Message-ID: <14879eli$9809011415@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Fevered Fall part 22 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: <35E76003.7391@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in FEVERED FALL _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Twenty-Two Jim walked over to where I lay. He and Robin gazed down at me. In my mirror I could see both of them. They stood over me for quite some time, their penises erect, each of them sporting a foley catheter that ran out of the tip of their hard cockhead and coiled down to a waiting pee bag. Now and then pee would run out of their penises and down along the inside of the catheters. They peed freely, without any control over themselves. The catheter in each of their bladders kept them open. However, they still controlled their sperm. No catheter ran from their urethra down to their testicles. I’m sure, with their penises still hot and glowing from the itching lotion, they wished their catheters allowed them to sperm freely instead of to pee. Meanwhile, I lay on the low wooden table. My head and hands were bound. My feet were bound and spread apart. My small child’s bottom wiggled salaciously, its saucy hemispheres seeming to invite the punishment I’d been told I deserved. I hated the waiting. They knew I hated it and so the men spent their time boasting to each other how red they’d make my bottom. “We’ll be able to fry eggs on her fanny when we’re done with her,” Jim said to Robin. “Yeah, and we may as well eat them off her too,” Robin answered. “I’d love to lick egg yolk out of her ass crack.” My aunt enjoyed seeing me suffer without being touched. What a rich punishment-- nobody laid a finger on me, so I could hardly complain at being ill treated, yet because I knew I was going to be spanked I could think of nothing but my precious bottom, and how soft and cool it felt, and how uncomfortable it would be once the man had punished me and my aunt had penetrated my ass with her wicked dildo. “Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh,” I moaned, hoping to get a reprieve. I told them I was only 13 and that I didn’t want to be here and that they should respect me. The men laughed. My aunt, telling me she knew a good spanking was quite needed by every girl once in a while, promised she’d “do right” by me, meaning, of course, that I’d be walloped! Nothing I said dissuaded them. I think it amused them that I was embarrassing myself in front of the neighbors with my childish imprecations. They knew we’d never visit here again, so any embarrassment I caused myself was only temporary. I blushed, thinking of how the neighbors, overhearing me, would now be expecting to hear my screams when the whip fell. I imagined those Arabs sipping their afternoon tea, smiling silently to each other, waiting. They were dark-haired, but I was blonde. I was a rarity in this part of the world. They would savor the special treat of a white tourist brat being soundly punished. The fact that I was being punished by my own aunt, I think, must have made them even more delighted. As for my aunt, she puttered around our bondage cell, straightening things and seeing what was available. She was the first to try out our toilet. As the men watched, she sat down on it, holding her big fake penis out over the rim of the toilet. It would not fit in the toilet itself. She had to pull the penis up at an angle so the balls would be shifted forward and not be wetted when she peed. Then she drew the rubber loin strap out of her cunt and peed like any girl, while still holding the impotent fake penis in her hand. How strange she looked, squatting on the toilet, the sound of her urine splashing down into it, while she held a stiff erection up and away from herself, with nothing coming out of it. At last my aunt finished her pee. She wiped herself, then stood up. Then she did something quite curious; she bent down and opened a door in the front of the toilet. She pulled out a bowl. Her pee sloshed in the bowl. She picked it up and went to the front door of our cell. She knocked on the door. After a moment, I heard it unlocked from the outside. A guard opened the door. “My pee, sir,” Rebecca said to the man respectfully. “Ah yes,” the guard answered. He took the bowl from her. She waited while he did something with it and then, after apparently rinsing the pee bowl, returned it to her. “May we have some food?” Rebecca asked, taking back the bowl. “If you wish,” the guard said. “How are you, ah, coming?” “Fine,” my aunt said. “No we’re not!” I shouted. How could she possibly tell him we were fine when both Jim and Robin had catheters up their dicks and I was to be spanked?! “I shall see about the food,” the guard said, ignoring me. He shut the door. I heard it lock again. My aunt turned. The key hanging from her collar dangled like a lost promise. Why had she asked for food instead of insisting we be released?! “Auntie,” I said, catching my breath from my futile yelling. “Auntie, I have to go to the bathroom!” “Good,” my aunt said. “What?!” I cried. “I said good,” Rebecca told me in a teasing voice. “Then I can get up?” I asked. “I won’t take long on the potty.” “Of course, dear,” Rebecca replied. My bottom wiggled with delight and anticipation. At last! I would be free! I did need to use the toilet, although I could