Message-ID: <904eli$9705252043@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Party Pussies part 1 of 4 (NND) _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in PARTY PUSSIES _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter One I was young and I felt restless. I liked wearing black pullover sweaters that hugged my newly grown breasts. With my sweater on, I’d put a medallion around my neck. It said “Black Sabbath” on it and it hung from a long chain down between my bosoms. The weight of the chain’s links cutting between my tits made my breasts stand out even more. The medallion wasn’t as shiny as I would have liked (it was old) but it was heavy and it kept the chain tight between my tits so that they were perfectly delineated as twin mounds of flesh under my sweater. One night I was fooling around at the grocery with my friend Beth Ann. Everyone calls her “Bethany.” She has nice breasts but she’s only 12 and I’m 13 and a half so I like teasing her about how my boobs are bigger than hers. “Look, Bethany!” I said with a half-suppressed giggle. I jumped from one black-tiled square to the next across the grocery store floor, like we used to do as little girls. Of course I wasn’t wearing any bra, just my black pullover with my medallion. As I jumped from square to square my bosoms juddered under my blouse like large mounds of jello. Bethany laughed and tried it herself. She’d quit wearing bras too and her bosoms bobbed like perfectly formed spheres under her blouse. A balding man, walking by with his cart, saw us. Unfortunately for him he didn’t look where he was going anymore, once he saw us. He rammed his cart into a display of bottles of vinegar and they all tumbled down and went smashing across the floor. “Harold! What in God’s name -- can’t you even drive a grocery cart properly?” I heard his wife say to him. “I’m sorry Maude I--” the man began, and then his wife spied Bethany and me jumping from square to square, seeing how much we could make our tits bounce. “That’s the last time we have the Girl Scouts meeting at our house, Harold!” his wife said to him. As Bethany and I were tootling around the store, looking for other things we could do, we met a guy. He looked about 16. Later I found out he was 16, which shows how good I am at evaluating guys and their ages and stuff. He was tall and he obviously worked out, although he looked a little bedraggled and I got the feeling that maybe he hadn’t been home for awhile. I felt bold. I knew I looked good in my black sweater and I’m a blonde. I could feel my blonde mane hanging down past both sides of my face and overlapping my shoulders. I have a small frame, shoulders so narrow you’d think you could snap me in two just by picking me up. That’s why I was glad when my breasts grew. They’re big and full and round. Rising like cantaloupes off my chest, they give me a nice healthy look. Before they popped out I was so slim-looking, like a matchstick girl, but with them I look okay. Fortunately as my breasts grew my hips and bottom started swelling and filling out too, though my waist remained wasp-thin, with that ‘don’t touch me I’ll break’ thinness to it that had plagued me in childhood. So I felt a little ambivalent as I approached the cool, 16-year-old dude with the messy, slightly greasy hair and the bulging biceps. But I felt bold too, because I knew he’d like my breasts and I had my medallion between them to show them off to best advantage. “Hi,” I said. As he lifted his eyes I stuck out my chest at him. “Watch’a reading?” He looked at my tits and then, lifting his eyes, at my face. Bethany crept up behind me, as impressed, I think, as I was by this guy, but she was only 12 and her breasts weren’t as big as mine so she felt a little shy. The guy looked at me with a knotting of his eyebrows. They were kind of heavy across his eyes, matching perfectly his face, which was starting to grow a beard and needed (I thought) a shave. “What makes you think I’m reading?” he asked me indignantly. “You’re holding a magazine, stupid,” I answered. If I’d been younger I would have yanked it out of his hands and run away, but I knew I’d look foolish doing that with my big breasts bouncing on my chest, running through the grocery and probably out past the lanes of checkers. So I stood my ground. But I was feeling kind of awkward now, like a show-off maybe, though deep down I wanted to show off to someone, and be admired by him. I didn’t just want to jump between squares in the grocery’s empty food aisles anymore. I wanted someone more than Bethany to admire my boobs. (But not a bunch of sour old clerks at the front of the grocery!) “I’m not reading,” the guy answered. “I’m thinking. Do you want to know what I’m thinking about?” “Yes, I guess....” I said. By now he was gazing at me with a little more interest, though I still got the feeling that his thoughts were deep within him, or far away, not really concentrating on me but willing, for the sake of my boobs, to give me a penny’s worth of his thoughts. He looked at me and and then glanced at Bethany. She was only 12 and she looked at him with big, moony eyes, like twin saucers. “Is she with you?” the guy asked me. He indicated her with a nod of his head, in her direction. “Yes, that’s Bethany,” I answered. I looked at my feet (or tried to, my bosoms in the way) and said, “and I’m Lisa.” “Well, Lisa,” the guy said. “I’m Steve.” He cocked his eyebrow and seemed suddenly to relish the thought of telling me something he knew would scare me, like boys did right before they showed me toads or roaches when I was little, holding their hands up quite politely and then suddenly opening them and letting out their dirty little secret. ‘Eeek!’ I’d scream and run away, as a croaking frog or a flitting cockroach came flying after me. “I’m thinking, Lisa,” Steve said gravely to me, lowering his voice but keeping it loud enough so he could scare Bethany too with his revelation, “I’m thinking of becoming a sex slave.” “What?” I think Bethany yelled it first but my voice was right behind hers. Hers was higher-pitched, though, and I think people throughout the store heard it, a big, loud, shrieky “WAAAHT?!” blurted in a little-girl’s frightened, revolted voice across the aisles. Steve grinned to himself and returned to reading his magazine. Normally I would have dashed away from him then, but like I said, I was feeling restless and I was bored too. So I stood my ground. I kept my eyes trained on him until, much to my satisfaction, he was forced to lift his head and acknowledge the fact that I was still standing there. Bethany, meanwhile, had retreated up the aisle, yet I saw that she was staring up at some coin-shaped condom packets hanging off the highest shelf in the aisle. I think she was trying to look innocuous but I laughed a little, for anybody could see she was pretending not to be up to anything in particular while all the while her eyes were staring, quite mesmerized, at these cool gold-shaped condoms that looked like golden coins from some Pirate’s treasure chest. Steve thought I was laughing at him. “I am thinking of being a sex slave,” he told me. “In Mexico. I got an offer today, hitchhiking along the road. The woman’s waiting outside in her car for me. I told her I had to think it over, you know? She was polite enough to let me. So that’s why I’m standing here, pretending to read this magazine. But I’m not really reading it, I’m thinking instead about having sex in Mexico.” That made me shiver. I wondered if Bethany had heard him. I think she had, for her eyes darted down from the condoms and looked quite alarmingly at him. “You’re kidding me,” I said to Steve. He looked at me with a surly gaze. But a little respectfully too, I think, because I was still standing there, while most girls, I think, would have long since dashed away. “I’m not kidding you,” he said. “I’ll take you outside and show you the woman if you like. I’ll even introduce you to her. She asked me if I knew any girls.” I gritted my teeth. I was beginning to sense an opportunity to get revenge on my parents, and my old boyfriend too. I’d had a fight with him this afternoon. He’d told me he liked another girl better. One that didn’t look (in my opinion) nearly as good as me. But he said she would ‘service’ him, whereas I wouldn’t. And then I’d fought with my parents, because in fighting with my boyfriend I’d been late for dinner. They’d found us necking the day before and now they were on ‘Red Alert,’ thinking me and him were having sex every afternoon at his house while they were out working at their jobs. “You’re late!” my parents had howled at me when I walked in for dinner this evening. Of course my hair was mussed from having a big argument with my boyfriend, and he’d pulled on my blouse that I’d worn to school and one of the buttons had popped off. Seeing me that way, my dad and mom instantly blamed me for having sex with him in the afternoon (although they weren’t exactly totally direct in how they phrased it, but it was obvious what they were thinking). My mom called me a ‘strumpet’ and my dad called the boy’s dad, telling him over the phone that he should mind his son better. After dinner my little sister went out to play and told all her friends that I was a ‘trumpet’ now, and boys could blow on me if they wished. So after dinner, after taking a long hot bath and feeling quite misunderstood by everybody (which I was), I put on my favorite clothes and my old “Black Sabbath” medallion that I’d bought at a rummage sale from a hippie. And I went to the grocery with my best friend Bethany, who was having problems with her parents too, because she liked copying me in not wearing a bra. (Of course that was a whole additional argument with my parents. But I’d found a picture in a photo album of my mom publicly burning her bra out on the street in the 60’s. So they were forced to let me not wear a bra if I wanted to, though I still had to wear a bra every day to school.) Anyway, not wearing our bras, me and Bethany (who’s mom never burned her bra in the 1960’s, apparently) went to the grocery after dinner. She was pissed at her parents and I was pissed at my parents and my boyfriend too, and now, with Steve, I suddenly saw an opportunity to put a great deal of the Fear of God into my parents. “Okay,” I said to Steve. I edged closer to him and let my bosoms bob closer to his face. “Show me this lady. She’s probably your mommie.” To my surprise, Steve reached out and took my hand. He didn’t ask, he just took it. He pulled me quite abruptly toward him and then turned and walked up the aisle. As we passed Bethany, I grabbed out and took her hand so I’d have her with me for protection. She gave a look at me and then a last look at the gold Pirate condoms and then we were out of the aisle and walking past the clerks and out the front of the store. The manager eyed us, thinking perhaps we were stealing something, since we’d bypassed the clerks. Out in the parking lot there was a stiff breeze. It blew back my blonde hair and it caught Steve’s too, for he had long hair, like Kurt Russell. Bethany trailed behind me, looking slightly lost, for I’d not asked her if she wanted to come along, simply grabbed her. She trailed behind my hand and almost had to run to keep up, for Steve was walking quite rapidly. Perhaps he was afraid that the manager would come after us and try to detain us and make us empty our pockets. Or maybe he’d simply made a decision and, having made it, wanted to go through with it before he changed his mind. My bosoms bounced with quiet abandon on my chest as Steve pulled me across the parking lot. Little Bethany’s tits wobbled beneath her blouse. I saw a black limosine. It was parked as discreetly as one can park a limo, taking up two parking stalls. It was black and I felt a sudden urge to ride in it, for I’d never ridden in a limo before. Then I realized Steve was drawing me straight towards it. A driver opened the door of the limo and stepped out. He was dressed in a starched uniform and looked rather nerdy, I thought, in his neat uniform. Hardly anyone to be afraid of. Then he opened the back door of the limo. Steve brought me straight up to the open door. “Get in, I’ll introduce you,” Steve said to me. I wouldn’t have let him put me in the limo but he was a weightlifter and he handled my body quite expertly, turning me and then easing me into the limo. Before I could even think about what was happening I was already inside it. Little Bethany, with a slight squeal, was popped in right behind me. Then Steve himself got in. Inside the limo was quite luxurious. I found myself seated next to a dark-haired woman in a slinky black evening gown. She was thin and had just the lightest of suntans, as if she were perhaps a little afraid of the sun, like it might give her cancer or something. Yet her skin was perfect, and she had twin dark eyes like pools you come upon in the dark, where mosquitoes live and breed, out in the woods. Her black evening gown circled her neck like a collar but was obviously without a back to it, not crossing behind her until it had to in order to put something behind her bottom. Then, just as it surrounded her completely, where her hips were, to cover her front and in back too, it was sliced up each side with long slits that almost defeated the gown’s ability to hide her figure, for the slits ran from her ankles all the way up to her hips. She obviously wore no bra, because her gown was so narrow in front, crossing down over her chest, that it left the sides of her breasts almost completely exposed. I think I liked that about her. She was without a bra, just like me. Just like Bethany, in fact, who leaned foward as we sat on a leather bench-type seat in the limo and looked with wide eyes at the woman. She smiled, the dark-haired woman, at myself and Bethany, then at Steve, who’d brought us. Her bosoms, large and looking quite vulnerable with her gown barely able to cover them, jiggled as she moved. I felt a tender feeling toward her, looking so sweetly accessible in her gown, which some wicked man had obviously chosen for her, or she’d felt the need to wear to impress him, because she loved him so much. And I felt too a wish to be classy and elegant like her, and to be admired in a gown like she wore. “Steve,” the woman said, leaning forward, her breasts moving under her rustling gown, hanging quite freely, like twin gourds of fruit being offered at a feast. “I see you’ve made up your mind.” “Yes,” Steve answered. “But drive fast, before I change it.” “And the girls?” the woman asked. She gazed with light, carefree eyes at myself and Bethany. “I-- I don’t know...” I answered. I let my voice trail off. Bethany found my hand and squeezed it tight. Was she hoping I’d rescue her, pull her from the limo before we were swept away? Or was she hoping I’d say ‘yes’ for the both of us, because she was too shy to say it for herself? “Have you ever been to Mexico?” the woman with the dark hair asked me with the same light, playful look in her eyes. “No...” I answered. My eyes admired her dress as I spoke. “Then let’s be off,” she said. She reached out and pressed a small button. It lay in the panelled wood of a wet bar that stood in front of us. The button, I think, buzzed the driver up in the front part of the limo. She smiled at me again as the limo started up and rolled forward. “My name’s Eveline,” she said in a small, delicate voice. Then, looking past me at Steve, she said, “Steve, dearest, would you serve the three of us drinks?” That night I found myself in a dark, brooding mansion somewhere below the Mexican border. We’d driven all the way, it wasn’t far. I lived in Corpus Christi. The drinks had helped with my ambivalence about the trip. I was feeling just a little dizzy now, as was Bethany. Steve, I think, was somewhere downstairs, being given a bath by one of the maids. She was big and fat and I don’t think Steve much liked getting a bath, but by the time we’d arrived at the mansion none of us were too disposed to resist anymore, giggling and laughing as the mansion’s gates opened for us and the limo slipped us inside. I got the feeling we hand’t been brought down to Mexico just to see the sights. When I told Bethany this, she told me she wouldn’t mind seeing the sights, provided they were made to wear those gold-coin condoms she’d seen in the grocery. I laughed at that. We’d been given a bedroom to share and two middle-aged maids, big and round and motherly looking, entered our room. “Take your clothes off, girls. You must be bathed,” the largest maid said to us. She did not ask, simply commanded. “Ohhh, I don’t want a bath. I want to go to a party,” Bethany answered. “Up, no time to argue. You must both have baths and then you may be invited to a little celebration,” the maid replied. And so, not wanting to