Message-ID: <8217eli$9802071639@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: Summer of Sin part 8 of 8 (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: <34DBBB43.43DA@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in SUMMER OF SIN _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter Eight I was worried about my aunt. We were safely ensconsed in her home, doing normal things, shopping during the day and dancing at night, but there was a restlessness to her spirit. I met a guy at one of the clubs. He was 22, in college, and I was only 13. But he liked me, and in the ensuing days he became my boyfriend. He was visiting me at my aunt’s. We’d been necking, wondering if we should ‘do it’ for the first time, when on impulse I broke from our embrace and hurried upstairs. I told myself I needed to pee. But I didn’t, really, and instead of going in to the bathroom I wandered instead into my aunt’s bedroom. Rebecca was standing in front of her bedroom mirror. It hung over her dresser. My eyes widened when I saw what she was doing. It was evening, she had on a very nice dress, as if to attend her formal party. But as she stared at herself in the mirror she was buckling a leather dog collar around her neck! “Auntie,” I asked, in a submissively formal voice. She had told me to knock whenever I wanted to come into her bedroom, in case she had a guy with her, which made sense, I suppose, except I knew she’d been spurning all the men we’d been meeting at night when we went dancing. But I was formal anyway, for I was sneaking in on her, and discovering secrets she’d have preferred to keep to herself. My aunt froze. Her fingers, buckling the collar, hung poised at her neck. Gradually her eyes moved along the mirror’s image until she spotted me. “What do you want?” my aunt asked. Her voice was high, a bit nervous. “Why did you not knock?” “You’re not naked or anything,” I answered. I wanted to add, ‘and it’s only five o’clock in the afternoon,’ but I knew that was a dumb answer because, despite the hour, my boyfriend and I had been making out. “No, I’m not naked,” my aunt answered. “You’re all dressed up,” I said. “Are you going out without me?” “Yes,” my aunt said firmly. She finished buckling on the dog’s collar. “Why can’t I come?” I asked plantively. My aunt tossed back her lovely brown hair and looked at me with knowing eyes that only an aunt who was 19, still a teen like me, could muster. “You may cum all you like,” Rebecca said to me coldly. “Just not with me. Not tonight.” “Where are you going?” I asked. I figeted, standing before her. I was in a bikini that was wet from the pool, my hair mussed from kissing my new boyfriend. She was gorgeous, wearing an expensive dress, her hair all done up in the manner of a beautiful French woman. “To a party,” my aunt replied. “Is it a wicked party?” I asked. I trembled as I spoke, knowing I was intruding much more than I should. But somehow I got the question out, and there was a childish innocence in my voice when I spoke it that made it accusing, like a baby asking its mother why she was leaving. “It’s an adult party,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be back in a few days.” “A few days?” I blurted. “What am I to do?” “You’re 13,” Rebecca said. “You have a very fine boyfriend and I can guess that you two are already hoping for some privacy.” I felt defeated. Sure, it would be nice to have the house to ourselves. But I wasn’t 16. Maybe if I had been, I’d have simply accepted that my aunt had to go away for a few days. But at 13, there was still enough of the little girl in me, the bratty kid sister, to be absolutely filled up with curiosity about what my aunt was up to. I just had to know! I walked up to her. “Don’t get my dress wet!” my aunt shrieked, backing abruptly away from me in my soaked bikini. “I want to go with you,” I said. I gazed up at her. I tried my best to look defiant, like a child demanding a toy, for I knew if she rebuffed me again I’d be left to wonder forever where she’d gone. “You could not get ready in time,” my aunt said. “Oh, I could!” I insisted. “What shall we do with your boyfriend?” my aunt asked. “He’ll come too,” I said. My aunt tried to walk around me. I moved, so that she almost bumped into me in my wet swimsuit. “Alright!” my anut cried. She was trembling. I could see that she was quite nervous about where she was going an my rudeness was only adding to her anxiety. “Let me by. I’ll call them to delay the boat by a half hour. If they will,” she said. “A boat? We’re going on a boat?” I asked. My aunt drew herself up, her firm breasts bulging out in front of her and nearly bumping me in my nose. “Yes,” my aunt said. “It’s located on an island. The couple is young, but quite wealthy. We must travel on their boat to reach their home. They call it--” she paused. She tried to suppress a giggle, but it burst from her lips, anxiously. “They call their home a pleasure palace. They have a big pool, and tennis courts, and a jaccuzzi and sauna, all on the island, and they have several invited guests out each month, to enjoy their estate with them.” “It sounds like a lot of fun,” I said. “Then come if you wish,” my aunt answered. “But you must bathe, and look your best. Have your boyfriend use the shower outside, by the pool. I’m not letting the two of you share the same bathroom.” “I didn’t ask for us to share the bathroom,” I answered. My aunt smiled. “Hurry,” Rebecca said. “I’ll call and see if I can get the boat delayed.” I rushed downstairs. My boyfriend was sitting in his wet swimsuit, on a chair in the kitchen. There was a noticeable bulge in the front of his Speedos. “Take those off!” I said to him. “Huh?” he asked. He looked at me with startled eyes, expecting, perhaps, to be relieved of his suit, but not in such an abrupt manner. I tossed him a bar of soap that I’d grabbed from a hallway closet as I ran downstairs. He tried to catch it, fumbled it. It hit his dick and he caught it as it bounced off his swimsuit. “Get out of your swimsuit and go out back and take a shower,” I told him. “Then put on your clothes. Rebecca’s going to a party and I’m going too, as soon as I take my bath, and you’re coming.” “A