possibly have waited a little longer. I bucked my hips with glee, as if needing to go quite badly. I remembered ancient days when I’d gotten out of first grade math by getting a bathroom pass. I watched as my aunt walked over to the medical supplies, near the medical table. She picked up a foley catheter and attached it to a pee bag. “Auntie! What are you doing?” I said. “I’m going to put a cath into you,” my aunt replied. “What?!” I shouted. “But I thought--” I didn’t bother to finish my sentence. I was too breathless with fright. I knew, too, that she had only been responding as a mother sometimes does, saying ‘of course, dear’ to a child without really listening. She had no intention of releasing me. As I gave a self-pitying whimper, my mind hit on a new stratagem. “But auntie!” I cried. “I have to do number two!” “What?” my aunt asked. Implacably, she oiled the end of the catheter. “I have to poop!” I yelled. “I can’t hear you, dear. I’m working,” my aunt said. “I have to poop!” I shouted in my loudest voice. Both Robin and Jim broke into roars of laughter. Even my aunt started laughing. I blushed; realizing my shout had probably been heard by the entire village. “Should I put a colostomy bag up your butt, as well as a cath up your pee hole?” my aunt asked. Her voice sounded deadly serious. “NOOOOOO!” I cried. “I don’t really have to poop!” I said in a loud voice. Then I flushed, realizing that at least half the village had heard my sudden denial. I burst into tears, but the men only laughed, and Rebecca walked over to me, carrying the catheter and pee bag. As my sobs lessened I realized two of our guards must be standing outside our window, for I heard one of them speak: “I saw a little girl today,” he said. “Really?” the other guard asked. Both Jim and Robin paused in their constant dick thrusting, and listened. Even Rebecca paused, holding her pee bag. I wriggled my bottom, feeling the itching lotion burn inside my hole, but I couldn’t help wondering at the guard’s words. Why was he noticing little girls, and why bother to tell his friend about one? “Yes,” the first guard said. “She was 12, no older. She was one of those tourist girls. I saw her from our limo as we were driving. What a beauty!” “What did she look like?” the second guard asked. I couldn’t believe it! I mean, sure, I was only 13, but still, I was a teen! Why were those two men discussing some 12-year-old child?! “She was blonde,” the first guard said. “She had her hair pinned up, like a woman.” “Wow,” the second guard said. “In the olden days even tourist girls couldn’t pin their hair up until they were older. It was a sign of maturity, and only teenage girls who were ready to ‘come out’ and date boys were allowed to pin their hair up.” “Really?” the first guard said. “Well, let me tell you; I really wondered if this 12-year-old was still a virgin, she looked so perfectly accoutered. She had several gold rings on each of her fingers, and her hair was pinned up with finesse. There was one strand hanging down, in front. One strand. Otherwise, her hair was pinned up absolutely perfectly! And that one strand, hanging down so delicately over her eyes, it looked as if it had been planned to hang there. NOTHING was out of place on this 12-year-old, not even the supposedly ‘out of place’ strand!” “Wow,” the second guard said. His voice sounded awed. Then, after a pause, as if he were imagining the girl before him, he said: “Well, any girl might have a fine hairdresser, but what did her face look like.” “Perfect!” the first guard said. “You like the word ‘perfect’,” the second guard said. “Like Mark Twain said, ‘Why should I struggle to find a different word each time, like some human thesaurus, if one word fits perfectly?’” “There you go again,” the second guard said. “Well, anyway, this girl’s face was perfect,” the first guard said. “It was small, with a... uh... perfect small little nose, perfectly set eyes, and a perfect small little rosebud mouth. And the whole shape of her face was, you know...” “Perfect?” the second guard asked. His voice sounded amused and slightly bored now. “Yes,” the first guard said earnestly. “Like a small oval. Her face was shaped like a perfect, small oval. And she had, like I said, that perfect hair, with the perfectly out-of-place strand hanging down.” “And perfect rings on her small, perfect fingers,” the second guard laughed. “Well, yes,” the first guard said. “So, anyway, I figured she was with her boyfriend, considering how ‘decked-out’ she looked. But then I saw she was with her mother. Her mother was driving. And the girl, she had this little cordless telephone. She put it up next to her face as if to talk, and then, childishly, she drew it down and punched some numbers into it, as if she had forgotten to dial before she began talking.” “Maybe she was excited about going to a party,” the second guard said. “Perhaps,” the first guard said. “But she was utterly calm and demure. She was quite composed.” “I thought you were going to say she was perfectly composed,” the second guard volunteered. “That too,” the first guard said. “Well, that’s nice,” the second guard said. “When I get enough money from my guard duty I’m going to get me one of those girls. Provided she’s still a virgin, of course. I don’t want one of those American or European women who’s been having sex all