot flashes watching that. When I had to sit for makeup I found my nipples were poking into my bra, quite visibly, for it was just a swimsuit bra, made of lycra. I blushed, but nobody seemed to mind. They knew I was brand-new to modelling. We worked all morning. We tossed volleyballs, beachballs. We played in the sand. We swam in the sea. All the while Eveline and her helpers directed us, and photographed us. Whenever there was a free moment we lounged under sun umbrellas or an open-fronted tent that was already set up for our lunch. Eveline didn’t want us to get too tanned. She wished to keep us light-skinned, with just a soft tan on our limbs, and our faces and bellies. The makeup people fixed our makeup whenever we needed it and applied sun lotion judiciously. We couldn’t look all shiny in front of the cameras. We had to look natural, as if we were new at the beach, in our new bikinis. At lunch we had fresh steamed crabs, brought in by a caterer. After lunch we changed into new bikinis, and Eveline photographed us some more. Then, as it was Europe, we girls removed our bras and played with the men topless while Eveline took photos of us. I was quite breathless at first, being bare-bosomed like that. Katrina, though she hadn’t posed topless before, seemed to take it more in stride. Angela helped us both feel less nervous. She was utterly casual as she walked around with just a small thong-backed bikini on. She posed with us and told us not to feel worried that a crowd of people were staring at us. We were models, it was expected we’d be looked at, and anyway the onlookers were watching everyone, including Eveline (who remained dressed), and her camera men, and the guys who were modelling with us. Of course it was the dreamboat male models who were making me feel at least as nervous as the crowd was. But they were polite, speaking to me softly and pretending not to notice my bosoms, and how my nipples stood up so acutely. Angela reminded me that the men, trapped in their ‘ball-hugger’ suits, had spent the whole day with their pricks standing up in their suits. I could hardly complain if my breasts were visible, when they’d had to show off their credentials like that. The sun sank low and Eveline called it a day. We retreated to the cabanas and changed back into our clothes. The bus was summoned from a nearby parking lot and we boarded it for home. It was nice, being models, in the transportation department. Most people had to walk to the parking lot to fetch their cars. But we had been granted special priviledges by the beach authorities. Our bus could drive down the walkway that ran from the parking lot to the beach, to pick us up, so we wouldn’t be thronged with passersby asking for favors or autographs. I think we were all glad to retreat to our rooms for a shower when we got back to the mansion. All day at the beach can leave you feeling rather wind blown and salty, even if you are a pampered model. I bathed myself and then changed into clothes. I wore shorts and a print shirt and sneakers. I pulled my hair back and tied it off in a long pony tail. Heloise had finally gotten the food in, and we were promised a casual, private meal at the mansion. I went downstairs. There were tables set out on the lawn, in the gathering dusk. Torches provided illumination, and a single candle set on each table. I found Angela and Katrina sitting together at a table and joined them. Waiters brought in by Heloise served us. It was pleasant, unhurried. Two guys came and talked to us, Mark and Dave. They were both hunks. I felt my heart beat faster as Dave, who I considered the handsomer of the two, turned his eyes on me. Angela invited them to bring their chairs over from their table and sit and eat dessert with us. We would make room for them. The men’s skin seemed to glow from their long day at the beach. They had full, hairy chests that they’d sheathed in t-shirts. They both wore baggy boxer shorts, a far cry from what they’d been parading around in all day. Both men wore rubber zories on their feet. They hadn’t bothered to tie themselves into sneakers like Katrina and Angela and I had. Mark began feeding Katrina forkfulls of her cherry pie. Katrina could, of course, have fed herself, but she accepted Mark’s generosity and let him put the food into her mouth for her. Dave tried the same trick with Angela. She liked it so much that she moved from her chair to his lap. I sat by myself, still feeding myself, and thinking perhaps that was the best way, rather than having some man feed me, no matter how good-looking he might be. But when Dave looked at me, and smiled, I shivered. He kept feeding Angela