undress, but having the maid approach me and take hold of my sweater and lift it up, me giggling, from drinking too much, I had my sweater pulled up over my head. My “Black Sabbath” medallion slipped through the neckhole of my sweater as it was lifted off and tumbled down past my face. It almost hit my nose. It landed with a loud slap against my belly. The maid looked at it. In the dark of the room I don’t think she’d seen it as she went for my sweater. I stood topless before her, with my breasts white as snow upon my suntanned figure, and my “Black Sabbath” medallion hanging between my naked boobs. It felt cold against my tummy. “Off with your jeans, too,” the maid said. She bent and undid my alligator’s belt that I liked so much. Then she popped the buttons on the front of my jeans and pulled them down. Beneath I wore white panties. She took those in her hands as she pushed down my jeans, cupping my hips in both her big, broad hands, and shoved the whole works down, my panties as well as my jeans. I wore slim boots on my legs and as she got my pants down she had to lift my feet, one by one, and draw off my boots. Then off came my pants, my fleecy bush feeling quite exposed with nothing covering it. I felt a little wet between my legs too, for it excited me to be naked in this big mansion, not knowing at all where I was, or in whose house I’d been invited into. Bethany shrieked as the other maid took hold of her and began to undress her. But it was just a single shriek, and then for some reason she quietened, and let the maid do her work. When we were both completely naked the bigger maid, the one who’d handled me, opened a door and brought us through a doorway into a bathroom. She lifted off my “Black Sabbath” medallion but then put round my neck, rather solicitously, a bar of soap suspended in necklace-form from a rope. The tub in the bathroom had already been filled and I realized now why, in the few moments I sat with Bethany in our darkened bedroom, wondering what to do, I’d heard water running. “Oh, but I must pee!” Bethany declared, as the two of us were urged to step into the newly filled bathtub. She darted to the toilet. Blushing a little, for all of us were looking at her, she sat down nakedly on it and let out her water. I had to go too. I went after her, peeing as the bowl refilled from her flushing it. Then, when I’d stood, and flushed away my pee, the bigger of the two maids placed a warm palm on my bare bottom, startling me, and guided me quite frankly back to the bathtub. This time she lifted my leg for me and actually forced me to step over the side of the tub into the water. I almost fell as she picked up my leg. I grabbed Bethany’s shoulder for balance. Standing beside me, she was made by her own maid to lift her leg and get in the tub. When we’d both entered the tub we looked at each other and then, not knowing what else to do, we both sat down. “Ooooh, this water is nice,” Bethany admitted. Still feeling a little woozy from drinking too much, it was nice to be able to settle into the warm tub water. I lay back in the tub and she found a rubber duck along the side of the tub and put it in the water to see it float. The maids let us rest in the tub a moment. Then, offering us a scrub brush and sponge, they told us to bathe ourselves or they would do it for us. I still felt quite clean from my bath at home, but I accepted their scrub brush and got to work. I decided, though, soaping up the brush on the bar of soap hanging between my breasts, to have a little fun by scrubbing Bethany. When the brush was foaming with soap I told Bethany to stand up and show me her bottom. She did, feeling a little silly, I think, but liking the naughtiness of standing with her bottom in my face. I sat at her feet. I lifted the scrub brush and, sexily, I began to scrub her wobbly bottom cheeks. Bethany shouted with delight. We were both a little drunk and it was fun to wash her bottom. She stuck it out at me and I slapped it. The twin, tightly-stretched mounds of cheeky flesh shuddered. “Ooohhh! Don’t do that!” Bethany pouted. She clapped her hands over her small little 12-year-old ass to protect it. I reached up and pried at her fingers. She laughed. Suddenly her hands flew away and she stuck out her bottom again. “Fart!” she announced, though nothing came out of her bottomhole. “You’re a strumpet!” I told her, and I slapped her ass again, though not as hard as before, for I didn’t want to hurt her. The maids let us play. They did not seem too worried that we wouldn’t get clean, though they did insist we wash our hair with shampoo before they let us out of the tub. Our hair was already clean, of course, but we scrubbed it anyway. I guessed they wanted our hair to be as glossy and lustrous as possible. After our bath Bethany and I were seated by the two maids in front of a vanity mirror. We weren’t used to wearing makeup but they insisted on applying some to both our faces. We were forced to sit in the nude, our bottoms warming on soft cushioned stools. My toes barely touched the floor. Bethany’s legs were too short and she kicked her feet absently back and forth under her chair as the maids applied makeup to her face. When we stood up we looked very pleasantly mature, I thought, with our made up eyes and lipsticked lips and lightly-rouged cheeks. “Sit back down, I didn’t tell you to rise,” the bigger maid said to us. I sat down again on my stool, wondering why all this was necessary. I’d had a long day. Wasn’t I simply to be permitted to go to bed? I didn’t need makeup for bed, did I? The maid brought out a little kit. She set it on the vanity counter in front of me. She opened it. I saw gold rings inside, and a small needle, as if for piercing flesh. There was a brush within, quite small and delicate, and a jar of rouge. The maid opened the jar, dipped the brush into it, and then, lifting the brush, began applying rouge to one of my nipples. I shouted. I wasn’t expecting that! I heard Bethany give a shout beside me. But the maid gripped my breast, held it tight, almost painfully, and, extruding my nipple flesh between two of her fingers, she proceeded to paint my nipple with the rouge. I felt it stiffen, felt the nipple on my other breast harden too. Yet I felt awfully tender and vulnerable, for she might pinch my nipples off, if she wished, I thought, her fingers were so big and workmanlike. And what was that needle doing in the kit? I didn’t find out about the needle, but both my nipples were carefully outlined with applications of the brush dipped in rouge. When at last the process was done I felt my nipples were very hard, like twin thorns, for the tickling of the brush against them had excited them terribly. I looked over at Bethany and saw she was aroused just like I was. I could feel my spot buzzing down within the lips of my cunt. Bethany smiled guiltily at me and brushed her hands across her thighs. I knew she was feeling excited down within her snatch too. We were permitted to stand. The maids turned us and made us bend forward and dusted both our bottoms with baby powder. Again I wondered, what for? The powder felt silky against my soft bottom but wasn’t I just going to be given pajama pants and put to bed? We were taken back out to our bedroom. It was well-lit now. Eveline had turned on the lamp. She was dressed in a similar gown as before, but it was red now, instead of black. Her hair, which she’d worn in the limo hanging free down her back, was now piled up elaborately atop her head. “Girls, you both look so special,” Eveline smiled. Her eyes glowed at me, at Bethany. “I hate to hide such beauty but I have a few little things I want you both to put on,” she said. I looked at the bed. I saw a small bow tie for each of us, and a pair of shirt-cuffs, like Playboy bunnies wear, with gold cufflinks attached to them. I saw high heels for me and, strangely, rubber rain boots for (I guessed) Bethany. They were lined with felt, as if to protect her legs from being chafed by them. But that would only be necessary if she were to walk around in them without stockings, wasnt’ it? Also on the bed, I saw a small red fireman’s hat and a squirtgun. But, significantly, I saw no panties, no bras, nothing to cover ourselves up with. This seemed odd to me, for I supposed we could sleep nude in our bed, but why would Bethany need to wear rainboots in bed? And I hated to see her armed with a squirtgun. She was still young enough to cause trouble with something like that. I could just see her trying to squrit me up the ass with it if we were both to sleep nude in our bed. “Are the heels for me?” I asked hopefully. I didn’t want to be consigned to sleeping in rain boots. They looked rather childish and silly. The floor of our bedroom was made of hard stone and felt cold under my feet. Rather than freeze my feet off, I stepped over to the warm throw rug by the side of our bed. I lifted a foot and dandled my toes over the heel strap on one of the pumps. I looked at Eveline. I knew Penthouse Pets were sometimes put to bed wearing heels and I thought, ‘Oh well, I’ll wear them to bed if she wishes, with my makeup on and my painted tits and talcum-powdered bottom, just so I don’t get consigned to those ridiculous rain boots.’ I still had no idea why she’d want us sleeping in the bed all made up and special feeling, with heels on, but perhaps it would be fun. Bethany saw the squirtgun and made a beeline for it. Fortunately, it proved to be empty. She liked the firehat and picked it up and plopped it on her head. She grinned at me. She fitted the chin strap of the firehat under her chin. I smiled at her, glad she liked the squirtgun and firehat, for I was sure the boots were meant to go with them. I sat down barebottomed on the coverlet of our bed and leaned foward. Reaching for the heels, I felt my breasts hanging beneath me, full and soft and round, with my nipples perky from being painted. “Oh, I don’t have to fool with straps to put my shoes on,” Bethany told me happily, claiming the boots for herself. “I can just stick in my feet!” She stepped into the rainboots and I was glad, for it meant I could have the high heels. Carefully I bound them to my feet, working to get all the little buckles and straps closed correctly. Then I stood up. Bethany looked at me. “You’ll probably fall over in those,” she said. I walked across the floor of our bedroom. The heels were at least four inches in height and they made my bottom swing with an exaggerated movement behind me as I stepped along in them. Bethany was right. I tottered at first, Eveline reaching out to grab me so I wouldn’t fall. But I soon got the hang of it and was walking quite proudly round our bedroom. My tits shook a little with each of my steps, my bare ass jiggled behind me. Bethany follwed me, pointing her squirtgun at my ass and, I knew, wishing she had something in it to shoot out at me. I could hear the slapping of her boots upon the stone floor. “You both look delicious,” Eveline said. She nodded to the maids. They fetched our shirt cuffs and bow ties off our bed. Bidding us to stand still, they carefully placed the cuffs round our wrists and tied the bow ties round our throats. “Now let’s go downstairs and meet my husband,” Eveline told us, when the maids finished. “What?” Bethany asked. Her eyes were big and round again, wide with surprise. She pointed her squirtgun at Eveline as if to defend herself from the woman. “Why, we’re having a party,” Eveline said. “Don’t worry, Steve will be there too. We’re all going to have some late night fun together. Do you like dancing?” “Yes,” Bethany admitted. “But not without my panties on!” She looked quickly around the room, as did I. Our clothes were gone. But, perhaps in deference to a wish I might have, my “Black Sabbath” medallion lay upon the nightstand beside our bed. I fetched my medallion and put it around my neck. I felt much comfort at it’s weighty presence against my belly. “Do you think you’ve been brought here to sleep?” Eveline asked Bethany. She rose up from a chair she’d been sitting in and went over to the girl and hugged her. Bethany looked rather like an unwilling rabbit being hugged by a child as Eveline embraced her. Her eyes stared at me and her childish cheeks were compressed slightly upon her face as Eveline pressed the girl to her bosom. Not wearing a bra, Eveline’s breasts parted as the girl’s head sank between them. It looked sexy, I had to admit, like something you might see in one of those awful men’s magazines, one girl holding the other against herself, making her face come into contact with her breasts. Bethany, of course, didn’t kiss Eveline’s bosoms as she found her head pressed hotly to them. But when Eveline let her go the girl turned, slightly, and looked at the sumptuous cleavage she’d just been pressed into. “You have nice tits,” Bethany said, frankly, and lifted her squirtgun and placed the nozzle of it right against one of Eveline’s nipples. You could see the woman’s nipples easily, standing up like twin points, pushing against the fabric of her breasts. Bethany squeezed the trigger of her squirtgun but nothing came out. We went downstairs. We were not willing or unwilling, just two nude girls hustled along with the maids behind us and Eveline leading the way. Bethany’s boots went ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ down the home’s grand front staircase. I stepped more lightly in my heels, feeling awkward, almost wishing I’d fall, so a twisted ankle could excuse me from the strange party we were invited to, where clothing (at least for us) appeared not to be needed. Downstairs the house appeared to be empty. Bethany and I threaded our way past potted vines with flowering plants on them. We passed under a painting by Renoir of a child with a watering can. I saw gorgeous Edwardian-era furniture all aroud me, like my mom collects and refinishes, and wondered if Bethany and I were to sit on it with our bare bottoms. Passing a Grecian vase, I suddenly saw a man. He was sitting in a chair by himself at the far end of the room. He was dressed in an expensive Armani suit and he was smoking a cigar. The moment I saw him he saw me. I stopped in my tracks. Bethany froze beside me. “There’s a man!” Bethany blurted. We’d only been nude with females up until now, though Steve, I remembered had been promised to be present at our little party. Perhaps I’d thought we’d be given party clothes downstairs, before he came. But now we were revealed, in all our girlish nudity, in front of this man. I didn’t know what to say. Bethany seemed to quiver beside me, her bare bosoms jiggling with quiet nervousness on her chest. I felt my bottomcheeks huddling behind me. I was acutely aware of their bulbing nakedness. Across the man’s knees, lying quite innocuously, as if placed there by accident, I saw a leather riding crop. I remembered how the horses at the stables I visited as a young girl would start when they were struck on the rump with one. “Please, girls, show a little more bravery than that,” Eveline said with a laugh. I felt hands upon my back, low down, near my waist, and I was impelled forward. Beside me Bethany stumbled forward in her boots. The man, seeming not to notice us, blew smoke rings as he held aloft his cigar. “Here’s two little ones for your party, dear,” Eveline said to the man. “Just like I promised.” The man was drop-dead gorgeous. I think if he hadn’t been I would have clawed and kicked at the women at my back, including Eveline. He looked rather like Tom Cruise, but was taller, much taller, and sat nonchalantly, as if rather bored, not seeming to mind in the least that we were without clothes at his party, nor aroused either, though I saw his pants sported a distinct bulge where his thighs met. He was young, no more than 30. His face had a scar across one cheek that frightened me, but at the same time made me feel for him, for it must have hurt for him to suffer whatever it was that caused it. He had a ring on each finger, one with a ruby in it, the other a diamond. He wore diamond cufflinks on his suit and he had one leg casually crossed over the other, leaving enough space between his crossed legs to show us he was amply equipped in the crotch. Bethany seemed as impressed as I was by the man. Despite her lack of panties she walked up to him, as the maids urged us, and we stood before him, in the altogether, wearing just our little bowties and our cuffs and shoes. Bethany aimed her squirtgun at the man menacingly, as if to shoot him if he tried anything with her. I was still flinching a little at being described as a “little one” by Eveline. I wasn’t as tall as she was but surely, with my breasts, I was at least as well endowed, wasn’t I? I thrust forward my hips, feeling the wobble of my tits on my chest. My nipples were painted. The man looked at them, then up