over the place since she was 12.” “Unless it’s with you,” the first guard laughed. “Well, of course it’s okay if it’s with me!” the second guard said. “Maybe I won’t fuck her right away, if she’s only 12. I mean, it would be fun to live with a little, perfect virgin for awhile, just have her around, you know?” The first guard’s laughter increased. “You’d fuck her the minute you got her inside,” he jibed. “And you’d tie her down, too, if she complained.” “No! No!” the second guard said. “What need is there for me to fuck her, as long as I know she’s not sleeping with somebody else?” “It’s a race, though, don’t you think?” the first guard asked. “If you don’t take her, somebody with more guts will.” “But I mean, IF she were loyal to me, wouldn’t it be nice just to have her around as a virgin for awhile?” the second guard asked. “I suppose so,” the first guard said. “But that’s the problem. These girls love to flirt and tease, and they do get fucked pretty young these days, voluntarily. Let me tell you, friend. If she likes you, you’d better take her all the way, right away. Otherwise you’ll wake up to find she’s been popped by somebody else.” “Well how about if she was nine?” the second guard asked. He sounded rather angry. “How about if she were only nine? Could I keep her and not fuck her then?” “You mean, live with her?” the first guard asked. “Yeah. Live with her, but not fuck her,” the second guard said. “Well Hell, if she’s nine, she probably would not be up for any sex yet, so, yeah, I guess then you could live with her, and not have to worry about coming home and finding the boy next door in bed with her.” “Well, that’s the answer then,” the second guard said, triumphantly. “Huh?” the first guard asked. “I’ll get a 9-year-old girlfriend, instead of a 12-year-old.” “You can both be virgins together,” the first guard said. “Don’t insult me,” the second guard said. “I think it would be rather nice.” “You could both play Monopoly together,” the first guard said. “Well,” the second guard said. “Tell me this, then. What if that tourist brat, the 12-year-old, what if she came up to you right now and told you she wanted to live with you, but you could tell that she wasn’t yet ready for sex?” “Despite her perfect hair?” the first guard asked. “Yes,” the second guard said. The first guard didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, finally, rather grudgingly, he said, “Well, in that case, I guess I’d live with her, but we’d play Monopoly.” “HA!” the second guard said. “Now let me ask you this: Would you rather live with the 12-year-old, and just play Monopoly, or would you rather live with her mother, and have sex the minute you both get inside?” “Sex with the mother?” the first guard asked. “Yes!” the second guard said. “I don’t give a hoot about her mother,” the first guard said. My aunt cleared her throat. She muttered something. The guards must have stepped away from the window, because their conversation became harder to hear, and soon I couldn’t hear it anymore. With the guards gone, I sensed a heightened enthusiasm in the people standing over me. I looked at them in the mirror; how sensual they looked, stark naked, the men rampant and my aunt bending down over me. She patted my pert bottom gently, belying what she had planned for it later on. “Don’t hurt me, auntie!” I screeched. “I’ll try not to,” Rebecca answered. With aplomb she reached down between my spread thighs and opened my cuntlips with the tips of her fingers. Perhaps to be deviant, perhaps to help me, she touched the already oiled tip of the catheter to her mouth. Her tongue protruded, licked it, once, then she reached down and poked it into my peehole. “YeeeeHOOOOOCH!” I squalled. Rebecca laughed and shoved it in deeper. “Be quiet, dear, unless you want to entertain our neighbors,” Rebecca warned me. “It’s got to go all the way up into your bladder.” “NOOOOOooo!” I wailed. Then, catching my breath, and feeling the cath go deeper still, I begged, “Gag me! Oh, please gag me if you’re not going to spare me!” “Certainly not,” my aunt answered. “Perhaps at home I would, to preserve your reputation with our real neighbors. But not here, darling, in this windless desert where only a handful of Arabs can hear. Here you must learn to control your screams yourself, if you do not wish to bring yourself embarrassment.” “But the Prince! The Prince! He watches TOOOOOOO!” I quailed. But I knew that we’d all since grown accustomed to the cameras, lost as we were in our lust. The Prince was far away, and what he might be seeing, if he cared to watch, was too remote and cerebral a concept for us to pay heed to now. (Nevermind that in a month I might be seen peeing all over Europe, in video stores.) And so, drowned in our passion, unable to stop if we’d wanted to, my aunt proceeded to catheterize me. I felt shocked when she announced that all my pee had run out of me and into a pee bag. I’d not even felt it! “Quite a load,” my aunt said, hefting my bag. “Well, now that she’s lost a load, it should be replaced,” Robin said in a high, quick boyish voice. “Yes, of course,” my aunt replied. “But first I have something for Jim.” My aunt walked away. Her bare hips rolled enticingly. In front of her, I could see her big strap-on dildo wobbling like a lost submarine. When she returned, my aunt was carrying a velvet red