Message-ID: <5736eli$9711211319@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Nov 21 Enslaved to Eros part 2 of 2 (NND) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: roller39@IDT.NET 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: <34750840.E83@idt.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in ENSLAVED TO EROS _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Two Under our bottoms, around our waists, well up our backs and down our legs, we were soaked. We lay in a peed-in bed, like children just awoken from a dream that lasts too long. “Oh, such a warm, cozy bed, and now it’s been wet by your big penis,” Katie scolded Nick. She reached between his legs. I could see her hand moving under the covers. She grasped his rod and jerked her hand up and down its wet length. “Unh,” Nick groaned. He didn’t try to stop Katie, this time. “You let out some pee yourself,” he replied. “Yes, but I’m just little,” Katie said. “It’s this big thing of yours that let out the *most* pee!” She kept yanking her small fist up and down on his rod. Nick groaned again. “You may as well shoot out the rest, while you’re at it, since the bed’s all wet!” Katie told him. I rolled over onto her. “No,” I breathed, impulsively. I reached for her hand. I grasped at her small fingers around Nick’s stemming organ. His reproductive organ. She knew nothing about the value of it, flush with its first stiffness of the evening. How special that is, a man’s first erection, when he’s most anxious, most urgent in his lusts. It should be teased. Challenged, if possible. Later in the evening his edge will be lessened, though he might be just as hard. Then, he is a professional. A professional fucker. I giggled, to myself. I wanted Nick’s first erection of the evening to last as long as possible, that I might drive him to agony with it, taking him to the brink again and again. “No,” I told Katie, again. I tried to pry her fingers off Nick’s cock. She was equally adamant that she must keep possession of it, and make him shoot under the covers. Were we not wet enough already? She had said she didn’t want to get sticky. So why did the girl show such eagerness to make him spend? “Mmmm! I want to suck him!” Katie declared. She squirmed under me. I kept her flat on her back. I kissed her lips and felt her slim, bell-shaped hips squirm under me. Her tummy pressed its smoothness to mine. We were as sisters, but wanting differing things from the man beside us. I, teased by him in the cave, wished to tease him back now; now that he lay flat on his back beside me. I wished to dominate a little, instead of just receiving it. “Oh, God! Quit fighting over my dick, girls!” Nick groaned. Katie and I wriggled beside him, both of us nude, the bells round our necks ringing, our chained feet clashing with clanging links. Jane threw back the covers. I felt them fly off me. My rump wiggled its exposed flesh, like a fish tossed upon a dock. Nude, wet. SLAP! Jane’s hand connected with my bare seat. I howled. I jumped like fish do, atop little Katie, as if she were a dock and I were trying, fruitlessly, to fling myself from the dock back to the sea. I felt the impress of her hand, though it had bounced off me, like a hand springing off a big rubber ball. It stung. I pressed my free hand between my hips and Katie’s and played in her slit. “Oh, she spanked me!” I said with a sobbing sigh to Katie. “I know. I could hear it!” Katie answered, matter-of-factly. It had been a big, flesh-splatting smack, full and hard Though delivered with a slim, manicured female hand, it hurt nonetheless. A mommie’s hand can hurt just as much as a daddie’s, if she hits hard enough. Jane was not in a mood to be merciful. But what had I done, except what she’d told me to? Jane’s breasts swung freely over my back. She hovered over my slim figure like a lover, yet like a mother too, compelled to discipline her small child. SPLATT!! Jane’s hand connected with my seat again. It thudded hard against my elastic hemispheres, driving them inward, compressing them, then springing away to leave them raw and red and humming with pain. “Ohh-woh!” I sobbed. Jane’s spanks were delivered with the absolute maximum amount of force she could muster. My sock-clad feet, so warmly encased by Jane earlier in the evening, kicked in the air. I rubbed Katie harder. I still was hoping to get her fingers off Nick’s cock, by distracting her with mine in her slit. At the same time, I pulled at the small fist she’d locked around Nick’s cock. “Let go!” I cried, my voice tear-sobbing. Jane, above me, seemed, I sensed, puzzled by this, for no one was holding me. SPLAT! SPLAT! Her hand struck twice more, rapidly, hitting each of my bouncy red bottomcheeks in turn. I let out a howl. Still, despite the burning handprints across my bottom, I struggled on with Katie, trying to save Nick’s seed, trying to diddle her cunny to orgasm. “God, such an adorable bottom,” I heard Jane say above me. She kissed my back. Then, implacably, she slammed another hind splitting spank down onto my tushy. “Owooooo!” I hollared. I clapped both my hands to my bottom. My head lurched up. My tummy pressed sweatily to Katie’s. My hips ground against hers. Our muffs teased upon each other. Our bosoms bounced. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Katie shouted. I pressed hard against her. Her small fist jerked impulsively on Nick’s cock. She let out a moany sigh, wishing, I think, for the return of my fingers to her slit. She tried to wedge her free hand between our hips but could not, I was pressing so hard against her. Her bare feet kicked up on either side of me. The bells on our necks rang loudly. With a sudden gush, Nick’s sperm erupted from his cock. It jetted up toward the ceiling. Then, arcing back down, it hit the head of his stiff, straight penis, even as more of his cum jetted up through his pee hole. “Ohhh! It’s like Old Faithful!” Katie, wide-eyed, exclaimed, gazing upon his manhood. “Damn! You two bitches jacked me off!” Nick swore. He blamed me as much as Katie, even though both my hands now were pressed hard to my naked ass. “They must be punished for it,” Jane, above me, said matter-of-factly. “Nooooo!” Katie cried. Yet she continued to rub her free hand hard against my bare hips, trying to insinuate her fingers between us so she could frig herself. “After our bath,” Jane promised. “Come, girls. Get up.” “Oh, I--” Katie said urgently. Jane pulled me off her. At once her hands, both of them, one coated with Nick’s seed, flew to her cunny. She arched up her hips and pressed her flat, indrawn belly upward, like a smooth piece of lumber being angled up for carpentry work. Her bottom cheeks, chubby and round, tensed underneath her. She flexed her thighs up, lifting her hips, digging at the same time with her small fingers into her cunt. I worried she might become pregnant. She was obviously virgin; Nick’s seed dripped between her labia lips. She smeared it liberally upon her sex as she diddled herself. “Mmmmmm!” Katie cried. She stuck her tongue between her lips, like the Frosted Flakes tiger does. She licked her lips as she fingered her cunt with quick, urgent strokes. Her legs fell more widely apart, baring her core to us, as if to invite a fucking. “Whooo! Whooo! Whooo!” she uttered with childish frankness. I couldn’t help myself. Despite my bare, stinging ass, despite Jane’s ominous promise of punishment, I clapped both my hands over my sex. Even as I worried that they were needed elsewhere, to protect and assauge my bottom, I frigged myself. I worked my fingers into my slit and felt my bubbies, stiff nippled, pressed tightly between my sinful arms. I squeezed my tits, as if to offer milk to the air. My fingers sought my spot. I was on my knees. Katie was on her back. Jane hovered next to me, and I felt, with my senses, her hand. It didn’t touch me, but, rather, it picked up her long, leathery riding crop off the bed. How curious it was, I thought, for a riding crop, used on horses, to be brought to bed. I didn’t have time to contemplate on the crop’s presence for long. I heard a swish. I shrieked. The crop struck my bottom like a hot branding iron being applied to one’s skin. It left a bright, blazing line of pain across my seat. I yelled to the rafters. I squeezed my ass cheeks. It did no good, only emphasizing the sting. Another whistle. Another stroke. I fell face forward onto the bed, beside Katie. Yet my hips, as I fell forward, lofted high, lifting up my bottom. My hands stayed resolutely on my muffin, searching within it for orgasmic bliss. My hiney presented its bare, squriming cheeks to Jane. SWIIIIICK! The leather crop delivered another sharp sting to my tush. I jammed my cheeks together. My face sought Katie’s. I kissed her. “Save me, Katie!” I said in an urgent scream. “Ohhhh! I can’t! I’m too little!” Katie answered. But the real reason, for she was only a year younger than me, was that she was too busy diddling herself. She issued an orgasmic cry a moment later. Her fingers worked busily in her snatch. My own, though I should have put them to my ass, to save it from further swats, jammed deep in my cunny. I found bliss at the end of my fingertips, in my slit. I burst into a mind-splitting orgasm. SWIIIICK! Went Jane’s crop again, and it seemed, somehow, to top my orgasm off, though I didn’t like the feel of her crop at all as it sliced a new line across my bare bottom. I fell onto my side. I kissed Katie avidly. My tongue extended, found