at my face, as if not to embarrass me by gazing at my sexual places. Beside me Bethany, more from mere confusion, I think, for we were both feeling warm between our legs, stuck out her hips, perhaps hoping the man she was still pointing her squirtgun at might brave her gun and tickle her pussy. “You girls are lovely but I cannot have you greet my guests quite so openly,” the man said to both Bethany and I, but looking, I felt, longer at me than at her. I was older, after all, taller than she and with bigger bosoms. He bid me to come close. He kept his riding crop across his knees but he reached down beside his chair and picked up a can of Kool-Whip. I shivered. The man reached behind me as I came up beside him. He palmed my bottom, but not searchingly, merely to hold me. Then he applied pressure to my rump with his hand, forcing me to offer him my pussy. In the space between my legs I was feeling increasingly moist. “Are you a virgin?” he asked me frankly. “Yes,” I whispered. For some strange reason, despite the presence of the riding crop in his lap, I suddenly felt more protected and loved than I’d ever felt before in my life. This was not a boyfriend who would fight with me. He would command, but only when I was able, I felt to obey, and then he would expect me to listen and do as I was told. “Very good,” he said. “All the more reason you should not show too much too soon.” He brought the can of Kool-Whip close to my cunt. I waited. He smiled, slyly. He depressed the top of the can. “YeeK!” I shouted. I don’t know what I expected. But the cream that came spurting out of the can was ice cold. It spattered across my pubis. It coated my pussy hairs with white foam and then the man, urging me to part my legs, which caused me to bend my knees, aimed the foam lower and sprayed me underneath, not just in my pubic triangle but actually against the virgin labial lips between my legs. “Ooohhh,” I shuddered. I felt so hot between my legs and now this icy Kool-Whip was being applied by this total stranger to my most private place. He squirted carefully, slowly, not in a continuous stream, which might have made a mess, but with artful grace, holding me still with a hand firmly against my bottom, forcing me to offer him my sex. When I was well-creamed the man let me go. I returned to Bethany, my pussy covered with white stuff but otherwise as I’d been before. I liked it that the man, so easily able to take liberties with my person, had instead totally restrained himself, not even touching me, except upon my bottom, to hold me close to him. This was quite different from my boyfriend back home! He’d yelled “Heel, bitch!” and expected me to drop to my knees like a trained dog! And not merely to play at being his doggie but to do the unspeakable act of zipping open his fly and putting him in my mouth! This man, though I knew not what else he had planned for me, seemed much more accomplished. He touched me like a father might, though being much younger, and restrained what must have been an obvious need on his part bulging up between the legs of his trousers. Bethany went ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ ‘tromp’ in her boots up to the man. He placed a hand round her waist. She fliched. His hand passed down over her bottom and he murmured something to her. Then, just as he’d done with me, he took the Kool-Whip and sprayed it on her puss. “Eeeek!” Bethany hollared. But I could tell she wasn’t going to back away from him, because I’d had Kool-Whip put on me and she was kind of like a little sister in always wanting to keep up with me in whatever I did. The man coated her pudenda very slowly, as if covering her up with the modest intent of a mother. When her pussy had been nicely creamed he released her. She came back to me, her eyes wide, holding her squirtgun and, I think, wishing to feel herself down there between her legs, but afraid to. Perhaps she even wished to jam the nozzle of her squritgun between her legs, I thought naughtily to myself. I almost wished she’d do that to me. I heard voices behind me. I turned. Steve was being escorted into the room, by Eveline. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I saw his condition. He was completely undressed. He wore new sneakers, but nothing more. Sticking out in front of him, like a big erect snake, was his penis. I’d never seen one before. It practically blew my mind, seeing his, it was so very long and exquisitely hard. Steve had been shaved and bathed and his hair had been bound behind his head with a pink ribbon. I laughed, seeing the ribbon. I heard Bethany giggle. Yet his chest was a powerful, rippling mass of hard muscle, and his arms and legs were like limbs that you see on weightlifters, or the best high school football players. His stomach was flat and hard and as he passed me, barely noticing me, I saw his buns were very small and tight. They were white, like the space of flesh where his cock grew from his body. The rest of him was dark, from being out in the sun. “Steven, my boy,” the man said with a wry trace of a smile. He uncrossed his legs. He was about to draw a puff on his cigar but, I think in deference to Steven, he did not. He looked the boy over and then regarded him as, I thought, an older man might regard someone who may one day take his place. “You will find this much pleasanter work than drug running,” the man said to Steven. “Sorry about the pink bow, but the ladies insisted. You are well fitted for the work they’ll be giving you,” the man said. He glanced directly at Steven’s stiff genitals. “Try not to wave that thing in my face, eh?” “Sorry, sir,” Steven said. He stepped back a pace from the man. “Of course in my opinion, at my age, I still feel it would be better for you if you were in high school doing your studies,” the man said to Steven. This time his hand felt a need to lift his cigar to his mouth and he permitted himself the liberty of puffing upon it. He blew the smoke out slowly, ending with a smoke ring. “But, at your age, I admit I ran away myself, so I could get a start in the world, and not be a bookworm for the rest of my life.” He raised his hand. He gestured to the room around us. “As you can see, I’ve done well,” the man said. “Now about your chores here, you’ll be keeping in good condition, of course, working out every day. And at night, as this evening, you’re other parts,” the man paused, looked again at Steve’s cock, “Will be seen to.” He nodded to Eveline. The woman approached Steve. She kissed his lips and allowed him to feel the cushiony presence of her breasts pressing softly against his bare chest. Then, with a smile, she turned Steve around, so that he was showing the man his naked ass. “Ah, yes, the backside,” the man said. He reached for the crop in his lap and fingered it. “Tell me, Steve, have you ever participated in anal sex?” the man asked. “No, and I wouldn’t want to, either,” Steve said. “Good,” the man nodded. “I fully agree. However, we must have you properly outfitted, I’m afraid, for your duties this evening. You are young and strong and, quite frankly, a bit of a threat to the other men who will be attending our party tonight. I must show that you are compliant, else they won’t let their wives spend time with you. I have a device, here, which will make that quite easy. If you would, simply bend foward, spread your stance a little, and bring your arms behind you so I can get this over as quickly as possible.” He drew again upon his cigar, puffed out rings. “Believe me, this is no pleasure for me to do, but with you not having, correctly, done anything in a manner to voilate your behind, I’m afraid I’m the only one present with the strength to do what is necessary.” “Go ahead,” Steve said. “Eveline warned me this was necessary.” He leaned foward. Reaching behind himself, with Eveline drawing on one of his wrists a little, in encouragement, he took hold of his ass cheeks and separated them. “Good, good,” the man said. He drew from a bag beside his chair an enormous phallus. It was slim, however, and looked quite flexible. It had been pre-greased, by someone. The grease looked thick upon it, as one might expect if indeed Steve, like the rest of us, had never had anything stuck up his behind. I’d read of such obscene things, on the Net, surfing through alt.sexy.men.gay. I think Bethany must have too, for she stood shivering beside me, watching, waiting, holding her little squirtgun aloft just in case anybody got any ideas of doing the same thing to her. “I’ll try not to make this hurt,” the man said to Steve. “Just jam it up,” Steve said. He gritted his teeth. “You’re quite a good deal bolder with your behind than I would have been, at your age,” the man said to Steve. “I’m going to fuck your wife’s brains out when this is over,” Steve warned. The man laughed. “My delicate Eveline? Ah, Steve. Yes, you will indeed get to have her, but you must perform first for the other ladies, at our party tonight. Sorry--” he said then, and wedged the big dildo-thing between the cheeks of Steve’s ass. “Uhn,” Steve grunted. “Don’t tighten yourself, my boy. It won’t make this any easier,” the man said. He wrinkled his nose. “I’m glad you were given a bath. I’d have hated to have done this to you after you’d spent 3 days on the road.” “Yeah, up yours, just get it in. Your ass stinks too,” Steve answered. “Oh!” Bethany cried. He hand flew to her mouth as she watched Steve suddenly lurch forward. Eveline caught him, pressed him back, a hand low upon his belly, her fingers separating to make room for the growth of his real cock in front. “Ungh! OW!” Steve yelped. Eveline stroked his penis with her other hand, consoling him. “Hold still, dearest, you’ll do the same to me with this big thing you’ve got and you know it,” Eveline said. Then, nodding at her husband, she said, “Do him, dear. He deserves it. He already told me upstairs how he’s going to rape my ass with his big proud penis.” “Unh...unh...Ack!” Steve groaned. He gritted his teeth. Behind him, as he held his ass open for the man, the man inserted the dildo. It went up slowly at first, then more quickly, and Bethany and I stood watching with our bottomcheeks clenched, knowing we’d never let such an awful thing be done to ourselves! “Yes, that feels nice and full, doesn’t it, you wicked boy,” Eveline said to Steve. She was milking his cock now, pulling on it in a manner that I thought must be painful for him, though he seemed not to mind. Up, up, the big dildo went into his backside, until at last, with a sigh of relief, the man announced that he had it all the way up. Stiffly, Steve straightened. “God, Damn! I don’t think I can walk with that fucking shit up my ass!” Steve said. The man laughed. “You’ll manage, my boy, but it will reassure the other men that you won’t run away with their wives!” He pulled a leather thong that reminded me a bit of a girdle from the black leather bag beside his chair. The girdle-thong thing was split into two, and the man now fitted the two halves of the girdle together over the stump of the dildo that stuck out of Steve’s bottom. When it was together, holding the stump in place, the man wrapped it around Steve’s front. Eveline helped him. She snapped the girdle’s split front closed around Steve’s penis. There was a hole in the girdle for his balls to hang through. This had a small drawstring permitting the hole to be slipped tighter or larger around the balls. Eveline, getting the girdle closed around Steve’s penis, now tightened the hole thru which his balls descended so that his testicles were contstricted. “That will help keep you from cuming,” Eveline said in a soft whisper to Steve, as if sharing a secret with him. In back, there were manacles attached to the girdle. As Eveline closed the girdle around Steve’s cock, the man behind him bound his wrists with the manacles. When they were both finished, the process taking a while, me and Bethany wishing we could muss the cream between our legs by rubbbing our slits, Steve looked quite sexy. His ass was split down the back by a leather thong, which showed both his cheeks and at the same time had been fitted to him in such as way as to hold the dildo up his ass in place. Between his legs, his hairy balls stuck down through the opening left in the girdle’s thong. And in front, his penis, hard as a stone sculpture’s, had been encased round it’s base by the same thong splitting his ass. Nothing hid the view of his big stiff penis and nothing hid the view of his plump little ass, save the thong which cut between the cheeks of his bottom and held the dildo up inside his gut. In addition, his balls were as visible as before, though they hung lower now because the of the tightness of the girdle forcing them to descend. Steve turned to us, his hands bound behind him. “Don’t laugh, cunts,” he warned us. We both suppressed giggles but couldn’t help looking at his big, captive cock, and the exciting display of his balls. I wished he’d turn again so I could admire his well-popped ass. “Dear, do something about that dick of his, would you?” the man said to Eveline. “Here, do you want my whipped cream? I’m finished with the girls.” “Oh no,” Eveline said. She smiled. “I want to dip this fine boy’s penis in chocolate. The ladies will simply adore that!” The two maids appeared. I hadn’t noticed their absence, I was so enthralled by Steve’s butt-raping and his fixing within the girdle. Between them they carried a wastebasket. It was made of plastic, as if to keep their fingers from being burned. Brimming within, I saw what appeared to be a deep pool of chocolate. The maids set the wastebasket on a low coffee table near the man. “Kneel, dearest,” Eveline said to Steve. Lightly she put a finger to his back, down by his waist. Steve heeded her and dropped to his knees, letting them come to rest on the end of the coffee table. Of course, doing this, his dick came within inches of the warm, liquid chocolate. On the end of his penis was a dollop of pre-cum and it suddenly dropped within the liquid. I thought I heard a small hiss. “How hot is this?” Steve asked, kneeling a bit unsteadily, his penis itself in danger of plunging within the chocolate. “Not too bad, I don’t think,” Eveline said. She came round beside Steve and dipped a finger into the chocolate. She lifted it to her lips. “Mmmm, delicious. It’s not too hot, dear. Plunge your penis right into it!” With a moment’s hesitation, gazing into the deep wastebasket full of melted chocolate, Steve drew in his breath. His chest expanded. It was big and heavy and powerful. Then, still holding his breath, he plunged his dick in. “Yeeeooo! It’s not very cool!” Steve howled. But he seemed to manage the heat and he held his penis within the pool of chocolate. He had little choice. Eveline had placed both her palms upon his ass and seemed determined to keep him submerged in the chocolate for as he could bear. “Ahhhh,” Steve announced suddenly, and drew his big, dripping penis out of the wastebasket. Clinging to the entire length of it was rich, brown chocoate. I watched, amazed. I wished dearly to finger my slit but didn’t want to be seen by the man, messing up what he’d so carefully applied to me. “Yes, it’s gorgeous. Come and blow on it, girls, to cool it for him,” Eveline announced to us. Bethany and I couldn’t refuse. He was so scrumptious, standing there with his chocolate-covered penis, that she and I almost raced each other as we ran up to him. I reached him first. Bethany had to run round to the other side of him. We bent, blew on his cock. It was gorgeous, almost a foot long, I guessed (though my mind might have been exaggerating a bit). Bethany’s eyes danced as she blew on Steve’s penis, as did mine. I wanted to lick it but Eveline warned us not to. “He might spill, girls,” she said. “He must be saved for the party.” “Shall he dip his balls too?” Bethany asked. She and I straightened up, reluctantly. “Oh no,” Eveline answered. “His testicles hang down from his body to keep the sperm healthy. Heat kills sperm. That’s why men are made that way, didn’t you know that?” Eveline asked. “Noooo,” Bethany answered, staring at Steve’s equipment. “However, just like yourselves, Steve must be made modest,” Eveline said. She walked over to her husband. She had him give her the Kool-Whip. She returned to us, shaking the can. “I’ll spray a little of this on his balls so people don’t see his hairy sack the minute they walk in the door.” She bent, told Steve to spread his legs. From behind, she squirted Kool-Whip on his nut sack. “Hey! That’s cold!” Steve, his penis still cooling within its chocolate shell, announced. “Yes, dear, it’s Kool-Whip,” Eveline explained. He was too big for her to get him completely coated from behind. She came round to his front and, moving Bethany out of her way, bent again and applied Kool-Whip to his balls from