party?” my boyfriend asked. His name was Brad and I liked to call him ‘Brad the Rad,’ but at the moment he was slow, awkward, and stupid. As he stared at me, holding the bar of soap, I saw the bulge in his swimsuit get bigger. I walked up to him. I felt confident and self-assured. I’d just talked my way into an adult party, and no boyfriend, even one in college, was going to make me miss it. I reached out and took hold of the front of his Speedos. I pulled them open. At the same time I stole the soap from his hands. I’d already unwrapped it for him, as I ran downstairs. Now I dropped the soap down into the front of his swimsuit. It made the bulge there even bigger. “Hey!” Brad shouted. He looked down at himself, and at the obscene lump now in the front of his suit where the soap was competing for space with his cock. My aunt walked into the kitchen, lovely in her dress, wearing jewelled earrings, a bouffant hairdo, and a dog collar around her neck. “Did you give him a bar of soap?” my aunt asked me. “Yes. It’s in his swimsuit,” I answered, and pointed, hoping she’d think the giant bulge there was all soap. My aunt cleared her throat. A twitch of a smile crossed her lips. “I didn’t know we had such big soap,” she said softly. “You... you want me to take a shower?” Brad asked. He rose from the kitchen chair. His hands groped at the front of his Speedos for, as he stood up, the soap threatened to pop from the leghole of his suit. It was too small of a suit to hold both the soap and his penis. “Yes, Brad,” my aunt said. Her eyes gazed at him. He was nude, except for his small racing suit. He had broad shoulders and a sculpted chest. His arms and legs were powerful, and from the protuberance in the front of his suit I guessed his extra limb was as powerful as the others. “Go wash your body,” my aunt said. “I know you’re quite clean already, but we’re going to a very special party, and I want you looking your best. You still have your clothes that you came in?” “Sure,” Brad said. With some difficulty, and a visible blush of embarrassment, he reached into his swimsuit and pulled out the soap. “Good,” my aunt said. He was older than she was but she commanded him with soft, certain words, as if she were his mother. He was, after all, my boyfriend, and I was only 13, so I suppose that made her take charge of him. “Don’t fool around,” I told Brad. “Just wash quickly, because we have to catch a boat!” I said excitedly. Then I turned and ran upstairs. As I ran I felt a twinge of jealousy, leaving my aunt all alone downstairs with my guy. But I was too zipped up about getting to go to the party to worry about it. During my bath, I slipped out of the tub. My curiosity about leaving my aunt downstairs with Brad had grown stronger. And, more importantly, I’d just figured out a way to see his nude body as he showered. I ran wet-footed through the hall, then into my aunt’s bedroom. I leaned out of one of her windows. I could almost see him, showering down below, in an alcove cut into one of the walls of the house. I ran to another window. I leaned out again. There he was! He was utterly naked now, lathering his dick and balls with soap, the rest of the soap either washed off him already or yet to be applied. Long, shooting streams of water rushed down from the shower head. I knew it only gave cold water, not warm, and I marvelled at how he braved the stream of water with his bare body. I gazed at him more closely and saw that his hair on his head was still dry. Was he just getting into the shower, just now? I’d already been in my bath for fifteen minutes! What could he have been doing all this time? Suddenly, I saw my aunt. She was dressed as perfectly as before, but there was something in her hand. She waved it, and for a moment I thought she was waving at me, and I drew back from my perch at the window. Then I realized she was waving it at Brad’s behind. “You wouldn’t,” I heard Brad say. He looked back over his shoulder at her. His hands frisked his cock and balls more quickly. I watched as his wonderful cock grew even longer in his hands. It stretched out like some obscene banana from between his clenching fingers, sticking out a good ten inches from the flatness of his belly. My aunt swept her hand outward, holding what appeared to be a stick. As it struck Brad on his naked behind I realized it was a riding crop! “Ouch!” Brad said. His hands worked over the long stem of his cock, rubbing soap suds on it. The rest of him was without soap. I realized now that he was just starting his shower. “You should not be dating a 13-year-old,” my aunt said. “You wouldn’t have gotten to meet me if I hadn’t,” Brad countered. And it was true, because I’d found him all by myself at a club we’d visited, while she was sitting and drinking with a woman. “Hurry up,” my aunt said. “We spent too long kissing.” “Don’t hit me with that thing again. It hurts,” Brad said. “Where we’re going, they may have one of these,” my aunt warned him. “I’ll worry about that when we get there,” Brad said. “We’re going to have to stop at a pet store on the way to the harbor,” my aunt said. “A pet store?” my boyfriend asked. He began soaping his stomach. It was flat and hard, covered with just a trace of hair that ran up from his pubic bush to a thick cluster of hair on his chest. “To buy you a collar,” my aunt said. “You and my neice.” “That’s wild,” Brad said. “It could be a wild party,” my aunt cautioned. “I’ll take my chances,” Brad said. “I’m a little frightened, going,” my aunt said. “A lot, actually. I’m glad my neice talked you into coming along. I wish she wasn’t going, though.” “I know. She’s pretty young,” Brad agreed. “Not too young for you to bonk her though, eh?” my aunt asked. She swept her arm outward and stuck his behind again. “Ouch! I didn’t bonk her,” Brad said. “We were only necking. Like you and I just did.” He reached back and rubbed his ass, where she’d struck him. “I’m 19. She’s only 13,” my aunt said. “I know what age she is,” Brad said. There was a slight growl to his voice. “Don’t hit my ass again. I’ve got to do this if you want me to come.” My aunt turned away. “Don’t jerk off out here, okay?” she asked him, glancing back over her shoulder. “I