Message-ID: <2649eli$9708051359@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Aug 4th Honey Haven part 4 of 4 (NND) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <33E5DFE8.E3D@mail.idt.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in HONEY HAVEN _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Four The city was wet. It had rained outside, during the night. There were puddles in the street and rain dripped from the pavilion roof that overhung the driveway in front of the hotel’s steps. Dave held my hand lightly as I stepped up into the waiting taxi. Then he gave my bottom a push. I gave a shout. The cab driver looked back. I clutched my fur coat to me and sat down, careful to tuck my fur under my naked bottom lest it come into contact with the cab’s well-worn back seat. The cushion of the seat was lumpy under my bottom. Katrina got in next, then Dave. He told the cab driver where to go, in Italian. I couldn’t understand it, but knew what he meant. The driver nodded. He looked at me, at Katrina. Then, letting out a low whistle, he turned his head. He turned up the radio of his cab and the car lurched forward. We drove along rain-wettened streets. I felt sullen. I fogged the window beside my face and drew a heart in the moisture left by my breath. Then I speared the heart with a finger-drawn arrow. I felt like that heart, well-speared. I shifted my bottom uncomfortably beneath me. I had beads in my bottom. They’d been inserted by Joan, one by one, each connected to the other by a long string. There was some space between them on the string, but, inserted, they jammed up against each other inside me. Then the natural movements of my rectum, most disagreeably, caused them to gradually part, and work their way deeper into me, even as I wished someone would pull them out. There was a string sticking out of my bottom, with a ring attached. I was sitting on the ring. But I dare not draw the beads out myself. Dave told me very explicitly I must keep them up me, to train my ass to better take his cock. And, worst of all, I had not been given small beads, the size of marbles, as I’d seen other women receive. Mine were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were big to help me learn to accept big cocks. Katrina had escaped without any beads. She sat drowsily beside me now, half-drunk from too many champagne enemas. But other women, before leaving the party, had been beaded, just like me, though many with smaller, token beads, not training beads as I was being forced to wear. I shivered. I did not like Venice anymore. It was too exacting. I wanted to go home and be me again. I wanted to climb trees and declare that I’d poop on boys if they tried climbing up into my treehouse, as I’d done when I was small. We’d argued about the size my turds would be and my mom, hearing, had made me come inside and stand in the corner. “Mmmm! Buy me that!” I insisted, suddenly, pointing with my finger through the window. My finger touched the center of the heart I’d drawn there. “What?” Dave asked. “Hello Kitty’s Adventure!” I said. My breath made new fog on the window, fogging over parts of my heart. I pointed at a streetside store. It was called “Video Value” and it had the new Hello Kitty video game prominently displayed in its window. “Ye Gods, you don’t even have anything to play it on,” Dave groused, seeing what I was pointing at. “Then buy me a Nintendo too, so I do,” I told him matter-of-factly. “Pull over,” Dave told the cab driver. “I swear. I go out for a nice long of drinking and womanizing and I wind up having to fetch my two daughters from a party in some hotel!” “They-- are your daughters?” the cab driver asked. “Of course! And they should be home in bed, asleep with their teddy bears, not out carousing with their friends!” Dave answered. “Not that I’m too young to carouse, myself,” he added, winking at the cab driver. “Oh! Yes! The women of Venice are the best!” the cab driver agreed. He nodded vigorously. It was left unexplained, however, why Dave would buy a Nintendo and a Hello Kitty game for his naughty daughter when he’d just had to fetch her from a suite party, however. Dave came trundling out of “Value Video” a few minutes later, lugging a big Nintendo under his arm, as well as my video. The cab driver pressed a button in his cab. The back of his trunk flipped open. Dave put my game in there, along with my video. “Just so I get to decide what you’ll wear when you’re wearing it,” Dave admonished me, getting back into the cab. Katrina, sitting groggily upright, slumped against him. “Yes Daddy,” I replied. Then I giggled. Just so HE’D get to decide what I wore when I played it? What did he mean by that? I knew he wouldn’t be looking for me to dress modestly, would he? Did he really want me to start playing his daughter? “Yes, controlling what they wear is the first element in proper discipline,” the cab driver said to Dave. He looked back at him in the rear view mirror, as the cab pulled away from the curb. Dave nodded in agreement. I found myself standing in the hallway of our hotel clad in nothing but a tiny white t-shirt. It was made for a much smaller girl, and its sleeves, barely managing to stretch themselves off my shoulders, clasped at the very tops of my upper arms. The edge of each sleevelet was embroidered with a chain of small daisies. There was another chain of them around the shirt’s neck. I’d had to stretch it and the sleeveholes quite a bit, with my hands, before I could pull the shirt on. There was a smiling teddy bear’s face on the front of the shirt. My breasts, lifting the fabric of the shirt so that the undersides of my bosoms showed, looked ready to rend the bear’s face at any moment. My nipples poked stiffly from the tips of my breasts, indenting the fabric in tiny twin points. My belly was bare. My hips were bare. My muff showed. Dave had wanted me to shave it, but Katrina wouldn’t let him. She told him it was still coming in, I mustn’t shave it off so soon. I patted it with my fingers. The hairs were small, blonde fleecy. I liked having them. I didn’t want them shaved off. The door to Dave’s bedroom opened. I looked up at him, my eyes wide, startled. He’d opened his door abruptly, angrily. He was stripped bare to the waist. He wore blue jeans but the belt was removed. He held it dangling in his hand, strap-like. “Come in, little girl,” Dave said. “What do you want?” I nosed my way into his room. My legs were naked, my feet. My toes felt the carpet under them as I padded across it. “I want to play my Nintendo,” I told him softly. My hands fluttered back to my behind as I passed him. I didn’t want him to whip me. I saw my game, all set up, waiting for me atop a low coffee table. It buzzed happily. Hello Kitty was running through a maze, being chased by big doggies. They had long tongues and they left trails of slobber on the grassy maze-floor behind them. “Then sit down,” Dave