hers. We kissed. We moaned to each other. Tears rolled down my cheeks, half of pain, half of bliss. Hers were all happy tears. “Ah, let me feel the warmth of your bottom,” I heard Rob say. I felt strong hands come to my hips. They gripped me. They lifted me. I thought perhaps he might palm me with his hand. Instead, he pressed loins to me. His thick, hard penis rubbed its way across my ass. It felt like a hot, bloated thing, rather like a branding iron, except much thicker, and not striking me, but burning its warmth into me by its continual, loving contact. He pressed it between the cheeks of my ass. He drew back a little. I felt a sprinking of oil. Soft words from Jane. A grunt of approval from Rob. And then, quite suddenly, quite deliberately, he stuck his thing hard against my anus. “No! Not that way!” I shriekd. I didn’t wish to receive him there. I rememberd how hard and thoroughly opened I’d felt, when he’d attempted me there, earlier. Let him put himself in me the natural way. My back door was too small for him. Nick took my cry of alarm as a temptation to try harder. A girl’s resistance, alas, invites, rather than deters. With manly determination he lifted my hips higher. My tongue sought Katie’s still, though I felt a knot of doom in my belly. He was coming in. His way. Whether I liked it or not. “Oooook!” I shouted. I felt his penis burrow with a swift, hard stroke into my anus. His cockhead, sprinkled with oil, punctured me. It went up where things normally only come out. Jane laughed at my discomfort. Katie selfishly kept frigging herself, letting me tongue her. “Please don’t dooooo me that way,” I babbled. Rob ignored me. He thrust again. I felt his shaft plunge deeper into my fanny. I tried to squeeze him out. He took it for approval, gave me another, more deeply penetrating stroke. “Eeeeek!” I cried. “She feels it right up to her navel,” Jane chuckled. “God, she’s tight upon me,” Rob breathed. “You are her first,” Jane said. I wasn’t, quite, but close enough, and she didn’t know of my naughtiness with Nick in the cave. “Ohhhh, I hope nobody fucks *my* bottom!” Katie declared. She continued rubbing herself. “How about your cunt?” Nick asked her. “Not that either,” Katie said. “I’ve never had anything up my cunt, and I don’t ever want anything up me there, either.” “Then that’s exactly what you’ll have,” Nick said. His penis, so recently milked, sprang to attention at the thought of relieving Katie of her virginity. “Noooo!” Katie said. Nick rolled atop her and the scream she was uttering seemed to drown under the weight of his big man’s body. He shoved my face aside. He kissed her hard, upon the lips, as if to give her a token, at least, of his love before taking her. Then he scissored her legs more widely apart and put his thing to her cunt. She shrieked. Nick’s hips jerked forward. Katie shrieked louder. He announced to us, like a bridegroom upon a wedding night, doing it publicly, that he was in. The prize was taken. He began to shaft her. His lips glued themselves to hers, and her cries, so ear-splitting a moment before were drowned by his close-pressed mouth. We were undone. Myself from the rear, Katie between her virgin legs. The men humped us. We suffered. I found the penetration hard, but endured somehow. She screamed to be let go but was not let go until the deed was complete. She orgasmed again; her first with a man in her. Rob’s fingers sought my spot and brought me off again, his dick plowing my behind as if it were a cunt. Jane laughed. She whacked both men’s fannies with her crop. But lightly; so as not to save either myself or Katie from the men’s wicked lusts. “Oh, my bottom’s sore,” I confessed, when I had at last regained sole use of my body. Katie lay beside me, issuing soft, self-pitying sobs. I felt my own cheeks stained with tears. I licked my lips. They were salty. My ass felt like it had been basted in an oven, then skewered with a hot poker. Yet Jane was jovial, passing us drinks and insisting we sip them. “The alchohol in them will lessen the pain,” Jane told us. “Oh, then why didn’t you give them to us foist?!” Katie blurted. She sobbed and clutched at the drink Jane passed her with both hands. She downed it in quick gulps. There was blood between her thighs, where Nick had pierced her viriginity. “Because I wanted you both to feel whatever was done to you,” Jane said in a pleasant, seductive voice, as if we’d just been to a fair, and were being served drinks after a hot day on the rides. She brushed my hair out of my eyes. She ran her fingers along the length of my tresses. “Now you may both let the liquor put you to sleep, if you wish. You can bathe later.” “Ohhh, I have to pee again,” Katie said. The sound of both men, in the bathroom adjoining the bedroom, was loud; they were both urinating at the same time into the toilet. “Don’t pee on the seat,” Nick told Rob. “Don’t piss on my carpet,” Rob answered. I imagined them both jostling each other, two big men vying for the same small toilet bowl. “Just pee in the bed, dear. It’s wet already,” Jane told Katie. “Okay, I will then,” Katie said. “I don’t want to go in *there*,” she said, of the bathroom. “Oh, don’t piss in the bed again!” I cried. Yet almost at once I felt a sickeningly warm liquid spread itself under my bottom. She was peeing! Just like a little girl, the littlest sort, too lazy to get up and go use the potty. “Well, then,” I said in retaliation, sipping my own drink. “If you’re going to just pee in our bed, I will too!” “No, you’re bigger’n me. You need to go use the toilet,” Katie said, even as the last of her pee spread underneath my bare seat. “Fat chance,” I said. I paused, drew in my breath (it is ever difficult to do that which you’ve been trained not to.) Then, nerving myself against my better instincts, I let loose my pee through my cuntlips. “OOOOOH! She’s wetting the bed!” Katie cried. She leapt up, spilling her drink on me. With her long, brown tresses flying, she crawled quickly over me, dragging her chain across my peeing muff. Jane tried to restrain her. But she was young, full of energy, like a kitten released from the house after a too-long night cooped up indoors. Katie dropped off the side of the bed, her bell ringing. “I’m going to sleep on the floor,” Katie declared. I knew there was a furry throw rug beside the bed and I guessed she was settling down upon it. “And if I need to pee I’ll pee right here on the floor too,” Katie said. I lifted myself up onto my elbows. The last of my pee continued to jet from between the lips of my cunt as I sought her reflection in a mirror. I found it. She was on all fours, her bottom high, her face pressed to the rug. She was pretending to sleep, though she was waving her bottom around in the air like a chubby white flag of surrender. “Katie! Get back in bed! I don’t want you peeing on the rug,” Jane scolded the girl. “I will if I want to. I can feel a little bit coming right now,” Katie said. And, peering hard, I saw a trickle of pee escape from within her cunt. It speckled the rug. “Katie!” Jane cried. “You are very naughty!” Jane swished her riding crop down across Katie’s seat. The girl, apparently quite surprised, jerked her head up as the crop connected. She let out a loud howl. Her hands flew back behind her and grabbed her bottom. “Ohhhhh, that HOITS!” Katie screeched. “Wait ‘til you get fucked up your behind,” I called out to her. I felt merriment at seeing her tushy smacked. My own still burned and I reached behind myself with one of my hands and rubbed it. It felt hot. Yet it was beginning to acquire a warm, lovely glow, as if it were meant for a girl’s bottom to be used that way, hard-smacked. But my anal hole still itched and burned from Rob’s penetration. “Boo! Hoo! Hoo!” Katie sobbed. She buried her face in the rub but kept her ass wiggling high in the air. Her hands rubbed it. Jane contemplated the girl’s seat, seemed to consider whacking her small fingers with the crop, but then flopped back into the bed instead. She rolled over and kissed me. “She is sweet, don’t you think?” Jane asked me. She kissed my cheek. It was strange, feeling her beside me, for I’d just wet the bed again, yet our hair was soft and dry, hers long and dark brown, mine blonde. “Mmmm, you have not yet cum,” I said. I placed a hand between her thighs. I was angry at her for swatting me, for letting her husband have his will with me, and yet I felt a sisterly affection for her. I aspired to be like her, when I was 19. “Oook! I’ll pee on the rug if I want to,” Katie announced. I tried to see her again, but Jane’s face was too close to mine. Instead I simply relaxed, let her kiss me. She urged my lips apart and fed in my mouth with her tongue. I reciprocated by diddling her slit with my fingers. “May I pee on your hand?” Jane asked me. I giggled. “If you wish,” I answered. She sighed. A moment later I felt a wet sprinkling upon my fingers. “Ohhh, you are doing it!” I said. “You said I could,” Jane answered. “Am I mistress now?” I asked. “No,” Jane said. “Definitely not. “There is so much more I must teach you first. You must be trained in all the ways of erotic enslavement.” “Ohhhh,” I sighed. Jane put a hand to my cunny and rubbed me. “Will you train me, if I wish it?” I asked. “Yes,” Jane said. “But there is only so much a girl can wish for. You must be pushed beyond that. There is a certain force that must be used. Do you--” she gasped, for I was busily fingering her. “Do you understand?” “I think so,” I