but I sensed he’d have fed me if I’d asked him to, or if Angela hadn’t been there. I don’t know what my friends did that night, but I slept by myself, with my teddy bear, that I’d brought with me from America, keeping me company in my bed. It had seemed quite important to me to bring teddy along, when I first left Peoria. But when I awoke in the morning I looked at him and felt rather empty inside. After all, the bellhop had insinuated that he would enjoy spending the night with me, and a male model named Steve had walked me to my room. But except for a quick, thankful kiss on Steve’s cheek, I’d kept him at bay. The bellboy, despite his nice features, I’d laughted at. He, after all, wasn’t even a model. So I regarded his offer of night time companionship with something close to derision. We had another long day at the beach. That night, at dinner, Angela, sitting with me and Katrina again, and Dave and Mark and Steve (we put two tables together), asked me a strange question. “Have you ever done any erotic photography?” Angela asked me. I looked startled. “What?” I asked. “You know, nude photography, and sex and such things like that,” Angela said. “No,” I replied. I had a cherry soda in a big, tall glass and I put my lips over its straw to try to escape the conversation. “Are you still a virgin?” Angela asked me. I felt myself shrink in my chair. Everyone at the table, even Katrina, looked at me expectantly. I sensed that I was unique. “I- I tore my hymen riding a horse,” I admitted. Angela laughed. “That doesn’t count,” she said. She brushed her long loose red curls back away from her face. The men grinned at each other. “And I-- I did it with a boy once,” I lied. “Well, then, no harm in asking her,” Dave said to Angela. “Alright, then,” Angela said to me. “We have an offer to do some erotic photography. A friend of Eveline’s. It’s a woman, don’t worry, so she’ll be sensitive to your--” Angela’s voice broke off. I expected to hear the word ‘inexperience’ but she spared saying it, leaving her sentence unfinished. Steve, who’d been so sweet to walk me upstairs last night, coughed. From nervous expectation or what, I don’t know. I know I was feeling tense and nervous! I popped my straw in my mouth and sucked at my cherry soda. The men, the fiends, admired my lips as I sucked on it, but I knew no other quick way to silence my part in the conversation. Angela paid no heed to the fact that I was busy sipping my soda. “We’ll get a good rest tonight,” she said, still looking at me. At me! As if I’d slept with someone other than my teddy bear last night or, indeed, on any night of my life! “The men, you know, have to be up to the job.” She turned her eyes from me, glanced at Dave, then back at me. “So what do you say? You can do more work at the beach tomorrow, out all day in the hot sun, or you can enjoy indoor comforts.” Honestly, I had no idea how to respond. The beach was fun but I felt my heart palpitating at the offer I was being given. I didn’t want to say yes, or no. “I’m too young,” I said finally, lifting my lips from my straw. “This is Europe, darling. And southern Europe at that,” Angela said. “You don’t have to be a child if you don’t want to be. Not here. But it’s up to you,” she added. I looked at Katrina. She was my best friend, why wasn’t she helping me out of this? Because, I saw in her fiery young eyes, she’d already agreed to do it. She was from Chicago. A big city. She wasn’t a small town girl, like me. I felt a twinge of jealousy and blurted out, without thinking, “Okay!” Then I retreated to my straw again. Heloise appeared at our table. “Hi, guys,” she said, addressing us all. “Is your dinner okay?” “Sure,” Steve answered. “What’s for dessert?” “That depends on how exotic you want to get,” Heloise smiled. She wore a t-shirt that she’d knotted below her breasts, plus shorts. She let her hips sway forward, showing him the flat expanse of her neat, suntanned belly. “Thanks, but I’ll just take the pie with ice cream on it,” Steve answered with a grin. “Vanilla?” Heloise asked. As easily as if she hadn’t been rejected at all, she pulled a pencil from behind her ear and produced a pad and wrote on it. “What kind of pie?” “Cherry,” Steve said. It was with some trepidation the next morning that I got dressed. I was, after all, getting dressed only to get undressed again, quite soon. We were due at the photographer’s at nine. I put on a pair of white panties, printed with tiny daisies, and felt awkward knowing that others would soon be seeing me take them off. And not just my fellow females in the cabana at the beach. Not today. Steve and Dave and Mark would be there. Perhaps