said. “It’s all set up.” I saw a plate of cookies lying on the floor. They were my favorite, Oreo cookies. He’d already separated them so that I had only to pick them up to lick up their creamy centers. There was a glass of milk beside the plate, sitting on the floor. It was cold. It had sweat trickling down its sides, from the coldness. “Wait,” Dave said. He followed me across the room. I stopped in front of my game, next to my plate of cookies. I turned around. He unzipped his jeans and shucked them down his legs. Then he pulled down his underpants. But he didn’t let go of his belt as he did it. Dave’s cock sprang up toward me, hard and ready. I watched it quivering in the air. It was like a tuning fork. A tuning fork of love. I wanted to touch it, but it frightened me. It was too big for me, I told myself. I wasn’t wearing the beads anymore. Dave had pulled them out of me when we got back to the hotel, one by one. Katrina had to hold me. I didn’t like having them put in, or taken out. Dave told me I was wilful. It was hours later now, after dinner. We would spend the evening indoors, just Dave and I, playing my Nintendo. I had worn what he told me to. He was nude now. He flung his pants and his underpants across the room. But he kept his belt. We were alone, he and I. Katrina had gone out for the evening. “I want you sitting in my lap while you play your game,” Dave told me. “But first I want to warm up your bottom.” He swung his belt at me. It caught my leg and I flinched. My hands flew up to my face. “It still hurts from last night,” I said. I reached back behind myself. Lightly, with just my fingertips, I touched my fanny. “No it doesn’t,” Dave said. “It’s barely red. Look yourself, in my mirror.” With Dave’s permission I slipped past him. I kept my hands planted on my ass as I went to his mirror. Then I turned, facing him, but into the mirror, showing it my backside. I lifted my hands. I turned my neck, craning, looked at my heinie. It was not anything like I’d imagined it. There were still pink streaks, showing I’d gotten some kind of punishment, but the redness I’d seen this morning, examining myself in my own mirror, was gone. “Dave, I don’t want to get spanked again,” I told him frankly. Dave walked over to me. His tread was heavy upon the carpet. His belt swung as he walked. He lifted a hand and grasped my chin and forced me to look up into his face. His eyes were severe. “There is much that you don’t want,” Dave said to me. “Nonetheless you must learn.” I tried to look away. He jerked my chin, made me meet his eyes again. “Tomorrow I’m sending you to a school for virgins,” he said. I blinked, shocked. “That’s right. A school. Where you’ll be trained in the ways of womenhood. Tonight, you can have your game. It’s what you want, I know. You even want this shirt, don’t you?” He grasped it contemptously with his fingers, the same fingers that gripped his belt. He lifted it. He exposed my nipples. He let go of it and it sprang backward, too short to cover my nipples without being pulled down, landing instead on the upper shelf of my breasts. “Tonight you’ll have your game, just like you want it, and your favorite cookies. And milk, as befits a little girl like you. But tomorrow be ready for them to come and take you away. Don’t protest. Don’t resist.” He saw my fear and grinned. “And don’t worry. It will only be for a few days. A week, at most. But it’s necessary, if you and I are to be proper lovers.” I looked down. My eyes grazed his chest. “I don’t want to be your lover,” I lisped, my lips distorted by his gripping hand on my chin. “That’s what I mean,” Dave said. He did not require me to look up at him again. “All these games. They amuse me, but I’m tiring of them.” “What-- What will happen to me there?” I asked him through my pursed lips. Boldly I looked up into his eyes. “You will be made to accept,” Dave said. “Do you agree to go? I cannot force you. But I’ll not whip you tonight, if you say ‘yes.’” I gazed from his eyes to his belt. It dangled menacingly in his hand. “Yes,” I said softly. He let go of my chin. He whacked his belt hard against the floor. It made a CRACK!, despite the carpeting. I jumped. My hands flew to my chin. “Over to the game,” Dave told me. Quickly I walked past him. As I walked I was conscious of his eyes, fastened on my nude bottom. I clapped my hands to it. We spent the night with me sitting in his lap, his boner under me, me wiggling excitedly as I maneuvered Hello Kitty from the clutches of all the dogs. My bottom was warm, despite not being spanked. I felt him sweating under me. I drank my milk and ate my cookies, licking the cream up first. I asked him if he wished to play Hello Kitty but he said no, he was playing it enough as he was, feeling my warm derriere move upon him each time I pushed on the game’s joystick. Sometimes I had to move to his thigh, to prevent him from spending. He made me sit splayed upon it, with my cunt pressed to it, my knees bent and my legs folded back underneath me. I rubbed my slit on his leg, still playing my game, friskily. Four times I left a wet spot of orgasmed dew on his leg when he moved me back to his groin. In the morning, before dawn, with me randy again and him desperate, he took me to his bed. He laid me on it, stretching me out, like a sacrifice. He put a cloth under my bottom, to catch the spendings of blood between my legs. Then he took me, viciously, right where I’d always wanted it but never gotten it. The bald man down the hall reported my screams to the management. I had only a little time to pack my things and make myself ready before the woman from the school for virgins showed up. There was no time for breakfast. I protested. It was too quick, I said. And I wasn’t a virgin anymore. She dismissed my complaints. She was tall, well-dressed, with a prominent bust. She had a rich tan that reminded me of the tropics. “We will be travelling by train,” she said. “You can eat on the train. And sleep, also. The school is in the Alps. It is a fairly long journey.” Her voice was thickly accented, German or Swedish, I couldn’t tell. “But Dave--” I said. “He is downstairs at breakfast,” the woman replied. “With your friend.” She picked up my teddy bear. “Is this yours?” she asked. “Yes!” I said. I snatched it from her. “Come, you will see your friends in a few days,” the woman said. “There is no need to say goodbye. They will be waiting for you when you return.” “But--” I said. She took my arm. I was wearing my favorite torn blue jeans, a (much bigger) t-shirt, my sneakers. “You dress poorly,” the woman said. “But it will be comfortable for travelling, I suppose.” She hefted my bag. “I will carry it. Scoot! Out the door with you! We will miss the train with all your delayings.” I hurried from my room, my teddy bear clutched in my arms. “Why take all my things if I’m coming back?” I asked. She was right at my heels, driving me into the hall. She