Message-ID: <1587eli$9706231546@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 X-Mailer: Mozilla 3.01Gold (Macintosh; I; 68K) Subject: new 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. She had long brown hair piled casually atop her head. 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 Dave 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. Dave 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! “Ah, Dave,” Svetlana said. She left her camera and walked across the room. Her step was light, yet confident. She placed a hand upon his bare back. It glided lower, it palmed his manly seat in open admiration. Then, suddenly, her tanned palm gripped one of his small white buns. With the bulging fullness of his asscheek pillowing in her hand, she forcibly turned him. He was a large man, and she was smaller, and frail of figure, yet her grip was sufficient to get his attention and to force him to obey. “Ugh, what do you want?” Dave asked irritably as he was brought about to face Svetlana. She paused. His penis jutted at her. Her hand had slipped from his seat and now she passed an admiring fingertip along the big veined length of his shaft. I shivered, watching. My dell was safe for the moment, though it felt wet between my legs. His attention, though unwanted, had caused it to honey itself. I wondered whose side my body was on. “Dave, you are here to work, not to play,” Svetlana told my attacker. Possessively she clasped his organ, right behind the bulbing cockhead, where the penis briefly narrows. She ringed the area with her thumb and forefinger, not able to completely close upon it, he was so big, but taking possession of him all the same. Then she looked over her shoulder at Dave and Mark, suffering under Angel’s lashing whip. “I think I’m finished with them,” she said to Angel. She tossed her head. Her pinned up hair had lost several strands. They dangled down in her face. Failing to get them out of her eyes with her head’s movement, she reluctantly lifted a hand and brushed them back behind her ears with her fingers. “Please jerk them off, so they won’t be desperate and uncontrollable when you undo their handcuffs. Then you may unlock them and dismiss them.” “What?!” Steven, my favorite, blurted. He had endured the chili powder, and the penis whip, only, it seemed, to be summarily sent home. Mark looked equally vexed. “Oh, did you boys think you came here for free sex?” Svetlana asked. As she spoke, she stroked Dave’s big penis with her fingertip, as if to soothe him and keep him obedient. He was, after all, not cuffed, as Dave and Mark were. With her other hand she ringed his cock. Her thumb and forefinger, holding him, had the appearance of some sort of erotic leash. Miraculously, Dave stood still, soothed and held, though he’d been about to rape me just minutes earlier. “No, boys, sorry. I call the shots here.” She laughed, for indeed she did, both photographically and otherwise. “Constance, man the camera,” she told the young woman with the pigtails. “I want to record their agony as they’re forced to spend.” “What?!” Mark yelled. He was almost apoplectic now. He strained at his bonds. His beautiful chest muscles bulged, showing themselves in straining detail, yet the police handcuffs held. “Darling, it’s *erotic* photography, remember?” Svetlana said. “This is all about people’s sexual organs, and how they respond under the stress of erotic play. You act as if Angela’s going to dismember you. Semen must be jettisoned every few days by the male. You know that. Surrender your seed to her and quit complaining. You’re like a Doritos factory, aren’t you? You’ll make more. I’m quite sure of it.” “Yes, but--” Mark stammered. “That’s what I wish to capture, dear,” Svetlana told him, still pleasantly stroking Dave’s penis, keeping him tense but (at least partly) satisfied. “I don’t do bullshit erotic photography, sorry. I want to see you frustrated, tense, and yes, remorseful as your sperm is forced from your body. Then it’s home for you, while these girls remain here, in my house, wet and hungry for your love.” She laughed. Her breasts shook with her laughter. “How pretty they’ll look, so sweetly desperate for male attention, but with none but Dave here to service them, and only if I let him.” I squirmed in my bonds. I did not like the thought of myself being seen in such a state. Made up, my hair perfect, yet shivering with sinful desire! Katrina walked away. Svetlana looked over her shoulder, watched as the girl walked, with firm, defiant steps, toward the bedroom door. Her white bottom wiggled behind her. It looked like a rabbit’s tail, perched between her tanned back and legs. I glanced at Angela. She still held the penis whip in her hand. It looked small but