the photographer would even photograph me taking them off. That thought sent a shiver up my spine. I still didn’t know her name. I hoped she would introduce herself to me before she asked me to strip for her. I looked at my bed. A silver tray lay upon it. A maid had brought me breakfast in bed. She’d said it was compliments of Heloise, that she was trying ever harder to pamper us models. Unfortunately I’d barely touched my food. My bacon and eggs were pristine, a waste of two chicks and part of a hog. My coffee was undrunk. It sat well-cooled now, in its china cup. Beside the cup of coffee lay a barely-nibbled croissant. I was too nervous to eat. Perhaps teddy, sitting next to my tray, would eat my breakfast for me. I put on a conservative white bra. Then I donned a blouse, which I carefully buttoned up. It had long sleeves and a high collar. Finally I zipped myself into a miniskirt and slipped on modestly high heels. I tied my hair back in a ponytail and looked at myself in a mirror. Yes, I looked great. Then I remembered I didn’t have any birth control. I’d never needed it before. Would I need it today? I wasn’t sure. Perhaps not. Perhaps we would just be nude, and pretend. Yes, I told myself. She was a female photographer, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t ask more than that. Katrina and Angela met me in the hall. Katrina smiled, blushed a little. Angela put a slim arm around my waist and tossed back her long red hair. “Come along, Lolita, you look terrific,” Angela said in her Russian-accented voice. I felt like I was in the grip of a bear, despite her slim figure. Yet I allowed her to walk me downstairs. There the men greeted us. They looked as great as we did. They wore polo shirts, with slacks, except Steve wore shorts. I couldn’t help admiring his stocky, hairy legs with my eyes. He saw my interest and grinned. I blushed. His eyes fell to my breasts. I turned away, hoping to deny him a view of them. I gazed about the large room we were standing in. I heard nothing but silence in the house. I realized the house was empty of models, except for us. The rest of them were already at the beach, working hard. Heloise appeared in a doorway. She smiled at us. She didn’t say anything. I flushed quite red, realizing she knew where we were going. I heard a car pull up outside. “Come on,” Angela said. She reached for my hand and took it. I resisted a little, then let her lead me outside. It was a bright, sunny day. Yet I’d be posing indoors. I felt a momentary relief at that. The sun was already hot. Then I remembered I’d be nude, in a bedroom, with three horny guys, and felt a wave of intense embarrassment. Our conversation in the car was pleasantly free of innuendo. You’d think, with three expectant guys, we’d be hearing sex jokes all the way. At least, I would have thought so. But Steve and Dave and Mark were men, not boys at Teddy Bear High. So instead they talked about soccer, or pointed out sights to us girls. Angela had been to Italy before and she pointed to a monument along the road as we passed it. “What’s that?” I asked. “An old road marker, left by the Romans,” she said. “I want to see the Leaning Tower of Pizza,” I said. “Do you think we could go there for lunch? I like Pizzas.” Angela laughed. “That’s Piza, dearest, not Pizza,” Angela said. “And no, they don’t serve Pizzas there. But I’m sure Svetlana will feed us something.” “Who’s that?” I asked. “The photographer, silly,” Katrina said. We three girls were sitting in front and the men in back. I was wedged between both Katrina and Angela, Angela next to the window and Katrina next to the driver. “Oh,” I said, looking down at my hands. “Well, I don’t know everything.” “You know enough to say ‘yes’ when you’re asked, and that’s all you need to know,” Angela said pleasantly. She took my hand and squeezed it. I looked up at her. I felt comforted by her touch. I had an odd wish for her to keep holding my hand, right on through the rest of the day. We pulled up in front of an old brownstone within the outskirts of Vienna. The driver helped us girls out. The men got out themselves. Dave walked to up to the door of the house and knocked on it. Large trees shaded us as we waited for the door to be answered. Across the street there was a park. I could hear children playing in it. A maid answered the door. She was middle-aged. She wore a traditional white apron and hat, plus a black pleated skirt. She bade us enter. The men let us girls go first. Behind us, the car pulled away. The house was well appointed inside, but we were given no time to admire its furnishings. The maid escorted us up a long narrow staircase. At