shut my door with a slam. “The future is not certain,” she said. “It is best to prepare for whatever transpires.” I was about to ask her if that included never seeing Dave or Katrina again, when the door to the bald man’s room opened. “Young lady!” he said. His voice was like an announcer’s in the still, musty air of the hall. I looked at him fearfully. He raised up his hand. I wondered at it, then saw Piglet grinning atop his fist. “Oh! My toothbrush!” I said. I scurried down the hall to him. I prised Piglet up from his fist as his big, beady eyes watched me. “I woke up an hour early this morning!” the man said sternly to me. His breath was harsh upon my face as I rose on tiptoe, lifting Piglet out of his fist. “I’m sorry,” I said. Piglet popped out of his hand, at last. “Are you leaving?” he inquired. “I might be back,” I answered. “I hope not,” he said. “And that boyfriend of yours should be arrested!” “He-- he works for the police department,” I stammered. I felt I should make something up. Why, I don’t know. Dave deserved to get in trouble for fucking me, and then sending me straightaway to a ‘school for virgins.’ I wasn’t even a virgin anymore! “Poliza!!!” the bald man gasped. He threw up his hands. “In this country, everything’s rotten. Bad food, bad water in the canal, bad old hotels where nobody calls the police when some girl is getting her ass laid by some guy twice her age! No wonder I hate this country!” “Thanks for getting my Piglet toothbrush,” I said in a hushed voice. I darted away from him. “You should be learning your ABC’s, not getting porked!” the man said angrily. He stepped into his room and shut his door behind him. By evening our train was laboring its way up into the Alps. The woman and I shared a private room on the train. She kept an eye on me but, otherwise, did not keep me actually imprisoned in the room. I was free to come and go as I pleased, with her permission. It felt strange, being half-captive, half-free. I asked about the school but she only told me that I should feel honored in going. Not all girls were admitted. “Who, then?” I asked. I speared a smoked sausage and rolled it across a pair of broken-open egg yolks on my plate. We were eating breakfast, in the train’s dining car. Men, passing by or sitting at other tables, sometimes eyed me with more than Platonic interest. I was not wearing a bra. My tits wiggled freely beneath my t-shirt. It had a big photo of a sullen, unshaven Kurt Cobain on the front of it. I guessed their interest wasn’t in him. “Only the prettiest girls,” the woman said. Her name was Matilda. She pronounced it in such a way that it sounded, in her Swiss accent, much prettier than it would sound in American. “And how does this Headmaster, this man who runs the school (I did not dare say its name in the dining car), how does he choose? He hasn’t seen me, has he?” “No, of course not,” Matilda said. She plucked a sausage from her plate and inserted it between her lips with practised efficiency. She bit off the end of it. “Then how?” I asked. “Dave has sent up other girls before you,” Matilda said. “They were entirely satisfactory, in their face and figure. Of course the rest of them needed instruction, which is why you’re going.” “He’s sent--?!” I blurted. I cut off my sentence, lest the other diners think me more than a schoolgirl travelling with her mother. Yet I felt insulted. I wasn’t the first Dave had ‘sent up’? “Darling,” Matilda said. She bit off another piece of her sausage. “You are not the only person Dave has met in his life.” “Of course, I know that,” I said. He was with Katrina right now! Yet, still, how silly it was for me to feel special, when in fact he’d sent perhaps legions of girls to the school. “Dave is popular, as you will be,” Matilda said. She finished her sausage. “I’m already popular, back home,” I said to the woman. She glanced over her shoulder. A man at a table nearby was showing an unusual interest in our conversation. “We will speak of it more back in the room,” Matilda told me. Then, more loudly, she added, “You are learning your lines well, dearest. You’ll be the smash of your school play!” I nearly giggled out what little I’d eaten of my sausage. It was intended for the over-curious man, that last line, I knew. It was fun, being mysterious, pretending, like Mr. Rogers does. But I still wondered what would happen when we arrived at the school. It was, after all, a school for virgins. That wasn’t the most politically correct way to categorize girls, virgin and non-virgin. Nor was it the best assurance that I would just, as the man back at the hotel had suggested, be learning my ABC’s. The peaks of the Alps were tall, and capped with white. They reminded me of Dave’s penis, sliding out of me what seemed so many days ago now, though it was just a matter of hours. Slathered with sperm, more bubbling up from its tip as he withdrew. That’s how the Alps looked. Fertile, in a male way, despite their barrenness. We disembarked from the train into a heated station. The woman had me cross it briskly with her. At its other end we stepped out into a glassed-off drive. It was open at both ends, but heat rushed down from its ceiling, keeping us warm. When no cars were approaching the ends of the drive were sealed by moving glass doors, to keep the cold out. A limo was waiting. A driver let us into its back. I found myself alone. Then the woman slipped in next to me, without my bag. I heard the trunk of the limo open, close. The driver stepped round the car and got into the front. We drove off. The end of the glassed-off drive slid open to disgorge us. We passed out into a snow-laden street. The glass drive closed behind us. I gaped at the mountains. I had never seen the Alps before. I clutched at myself with my arms but it was unneeded. It was warm in the limo. “Take off your shirt,” Matilda told me. “Huh?” I blinked at her. “Your shirt. Take it off,” Matilda told me again. I drew my arms closer around myself. My bosoms, braless, bulged within my tightly-constraining arms. “But it’s cold outside!” I protested. “You are not outside, you’re in the limo,” Matilda said. “You wished to be immodest on the train, not wearing your bra. Do you think you can now play coy and modest?” “But--” I said. Matilda opened her purse. She drew from it a short whip. It had many thongs. “I can undress you myself,” Matilda told me. “But I’ll seek payment for it, from your flesh.” “Oh!” I exclaimed. I had no doubt she could. She was a tall, big-bosomed Swedish woman. I was much littler, just 14, and petite, not possessed with her genes. I unclasped myself. I took the end of my shirt in my fingers. I drew it up, glancing down at good ol’ Kurt Cobain as I did so. ‘Incesticide,’ that’s what he would have said. Kurt would have saved me. But he blew his mind out instead, and would never see the lights of our limo passing down the road now, in the gathering dusk. I pulled up my