cushion. I wondered at it, watching it with my eyes, my eyes rolling in my head as I watched, big and blue, my upturned face limited in its movements by the padded neckhole through which my head had been thrust. The odd thing about the cushion was the way my aunt held it. She didn’t carry it alongside her, hanging down from her hand, as one would suppose she would. Instead she held it with both hands, reverentially, holding it flat as if it were a plate. Upon it I thought I saw what she’d been brandishing at us all afternoon; yet now she seemed to be making a presentation of it to Jim, as if it were some kind of a gift! How ridiculous to make a gift of something intended to make horses run faster. “Sir, if you will do the honors,” my aunt said with bright-eyes to Jim. She seemed to like the ceremony that the presence of the cushion portended. She lofted it up to him, as if serving him dinner, but really she was serving him her riding crop. Jim took the crop from her. He showed it to Robin. In my mirror I saw his eyes glow with mischief. Then, as quickly as he’d taken the crop, he put it back on the cushion. I felt the breath flow out of my lungs with heartfelt relief. Perhaps I would be spared! “I have whipped many in my time,” Jim said. “You do the honors. She’s your neice. I’m afraid I might hurt her. She is quite young.” “You want me to?” my aunt asked. She looked at the crop and seemed a little like a bank robber unsure what to do with a bagful of marked bills. “You’re a woman. You’ll know better how to whip such a young girl without injuring her,” Jim said. “He just wants to concentrate all his attention on jacking off,” Robin said. I thought I detected a note of disappointment in his voice, at not being asked to flog me. My aunt looked at Robin. “Well, I’m not going to let you do it, in any event,” she said to the boy. “You’re 15, and I have some experience with 15-year-old boys, gained in the back seat of their cars. You may fuck her, but the whip, well, you would not use it with the right technique. It must be applied with technique, especially on one so young as Chloe. You cannot just flog away like its football practise or something.” “We don’t have riding crops in football,” Robin said. “The ball is pointy at two ends and...” “I know what a football looks like, dear,” Rebecca said. She looked at Jim again. “Do you really think I should?” she asked. She gazed down at my bottom. One of her hands lifted from the corner of the cushion and wandered across its surface. She took the crop. She held it. She dropped the cushion and licked her lips. The cushion fell upon the floor and was forgotten. Robin kicked it out of the way. My aunt leaned over me. The fake penis mounted on her pussy hovered menacingly over my tush. Lightly she brought the crop down to my ass. She began stroking my cheeks with it. She used the looped tip to caress me. I felt as if she was making love to me with the implement. “Ooooh,” I breathed, on the other side of the pillory. It stood tall between my back and my head. My aunt continued to stroke my bottom. I flexed my cheeks. I could sense my bottom’s allure, so white in contrast to my surrounding skin, well-tanned by the sun. My aunt divided my cheeks by pressing the stick-like part of the crop into my cleft. My ass twitched. It pressed deeper. The pallor of my rump’s skin was like a white, new-risen moon. A pumpkin moon in a land where the air was clean and clear. “Chloe, you have been quite naughty,” my aunt said in a shy, tentative voice. I felt she was trying to work up the nerve to do to me what apparently something deep in her yearned to do. “I know,” I breathed, in a small voice. At once I gulped, disbelieving that I could have said such a complicitous thing. “So we agree you have been naught?” my aunt asked. Her voice sounded more certain now. Still she seemed to have a slight wisp of the beggar in her voice, asking, not telling. “Yes,” I said. I said it softly, but I knew she heard me, for she straightened up in alarm at hearing it. “She has been very naughty,” Jim said in a reassuring voice to my aunt. He patted her behind with his hand, which caused her to stand even more erectly, shocked at the connection of his hand there, against her bare, unmarked skin, even as she contemplated turning mine rosy red. “I shall have to whip you very hard, Chloe,” my aunt said to me. Jim massaged her bottom with his broad palm. “One for every one you give,” he said to her, in a deep, masculine voice. My aunt looked at him and I saw her throat work. “Yes,” she said, gulping. Jim leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Their kiss lasted a long time. All the while I lay wiggling, wiggling, waiting for what I’d agreed to, my oiled hole burning, my ass cheeks bulging soft and cool. Robin stroked himself with his fist. But he did it slowly, savoring the moment, not wanting to lose himself (and his chance to buggar me!) My aunt’s bottom moved in slow, liquid motions against Jim’s palm. He held it there, against her slowly undulating skin, feeling the soft roundness of her bareness. “Yes!” my aunt said, when she suddenly tore her mouth away from Jim. She lifted the riding crop high into the air above me. Then she brought it down, quick and hard, and I shouted. “OWeeeeeeee!” I cried. I bucked upon the table. I shook my tushy and felt a searing line of