the front. “Put a little of that on my dick too,” Steve said, for the chocolate was still quite warm against his penis. “No, dear. My pussy will be warm, just like the chocolate is,” Eveline told him. “Get used to it.” I was told I would have to answer the door. I was not given any additional clothes to cover myself with. But I was still lightheaded from drinking and my sex was terribly itchy. For an inquisive finger, a sexy poke. I could feel my button buzzing away somewhere beneath the Kool-Whip. Bethany’s squirtgun was filled with baby oil. She was warned not to squirt people without permission. She trooped round the room, her trigger finger itchy but untested. She was obedient, for the moment. She looked for targets she might shoot at when permission was given. An old painting, with a dour woman in it. A parakeet in a cage. The child in the painting by Renoir with the watering can. An indoor grill was set up for cooking our meal. It would be a picnic type meal, with hotdogs. Servants set it up. Two maids, dressed in stockings and bibs, hats perched on their heads. They were dressed modestly. They pretended not to notice my nudity, or Bethany’s, who watched them wide-eyed, or Steve’s. Steve was unshackled. The phallus was left up his ass, the girdle tight around his waist. Only his wrists were undone. He wanted badly, I could see, to get the big rubber cock out of his ass, but Eveline forbade it. Had her husband forbidden it, I had no doubt Steve would have disobeyed the man. But he seemed woozy with love for Eveline. It made me jealous, but I did not know what to do about it. If he preferred her, I had to accept that. At least, dressed as I was, I did. The liquor felt good in my tummy. I wanted more, but Eveline would not let me. “Not yet, darling. You and little Bethany would turn into two giggle-pusses, and be quite useless to me,” she said, quietly, imploring me almost to obey, to not spoil her party by refusing. I accepted. I was in an accepting mood. His cock dripping chocolate, Steve was tasked with cooking hot dogs over the grill. He was given a chef’s hat to wear. The maids lit the grill for him and gave him a long fork and a spatula. Yet he was allowed no pants. His penis stuck out many inches, full and thick and hard. I giggled. Steve had to be careful. He might roast his own weiner by accident. Bethany eyed him and giggled too. Steve was in a bit of a pickle, I mused. What he wanted was a warm, wet cunt. Instead he had a cock up his ass and his own sticking out precariously in front of him. I felt sexy. I watched Steve for a little while, perched on a chair, watching as he stood cooking hot dogs over the grill for our guests. I waited, listening for the doorbell to announce their arrival. I was told there would be several couples, perhaps an extra man or two, arriving alone. A woman might arrive also. I saw that the Kool-Whip from my pussy was smudging onto the expensive chair seat I sat in but nobody seemed to mind. I sat with my thighs open, wishing I could diddle my slit. Bethany, trooping around the room in her boots with her squirtgun, seemed itchy too, wishing, I think, that she could shoot stuff from her gun up her twat. The finger that didn’t itch on her squirtgun itched instead with a need to diddle her slit. “Here, a gun for you too, if you wish,” Eveline said to me. She placed a small squirtgun on the arm of my chair. I saw it had milk in it. “Thanks,” I replied. I picked up the gun. “It’s nice to have protection.” “Mmmm, you’re sweet,” Eveline said. She patted the back of my head. “Will you serve drinks for us?” “If you wish,” I answered. “I’ll mix them, you serve them,” Eveline said. I could see a wet bar across the room, and I nodded. “After the guests arrive.” “Yes,” I said. I picked up my squirtgun. Bethany crept close, then saw I was armed and veered away, perhaps changing her plans. Had she thought to disobey, to squirt me? I did not know. I wondered what I would have looked like, with baby oil dripping from my nose, my nipples. The doorbell rang. I rose, went to the front door. I could feel my hips swinging behind me as I passed the grecian urn. As I walked under the painting of the child with her watering can I felt a need to pee. ‘Not now,’ I told myself. I didn’t wish to embarrass myself by asking Eveline where the toilet was. There was one, I knew, upstairs in the bathroom beside my bedroom. Perhaps I could slip up the stairs when no one was looking. The bell rang again. I wished I could run upstairs and pee first but there was no time for it. My four inch heels made me feel unsteady. They amplified each swing of my nude bottom. I was nervous. My hands shook. Yet I tried to control myself. This was more fun than being at home, being yelled at by mom. Especially with liquor making my head swim. I looked at my white cuffs on my wrists with the gold cufflinks. I liked them. The bell at the front door was rung again. I approached the door, was impressed by its size. Much larger than ordinary doors. I had not noticed it coming in, not really, but now I had time to observe it as I approached it from the inside. Large, with panels engraved in it. Everything was so well-made here. This was not a suburban tract home. I wondered how Eveline’s husband made the money to pay for it all. Reaching out with both my small hands, I took hold of the door’s handle. I twisted it. Almost immediately the door was shoved inward and I stumbled back. I felt myself unable to keep my balance. And then, lightning-fast, a large hand snapped out and caught one of my retreating, flailing wrists. “You are the slowest whore--!” a man bellowed. Yet I felt his grip suddenly slacken. It had caught me with intense force, yet now I feared he might let go again. Did my appearance displease him? I gazed up at him with my eyes. He was 21, I felt, looking up at him. Tall and dark-haired. A light stubble on his face. He reminded me in size of a lifeguard at my pool. Awkwardly I let my eyes suddenly dart down to his crotch. Even as I looked at it, I fancied I saw it bulge outward. He had something impressive hemmed in there, behind his zipper. I felt my tummy let loose a swarm of butterflies. The man’s grip tightened again. Hard, possessive. “Ow!” I cried. He gripped me now tighter than he had before, when he’d caught me. “Oh, my apologies,” the man said. Drawing me fully onto my feet and balancing me on my pretty heels, he took a top hat off his head. He was debonair. A top hat, a long flowing coat, thrown open, a silk black suit. He reminded me a bit of a magician and I had to giggle, thinking a rabbit might pop out of his hat. But he had no mustache, like magicians do. He was clean-shaven, but with long, dark, shoulder length hair. I swallowed. I felt my knees wobbling as I regarded him. I forced a smile, then blushed. “You are... beautiful,” the man said to me. “Thanks,” I answered. “Would you like to party?” I hoped to draw him into the room as quick as I could, so I might go pee. “Yeah, sure...” he said. Primly I took his arm. I led him into the house, past the grecian urn, under the painting of the girl with the watering can. “Who’s that?” Bethany asked. She stood in the middle of the room where Eveline’s husband was sitting. She levelled her squirtgun at our new guest. “He’s...” I blushed. I didn’t know his name, though I was walking arm and arm with him with my nude breasts bouncing on my chest and my bottom bare. I saw twin lines thru Bethany’s pubis, where she’d apparently passed her finger, drawing off Kool-Whip and letting her pubic hairs show. I was glad I hadn’t diddled myself there. The man would see my private if I had. I would be a child like Bethany, unable to control her urgings, instead of a young woman. “Ah, Brendan,” Eveline’s husband said. “Hello, Malthus,” Brendan replied. “How goes the trade?” Eveline’s husband, Malthus, asked. “They learn to tow the line or they learn to love the grave,” Brendan said matter-of-factly. “Yes, we shall make our own laws,” Malthus agreed. Brendan surveyed the room. Steve found himself blushing and turned to focus intently on his grill. Eveline sidled up to him and stroked his bare cock and purred in his ear of pleasures to come. “Who’s that fellow there?” Brendan asked. “He looks almost my age. Are you planning to put me in whatever obscene thing it is you’ve got him wearing?” Brendan laughed. Eveline patted Steve’s ass. “He’s not available for your hit squads, or for drug running,” Malthus said. “He’s more... er... valuable in his present condition. To my wife, you know. She found him out selling drugs, small-time, along a highway next to an American strip mall.” “From the bottom to the top in one day,” Malthus said. “Not bad. I envy all the attention your wife will be giving him.” A maid hurried over to Brendan. “Sorry, sir,” she announced. She helped him out of his cloak. She folded the heavy garment over her arm. She offered to take off his suit coat. He unbuttoned it, gave it to her. I watched as he shed his coats. I liked seeing his body, how it moved. He was tall and lanky, with broad shoulders. He had a muscular chest that rippled under his white shirt. Brendan sat down on the chair I’d been sitting in. If he noticed the smudge of whipped cream I’d left there he didn’t say anything. He looked at me expectantly. I wished to pee, yet I felt his eyes compelling me to sit myself on his knee. I could hold myself in a few minutes more, couldn’t I? I perched myself in his lap. He ringed my tummy with his arm and scooted me backward until my bottom found itself poised squarely over his hard-on. I was glad the maid hadn’t offered to take his pants. I wriggled. His cock was sticking up, snakelike, like the Golden Missouri Arch, trying to rise up and show itself, a hump in his pants. A dolphin with its head and its tail in the water, but its back curving up, up into the sky. Except his cock was curving up between my bottomcheeks and into my ass. Struggling against his arm I tried to slide myself forward again, but he would not let me. I realized I would have to accomodate myself to his penis, and learn to accept its presence. I swallowed. He stroked my belly with his fingertips. “Keep your legs open,” he instructed me. I looked down at his hand on my tummy, felt the wanting of my slit underneath. I parted my thighs. They had not been together, no, that would have mussed the cream Eveline’s husband had so artfully decorated my mons with. Yet Brendan wanted my legs wider still. I could do naught but obey. It felt strange, sitting there with my legs apart and something that felt very much like a hard turd wedged up between the naked halves of my heinie. I found myself bearing down, as if I might expel him, but of course he was not a turd, but a stiff cock. I was virgin. I was not used to things going up me, or wishing to. “Get up. The bell is ringing,” Eveline told me. I had not heard it. I had been too absorbed with the openness of my legs and the impalement of my behind. Reluctantly Brendan took his hand from my belly. My skin felt cool where his palm had been, too cool, as if I preferred the touch of his hand there. Self-consciously I stood up. I could feel his eyes on my bare behind. I walked, his eyes followed me. “Where did you find her? Her ass is perfect,” Brendan said. His voice sounded throaty, constricted. Yet it was pleasantly deep. “She is virgin too,” Eveline answered. “Wow,” Brendan exclaimed. “To the crop as well?” “Yes,” Eveline said. I heard, they knew I heard, yet they didn’t care. I passed my hands behind myself to hide my bulbing nether cheeks. I could feel their wiggling as I walked. I wished they would stop but it was not possible, now that I was a teen. Especially not in these heels. I felt my bosoms bouncing heavily on my chest. They were an offering, it seemed, my nipples painted and stiff with desire. I wondered who I would meet at the door this time. I felt my flat belly. I passed my hands over my hips. They flared out, like the curves on a small violiin. I yearned to tug on my skirt, but I wore none. The guests filtered in. As I admitted each one they looked at me, some with a smile, others merely evaluating me. My hips, my bosoms, the stance of my legs. I found I pleased most of them, if not all, though all didn’t show it, save perhaps, in the men, with an increase in the size of their crotch. After letting in each of the guests I returned to sit on Brandon’ lap. I felt safe there. He was the youngest, and he admired me openly. Each time he made me sit on the lump in his pants. My bottom moulded warmly to it now, liking the insistent feel of him there, though it did press at me quite urgently. We began to play a little game, he and I, me squeezing my cheeks and shifting my weight to force him to stiffen and groan. The other guests noticed, smiled. A woman who had entered got on her husband’s lap. They kissed. With his cock insistent in my bottom, Brandon grew increasingly restless. I was myself, needing to pee. I wondered how I might escape long enough to do it. “I should like her exercised before dinner,” Brandon said suddenly. He spoke to Eveline. She was minding Steve, keeping him obedient. Steve had a small pile of hot dogs laid out on the grill. The fire was kept low. Eveline liked her hot dogs slow-roasted. Eveline looked at Brandon. “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” she said. She stood beside Steven, making him flinch by stroking his cock. “Not... that,” Brandon replied. He patted my tummy. “A taste, rather, of leather.” “Oh,” Eveline answered. “I suppose it would be alright.” She kissed Steve. “There is a room in back. Do it there. I do not wish for us to be disturbed.” Brandon shunted me off his lap. More couples were kissing now. Their hands roamed discreetly as yet, touching just faces, torsos, as if waiting for permission from Eveline to do more. A man sitting by himself reached for Bethany but she skittered away, pointed her squirtgun at him. He began to stand, but Malthus cleared his throat. The man was offered a cigar by a middle-aged maid. “Ah, the wait... the wait,” the man complained. “This is not a whorehouse, dear,” Eveline said to the man. She departed from Steve. She motioned for a woman to take her place strumming the boy. “Not too much,” I heard her say. The woman nodded. Brandon pushed me ahead of him. I felt his hands pressing against my bare back and wished, suddenly, to run away, but in my heels, walking unsteadily, there was no hope of that. Eveline followed. “I shall supervise,” she told her husband. We walked past the grecian urn and then turned sharply and went down a hall. Another hall beckoned beyond the first, and at last I found myself escorted into the back of the house. There was an old room there. It looked like it had been recently dusted. Within was a bed. It had a tight-fitted sheet on it, nothing else, as if it were intended to be some sort of platform. The headboard was old, though, the paint flecked off, as if ropes had been repeatedly tied around its posts. I spied a rope dangling in a loose coil off one of them. It was black, like Brendan’s trousers. “Sit on the bed,” Brendan said to me. He motioned with his arm. I settled my bare bottom onto the cool of the sheets. It was chilly here, in this back room. I heard an owl hoot out beyond its large picture windows. “The sheets are silk,” I said, feeling them with my hands and the cheeks of my fanny. “Yes, the bed’s for whipping, but I have made it as comfortable as possible,” Eveline said. “It has a softer mattress on it than it had before. Though one bounces more now, kneeling upon it.” “Where are the pillows?” I asked. Eveline laughed. “It is like I told you,” she said. “It’s not for sleeping in. It’s strictly for whipping.” “Oh,” I said. I shivered. I felt a dryness in my throat, though I think my pussy wettened. “I wish for her to put on stockings,” Brendan said to Eveline. He drew a pair from his shirt pocket. I had wondered what was folded so neatly there. I had mistaken them for a handkerchief. “Oh, yes, they’re lovely,” Eveline remarked. Brandon unfolded them and I saw that they were made of sheer silk. They were white, with bands at the top of them to keep them snug against one’s thighs. “May I?” Brendan asked. He looked at me. I felt afraid to nod but somehow I managed to. He knelt. I was surprised. He looked like Prince Charming, kneeling like that at my feet. My toes wiggled in my open-toed heels. My feet dangled, unable to touch the floor. “Keep your legs open,” Eveline said to me. She brushed my hair back off my shoulders. It was gold, she stroked it softly as Brendan removed my heels. The stockings were slipped on. He drew them up my legs slowly. I shuddered. “I have to pee,” I said to Brendan in a small voice. He looked up, but his eyes did not reach my face. They stopped at my cream-covered slit. “Oh