shirt. It cleared my bosoms. They wiggled freely. I felt my nipples harden as I lifted my shirt up over my head, blocking, momentarily, my view of all the world. Then my shirt was off. Matilda took it, folded it neatly, and put it in her purse. “Now your jeans,” she said. “My--” I stammered. Then I said nothing, for I’d let myself in for this, hadn’t I? Surely I knew a school for virgins wouldn’t be like a regular school. A real school. I wasn’t a virgin anymore, anyway. I unbuttoned my jeans and eased them down my hips. I drew them off my legs, over my shoes. Matilda took them from me. I was left wearing just my sneakers, pink socks that just covered my ankles, and white panties. “Roll down your window,” Matilda ordered. “What?! The cold air will come in!” I said. “Only for a moment,” Matilda told me. I frowned. I reached over to the limo’s door. I looked, pressed a button. A window slid down. Somewhere up front I imagine the driver saw it on his dashboard. “Everything alright?” the driver asked in an Italian-accented voice over an intercom. “Fine, Ben. Fine,” Matilda said. She leaned close to me, then pitched my pants out my window. “Roll it up,” she told me. “My pants!” I shrieked. “You just threw away my pants!” “You will not need them at the school,” Matilda replied. “Now your panties. I will save them for you.” I felt a tear in my eye. “I don’t want to take them off,” I said, fingering the waistband of my panties. Matilda lifted the many-thonged crop that she’d laid lightly in her lap. “Off, or your punishment will begin even before you arrive,” Matilda warned me, wiggling the whip slightly in her fingers to cause the ends of the thongs to dance. “I’m to be punished?!” I gasped. “You’ll be kept in a punishment cell, what do you think?” Matilda asked. She gave the whip another wiggle, causing its tips to swing about with greater latitude. “But-- but I thought it was a SCHOOL!” I said matter-of-factly. “All manner of lessons must be learned,” Matilda said. “You are being changed from girlhood to womanhood. It is a complicated process. Some girls are wilful, some not. Perhaps you will be more cooperative than most,” she said. “Now do not speak again until you have your panties off.” With extreme reluctance, I slipped my panties down off my bottom. I felt my cheeks connect with the bench seat of the limo, gasped at little at the touch of the leather, then slid my undies down my long thighs. Over my knees, down my calves they went, like a fragile, departing white dove. I bent and yanked them over my sneakers. I wondered if those had to go next. “You may keep the shoes on, for now,” Matilda said, anticipating my thoughts. “We will be stepping briefly through snow and I don’t want you to freeze your toes.” “Snow?” I asked. She lifted a hand, made me give her my panties. She opened her purse, deposited them, rather diffidently, I thought, as if she’d rather not had to put my panties in with her things, and then snapped her purse shut. “You will not have time to feel the coldness upon your skin, except briefly,” Matilda said. “But I don’t want your feet getting wet in it.” She lifted her fingers to my hair, fluffed it. It was long, blonde, like hers. She seemed pleased that I’d spent a long time this morning washing it and combing it out, on the train, making it as pretty as possible. She opened her purse, took out two barrettes. “Here, pin up your hair,” she said. “Otherwise it may fall and cover you.” I reached for the barrettes. “You want me utterly naked,” I said. I noticed my fingers were shivering, though it was warm in the limo’s heated interior. “Yes, utterly naked, except for your shoes,” Matilda replied. ‘The school’ didn’t look like anything in America. It was built entirely of stone. Though no bigger than a modern house, it had the look of a castle. There was a low, broken wall around it. Matilda explained, conversationally, that the wall had been higher once, but had fallen apart with age. The limo nosed between two gates that opened to receive our car as it approached. Inside, within the low, broken down wall, were the castle grounds. Small in area, like the castle was small in height and width, compared to other castles. The limo glided across the grounds, spirit-like, in the hushed Alpine night, guided by lights on the castle. Otherwise, in the darkness, it would have been entirely hidden from view from the road. We were in a remote place. The last house I’d seen had been 20 minutes ago, further up the road, when the road was two lanes, instead of just one. The instant the limo parked by the castle door all its lights winked out. We’d found it. No others were invited, I guessed. The driver opened the side door of the limo, where I sat. He extended his hand. I took it, my own shaking, and stepped in my sneakers out into a sprinkling of snow. I saw I was on a walk, freshly swept. The front door to the castle, large and made of wood, was only a few feet away. There was a knocker on it, carved in stone. It was in the shape of a lion’s head. I moved across the darkened walk, briskly, my way lit by the illumination from the open limo behind me. Momentarily all went almost black, as Matilda blocked the light to get out. Then the light brimmed out again, softly, bathing the snow, the front door, just reaching to the height of the knocker. The driver left the door open so I could see. “Knock. Knock on it,” Matilda, coming up behind me, told me. I stood shivering in the night air, stark naked, except for my shoes. “Knock on it so you don’t catch cold,” Matilda said to me brusquely once she’d arrived behind me. I felt the warmth of her large body in the gloom. I hesitated. I didn’t want to go inside! Then I felt, very softly, a caressing of thong tips sweep across the upper shelf of my bottom. KNOCK! I lifted the knocker once, let go, more frightened of it than before I’d touched it. Yet it fell, with a loud, clamourous announcement of my arrival. Once, but I sensed that was enough. The driver shut the door of the limo. Matilda and I were plunged into darkness. I heard crunching in the snow behind me. I clasped myself, hard, both in fear and against the cold. Then I realized it was the driver, returning by instinct to the front of the car. “Yes?” a gruff voice announced. I found myself with the front door to the castle flung open. A dwarf stared up at me. His eyes, finding no answer, chose to slide down my figure and light upon my belly and bush. I drew in my tummy, instinctively. I clapped my hands over my muff. “I’m-- I’m here for the school,” I said, stammering. “Ah, yes,” the dwarf answered, his eyes widening and rising, a bit too slowly for my taste, back up my belly, over my breasts, to my face. “I should’ve guessed. You’re wearing the proper uniform.” My stomach sank. “Are you the headmaster?” I said, feeling utterly ridiculous, and about to be made more so. “Me?!” the dwarf laughed. He laughed like that little weird