gasped. Her words enticed me, even as they sent chills of fright down my spine. “You must be led beyond what you think you can take, what you think you can face, or you will never know your true capabilities,” Jane breathed hotly to me. Her voice was somewhat muffled by her tongue trying to feed in me even as she spoke. “Unnnh, yes,” I answered, my mouth wide to accpet her intrusions. Her fingers made my hips buck. “See? I’m peeing right now! Here comes a little *more* pee!” Katie declared from below. “Damn girl! What are you doing peeing on my carpet? Do you think you’re a dog?” Rob roared. I heard his footsteps as he came out of the bathroom. Why had the men tarried together so long in there? I did not know. “Yeeeek! I didn’t mean to!” Katie cried. “God damn, you wet all over my carpet!” Rob yelled. I heard Katie scramble to her feet. Her leg irons clanked. Too late, she realized escaping by foot, a favorite of little girls who do naughty things, was entirely denied her. “Here, we shall train this young bitch how to be house broken,” Rob said, apparently speaking to Nick. I wished to see, but Jane tongued me more fiercely. I heard Katie squeal; I imagined both of them picking her up. Her legs would kick, her fists would beat fruitlessly upon their nude bodies. They would be stiff, from exploring the length of each other’s cocks in the bathroom. I wondered whether Nick was bigger, or Rob. It would be a close match, if they were ever measured. I would do it, one day, measuring both of them with little inch-by-inch licks of my tongue. “Noooo! I can’t take BOTH of you!” Katie said in urgent alarm. I heard growls from the men, heavy breathing. And then, as Katie screamed in the distance, I came again, on Jane’s inquisitive hand, and she came against mine. “Do not be alarmed by your desires,” Jane said to me in the bath. We were in a large bathroom, white-tiled, immaculate. It was up the hall from the bedroom where we’d peed. It was not the bathroom the men had relieved themselves in. Towels of various colors were piled around the edges of a big, sunken tub. Bubbles bloomed. Katie sailed a rubber duck in a corner of the tub; oblivious to myself and Jane. She had been introspective since being taken at both ends by Rob and Nick; Rob enjoying sloppy seconds in her newly opened cunt, Nick showing her how to suck. “You desire willpower,” Jane told me. She washed my back, my bottom. I flinched under her caresses. She used just her hands, no washcloth. It would have been too rough, she said, on my crop-scorched bottom. I felt her slim fingers grip my bottomcheeks. She squeezed them as if they were halved tomatoes, ripe and round. She yanked them apart, suddenly. I cried out. Katie looked up. “Oh, don’t,” I said. “That hurt.” “Of course it did, dear,” Jane said. She let my bottomcheeks ease back together, still held by her hands, cupped, felt, held. I stiffened, then relented and let my weight sink fully upon her firm palms. My bottom in her hands. My body. My self. “Waht’s willprowler?” Katie asked from her corner refuge in the tub. “Stop playing with that duck and scrub yourself,” Jane replied. “I want to know what willprowler is,” Katie said. Jane frowned, ignored her. “Yes, that is what you are seeking,” Jane whispered to me. She licked my ear. I shivered. My bosoms quavered on my chest. They were round, like globes. Their tips rose as she licked me. “A will that is powerful enough to use you, to break your inhibitions and carry you forward to all the pangs and pleasures life has to offer,” Jane told me. “Ah, you are so special. Your bottom is so perfectly round, so tight. A temptation, even to me, and I’m a girl, just like you. You bring out lusts in me that I didn’t know I had,” Jane breathed. I felt a tightness in my belly. Her words aroused me and yet, as always, they sent icy shoots of fear up my spine. I pressed my hands to my thighs. I let them drift upward. I gazed at my pubis, over my breasts, and saw bits of soap bubbles clinging within the tight curls. I flicked at them with fingertips. “After your bath, we must continue your training,” Jane told me. “But not here. Here things are too easy. And there are distractions,” she whispered to me, with a quick glance past me, at Katie. “We must take an hour, perhaps two, and go elsewhere. We’ll come back here afterward. There is a woman I should like you to visit.” She felt me stiffen again, lifting my bottom up off her hands. She stroked the cheeks of my ass lightly with her fingertips. She made whorls in the soap on my ass with her fingertips. It stung, a little, when she touched me, due to her hand slaps in the bed, and her crop slashes. But although her hand had been applied fiercely, her crop had been more measured, less harsh. I felt a warmth in my derriere where I’d been struck. It suffused my whole seat and made me feel desired. Desirable. “What-- what is the purpose of our going?” I asked. My voice was high and quavery, like Katie’s. It was my nervousness that made it so. I felt frightened in Jane’s hands. Yet, curiously, I also felt loved. “The woman is an old school mistress,” Jane said. “She ran an all girls’ school in England in her prime. Now she’s retired. She was once attractive, but not as pretty as you. And now she’s old, though still elegant. She respects great beauty as you have, though she will not, of course, admit that to you. For you will be going there to feel the power of her will. She has an indomitable will. She is no-nonsense, although you’ll be encouraged to deserve what she must give you.” “What must she give me?” I asked, my voice sounding more worried than ever. Yet my titties stood up like two fine points upon the graceful mounds of my bubbies. “She must give you an application of her will. So you can feel it,” Jane said. “It will make you stronger in your own will to feel hers. And of course it can only be given corporally, of course. We will only be staying an hour or two. We do not have time for the slow building of will that can take place from one mind to another. That takes months, or years. This will be short and quick. She’ll give you something to remember her by.” I was certain I’d pull my bottom out of Jane’s hands and refuse, but instead, I heard my voice ask, “Will it hurt?” “Of course it will hurt, darling,” Jane laughed. “It must make an impression.” “Oh, I don’t wish to be pierced or....” branded, I was going to say, but I couldn’t think of the word. “You are much too young for that,” Jane agreed. “This will not be permanent, except in the mind. Do you agree to go?” “Will I cum?” I asked naughtily. I still remembered how her hand on my ass made me frig myself with greater enthusiasm. “You are a bad girl,” Jane said to me. She knew what I was asking. “Your hair must be perfect, of course, and there must be just a touch of makeup, perhaps a little too much for a girl of 13, to make you more deserving,” Jane said. “She does not like to see young girls putting on airs, and makeup. She is from the old school, and blames a girl who gets herself into various doings with men. She does not blame the men. Nor should she, in my opinion,” Jane added. “I’ll do your makeup. Not too thick, but just enough to show her your true opinion of yourself. And of course, like I said, your hair must be elegant and perfect, yet girlish, as a girl might wear at school.” “I can fix my hair,” I said. After all, I was only 13. If I didn’t know how to arrange a schoolgirl’s hair, what did I know? “Mmmm, I will do it,” Jane said. “Just relax. Your time will come in an hour or so. Until then, try to relax.” She picked up a washcloth and rubbed it across my bottom. I flinched. She seemed not to notice. “Let me finish your bath,” she said. “Then we’ll do your makeup and hair.” We drove in Jane’s car. Rain splattered the windshield. I wanted to sit up front with her but she insisted I travel in the back seat. I was a child again, being taken to lessons at school. It was just she and I, and the rain. Katie was left behind, to the good graces of Nick and Rob. When we left, they were playing Clue. Katie was having trouble. I sensed Rob was cheating, to let her do better in a game she was failing at. He didn’t want her to throw a tantrum if she lost. They played in the living room, on the floor. The men were clothed very casually, in jeans. No shirts. Katie was naked, preferring to be just as she was, which, since there were no clothes that fit her in the house, was just as well. Her leg irons lay nearby. Perhaps they would lock her into them again, perhaps not. I paused to kiss Rob goodbye as we left. He told me he’d be expecting me in a few hours. Katie said I was going to see a prowler. I didn’t like leaving Rob but I sensed he wished me to go. I even guessed he might have been the one who suggested the trip to Jane. So it was he ordering me, really, to go to the school mistress, I think, and that thought thrilled me, that he would think of me that intensely, and I wondered if he might not be following us, in the dark, to see what happened to me. Nick could be left to babysit Katie. I felt a rivalry between herself, and me. Yet I sensed I was winning it. Despite being taken away from him. Nick was just a friend. Perhaps a good friend, but I felt nothing special toward him, save that natural admiration a girl has a for a man, and vice versa. I didn’t feel the dark, terrible lust for him that I felt for Rob. So I sat in the back seat of Jane’s car, obeying what I thought might be Rob’s directive, and