won’t,” Brad said. “I know younger guys sometimes cum unexpectedly,” my aunt smiled. “I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” Brad said. “Point well taken,” my aunt answered. “Say, could you bring me a towel?” Brad asked. “Oh,” my aunt said. “I suppose that will be needed.” She walked away. I felt my fists balling up as I watched how her hips wiggled as she left him, Brad’s eyes trailing after her, watching her ass. Even the long dress she wore didn’t hide it’s allure. Brad’s cock was stiff as a board and he put his hands to it and rubbed it some more, though it was already covered with soap. “Damn two-timer!” I said under my breath. But, hearing my aunt come into the house downstairs, I rushed back to my bath, lest she discover me getting the carpet wet in her bedroom. We stood on the dock. I wore a pretty, long dress like my aunt, with lace frills on it that made me seem modest. I wore a black leather dog collar around my neck. It was brand new. We’d stopped at a pet store to buy it, puzzling the lady behind the counter when she asked what breed of dog we had, and my aunt, flustered already from the party we were going to, answered, without thinking, that we didn’t have a dog. I watched the dark sky. The stars were out, but the moon had not yet risen. I held a feathered mask over my face, under gay-colored lights strung up along the dockway. A couple approached and my aunt lowered her feathered mask and held it tightly by her side. Brad looked like Zorro, tying a small black mask over his eyes. He did not bother to untie it as we saw the couple approach. I was just 13 and kept my plumed mask up over my face. Girls could get away with more than someone who was grown up, like my aunt, could. “Hello,” my aunt said softly to the approaching couple. I could hear a party going on in a boat parked on the other side of the dock. It sounded like it was getting wild. I looked across the dock to see if I could see anything. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary (though I noticed the boat was rocking quite vigorously) I let my eyes wander up onto the shore. There were shops there. Tourists and townsfolk could be seen strolling on the promenade in front of the shops. The couple stopped beside us. The woman was young, statuesque like my aunt, perhaps no older than her, or just a few years older. It was hard to tell in the dark. The man holding her arm was older, perhaps in his mid-30s. “Are you waiting for a boat?” the woman asked. She had blonde hair that was swept up off her shoulders. It was long, but tied loosely with a ribbon, to keep all the rest of her free of her hair. She wore a long, sparkling cocktail dress that accentuated her curves. She had a short, lambskin jacket pulled tight around her. It was unbuttoned in front. She held it closed over her bosoms with one hand. In her other hand she held a bouquet of roses. The jacket, though short-waisted, had a fashionably high collar and long sleeves. The man was dressed in expensive slacks and a silk shirt. He didn’t seem to mind the cool breeze blowing in off the sea. For my part, I was a little chilly. I wished we’d brought jackets, like the woman had. “Yes,” my aunt answered. She turned away, and gazed seaward, as if afraid to say anything more to the couple. “We are waiting also,” the woman said. My aunt turned abruptly back to her. “You are?” my aunt asked. “Yes. For the Silvers?” the woman asked. “Oh. Yes. Pauline and John Silver,” my aunt said. They both laughed. There was a touch of anxiety in their voices as they laughed. “We are going to the same party,” the woman said. “Yes,” my aunt agreed. She introduced me, Brad. The woman introduced herself and her husband. His name was Steve and hers was Chrissy. They did not tell us their last names. “We did not know to bring masks,” the woman said. “It said-- it said to at the bottom of the slip. The very bottom,” my aunt said. She lifted her mask, as if to put it over her face, but then didn’t. I kept mine over my eyes. Brad, seeing that the man was going to the party but had no mask, nervously undid his own and shook the man’s hand. “It is strange,” the woman said, gazing out over the inward rolling surf. You could hear the waves sluice past the big posts that held up the dock under our feet. I liked listening to it. The posts were stiff, implacable. But the softness of the rolling waves would eventually reduce them to ruins. “What?” my aunt asked. “On the slip,” the woman said. Chrissy, with her long blonde hair all neatly piled up atop her head. “It said that although we might be quite intimate at the party, we must try our best to never meet again afterward. After it’s over.” “Yes,” my aunt said. She looked at the woman, Chrissy. At her trim figure, like her own, at the prominence of her breasts. Then at the man standing steadfastly beside her. “It is so we have more... more license... to do as we really please?” My aunt said. She ended her sentence in a question, as if she weren’t sure, or didn’t want to be. “Yes. You’re very pretty,” the woman Chrissy said to my aunt. “Thank you,” my aunt said. Though it was dark, I could feel her blush. “We shall have a nice party,” Chrissy said. “I hope so,” my aunt agreed. “There it is!” I cried. I pointed out to see. A small yaht was making its way in through the waves. We all turned and watched it. I could hear the party on the boat docked behind us. A woman screamed. My aunt turned, anxiously, looked behind her. Brad and Steve exchanged nervous laughs. The yaht drew in alongside the dock. A man and a woman sat in the back of it. It was a small boat, with a little cabin that could hold only a few things, perhaps a bed, nothing more. The man and the woman sat exposed in the back of the yaht, under the stars, the man steering. “Rebecca!” I heard myself say. I gazed at the man and the woman in alarm. They were both black. The woman had long, lovely European-style hair, but her skin was as black as the man’s who sat beside her. He had peppercorn hair. She was young, like Rebecca and Chrissy, and I wondered if she worked as a model. The man looked like he’d stepped out of GQ. “Hello,” the woman called to us. She stood up. She picked up a coil of