hurtful. I wondered if it might not be used on our bottoms, and stayed standing where I was. “Katrina, dear. Where are you going?” Svetlana asked. Her voice was soft, melodious. But it had a note of motherly displeasure in it. “I’m leaving!” Katrina said. She didn’t bother to turn around. She spoke to the bedroom door, which she was now facing. It was closed. She looked at it, wriggled her arms. They were cuffed behind her and she had no way of opening it without the use of her hands. Or so I thought. Suddenly, Katrina dropped to her knees. I heard her bare knees strike the wooden floor. I saw her wince. She wore high heels and had not realized that, in kneeling, she’d wind up making an uncontrolled drop to the floor. She recovered herself and, nude as a jaybird, she put her mouth to the round handle of the door. She gripped the handle with her teeth and tried to turn it. Svetlana turned and looked at Constance. The pigtailed girl nodded. She ran to the door. I thought her purpose was to stop Katrina but, then, I saw she was carrying a camera. She lifted it to her face and aimed it down at Katrina, standing over the girl. Katrina, turning the knob, looked up at the camera. FLASH! click. Poor Katrina! Constance had captured her on film, pathetically trying to open a door with her mouth. I knew many males would rejoice at that picture. A handcuffed girl, trying to escape her fate. Katrina did not give up. She gripped the doorknob more tightly with her teeth. It was big in her mouth, making her jaws split wide. It was made of brass and, being well polished, was slippery. The saliva from her mouth made it still more difficult to grasp. Constance clicked off photo after photo of her. I felt sorry for Katrina, her bare breasts, the tips risen, wiggling helplessly as she tried to escape. Now and then she strove against her handcuffs, moving her arms fruitlessly. The big metal handcuffs clung implacably to her wrists. Her bare ribs stood out below her breasts as she drew in her breath, fighting against the door handle. Her bare legs tensed. Her bottom bulbed behind her, an invitation to the whip, should Svetlana command that it be used upon her. We all watched, mesmerized. There was a certain pathetic sensuousness it Katrina’s plight. I prayed she’d get the door open, somehow, and planned to run through the open door the minute her sacrifice paid off. I bit my lip, watching. How foolish it was for she and I to come here! We had been young and frivolous, playing with fire, and now we were burning. That it was between our legs that we burned most of all was, I guess, due punishment for us, that we deserved. I bent my knees, then straightened my legs, then bent my knees again. I felt empty up between my legs, in my dell. I wanted, yet I planned to run the minute Katrina succeeded. A tear ran down Katrina’s face. She was losing the battle and she knew it. She had done nothing but provide more photos for wicked men and horny boys. She released the doorknob from her mouth. A sigh escaped her lips. They were wet with her own saliva. It gleamed on the doorknob too, where she’d slobbered upon it. She bent her knees, as I was doing, as if feeling the same need as I felt. She straightened her legs, bent them again. “Oh!” she cried. The camera clicked again, capturing her arousal. Svetlana tossed back her head and laughed. “Such excellent photos!” she said. “And the day is still young, with the night not even begun!” “Boys, I’m going to put a cocktail glass down at your feet,” Angela instructed Steve and Mark. I turned to them. I watched her kneel. Her breasts hung sweetly, their tips ripe and tremulous, jiggling with the free movement of her naked bosoms. Her belly was flat, dimpled by her navel. Her cunt showed raw between her legs as she bent, a red wet gash. There was a clink as first one glass, then the other, was placed upon the bedroom’s wooden floor. “To Hell with that. I have to go to the bathroom!” Mark declared. A jet of pee sprouted from the tip of his hard penis and went arcing down to the glass. He hit the rim, splattering pee in wide spashing drops all about the missed receptacle. “Hey!” Angela cried. She drew back. Some of Mark’s pee, hitting the side of the glass, had splashed on her. Steven, meanwhile, began peeing too. He hit the bottom of the glass exactly, a perfect gentleman, but the force of his falling urine was so strong that it splashed right out of the glass. Both boys were making a mess, creating puddles on the floor. “Dielle! Quickly!” Svetlana cried. I thought her intent was to somehow stop the boys. Indeed, Angela, hearing her, reached up and grabbed Mark’s big prick. She squeezed it, trying to cut off the flow of his pee. She may as well have tried to stop up a broken fire