wondering, glancing back now and then. Wondering if he might be following us. We arrived at a modest home, in a less expensive neighborhood. It was set back from the street. There was a park across from it. The nearest homes were set a conservative distance away from it. It was as if they were afraid to be closer. We got out. Jane opened an umbrella and, with no thought for herself, placed it carefully over my head. “A mother must take care that her daughter arrives looking respectable,” Jane told me. We walked briskly up the front walk to the home. Jane wore a black hat, a black dress, with elegant heels. They clicked loudly across the wet sidewalk. I wore a long mink coat. It was, in my new role as her daughter, as the daughter of Rob, supposed to be mine. But I was just their guest, really, not their daughter, so it was actually Jane’s. I wore high heels. We reached the door. Jane knocked on it for me. We waited a moment in the rain. The house looked dark. Then I saw a light come on in the front window. A moment later the door opened. “Hello. Ah, Jane. Your neice is here,” the woman who answered the door said. “Yes,” Jane replied. Now my role had shifted, slightly. I was Jane’s neice, not her daughter. All was fluid. I didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was doing Rob’s wishes, and he wished me here. For an hour. It would be quick, short. And... “Come in, come in,” the woman said. She looked to be in her late 60’s. “Welcome to my private school,” the woman said. “I just need a baby sitter for an hour or so, while I go out,” Jane said. “Of course,” the woman replied. She closed the door behind us. The room we were in was a living room. It looked pleasant, respectable. There was a fire going in one corner. “She’s all dressed for bed,” Jane said. “She’s already had her bath.” “Fine,” the woman answered. She looked at me, piercingly. Then her eyes softend. “May I please take your coat?” she asked. But it was not really a question. More like an order. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered. I thought I heard a car pull up along the curb, where we’d parked. The woman took my coat. Underneath it I wore only a baby doll nightie. It was short, reaching only down to my belly button. It had graceful holes cut out of it for my bosoms, letting them be seen. My titties bulged through my nightie, all naked, their tips quivering and stiff. My nightie was decorated with lace underneath the undersides of my bosoms. Above, there was only the bare outline of a bra. I looked as if a too-short skirt had been attached to a bra with no cups. Yet the ‘skirt’ of my nightie fell no lower than my navel. In back, my entire back was bare, from my neck all the way down to my heels. Only where the bra/halter part of my nightie closed in back was there any covering. My too-short babydoll was cut in such a way that it swept off the sides of my back, not covering it. Only my belly was covered, and then only down to my navel. My hips were bare. I wore no panties. My bush showed, my thighs, my calves. I was nude, save for the nothing nightie hanging round my midriff. I wore my hair in long, flowing blonde pigtails on either side of my face. Big, decorative bows, that matched the color of my nightie, tied my hair off into the twin tails. “This is her sleep wear?” the old woman asked, taking my mink coat from me. “It is what modern girls wear,” Jane explained. “And the makeup? She wears makeup to bed?” the old woman asked. She hung my coat in a closet by the front door. Jane closed her umbrella and sat it by the front door and removed her own coat. Underneath, she wore a cire dress. It was black, like her coat. It was decollette in its cut, almost too much, showing her cleavage almost to the red circles of her nipples. Her breasts were white, untanned. Her arms and face had been tanned, last summer, but she’d lost most of her tan during the fall. There was a slit up each side of her dress. When she walked it could be seen that she wore no panties, for the slits ran all the way from the bottom of her long dress, where her heels stood poised, all the way up to her waist. Jane was carrying a small bag. She set it down on the floor. She drew several items from it. “I brought her bottle,” Jane said to the woman. “It has warm milk in it, in case she gets hungry.” “Very good,” the woman said. Her eyes flicked back and forth, between myself and Jane. I wanted to giggle, this was so awkward, yet it was serious too, for Rob had ordered it and it was, truly, in all its silliness, designed to teach me something. Something I’d remember for a long time. “And here is her bear,” Jane said. She showed the woman a small teddy bear. “And here I have a change of diapers. She refused to wear any, as you can see. There’s some baby powder also.” “Very good,” the woman said. “But I do not like her refusing to wear her diapers.” “She wet the bed this evening,” Jane said. “She claims she’s a big girl, though, and donesn’t need diapers. Of course big girls wear panties, but she refuses those too, as you can see.” “Yes,” the woman agreed. “Have you been spanking her regularly?” “Not regularly,” Jane replied. “That is the problem,” the woman said. She looked at me. I shrank under her gaze. I felt both foolish and frightened at the same time. And aroused, too, for I had heard heavy footsteps pass by the door, outside. Somewhere, now, a door opened and closed, inside the house. “Who is that?” I asked. “I didn’t hear anyone,” the woman answered. “Nor did I,” said Jane. I looked in her eyes and saw she had, but wasn’t admitting to it. “You require me to look after her while you go out?” the woman asked. “Yes,” Jane said. “You are provocatively dressed,” the woman told Jane. “No wonder she won’t wear her panties. You don’t have any on either.” “Ah, it is cooler, though, without them,” Jane said. “It is downright cold outside. This is the fall,” the woman told Jane. “Perhaps you’d better stay indoors, while I look after her. Without panties on, you might catch cold.” “As you wish,” Jane said. “It is good that you brought her,” the woman said. She took my hand. “You will call me Miss Wood,” she told me. “It is not my real name, but real names are unimportant here. And what shall you be known by, young lady?” “Raquella,” I said, making up a name. It was Raquel, from Raquel Welch, who’d I’d seen in Barbarella, and When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth. I added an “a” because the woman had a thoroughly English accent, and I wanted to be European. “It is French,” I told her. “Raquella,” the woman said. She rolled the ‘r’ as they do in Europe. It sounded classy. “A French girl. I see. Well I had some French girls in my school in England, and they always had a very high opinion of themselves. They wore too much make up and insisted on violating the dress code, not wearing their uniforms properly, but shortening their skirts. And not wearing bras, under their blouses.” “That is exactly how I dress at my school,” I told her. Which was true, in part. I’d gotten in trouble for bouncing around in a t-shirt, with no bra on. I’d been late for the bus. I used to skip wearing a bra last year, sometimes, and nobody noticed. But this year, I guess my boobs were bigger. They noticed. I had to spend time in study hall, after school, for not wearing a bra. Which only made the day longer, and meant I spent even longer without a bra on. School can be stupid sometimes. “Well, Raquella, I am sorry to see you dress for bed so provacatively,” Miss Wood told me. I heard footsteps in the house. I glanced at Jane. She pretended to ignore them. I didn’t know whether Miss Wood heard them or not. She had grey hair, wrinkles. Perhaps her hearing was not what it once was. “However, there is a certain advantage. If you should need to be disciplined, your bottom is already bare. Turn around. Let me see it.” I put my hands to my seat. I gulped. Things were getting more overt now. With a quick glance at Jane, who frowned at my recalcitrance, I turned and showed my bottom to Miss Wood. I was sure Rob watched, from somewhere in the house. I was glad he’d followed us, leaving Katie with Nick. I had him almost to myself now, except for his wife. Miss Wood obviously was too old to hold his interest. “Take away your hands,” Miss Wood told me. “You have a lovely bottom. If you’re not going to wear panties, then you shouldn’t try to hide it with your hands.” Slowly I withdrew my hands from my ass. “Ah,” the woman said. She bent. She moved closer to me. She peered at my naked seat. “I see she has several marks upon it. They are? Ah, yes. Temporary. From the use of an implement, I assume?” “Yes,” Jane said. “She wet the bed earlier this evening, as I said.” Miss Wood nodded. “I’m glad to see you’re not entirely remiss in your disciplining of her,” she said. “But such a round, white, lovely bottom as she has is very enticing to men. She will get herself pregnant if she isn’t properly educated.” “Yes, I agree,” Jane replied. I gulped. Miss Wood’s words were closer to home than she knew. Even now, I wasn’t sure when I’d last swallowed a pill. Somehow, though, I’d managed to escape the cave I’d shared with Nick and his friends, without becoming enceinte. “Let us go into my class room,” Miss Wood suggested to Jane. “I would be remiss not to give her a few evening lessons, before tucking her into bed. With your approval, of course.” “Please do with her whatever you feel is appropriate,” Jane said. “Bambi, I