the top there was a hall, and we were taken down it and through a doorway. I found myself standing in a large, well-lit bedroom. The bed, to my astonishment, had red satin sheets. Its headboard and baseboard were made of dark, rich mahogany. Beside the bed, on a table, there was an ancient china water pitcher. But I saw no glasses. Perhaps the pitcher was for washing. Under the table that held the pitcher I saw a chamber pot. I hoped it was empty. “Ah, you must be Katrina,” a female voice said to me. I turned, saw a woman standing near a camera. She wore a loose skirt with a tight bodice. It accented her breasts, which were of a considerable size. Jewelry adorned her wrists, which were small, and a necklace gleamed round her white, swan-like throat. Beside her were two women assistants, more casually dressed, one in a t-shirt and shorts and the other in jeans and a very light, pullover sweater. “No, I’m Cindy,” I said. “Fine,” the woman, whom I guessed was Svetlana, replied. “Please undress so we can do your makeup.” I realized, suddenly, that more than my face would be made up today. Every part of me would have to be examined and made perfect. After all, nothing would be hidden from the camera. Feeling queasy in my stomach, with the men and Angela and Katrina behind me now, and the photographer and her crew before me, I began to unbutton my blouse. There were sounds of undressing behind me. Svetlana used the time to ask each of our names, which an assistant wrote down on a pad for her, so she’d remember them. It took me a little while to undress and Katrina actually finished before me. She headed over to the makeup person and sat down in a canvas chair for her makeup. I looked around. I nearly lost my ability to breathe when I saw the men. At the beach, their cocks had been encased in swimsuits. I could only see an outline of them. Now, however, in the bedroom, the men stood naked and free of their clothes. From each of their loins a long, banana-like cock stood erect, arching expectantly up in the air. Underneath a full sack of sperm hung. I shivered. Angela took my hand. “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” she teased me. “I-- Yes, it is,” I said. Steve grinned at me. I blushed and turned away. “You’re next,” a female voice called out. We all turned. The girl in the sweater and jeans was busy combing the tight curls of Katrina’s pubis, but already she was motioning for Dave to present himself. He did, walking grandly across the room with his big organ sticking out in front of him. She took the comb from Katrina’s nest and began working it over Dave’s more luxuriant growth. Carefully she avoided touching his ramrod hard cock. “Ah, what a fine member,” Svetlana said. She picked up a portable camera and bent over Dave’s loins and snapped a picture of him. Dave grinned, loving the attention. My turn came next. I was seated in the same chair that Katrina had been in. The canvas seat felt warm from her bottom. The makeup person, whose name was Dielle, powdered my face and my breasts. She touched up my lipstick, did my eyelashes. She stenciled my eyelashes. She applied a very light, pink coating of rouge to my nipples that matched their color. The tips of my nipples, already excited, rose under her touch. I felt my nest wetten. She was down there a moment later, carefully combing my private curls. “Oh, you’re wet already,” Dielle said. I blushed fiercely. Svetlana told Dave and Katrina to get on the bed. “We’ll start with some natural poses first, then move on to more complicated work,” Svetlana told them. I watched them both knee their way onto the bed. It was a big, sumptous bed, perfect for lovers. Its red satin sheets glowed under the studio lights. Unfortunately Katrina’s favorite of the three men was Mark, not Dave. She turned and looked at Svetlana. “Could I pose with Dave?” she asked. “No, darling,” Svetlana replied. “You’ll all pose with each other before the day’s through. Don’t worry about it.” “Okay,” Katrina answered. She looked up at Dave. She was more than a head shorter than he, for he was a full grown man, the oldest of the three males. Her brown hair bobbed neatly about her shoulders. It had been glossed to perfection by the makeup girl’s hairbrush. “Please face each other. Lean in to each other, as if you’re about to kiss,” Svetlana ordered. “Yes, good. Don’t be afraid of him, dear. He’s only a man,” she told Katrina. “I’m not afraid of him. It’s just that he’s so big,” Katrina said. She looked at Dave’s large penis and, after a moment, placed her finger upon its crown. She tried to push him back from her. “Darling, in the old days we were not