rope and tossed it up onto the dock. Brad picked up the end of the rope and wrapped it around one of the posts holding up the dock. He tied it with expert hands. I wondered where he’d learned that. “Step down,” the woman urged us. “Watch your step.” I went first. Rebecca held my hand as I stepped down into the boat. I was a little unsteady and the black woman caught me as I gained a foothold on the rocking edge of the boat. Rebecca was next, then Chrissy. Her husband stepped down next, and Brad, untying us from the dock first, then jumped down himself. We settled onto cushions at the back of the boat. The cushions were perched on a long wooden bench that was built into both sides of the boat. I felt the sway of the boat’s deck beneath my feet. If I leaned back, I could dip my fingers in the water of the ocean. “Are you cold?” the black woman with the long, wind-swept hair hanging darkly down over her eyes asked me. She brushed her hair back. She offered me a jacket. I took it and gratefully put it on. Rebecca accepted one too. Brad declined, as did Steve. The boat turned and we began cutting through the waves and heading toward the horizon. The black man, John, did not wear a jacket. But Pauline did. She wore it unbuttoned, showing a cocktail dress underneath. On her feet she wore tennis shoes, with high heels. She had on small bobby socks and, curiously, on one of her ankles there was a gold anklet. It was fitted with small bells that shook and tinkled whenever she moved. I gazed at it, wondering why she was wearing it, but I said nothing. We arrived at their island about a half hour later. Brad jumped out of the boat first, and tied it to their dock. The black woman complimented him, telling him he was “very handy.” We all got out. We walked up a gravel path, between overhanging trees, to a large house. As we mounted the front steps to the house I was startled to see two young men standing at the top of the steps. They were both white. They stood on either side of the front door. Each one of them held a tall, flaming torch lamp in his hand. Around the neck of each man, or perhaps boy would have been a better term, for neither looked over 20, was an iron collar. Otherwise each boy was naked, except for a very soft, V-shaped loin cloth, that hung down over his penis. As we came up the steps each boy’s cock rose in a kind of lewd salute. Worse, at the base of each boy’s feet, set in front of him, was a stone pot. It was lit, like the torch lamp he held. The flames in each pot blazed fiercely, illuminating each boy’s thighs and, obscenely, the now-risen penis each sported, which lifted his loin cloth, rendering it useless. I looked with amazed eyes at the two rock-hard penises pointing right at me, on either side of the door, as I came up the steps to the Silvers’ house. “Yes, these are our slaves,” Pauline said. She said it very casually, as a Southern gentlewoman might have, in the South, in America, before the Civil War. Except she was black, and her ‘slaves’ were white. She lifted a hand and passed it caressingly over the cock of the male nearest her. I saw then a most unusual sight. Fitted into the pee hole of the boy standing there, was an emerald. I guessed it must have been mounted on a (hopefully) blunt pin, which was stuck up into his pee hole. To keep the jewel in place, a spring clamp, made of gold, fit underneath the head of his cock. I realized, in a flash, that the whole thing must look like a pair of big tweezers, one prong stuck up in the boy’s penis, the other prong clamping the underside of his cock. Where the two prongs met, the emerald sat, looking cool and green at the tip of his hot, sweaty dong. “Mmff!” I said, suppressing a giggle. Brad and Steve gazed at the boys with awe-struck eyes. My aunt and Chrissy looked equally startled. We passed on into the house. I couldn’t help looking back over my shoulder as John Silver closed the door to his home. He smiled at me. “You will perhaps see more of them later,” he said to me in a big, baritone voice. It made me shiver. At the same time I felt my nipples perk up under my dress. “Let us proceed straight to dinner,” Pauline said. She motioned towards a room adjacent to the foyer. “Oh, Brad,” she said, as my boyfriend passed her. “We need someone to serve at dinner. Would you follow me, please?” Brad gulped. He glanced at me. My eyes were filled with wonder, and he looked to my aunt for instructions. She nodded, silently. “Okay,” Brad said. Pauline smiled. She took his hand. She led him away. We seated ourselves around a table. It was made of hardwood, covered with a linen tablecloth. Two candles stood upon it and John, getting matches, lit them as carefully as any black servant of a Southern family. Then he sat down at the head of the table. Steve asked John a question. I don’t remember it now, but it lead to some inconclusive small talk. I put my plumed mask over my eyes. I liked looking through it. “We didn’t bring masks,” Chrissy said to John. “It’s alright,” John answered. “There are fewer of us this evening. We were expecting two more couples, but they cancelled.” “Oh,” Chrissy said. Rebecca elbowed me. “Put your mask by your place,” she whispered. “But I like it!” I answered. “Not now,” Rebecca said. “Oh, alright,” I replied. I put my plumed mask down next to the sliverware alongside my empty plate. “When are we going to eat?” Rebecca ignored me. She gave a toss of her head and said to John, “This is a wonderful estate, sir.” “Thank you,” John said in his deep baritone. “Your companion... she is quite young.” “Yes,” Rebecca answered. “She insisted on coming.” “I see,” John said. He cleared his throat. “I do not wish... there could be a misunderstanding.” “You have lovely slaves,” Chrissy interrupted. “Yes,” John agreed. He looked at Chrissy and her husband. “You have both worn your collars?” “Yes,” Chrissy said. She drew back her jacket and I saw, now, in the flickering of the candlelight, a black dog’s collar around her neck. Steve cleared his throat and folded down his shirt collar. I had thought he’d had it up because of the wind, but I saw now that it discreetly hid a dog’s collar around his thick neck. Chrissy, slim-boned and graceful, giggled