mean, Raquella, dear, Miss Wood will escort you into her class room and have you write a little on the board, and also show her your posture, and a few other things. Please understand that my husband Rob made me take lessons from Miss Wood too, some months back, so I am only requiring of you what was required of me.” “Of course,” I answered. I felt she wanted me to call her mommie, but I couldn’t bring myself to be that foolish. Especially given what she’d promised me in the bath, that this was a visit that would introduce me to the force of feminine will. In a way I’d remember. Miss Wood took my hand. It was firm. It felt cold. It made me flinch, the coldness of it. It was coated with cream like old women sometimes smear all over their faces. My body felt flushed and warm, despite my nudity. My babydoll flipped absently round my waist. My heels were high, too high, spiked heels that made me feel tall and made it difficult for me to walk unless I concentrated only on walking. Yet Jane had insisted I wear them. We’d stopped at a shoe store on the way over, trading furry slippers I wore for heels. I had, of course, kept my mink coat on in the store, to the bemusement of the curious store clerk. Now I was free of the coat, and without the collar I’d worn earlier, or the foot manacles. I liked my babydoll but I sensed its overt sexiness displeased Miss Wood. Did she enjoy being displeased? I couldn’t tell. Perhaps a part of her enjoyed it, but another, deeper part of her was envious. Jane had said she’d never been as pretty as me. We walked through Miss Wood’s living room, down a hall. “Raquel, you are a spoilt American girl,” Miss Wood told me. “We were very poor in England. We did not have all your priviledges and luxuries that you have.” I wished to remind her that I was French, in the game we were playing for Rob, but said nothing. “Your parents have pampered you, and your American teachers also, Raquel,” Miss Wood told me. She put her hand on the handle of a door in the hall. She opened it. Inside, I saw a small class room. It had a globe, a flag. An English flag. There was also a blackboard, and a single desk, plus several chairs. A paper strip of alphabet letters hung above the blackboard. There was a pointer standing in a corner next to the blackboard. When I looked closer, I saw it wasn’t a pointer, but a cane. It was made of bamboo. “Go to the blackboard and draw a male penis for me,” Miss Wood said. “That’s right. A male penis. With the testicular sac underneath it. I don’t think you’ve been paying attention in health class. Draw it out for me, and label all the parts. Can you do that?” I looked at her rather blankly. I’d seen a cock. I could draw a cock. But to label everything. Well, I would try. She let go of my hand. I began walking toward the blackboard. “No, you are doing it all wrong,” Miss Wood told me. I paused in mid-stride. I hadn’t even reached the blackboard yet. How could I be doing anything wrong? “You American girls,” Miss Wood scolded. “Do you think you are going to be President of the United States? Well, perhaps. If you don’t get yourself pregnant. But you, Raquelle, have the body of a fashion model. I want you to walk as befits your build. Since you are built like a model, you will walk like one. In the middle ages in England people accepted their proper station in life. They did not aspire to what they had not been born for. You have a model’s body. Therefore, you will learn to walk like a model. Swing your hips. Give a certain lift to your step when you walk, so that your fine young bosoms bounce.” I obeyed. Hoping Rob was watching, I walked with a salacious grind to my hips. I let my boobies bounce as much as gravity would allow. I felt the tips stiffen to hard coral points. I was excited. A moistness began to dampen my bare muff. “Turn. Come back towards me. We will draw on the board in a minute. First practise walking. Concentrate, dear. You look unsteady in your heels. Tch. Tch. Do you wear sneakers all day, is that it? I know you American girls. Dirty sneakers and those awful, ragged-edged, greasy wide jeans. The ones that look like they’ll fall down at any minute. Well, here we can see your nice, bare legs. Show them off. And your muff. How pretty your furred pussy looks. Show it. Thrust your hips forward as you come to a stop, before you turn around to walk back toward the blackboard. Yes. Shove your twat at me. It is a model’s walk, on the runway. There. Now turn. Show me your bottom again. Make it wiggle, girl. Men might be watching. Wiggle your ass so you can sell lots of clothes for your agency. Are your boobies bouncing? Well, we aren’t selling bras today, are we? No, just nighties with holes where the bra should be. There, you are doing better. Now draw a cock for me on the board, so I know you’re at least aware of the dangers men present to a young girl like yourself in this world,” Miss Wood said. I found a piece of chalk in a tray along the bottom of the blackboard. It was new. It was pink in color. There was an eraser beside it but I didn’t need the eraser. Not yet. I picked up the chalk and began drawing. “You draw so sedately,” Miss Wood said. She sat in a chair now, with Jane sitting beside her. They were wooden chairs. I hoped Rob, somehow, was watching. “Wiggle your ass as you draw. You must always be thinking like a model. Who knows? You may have to make a career of it. Work your hips as you draw on the board, girl. You’re drawing a cock, Raquella. It should excite you. Make it bigger. Men who date a fine girl like yourself, who is a model, have big cocks. Do you wish to date Pee Wee Herman?” I drew salaciously at the board, as she commanded me, as I hoped Rob had secretly commanded her. I wiggled my ass back and forth as I drew. I made a very big penis on the board with my chalk. I put a big testicle sac underneath it. “Put hair on the testes,” Miss Wood called out to me. “Do you wish to date little boys?” “No, Miss Wood,” I replied. I put lots of hair on the balls, drawing it in with my chalk. “Now where is the crown?” Miss Wood asked. “Yes, that’s it. Don’t forget to label the pee hole. Did you draw a pee hole?” I suffered under her directions. She wished all the parts of the penis labelled. “Where is the root?” she asked me. “Keep wiggling your hips as you write in all the parts. You should be excited, girl! Put your hand between your legs. Show me you’re excited by the big cock you’re drawing.” I put my hand to my muff. It felt moist. Well, it would be even more moist in a minute, I told myself. Reluctantly I began rubbing it. I felt the tight curls there, the labial lips. I sought within them for my spot. Miss Wood was implacable. She made me draw another cock, and then another, erasing each one as I went along. She said each time that I had been wilfull, and not drawn it as perfectly as befitted the “perfection” of the male penis. And she kept me rubbing myself, all the while, making me grow more excited by the minute. And she reminded me to grind my hips as I worked, and to make a display of my nude bottom, gyrating it all about, as if I were on a runway, with other models, being observed by men. Except, if I were on a runway, I’d at least have something more on than just this winsome, see-through nightie. Unless, I reminded myself, it was a runway that was featuring a private lingerie showing. Perhaps a showing for men only. “Oooooh! I can’t draw anymore!” I declared after making the third penis. My snatch felt wet. It had made my fingers all wet. I looked at the penis I’d drawn on the blackboard. It was the most perfect penis I’d ever drawn in my life. “Very well,” Miss Wood replied. “You have done your best. But I sense a certain lack of appreciation in your drawing. Technically, it is accurate. I shouldn’t wish to harm the delicate self esteem of a pampered girl like yourself. But there should be more of that intangible quality of admiration in your drawing,” Miss Wood said. “My husband died when I was only 30. I think you spoiled American girls just take the male penis for granted, Raquelle. It is a work of art. But you treat it diffidently. That sort of diffidence will wind up getting you pregnant, because you don’t have a proper fear and admiration of it. A male penis is like Thor, like Jupiter, the God who Thunders. If it strikes, you will be with child. Come here, girl. You must learn proper respect for the male penis, or it will be your undoing. And swing your hips as you walk. No, you don’t have to erase the board. Erase the board!” “I was just trying to be neat,” I said meekly. “She wishes to erase such a perfect picture of a male penis,” Miss Wood said scornfully to Jane. “Yes, it looks just like my husband’s, and she wishes to erase it,” Jane said. “See? These spoilt girls. No respect, and she is still unsteady in her heels. Come, girl. You require a sound thrashing to instill some respect in you. Fortunately I worked part-time at a girls’ reformatory school, after I retired. It was in America, though, and they let me go. They said I was too severe.” “Tch,” Jane said. With steps leaden with hesitancy, yet grinding my hips profusely as I walked, I approached Miss Wood. A thrashing? I did not wish for that. Did I? All Rob’s attention would be on me, I was sure, if I was punished. Not on his lovely wife, with her black cire dress, and her perfectly made up face, and her pinup’s body. But on me. I would capture and hold his attention for the entire length of my... beating. Yes. That was