allowed to show penises, and mission number one would have been to jerk all the men off, in hopes of hiding their equipment from the camera,” Svetlana said. “But things are different now. Enjoy his penis. Let it press up against your belly. Don’t be bothered by it, for heaven’s sake. You do like boys, don’t you?” “Yes,” Katrina admitted. She let Dave enclasp her waist and draw her close to his hairy body. She flinched, feeling his cock press up hard against her. I saw a flash, heard a click. “Kiss,” Svetlana commanded. Dave lifted Katrina’s chin. She closed her eyes. He pecked a kiss on her lips. She opened her lips a little and let him kiss them again. Suddenly, their mouths meshed. More flashes, more clicks. Angela gave a small, polite clap for their performance. “Now you,” Svetlana told me. “Up on the bed.” Dave and Katrina were still deeply engaged in a kiss. “Huh?” I said. “There’s already two of them there.” “We’re not confining ourselves to conservative shots, dear,” Svetlana said. “Do you think this is the 1890’s? Get up on the bed with them.” I rose from the comfort of my canvas chair. Katrina was still kissing Dave, so I cast an anxious glance at Angela. But she was no help at all. She merely smiled, nodded. I guess she approved of me playing with her boyfriend. Suddenly I wondered if I should ask for birth control. After all, Dave wasn’t wearing a condom. And couldn’t, either, for the point of photographing him in the buff was to be able to to snap pictures of, among other things, his cock. But I felt guilty, asking, for it would mean we were to have sex. I still hoped we wouldn’t actually do it. So I kept quiet. I felt my breasts bobbing nakedly on my chest as I crossed the room. Dielle had slipped heels on my feet. They made me taller, elevating my bottom. I could feel it rolling with an alluring sway behind me. All could be seen, even the crease between my cheeks. Absently I put my hands behind me, to hide myself. “No! Show your bottom,” Svetlana barked. My hands flitted away. I saw a flash behind me, heard a click. I felt my tummy swimming with butterflies and was glad I hadn’t filled it with a breakfast it couldn’t have kept down. I patted my belly, trying to quell my nervousness. It was flat, smooth, even a little withdrawn. I had an innie navel. I explored it briefly with my finger. I drew close to the bed. My knees banged against the side of it. Dave, kneeling up upon the bed, turned to me. Gallantly he passed an arm behind my back. I felt frail, captured by his big hairy arm. Katrina reached down from her perch on the bed. Bending a little, she freely clasped the nearest cheek of my bottom. I flinched. I felt her hand exploring my bottom and lifted a hand to her face to try to push her away. I tried drawing back from them. Dave’s arm kept me close. I pushed at Katrina’s face with my hand. She opened her lips. One of my fingers stabbed into her mouth and, closing her eyes, she sucked gently upon it. Flash. click. I was undone. I was frozen forever on film, in a pose not entirely becoming to my virginity. Whose eyes would see me when the pictures were developed? I tried not to think about it. I couldn’t free myself. Dave’s big arm prevented me from drawing back from the bed. Katrina, handling my bottom, had me captured by one finger. I relented. I let Dave pull me up between them, onto the bed’s satin sheets. My finger slipped from Katrina’s mouth. She smiled at me. She pecked a kiss onto the side of my face. Then, more rudely, still palming my seat, her hand sought between the cheeks of my bottom. How erotic we must have looked! Our tan lines showed, where we’d worn our swimsuits at the beach, but we were free of them now, displaying the complete nudity of our bodies to whomever might purchase our photos. We kissed, all three of us, nuzzling each other’s lips. To get revenge on Katrina, I placed a hand on her bottom, though I wasn’t so indiscreet as to wedge my fingertips between her bottomhalves. The flashbulbs flashed repeatedly. I heard the click of the camera. We parted, slowly, unsure what to do next. We remained kneeling on the bed. I gave a quick lick across Dave’s hairy chest, then pulled back. Katrina kissed him again, on the chin, too short to kiss his lips unless he bent his face down to her. Dave looked over at Svetlana for direction. He was hard, pulsing. Katrina and I looked at his big organ and imagined he must be ready to spend. Oh, too soon! Don’t let him! I heard myself cry, inside my head. Katrina must have thought the same thing for we both laughed, suddenly, looking at his big manhood. Our breasts shook, attracting his eyes back to us. Suddenly, perhaps