dear, this is not the time,” Eveline said to me. “You have cream all over you there. You’d have to pee through the cream.” “I will... make an opening for her,” Brendan offered. He spoke to Eveline, not me. She said nothing. Perhaps she wished to save my passion for her party. Yet her fingers gripped my bare shoulder to hold me as Brendan leaned in between my legs. I flinched. My back shot up erectly as I felt Brendan’s tounge invade my slit. He tasted my cream, my honey beneath, within the folds of my slit. “Oooooh!” I cried in a small, stifled voice, trying not to notice him, yet relieved, I think, that at last something was sticking within me there. I arched my hips toward him. His tongue invaded more deeply. My breasts shook on my chest. My nipples stemmed atop them. In my slit his toungue worked like some big worm trying to get into a hole. I wished to clamp my legs, did, but his head was in the way and I couldn’t bring them together. Repeatedly I arched my hips at him. At last he drew his face away. I laughed, wishing he’d return, yet delighted at how silly he looked. He had a dot of whipped cream on his nose. He had cream on his lips. His tongue darted out and circled his lips and wiped them clean. He rose. The feel of his stubbled face between my legs lingered still on the insides of my thighs. “Tie her down,” Brendan said to Eveline. “Oh! Will it hurt?” I asked, suddenly realizing what we must be about. Eveline looked at me, at my face, nodded. “It must, dear. Otherwise there’s no point to it,” she said. Her hands came to my shoulders, turned my frail, thin frame so that I was drawn up. I twisted, moving as she wished. I pulled my feet onto the bed. I had stockings on now, but no heels. Brandon had forgotten to put them back on. “But I must pee!” I said. “You are bare, except for your lovely stockings,” Eveline said. “Pee in the bed if you must. I’ll wipe you with a towel after it’s over.” “Noooo,” I said, but it was a half-spoken howl, for I let her urge me forward, kneeing my way to the head of the bed. She pressed my head down. “Keep your bottom up, dearest,” Eveline said. She drew my wrists out. She took the coiled rope off the bedpost and wrapped it around my wrists, keeping them together, binding them so that my arms stuck out straight in front of me, my elbows tugged close. In back of me I heard Brendan warn me to keep my knees apart. “Pin up her hair,” Brendan said when my wrists had been secured to the head of the bed. I’d watched them being tied, heard Brandon behind me. He was opening cabinets in an armoire. I heard long and short things being whisked through the air. “Pin up her hair,” he said again. “I want to be able to see her face.” Eveline bent over me. I knelt on the bed with my ass high, my tummy curving down so that my ribs and boobs pressed into the sheets. With my head I tried to turn and look back at Brendan. “Keep still, honey, I must pin up your hair,” Eveline scolded me. When it was done I was permitted to look back. Brendan was there, a long swishy thing, very thin, bent between his two big hands. He remained clothed, though I thought perhaps his zipper might burst any moment, he looked so large in that place. “Pee if you must, dear, but try to hold it as long as you can,” Eveline told me. She stroked a hand along my back. My tan lines stood out against my skin, where I normally wore my bra. All was nude now, including my ass, which stood up like the tail of some rabbit trying to find an opening in the snow. I wished I had a pillow. I felt saliva pooling in the corner of my mouth when I turned my head to one side. “Be brave, darling,” I heard Eveline say. She’d moved so that her body was next to my upraised rear. Very gently she patted each of my naked cheeks. “Oh, they will be so sore soon,” I heard her say in a muted half-whisper. I clenched my bottom, hearing that. Yet, in my innocence, I kept it uplifted. I had never tasted punishment before. It intrigued me. Brendan intrigued me. Curiosity killed the cat but I was just a kitten, I told myself, a little kitty stretching on a soft cool bedsheet. I heard voices. “Oh, look how courageous she is!” I heard a woman say. I looked, guessed there were people in the room’s doorway, but they did not enter. Eveline seemed displeased with their presence. I heard her say something in a loud whisper but I couldn’t make it out because she had her head turned away from me, towards the door. “Spread your legs wider,” Brendan said to me. His voice was low, threatening. I didn’t wish to, not in front of the people, but I was afraid and let my knees slide a little more apart. I wished he might wedge his face between my thighs again, instead of whipping my bottom. “She will be uncomfortable at dinner,” I heard a woman say. “But such pretty stockings,” another said. “I wish my husband would dress me in stockings like that each time he whipped me.” “Do not be too lax,” I heard a man say gruffly to Brendan. “She is young. She can endure much.” By now, I must confess, with my cunny buzzing and everyone making me the center of attention, I was actually wishing Brendan might give me a blow. I’d never been struck before. I felt erotic. I moved my body a little on the sheet, letting my nipples scrape against the sheet where my bosoms pressed into it. I knew I was very naughty to present myself so boldly like this, yet must a girl not do it sometime? I flexed my slim legs. I let out a small sigh, as if bored. “She wants it,” I heard a man say. “She is too pretty,” a woman said. “Not a mark upon her,” a third said. SWIIIIIK! Suddenly I heard a whistling sound and it was immediately followed, not like before, by the stillness of the room, but by a very hot-feeling stick slicing across my bottom. It bounced off, but left a sensation in its wake like that of a brand. “Yeeeeeowwwch!” I cried. My head lurched forward, my bottom following, impelled by the stick. Then my chin arched up, and my ass seemed to rebound, as if to follow the stick and ask for another. I felt tears wet my eyes. “Ah, such perfection!” I heard a man intone. “Yes she has a glorious bottom,” I heard a female agree. A third, with a small, high voice, giggled. I felt my whole body stiffen and realized it must be Bethany. “Can I shoot her ass?” I heard Bethany inquire. “No, dear, you may not!” Eveline replied. I guessed she had not planned for my caning to be a public spectacle. I felt a tear run down my cheek and wished they would leave, especially Bethany. “Slowly, it must be done slowly,” I heard Eveline say. She seemed to stay a desire on Brendan’s part to hit me again. I welcomed her intervention. My bottom smarted horribly, in a thin hot line across my cheeks. Yet to wait would only prolong the whole thing, would it not? I wished that it were over, yet knew it couldn’t be yet. Could it? “May I get up?” I asked. “She is ready,” Eveline said. “YYYYYEEEEEEECKCKCK!” I shouted. Like swift-striking lightning from some horrible god, Brendan’s cane descended across my bottom again. My furrow tightened, seemed to clutch at the air between its hot cheeks. I put my face into the sheet beneath me and ground my face hard against the satin, not caring if I wrecked my makeup. My bottom rotated in the air behind me, wishing to capture the cool air in the room upon and within my scorched cheeks. I felt more tears on my face. SWIIIIICK! Again the cane. Again I lurched forward, dragging my heavy bosoms across the bed. Again I felt as if my bottom were somehow apart, yet painfully connected to me, burning behind me as if little Bethany had shot streams of hot oil across it. More strokes were given, my face pressed into the bed, my bottom bulbing hotly behind me. I wished to get up and yet, perversely, I wished to endure, to please Brendan. It was my first whipping and I’d wondered sometimes, as a little girl, seeing old British schoolboy films, what it must be like, seeing the boys take down their pants and be whipped by their master. And now it was me! I was bare-assed. Brendan weilded the cane and though I hated him now, really hated him, I knew there could be no handsomer master in all the world if a girl needed to get what I was receiving. “Yes, keep your bottom up,” Eveline told me. “You are doing very well.” I took three more blows. Each seared my seat like nothing I’d ever felt. I bucked on the bed and felt it creak beneath me. I felt my pee in my belly and wished to let it out upon the sheets but was too scared, yet its wetness would have been welcome if I could, somehow, have sprinkled it on my bottom. “Oh, let her pause, let her pause,” Eveline said to Brendan. I had begun crying. Eveline made Brendan put down his cane and she waited while I absorbed the stinging from the last of his blows. When I was mostly still, just my bottom wiggling, my cheeks urgent in the air for relief, she took my face in her hands and turned it towards her. She kissed me. She put a teacup to my lips. It was cool, ice tea. She bade me sip it. “It has a valium in it, dear,” Eveline said. “It will help a little.” I lapped at the tea. It was held in a teacup that was made of fine china, yet what a wicked use to put it to! I spilled some tea on the sheet under my chin. I could only lick at it like a cat, I could not manage to swallow it. Eveline seemed not to mind that I’d spilled some of the tea. She patted my head. She withdrew the cup. “She is ready,” she said to Brendan. By now my face was drenched with tears. I plopped my face back into the bedsheet and wished I could do the same with my ass. “I wish to SEE your face, bitch!” Brendan yelled. He struck me hard against my bottom. My chin lurched up. My eyes gazed at the ceiling, squinting, seeing nothing but how far it was from my bed. I would have flown to it if I could, to protect my bottom. Again, even as I tried desperately to recover from the previous blow, the cane sliced into my ass again. I drew in the cheeks of my heinie, involuntarily, felt them spring back out again, felt the full impact of the cane’s impression seize my hinds only after Brendan had long since drawn it back. I ground my teeth. I felt then, even as I tried so hard to squeeze my cheeks together and somehow squeeze out the pain, a strange sense of exhiliration wash over me. I was so vulnerable, so exposed, my buns forming a burning ball of upturned fire behind me, like a hot sun rising at dawn. “Scream, darling, scream! It is alright,” Eveline said to me. She leaned forward and stroked my long, tousled mane of golden blonde hair. She could see that I was clamping my mouth tight, some new resolve overcoming me. Did I wish for him never to stop? I shook my ass at Brendan, ferociously, wantonly. Then my resolve broke and I cried to the very rafters, the tip of the mansion’s peaked roof. As I felt a scream break from my lungs, I knew suddenly why I’d tried, all of a sudden, to contain my emotion. It was to give me the fortitude to contain something far more important. My bladder. I felt anew the pressure of the pee in my tummy. I felt a desperate sense, as I let out my newest scream, that I could not hold it. “Darling, are you to be naughty?” Eveline asked me, sensing my need. She ran her fingers across my hot forehead. Brendan struck me anew with his cane. A blaze of heat, imprinted so thinly across my wobbling bottom, making a new mark where already he’d marked me so thoroughly. “Ynnnnghghghgheeeeeee!” Grinding my teeth, I tried to stop myself, but the harshness of the cane was too much for me. Suddenly, I felt a spurting come from between my legs, my lips. I heard it hit the white sheet beneath me. I tensed my white-stockinged legs, trying to stop it, but it was no use. Once my stream had started, my body was too far gone to stop it. I shuddered as I peed. I was wetting the bed like a little girl and I felt absolutely mortified. I felt the splash from the pee against my white stockings. I wished I could reach down with my hand and cup myself, but my hands were tied beyond my head and useless to me. “Bottom high, legs apart,” Eveline warned me. She saw my knees begin to skitter toward each other. She slapped the backs of my thighs, forced me to keep myself open. My pussy lips pissed their offering. I could not stop them. I had been broken. All my reserve had been whipped out of me. I had peed, and I felt so embarrassed. I could hear Bethany giggling nervously somewhere behind me, standing in the doorway with, perhaps, someone caressing her own bare bottom, with plans for her. I hung my head. I kept my bottom high, lest I be struck even more forcefully for dropping my poise, my posture, yet now I felt as if some boundary had been crossed, some crack in my girlish reserve broken through. As if in benediction, Brendan dropped his cane and stepped forward and kissed my bottom. I felt his cool lips upon my hot flesh. My rump! Nobody had ever kissed me there, yet now his hands cupped my split peach and held it, wriggling, in his large hands, as his stubbled face came against it and kissed it. I felt eveline’s fingers at my wrists. She freed them. I drew them toward me, hid them under my breasts. Brendan kept kissing my bottom. With my face pressed to the bed, my hands safely tucked underneath me, I felt a strange desire to stick my ass in his face. I lifted it, despite its soreness. I tried to smother him by shoving it up against his mouth. He held me, kissed my hot bottom. I had a small ass, he laughed. I had evil thoughts. I wished for him to spear me in my ass with his thing. But he only kissed it, despite the bulge in his trousers. He had enormous reserve, I thought, for someone as young as 21. An older man, perhaps, might hold himself in, but someone as fine and young and strapping as Brendan? Yet he did, and I found myself admiring him, though when I finally found it within myself to turn my head and look up at him I stuck my tongue out at him. Brendan laughed. He let go of my sore bottom. He turned, walked with the casual air of a conqueror back to the guests waiting in the doorway. Eveline bent over me and helped me up. My bottom was ravaged. I let out a shout as she lifted me and forced me to use it to sit on. I had to lean to one side. I could not bear its contact against the soft bedsheets. “Stand,” Eveline told me. She gripped my hand tightly as I rose to my feet. She made me step into my heels. The insides of my thighs were wet with my pee. I could not stop moving my bottom. It felt like a ball of flame behind me, yet only it had been struck. The backs of my thighs, my back, were untouched, cool in the coolness of the room. Eveline drew me away from the bed. I teetered in my high heels. I did not like wearing them. My bottom hurt too much to wear them, yet I must, I saw, as I lifted my eyes to look at the man who’d struck me. Brendan. He stood with arms folded across his chest, watching me, evaluating my every step. Who was winning this war between us, I wondered? For despite the severity of his look, he seemed mesmerized by me, almost addicted to me. He paid no attention to the other beautiful women, who drew close to him, surrounded him, one even reaching for his zipper. Yet seeing the other women, I knew I could not displease him, for he might turn against me, take an interest in them instead, and punish me for breaking the spell through which I held his eyes so intently. Carefully I walked on my heels. I hated the tall spikes on them that elongated my legs, made my ass almost into a spectacle as it wiggled behind me. I gripped Eveline’s hand even as she gripped at me. I tried to touch my seat, I flinched. It hurt too much for even my own fingers to graze it. Eveline drew me past Brendan. My head turned as I passed. I saw his zipper pulled down. A young woman, bending low, gasped her breath across his crotch as he sprang out into her fingers. He was huge! I thought for a moment I’d seen a snake being released, he came out so long, darting, thrusting into her small hands which flew away like birds, lest he defile them. Then, his big sausage exposed to the air, to her eyes, her breath, her hands fluttered back down again, to take purchase on his hot throbbing hugely-inflated organ. “Brendan!” I cried. I knew then I was lost. He’d been utterly cruel to me, yet I did not want her to have him. I wanted him for myself, including his big throbbing cock. “You must bathe, dear. You cannot be seen at dinner with your pee all over your stockings,” Eveline told me. I heard other zippers unzipped as I moved through the guests hanging within the doorway. I heard Bethany scream. Yet it was a happy, little-girl scream, as girls utter when they play. Half-shocked, half delighted. I wished to stay, yet Eveline tugged me on. “It will not take long,” she whispered. “I shall do you myself.” Upstairs, Eveline took me down the hall and into the bathroom Bethany and I had been given. We entered the bathroom