Message-ID: <14874eli$9809011405@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Fevered Fall part 17 of 22 (NND) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <35E75D98.1F3C@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in FEVERED FALL _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Seventeen Though all outside is chaos, within the crumbled remains of the Sky Dwelling the Tamagotchi lies safe, glowing with the pleasure of its cybernetic inhabitants. Chloe, a 13-year-old Palm Pet, has no idea her world has been created by a nerdy programmer who’s never had a girlfriend. She thinks she’s real. Thanks to her programmer, she’s doomed to suffer in the most perverse ways. And the lifetime battery pack in her Tamagotchi, though owned by no one now, is destined to pit Chloe against sexual fiends for decades to come... The Sultan chuckled. He waved forward one of the European women. I later learned her name was Jessica. She was the one who’d left a puddle on my auntie’s chair. She walked with a salacious gait, rolling her naked hips, clearly aroused and eager for any man present, apparently, to plumb her privates with his cock. She carried a small black bag. I trembled, seeing it, gasping from my three orgasms and wondering, in my gagged, speechless condition, what new horrors awaited me. Jessica put the bag down between my open legs, on my ‘throne’. She pulled it open. She drew out a stethoscope. She slung it around her neck. It fell, snakelike, between her breasts. “Oh! It’s cold!” Jessica said, as the metal disk at the end of it touched her skin. Her nipples, already taut, tightened further and displayed their tips more prominently. They were like cherry stems, I thought, in search of satisfaction in the mouth of anyone. Simply apply your teeth and pull. She would not mind. She was lusty and free. She was also apparently, a nurse, for she said: “I must listen to your heart, both of you.” My auntie’s eyes widened. To be examined, in such condition, bound and helpless on chairs designed to torture us! Jessica lifted the stethoscope’s metal disk. She raised it from her belly, touching it gently with her fingers. She placed it against the warm contour of my left breast. The disk did feel cold. I jerked, just a little, and Jessica sighed and told me to be still. The feather touching my clit withdrew, so that I might be still for my exam. Jessica listened to my heart. Her bosoms hung nakedly before my eyes. Her bottom, bare and sexy, moved slowly from left to right, displaying its spheric proportions to the two princes and the Sultan. The remaining prince cast off his toga. His cock was a hardy piston, ready for pneumatic glory, I thought, gazing at it with wide eyes. The three females partying with him “oohed” and “aahed” at his cock. Then they giggled, for all was teasing still. With the Sultan present, they could not fuck, apparently, until the Sultan had first given his permission by claiming one of the girls present for himself. He, however, was still entranced by my aunt and me. He remained in his robes. He told us, as Jessica reported our regular, rhythmic heartbeats to him, that he was pleased with our “progress.” “You have each experienced your first orgasms in my kingdom, and will, I am sure, experience many more,” the Sultan said with gleeful eyes. “Take their temperatures too,” the Sultan told Jessica. Jessica smiled. “Sire, their bottoms would provide the most accurate reading, but they are both sitting on them,” Jessica said to the Sultan. I got the impression she would like my aunt and me lifted up, that she might inquire into our holes! Jessica affected a bored look, perhaps to cover for her devious designs, and added, “As for their mouths, they are gagged.” “Do we have no ear thermometers?” the Sultan asked. “No, sire,” Jessica said. “You expressly forbade them.” “Ah, yes,” the Sultan said. “Ungag our guests, then.” Jessica looked disappointed. She did, truly, I think, wish to see my auntie and me poked in our bottoms, though for what purpose, other than evil delight, I do not know. She complained to the Sultan that she could not undo my gag, or my aunt’s, for doing so might break her long, lustrous nails. “Guards!” the Sultan called. Jessica blanched. For a moment I thought (indeed, hoped!) she’d gotten into trouble. The guards came in from the hall, where they were standing watch. My heart jumped when I saw them. Each one had a large protrusion in the front of his sarong. “Ah, gentlemen, I see you have become aroused,” the Sultan observed, gazing at his guards below their waists. Indeed, all of us stared, for each man possessed a long, healthy banana-like stiffie over which draped the front of his sarong. “Sorry, sire,” a guard answered. “It is the sound of the girls screaming that aroused us.” I blushed. It was my screams, and those of my aunt, I realized, which had made these guards erect! The guard who spoke to the Sultan was a burly man, with a hairy chest, yet he spoke to the Sultan with careful deference. He wore his sword sheathed in a belt at his waist. I thought him most handsome, in a rough sort of way. I wondered if female captives of the Sultan were ever given to the guards for a night of pleasure. The thought made me shiver. That set my bare breasts quivering. The husky guard, approaching me, looked at my bosoms with interest. “If I may say so, you have a fine pair of tits,” the guard murmured to me. He stepped behind my chair to remove my gag. “Thank you,” I gasped, when his sturdy fingers had undone the black cloth wedged between my lips. “I should like to put something more substantial in your mouth,” the guard whispered to me. “Chloe, Rebecca! How are you two doing?” the Sultan asked both my aunt and I, as if addressing guests at cocktail hour in a sedate bar. My aunt and I gasped. I coughed a little; amazed that I could breathe through my mouth again. “Please, let us go!” my aunt said. Her voice was shrill. “Nonsense, my dear,” the Sultan answered. “You sound like a virgin, newly deflowered. Yet I suspect a probing of your cunt would reveal you’ve tasted cock before. This will be a difficult ride, but you can manage. You are both quite healthy. You can take it. You will both have plenty of time to recuperate afterward, and servants to attend to you, doctors to assist with any injuries you may receive.” “Oh, God!” my aunt shouted. “NO!” I cried. The Sultan laughed. “Have I scared you? It was not my purpose. Have some wine. Perhaps it will buoy your feelings a little. Lightheadedness would not be altogether bad in such circumstances, eh?” “Do not resist, darling. I must take your temp,” Jessica told my aunt. She popped a glass thermometer in my aunt’s mouth and bade her keep her lips compressed until it had registered. My aunt squirmed but obeyed. In the meantime, the Sultan drifted to where I sat