boy in the Faithless video. Perhaps he couldn’t get any sleep either, just like the boy. “Me?! No, I’m the help,” the dwarf said. “You’ll meet the headmaster soon enough.” He turned. As he waddled away from me, beckoning me in with a finger, he added, almost in a mutter to himself, “And wish you hadn’t.” Then he laughed again, a raw, hard, raucous laugh that sent shivers down my spine, right to my naked wiggling ass. We passed through a lavish home. I saw a big sofa with cushions piled upon it, in front of a hearth. A fire was crackling in the fireplace and there was a pair of loveseats flanking the sofa. I thought perhaps I might have a moment to rest myself in one of the chairs. But the dwarf beckoned me on, Matilda following. As I passed the coffeetable in front of the sofa I saw a hot pot of coffee steaming there, a fresh plate of croissants, and a mound of ripe fruit. But, also upon the table, there was a black riding crop. “This way,” the dwarf told me. We passed from the living room out into a hall. It was slightly drafty in the hall. We came to a large wooden door. The dwarf had a ring of keys around his belt and he unfastened the ring, lifted it, standing on tip toe, and inserted a key into the door. He turned it. There was a creaking sound, quite spooky, and the door swung back. I saw a flight of stairs beyond. They led down. “You’ll be staying ‘downstairs,’ as they like to call it,” the dwarf said to me. I felt Matilda at my rear and hurried forward. I did not want her whipping me. The dwarf led the way, flicking on a light as we went. Steps groaned underfoot. They were old. They were made of wood. I worried they might break, hoped a little they would, when Matilda, following me, stepped on them. But there was no such luck, for either she or I, and we descended, down the half-illuminated steps, into a glowing chamber. Like the castle, it was made entirely of stone. Stone walls, stone floor. Much of it remained in darkness, for the light the dwarf had flicked on at the top of the stairs only lit two lamps, one at the top of the stairs and one at the bottom. The dwarf led me along a wall that ran behind the stairs. It formed the back end of the chamber, the rest stretching out into the darkness. He had to feel his way along the wall as we moved, for the light grew dimmer as we left the base of the stairs. I felt my way too, most tentatively, for the wall felt cold and a little slimy to my touch. Matilda followed, her own fingers moving like a blind person’s along the wall. “Ah, here it is,” the dwarf said. He paused in front of another wooden door. He was still holding his key ring, and he lifted it up, having to stand on tip toe again, and inserted a key in the door. He seemed to know his keys by touch. He did not have to look at them to find the right one. An ominous creak greeted my ears. I sensed the door was moving inward. Then the dwarf reached back, and he found one of my hands in the darkness. I tried yanking it back, but he’d caught it so suddenly, and held it so firmly, that I could not. He drew me forward. He pulled me around what I sensed was a corner. Suddenly I felt myself flung forward. “Oh!” I cried. I stumbled, my feet lost in the darkness beneath me. My arms flew out. The dwarf held me no more. I fell to my knees. They connected with a softness and I found I’d been pushed onto something, tripping over it, actually, as the dwarf threw me into the room. I ran my fingers along it. It felt like a mattress. The door slammed shut behind me. I heard a harsh laugh distantly, through the wooden door. I was completely alone in a pitch-black nightmare world. I sank down on the mattress. It felt soft under me. I was grateful for it. I’d have hit the floor otherwise. I smelled the sheet on the mattress and found it was scented. It smelled like rose blossoms. Gradually my confidence returned. Someone was taking a little care for my fortune. I ran my fingers out to the end of the mattress, where I’d tripped. I reached beyond it. I touched wood. The door! I pressed upon it. It remained closed. Time passed. I do not know how long. I sat lost in the darkness, on my mattress. I did not wish to explore further with my fingers. The wall I’d touched outside had been slimy. I had no idea what I’d find if I started poking around in here, wherever ‘here’ was. I would wait, at least for a time. I hummed my cock song again. “Cock, cock, cock, are you in the dock... again? “Did you pop a girl who was too young? “And now you’ve got to pretend? “That by her your balls were not rung?” I’d surely put whoever was behind this ‘school’ in the dock, that was for sure, scented mattress or no. I felt an improvement in my confidence. Yes, I would be Sherlock Holmes. I might suffer a little, myself, but then I’d put an end to this wicked school, and to the evil men and women who induced girls like me to cum here. Ahhh, no! I scolded myself. “Come,” not “cum.” What was happening to me? Why did I fixate so much on fucking lately? Was I a bad girl? I should think only of getting home, yes! Of going back to my mom and dad and of having my dad chaperone me again, wherever I went, personally, like he still liked to do so much, interfering even with my few dates. And I’d be under my mom’s supervision too, of course. “Clean your room, Cindy,” I could hear her saying, even now. “I don’t know how many times I have told you that, girl. Is your homework done? And take down that awful poster of Nirvana! Three MEN with terrible haircuts and no shave. That’s not a proper inspiration for a budding feminist!” Femme fatale was more like it now, I feared. I wasn’t Paula Zahn, or even Paula Jones. I was Pauline, and in peril. No! I told myself. I was Sherlock Holmes, and I’d get to the bottom of this school and expose it. The door opened. A guttering lamp lit up my eyes. I saw a large blonde figure beyond, holding it, and for a moment my heart froze in my throat. The ogre! No! It couldn’t be, how could he?! Then I saw the figure was much handsomer than he, and slimmer, though with his same broad shoulders. He wore a cloak and breeches, with boots, but no shirt. The hairy expanse of his chest showed between the open halves of his cloak. His face was unshaven, like Kurt Cobain’s, but his hair was longer, much longer. It fell over his shoulders and ended somewhere down his back. He had a cigar wedged between his teeth. I smelled it, didn’t like it much. The man placed the lamp in a bracket in the wall inside the front door. I could see where I was now. In a room, with my mattress underfoot. The man kept me fixed in his gaze. He reached for me. I tried to retreat. He caught me, by one arm. With his other hand he reached back around behind my small waist and drew me forward. Then he found my other wrist, and had me caught by both my arms. “Turn around,” the man said. His voice was hard, unsympathetic. It brooked no disobedience. I turned about, quickly. I was too