as she showed her collar. “Very good,” John said. “As you know I am master here, and always looking for new slaves.” “You have a lovely wife,” Steve said to John. “Thank you,” John said. Just then Pauline reappeared. To my shocked surprise, she was bare-breasted. She had lovely big bosoms and they swayed in time to her walk as she sashayed, with open sexiness, into the dining room. She was as slim as a model. Her cocktail dress ringed her waist, and I wondered if it might not slip down off her hips as she walked toward us. She seemed unconcerned. There was amusement in her eyes. “I just got Brad ready. He’ll be out in a minute,” Pauline announced. “But how formal you all still look! I guess I forgot to ask for your jackets in the foyer. Let me have them now.” Pauline walked up to Chrissy. The gold anklet tinkled its bells as she approached the woman. “Oh, thank you,” Chrissy said to Pauline. She took off her jacket and gave it to the woman. Then Pauline came around to my side of the table and took my jacket, as well as Rebecca’s. She put them on a small table behind us. Then she returned to where I was sitting and leaned over the back of my chair. “I must unbutton your dress, dear,” Pauline said to me. I flinched. I gawped at Rebecca, then, finding no solace there, on to John. He smiled from the head of the table. “Your breasts are young and ripe and I have not seen the breasts of a 13-year-old in some time,” John said. “I must eat-- I must eat with my bosoms showing?” I asked. I felt Pauline unbuttoning the back of my dress. Her own breasts, naked and free, rubbed their nippled tips against my back. She pushed my long, unpinned hair out of the way so she could undo me more easily. A sound of unzipping came to my ears. As I stared at John, I realized he was undoing his pants. My gaze darted to Steve. He was doing the same. As I felt Pauline take apart my dress, both men produced their penises under the table. “Here we are somewhat more free than you might be at a dinner back on shore,” Pauline whispered into my ear. She kissed it, my long hair, the top of my head. I felt her hands push down my dress in back. Then they found the back-clasp of my bra and undid that. She reached around in front of me and lifted up the cups of my bra. My bosoms fell out of them. She lifted my bra up and I was forced to lift my arms to accomodate her. She worked my dress down to my waist. I was left sitting with my breasts exposed. I noticed my nipples were stiff. Despite my embarrassment, they showed themselves off with abaondon, wiggling whenever I moved. Under the table, I could sense the men’s penises pointing at me. I felt like a slave girl, my breasts bared to the men’s eyes as I sat at the table. John, from his place at the head of the table, gazed at me lasciviously, his dark eyes drinking in the innocent beauty of my 13-year-old breasts. He had big, rippling muscles under his shirt and I wondered with a sense of fearful excitment if this wasn’t ‘payback time.’ Hadn’t President Jefferson kept an underage black Mistress? Didn’t he take her to Paris with him? Now I was in France too, a white girl, feeling enslaved to John, a black man sitting in the master’s place at the table. His wife walked over to Rebecca. She undid the top of my aunt’s dress. She pulled it down, showing off my aunt’s bosoms as if they were prize fruit bought at a market. I glanced at my aunt, saw her nipples standing up as stiffly as my own were. “You girls will both eat with the best of manners, or my husband will be forced to flog you,” Pauline said to Rebecca and me. Then she kissed Rebecca on the cheek. It was a soft, loving kiss, as if to check that her husband could indeed use Rebecca in the manner just proposed. We were negotiating, testing each other. My aunt nodded. I shivered, and found myself, to my great surprise, nodding too! “I may spill a little on my breasts. Could I have a bib?” I asked, quickly, realizing I’d nodded and trying to retract the permission I’d just given. “A bib?” Pauline laughed. “Do you want a booster chair too?” I sat low at the table, shorter than my aunt. I was only 13. I nodded. “Please,” I said. “Let me see if we have a bib and a booster chair,” Pauline said. She looked at her husband. “In the closet... I think,” John said. “I don’t spend much time remembering where we keep stuff for little kids.” “She’s our baby slave,” Pauline said. She glanced back over her bare shoulder at me. I liked the swing of her hips. She looked like a young mother, striding purposefully to a closet just outside the room, to find me a bib. I opened my mouth and a sound very much like an agreeable ‘goo’ came out. I felt saliva on my tongue. My nipples wiggled. I lifted up my fingers and played with the tips of my tits. “Don’t,” Rebecca said to me in a scolding voice. She kept her hands in her lap, trying to look poised and well-mannered, despite the nudity of her tits. “I’m horny,” I said in a giggling voice. “Chloe, supper isn’t the place to play with your tits,” John said in his deep, baritone voice. “Put your hands in your lap like a good girl, or I’ll be forced to spank you before we even start eating.” I obeyed. The thought of John’s big, calloused black hand splatting across my bottom gave me an uneasy thrill, but it scared me too. I had no doubt that a spanking from him would hurt tremendously. How could it not? He was hugely strong, a mere tap would probably send pain rushing up my backside. So why had I nodded when he threatened me with a flogging? Was I somehow overwhelmed by the thought of me, a white girl, being whipped by a big black man? Did I wish to receive, Jesus-like, the sins of my ancestors across my back? Was it the thought I might be tied first, perhaps to a flogging pole, my hands aloft, my shivering bottom exposed and forced to present itself, as John measured out the lash in his hands and considered how much of it to give me? Yes! That was it! It was not the actual stroke of the lash that mesmerized me, but the loving knots that would have to be used to keep me in place. Their binding, their biting into my skin. And the consideration, the thoughtfulness John would have to use, in deciding how to deal with me. I was