heat where the crop had found me. I was divided four ways in back now, a cleft between my cheeks, and a red angry line across the summits of my ass. My punishment was just beginning. A tearing sound was heard, of the crop moving with force and velocity through the air. A moment later and it connected with my ass. At once I shouted, hard and loud, the air rushing out of me, bursting from my lungs, as a second weal joined the first already on my bottom. I knew then I wouldn’t sit for days. “Wow, you’re really giving it to her!” Robin crowed. He gazed at my ass with exultant eyes. He rubbed his dick faster. He seemed suddenly heedless of the consequences of his desire. “HOOOOOOOOO!” I yelled in a long, passionate scream, as the third cropstroke cracked across me. “Whippings are best delivered on the bottom, for it heals the quickest,” my aunt said to Jim. There was cool sensuality in her voice. She arched her back, making her ass protrude, and said, “Aren’t you forgetting something, dear?” WHACK! As soon as he’d been reminded, Jim let loose with a bottom-thumping hand slap. My aunt shouted. It was very hard-- she dropped her crop on the floor. Warily, when her shout had faded and died, my aunt bent over to pick up her crop. Jim’s hand hovered. I was shedding tears profusely by now and wished to God he’d whack her again, as she was bending over, but he preferred to wait. When my aunt struck me anew, bringing a flood of tears from me, Jim slapped her bottom hard, so that she herself began crying. “Ah, we have both been naughty,” my aunt gasped when she recovered her voice. Afterwards the guards brought us buckets of ice and we sat in them, my aunt and I, cooling our butts side-by side. We kissed as we sat there, calm and free in our sexuality, still sobbing a little, our breasts bobbing, our hands clasped. The dildo still hung from her pussy, brazenly hard, but Jim and Robin, inspired by our contrition, by our willingness to suffer, had loosed themselves on the floor. Their penises drooped. Their catheters still pierced their penis tips but they had managed to spurt jism in spite of being plugged up by the catheters. Sperm ran along the outside of each tube, looking spooky as pee continued to flow down the inside. “God,” my aunt said. It was a murmur, between breaths that we stole amidst our ever-present kiss. “I wasn’t fucked,” I said. My eyes were closed. Tears still ran down my cheeks. “You are too small in back for what I had planned for you,” my aunt said. And that was it. The guards escorted Jim and Robin out. Neither complained. They seemed to be delighted at what they’d experienced, even if they’d both become overexcited. They were granted a release by the head guard and given their freedom. My aunt and I, rising stiffly at last from the ice-packed buckets, our bottoms still flaming, our knees week, stood and received our own freedom from the head guard. He conferred it to us in the name of the Prince. We were told that the spirit we had shown in punishing ourselves had greatly moved him. I wanted to ask about the Sultan’s fate but then decided not to; I would not see him again, I was sure, despite our intimate acquaintance on a previous evening. If he lost himself, there were other men all too willing to take his place, who were as yet amply endowed. I felt then like a bit of a vixen; saving some men, only to doom others. When we had been granted our freedom my aunt and I turned to each other and kissed again. We kissed long and lovingly, not leaving the room or anything you might have expected; being, as we were, newly freed prisoners. Instead, overcome by emotion with what we’d both (successfully) passed through, we kissed and kissed. “They would never have shown such affection before,” the head prince intoned, speaking to his other guards. “But the crop brought them to it. Now they can show each other their deepest, heartfelt love, without fear of embarrassment.” “Wow. A benefit to being whipped,” Robin said, his voice awestruck. “Sure. It’s spurred them to love, just like it spurs a horse to win,” the head guard said. THE END ----------------------- 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. Find the box labelled “Main Archive”. Change “Main Archive” to “Complete Archive”. Next, do you see a blank box labelled “Power Search” ? Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the blank box on the screen that has “Power Search” written next to it. Click on “find” (the button to the right of the box). -Other providers: Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com or via the Web: http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/ -When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock Sturges’ Radiant Identities and David Hamilton’s The Age of Innocence. Support art! -Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com - NAKED girls, under 18! Plus scholarly books. Publishing for over a decade, it’s Alessandra’s Smile, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY 10185-2377. Phone: 1-212-505-6985; Web: http://www.AlessandraSmile.com - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, 537 Jones St. #8418, San Francisco, CA 94102. Phone: 1-212-807-8578; Web: http://www.nambla.org -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. -END OF story EMISSION -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----