afraid of him to even think of disobeying. I felt my wrists pulled together, abruptly. The movement pushed out my bare tits. I felt my nipples harden. Metal cuffs came against my skin. I heard them snap together. I wrenched my wrists away, instinctively. Too late! My wrists were bound. I struggled, but couldn’t free them. The man laughed, grabbed my fastened arms with one of his hands, and pushed me toward the back wall of my cell. He turned me again. Against the back wall he fastened me to an iron ladder running up the side of the wall. It led nowhere, from what I could tell. It was the room’s only acoutrement, save for the mattress. The walls were bare. I pressed myself to the iron ladder. It was cold. I looked up at the man. I felt my knees trembling. “I am the Head Master,” the man told me. “There are other masters besides myself, but I am the one you will primarily be dealing with.” “The Head--?” I gulped. “I thought you were--” He ignored me. “You will obey each and every one of my instructions exactly and precisely, no matter how repellent. Do you understand?” he asked in a large, bold voice. I shrank against the ladder. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” the Head Master yelled angrily. I shivered. My knees trembled and I felt a sudden need to pee. “I--” I stammered, but it was the only word I could get out. “You are unresponsive,” the Head Master said gruffly. “Come, let’s see what you’re made of.” He reached behind me. He unfastened me from the ladder. He turned me about, quickly, and unlocked my handcuffs. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he ordered me to take hold of the ladder in front of me. I didn’t respond. He grabbed me, hoisted me up, clutching me under the belly with one of his massive arms. Frantically I reached for the ladder. I caught it. Just as quickly as he’d picked me up, he dropped me. He reached around me and seized my wrists and buckled them back into the handcuffs. Then he fastened them again to the ladder, using a small small clip between the cuffs to hook me to one of the ladder’s rungs. I found myself with my back to him. It was an even scarier position to be in than the previous one, me facing him, with him glowering down at me. Now I could only see him by twisting back my head. I did, and saw him open his cloak. There was a riding crop thrust through the belt of his trousers. “I’m going to flog your bare behind,” the Head Master told me, matter-of-factly. “No!” I shrieked. At last I found my voice. “No!” The blonde man laughed. “You’re not in a position to give orders around here,” he told me. He turned me, slightly, and then stepped so that he was almost beside me. He placed a hand on my belly and lifted me, so that my bottom was offered. WHACK! The tip of the crop, which was wide and flat, came down hard against my ass. “Ooooh!” I screeched. His palm held my belly, keeping me suspended, so that my feet dangled some inches above the mattress. I clenched my cheeks. The sting of the crop burned where it had struck me. Yet my bosoms, wobbling heavily underneath me, retained their hardened tips. WHACK! Again the crop. Again just the flat tip, biting into my flesh, making me gasp, cry out, blink my eyes. I realized, somewhere deep in my psyche, that I was receiving a school girl whipping, just the tip being used, in deference to my age, not the whole length of the crop, which would have left welts across my bottom. Still, it hurt like the dickens, and despite the imprisonment of my hands against the ladder I struggled to free myself from him. WHACK! Came the crop again. This time he let just a little of the crop itself touch me, the stem biting with sharp alacrity into my skin. I hollared out, sure I’d been given a welt now, if only a small one. A welt that would remain with me for days, for my entire stay here perhaps, as a sign of my disobedience to him and his punishment of me for it. WHACK! Again the crop burned into me. I felt as if a wasp had bitten my bottom, for he gave me just slightly more of the blade of the crop, singeing the undersides of my cheeks, lifting my struggling bottom up momentarily as he swung it up underneath me. “Hoooooo!” I bleated. “That’s enough!” “You have a most delectable ass,” he answered, insulting me with his crudeness. He held me aloft, watching me struggle. I could not escape his uplifted palm, try as I might. He held me balanced, and shifted his fingers across my flat tummy whenever I threatened to topple off him, so as to continue to effortlessly hold me. “One more,” he breathed in my air. “Still yourself, or I’ll use the full width of the crop and mark your lovely ass quite distinctly.” “No!” I screeched. But, suddenly, my limbs stilled. I felt myself hanging off his palm, cradled, my feet dangling. “Open your legs,” he said. “No,” I breathed, but did so, then clenched my cheeks hard against the expectant sting of his crop on my fanny. WHACK! “Yeeeeeek!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The traitor! He had not wished to strike my bottom that time! He swept the crop right up between my legs, and bit into my very cunt!!! “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek!” I cried, wildly. The sting was intense, unknown completely, something I’d never experienced, never even thought possible. I fell from his palm and he only laughed. He did not try to pick me up again. Bitterly I stood, still manacled to the ladder, my legs twisted in on each other, grinding my thighs together in an attempt to assauge the awful sting. He laughed. “You will obey more completely next time,” he told me. “And ere you leave you’ll bring the crop to me, whenver you fear you’ve disobeyed, and you’ll bend over and ask me to use it.” “Noooooooooo!” I hooted. I would never do that! How dare he even imply it? I couldn’t look at him, though, for my eyes were clamped shut, much as my legs were, though with my eyes I cried tears while with my legs I rubbed frantically, trying to make my cunt better but not able to reach it. “And when I’ve hit you as I’ve just done, you’ll open your legs to me, so that I might rub it for you,” he gloated. “No!” I told him, defiantly. “We’ll see,” he said. “We have plenty of time. You’re not going anywhere, manacled to that ladder.” He retreated across my bed. He walked out through the door. Had it been open all this while? Worriedly I looked back. There were two couples there, male and female, older than myself. “She takes the crop well, despite her struggles,” I heard a female say. “Yes, but she requires much training,” a man mused. “Much training.” Matilda stepped between them. She entered my cell. She had changed into fresh clothes; a mauve jacket held by one button across her chest, a matching short skirt. The thrust of her exceptionally large breasts pushed out against the jacket. Her white skin could be seen, she wore no blouse, no bra. Despite the lack of sun in this cold climate she had