young, fragile. He himself had admitted I was very young to play these games. Only 13. He might simply whip an older girl, like my aunt, but with me he would have to be very careful. But still, it was silly, wasn’t it, to tease him to flog me while, at the same time, I feared being spanked? Perhaps it was the extra distance between us that would be entailed in a flogging that made me want it. He would have to stand back from me. He would be forced to admire me as one admires a statue. I would be fixed, tied, made to pose, like artwork. I would be living art, and there would be no connection between us, once I was tied, except through the flicks of the lash. That was it, I realized. It was the lash, and how it would be his only way of expressing himself to me. With a spanking one person was hard over the other’s knee. But in a whipping he would have to stand back. He would have time to admire me and there would be no distractions, once I was prepared for him. There would just be the slow, intimate, sensuous cracking of the slender whip between us. I would not be pressed down over his lap. I would be, relatively speaking, far away. I would be chaste. I would wait and receive only those touchings he explicitly wished to bestow upon me. And I would recieve them only through the medium of leather. I felt a shiver run involuntarily through me. It made me wiggle in my seat. I forced such lurid thoughts from my mind. Good God! How could I think of such a thing-- to be whipped, by a black man? I glanced toward the head of the table and was delighted to see that Paul was distracted by the sight of my aunt’s large, slumbrous breasts, with their generous nipples that were sticking out lustily from the ends of her bosoms, despite her obvious desire to remain as neat and quiet and unobtrusive at the table as possible. My own breasts were smaller, higher, and with smaller nipples, because I was 6-years younger than she. I wondered what mine would look like when I was a college girl, like she was. Unthinkingly I lifted my hands. I covered my breasts and blushed. How silly, to be sitting at a fine dinner table like this, with lit candles, my bosoms bared to the world! “No. You must not,” a female voice said. It was Pauline. She was walking back from the closet now, carrying a booster seat for me. I watched her approach. Her bosoms were perfect and round and red-nippled. She arrived by my chair and bade me to stand. I did. She placed the booster seat on my chair. It was made of plastic. “Push down your dress,” she said. “I want your bare bottom on the booster seat, just like it might be if you were a real baby. But don’t poop on it. You’re a toilet-trained baby, okay?” Pauline said. “I would never poop at the dinner table,” I said. My voice sounded indignant, far away. I couldn’t believe I was letting a booster seat be put on my chair. Sure, the table was a little high for me, but I wasn’t 4-years-old anymore! Nonetheless, I hoisted myself back up into my chair. Strangely, when I had plopped myself onto the extra height of the booster chair, the table seemed just right. A little far down, maybe, but not that far. “Get one for Rebecca,” John ordered from the front of the table. “What? I don’t need one,” my aunt declared. “It will make her be too far from the food,” Pauline told her husband. He laughed. “You mean she might spill some, trying to bring the food all the way up to her mouth?” Paul laughed. I heard Steve give a smirking laugh. “Good,” Paul said. “It will help her practise her manners to have to bring her food farther to her lips.” “Well,” Pauline said, tying a bib around my neck. It was a real baby’s bib. It was too short for me. It had a picture of Tweetie Bird on it and it failed to cover my breasts at all, leaving them to hang freely under the bib’s tail. “If you want to go that far, why don’t you go all the way? Hmmm? I’m fairly hungry, myself. But if you’re planning to make dinner into a spectacle...” Just then my boyfriend Brad walked into the room. He was carrying a tray, like a servant. He was spectacularly and completely naked. I’d never seen him that way before and my eyes bulged at his body. Where his trim swimsuit usually stretched over his hips, there was nothing. Just his white skin, contrasting nicely with the rest of him, his belly and thighs, which were tanned. In the center of the white space was his hairy, manly bush. Sticking out from it, like a big sausage on display, was his lovely big ten-inch penis. As he approached us I saw that there was something glittering along the length of his penis. It seemed to be some kind of decoration. His gait had an awkwardness to it, as if he’d sat on something disagreeable. Something that might still be poking into his bottom. “Sir, I’ve brought the appetizers,” Paul said to John. He presented John with a tray full of condoms and lubricant, and edible oils. In addition to those, I saw three small glasses. Each was filled with water and, straining, I saw three small pills set out next to each glass. John turned and looked at my aunt. “Have you taken your birth control for this evening, Rebecca?” he asked. “Brad has brought you a pill if you haven’t.” Rebecca blushed. “I have, sir,” Rebecca answered. “I have too,” Chrissy, from across the table, piped up. “It’s best to wait until Master addresses you before you speak to him,” Pauline, John’s husband, said softly. “I’m sorry,” Chrissy said. And with that one sentence I knew she’d just given permission to be John’s slave. Had I? My mind buzzed with my dreads and my fantasies, but I could no longer remember if I’d already given permission, or not. Then, stupidly (for it was true, but it would be taken in ways I’d not intended), I spoke up. “I didn’t take any birth control,” I said. At once my hands flew to my mouth. Why would I confess such a thing? Did I really want to be fucked by big, bad John? John Silver? A little voice in my head buzzed, ‘How long is he, anyway? Could you really take all of him, if you had to? Foolish girl! You’re only 13 and he’s a big, fully grown, black man!’” “Ah, yes,” John said, casting his gaze upon me. It was imperious, like some ultimate drug lord, or some African king from long ago, before