bound, and gazed at me with affectionate eyes. “I shall have you whipped in a bit, Chloe,” the Sultan told me. “Do not hate me for it, eh? It will do you good to have a proper lashing on your back.” I stared up at him from my chair. At last I said, “Aren’t my arms in the way?” I coughed again, perhaps from nervousness at speaking to a man in such an odd way, with my legs splayed, my cunt all wet and showing, my arms tightly fastened behind my back. “Indeed,” the Sultan said. “You raise an excellent point, Chloe,” the Sultan said. “I shall have your arms lifted first. You get a star, my dear, for making such an observation. How pleasant it is to have a girl participate in her own arrangements for torture.” I gulped. “I didn’t mean to,” I said. “Temp’s normal,” Jessica said, pulling the thermometer from my aunt’s mouth. She lowered it. “Perhaps, dear Sultan, given the plans you have for both these girls, I should also check their pussys’ temperatures?” Jessica asked. “Of course!” the Sultan said. “Stick it right in. Neither one can resist, anyhow.” It was done. My aunt shuddered as the glass thermometer was inserted in her cunt. It was wet from the saliva of her mouth. The nurse, whom I was beginning to think was a make-believe nurse, warned my aunt not to squeeze her cuntlips too tightly, lest she break the slim glass rod. “Oh! I’m trying not to squeeze!” my aunt said. Her body trembled, making her pussy lips tighten. The nurse monitored her carefully. She slipped the thermometer back and forth in her wet gash to make sure my aunt wasn’t squeezing tighter than she should. There was a small rubber ball at the finger-end of the thermometer, to keep the nurse’s body heat from transferring itself to the glass. “Temp’s normal again,” the nurse told the Sultan, withdrawing the thermometer from my aunt’s cunt. “Good,” the Sultan said. Then, to my utter surprise, as I spoke to the Sultan again, asking for some lemonade that was being poured, the nurse popped the thermometer, wet from my aunt’s cunny, into my mouth. “Ooook!” I said. I didn’t know what to do. I was tasting my aunt! The thermometer tasted sweet, like honey. I gaped at the Sultan. He knitted his brows, as if to warn me not to reject the thermometer. I sucked upon it, liking the taste, but not the reason for it. When the glass had registered the nurse removed it. She reported I was normal. Then she poked the thermometer in my slit and took my pussy’s temperature. I tensed against the intrusion. She warned me, as she’d warned my aunt, not to break the thermometer with my pussy lips. I shivered, as my aunt had shivered, hoping I wouldn’t. Jessica slid the thermometer back and forth in me to test my tightness the entire time my temp was being taken. “She is like a small, delicate flower, tensely trying to close at the approach of a bee,” Jessica laughed, slipping the stinger-like thermometer in and out of me. “Don’t worry dear, I won’t sting you,” Jessica told me. “But I might,” the Sultan said. His eyes danced with glee. My aunt was served wine. She tried to decline; the European woman who’d sat in my chair forced open her lips and made her drink it down. I turned my head and watched my aunt grimacing, trying, in a half-hearted, feminine way, to resist. Her breasts bounced as she twisted her head against the fingers at her lips. “Still, Rebecca! Be still!” the European woman warned her. I later learned the adamant lady was named Vicky. She was as naked as the woman who was sticking the thermometer in my pussy. Her hips moved salaciously even as she held my aunt’s teeth apart with her forefinger and thumb. Both princes, rock hard, gazed with avid eyes at the two women attending us, whilst admiring my aunt and I also. At the same time they enjoyed fresh grapes, served to them by the two European women attending them at the party table. One of the women polished each grape on her bosoms before feeding them to a prince. The other prince, apparently, preferred girls’ nether charms. His female attendant polished grapes upon her heinie before feeding them to him. “Slide them in and out of your butt crack. I do not mind,” the prince instructed her. “Oh, sire, you are so naughty!” the woman replied. But she did as he asked. The Sultan, seeing it, laughed. So did the other women. Even I giggled, a little, though I thought it quite obscene. Jessica found my vaginal temp normal. She reported it to the Sultan, who ordered that I be given wine. I was offered a glass. By then a guard, working quickly, as if he’d done this to many girls before me and was an expert at it, had freed my hands. I rubbed my wrists and took the proferred glass of wine. “Don’t worry, Chloe, it’s a very light wine,” the Sultan told me. “You can drink it without becoming drunk, if you only have a glass or two.” He smiled at me and I wondered at what sort of man he must be, to sexually abuse young girls but, at the same time, worry that he might make them drunk. Perhaps it was because, in the end, sex is a natural act, while wine is unnatural to one’s constitution; a person can live all their life without drinking wine, but it is a rare bird indeed who can go without sex. (And even rarer still if one goes without sex, and is not tormented by its absence.) So, knowing I had a cunt, and boobs, and a slim waist and flat tummy that left me looking like a wanted poster for male sperm, the Sultan prised me apart sexually, and delighted in playing sexual games with me, while at the same time worrying that I not be made drunk on a cup of wine. He wanted, I knew, gazing at him over the rim of my glass as I drank from it, for me to feel all he did to me. Other men, less bold, more constricted by laws not of their making, might to devise to get a girl drunk first, so that they could ‘cop a feel.’ Not the Sultan. He ruled here, in his kingdom. He could do exactly as he pleased. If he was going to go the trouble of challenging a girl sexually, of teasing her, of dominating and filling her, he wanted her to be aware of it all, and to take note of every thing he did to her. He didn’t want to make love to a drunken rag doll, as some men in America or Europe do. He wanted a living, breathing, gasping, shrieking girl, who would forever remember how he labored over her to sexually impress her. Yes, he might tease her about making her drunk, to anesthetize her against all that he would force her to suffer, I realized, but in the end, like it or not, I was doomed to remember every last bit of it. The Sultan would have it no other way. He wanted me to report to all the other girls what a monster he was, because he knew that half of them who heard it would find a way to show up here, to feel his torments themselves. I sat with my legs apart. My cunt was wet with sexual excitement that I had not willingly offered but which, having it wrested from me, I did not