an exceptional tan; except on her bosoms, which she’d carefully kept from the sun. The contrast between the white flesh of her tits and the smooth, richly-tanned skin surrounding them was alluring. I wondered if her private and her bottom held the same lily-white charm. Despite my tears, I vowed to tan myself like her, when I could. How silly it is, thinking about sun tans, when your bottom is hurting and you have no clothes and strangers are watching you. Yet I did, despite my sniffles, my sobbing coughs, my twisting against the ladder as I rubbed my legs frantically together, trying to assauge the pain in my snatch. “How are we doing, little one, hmmm?” Matilda asked me. “Did you take your punishment well?” “No!” I blurted. My face was bathed in tears. Couldn’t she see I’d suffered? She seemed to think my pain was some kind of game. Her hand touched my head. She turned my face toward the wall. Her fingers, sharp-nailed, caressed my right thigh, bidding it open. I worried she might scratch me and let my legs part, just a little. My bottom wobbled hard, my wish urgent to reclose my legs and rub them. A finger trailed down between the cheeks of my bottom. “Yes, just a few little marks,” Matilda said. “They will fade quickly, don’t worry. The Head Master was kind to you. I’ll have to tell him to be more severe with your subsequent whippings. You’ll learn nothing if you’re only teased.” “OH!” I gasped. What a horrid woman! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing -- much less that I’d agreed to accompany her here. “Of course you will have to be fucked up the bottom too,” Matilda said. She stuck a digit between the cheeks of my ass. “Nooooo!” I screeched. I closed my legs, jammed my cheeks together. I felt her finger trapped within my ass. The sharp tip of her fingernail touched against my rosette. She pushed. My skin was moist with sweat and her finger eased slightly into my hole. “Stooop! Take it OUT!” I begged. She pushed harder. “You are being difficult,” Matilda warned me. “We have ample ways for dealing with difficult girls.” “Is she being resistant?” I heard a woman call from the doorway. Matilda had left my door open, denying me privacy. “Yes, and the Head Master left her unfucked,” Matilda said in a voice that brooked disappointment. “Roger, see to her training,” I heard the woman say. A man entered my cell. He was clothed, as the others were. Only I was naked. I glanced back at him fearfully. He smiled, perhaps in an attempt to calm my fears, but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes. In another life I might have fancied him; he was tall, had dark hair, seemed perhaps college age, maybe a little older. Without saying anything, he unzipped the fly of his trousers. “Yeek! I don’t want to be fucked!” I squealed. He produced a large prong that could have passed for a big smoked balogna at the grocery. “Yes, very good, Roger, please come here,” Matilda beckoned. She lifted her free hand, to waist height, crooked an inviting finger. Roger advanced. His cock wobbled freely in front of his (otherwise well-dressed) body. Matilda reached with her hand, caught it. She held it lightly, as if she might be a little afraid of it. I know I was. It was big and meaty and pulsed vigorously. Pre-cum already was dripping lewdly from its tip. “Here, I have some KY,” the woman said from the door. Hastily she entered the room, her purse open, digging in it. A moment later she pulled out a plastic tube. She flicked the top off its nozzle. Placing a hand gently upon Roger’s backside, she peeked around to his front. I heard her emit a little gasp as she saw his member. “You come bigger than advertised,” she confessed. “Squirt it on,” Matilda interrupted, perhaps fearing the woman would wish to distract Roger from me. I heard a loud, squelchy sound. Quietly I closed my legs, then began rubbing them together. Matilda slapped my bottom, hard. “OUCH!” I screamed. “Keep your legs open,” Matilda reminded me. I needed no reminding. I was wilful and didn’t want my legs open. I leaned back, tried to bite her. She dodged my snapping teeth and smacked me hard again. “Which route?” Roger asked matter-of-factly as I stood whimpering, displaying my well-slapped bottom. His eyes glowed. The woman beside him stared entranced at his cock. “Up her tight little ass,” Matilda told him. A glimmer of a smile flashed upon her lips. “Do you think she can take me?” Roger asked. “She must take someone up her tush every day, if she’s to be properly trained to be receptive to it,” Matilda answered. “You can see she’s a long way from that right now.” “I rather fancy her hot little cunt,” Roger said. He leaned down, his bare cock wobbling in front of him, and caught at my thighs with his hands. He wrenched them apart. He peered up at my slit. “No, it must be in the bottom,” Matilda said. “Her master fancies her there.” “Why?” Roger asked, still examining the space between my legs. “She’s young, perfect, quite fuckable. Is she still a virgin?” “Yes,” Matilda said. “Just deflowered the other day. She’s only been sent here for bottom-training. Her master wants to keep her cunt for himself.” “Greedy bastard,” Roger swore. “But I’ll give her ass a good reaming, that I can do. Don’t worry little lady,” he said, looking me in the face. “You’ll have a well-fucked asshole by the time you leave here.” “Oh, it’s such a waste to give it to her,” the woman who’d lubed Roger lamented, still staring at his cock. “She’ll hardly appreciate it like I would.” Roger let go of my legs. He gripped my bottom hard with his fingers. They were long, sinuous, commanding. He forced my pumpkin’s furrow to open to him. He peered, made a sniffing sound. Then, pleased, apparently, by my hole, he shoved his hips forward. “YOOOOOK!” I hollared. I felt his cockhead wedge itself into my bottomcrack. It felt huge! It split my cheeks and probed against them, like a cork looking to plug up a bottle. “Uhn!” I gasped. His peehole found my back hole and burrowed up me. The knob of his cock forced open my anus. I screamed again, Matilda slapped a hand to my face and silenced my cry. I squirmed. I tried to bite her fingers. She pushed my head up, back, by my chin, keeping my mouth shut. Roger ignored all this, focusing entirely on my ass. I gave a gritted screech within the confines of Matilda’s hand. He was going deeper! I could not stop him. I wriggled my ass, trying to escape. Matilda slapped my flank. “More, give her more,” Matilda urged. “I’m TRYING!” Roger stammered. “I don’t think I’ve been in one this tight in years.” “Perhaps a little stimulation will help,” the woman who’d lubed Roger said. I thought she’d reach for him, but instead her hand came round my waist and touched my pussy. “Unfff! No!” I protested, but Matilda’s hand kept me quiet. With a doughty stroke Roger plowed into my fanny. I squeezed hard, doing my level best to expel him. He groaned. My tightness was