the word. Oh, but why did I have to be hit on my bottom to take full possession of his eyes? Of his mind. Of his lust. Because, I supposed, when I was being... hit... (I still had trouble admitting such a thing to myself). When I was being hit my bottom would gyrate even more salaciously than it did now, and my young tits would flaunt themselves even more bouncily. And he would feel concern for my tears. And my screams would pierce his ears, demanding he pay attention to me. Only me. Not his wife. I felt a finger poke between my lips. It was mine. It hung off the corner of my mouth as a finger on my other hand explored my snatch. I was hungry. I was lustful. I should not be lustful, I told myself. But I was. I could still feel, vaguely, the imprint of Jane’s crop upon my bare behind. Was master gazing at my ass even now? Was he savoring my twin, wiggly white spheres, and what must happen to them? Were his eyes peering at my bottomcrack? “Come and sit on my knee, Raquella,” Miss Wood told me. “Sit down. Right here. I know your bottom is naked. Put it here on my knee. Thin as a bone, isn’t it? Yes. Put your bottom on my old, bony leg. That’s it,” Miss Wood said, satisfied, as I settled my young backside onto her leg. “Sit still, girl,” she admonished. “I know you’re excited. I can see that by your pretty nipples. How they stick out from your breasts? My, your bottom does spread upon my knee, doesn’t it? Right up between your crack my old leg goes, hmmm? Splitting the cheeks. No, don’t shift your weight. I like you just as you are, with your ass poised on my knee and my kneecap jammed up between the darling cheeks of your bottom.” I had sat down meekly on Miss Wood’s knee, and it was most unfortunate, for instead of sitting in a friendly way, sideways on her thigh, I’d shyly sat myself just at the very end of her leg, where her knee was. The old goat’s bony knee was now jammed up between my split-apart ass, as if trying to impregnate my behind. It was decidedly uncomfortable. My moist snatch made me even more figity. “How you wiggle so on the end of my knee, girl,” Miss Wood said disapprovingly. “A proper English education would teach a young lady like yourself to sit still. You are not a four-year-old, my dear. How pretty and slim your back is. How lightly fleshed your ribs. My, I can see every one of them, you are so thin. Let me see, I believe I can even count them. One, two, am I tickling you?” Miss Wood’s finger poked me in my ribs. Next, it was light as a feather, just barely touching me. I couldn’t help giggling. It made my bosoms jiggle. “How beautifully your breasts hang off your chest,” Miss Wood told me. “Let me cup them. You are so young. They are so new. You should keep them confined in a bra, so they grow properly. Yes, they will grow even more, don’t worry. How large you American girls can be in the bosom department, hmmm? Yours are already like lovely ripe melons. And you do not care to confine them, do you? You want to flaunt them. You want to run naked and let your bosoms bounce wildly all over the place. You are liberated, hmmm? Did you burn your bra?” I wanted no nod ‘no’. I hadn’t burned my bra. Perhaps my mother had burned hers, when she was young. Old people sometimes get confused by all the decades, mixing one with another. Then again, I didn’t always wear my bra. I hadn’t tonight. I’d let my nipples stick out, when they felt like it, and show themselves poking up from within my sweater. “She did not wear a bra this evening,” Jane told Miss Wood. “She did not?” Miss Wood asked. “What was she wearing?” “Just a sweater,” Jane answered. “Oh, walking about outdoors with her boobs bouncing freely,” Miss wood said. “And now she refuses to wear even panties when visiting me. This does call for an application of the cane, don’t you think?” “No,” I wanted to say, but the question was not addressed to me. I was to sit still, with Miss Wood’s knee up my butt, and her clammy hands working their bony fingers into my tits. Oh, what silly things one does for love! “At least the nightie she has chosen will not inhibit its use,” Jane said to Miss Wood. The old crone lifted up the hem of my nightie, which hung round my ribs, leaving my hips and legs bare. My breasts jutted through the front of it, for its uppermost part was merely a breast halter, without any cups. My nipples stiffened even more as I felt Miss Wood play with the hem of my nightie. I wished it had at least a back to it, but even there, I was naked, protected only by the back of the breast halter. The rest of my nightie hung, skirt-like, off my ribs and my front, leaving my back nude. My bottom was completely without cover. I opened my legs. I bent and looked down between my breasts at my furry muff. I rubbed my cunt hairs. I was spread-legged on the old crone’s knee, looking sluttish, I thought, with my excessive makeup, and my hair pinned up in pigtail’s like a little girl’s. Did Rob like seeing me this way? With my breasts bare, my cunt all wet with my juices, my long legs open to whatever depredations might befall my snatch? “Yes,” Miss Wood said. “Bottom training is what she needs. The posterior is a wonderful part of the body, for it can be beaten severely, and be made to transmit painfully clear lessons to the mind, yet it heals quickly, so that after a few days it can be sat upon, with relative comfort, or thrashed again, if the pupil still requires more instruction.” “I shouldn’t like to see my little one hurt too badly,” Jane said to Miss Wood. “Ah, you are uninformed, then,” Miss Wood told Jane. “Hurt is what we wish. Hurt provides the lessons that the mind would otherwise reject. It is harm we wish to avoid. Unless, that is, you desire some mark, which she can observe in future to remind herself of her instruction, even after the pain of it is gone. Do you wish such a mark?” “Not- not at present,” Jane answered. “It is used, often, to claim a girl, is it not? By a man, I mean. He has her marked to claim her forever as his.” “Yes,” Miss Wood says. “It serves as a bond between them. Marriage, you know. It can be so easily undone these days. But a mark, on the body, that is a permanent thing. Usually it is agreed upon, in advance, by the couple in question. He desires to have her marked. Professionally, you know. By someone like myself. Sometimes he is present. Sometimes not. It depends on the man’s constitution. Some men cannot bear to see their little beauty marked.” “Yes, we do not wish for such a mark this evening,” Jane said. “She is really just a plaything. A diversion.” “Of course,” Miss Wood said. All the while she kept on stroking me, lifting my breasts and testing the tenseness of my nipples. She inquired between my legs into the wetness of my slit. She parted my legs more fully. She made me continue to sit with my full weight upon her knee. “Yes. It is better for your husband, being as handsome as he is, to stray within your view, for he would surely stray in any case, he is, as I say, so beautiful to look at.” “Mmmm. I showed you his picture when last I visited,” Jane said. “With the other girl.” “Hmmm. How is she? She was 14, was she not?” “I don’t know,” Jane replied. “She no longer works for us.” “A lovely girl,” Miss Wood said. “You have good taste. And this one. She is, perhaps, even prettier still. You keep your husband well supplied with young flesh.” “Now and then, as a diversion, to keep him from playing the field on his own,” Jane said. “And there is a certain beauty in the girls that I like for its own sake,” she confessed. “But she will of course be dismissed when her usefulness is...” Miss Wood began. “When she bores me,” Jane answered. “Or I find someone prettier still. I like the girls I meet, but I’m not trying to build a harem.” “Of course,” Miss Wood said. “A man would want to be greedy, and keep all the girls he met forever, though the newest one, of course, would attract his attention far more than the ones he’s already been privy with.” “Yes. I let them go, when I no longer find they interest me as much as when we first met,” Jane said. “Let them play elsewhere. It would be improper for me to enslave them.” “Except briefly, as love slaves,” Miss Wood agreed. “Yes. And I do not want them getting too close to my husband,” Jane added. I shivered, out on the end of Miss Wood’s knee, with her kneecap jammed up between my buttocks. They were talking of me as if I were some piece of furniture! And there had been other girls? Before me? How humiliating! And yet I of course knew I wasn’t Rob’s first. After all, he was married. I did not know what to think about the idea of being... used. How difficult it was for me to admit to myself anything, I thought as I sat with Miss Wood’s knee stuck in my ass. I was being used, wasn’t I? And I would be hit. Across my bottom. They would enjoy the act, and my suffering, and afterward I would be turned out, made to go away. Did I want that? No! And yet that was surely what would happen. Unless. Unless Rob wound up preferring me to his wife, and marrying me, and divorcing her. Yes, I told myself. That was surely what would happen. I stiffened. My back straightened. (Though, indeed, I was sitting rather straight already, what with a woman’s knee worked up into the cheeks of my tush.) If Rob did prefer me, would he need to mark me? That would bond us forever. He was an honorable man, I felt, even though I’d known him only a little while. If he marked me, I would be his forever. He would not stray after that. He would