complain of now. My bare tummy heaved, small and flat and rippling as I drew in gulps of air between gulps of wine. My naked tits shook. My arms bent forward freely, my elbows sticking out, as I held my wine glass with both hands. But my legs were still fastened, well beyond the latitude of ladyhood and showing all of myself to whoever cared to look. It was then I realized, sitting there all exposed, how bizarrely wonderful it was to be in the hands of a man like the Sultan. Of course, I would never tell him such a thing. Here, where a girl could resist all she pleased and still not fail to achieve sexual satisfaction, I was free to indulge in the word “NO”, knowing it would save me from nothing. How peculiarly satisfying it is for a female to, on occasion, be reduced to such a condition, my mind admitted. I shivered at the realization. I understood, suddenly, that I never wanted to interact with the Sultan on a ‘normal’ basis. He was not meant for that, at least in my life. I didn’t want to tell him of my hopes, my dreams, or my plans, or even of my complaints. Those were for another man, perhaps a husband, or a school principal, or a counsellor. The Sultan was only to interact with me sexually, I realized, even in my own fantasies. I wanted a man who would view me solely as a sexual creature. I wanted him to tell me, “Yes, your cunt is nice and tight, Chloe, and how wet it is!” or “What lovely big bosoms you have Chloe, and how the nipples stand up so perfectly!” I wanted him to compliment even my bottom, I realized, shuddering as I sipped my wine. All of myself I wished to have opened by him and admired by him and even filled up by him. And that was it. I did not wish to mix the utter degradation of my self, the liberating degradation, with intellectual matters, or even with other emotions. I wanted the Sultan, my mind told me, for what he could do to me, sexually, and that was it. He was my God in the realm of sex, and I was his princess. We would explore sexual depths together, we would dive deep, and at the edge of the pool, when I finally managed to climb free of his grasp, I wished to leave him there, and not take him into my emotional or intellectual realms. Other men could serve as husband, sharing household chores, and as father, raising, with moral authority, my future children. But the Sultan was just for sex and, sequestered here in his castle, I too could be as sexual as I pleased, while still enjoying the pleasure of saying ‘no’ and ‘not now’ and ‘please don’t’ to all he offered me. I could be the slut I really wanted to be, without feeling like one. The Sultan drank wine offered to him by one of the European women and gazed happily between my legs. I twisted in my chair. I could move my arms about and squirm, moving my upper body, but I was helpless to get my legs free. They were locked to my chair. I bent forward once, drinking my wine, to try to free my legs with my hands. It was quite impossible. Iron bands, fastened with locks, held them in place. An older woman, sitting with her legs wide apart, on a chair with no arms and legs, might have found her position impossible to maintain. But I was young and barely thought of how awkward it was to sit upright, with one’s legs completely open, and nothing to lean back against. In any event, a guard stood always at my back, his burly physique hovering over me, watching my every move and awaiting whatever the Sultan commanded. My aunt’s arms were freed and she was given more wine. This time she drank voluntarily, sipping it and gazing about us with wide eyes. Crackers were offered, spread with cream cheese. My aunt and I looked quite silly, I thought, sitting there eating crackers and drinking wine, trying hard to be dainty, while our legs, forcibly opened, displayed our wettened slits. There was no hurry. Except for the erections sported by Prince Saul and Prince Havash, there was no sense of urgency. We were here for the night, and the Sultan wished to prolong our sense of sexual tension for as long as he could. He waited quietly while my aunt and I finished our wine and crackers. I wondered what else he had planned but he kept it a secret, admiring my aunt and I as if we were performers on a stage, and not the complete and utterly debased victims of his will. When my aunt and I had finished our crackers, Jessica took a wet cloth and wiped both our mouths with it. “Very good, girls,” Jessica said. The stethoscope still dangled between her naked breasts. She teased our nipples after she had wiped our mouths, so that we would remain excited for the Sultan. At his word, two guards hoisted my arms up above my head, as well as my aunt’s and secured them to overhead chains. I found myself sitting with my wrists lifted high, bound over my head, my body naked and my tummy pleasantly filled with wine and crackers. How odd to be treated so deferentially, even to the point of being fed treats, while at the same time being used sexually like common whores! Bare-assed, his cock rampant, Mr. Jim Rutland was now put into the same position as myself and my aunt. When I heard the creaking of the chains beside me, my own arms and my aunt’s already uplifted, I remembered him. Imagine, forgetting all about a guy as handsome as him! That’s how overwhelming the Sultan could be, once he had you firmly in his grip. I gasped as I saw Mr. Rutland allowing the bare-chested guards to lift up his powerful arms. He did not resist. He had been fed no crackers, and no wine, and was clearly in extremis from being continually tortured, yet even now he permitted, as part of his agreement with the Sultan, his body to be used. He might have grabbed both guards and thrown them to the ground with his muscular arms. Yet instead he was as free in his acceptance of his fate as they were free in adjusting him to suit their pleasure. His wrists were slung up high over his head. They were re-shackled. All the while, a feather kept tickling the long length of his penis. The feather extended from a hole in the chair. It wiggled about, caressing Jim’s cock as a lover might, while the two male guards rudely bound his arms over his head. I watched with wide eyes as Jim repeatedly grimaced, resisting the temptations of the feather while permitting the guards to lock his arms overhead. The feather whispered over his hard cock, mechanically loving it; touching the pee-hole, wetting itself on the juice there. It moved along the ridge of his cock’s helmet, feeling the flange, drying itself by smearing the juice from the tip of Jim’s penis over his helmet’s ridge. The feather slid along the full length of his shaft. I watched as it traced the big veins pulsing along the sides of his dick. Down by the root of his penis, in the encircling growth of his pubic hair, the feather caressed Jim as if in preparation for releasing a hidden knife