hydrant with her finger. “Oh, my! Stop! Stop!” Angela yelled at Mark, kneeling below him, looking up at him and his big penis beseechingly. Yet Svetlana had not cried out to Dielle to stop the boys from peeing. She was much too wicked for that. Instead, she wanted their lewd act photographed! And it was. Dielle manned the camera that stood on the tripod. She clicked off shot after shot. Each was accompanied by a bright flash that caught both the boys and poor Angela, trapped between their peeing dicks. Drops of Mark’s urine speckled her hand, her wrist, her arm, even her belly and breasts. At last the boys’ flow slowed. Both glasses were full with big puddles underneath them. Mark had finally found the center of his glass. Little good it did, of course. His bladder, as well as Steve’s had held much more than any single glass could. “Well, are you happy now?” Angela glowered at Mark. She released his penis. It still stood out from his body, big as a banana and hard as well-wrought iron. “No,” Mark answered truthfully, for his testicles still brimmed with sperm. Yet he did not want it wasted, spilled upon the floor as his pee had been. “Call the maid,” Svetlana told Dielle. The girl let go of the mounted camera and walked gracefully to a pile of photographic equipment upon the floor. She bent, and I saw her pick up a cell phone. She tapped in a number and held the phone to her ear. “Hilda? Would you please come up? Two of the boys have peed on the floor. Yes. Right away, please,” Dielle said casually into the phone, as if reporting a little accident by a baby (two, in fact!) to its nursemaid. “Angela,” Svetlana said. “If you go to the dresser you’ll find foley catheters in the bottom drawer. Do you think you could manage to catheterize the boys for me?” Angela stood. She brushed back her long red hair. “I guess so,” Angela answered. “I took a course in nursing once.” “Good,” Svetlana said. “It’s not too difficult. And you look so beautiful, in the nude. I’d like for you to do it.” “Why in God’s name do you want us catheterized?” Mark asked angrily. Yet I sensed arousal in his voice, as if the thought of having his penis run through with a catheter, fucked by it really, tempted him against his will. “So you won’t make a new mess on the floor with your sperm,” Svetlana told him. Angela, meanwhile, picked up first one cocktail glass, then the other. She made a face. The urine that brimmed in each glass threatened to overspill the glasses’ rims and wet her hands. “What should I do with these?” Angela asked. “You could drink them,” Svetlana said. “Not on your life!” Angela answered, a little shocked. “Then water the plant with them,” Svetlana said. “Over there.” She nodded to the big potted vine at the back of the bedroom. “Won’t it kill them?” Angela said. “Boys water plants all the time, I’m afraid,” Svetlana told her. “Just dump it in. The soil will absorb it and the plant will draw on the moisture and the nutrients.” “Does pee have nutrients in it?” Angela asked, still holding the brimming glasses. Above them her bosoms hung fresh and ripe, her nipples fully sprouted, as if already watered by the glasses’ contents. Svetlana laughed. “I have no idea, dear. Just get rid of that urine, would you? I’m afraid you’ll spill more of it on my floor.” “Okay,” Angela said. She walked with some trepidation to the plant at the back of the room, not wanting to get any more of the boys’ urine on herself than she already had. Carefully she poured out their pee. Then she walked to the dresser and set both empty glasses atop it. They gleamed under the photographic lights in the room. I heard the door open. We all turned. The maid entered. She was wheeling a big bucket in front of her, with a mop standing in it. Water sloshed in the bucket. I saw foam floating within it as she pushed it toward me. She looked with diffident eyes at young Katrina, nude and handcuffed, kneeling on the floor. She pushed the bucket past her. Constance went to the door and shut it. How embarrassed I felt! I was made up like a doll, yet I was totally naked and, worse, handcuffed. It didn’t take a mature eye like the maid’s to see I had a wet dell and wanted a cock up me. I shivered under her gaze. It was imperious now, not modest at all, as if she were secretly laughing at me. I was young and beautiful, but I looked utterly silly now, and she knew, I imagine, that I had a long night ahead of me. With Svetlana, it did not promise to be a honeymoon. Rather, I feared, it would be more like a visit to the Marquis de Sade! The maid stopped the bucket in front of Mark. She eyed him, his forthright cock, stiff and needy. She got out her mop. She rung it in the steel rollers above the bucket and then plopped it on the floor. With