love no one but me. Jane would be turned out, not me. She would prove to have been the “diversion”, as she called it. Not me. Miss Wood grabbed my arms. She wrenched them behind me. I bleated out a cry of alarm, like a sheep ready for slaughter. Jane laughed. Holding my wrists behind me, Miss Wood placed cuffs over my wrists and locked them. I wanted to run, to jerk my hands away, but she held them tight and I sat, half-compliantly, half not, wiggling and squirming on her knee, yet obeying, for Rob was watching. “There,” Miss Wood said. “My, you are trembling, girl. Do you think I’m going to hurt you now, hmmm? Do you think I’m going to mark your lovely body? Shhhh. Don’t answer,” she said, placing a finger over my lips. “Did Jane tell you this is about willpower, hmmm? Mine *and* yours? Oh, I’m sure you’ll require the cane on your bottom before you leave. Yes. Nobody leaves here with a nice, white bottom like you have. But not yet, my dear. No, not yet. I want you to go to the blackboard again. I want you to pick up the chalk again. Yes, the chalk. What? You can’t? Of course you can! You have lips, and a mouth, do you not? Pick it up with your mouth.” She laughed. “You will draw on the black board with the chalk in your mouth. The pink chalk between your pink lips. You will draw cocks. Lots of cocks. I want the whole blackboard filled up with big, stiff, hairy-balled cocks. Then we will see about your bottom. Get up!” Miss Wood said. She slapped my flank with her bare hands. It stung upon my thigh. I leapt up. My bosoms bounced in my leaping. The hem of my nightie rose, fell. My bottom wriggled, glad to be free of her intrusive knee. I was free again, free of her hands, and yet not free, for my own were bound behind me. I went to the board. I bent over, showing the full amplitude of my bottom, my cheeks, bending and offering them. I licked in the chalk trough with my tongue. At last I was able to grip a loose piece of chalk with my teeth. I stood erect. I held it tightly in my mouth, lest I drop it, and be punished. I tossed back my blonde hair from my face. I drew cocks, as she’d requested. I made them long and large and with big, hairy balls hanging underneath them. “Very good,” Miss Wood complimented me, when I’d filled the last corner of the board up with the pink outlines of a big man’s penis. Rob’s penis. Did he see himself up there, as I did? “Very good. Put down the chalk. Carefully. Back into the trough. Other girls will need it. That’s it. One girl simply dropped hers,” Miss Wood said in an aside to Jane. I turned. I gazed at my captors. Two women, smartly dressed. Me wearing nothing, my bush moist, my nipples sprouted, only a filmy, unconcealing nightie hanging down under my tits. “It is a maternity nightie she is wearing,” Miss Wood said to Jane. “You see? She is free to suckle with her bare breasts. And her nightie, while covering her tummy down to her navel, does not inhibit it at all. So she can be swollen with child, yet discreet. Of course it is rather indiscreet, I think, for a young girl of 13, who’s not pregnant, to be wearing a maternity nightie.” “She chose it herself,” Jane answered. “Perhaps she has plans for your husband’s seed you don’t know about,” Miss Wood said. “Perhaps,” Jane answered. “But if she bore a child, with his sperm, I’d consider it mine.” “She would be a surrogate mother, then?” “I should hope so,” Jane said. “Otherwise she would be--” “His wife?” Miss Wood asked. “No. Never. I am his wife,” Jane said. “Ah, but rings can be put on, and taken off again,” Miss Wood said. “You have neither mark upon you, Jane, nor a child of his. Who are you to claim a superior right to her, if she conceives?” “I am her mother,” Jane snapped. She frowned at the old woman. “Consider it a sign of appreciation of your beauty that I spoke of it,” Miss Wood said. “That you wish to mark me?” Jane asked. “One does not wish at my age,” Miss Wood said. “But, were I younger, and practising the trade I do now, well...” “Perhaps someday,” Jane said. “Tonight we must concern ourselves only with her, of course,” Miss Wood agreed. “Come to me again, Raquella. Wriggle your hips as you do. They will surely wriggle quite salaciously after I’ve caned you, dear. You shan’t be able to still them then!” She laughed. “Come and sit on my lap again, dear. Perhaps you’ll sit in a more friendly fashion this time, eh, knowing how old and bony my knees are.” I did. I sat on her thigh, on the thickest part of it I could find. It was much softer than her knee, though still on the slim side, as if there’d been more of her once, but it had wasted away as she’d aged. My boobs hung nakedly under her eyes. She admired them, frankly, as a man might. “Yes. You have fine tits,” Miss Wood said. She pinched my nipples. “OW!” I cried. “Fine tits for a girl your age, especially,” Miss Wood said. “And so perky. How you respond when I touch them.” “OW! Please don’t do that,” I said. My voice was breathless. I felt excited. Yet her fingers were rude. I didn’t like them pinching my bosoms. “Now, Raquella,” Miss Wood said, exuding satifaction at seeing me wince. “I have been so concerned for you that I’ve given you some training right off. But really, this is most inappropriate. Do you remember when you first went to nursery school? Was there not a physical examination, by a doctor, of your body before you were allowed to attend? It is the same here. I am no different from the state in that respect. We shall have to examine you, my dear. When you were a little girl, of course, you simply lifted your skirt, and dropped your panties, and stood in front of the doctor, perhaps holding your teddy bear all the while. But not here. You are bigger now. Come! We must give you a young woman’s exam.” Miss Wood rose. I, being on her lap, was forced to rise with her. Jane stood. She eyed me expectantly. I tried to gaze at her, but wound up looking at my toes instead. Was Rob watching? Did he wish to see me... examined? “We have a doctor’s office right across the hall, dear,” Miss Wood said. She unlocked my handcuffs. She took the cuffs away, and I eagerly rubbed my wrists. They had been tight. Jane smiled at me. But it was a sadist’s smile, glad to see me suffering, if only a little. I tried to ignore her smile. “Please take my hand,” Miss Wood told me. “I don’t want you running ahead, or lagging behind. That’s a good girl.” Miss Wood put a finger under my chin and lifted it. “Try not to be afraid, dear. You’re trembling so. A visit to the doctor is worrisome, but I’ll try to see that you aren’t probed too deeply. I try to make sure that the discomfort in my exam isn’t excessive.” Miss Wood pulled me forward. Her words did nothing to assauge my fears. I felt as one on a river, a raging river, bobbing along, unable to control my fate. And yet I could, at any moment, refuse, couldn’t I? But then what would Rob think of me? He would think me just a child, woulnd’t he? Not a young woman fit for his attention, but only a scared little girl. I didn’t want to be thought of as a scared little girl. Katie, I was sure, would never willingly submit to a physical exam. It would frighten her, going to the doctor. So I let my chin be lifted, and tried to walk confidently, while still swaying my hips, which swayed in any event, thanks to Miss Wood requiring me to, or not, because in addition I was agitated and feeling sexy. It was a sexiness laden with fright, however. Perhaps I wished it that way? Perhaps I didn’t feel enough self esteem to just be outrightly sexy? My mom would never want me to be outrightly sexy. Nor my teachers. Nor my pastor. Especially at 13. So, yes, I needed to be pushed a little, and made to frig my slit. Pulling me along, Miss Wood made me put my free hand over my pussy. She told me to feel shy at being exposed to the doctor, yet excited. And I did! I diddled my slit as we walked, my hips swinging, Jane following. I let my bare bottom flaunt itself before her eyes. I played with myself freely. I felt my nipples, stiffly uprisen on my bosoms, sticking out in front of me as I frigged my slit. We were so naughty. I was so bad. I would be well deserving of that cane standing in the corner, before the night was through. I wondered about Katie. What games were they playing? She and Nick? He was a bad boy, Nick. He had lured me to that cave full of Navy Seals. They had used me, and I had never seen them again. Would the same happen to me this time? Would Rob be a distant memory soon, as Jim already was becoming? Oh, my! I didn’t want to be a slut! Yet I was always, it seemed, running afoul of bad people. Nick first, now Jane and her husband, and Miss Wood. It was my body, I told myself. It was not me. It was my body. It had blossomed and attracted all the world’s flies to it. Flies and bees. And worms. Big, man-sized penis worms, that just had to have me, no matter what. “This is the exam room,” Miss Wood told me. We were in the hall and she opened a door and let us into another room. Behind us lay the school room, across the hall, the big penises I’d drawn still on the black board. Before us lay a wicked looking room, with an ob/gyn table, complete with stirrups, and surgical tools on a metal tray beside it. There was a screen, in a corner, behind which one could undress. I, of course, Miss Slut, was already nude, or almost nude. Now I would not only be naked but spread and forced to offer myself. My whole self. Upon the table, I guessed. I shut my eyes tight and tried not to walk forward