the white slave traders came and carried John’s ancestors off to work on a plantation in Louisiana. (I’d learned that from some idle small talk he’d shared with Steve and Chrissy about his background.) Brad walked over to me. He did not have to be told. Perhaps he was eager to see me reduced to the sex object he’d already become. As he approached, I gazed in fright at his penis. It was unbelieveable! There was a gold ring fitted around the base of his cock. It was tight, pinching his penis slightly. A second gold ring had been fitted just behind the circumcised head of his penis. Between the two rings, trailing along his cock, wrapped several times around it, was a very slim gold-link chain. It looked rather like the snake you see on doctor’s symbols. It left the skin of much of his penis exposed, wrapped around the penis from front to back, in several widely-spaced loops. It hugged his skin tightly. I could see, despite the constriction, his excited pulse pumping along the length of his shaft. The head of his cock was bare and purplish in color. It looked huge, with the big ring clamped just behind it. “Oh, John!” I gasped. Rebecca turned as he passed behind her and gazed at his ass. She let out a small cry. As I was soon to discover, a golden dildo had been wedged up his behind. There was a pair of gold chains running back from the base of his cock, past his balls, to his anus. There the chains attached to a ring. The ring had been wedged between the cheeks of his bottom. Then, ruthlessly, a flanged dildo had been forced up into his virgin ass, within the gold ring, to keep the whole wicked apparatus firmly in place, from the end of his penis all the way back to his butthole. I marvelled at my boyfriend’s decorated cock as he held out the tray with the birth-control items on it. His whole penis seemed to sparkle. Hanging underneath, between his legs, were his hairy testicles. They were drawn up tightly. He was eager, I saw, to spend. Carefully I reached for the pill and glass of water he offered me. Despite his disability, having his penis encased in gold chains and a cock up his ass, Brad gazed at me with fiery eyes. “Use both hands, darling. You’re a baby slave,” Pauline said to me as I took the glass of water from the tray. I obeyed. I put the birth control pill on my tongue and then, holding the water glass with both hands, I drank from it. I swallowed the pill. Brad looked at me. My dress had been pulled down to my knees and I sat bare-assed on the plastic booster seat. He gazed at my bush, at the flatness of my belly, at my exposed bosoms that wiggled seductively whenever I moved. On an impulse I picked up my plumed mask from beside my plate and put it over my face. I looked at him through the eye slits of the mask. My gaze drifted down to his cock. I saw that, in addition to wearing ornamentation around his cock, his feet were shod with gold-slippers. They buckled around his ankles, had flat soles, and left his toes exposed. He looked like a boy from ancient Greece, ‘clothed’ to serve at a very obscene dinner. I wedged my hand between my legs. I gasped. I knew I should not, but I diddled my fingers in my slit. “Chloe! Bad girl!” Pauline shouted. She rushed to my side and drew my fingers, wet with my dew, from between my legs. She put them to her lips. She licked them clean. Brad, watching us, his cock tightly bound with rings and chains, gave a gagging sob. Even as she continued to clean my fingers with my mouth, Pauline gazed down at my boyfriend’s dick. “Don’t cum, dear,” Pauline said to Brad. “And don’t play with yourself.” “God! I can barely hold back!” Brad shouted. He was holding the tray of birth control items with both hands, but his hands were unsteady now, causing the water in the two remaining glasses to shiver. “You both look like something straight out of Penthouse!” I flushed. Imagine! Did I really look like a Penthouse Pet? Well, it would have to be Penthouse Junior, in my case. ‘The Little Sisters of the Penthouse Pets, caught with their panties down.’ I didn’t know if grown men would want to look at me, but I knew there were boys in my grade who would! What a riot that would be, causing all the boys in gym class to jerk off in the locker room, while I was sitting primly in math class, learning algebra. You could hear the boys at my school shouting and yelling every day when they showered, after their sports. Well, I’d give them something to shout about! I gave a small gulp as I emerged from my Penthouse fantasy to find John and Steve and Brad all staring at me. They were all older than me. Yet I’d managed to capture their eyes, despite the big-bosomed beauty of my aunt, sitting right next to me. Paul licked his lips. He seemed to be doing something with one of his hands, under the dinner table. “Oh!” Rebecca said. I looked at her, but she was just sitting there, her hands in her lap, not playing in her slit (her dress was still bunched around her waist), but nonetheless overwhelmed by the slow eroticism of our ‘dinner.’ Steve, sitting across the table from her with his wife, reached for her dress and tore it off her shoulders. Chrissy gave a cry of alarm but, apart from a defensive fluttering of her hands, she did not resist. Her own bosoms revealed themselves. They were big and heavy and she murmured something about wanting to have a baby, so she could breast-feed it. “How about a black baby?” John asked from the head of the table. “I’m not prejudiced,” Chrissy said in reply. Her eyes seemed to smile at her husband. “God, that’s awful,” Steve said. “What’s awful, white boy?” John bellowed. “I’m-- I’m turned on by it,” Steve said. “The thought of you fucking my wife. Of making her pregnant. Thank God she took her pill already.” “A woman must take a pill every day,” John replied. “You won’t be here for just one night.” “I know,” Steve said. “But if you fuck my wife, I’m going to fuck yours. I want you to know that, man to man. And if my wife is forced to go without birth control, I’ll see that yours is too.” “That would be wild, having each other’s babies,” Pauline said, lifting my fingers from her lips. She shivered. She looked at her husband. “I rather like that. It’s so crazy it would