from the hall. We did not pass through the bedroom Bethany and I had been given. The door between the two rooms was shut. I heard a muffled scream beyond it. Were the maids playing? I heard a sharp crack, as of something thin and hard against something tender and soft. I started, freezing in my tracks. Eveline kissed my cheek, told me not to worry. Was one of the maids being disciplined, I wondered, or forced into wicked games by the other? “Relax, darling, it does not involve you,” Eveline told me. “You have had yours already. You are only here for your bath, then I must hurry you downstairs to dinner.” She kissed me again. My body relaxed, a little. Yet it tensed again when I heard the report of a new blow, and again a muffled scream. Eveline kissed me once more. Her hand played across my nipples. “Pay it no mind,” she whispered. Eveline took off my shirt-collar cuffs and rapped on the bedroom door. In a little while, a maid entered. She was young, a mere slip of a girl. I saw her hair was mussed and she had new welts across her bottom, snaking round to the fronts of her thighs where something had caught her, something long and sharply delivered. There were tears in her eyes but she kept her chin up, tried to look professional in her bearing. Her hair was loose, long red curly hair. She tossed it back as if uncaring of her condition, yet I knew from her tears she was only trying to pretend nothing had happened to her. I guessed it was her muffled screams I’d heard. I thought I saw marks at the corner of her mouth where something had been tied quite tightly. “Have you been slack in your chores again, Linda?” Eveline asked. She did not really look at the girl as she spoke to her. She lifted up the cuffs she’d taken off my wrists, the shirt-collar cuffs. They were wrinkled from the rope that had bound them to the bed downstairs. “Iron these, nice and crisp,” Eveline told the girl. “She must wear them again after her bath, at dinner. Remember to unfasten the gold cuff links before you iron them. Don’t be lazy, Linda. And fasten them back on when you’re done.” Linda accepted the cufflinks. I sat in the bath, leaning slightly to one side, the water sloshing around my tummy. Bubbles foamed about me, making me feel like Venus rising from the sea. I still wore my bow tie, a black collar of cloth wrapped around my neck, standing out starkly against my nude body. I was wet from the waist down but my upper half had not submerged into the bathwater yet. My hair was still pinned up, loosely. I felt my bosoms rising and falling on my chest, my nipples painted, as I stared at Linda. Her eye caught mine, she looked away quickly. “Take off her bow tie, it must be ironed too,” Eveline said to Linda. Eveline sat back on her heels, kneeling outside my tub, elegant in her dress with myself and Linda both quite nude. Linda bent forward. She wore a maid’s waist-bib, long white stockings, heels, but nothing else. Her breasts were like hanging ripe fruit as she leaned in towards me. I saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Her cheeks were wet where they’d run down her face. With quiet fingers she unfastened my bow tie. Her face was submissive. I wanted to kiss her but didn’t dare, in front of Eveline. She drew off my tie, stood upright. “Well? You won’t iron them by merely standing there, girl. Hop to it!” Eveline said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Linda drew the bow tie I’d worn to her chest. My cuff links were tucked in a pocket in the front of her apron. She turned, I saw the full expanse of her bottom. It was as wealed as I’d feared. Long, red weals, newly formed. They’d been delivered by someone implacable. They put her in a much worse condition than me. Despite my soreness I’d not been as deeply marked as she. Brendan had a light hand, but it had stung me awfully, for I was new to it. She needed more, I guessed. It had not been her first time. With a self-conscious wriggling of her bare hips, almost sashaying, Linda left us, retreated back into the bedroom from which she’d come. Quietly she closed the door behind her. I heard no more muffled screams, no more sharp reports of a sharply-weilded instrument striking bare flesh. Eveline wet a sponge and ran it over the mounds of my breasts. “Do you know what my role is here, darling?” she asked me. I shook my head. I did not know, wasn’t sure I wanted to. “It is to keep you, and Bethany, at your very best,” she said. “And Linda too, for she is a rich girl, from a very wealthy family. She is only playing at being maid, for a little while, to teach her submissiveness.” Eveline watched my nipples rise under her sponge. She smiled. “Yes, you must be at your very best. Even if your masters are cruel to you, which they very well may be, you must always strive to look your best and keep up the very best manners. At dinner tonight, especially, I shall be watching you. And Bethany too. Even though your bottom hurts I expect you to sit at the table very prim and proper, using your very best table manners. Do you understand, darling?” Eveline asked me. I nodded. I didn’t want to agree to that, but I knew any choice in the matter had long since been taken from me. I must be at my very best, and she would quite happily punish me for any slacking. She might even punish me if I didn’t slack, like Brendan had, though I suspected I could remain on her good side, at least, by doing as she told me. Brendan had whipped me out of fierce male lust. Eveline was a female. She knew how much the cane had hurt, coming against my bottom. I trusted she would not make me feel it, unless a man told her to. We were women together, she and I. She might feel the cane as easily and quickly as I, if a man wished it. Impulsively I leaned up within the tub. I kissed her cheek. Eveline laughed. She drew back, picked up a bottle of Winnie the Pooh shampoo. She squirted it in my hair. I felt like a baby, newly delivered, newly spanked by the doctor. And I was being delivered, wasn’t I? From my girlish ways into womenhood. “Is she ready yet?” I heard. My head turned sharply. Who was invading our privacy, our private shared kisses? Eveline too turned her head, a little surprised, put out, that our female retreat should be interrupted. He stood in the door that opened into the hall. Brendan. His cock was out, trembling like some huge stiff snake in the air. Yet otherwise he was clothed still. I saw saliva gleaming on his cock, the imprint of female lips wearing lipstick. I thought I saw a small hickey on it where lips had given way to the small bite of lusting female teeth. “Brendan!” Eveline said. “You should not interrupt us before she’s ready. “I- I want her,” Brendan said. He strode in from the doorway, toward us. How long had he been standing there? I had not heard him open the door. He must have done it quietly. Had he seen me kiss Eveline, seen her kiss me? Brendan’s eyes were hard, bright. They reminded me of a rabid dog. I shrank down in the bathwater. I would hide, like a seal, under the surface of the sea, under the ice floe of bubbles. Eveline stood. She faced Brendan. It was then I learned that there was more to this place than simply male domination, though undoubtedly, if Malthus wished, they could have the upper hand whenever they wished. Yet in this respect it was not wished, here in the bathroom. “Brendan, this is not a whorehouse,” Eveline said to Brendan. She regarded his cock as a small girl might regard a big dog, happened upon as she played. A big dog with a tendency to bite the neighborhood children. Eveline stepped back a little from him, from his cock, but then, because she was not a small girl, but a woman, she raised her face and addressed him directly again. “You must go downstairs, Brendan,” she said. “I know you’re desperately hard. But you know as well as I that Malthus doesn’t choose to have you come here simply to give you relief. You can find that anywhere. You know that here, in this house, it is a testing of your loins, of your character, that is what matters. That is what we play at. Sex can be had anywhere. Go, open that door, go into the bedroom and tell little Linda that you’ve broken a taboo by coming in here. She’s most unhappy at having her bottom whipped, for not doing her chores. She will be delighted to have someone to take out her unhappiness on.” “What?!” Brendan asked. “I’m not going to have my ass whipped. Do you think I’m going to sit at dinner like some punished girl?” He shot me a quick glance. I was sitting delicately as I could in the tub, resting on my hip to keep my sore heinie off the hard bottom of the tub. “Not your ass, no, Brendan,” Eveline said with a wicked smile. She walked to the door separating the bath from the bedroom. She rapped on the door. “Yes’m?” a small voice asked. Linda opened the door, peeked in. She held a hot iron in her hand. “You must punish Brendan’s penis,” Eveline said to Linda. “Put the iron down, girl. Go fetch a penis whip. Bring it and show Brendan that he is not to intrude on girls’ baths.” “Yes’m,” Linda replied. She disappeared. “Be a man, Brendan,” Eveline said to the young man. “You wished to see Lisa with a sore bottom. Now you can share a similar experience.” “Oh, please ma’am, don’t!” I cried from the tub. I didn’t want to see Brendan’s fine young organ punished. Secretly I wished for him to step into the tub and make me take it. “He must,” Eveline said to me. “Do not complain, girl, though I admire your love for him, your forgiveness.” She smiled. “You make such an excellent slave. Finish your bath, dear. I must supervise Brendan’s cock.” Brendan’s face took on a nervous appearance. His cock stuck out lustily. Eveline knelt worshipfully in front of him and insisted in opening his trousers completely. “All must be seen, exposed, dearest,” Eveline told Brenan. Perhaps it was because she was older than he that he let her get away with undoing his pants. Softly her hands worked, softly her breath exhaled upon him, yet there could be no doubt that the result of all this attention would be a very painful connection between his cock and the little penis whip. I watched. I scrubbed myself. My sponge dipped beneath the water and I found it against my pussy. I rubbed myself there. I hoped Eveline didn’t notice that I was masturbating my slit instead of properly taking a bath. Linda returned. She crept into the bathroom, from the hall. She did not return from the bedroom. I guessed she had had to look rather far afield for a penis whip. Most times, I suspected, only girls were punished in this house. But tonight, for a time, it would be different. For poor Steve downstairs, being forced to suffer an anal initiation before he could have his way with us girls, and for Brendan, too, because he’d broken a taboo, spying on a girl having her bath. Linda looked as affrighted as I was to see Brendan’s dick whipped. Yet I saw her own fingers had slipped beneath her maid’s bib. She touched her own slit as excitedly as I fingered mine. Eveline scolded her for frigging herself, but said nothing when the girl kep her hand right where it was. “Present yourself, Brendan. Hold your hips forth and let your cock stick out in all its glory,” Eveline said to my lover. He hardly needed encouragement. Even with his hips drawn back, his cock still stuck out like some sturdy re-bar in front of him, a bar where a small girl might suspend herself and do her gymnastics. With a slender finger, Eveline stroked the underside of Brendan’s penis. She coaxed him to straighten his posture and arch forward his hips. He obyed, too manly perhaps to be found a coward. Within inches of his cock, the penis whip dangled, held by Linda, who still tickled herself under her maid’s-bib. “Give it to him, girl,” Eveline said to Linda. “Don’t be shy about it or I’ll have Matilda give you another whipping on your bare ass.” “Yes’m,” Linda gulped. She drew in her breath. Her bosoms, large as mine, rose on her chest. Then, looking down like a girl might at a snake slithering through the grass, wide-eyed, she brought down her hand. “YEEEEOUCH!” Brendan shouted. “The goose tastes his own medicine,” Eveline laughed. A bright red line formed across the throbby, veined shaft of Brendan’s cock where the whip had struck it. “Again,” Eveline told Linda. “He has no reservation about whipping a girl’s bottom. Let him taste the feel of it on his ‘manly’ cock.” She laughed again. “No,” Brendan said. But he did not move, or cower. He kept his hips forward, his legs apart, as Eveline wished, his testicles dangling under him like soft swollen balls, covered with a light growth of hair. I knew he must be feeling intense pressure within those twin hanging balls, yet somehow he kept the fluid in them contained. Eveline stepped behind him and drew back his wrists. “Lisa,” she called to me. “Stop frigging yourself in the bath. Come here and lick your lover between strokes of the whip to ease his pain. He is a man, after all. Here men are treated gently, even when they must be punished.” I sprang from the tub’s water. Dripping, still diddling my slit with my fingers, I rushed to Brendan and dropped to my knees before him. I raised my face to his cock and drew my tongue in a long, loving stroke along his huge member. Brendan shuddered. “Oh dear, pain makes you want to cum, but pleasant licking does too,” Eveline laughed. “Well, Brendan, you don’t seem satisfied either way. Look how these bare hairy asscheeks of yours tense up as she touches your cock with her soft tongue. It is worse for you, I think, than the whip! Give him another, Linda, to help him control himself.” WHACK! Linda applied the whip again, almost hitting my face in the process. I drew back, waited. Brendan hollared, groaned. I thought he looked quite silly standing there, on the soft pink bathroom rug, with his pants down around his ankles. Yet as soon as the whip had flown away I darted in again with my tongue. “Yes, bathe his balls with your tongue,” Eveline told me. She reached out and cupped the back of my head and pushed me so that when my licking tongue reached the base of Brendan’s shaft it kept right on going, slipping down along his hairy pouch. “Who knows? The whip might hit his balls. Woulnd’t that be something to remember me by, eh Brendan?” Eveline asked. “No,” Brendan said, but he kept his hips resolutely forward, letting me tongue him all round his big hairy balls. When I had tasted Brendan’s testicle pouch, Linda gave him a new blow on his cock. Down near the base she struck, and the whip, perhaps as planned, curled down round his shaft and hit, like a bee’s sting, with its tip against Brendan’s testicle pouch. “YEEEEEEEOWWWWWCH!” Brendan hollared. He drew in his hips, gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut. Eveline was bumped backwards. One of her large tits popped from behind the apron-like front of her dress. She tucked it back within, though hiding little more than the nipple, for the dress was so narrow in front it showed the sides of her breasts quite distinctly. Vengefully she shoved Brendan’s hips forward again. “Present your cock, young man,” she said. “Have some courage!” “I do, I do,” Brendan whined. He was broken, I realized. Like I had been downstairs, on the bed. A real fear showed in his eyes now, though he offered his cock again to the whip. Linda struck. He howled. He yanked his hips back but Eveline shoved his bare ass forward again. Both her breasts spilled from behind the narrow front of her dress. This time she didn’t bother to replace them. We went downstairs. I was fresh from my bath. My hair was piled neatly atop my head. I wore my freshly ironed wrist-cuffs about my wrists. My bow tie adorned my throat. The gold cufflinks on my wrists gleamed, as did my earrings. They were new, given to me upstairs by Eveline. They were clip-ons. She told me that before I left here I must have my ears pierced. I walked quietly. I still felt the silkiness of the baby powder that had been newly sprinkled on my hurt bottom. It was red, like a tomato, but Eveline assured me that, since I had no real welts, it would be white again soon, by tomorrow perhaps, though I had no guarantee I wouldn’t be put over and spanked anew, perhaps harder. I prayed no one else took an interest in my bottom in that way this evening. My bush had a new coating of Kool-Whip. I walked with my hands at my sides, wishing I could clap them in front of my nest. I knew I looked silly with Kool-Whip smeared all over my pussy hairs, though perhaps men might think me seductive, decorated that way. On my feet I wore new high heels. Eveline liked dressing me in new shoes, said they made me look extra special. Brendan’s pants were pulled up again, but his cock remained on display. It was lacerated with a humiliating welter of whip marks. Somehow, he had survived them all without cumming. Eveline