and cutting his member off. Once more a feather sprouted from between my own legs. It had hidden itself while I was checked and refreshed. Now it appeared anew, ready for more fun with my private. “No!” my aunt gasped beside me. “Oh, please!” I shouted to the Sultan. I didn’t fancy losing myself in passion again, in front of these unknown guests. Our host merely laughed. He watched with an interest as great as my own as the feather reached out from its hole and found my pussy. It tickled me. I giggled. Spittle flew from my lips. I flushed. I licked my lips as the feather insinuated itself between the moistening lips of my cunt. It found my spot and caressed it. I gasped. “Ah!” my aunt groaned. Lightly, ever so lightly, the well-pointed tip of the feather brushed within the wettened folds of my sex. My jaw sagged. A guard took advantage of my wide-apart mouth to fling a gag across it and jam the canvas deep between my lips. My tongue struggled. A scream strangled itself in my throat. Meanwhile, as my mouth lips were forced wide, my cunt lips tightened against the intrusiveness of the feather. I tried to expel the exploring tip by squeezing myself. The feather rolled within the shivering grasp of my cunny. It twirled and burrowed deeper. Then, abruptly, it drew back, nearly coming out of me, only to jam itself into me again and fuck me with slow caresses. The Sultan admired myself and my aunt and then turned to Jessica and Vicky. “Prepare yourselves,” he said. It was a simple command. I had no idea what he meant by it but the two European women apparently did. They both went to a small box in the corner of the room, a box with jewels on it, and drew from the box a scarf for each of them. They did not tie the scarves, made of fine silk, around their heads, however. Instead they each tied a scarf around their neck, tying it in back, so that the front of each scarf hung down like a bib. “It’s to catch spills,” Jessica said to me, from across the room, her eyes sparkling. I could only gape in reply, the canvas gag tight against my mouth. When both girls had put on their bibs they looked at each other, laughed, and opened their mouths wide. Then they laughed again and walked with gay abandon over to the Sultan. Both girls gave him a kiss on his cheek. He held them, briefly, savoring the feel of their nude bodies pressed hard against him. Then the girls dropped to their knees. I thought they were going to release the Sultan’s manhood from his robes but instead, turning, they crawled on their hands and knees over to Mr. Jim Rutland’s throne. Both girls, kneeling in front of him, leaned forward, and presented their mouths at the edge of his chair. Between his widely separated knees the girls waited open-lipped, their eyes gazing at his cock. “We’re thirsty,” Jessica said. “Give us something to drink!” Vicky implored Jim. How lovely they both looked! I felt envious. The girls’ long hair wreathed their pretty faces. Their bibs hung neatly under their chins, to catch whatever their mouths might miss. Their bare breasts, twin pairs of lovely teats, hung suspended under them, looking ripe for milking, juddering voluptuously with their every small movement. How wicked it was, to see their bare bosoms, their nipples perfect for squirting out milk, while at the same time they urged Jim to spurt rich sperm-milk into their faces! “Oh!” I cried. I ground my hips tightly against the feather as it continued to intrude into me. I twisted my head toward my aunt and saw tears in her eyes. Were they tears of passion? I could not tell. I wanted to speak to her but she was now re-gagged, as I was, and all we could do was gape at each other like two prisoners, already bound, waiting to be hanged on a gallows. Indeed, we both hung now close to the brink of orgasm, and I knew I would be pitched over into bliss in a moment, bringing further crass pleasure to the guests who were observing me. At a word from Prince Saul, both European women sitting at the festive table rose. They put down the food they’d been nibbling on and walked with graceful steps over to myself and my aunt. One, whom I later learned was named Susan, cupped my aunt’s fulsome bare breasts and squeezed them. She seemed like a midwife, I thought, hoping to squeeze fresh milk from a new mother’s breasts, to encourage the mother to breastfeed. At the same time she lowered her mouth to my aunt’s gagged lips and kissed her. Then, lowering one of her hands, she guided the feather more deeply into my aunt’s snatch. With a groan, my aunt heaved in her bonds. The feather, I saw, was penetrating her deeply, bringing her to the absolute edge of a belly-bursting orgasm. My aunt’s ribs heaved. Her stomach drew in taut and tight and then, despite its flatness, curved outward as she arched her back and felt the feather snake deep into the depths of of her cunt. Susan was eager to penetrate my aunt in more than one place and tried to force her tongue in past the gag over my aunt’s mouth. When she found that she couldn’t, she ripped the gag down from my aunt’s mouth, nearly dislocating her chin. My aunt gasped. Her lips opened wide and she gulped in air. Her hips writhed on the chair, an orgasm brimming in her belly. Susan shoved her face against my aunt’s and stabbed her tongue deeply into my aunt’s wide-open mouth. At the same time the other European woman, whom I later was formally introduced to as Kelly, gripped my own breasts. She kissed my gagged mouth but did not pull my gag off. Perhaps she liked having me gagged, making my submission more complete, or perhaps she feared incurring the Sultan’s wrath if she freed my mouth. Unlike my mouth, my cunt had nothing covering it. Kelly was free to violate me there. She caught at the feather teasing my slit and urged it to press into me more fully. I felt the feather rise up between my legs and penetrate my belly. I grunted, like an animal giving birth. Suddenly an orgasm ripped through me and, despite my gag and Kelly’s mouth pressed close, a scream escaped me. At the same time, beside me, I heard my aunt’s ungagged mouth utter a much louder cry. Togther, with Susan and Kelly urging us on, we orgasmed upon the feathers. I surrendered myself to bliss and did not try to resist any more. I spent, wetting the feather inside me, sprinkling sweet juices upon Kelly’s probing fingers that played at my nest. My tongue fought my gag. It tried to push outward and curl in loving surrender with Kelly’s tongue. In the event, with the gag between us, all we could each do was touch our tongue tips against each other through the fabric of the gag. My gag became wet with spittle as my cunt, sucking hard on the feather, wet the intruder thoroughly. At last my aunt and I calmed down. The feathers each withdrew from us and were again swallowed up by the seats of our chairs, where a pin-sized hole