quick, workmanlike strokes she brushed across the floor’s wooden planks. Fortunately the floor was well polished, else the pee might have stained it. She dipped her mop in the bucket, rung it out again, and set to work on the floor once more. Angela, meanwhile, drew catheters from the bottom drawer of the dresser. They were clear. We’d be able to see the boys’ sperm as it shot into them. At the end of each catheter Angela carefully attached a plastic medical bag. I saw that each was empty, waiting to be filled. The boys, I had no doubt, would take care of that, though they didn’t want to. “Thank you, Hilda,” Svetlana told the maid. She had finished her job. She took one more look at Mark’s penis, then at Steve’s, and headed with her bucket for the door. I listened to the rollers underneath the bucket as it wheeled across the room. She opened the door, passed through. She closed it behind her. I saw dejection in Katrina’s eyes. She’d missed another chance to escape. Angela, smiling and confident, walked over to the boys. She laid down on the still wet floor their catheters, and the jar of grease that would be needed to lubricate the free ends of the catheters. “If you don’t want us making a mess, why don’t you just have us wear condoms?” Mark asked Svetlana with a frustrated look on his face. How strange it must have felt for him! He was the man, with all his bulging, rippling muscles, yet he was entirely at the mercy of girls! Dave showed no signs of wishing to get him out of his jam. In fact, he rather seemed to look forward to seeing the boys catheterized. “Because you have a cunt, not a cock, and things go up cunts,” Dave laughed. Svetlana patted Dave’s penis with her small hand, as if to quiet a boisterous child. “No, dear,” she said to Dave. Then, turning, she addressed Mark. “If you were to wear a condom, Mark, what would the camera record, hmmm?” “It would show my cock wearing a condom,” Mark answered. He frowned, angry at being asked such a dumb question. “Correct,” Svetlana told him. She stroked Dave to let him know he was still her favorite, even if she was talking to Mark at the moment. “The camera would make a picture of your cock, but your lovely big cock, my dear boy, would be concealed *within* the condom. The ladies and gay men I plan to sell your photo to don’t want to look at a condom. They want to see your young cock in all its glory. But I can’t have you mess my floor again. Hence, the catheter is necessary. Please accept it in the spirit it’s given.” “What spirit is that?!” Mark gasped. Angela chose him first and advanced upon him with a catheter trailing from her hand. “The spirit of a penitent, accepting his justly due punishment!” Svetlana said with a laugh. “I thought so,” Mark groused. Ah, how the boys struggled! Each one tried to avoid the tip of the catheter, squirming in his bonds. But despite the wiggling of their bare pricks, Angela had no difficulty capturing the manhood of each boy in her hand. With her other hand she stuffed in the greased tip of the catheter. The boys groaned. They shuddered. I had to avert my eyes when Steven was poked. I loved him too much to see it done. Up the two catheters went, up each boy in turn, until both had a line trailing out of his cock, down to an empty bag which waited upon the floor to receive their sperm. “Alright boys, now its time for your big shoot out,” Angela said. Her long red curly mane bounced along her shoulders and down the length of her back. She was clearly loving torturing the boys. I wondered if she might not open a photographic studio of her own, where she could lure young boys to their doom. (Not to mention girls like me.) “Dave, doesn’t that look fun?” Svetlana asked our uncuffed Stallion. “No,” Dave said. Yet when Svetlana reached between his legs and gently squeezed his balls, I saw him give a pleasant groan. “Just think, Dave. In a minute both boys will be relieved of all that nasty sperm that’s in their balls, making them feel so hot and bothered. Wouldn’t you be willing to undergo a catheterization, if you could feel relaxed?” Svetlana asked. With her other hand she gave his penis feather-light strokes, so as not (hopefully) to make him discharge, while still giving him a little pleasure. “No, no. Not over my dead body,” Dave said. Then he let out a sharp cry. Svetlana had given his balls a sharp squeeze and a yank. “You’ll kiss my toes if I tell you to,” Svetlana told Dave. I saw in her eyes she was testing him, wondering how far she could push him. He was, after all, quite large, and utterly free to strike her if he wished, to kill us all, I imagine, if the desire came to him. He wore no bonds. “Uhn, don’t do that,” Dave said. Yet he made no move to resist the tall, elegant woman who so intimately