impulsively, perhaps at a signal from Svetlana, he lifted a hand between each of our legs. We were kneeling with our legs immodestly open, not even really aware of it, until Steve’s big hand slid up to the apex of our thighs. “Oh!” I gasped. With a single finger Steve began sliding his hand back and forth against the lips of my pussy. His finger was stiff. I was soft and open against him. Too open. I drew my legs together but heard Svetlana order me to keep them apart. “Ah!” Katrina protested. Steve had one finger underneath her as well, sliding it back and forth under her lips. I felt myself wetten upon his digit. I looked down at his hand, heard Katrina murmur something beside me. We reached for his cock. He did not mind us handling it. Our fingers were small upon his big member. I could feel it throbbing in my grasp. Would he spend? I didn’t know. He kept up the fingering of our nests. I let my head fling back. I breahted a fevered sigh. Beside me, Katrina did the same. More flashes, more camera clicks. “Very good,” I heard Svetlana say somewhere behind me. “Spontaneous, without being disobedient to my direction. I think we’ll get along swimmingly. Come down off the bed, you three love birds. What do you think you’re doing this for, pleasure?” Reluctantly Dave withdrew his hands. I felt deprived with him gone from between my legs. I wanted him back. I tugged on his dick. Angela appeared. She disengaged Katrina and I from her lover’s penis. “That’s enough, girls,” Angela said. “Wait for your next pose now. Would you like some refreshments?” “I want--” Katrina said dizzily. I knew what she wanted. The same as I. To continue in our wicked games. But we were models, not lovers. With a somewhat palsied movement I slipped down from the bed. How strange, to leave it just when we were all so ready! I blushed. A camera caught my blush, my wobbly knees, my aimlessly flitting hands, wishing to grab onto something that was not mine. Behind me Dave helped Katrina down from the bed. His cock jutted at my seat. It stood up rigid beside Katrina, pointing at the ceiling. She reached for him. Angela slapped her hand away. Steven and Mark, I saw, through my passion-bleared vision, were still both hard and erect. Steven was sitting in the makeup chair, getting his pubic hair combed. Mark was standing beside him. The assistant in shorts and a t-shirt, whose name I still didn’t know, was handing him a glass. It contained ice water. “Drink it down,” she said to him, smiling. “Svetlana will want some photos of your gorgeous cock peeing it out.” Mark nodded, smiled. He drank down the glass. The assistant had set up a big pitcher of ice water on a folding table. It wasn’t the one by the bed, which I guessed was for washing, but another, fetched perhaps from the downstairs kitchen while we were on the bed kissing. “You too, hun,” the assistant said to Dave as he approached her. “Can I have a drink?” Katrina asked. “Only if you don’t mind having pictures taken of yourself peeing,” the assistant replied. She smiled. She poured Katrina a glass. I asked for one too. Six females and three males. In one bedroom. We made quite a group. Three of the females were clothed, not models, but their features were not displeasing. I saw my favorite of the men, Steven, gazing appreciatively at the rondeur of the pink sweatered makeup girl’s bosoms as she bent over him to dust a light powder onto his cock. “What’s that for?” Steven asked. “It will make you horny as hell,” the petite makeup girl told him frankly. “I already am,” Steve replied. He nuzzled the curve of her sweatered bosom as she stood. She ignored him. “It’s talcum powder mixed with a small dose of chili powder,” Dielle said. “You may be horny, but not like you’ll be in a minute. You’ll have a desperate need to rub yourself, but you’ll be prevented from doing it. The photos should be breathtaking.” “Men, let’s get you both handcuffed to the bed,” Svetlana said. “Steven? Mark? Over here, boys.” “Ach. I can feel it already,” Steven announced. “You shouldn’t powder their penises until I’ve got them cuffed,” Svetlana told Dielle. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dielle replied. “I didn’t know.” I realized she must be new to erotic photography makeup. “Over here, boys,” Svetlana said. She pointed to the foot of the bed, where two towering mahagony bedposts stood. “Constance, get the cuffs,” she said to the girl in shorts and a t-shirt. I watched as Constance went to a wooden dresser next to the bed. She opened a drawer and took out two pairs of metal police handcuffs. She walked to the foot of the bed, where she stood expectantly, waiting for the men. Her hair was drawn into twin, efficient pigtails. I saw she wore no bra. Her nipples rose into her shirt as she watched the men approach. “Uh, my dick is feeling hot,” Steve complained. “Put your back to the post, please. Wrists behind you,” Constance told him. Steve obeyed. He gave me a quick glance from across the room. I frowned. Now he liked me, and sought me out, though a moment ago he only had eyes for the pink-sweatered makeup girl. I felt a bit of vengeance in me. I watched with satisfaction as he was cuffed to the bedpost. It looked very strong. There were marks on it, as if other young men had been cuffed there before him. Constance moved quickly to Mark. Dielle crossed the room with her makeup kit, in order to powder his dick. Svetlana adjusted her camera to capture the scene that was about to unfold. Without realizing it, I began frigging myself. “Don’t,” Angela said. She slapped my wrist. I drew my hand from between my legs. She moved to Katrina, who was dipping a finger in her water glass and rubbing it across her slit, trying to cool herself. “Don’t masturbate,” Angela said. She clasped Katrina’s small wrist and pulled her finger from her dell. “I’m only trying to chill out a little,” Katrina replied. “I know,” Angela said. “Go to the dresser and fetch a pair of handcuffs for yourself and Cindy. I’ll help you stay good by cuffing your hands behind you where they can’t get you in trouble.” “Ohhh, I don’t want to,” Katrina said. But, tossing her long shoulder-length locks back from her face, she crossed the room. She opened the dresser and poked around. “There sure are a lot of condoms in here!” she announced. “I do a lot of sexual photography here,” Svetlana told her, aiming her camera at the men. “We’ll use those later.” Katrina sighed. She drew a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer. Then another, for me. “I don’t want any cuffs,” I told Angela. “And I don’t want you cumming before your time,” Angela replied. “Though you might do it as often as you please, it’s important to keep you tense for the early photos. It makes them sexier.” “Have you done this before?” I asked her. “No, dear. Of course not,” Angela replied. “This is just a lark. We’re really professional models, you know. Not erotic ones. But I talked with Svetlana about it a lot on the phone. Here’s the cuffs. Thank you, Katrina. Turn around, Cindy. Don’t make it difficult for me.” I turned. I showed her my bottom. I put my wrists behind me, presenting them to her. In the distance I heard Steven (or was it Mark?) groan with pent-up emotion. I wondered how much difference there was between us, and them. They had big pricks and we had holes instead, but we both seemed to need each other quite badly at the moment. I felt the steel of the handcuffs press against my wrists. They snapped shut. First one, then the other. Angela breathed on my neck. She bent, licked my ear, as if to reinforce my new subservience to her. I could do nothing but flinch. I felt my teats quivering before me, all stiff and hard, heavy for my age. “Stand with your legs open,” Angela told me. “You have only a small slit. Do not hide it from the men’s view by pressing your thighs closed. Let them see it at least, though they cannot touch you.” I obeyed. Somehow, dispite my misgivings, I liked obeying. I had only to do as she told me. She would handle the rest. Angela turned me, so I faced directly at the men. She reminded me to part my thighs. Then she moved to Katrina. My friend was as submissive as I. Dave’s hands between our legs had made us exquisitely feminine. Now he stood near us, drinking, so he could pee in Svetlana’s photographs. I glanced at him. He smiled. “Give me a drink,” I said. He approached, put his glass to my lips. I drank greedily at the water, wanting what he offered lower down instead, but accepting the water in lieu of it. “Have you ever been whipped?” Dave asked me. My eyes bulged. I spluttered in his glass. He withdrew it. Water dribbled from my lips down my chin. It fell in droplets onto my breasts. They were promient, sticking out in front of me like twin shapely gourds, forced forward by my posture in the cuffs. “No,” I told him, wide-eyed. “Perhaps we can convince Svetlana to take some photos of it, then,” he smiled. “I don’t want to be,” I told him frankly. He pressed a finger to my belly. He touched my navel hole. “No girl wants to be, especially her first time,” Steve assured me. “But there is a certain pleasure in it, you’ll find, being all hot-bottomed, wiggling your ass.” “But who would do it?” I asked. “Perhaps me,” Dave replied. His fingers played lower across my belly and