received each of them. Kelly and Susan left us and walked back to the dining table, where they rejoined the princes. I sagged in my bonds. I gazed with half-lidded eyes at my aunt. She smiled; slightly. We had suffered, but it had been a sweet suffering. My breasts ached a little where Kelly had gripped me. “Ughgh!” Jim cried beside me. I yanked my head back round toward him and realized, with rising excitement, that he was finally at the end of his (much longer) rope. He twisted his hips. His arms yanked hard on the chains holding them up but he couldn’t free himself. His thighs tried to close, fruitlessly, as the wicked feather between his legs finally achieved its object. Jessica and Vicky, watching, turned to each other briefly and kissed. Then they offered their mouths to Jim again and, in a move I found unbelievably sexy, they each lifted a hand and began masturbating themselves between their legs. Their bosoms quavered as they diddled their cunts. Each girl offered up a pretty gasp of pleasure. Jim could take no more. Suddenly, with a mighty groan, his cock released a spouting flood of sperm. It arced toward the girls and both of them vied to catch the first drops of it in her mouth. Their heads banged together, each girl cried “Ouch!” and Jim’s sperm landed upon both their close-pressed faces, hitting them both in the eyes. The feather worked itself excitedly along Jim’s shaft, forcing him to spend in a long tribute upon the two European girls. First Jessica managed to position her mouth, at last, where she could catch some of Jim’s cascade. Then Vicky head-butted her aside and put her own mouth where it could receive Jim’s sperm. No sooner had she gotten a mouthful than Jessica shoved her away with her own butting face, and offered her lips once more to Jim’s stream. He came and came, filling both girls’ hungering mouths several times over, besides splattering their bare, tanned shoulders and shooting his sperm into their lovely hair. At last Jim’s geyser subsided. The girls both swallowed the loads they’d received. Then, in an orgy of desire, each of them turned to the other and began licking her companion’s face clean. At the same time, having left off for a moment rubbing their cunnies, they now both began masturbating themselves again. As they teased their wet slits with their fingers they ran their wet tongues over each other’s cheeks and along each other’s lips. Jim watched them. Despite losing his whole load of sperm, something he’d sworn he would never permit, there was a satisfied look on his face. I guessed that the spectacle of the two girls fighting over his seed was so enthralling to him that he didn’t mind having ‘given in’ to the Sultan and cumming. “He has lost himself. Whip him hard for his lack of self-control,” the Sultan ordered his guards. Jim looked up from his loins. I saw shock in his eyes. The Sultan laughed. “Really, Mr. Rutland, I expected you to hold out longer than that,” the Sultan said. “First you claim you will defy me, and then you have the audacity to shoot yourself all over the faces of my favorite girls? You may have better self-control than most men, Jim, but I expect the best from you. If you say, ‘I shall not cum,’ then I expect you to fulfill that promise, however much you might be teased to do the contrary. Here you will learn to exercise absolute control over your loins, Jim. Your cock is a muscle just like your other muscles. You must learn to control it just like you control your arms or your legs. Perhaps a lashing of your back will help you to exercise finer control over your dick in the future.” I expected Jim to thrash beside me, to pull at his bonds, or to yell some obscenity to the Sultan. Instead, his face haggard from having withstood the agony of pleasure for so long, he only nodded. To my surprise I felt myself to be a silent witness to some eerie conversation, as if between a father and a son, even though both men were roughly the same age. Jim bowed his head, gritted his teeth slightly, and accepted the words of the Sultan that washed over him. “Yes, I will help you, Jim,” the Sultan said in a sudden moment of tenderness. “If you can withstand my training, if you do not beg me, before it’s over, to cut off your member to spare you the workout I intend for it... if I do not, on a whim, decide to deflower you of that enviously long, magnificently thick pestle, you will leave my kingdom with extraordinary control over your manhood. But I warn you: such a trophy-like penis begs to be kept and displayed. It raises in me a desire to see it mounted over my royal fireplace, where all who see it can express amazement at its size, and congratulate me on finding such a specimen. What a conversation piece it would make, eh, Jim? What an inspiration to the ladies! To let you simply walk off with it, that I am sorely tempted never to allow. Yet to permit you to keep it, that too is a sore point with me, for then you can use it to thrill women who might otherwise find me amply satisfactory.” I gaped at the Sultan, standing before Jim in his royal robes. The contrast between him and Jim was so stark! Jim was nude and sweating. The Sultan was composed and debonair, his silken robes rustling as he addressed us. He turned to me, then to my aunt, a proud sense of possession in his eyes. I saw there a gaze like you see in a man who has just purchased a fine sports car. We were new toys for him. He was eager to push us to the limit; to see just how much we could take. And if he broke us in the process, I guessed, it hardly mattered. He could always get more like us. The Sultan gazed down at Jessica and Vicky. The two naked girls were rolling on the floor. Despite their pretty, coiffed hair, the lovely earrings dangling from their ears, despite their carefully painted nails and expertly applied makeup, they were now locked together in a kind of wrestling match; each girl trying to lick all the sperm off the other girl’s face. “Hold still!” Jessica breathed into Vicky’s mouth, her tongue running along the other girl’s lips. “No! I want his sperm! Don’t lick it off me!” Vicky protested. As she spoke, she tried to steal the sperm from Jessica’s cheeks and lips, from her nose and eyelids, so that she could have even more of what was already smeared so amply over her own face. The girls’ limbs thrashed. They clasped each other, yet tried at the same time to push each other off; each trying to larcenously partake of the sperm on the other without surrendering her own hard-won treasure from Jim’s loins. The large man beside me grinned down at the girls. He gazed at them between his wide-spread legs. His cock had softened now, but I guessed, with such a spectacle rolling about at his feet, it would not be long before his manhood found inspiration to rise anew. Jim’s chest heaved. His large arms, caught up and raised