possessed him. In fact, I saw him open his legs a little more, as if it was his fault she’d squeezed him, for not giving her enough room between his legs. She fondled his sac with her fingertips, feeling for his two individual testes. I think she grabbed one and squeezed it alone, for his back suddenly tensed and he let out a shout. “You are wicked, woman!” he breathed. “I use men and dispose of them at my pleasure,” Svetlana replied. Her voice was cultured, diffident. She squeezed his other ball, but more lightly, as if not to anger him too much. “How big you are! And your equipment-- how magnificent! Truly, if you were not so large and perfect, I’d have you whacked off like the boys, and sent away. But you are special, aren’t you? You want to stay the night with me and see what I can do with you.” “I just-- thought I’d get out of the hot sun at the beach,” Dave answered, truthfully. “I had no idea you were such a demon!” “Demon*ess*,” Sveltlana told him. She squeezed his right testicle again. (I only guess at this. She sure squeezed something, though, for Dave let out another howl.) “If you do that again, woman, I’ll kill you,” Dave said quite seriously to Svetlana. “My, my. You men are always so violent,” Svetlana said. “I’ll have you know my name, to you at least, is not ‘woman.’ It’s Mistress, from now on, and I expect you to use it, with respect and courtesy, when addressing me. Is that understood?” “Yes,” Dave said. I saw the muscles of his back tense, expecting another squeeze, but she let him feel only the fondling of her fingertips upon his balls. “Very good,” Svetlana said. “Understand, of course, that other men might call me ‘woman.’ Men that I respect. But not you. You are nothing to me. Nothing, except for your beautiful big cock and your wonderful balls.” “Yes, mistress,” Dave said. I knew now why she’d kept him. She’d guessed, somehow, that big as he was, she could break him. Steve and Mark, however, were another matter, being younger and more boisterous. Yet I sensed Steve could be made obedient. Perhaps it was only my love for him. He was the youngest, just like me. “Ah, Mark. Why do you resist my touch?” Angela asked the young man under her command. (He, of course, was cuffed, being of a hot-tempered personality.) “Isn’t this your dream, little boy, to have a beautiful woman fondle your cock like this?” “I’m not a little boy,” Mark protested. He watched as Angela fingered his big penis and, bending, ran her tongue along it. Her bosoms hung pendantly beneath her, like ripe fruit on display. Constance photographed them both. Mark’s sighs, Angela’s loving murmurs. “Cum, Mark,” Angela said. “Do you want me to bite your penis? Is that what you need?” She smiled. She placed her teeth on his cock and gently bit into his shaft. “No!” Mark gasped. “Mmmm, you need a hickey on your cock,” Angela said. She closed her teeth until just a small bit of his cockskin remained between them. Then she bit, and Mark gave a loud yell. When she lifted her face from his penis there was a sharp red mark upon his shaft. I could not see it at the moment, being on the other side of Mark, but I had little doubt it was there, and knew well what a hickey looked like, having been given one by a boyfriend when I was ten. My mom had spanked me for it. The boy had been younger than me, only nine, and she’d said I was corrupting him. But I’d had nothing to do with it. (Of course, we’d been playing doctor, which I didn’t tell her.) “Yes, poor Mark, I want to see that little bag at the end of the catheter filled right up,” Angela told the young man. “Svetlana insists, and I’m not one to disobey her. Are you?” “No,” Mark answered. He cast a worried glance at Svetlana, and Dave, who so recently had felt Svetlana’s displeasure between his legs. “Then shoot, Markie,” Angela said. Seeing he was going to be difficult, she picked up the jar of catheter grease from the floor. She dipped her fingers in it. Looking at him, she said, “I guess I’m going to have to give you the ‘Hustler’ treatment, eh Mark? You’ve seen those cartoons in Hustler, haven’t you? Don’t tell me you never jerk off to a porno magazine. You know, those cartoons of men fisting themselves. That’s what I’m going to do to you, Mark. Fist you until you shoot for me.” Angela greased both her palms, rubbing her hands together. With wide eyes Mark watched as Angela took possession of him with both her hands. She had small hands, with delicate, tapering fingers. Nonetheless she clasped his banana-like prick firmly. Then she began yanking on it. She drew her squeezing hands down its length, then pushed up, as if trying to force Mark’s penis into his groin. Then it was down again, then up. She looked like she might be fucking him with a dildo, except his