when Miss Wood pulled on my hand. The exam room was scary enough, but what made it worse was something along one side of the room. There, lined with brick, with a fire set standing beside it, was a fireplace. A small fire crackled within it, turning logs slowly to ash. Hearing it, one knew instantly one wasn’t really in a doctor’s office. It was only a play office, designed for wicked ends. How it would have been so much easier if the exam room was perfect in its appearance. Then I might have told myself I really was in a doctor’s office, being examined by a doctor. But not with that fireplace. That, crackling away, throwing light and heat out into the room, made it abundantly clear that this was not an real doctor’s office, but only a house, with doctor’s gear placed in it. I would be probed by people who were not doctors, who were only playing. They would, perhaps, open me wider than any doctor, require more of me, and it would be all for naught. Nothing would be learned, except perhaps by me, that I should’t play such games. “Get on the table,” Miss Wood said to me. There was a small portable set of steps next to the ob/gyn table. She guided me toward them. “Wait,” she said suddenly. “You have your nightie on. Your maternity nightie. Please go behind the screen and remove it. Your heels also. I will need you barefoot, so that I can place your feet properly in the table’s stirrups. Go, my child. We’ll be waiting for you when you come out. Oh, yes. One other thing. While you are behind the screen, I would like for you to brush out your hair, and touch up your makeup. Remember, this is a special doctor’s office. You must look your very best, even if you are naked.” Shiveringly I let go of her hand. How awful this was! Yet how stiff and perfect my nipples were. How wet my slit. I left her with mincing steps, not wishing to obey, yet able to do little else. Jane locked the door to the room as I walked behind the screen. I heard the key in the lock. I wondered where she’d gotten it, and why we needed to be locked in. Could Rob see me from outside the room? Was there, perhaps, some sort of camera? A hidden mirror? I guessed there must be. Yet, did I wish him to see me as open as the ob/gyn table would make me? I did, and yet, at the same time, I did not. I was conflicted. I only wanted him. Yet he wanted more. He wanted me, but also to see me tested. Perhaps because I was so young? Or because it served his wicked male needs? I didn’t know. With butterflies in my tummy, I stepped behind the screen. There was a hook there, for my nightie. A low stool. A mirror. A makeup kit. A brush for my hair. “Come out, Raquella. This is a doctor’s office, not a beauty parlor,” Miss Wood called some minutes later. I appeared from behind the screen. My hair was brushed to a bright gloss. My pigtails were back in place, holding my freshly brushed hair. My ribbons in my hair, holding up my pigtails, now matched a nightie I no longer wore, hanging by itself behind the screen, on a hook. My lipstick made my lips red, seductive. My eyes, large and bright and frightened, bore new layers of mascara. My cheeks were powdered. I looked like a girl going dancing, but instead I was to be examined! I paused with fright as I stepped from behind the screen. Miss Wood and Jane were decked out in surgical gear! They both wore long, flowing hospital surgeons’ gowns. Their hair was pinned up, though not completely, within surgical caps. They wore rubber gloves. Their faces had surgical masks tied over them. I was nude, barefoot. “Come here, Raquella,” Miss Wood told me in a stern voice. “Medical time is expensive. We doctors are busy people. Come and get up on the table, so we can begin your exam.” “Yes, Miss Wood,” I answered. I shivered as I walked. I bit my lower lip. I felt my teeth rubbing against the lipstick I’d applied to it. “Up on the table!” Miss Wood commanded. “Get your bottom up there. Yes. Mount the steps. Lie flat on your back. Take your hand off your pussy. We must examine your sex, right up you all the way to your womb, to insure you’re free of disease, and without child. And you must be given a pap smear, of course. It will only hurt a little.” Wincing, blushing, my hips waggling with fright, I mounted up the table’s steps. I lay down upon the paper sheeted surface of the table. The paper had small elephants and giraffes printed on its surface, as a table might have in a children’s hospital. Miss Wood and Jane came up beside me. They stood over me. They peered down at me, anonymous in their surgeon’s masks. I let them take my wrists. I felt myself shaking, I was so worried. Anything, I felt, could happen to me on this table. Anything from an abortion, which I didn’t need, to a pregnancy, which I half-wanted, if it was by Rob, and didn’t want, if it was by anyone else. I was to be spread, opened. I felt them take my ankles and place them in the footrests. They buckled them there, then returned to my hands. I lay with them over my head, where they’d laid them. I gazed up. Twin leads hung over me, positioned over my breasts. What were those for? I felt rubber tubing wrap around my wrists. “The exam may be painful,” Dr. Wood said. “We will bind your hands so that you do not interfere.” “No,” I breathed. But my voice was small, frightened. They ignored it. “It is normal to feel afraid, as a patient,” Jane said to me in a consoling voice. My wrists were bound to a metal bar at the top of the table. The women used rubber hospital hoses. They were not made for such a purpose, but it didn’t matter. They were effective in restraining me. That’s all that mattered. Carefully Miss Wood buckled a strap across my middle. She made it tight, so that I couldn’t buck up my bottom as they examined me. I gazed down at myself, at my bosoms, at my risen nipples. I was theirs to do with as they pleased now. “One more thing,” Miss Wood said. She placed a cloth over my eyes. Someone lifted the back of my head up. Hands tied the cloth so that it formed a blindfold. I could not see. I felt more frightened than ever. “Now open your mouth,” Miss Wood said. “Say ah.” I felt a wooden popsicle stick on my tongue. I showed her my tonsils. Then, to my gasping surprise, I felt a bit jammed in my mouth. It was made of rubber. “Bite down,” Miss Wood said. “This will help with the pain. I wouldn’t want you griding your pretty teeth together. You might break them.” “No, please!” I tried to cry. It was no use. I was firmly bitted. It was buckled behind my head, with a leather strap. It held my teeth apart and pressed down on my tongue. I regretted opening my mouth to the popsicle stick. I regretted everything, but it was much too late now. I was to be a patient, nothing else, for the next few minutes. Spread and opened and made unresistant. “Who needs anesthesia when there’s straps and restraints and bits?” Jane laughed. “I coudln’t agree more,” Miss Wood said. “No wonder hospital costs keep rising. All that money they spend every year on anesthesiologists, when a pair of straps will do just as well.” “Love slaves, fortunately, have no choice in the matter,” Jane said. “Well, let’s see what she’s been up to, now,” Miss Wood said. “You never know about these American girls. They are so beautiful, and sleep with so many men.” “Indeed,” Jane said. “I think we should check every part of her.” “See how well the stirrups lift her legs. They swivel her hips up nicely. We can examine both her cunt and her bottom hole,” Miss Wood said. “She’ll need both examined, too, the way she gives herself so freely to men,” Jane said. “But we must begin with the titties,” Miss Wood said. “See? I have leads hanging here, over our heads. Please uncoil one and attach it to her nipple.” “My, these are new,” Jane said. “What is their purpose?” “To test the teats for child-rearing,” Miss Wood said. “They are connected to an air pump. It will suck, in alternate seconds, all the air from these thin tubes attached to the tips of her breasts. Sucking on them, as a baby might, to test her fitness to nurse.” “Inventive,” Jane said. I was attached. By my bosoms. I gasped behind my gag but they paid me no heed at all now. I was just a stretched-out body, to be played upon. They licked my nipples, bit them irreverently, making me sob behind my gag, and hooked the tubular leads up to me. The leads ended in small cups which, wetted by the womens’ saliva, and being vaccum tubes, allowed my breast tips to extrude up into the glass confines of each cup. The machine began to suck upon my bosoms. Just the nipples, of course, because that was all that could fit up inside each cup, though the women tried to stuff in as much of me as they could, to make the fit tight. I shouted behind my gag. I was ignored. With the machine grinding away, the leads pumped my titties. My boobs wobbled nakedly on my chest. My nipples felt as if they were being attacked by twin mouths. Hungry Terminator babies suckled at my teats, unrelenting. They desired nourishment. I was pumped like some Queen Bee, feeding a hive, used only for my reproductive value. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Other stories: type http://www.dejanews.com/ into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key. Under “Quick Search”, type in: roller39@idt.net Press your “return” key. -Other providers: Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope 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. -END OF story 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> /