winning. Matilda pushed my head back farther. I screeched into her hand as a spasm of pain shot through my neck. Distracted, I let my bottom open again. “HOOOOOF!” I screamed over Matilda’s hand. Roger had driven into me deeper. My legs kicked. The woman’s hand at my snatch rubbed me hard. “Yessss, you must take him,” the woman hissed in my ear. My breasts wobbled heavily on my chest, stiff-nippled. Roger was winning. I could not keep him out. With another scream from me he rammed himself home. Both women kissed me. Matilda whispered a compliment. Roger breathed a sigh of relief. It rasped from his throat, a half-sigh, really, for he knew his well-clamped penis still had quite a job ahead of it. He must stroke me, now. In and out. “Twenty times, at least,” Matilda told him. “God, I’ll try!” Roger said. “The feeling of her little ass is amazing.” I felt a backward tug. “Uhn. I think I’m -- stuck!” Roger said. Suddenly there was a hard slap. He grunted. I realized Matilda had slapped his trousered ass. “Get moving,” Matilda told Roger. “Denice, get his pants down. I want his bare ass showing so he can feel it if I have to hit him again.” “What about her?” Denice asked. Her fingers explored my slit freely, making me honey them. “Forget her. She’ll get pleasure enough from his cock, or ought to,” Matilda replied. “I want Roger’s fat little bum on display.” “Oh, alright,” Denice answered. “But I still think he’s wasting himself in her.” Slowly at first, Roger began to move inside me. I heard him grunt again and then felt his member, tightly held by me, for I feared it greatly, begin to slide out of my chute. It would have been a relief, but I knew he’d ram it back up me a moment later. “Ooooh!” I gritted, as he did. “Hold still, girl,” Roger scolded me. “Move just your bottom. Quit trying to hop away from me.” “Move your bottom vigorously, girl,” Matilda told me. She slapped my flank. I screamed in her hand. “That’s it, work your bottom, pump it in and out,” Matilda commanded me. I found my ass jerking, I did not know why. Had I ceased being afraid? Did I want it? Him? His big thing? Roger worked his meaty shaft back and forth in my ass. I clenched him with my cheeks. I felt him slide back. I pulled forward to help him escape. Then, when we were almost apart, he shoved himself once again in me. I arched my bottom back to meet him. I screamed. Tears sprang from my eyes. But when Roger pulled back, I again pulled away, and tensed for the moment when he would thrust forward and I would push my hips back to him. “She is learning,” Matilda said, quietly. “She’s a bit slow perhaps, but she’s young. It’s excusable...” Her voice drifted over my ears. I was one with her, with Roger, now. Denice, somewhere behind Roger, worked his pants down so that his bum would be exposed to Matilda’s hand. I lay on the sheeted mattress that served as my bed. It was rumpled from all the people that had walked on it. I was cuffed to the ladder, but only by one wrist, as an animal might be, that it’s master feared would escape. My door had been left open to train me in humility. Food was brought to my cell. Roast pork and green beans, a buttered cob of corn, ice cream. A big jug of fruit-flavored wine. I was encouraged to eat, and drink. “Call for someone when you have to pee,” Matilda told me. “There’s a bathroom down at the end of the room. The dwarf should hear you, if no one else does. He’s in charge of the girls in the dungeon. Don’t wet the bed, whatever you do,” she added, smiling. “I’d hate to have to give you extra training for bed wetting.” I ate with my fingers, lying on my back. There were no utensils. I got messy eating, like a child. I saw no napkin. I knew not what to do, wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, ate some more, found wiping my mouth again only rubbed back onto my face what I’d earlier smeared over my hand. I fell asleep. Later, I awoke. My cell was dark. There was only blackness in the direction of my open door. I could make out nothing, save an urgent desire to pee, in my bladder. I fought my need. I didn’t want to have to call someone to release me to go pee. How embarrasing! I squeezed my thighs together. My pussy still stung from where the Head Master had struck me with the crop, or I imagined it did. I reached down with my hand, opened my legs, stuck it inside. Tightly I shut my legs again. I held my snatch. I pursed my lips, shut my eyes. “No! Don’t pee!” I told myself. I tried to go back to sleep. Minutes later, I realized I had no choice but to call for help. I yelled. I screamed. I clutched at my slit, wishing some one would hurry. Couldn’t they hear me? I yelled again. I bit my lip and then, opening my mouth again, feeling resigned, I called for the dwarf. I heard small footsteps in the distance. A glow began beyond my door, heightened as the footsteps approached. Oh, God! HURRY! I screamed for the person to walk more quickly. The glow shimmered as it grew. I heard the swinging of the big oil lamp in the hand of who ever was approaching. I hoped it was not the dwarf. “Ohhhhh! Please HURRY!” I hollared. I pressed hard into my slit with my fingers. Too late! I felt a sudden wetness, more, and then screamed again as I realized I was wetting my bed. Twin eyes glimmered around the opening to my doorway. Small, set in the face of a dwarf. I heard a chuckle. Frantically I stared at the face, trying to hold back my pee, failing, as it flowed out over my hand. “Did you call?” the dwarf asked me. I shut my eyes, tight. I strove to contain my pee but could not. When I had finished wetting the bed, I opened my eyes. Abjectly I looked at dwarf. My bottom, my legs, lay in a wet mushy spot on my mattress. The dwarf was grinning. “Why didn’t you come?” I asked in a high, grief-stricken voice. “You didn’t call -- me,” the dwarf smiled back. “You mean you could hear me the whole time?” I asked. “Of course,” the dwarf said. “But just calling anybody isn’t calling me.” He laughed. “I figured you’d break down and call me eventually.” “You -- you creature!” I blurted. “Don’t insult me,” the dwarf replied. “Wait until you have to poop.” “Young lady, your bed isn’t a potty,” Matilda scolded me when she discovered what I’d done. It must have been the next morning, for it was hours after I’d peed and I’d been forced to sleep in my pee, though I’d managed to move partly off the spot. The handcuff securing me to the ladder kept me from escaping it entirely. “I’m sorry,” I replied. I knew not what else to say. “This will have to be reported to the Head Master,” Matilda told me. She examined the spot. “And recorded, of course, in your permanent record, that’s sent back to your lover.” “Ohhh, I do not wish to be here!” I sighed. My voice sounded resigned. “You will learn to enjoy your stay, with proper training,” Matilda told me. “Don’t worry. I had to learn, just like you, long ago.” 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> /