penis stood out ramrod straight and utterly erect, unmoving except for the wicked movement she made along its length with her squeezing palms. I watched, tensely, mesmerized. Even Katrina was watching. Our breath moved in and out of our frozen bodies, making our breasts shiver, but otherwise we stood utterly unmoving and spellbound. Svetlana herself hardly made any movement, though her hands continued to flutter along Dave’s shaft, to keep him under control. Angela moved with athletic grace, like a lioness. With quick, even strokes she pulled and pushed on Mark’s hard penis. She looked like a slim milkmaid milking, with determination, a stubborn cow. Mark gazed down at himself, then flung his head back, gasped, looked down again, trying to hold himself in. He did not want to be dismissed from our party, I guess, or at least not in this ignoble way. Across from him, manacled to the other bedpost, stood Steve, waiting with horrified eyes for his cock to be milked in turn. I wished I could save him somehow. But it was hopeless. Constance and Dielle were ever ready to prevent any tricks, not to mention Svetlana, and Angela, who had already punished the boys with a whip. “Uhn, uhn, uhn, stop!” Mark pleaded. He tried looking at Angela but, just as he did, she gave him another hard jerk, forcing his eyes to the ceiling. Her work was taking its toll on his willpower. I saw his back straighten. His knees bent. Suddenly, he loosed his seed. Instead of splattering over Angela it went shooting into the clear catheter. Svetlana let go of Dave’s prick and gave a quick clap of applause. It was joined by Constance, who clapped too. Dielle was too busy taking pictures to clap. Angela let go of Mark’s dick. She watched him ejaculate, clapping as she watched. Mark, desperate, looked at her. How rude it was for her to let go of him in mid spurt, I thought! (I didn’t know too much about boys’ anatomy but my girlfriend at school did, and she said she said you had to keep rubbing them until they were done.) “Oh. Do you want MORE, Markie?” Angela laughed. “I thought you didn’t want me to play with your penis.” Then she took hold of him again. “Come, Markie, get it all out. We don’t want you keeping any back, do we?” she said. Mark was forced to spurt and spurt until I knew he must be empty. I felt saddened, seeing his sperm in the bag, all wasted like that. Mark’s penis began to shrivel. “There, Mark, you’ve had your due. Time to go home,” Angela said to him. She wiped her arm across her mouth. He needed no more hickeys. Giving him one had put the sweat from his straining cock on her lips. Dielle went to the cell phone. She picked it up and called the maid. “Please come up and escort Mark out of the house,” she said. “Yes, he’s quite finished. Oh, he might come up again, but Svetlana says she has all the photos she needs of him.” “Except for him dressing,” Svetlana said, raising her voice so Dielle would hear. “We need photos of him putting his pants back on.” She laughed. “Sorry, Mark. You are quite a hunk, otherwise you wouldn’t be here at all. But I need these sort of photos, you know, of a young man getting his just desserts and going glumly away. Try to pout when Dielle takes your photo. Who knows? If you’re good you may get a special invitation for a return visit.” “Forget it!” Mark said. “I’m through with you, woman.” He glared at her. Angela went to the dresser to fetch the key to his handcuffs. “Oh, do you think you’ve offended me, Mark?” Svetlana said. “No, dear. I respect you. Unlike Dave, here.” She smirked, first at Mark, then at Dave. “Yes, you’re like a God to me, Mark, especially if you’re obedient and let the maid take you out, without giving me any trouble. And now that I’ve angered you I’m tempted to be your slave, and let you have your way with me.” She stroked Dave’s cock. “But it will have ‘till wait until another day, Mark, when I can devote myself just to you.” Mark looked confused. I know that hot-tempered young hunk was planning something when the cuffs were opened, perhaps smashing us all to bits, if only he could get Dave to cooperate. But now, with such a beautiful, accomplished woman begging to be his slave, he didn’t know what to do. Svetlana had either picked out her men very well, which I doubted, since she apparently didn’t even know our names when we showed up. Or she was expert at handling males, perhaps having photographed hundreds of them as an erotic photographer. “Alright,” Mark said. “Give me a call. I’ll be at Heloise’s for the rest of the week, working as a model. I know you’re just bitching me, though, to get rid of me.” “Hardly,” Svetlana said. She looked at him with admiring eyes. “I don’t photograph nobodies. Even if Dave is one,” she added, casting a glance at the