walked behind him, her dress restored over her breasts. Linda walked with me, holding my hand. She’d been invited by Eveline to our dinner, because she’d been so good with the whip. We entered a dining room. I saw the guests all there, arranged around a big maghogany table. It had a linen tablecloth on it, linen napkins. The plates were all made of fine china. The serving dishes were silver. “Ooooh, let me see your bottom!” Bethany cried. She sprang from her chair at the dinner table. She ran to me. I saw she still wore her firehat, her rubber boots. There were fingermarks in her pussy where someone, probably her, had swiped a finger, removing the coating of cream here and there. I saw she had a dollop of cream in the corner of her mouth. I guessed she’d been fingering her sweet slit and licking the cream off her finger with her tongue. She was naughty, yet no one had harmed her. Perhaps the squirtgun she carried, like a talisman, had done its job. “Oh!” Bethany exclaimed. She’d run round behind me and started when she saw the state of my fanny. It was polished by the cane, a bright hue of red that made both my cheeks glow like a rising sun in the morning, against the whiteness of my back and my thighs. “You got it good,” Bethany told me. “You were very naughty.” Impulsively she squirted her squrit gun. I shouted. I felt hot squirts of baby oil spurt onto my bare seat. “Bethany! You are not to use your gun until you’re given permission to,” Eveline scolded. “I already did,” Bethany answered. “I had to squirt all the guys penises, to make them lubed.” “It is alright,” a woman said. She rose catlike from her chair at the table. I had let her in, earlier, but now she was dressed differently from when I’d seen her. She wore a collar round her neck. A strip of fabric, thin as a leash, ran down from her throat to her pussy. There it crossed under her, passing between the lips of her slit, it was so thin, then up through her bottomcrack to rise again, up her back, to connect at the back of her neck. Across her front a strand of cloth passed horizontally. It was connected to the leash at her back and at her front, and passed just over her nipples, keeping them hidden. It had no other purpose. Yet I saw her risen nipples sticking up into the fabric, and wondered if it was really good for anything, save perhaps tickling her a little within her slit when she walked. “Ahh, Vanessa,” Eveline said. “I see you wore your Vamperilla suit under your dress. Do you plan some torture for Malthus?” “You should have seen him flinch when I put heated baby oil in Bethany’s squirt gun and had her squirt him with it,” Vanessa smiled. Languidly she crossed the room to where we stood. Her breasts, held tight under the crossstrap that covered her nipples, nonetheless jiggled, and I suspected a quick movement on her part would send them popping out from under the crossstrap. Yet she managed to move without freeing her nipples. “May I squirt his dick? It looks wounded,” Bethany asked Vanessa, her eyes large, Vanessa’s lidded by contrast, almost sleepy. “No,” I breathed. “That oil’s hot!” My heinie stung under the ropy cum-like strands of oil Bethany had shot onto me. I wished to reach back and rub my cheeks, but they were too sore from the whipping I’d gotten. “She has compassion for the man who caned her. How sweet,” Vanessa said to Eveline, glancing at me. “Nonetheless I wish to see his whip-lacerated penis squirted with hot oil. Do it, please, Bethany.” “Yeeee!” Bethany squealed. She fired her little squirt gun. Poor Brendan, his cock already aching, flinched under the stinging assault. Wet oil spurted onto his cock. He twisted his thing away, but it was so big that little darting Bethany, following, could harldy miss it. “Come, let us eat,” Malthus bellowed from the table. I turned, looked at him. He sat at the head of the table, Steve seated beside him. From the way he sat, easily, I guessed Malthus had let Steve take out his dildo. His hands were free, he sat tall, yet bare, while the other men still wore suits. Some of the women were topless. Others still wore their dresses, though their hair looked a little mussed, from kissing, I guessed. Brendan, despite the lacerations on his penis, bore himself with dignity as we headed for the table. He took my arm. When we reached the table he drew back a chair for me. He’d been so harsh with me just a little earlier, using the cane on my bottom, yet now he whispered in my ear for me to sit and held my hand aloft, lightly, letting me position myself as if I were a grand dame at a ball. I saw there was a pillow atop the chair’s satin cushion, for my bottom. The others did not need pillows. Only I had been caned. Brendan whispered to me that he’d specially requested it so I would have as much opportunity as possible to enjoy my meal. I sat down. My bare, sore cheeks spread upon the pillow. I let out a gasp, despite the pillow’s softness. I had indeed “gotten it good,” from the very man who was now a perfect gentleman. I suspected I would not be the last to find sitting down unpleasant before the evening was over. A waiter appeared. Middle-aged, mustached. With a flourish he produced a large chef’s salad, removing a silver cover off a silver tray. He paid no attention, not visibly, at least, to the fact that most of his female diners were topless and all his male diners were forced to sit with their penises exposed under the table. There was a chorus of appreciative sighs at the sight of the salad. It was an artful jumble of spinach leaves, iceberg lettuce, sliced salami, pepperoni, and a variety of cheeses, plus onions and olives and mushrooms and other vegetables too exotic for me to identify. The whole mountain of veggies and meats and cheeses had been doused with a liberal sprinkling of Italian dressing. Bare bosoms moved sensuously as the females closest to the salad extended eager fingers. They plucked olives and mushrooms and from the salad and popped them into their mouths. I reached, found I could just catch at a slice of carrot, my breasts hanging pendantly underneath me as I stretched across the table. I felt my nipples, hard, skim across the surface of my wine glass. Burgundy, I think it was. It stung my nipple. The carrot was delicious. I ate it slowly, eyeing Brendan, who sat next to me. With cautious fingers I reached over between his trousered legs and clasped at his large penis. I wasn’t sure such touching was allowed, but perhaps I could snatch a feel of his lovely cock, and tease him a little. I stroked his engorged member. He winced, tried not to let on to the others what I was up to. His penis was super-sensitive from the whipping it had received. “Please, I’ll spill,” Brendan gasped under his breath, casting a quick glance at me. “Such a pity that would be,” I teased in answer. “Eveline might have to give Linda permission to whip your ass then!” I felt wicked. Somehow, his caning had liberated me. I was still a virgin, yet I felt like a full-grown woman. “Lisa, what are you up to?” Eveline asked from the head of the table, sitting next to Malthus. “Nothing, ma’am,” I replied. Quickly I withdrew my hand. “She’s playing with him,” Bethany tattled. I glared at her. “Bethany, how is your bottom feeling this evening?” Malthus asked my friend. “Is it comfortable?” Bethany squirmed in her seat, checking. “Yes, sir,” she replied. The other guests laughed. Bethany gulped, realizing the question may not have been quite as straightforward as it sounded. She had, I supposed, imagined that I could be caned while she escaped entirely from such punishment. Yet now that assumption was thrown into doubt. I saw her peer down at her salad and take a great interest in it. Just before she’d seemed diffident, apparently used to plain salads at home. Yet now, sitting squarely in her seat, she forked her salad with no complaint. Yet when she drew the forkful of salad to her lips I saw her make a face, tasting the Italian dressing. Such a little girl, I thought. Wasn’t she really too young for all this? She looked so small and cute in her red firehat, with a black bow tie around her neck, her cufflinks sparkling on her wrists. Yet her bosoms were large and her nipples stood up stiffly. I guessed they would not let such a well-endowed girl escape here unscathed, no matter how young she might be. I myself was just a year older, though my breasts were bigger. It was a wicked party. At no time were we permitted simply to relax and enjoy ourselves. Eveline reached over to Bethany and stroked the girl’s long, blonde hair. I had deep, rich blonde hair, but Bethany’s was almost white, infant-like, a fine mass of long corn silk, hanging down past her pixie face and tumbling down her back. Eveline lifted it, as one might caress the hair of a baby. But she said, quite seriously, “Bethany, have you ever been spanked?” “No,” Bethany answered. Her small mouth was like a trembling rosebud. She bit into her forkful of veggies quite deliberately, despite the Italian dressing, as if to silence further discussion of the subject. “Do you think you’ve ever been naughty?” Eveline asked, still stroking Bethany’s long hair with the greatest of care. Bethany shook her head quickly, like a child might, denying stealing cookies. “I think perhaps you have been,” Eveline said to Bethany. “Hmmm? How about now, sitting here without any panties on? Isn’t that naughty? What would your mother think?” Bethany chewed her forkful of veggies. They made her cheeks bulge. She’d put too much in her mouth and her lips struggled to keep closed as she chewed. Finally, speaking over her unswallowed mouthful, she said, “She’d be mad at me for wunning away.” A bit of food flew from her unclosed mouth as she spoke. “Mmmm, talking with your mouth full,” Eveline said, regarding the bit of food that had flown from Bethany’s lips. “That’s certainly a no-no.” Bethany gulped, tried to swallow. She didn’t quite manage it successfully. She coughed. Eveline smacked her hand against the girl’s back to help her get her food down. At last, coughing, Bethany managed to get it all swallowed. Eveline brought the girl’s wine glass to her lips and made her drink from it, to help her. Bethany swallowed the wine greedily, eager to clear her throat, still coughing a little. By now all the women were topless. Dinner was but a pleasant prelude to a long night of sex, I suspected, though as a virgin I wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. Even Vanessa, letting her lover pass his hand across her chest, had her bosoms liberated by the lightest touch of his finger. They hung full and large, she sat directly across from me. She gave me a healthy, inquiring look and I guessed she wished that we might spend the night together, if I but nodded, she and I and our male lovers. The waiter returned. This time, when he lifted a silver cover from a silver tray, there was immediate laughter and a burst of applause. Steve’s hotdogs, cooked so much earlier on the living room grill, had been kept warm in the kitchen in a warmer. Now they were revealed, all neatly arranged side-by-side, on a big plate. Long brown marks looped around each dog, like marks of circumcision, where the grill had burned the dogs. Female fingers stole in admiration to the male penises under our table as the hotdogs were placed on the table. Several men groaned, victims of quick, loving tugs on their cocks delivered by their lusty female companions. I myself caught at Brendan’s big cock again, gave it a vigorous yank. He gasped. I let go, reached for a hot dog on the tray. It was a stretch but I got one, drew back and sexily licked the tip, holding it bare in my fingers. Vanessa took a bite out of hers. She eyed her male lover, smiling. I guessed she had a similar torment in mind for his organ. Ketchup and mustard were provided and we females lustily squirted our dogs with them, still holding them in our fingers. Buns were not offered, perhaps not available in the house. The men, needing to eat too, were forced to take hot dogs from the tray. How silly they looked, putting condiments on the naked hot dogs, then eating them, like fags feasting on cock. Bethany liked eating her hot dog, but her face look worried. It was obvious to her now that it was only a matter of time before her little bottom got its first spanking. Yet, despite her fear, she managed to play with her hot dog. She inserted it between her breasts. She laughed at how she could make it move up and down between them. There was mustard on her dog, squirted on by Eveline, and the mustard smeared between her tits, making her messy. It must have felt a little hot, for it was spiced mustard. Yet when Bethany was done stroking the dog’s length between her tits, she tickled each of her nipples with it. She gasped as the mustard touched the tips of her breasts. I guessed she was readying herself, as best she could, for the inevitable pain the spanking must produce. “Yes, darling. It’s naughty, but it’s fun, isn’t it?” Eveline asked encouragingly of Bethany. “Ooooh, yes. But it hurts a little,” Bethany said. “Of course it does, dear,” Eveline said. “That is the pleasure in pain. If you don’t have a toothache, do you think of your teeth? Of course not. But with a toothache, you think of them all the time. That’s how I want you to be about your bottom. I want you to think about it all the time.” She cast a glance at me. “How is your bottom, sweet?” Eveline asked. “It hurts,” I admitted. “And you think of it constantly, do you not, and of the man who made it hurt?” Eveline asked me. “Yes,” I admitted. I cast a quick glance at Brendan. My hand was covered with the same spice mustard that adorned Bethany’s dog. I took my fingers, coated with the mustard, from my hotdog. I passed them under the table and stroked Brendan’s whip-marked cock with them. “Ooooh!” Brendan shouted. The mustard was hot against his lacerated organ. “And he can think of nothing but his poor, big penis,” I said to Bethany, smiling. “I don’t want to think about my bottom,” Bethany replied. She quit tickling her boobies with her hot dog and stuck the end of it in her mouth. Things were getting quite frisky now. More than one female gave her male lover a touch of mustard upon his cock, and received in turn mustard-laden fingers within their slits. Brendan did me, the mustard was spicy hot against my clitoris. I gasped at the pain of it. Bethany, sitting next to the ever-wicked Eveline, found a gentle finger inserting itself into her slit, not to play with her there but to give her clit a dollop of mustard. Bethany yelped, shifted her bottom on her chair. She squeezed her legs shut, trapping Eveline’s finger. “You must never close your legs while you’re here,” Eveline said to Bethany. “That’s naughty.” “Oh, Boo! Hoo!” Bethany said, breaking into sudden tears. “Closing my legs ISN’T naughty! It’s what I’m supposed to do! I took ‘good touch, bad touch’ in school and got an ‘A.’!” “Yes, dear, but this is a good touch here,” Eveline teased. She was looking for any excuse she could find to make Bethany into a naughty girl who’s bottom had to be punished, and Bethany was quite distressed by it. I smiled. I had Brendan’s finger in my slit, rubbing me with hot mustard, and I had him on the point of cuming with my own wicked caresses. Little Bethany would have to survive, somehow. I knew I would. I was master already of the very man who’d caned me. “Oh, if you must spank me, please do it right away!” Bethany suddenly shouted. She leapt from her chair and stood there, huddled in front of the table. She turned toward Eveline and showed her the nakedness of her bottom. She scrunched her eyes shut and bent over a little, offering it. “Sit down, girl! It’s the waiting that’s half the discipline of it,” Eveline scolded. Deliberately, she avoided touching the girl’s bottom. Instead she took the girl by her small shoulders and plopped her back into her chair. “You must learn discipline, my dear,” Eveline said. “Waiting upon the male, waiting, indeed, for him; to return from work or his other affairs, and attend to you, to inspect how you’ve kept his household during the day. You must learn to serve and obey, and not be so impatient, thinking everything must always be just as you choose.” Eveline took a slice of carrot from the half-eaten salad tray and popped it in Bethany’s mouth. “Chew, suck,” Eveline told the girl. Then, as Bethany chewed obediently on the carrot, Eveline reached down between the girl’s legs with her other hand and tickled her slit. Bethany laughed. This time she did not close her legs. Vanessa had been placed between two men and she sat stroking both their cocks. She had ceased to eat. Instead, she simply teased them. They offered her their half-eaten hot dogs in compensation. She bit at the dogs without taking her hands from their penises under the table. As she swallowed a bite of food, she proposed lots be drawn. “Bethany’s bottom really is too cute to let just anyone whip it,” Vanessa said. “Why don’t we draw straws, and see who gets the honor? Women as well as men?” “Ohhhhh, I don’t WANNA get spanked!” Bethany shouted, but Eveline tickled her again between her legs and pressed the carrot deeper into her mouth. I gazed at the pairs of nude breasts at the table. All were large, perfect, displayed as fruit might be in a market stall. I guessed all were up for grabs, including my own. Every nipple was stiff and the females, whether responding to Vanessa’s suggestion or simply letting events proceed, chatting with a friend or a lover, kept their fingers busy upon the cock of the closest male. The men, in turn, diddled in the nearest female slit they could find with their blunt, hairy fingers. All was casual, respectful, yet I guessed things would get wild soon. It was like witnessing the calm before a summer rainstorm. We would all be quite wet, even up in our wombs, within the hour, and the men would have burst their balls laboring within us. Yet the moment, as it was, was touching, a moment to be savored, remembered, all displayed, nothing hidden, yet politeness prevailing, extending the mood as far as it could go. A female laugh, a small whisper from a lover to his beloved. ‘My dear, your tits are lovlier than I could have imagined.’ ‘Honey, your cock is too large for me, I fear. I can barely get my fingers round it.’ Whispers, incantations, fibs and lies, all were told and accepted, loved. We were merry in our sinfulness. Many men eyed my tits and I knew they were especially hungry for them. I was the youngest, really. Little Bethany was in a special class, all by herself. But I was available. My smile was open and my eyes were bright. I stroked Brendan freely, as if I were his mistress, though I was half his age. I grinned at the other men, bashfully, wondering how I could handle them all. I really didn’t need all that attention. Was there any way I could tell some of them ‘no’? But which ones? They were all so handsome. I swallowed. The men watched me swallow. My tits jiggled as I swallowed, nervous under their stares. I guessed my nipples would be quite sore by morning. Brendan, despite the tortures I was gently subjecting his cock to, managed to pass his fingers across my teats. I looked down at them, at his hand. It hovered, then pinched one of my nipples sharply. I gasped. My breasts shook. Bethany watched, wide-eyed. Yet I did not cry out, somehow. He squeezed my nipple hard and then lifted his fingers away. His hand crossed to my other teat. I breathed hard, trying not to flinch, to scream, as his fingers lightly stoked my risen teat. Then, just as he’d done with the other, he suddenly squeezed very hard on my breast bud. “Yeeeek!” I shouted. I could not help it. It hurt! Brendan laughed. Vanessa, with a wicked grin, laughed. I pumped hard on Brendan’s cock with my small fingers in response, impressing the mustard into his dick, squeezing on his lacerated member to make my touch hurt. Suddenly, I felt him spurt. He’d pushed me too far, I’d retaliated, sending him over the edge. Hot cum spurted down over my fingers. I shafted him like a maid might shaft a favorite donkey, as a last gesture prior to her father castrating it. He was through, or I would make him through, fisting him until he’d spent every drop he had. I felt him wriggle his hips, try to twist away. Awkwardly he tried squeezing my tit bud harder, but he had already squeezed hard, and despite my doing him in, he didn’t want to harm me. In the end he could only make me screech, biting at both my nipples in turn with his fingers, while I brought him off. I did not let go. Neither did he. When I withdrew my hand from his softening member it was coated with dripping cum. I looked at my hand. I supposed I was to lick it, but I didn’t want to. Instead I put my fingers into my wine glass and attempted to clease my whole hand that way, compressing it within the glass flute until it was almost completely inside the glass. Wine spilled from its rim onto the linen tablecloth. With my other hand I captured and stroked my nipples, quite carefully, first one, then the other. Brendan had given each quite a squeeze. Tiffany was still laughing. She stood up, not letting go of either man beside her. The men were forced to stand, lifted up literally by their cocks. “May we adjourn?” Tiffany asked Eveline. “If you wish,” Eveline answered. She played at Bethany’s slit. Bethany, feeling a little less shy, diddled her finger in Eveline’s. Vannessa, I think, brought relief to us all. I know my cunny was buzzing, and the men all had stiffened cocks that Bethany had coated with her squirt gun half an hour before, making them gleam with baby oil. All had been fine and fancy moments before, but now a kind of ruthless necessity took over. I found myself standing, of my own accord. The other women were standing too, and of course the men, who, I think, are always most eager to engage in sex, for theirs is to penetrate, while the female must somehow accomodate herself to the male penetration. I felt Brendan’s hands caress my nude bottom and the soft touch forced a quick gasp for me, for I still bore the marks he’d given me with the cane. A stickiness pressed itself to my ass and I knew it must be his groin. I felt his breath upon my neck. His stubbled chin grazed my cheek. I stepped forward. I was elegant in my heels. Despite Brendan’s attentions, I found my eyes gazing at Vanessa. She gazed back. I wished to be with her on my first sexual adventure; why, I do not know. Perhaps it was because she seemed so able to control the men who flanked her, despite being merely a guest, not woman of the house, like Eveline was. We would be together, both guests, both equals, yet she would see to it that I was handled carefully in my first foray into sex. Vanessa, her men captured by their penises, which indeed were so big she could barely get her fingers around, stepped toward me. We drew close. I was shorter, I gazed up at her with round eyes, my breath hot. She was topless as was I. I felt my bosoms heaving on my chest with my excitement. My breath came in eager gulps, my titties burned at their tips with hunger. Vanessa bent and lightly kissed my lips. The men round us gathered closer. Her own two seemed about to strip her of her nothing costume, but a quick squeeze of her small fists on their cocks, with an upward yank, stopped them. They were like horses. She controlled them expertly. Our bellies bumped. We both had perfect, desirable flat ones, with just a slight swell. Would we still be flat nine months hence? I hoped so, tried to remember if I’d taken a Pill, could not, decided not to care. “Do you wish to saddle up and ride with me?” Vannessa asked teasingly. I nodded. Her lips descended to mine and we kissed. Brendan, standing behind me, hugged me closer. I felt a protuberance between the cheeks of my ass, knew he was rising again. “Gentlemen, enjoy the spectacle of two females kissing. Do not be so quick to ruin it,” I heard Eveline’s voice say. “We shall retreat to the bedroom in a moment.” I felt hot male breaths, closing in on me, draw back a little. Vanessa got her tongue past my lips and stabbed it into my mouth. I gasped, tried to pull back, but Brendan hugged me close and kept his face against the side of my head, not letting me squirm away. Vanessa drove deeper, I choked on her tongue. “Ooooh, but I’m a VIRGIN!” I heard Bethany declare. What was happening to her? I could not turn my head to look. Suddenly there was a sharp slap, of flesh on flesh, soft flesh, like a female bottom. Bethany squealed and I knew, as her squeal broke into sobs, that all was lost. Vanessa’s tounge withdrew. She turned, I found myself walking now, carried along by the press of male and female bodies that gathered all around me. We walked with a purpose from the dining room, our flesh hot, the whipped cream still cool between my legs but rubbed away from my most heated place because Brendan’s finger had been diddling me there, leaving cream only in my thatch, above my slit. Leaving the dining room, we walked down a short hall, and then into a bedroom. It was well appointed. The bed was large, king size or larger. A big chandelier hung over the bed, as if to give a touch of class to the quite animalistic events that I knew would soon transpire here. The bed had a railed headboard and footboard, where ropes waited, neatly coiled, to be used to bind hands and feet. Beside the bed on either side was a nightstand. Neither had a lamp, there was no room. Instead the top of each was a busy collection of creams and ointments and suppositories; condoms, and a single flower vase, with fresh flowers stemming within, the heavy blooms dripping with moisture and giving a bit of class to the room. I guessed a maid had just placed the flowers, watered them. Roses, chrysanthemums, voilets surrendered an aroma from the vases to our heated, indrawn breaths. Yet that was not all this well-equipped bedroom contained. For beside the wall, atop a dresser, as if to leave no doubt as to the purpose of the room, was an extensive collection of dildos. Some were short, some long. Some had a strap attached, so that a female, if she wished, might pretend to be a male for a bit. I cast a sideways glance, looking for Steve. I caught a glimpse of him, his cock hard, yet with his eyes widening as he saw the dildos, for he had so recently been forced to experience them, and might again, if anyone wished, since he was the youngest male among us and up for such things on this night, as an initiate. I knew it was the same with me. I would be used as anyone wished, though I hoped my virginity might at least permit them to show a little care for me. I heard the first time could hurt. I did not want it to be a night of pain. My glance fell next, however, upon a trestle. It was made of wood and stood near the bed, that all might see the condition of anyone draped over it. Manacles waited on the far side of the trestle. They dangled down, the cuffs that composed them open, the chains from which they hung looking newly polished. Yet it was an old trestle, I saw marks on its legs where whips and switches had cut into the wood over the years. I heard Bethany sobbing. I hoped they would not put her over the trestle but guessed they might. I found Vanessa presenting her back to me. It was long, bare. She had golden blonde hair like me and she pulled it forward, leaving her neck bare. She told one of the males whom she held by his prick to hand me the key that would unlock her suit. Looking up, I saw the collar that bound her neck had a small lock in the back. A key was placed in my hand. I held it nervously. I knew, undressing her, I would seal my own fate. Again I heard Bethany. She was crying more softly now, as if accepting whatever it was they had planned for her. I looked again for Steve, but did not see him. I lifted the key to Vanessa’s neck. I inserted it into her collar. I twisted it. There was a small click. Vanessa thanked me, reached up, pulled open her tight collar. She drew the suit off one of her small tanned shoulders and dropped it like a glorified strand of spaghetti to the floor. She stepped out of it as it fell, holding the opened collar gracefully in one of her hands. Vanessa turned around, faced me. I dropped the key on the floor as she, quite suddenly, bent her knees and pushed her pubic thatch directly against mine. She laughed. She rubbed her pubis into mine and we shared my whipped cream. Brendan hugged me from behind. He was stiff again, though still sticky. His dick wedged its considerable girth into the crack of my ass, splitting my cheeks. It angled upward so that I was not pierced by it, but rather felt its whole length stemming between the small plump halves of my ass. “Oh, get on the bed. I’m dying to see you fucked!” Vanessa laughed. She drew me forward. I stumbled in my heels but she held my hand so firmly that I didn’t fall to the floor. My bosoms bounced heavily on my chest. My hips wobbled, making a display of my round bottom. Vanessa paused, pulled down the bed’s coverlet, its top sheet. Then she pushed me onto the bed. I fell, sprawling. I bounced once on the bed and lay still, on my back. My legs splayed apart and I wished to close them, but Brendan was atop me before I could. He was hungry. He lay on me and then, just as quickly, his weight bearing down upon me along my entire length, he gave me a moment’s relief, lifting up just his hips. It was a phyrric sort of relief, for no sooner had the heavy weight of his lower body been lifted from me than I felt a nudge in my slit. He drove within. I screamed. I felt my whole essence split wide as his awful cock invaded me. Then his hips were bearing down on me again, but with his cock ripping into my insides. Vanessa plopped down beside me. As I cast my eyes about, looking, perhaps, for Bethany to save me, I felt Vanessa’s teeth come to one of my nipples and bite it. I screeched. Vanessa laughed. I was aware of a man thumping down on the bed behind her and her teeth released my tit a moment as he stuck himself into her backside. Then, sighing beside me, breathing hotly on my breast, Vanessa returned to biting my nipple again, but more gently now, with little licks of her tongue across my teat to soothe the small bite marks she’d caused there. “No-No-No-YEEEEEEooooooH!” I heard. Bethany! Someone, I guessed, had dragged her to the trestle and was applying a switch or their hand to her bottom. At the same time I heard a cry that sounded as if it had been uttered by Steve’s voice. I thought him perhaps implaled again, in his backside, but then he immediately gave a war-whoop, like an Indian, and I guessed he’d been permitted to spear some woman with his big dick. Strangely, despite my own torment, I was happy for him, for I knew his penis had suffered long for this moment. I was glad he at last had gotten the enjoyment he’d come here for. As for me, I did not know why I had come. As I lay underneath Brendan, I broke into tears, for it was truly quite painful to feel him sliding with his giant, hard cock up into my virgin belly. As I felt each inch of him rise up within me, a spattering of blood wetly between my legs, I was sure he’d reached the limit of my womb. Yet another thrust by him, a more ruthless weighing down of his hips, and I felt him rise higher still. A scream issued from my throat. I felt my mouth working, I felt my neck tighten of its own accord, as if a tightness in my neck might somehow keep him from plunging deeper up into my womb. Brendan kissed me hard upon my mouth. I felt his hips slam against mine and knew he must have penetrated me with his full length at last. A second mouth found my other teat. I looked sideways and saw it was a man. His chin was unshaved, like Brendan’s. It felt quite rough against my bare breast. I wished only women would have my tits, their soft cheeks not hurting me like the men’s rough faces did. But I felt the presence of men all around me and knew I would not have my wish. Between their legs their cocks stood up stiffly, waiting a turn at my nest, while their lips burned with desire for my bosoms. Intermingled with the men were women. I prayed the women would undo the men’s hardness but knew the men, many of them just in their 20’s, would quickly rise again even if their female friends made them spend. “Oh, God!” Bethany cried, from the trestle, I think, and I knew she could well be speaking for both of us. I felt Brendan draw back. I thought he might be choosing a gentlemanly course, withdrawing from me, and as I felt his cock slide back and his hips lift off mine I felt truly grateful. I kissed his lips in appreciation. Alas, so little I knew, being a virgin. No sooner had his hips lifted and his cock drawn back than he slammed his whole body down upon me again. I shouted. Somewhere in the room a whip cracked and Bethany shouted. I wished I were her, bearing only the whip, for Brendan’s cock drove all the breath from me as it plunged anew up my twat. I felt hot breath on my face. There was the smell of after shave, from Brendan, from the other men. The women’s perfume assailed my nostrils more sweetly, but just as ominously, for Vanessa continued to bite and suck at my nipple. I thought I might pass out. Then a new drawing back of Brendan, followed by yet another upward stab of his cock into my belly, brought be sharply back to my senses. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Free Dreamgirls e-mail subscriptions: send (18 or up) age statement to: roller666@aol.com (Zine is called Fuck Decency). -To unsubscribe: Send $100.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association, P.O. 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