over his head by chains, pulled on the links of the chains and caused the beam overhead to creak. I shuddered. Could Jim pull down the roof over our heads, if he wished? Was he truly that strong? I wanted to cry out to him not to kill me, no matter how rude he might find the Sultan’s treatment. I did not want to die here. Jim, if he noticed the power of his arms, did not show it in his face. Instead, still staring at the girls, he kept smiling. He looked glad to see that the burden he’d showered on the girls was so hotly appreciated. Both females sighed. Their nude figures clashed. Despite being grown women, they rolled and tossed on the floor like toddlers in a nursery, fighting over mouthfuls of half-eaten candy. Their bosoms were flung to and fro by their movement. Their tits were ripe gourds cut free from all restraint; squashed together one minute, falling off the body the next, hanging lusciously free, only to be fleshily distorted in shape in the next minute as the other woman crushed herself close. I wondered what their mothers would think, if they could see them; not only braless but heaving their bosoms around with such carefree abandon! Just then one girl pressed her pubis hard against the other girl’s. Both of them let out long, screamy moans, sounding like twin cats in heat. Still licking jealously at each other’s faces, they now began to grind their wet slits together. It was difficult; each girl sloped away from the other right at the juncture where they most wished to touch. Yet they pressed tightly and warmly together now, both finding mutual pleasure in the close connection of their bodies. Amidst their sighs, their tongues greedily licking at each other’s mouths, breathing hotly into each other’s faces, they strove to make their feminine loins join together. Wet, juicy warm lips sought and managed to graze against an identical pair of lips. Clitties buzzed, wishing for penetration, but finding instead only the soft caress of a warm female slit. “Oh!” “Oh!” the two females cried. Each humped against the other. Each showed frustration as her well-offered hips met only with the well-offered hips of another girl. Yet valiantly they both tried to find satisfaction against each other, while their tongues still fought over Jim’s sperm. Grinding their hips, looking like two machines desperately in need of a prong, they pressed their wet snatches tight and did their best to deflower each other. “Oh, turn around!” Jessica urged Vicky. “No, you!” Vicky cried. Both wished for the other’s tongue in her cunt, yet didn’t want to break the sweet contact of their warm-brushing pussies for even a moment to attain it. At the same time, each one kept assaulting the other’s face, licking away the spermy residue Jim had showered over their heads. The Sultan laughed. “You have put two of my girls in quite a state, Mr. Rutland,” the Sultan said. He kicked at the girls with his booted toe. He wore boots of the finest horse leather and I wondered if, as the girls shouted at his blow, they weren’t graced by the touch of such magnificent boots. “Ow!” Jessica yelled. The Sultan’s toe caught Jessica on the hip. She rolled away, taking Vicky with her. Vicky was lifted up, so that she lay upon her side. Her legs were open to receive Jessica’s close-pressed thighs between them. The Sultan’s second kick landed between Vicky’s legs, from behind, and delivered a blow directly to her swollen cunt. “OWOOOOOO!” Vicky cried. Her hand flew off Jessica’s back and tried to press down between her legs. It would not fit; Jessica’s body was pressed too tightly against her own. So, awkwardly, Vicky reached back behind herself. She yanked her legs farther apart and wedged her hand between the backs of her thighs. Tears sprang to her eyes as she massaged her wounded cunt. The Sultan laughed and kicked hard against her hand. Vicky shrieked. Her hand flew up from protecting her cunt and shook like a bird in the air, flapping its wings. Then, just when I feared the Sultan would kick hard at Vicky’s exposed cunt, he instead took sympathy upon her and merely ground the toe of his boot into her sex. Vicky swooned. Despite uttering a frantic “NO!” she arched her heinie backward and flung her legs wider apart to better receive the intruding boot. She rubbed her fleshy cunt against it, savoring how the polished toe of the Sultan’s boot wedged deep into her sex. At last she had something upon which she might grind herself with satisfaction; something that might stretch her apart with its hardness and burrow up between her legs. “Oh! Kick me!” Jessica pleaded. She arched forward her hips so that the Sultan, removing his toe from Vicky, might jut his boot into her own wet loins. At the same time, Jessica kept slurping at Vicky’s face, licking up the last traces of Jim’s sperm from her features. Vicky arched herself hard against the Sultan’s toe, not wanting to lose him to her friend. She no longer licked at Jessica but, seemingly half-fainted, merely savored the painful but wonderfully hard intrusion of shoe leather into her sex. “Oh! Is it good? Is it good?” Jessica asked her friend. “Mmmmmm,” Vicky said in a throaty moan. “Oh, I’ll bet it’s good,” Jessica said, sounding like a child wishing for a favorite sweet which another had gotten instead. “Stand up, you whores,” the Sultan said. He took his toe from between Vicky’s legs. The European woman let out a frantic sigh at the withdrawal of his foot and arched her bottom back more in an attempt to catch him again in her slit. I looked at the Sultan’s boot. The well-polished leather was now slick and wet at its point from the contact of Vicky’s pussy. Rudely he booted Vicky in her fleshy bottom and ordered her again to stand up. “Oh!” Vicky sighed. She scrambled to her feet, Jessica doing the same. They stared at the Sultan. Vicky’s hands flew to her ass and rubbed where the Sultan had kicked her. At the same time both girls arched their hips forward, offering their slits to him, perhaps hoping he might favor them both with blows of his boot to their loins. Above their pussies their bellies, flat and indrawn, compassed by narrow waists, each offered the Sultan a sweetly indented navel. Above their belly buttons were their arched ribs. Each rib could be seen on the girls’ narrow, slim bodies. A kick there would surely shatter the fragile architecture of the girls’ figures, yet the girls showed no hesitation in offering their bodies to him. Above their ribs hung the girls’ bosoms. Full and ripe, they wobbled fleshily on their chests, pertly offering to nurture as many babies as his shoe could give them. I stared at the silken, sperm-soaked scarf around each girl’s throat. How delicate they both looked, and yet how wanton! “Wipe off your pussies. Then gag Mr. Rutland with your scarves,” the Sultan ordered Jessica and Vicky. “I must give