grazed the top of my pubic thatch. I wondered at my being bound, if he was going to frig me instead. “Don’t worry, I’ve done it before,” he told me. “I know how to apply the strokes properly. Especially on a newbie.” “You’ve whipped other girls?” I asked. “A few,” he said. I didn’t know if he was lying or telling the truth. About the number, that is. About his experience, I had no doubt. He was at least twice my age. He fondled my nest and let his fingers wander dangerously close to my slit. “Are you going to do it then, for her?” Angela scolded Dave. He didn’t catch her meaning. “If Svetlana lets me,” he answered. He looked up from gazing at my pussy. “Oh, you mean frig her. Perhaps I will, hmmm? Just a little.” “Eh!” I gasped suddenly. It was an immodest cry, to be sure, belted straight up from my tummy, but I couldn’t help it. Dave had just stuck his finger into my snatch. Not far, just knuckle deep, but it was the first ever to enter me. Casually his thumb searched in the folds of my labial lips for my clit. “Don’t!” I implored him. I gazed beseechingly in his eyes. I searched for what, I wasn’t sure. “I’m a virgin.” “What?” Dave asked. He sounded like a man who’d been shot. “Ah, I knew it,” Angela said. “Now all three of them will want her. So much for eroticism. She’s never even been opened!” She turned from me, from Dave. For his part, Dave suddenly became much more attentive. “Really?” he asked. He made me gasp, and lurch forward, as he intruded deeper in me, searching with his finger. “Don’t!” I pleaded. “You won’t find anything. I lost it on a horse.” He entered me more, more, jamming his finger up inside me. But with his other hand he stroked my long blonde hair. My pony tail swished across my back and fell off it, dangling below my face. “No, I feel something,” Dave told me. “Your hymen’s torn, but not gone.” I felt his big finger in me and tried clamping my thighs, but he easily took hold of one of my legs and pulled them apart. I was just a girl, just 14, no match for him. “You’ll need to have this removed,” Dave told me. “Not a problem, really. I’m amply equipped to take it from you.” Bending under his searching, intruding finger, I gazed at his penis. It was big, hard. Clear fluid dripped languidly from its tip. “Will we have some honeymoon photos today then, hmmm?” I heard Svetlana say. Angela was telling her about my ‘problem.’ Dave used my resistance to his advantage. He bent me further. He reached behind me. He palmed my ass. “How about your bottom?” he asked, feeling my cheeks. “Have you been giving it away in back, to save yourself in front?” “Noooo,” I bleated. I felt his hand part my cheeks and a finger probe against the rubbery ring of my anus. “I’m virgin ALL OVER!” I shouted, but it was too late. He’d already stabbed at me. My ring gave way and I felt his finger within my puckered hole, up to the first knuckle. “God, you’re tight. Quit squeezing your ass. I told you to keep yourself open, girl!” Dave reproved me. I heard a whip crack in the distance. I gasped, thinking somehow it was me, but then realized it was one of the boys. Mark? Steven? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know that much about them, yet. But it wasn’t Dave, for he kept me bent over, a finger up my twat and another exploring my asshole. “Do you want her, hmmm, boys? My, how you struggle against those posts! Keep jabbing at me with your cocks, yes! How helpless you look. Thrust at the camera, boys!” I heard Svetlana say. “Don’t worry about Angela and her penis whip.” CRACK! Again the whip. Again a scream, but it wasn’t me. It was one of the poor boys, chili powder burning his dick and a whip cracking across it to make it hurt even worse. I hoped Angela wasn’t being too hard on them. They had fine penises, and I was soft on Steven. But at the moment, bent over by Dave, I couldn’t do anything but listen. I wriggled against my captor. Dave laughed. He drew his finger from my ass and pulled out of my twat. “There, stand up,” Dave said. “A virgin, by God! In all your private places and with an unwhipped bottom, too! I’m going to have fun with you!” I shivered in his grasp. I didn’t think I wanted any part of his fun. But he jabbed at my belly with his penis, smearing his pre-cum across my smooth, tanned flesh, as if it were his right to. His absolute right. Well, he was the biggest and the oldest male in the room. But I was the littlest female. Surely he had no right to claim dibs on me. I was too young for him! 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. -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. -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> /