man she held by his dick. “We’ll meet again, sweetie, and you’ll hear me call you ‘Master’ the minute I set eyes on you.” Dizzied by his torture, and even more by the prospect of a submissive Svetlana, Mark allowed himself to be unlocked from the bedpost by Angela. He did nothing to any of us when he was free, just stood there, dumbly, staring at Svetlana, visions of her as his slave dancing in his mind. The maid entered. She looked at us, at Mark, saw his small, withdrawn prick. He took a step forward. The catheter swung between his legs. Angela touched a finger to his broad shoulder. “Mark, I don’t think you want to take that home with you,” Angela said to Mark. “Oh, yeah,” Mark replied. He looked down at the catheter still hanging from his penis. Angela turned him to face her. She knelt. I saw Mark grimace as the catheter was withdrawn. She held a betadine pad in her hand and she smoothly passed it over his penis tip. Then she broke open an alcohol pad and wiped off the stain left by the betadine. “Okay, you’re free to go,” Angela said to Mark. “Don’t forget to dress first. I’m sure the little girls playing across the street in the park would just love to see your buff body walking out to the car.” “Yeah, that’s all I need,” Mark agreed. “I think I’ve had enough female attention for one day.” The maid opened a closet. She’d hung our clothes there. She pulled out a hanger. Mark’s pants were draped over it, plus his shirt. She’d not bothered to hang his shirt up seperately. She handed him his clothes. “Thanks,” Mark said. “I’ll be leaving now.” Dielle snapped photos of him as he dressed. Constance too, as if he were a visiting Olympic champion, now taking his leave of us. Mark left. The maid went with him, closing the bedroom door behind her. “Well, Steven, you’re next,” Angela said to my love. “Oh, please, don’t!” I blurted. To my surprise, Katrina bluted the same. We both looked at each other, a little jealously, as if each of us had intruded on the other. “What?!” Svetlana asked. “Please let him stay,” Katrina begged in a small voice, kneeling on the floor, her hands bound behind her. “Well, Miss Misbehavior now seems a bit more interested in sticking around,” Svetlana said. “I’m sorry I tried to escape,” Katrina said. “I just-- felt nervous, that’s all.” “I understand,” Svetlana said. “Do you promise to obey if I let Steven stay?” “Yes,” Katrina gulped. I felt a little angry. He was, in my mind, my boyfriend, not hers, though we hadn’t done anything together. I wished she would go back to her old ways of thinking, or, better yet, try another escape, and succeed. But we were here at Svetlana’s pleasure, not mine, and she clearly wanted to keep the rest of us, at least for a little longer. “Steven, do you promise to be obedient to Mistress Svetlana if I don’t whack you off?” Svetlana asked. Angela stood ready, her palms greased, if he chose to answer in the negative. “Uh, yeah... I guess,” Steve answered. He clearly wanted to cum, just not in such an ignoble way as she had planned for him. “Good, Steve. Then I expect you to keep yourself stiff and hard and ready for my instructions, okay?” Svetlana said. “Okay,” Steve replied. He was, even as I watched, becoming beguiled by Svetlana, just as Dave had been. She had spells, this woman, that she could cast with her eyes, or her mind, or something. Perhaps it was her softly beckoning voice. “Okay Mistress,” Svetlana corrected. “Yes... Mistress,” Steve stammered. “Leave the catheter in for now,” Svetlana instructed Angela. “You never know, he might turn bad on us. But unlock his cuffs. I doubt he’ll go anywhere with a foley catheter dangling between his legs. Steven, be careful you don’t step on the tube when you’re free, okay. That could hurt.” “Oh, yeah,” Steve said. He’d never been catheterized before and he looked with worried eyes at the thing dangling down between his legs. Would he have to carry his little empty bag with him, wherever he went, the bag at the end of his tube? Like a woman’s purse? I guessed so. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do. Svetlana turned to Katrina, then cast her eyes upon me. “Girls, I want you both up on the bed, in a 69,” Svetlana said. “There’s no need to remove the cuffs. How pretty you’ll both look, cuffed, but with your faces between each other’s thighs! Help them, Constance. Get them both on the bed. Dielle, get ready to take more pictures.” “Yes, ma’am,” Dielle and Constance said in unison. She did not reprove them for not calling her ‘mistress.’ I guessed the command only applied to us, her erotic players, in her theatre erotique. Dielle and Constance were just stage hands, though pretty enough to play if Svetlana chose to include them. A few minutes later I found myself flat on my back on the big satin bed. My knees were drawn up, but my legs were wide apart. Constance had insisted upon it. I heard the camera clicking, somewhere. Dielle was already busy taking pictures. Above me hovered Katrina. Her legs straddled my torso. I watched as Constance bent her down. With her knees on either side of me, Katrina’s head was forced down between my legs. Her bare bottom sat square upon my nose. “Hey!” I cried out. I was a brownnose, my nose stuck up against her anus hole and the cheeks of my face pressed ignominiously to the cheeks of her ass. I smelled her, but she smelled sweet, for they had perfumed her bottom. I knew my ass must smell the same to her, for they had done the same to me. Our bodies sweated a little, from nervousness, from the tension we’d endured as we stood waiting upon Svetlana’s commands, watching Mark be milked. I felt a soft sigh between my legs. It tickled my thatch. I wriggled. My hands were cuffed underneath me and I could do nothing save close my legs. I tried, found Katrina’s head was now between them, keeping them open. Frustrated, seeing her bottom lift a little off my face, perhaps so she could somehow kneel more comfortably over me, I saw her wet snatch. I knew it would torture her to be tickled there, a little. Yet I didn’t have my hands available. So, impulsively, I darted out my tongue. “Yeek!” I heard at my tail. Katrina had felt that! “Oh, they’re starting already!” Svetlana cried. She had not told us to tongue each other, just to pose. Yet she had not forbidden tonguing either. She knew we were young, had never tasted pussy. I enjoyed hearing Katrina scream so much that I gave her another stab with my tongue. Oh! As soon as her second scream died she stabbed me back! I wasn’t sure she’d have the guts to do that. I stuck my tongue in her snatch again, deeper this time, to let her know I could fuck her if I needed to, if she didn’t quit licking me. I wanted her to get off me, or at least not to sit her bottom on my face, like she had already. I didn’t like smelling her ass, even if she had to smell mine. “Yeek!” This time it was me who screamed. She went much deeper than I thought she would. That dratted girl! First she’d stolen Steven from me, and now she was licking my snatch! Desist, already! Quit! Here, for your displeasure, miss, have a really good stab from me! Our little battle quickly took the turn Svetlana had hoped for, and I, at least, was sure we could avoid. I found myself enjoying my friend’s licks. I think she liked mine, though we never spoke of it afterward. I stabbed deeper into her. At the same time I began to lift my hips, begging for her to reciprocate. She did. She squatted closer, though not to close for me to do my work on her. I licked. I liked licking. For every lick I have her, she gave me one. It felt dizzyingly pleasurable to have her quick tongue between my thighs. We licked more. Soon we were no longer counting strokes. We were sluts. We were greedy. I ate her nest with abandon. She fed within mine, licking deep inside my lips, right to the tempting shield of my half-torn hymen. She tested it with her tongue. I begged her, bucking my hips up, to remove it with her tongue. She tried. She tore it a little more, I think, though there was no blood afterward. Deep we delved. Hungrily we ate. Who took yours? I wondered of her, with my licking tongue, as she nipped at my hymen. Was it a girl, like me? I doubted it. In any event she didn’t take mine, only opened it a little more, leaving the rest for a man to undo. Yet we ate each other’s slits voraciously, like disciples on Lesbos, and, at last, came upon each other’s faces. She honeyed my nose with her juices. I honeyed hers. “Very good. Excellent, girls,” Svetlana said when it was over. Constance helped Katrina and I sit up on the bed. I felt the satin sheets beneath my bare bottom. Between my legs I was sinfully wet. I sat with my feet dangling over the side of the bed. Katrina sat beside me. Our bare shoulders bumped. We edged a little farther apart. Constance got the keys to our cuffs and unlocked our hands. I flexed my arms. I saw Katrina flexing hers, beside me. It felt good to be free again. I felt circulation flowing into my arms, my hands. It had been inhibited somewhat by the cuffs, by my enforced posture in the cuffs. Now they were free again. I looked at my hands. I flexed my fingers. I felt my shoulders, free to hunch forward again, if I wished, not yanked back as they’d been. The satin felt wonderful on my bottom. I wished to sit there forever, pampered, relaxed, admiring the stiff men from my satin perch. I was a flower, a small bird. I was a cat, with long lashes, taking in the view. 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> /