him new tests; I do not wish for him to say something that might throw me into a rage.” “Yes, Sire,” Vicky and Jessica said sheepishly. Standing before him, they both reached up to the scarves binding their throats. They unknotted the scarves and eagerly wiped themselves between their legs. They were hungry, I saw, to smear Jim’s sperm upon their cunts. At the same time their own sexual juices were rubbed into the scarves. When this not entirely effective act of personal hygiene was finished, the two girls pranced up to Jim and ordered him to open his mouth. He complied. Merrily Vicky and Jessica gagged Jim with their scarves. He tasted his own cum upon his tongue, as well as the mingled juices from the girl’s slits. Although Jim groaned at having to accept the scarves in his mouth, he did not refuse. I guessed he was worried he might curse the Sultan if he were not gagged. He didn’t want to lose his penis. “Yes, you will not be making any intemperate remarks, Jim,” the Sultan said. “It is best this way. I can do things I sometimes regret later; as supreme ruler, there is no one to stop me.” He turned his head from Jim’s face to mine. “You are well-gagged also, Chloe,” he said. “Again, it is best. You are only 13. I cannot expect you to hold your peace during the next phase of your training.” He looked at my aunt. She sat with her arms bound over her head, like myself and Jim, but her mouth was still free to speak. “And then we have you, my pretty,” the Sultan said to Rebecca. “Please, you may punish me twice over if you wish, but spare my little niece!” my aunt begged. Her bosoms heaved and bounced as she spoke. The Sultan, intending to look at her pretty, ungagged mouth, found himself staring instead at her wobbling bare tits. “Punished?” the Sultan answered. He addressed my aunt by way of her bosoms, his eyes fixed on her twin lovely teats. “No, you are not being punished, my dear,” the Sultan said. “Did I tell you earlier that you were? Perhaps, I cannot remember now. It was only a ruse to ensure your compliance. You are being trained, my dear woman. My aim is not to hurt you for the sake of hurting you, but only because it is a necessary, if unfortunate, byproduct of the training you must receive. You are not naive in the arts of love, but you must be pushed further. You must be taken to new levels that only a man like myself can help you attain. You must be stretched, and spread, and filled, in ways that will help you open yourself more fully to men when you leave here. Imagine yourself entertaining twenty men in your bottom hole. Can you do it? I see your sweet body trembling. Not rude men, no. Calm, considerate men, who have your best interest at heart, but also a strong desire to see you filled with their seed. Could you take twenty of them in your ass if that was required? I will teach you such arts.” The girls finished gagging Jim. They wandered over to the Sultan and huddled close to him, like children seeking to play with their daddy. They caressed the front of his body. Their hands slipped down to where I guessed his penis hung and, in sympathy with their caresses, he grew a protuberance in the front of his robes. Yet he kept his eyes on my aunt’s cleavage, and continued speaking to her. “You are very beautiful,” the Sultan told her. “A beauty such as yourself must learn to accept men. Do not tease them. You women play too many games! You were given tits and a cunt, pretty hands, a perfect mouth to have them used. Men long to sperm you, to satisfy you, to bring joy to your life! Do not deny them. When you leave here you will go back to France a new woman. You will be eager to show men how well you can accept their advances. You will open yourself to them. You will take all they can give you.” “Mmmmmm!” Vicky and Jessica hummed. Together they admired the cock that had arisen under the Sultan’s robes. They reached within the folds of his royal attire and stroked him. “And if I do not wish to be trained?” my aunt, shivering but trying to sound composed, asked the Sultan. “That, my dear, is an option you long ago surrendered, when you agreed to come here,” the Sultan said. “I admit the pain I cause you will please me a little,” he said, as the two girls, apparently wishing to tease him a little, pinched at the big pestle of his penis under his robes. The front of his garb was lifted by his erection and he winced, but didn’t scold the girls, who busily touched his cock. “It is always a delight to see one tortured a little, to see how pain causes their body to react. But the prime purpose is pleasure. Is it not, my little minxes?” the Sultan asked Jessica and Vicky. One of them pinched him anew and he arched his back slightly, his buttocks, I am sure, tightening as he did so, causing me to wish I could see him naked, as the girls tormented his dick. “Yes,” Jessica answered. “Oh, yes!” Vicky agreed. “Prepare them to be whipped,” the Sultan ordered his guards, speaking of myself, my aunt, and Jim. I trembled in my bonds. “Oh, don’t!” my aunt implored. “You shall learn to hold your tongue, woman,” the Sultan told her. “The fairer sex speaks entirely too much. You will not be gagged today because I expect you to learn to grin and bear it. Any screams, any protests, and it will be worse for you. Do not tempt me to make things harder on you than I must.” “OH, give me a gag, then!” my aunt cried. The Sultan laughed. He looked at Jim. “You see?” the Sultan said. “Already I am being begged for extraordinary things. The day will come, Jim Rutland, when you will beg me to cut off your dick, just as now Rebecca is asking to be gagged.” “Oh, my!” my aunt gasped. The guards began cranking a large wheel. It was connected to the beam overhead, to which we were tied, and I saw that the beam I thought held up the ceiling was really only there to hold our hands aloft. The beam moved forward. As it moved it drew me forward, causing me to lean out over my widespread legs. My only consolation, as I saw one of the princes take a long whip from under the dining table, was that I was sitting on my bottom, it at least was safe from their plans. My bosoms hung nearly perpendicularly off my chest as the beam slid forward some more, taking me with it. At the same time my arms, lifted high but not pulled absolutely tight when they were first bound, now became stiff and straight. “Oh, stop!” my aunt cried, and I might have done the same, for my arms felt like they were about to be yanked out of my shoulders. The Sultan raised a hand. The guards ceased cranking the wheel. I hung motionless, my legs splayed, my back bared, my tits beautiful twin mounds hanging succulently from my drawn-forward body. I turned my head and looked at my aunt. She stared at me, her own perfect breasts now temptingly perpendicular to her form, as if hungry mouths waited below us, eager to rise from hidden cribs to partake of a late-night feeding. “What fine mothers you will both make!” the Sultan exulted, seeing us both bent forward and straining, our tits perfect cones of flesh, hanging so fully-formed and well-fleshed and heavy with promise. As if that were not enough to please him, our nipples offered risen stems where his tongue might play. The Sultan opened his robe and, to the delight of Jessica and Vicky, began freely massaging his cock with his hand. Their fingers still pinched at him, drawing small bits of his skin in their fingers, teasing his balls with small pinches when they couldn’t manage to find any loose flesh on the stem of his cock. As the Sultan stared at us his balls also tightened, so that, finally, he was so tightly drawn up and proferred that the girls lamented at not finding any place on his loins where he was soft enough to be pinched. “Oh, stop, darling! They are to be whipped!” a European woman sitting on the lap of one of the princes proclaimed. She looked at my aunt and Jim and I with eager eyes. Her paramour, his hands still running over her body with hard, greedy fingers, lessened his explorations of her a little. Two guards stepped behind me. They reached down along the sides of my chair. I heard something being unbuckled. I looked down. The guards’ fingers unbuckled latches on the sides of my chair and I realized, suddenly, that my chair was not one solid piece, but two pieces joined together. I gasped. I felt the back of my chair pulled away, like a drawer being removed from a cabinet. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in empty air, with only my legs still pressed to the chair beneath me. The entire back of my chair had been removed! “Oh!” I said, my gag muffling my cry. I felt the cool air of the room wash over my ass, so tightly pressed, a moment before, to bare wood. Now my bottom hung free. Unsupported, my heinie sank lower, bulging freely into the open air behind me, where my chair no longer was. I discovered, to my surprise, that the Sultan had bevelled the end of my chair, which now pressed up against the underside of my thighs. Had it not been bevelled, the wooden end of the chair would have been sharp against the underside of my legs. Yet despite intending to whip me, the Sultan had made sure that I was not discomfited by the abrupt edge of the chair. I looked over at my auntie. She too now sat with her chair cut in half, the back of it completely removed, so that her ass hung nakedly in the air. Some inches below the huddling cheeks of her bottom was a mass of strange looking equipment. It had once been safely under the chair’s seat but now that the seat of the chair was gone, in back, the equipment was revealed in all its evil glory. I saw odd-looking tubes and metal cylinders and something sharp, like a pungie-stick, down under my aunt’s hanging bottom. She looked at me and I realized from the fear that showed in her eyes that similar equipment must be on display under my own ass. I tried rising up. The chains on my legs held me. I twisted my head round to look at Jim Rutland and saw, to my horror, that an identical mass of equipment now lay revealed under his own small, manly buns. We squirmed in our chairs, all three of us, trying with desperate movements of our limbs to break free. The beam overhead creaked as Jim Rutland tried to prise his arms free of it. The Sultan laughed. Jessica and Vicky gazed at us with attentive eyes. There were smiles on their faces, as well as on the faces of the other guests; we were but pieces of a game in their eyes, I realized, forced to suffer for their entertainment. Prince Havash walked forward with the whip that he’d taken from under the table. There was a sardonic grin on his face. I shivered, looking at him, and wished to scream, but could not, because of my gag. “Oh, NO!” my auntie shouted, beside me. “Quiet, woman!” the Sultan ordered her. I looked over at Jim Rutland, wondering if he could somehow save us, and realized, to my horror, that his seat no longer supported his balls. They hung down between his powerful thighs, empty, yet completely exposed to the whip. Also between his wide-apart legs, held tightly open by chains round his legs, was his penis. It was flaccid now, no longer rising safely up along his belly but dangling down between his legs, where the whip, curling under his ass, might find it. I realized, looking at Jim, that my cunt was similarly exposed. Prince Havash might sweep his whip under the curve of my bottom and sting me there. My aunt, too, was just as vulnerable, her own sex sweetly offered like mine. “Oh, pray do not whip us!” my aunt implored the Sultan. But her protest, fearfully offered, was spoken in a hushed voice, lest in speaking she earn extra stripes for herself alone. Prince Havash sauntered behind us. I heard him draw the whip sharply and quickly across his palm. Then he struck, lashing the air, and all three of us shook on our chairs. “Yum, they’re going to GET it!” Vicky giggled to Jessica. “Yes!” Jessica agreed. Both girls reached behind themselves and rubbed their bare bottoms. The Sultan, amused, put a hand upon each girl’s slender shoulders. “Perhaps you girls would like to sit on my thrones after our guests have had their turn?” the Sultan asked. “No way!” Vicky said. Jessica, though, hesitated before answering. Finally, gazing at me and massaging her bottom, she said, in a meek voice, “Perhaps only for a few minutes.” “Yes! That’s what I like to hear!” the Sultan said. Vicky looked quizzically at her friend, her own hands still palpitating her rear, spreading her cheeks and then squeezing them together, nervously. I could see what she was doing by way of a mirror. “You WANT to sit in the Sultan’s throne?” Vicky asked. “Mmmm,” Jessica hummed, still rubbing her own bottom. “I learned a saying once: ‘Whatever I fear most, that’s what I do.’” “Ooooh!” Vicky said. “That scares me. What if you fear jumping off a cliff?” “Perhaps not jumping off one, but just sitting at the edge,” Jessica, looking directly at me, so vulnerably perched on my half-seat, intoned. Her friend shivered. “You shall both enjoy the pleasures of my throne before the night’s over,” the Sultan told the two young European women. “Oh, I DON’T want to!” Vicky said. But she stared at me, enthralled. Though she kept her hands firmly over her bottom, she said nothing more, and let the Sultan casually graze his hand down over her breasts and to the wet place between her legs. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Back issues (and stories): type http://www.dejanews.com/ into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key. Click on “Power Search” in the middle of the screen. Next, Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the box that appears. 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