be fun, don’t you think, dear?” “I would give 40 lashes across the naked ass of any man who fucked my wife,” John said. “God damn!” Steve said. He leapt up from his seat. His cock, large and stiff, hung over the table. “What?” John asked. “Did I tell you that you could stand up, white boy?” “I can’t believe this,” Steve said. He looked at his wife. “Honey, I think I’m going nuts. This asshole just said he’d whip my butt, and I’m not offended.” “Asshole?” John shouted. Chrissy took Steve’s hand. “Sir, please excuse my husband,” Chrissy said. “He’s impolite sometimes.” “No offenses can be excused, but they can be paid for in a number of ways,” John said from the head of the table. “Steve, you will remove your pants, and walk around with a bare ass from now on. Have your wife tuck up your shirt, so that your naked butt can be seen. You will be my slave boy, and do my bidding. Not for my sake, but for the sake of my wife, who adores white men’s bare white asses. And for the sake of your wife, too, who I’m sure married you for more than tax-deductible reasons.” Steve grabbed at the belt buckle holding up his unzipped pants. “You have a beautiful wife,” Steve said to John. He undid his belt, and the snap at the front of his pants holding them together. “I want you to know I’m dying to fuck her, just like Plantation owners in Louisiana long ago took young black girls to their beds and, perhaps in the earshot of their fathers, deflowered them.” John nodded, silently. Then he said: “You have a big penis, servant boy. You will make me laugh as you walk around with it sticking out in front of you.” “Show me yours,” Steve said, husking his pants down his legs as his wife took a pin from her hair and did up his shirt in back, so that his bare haunches could be seen. John rose up at the head of the table. His own pants were already unzipped. His penis displayed itself across his plate. A gasp went up from myself, from the others as well. John’s penis was at least a foot long! A big dollop of pre-cum drooled from the head of his cock and hung down until, at last, before our staring eyes, it connected with the surface of his clean china plate. “You are well endowed, sir,” Chrissy managed to say, staring at the equipment of the man her husband had already agreed could fuck her. “My wife is no slouch when it comes to finding the biggest and best sausage in town,” John said. Pauline, standing next to me, shivered with pleasure. “Oh, let’s try out the dental chair!” Pauline gushed to her husband. “All right,” John said. He gazed at all of us, taking in our nude bodies with a sweep of his mysterious dark eyes. “We’ve installed a new item for the pleasure of our guests,” he said. “Come with me.” He turned. He did not bother to zip up his pants, or to take them off, but walked with his big member hanging lewdly out of them. It dripped big gobs of pre-cum as he walked from the dining room. His penis was so stiff that his walking caused his penis to bounce, and the pre-cum to fly up and away from his body. He seemed not to mind the mess he was making. Nor did his wife, who pulled me from my booster chair and urged me, and Rebecca also, to follow her husband. Steve and Chrissy and Brad came along too. We went into another room, a library, but none of us bothered to stop and gaze at the leather-bound books it held. Beyond that was another room. It was small. In the center of the room was a dental chair. Holding my dress up around my thighs, I gazed at it with wide eyes. A dental chair? What were we supposed to do in here? “Rebecca, you will please remove your dress and get in the chair,” Pauline said to my aunt. “Me? Why me?” my aunt asked. She clutched at the dress around her waist like a child hanging on to a security blanket. “Do as she says, slave girl,” John boomed. My aunt gaped at John, at Rebecca, but found only their Will staring back at her, and relented and pushed down her dress. She wasn’t wearing any panties underneath. We’d worn dresses that were too tight for that. She exposed her bush to us and we gazed at her lovely legs. She stepped out of her dress. “Leave it on the floor,” John told her. “You won’t be needing it here.” “But if I--” Rebecca began. “Do as my husband tells you,” Pauline interrupted. She was standing next to me and she ran her hand down my nude back. “Drop your own dress, dear,” she said in a soft voice. There was an air of command in it, however, and I let my dress slip from my fingers. Awkwardly I stepped out of it, and stood waiting for her to tell me what to do next. Chrissy pushed her dress down her legs and, holding her husband’s hand, stepped out of it. I found I’d carried my plumed mask with me, into this small, claustrophobic room, and I lifted the mask to my eyes. I peered through it at the others. Nobody seemed to mind. With my free hand I petted my pussy, running my fingers through the short hairs there. But I did not seek out my clitoris and touch it. “Oh, God,” Steve said. He watched as Rebecca, naked as a jaybird, lay down in the dental chair. My aunt spread her legs, giving us all a view of her lovely-lipped pussy. She rested her arms nervously on the armrests of the chair. Pauline flicked on a big examination light above her. She directed it at my aunt’s face. “Open your mouth,” Pauline said to my aunt. She slipped on rubber gloves as she spoke. My aunt obeyed, not knowing what to expect, her whole body trembling and her pussy, I had no doubt, moistening freely as she felt the eyes of all the men in the room looking up into her slot. “Yes, keep your legs apart. Legs apart and mouth open,” Pauline said to my aunt. She pressed a button and the dental chair went back. My aunt’s eyes widened. Her breasts wobbled. Her eyes widened even more when the chair, seemingly already as far back as it could go, tilted back even more, until my aunt’s face was lower down than her heels. Pauline, wearing rubber gloves now, took a syringe from a cabinet sitting next to the dental chair. She poked the syringe into a small glass container. She filled the syringe with fluid from the container. “This is anesthetic,” Pauline said. “It won’t help your bottom if you’re whipped, but it will make your mouth feel all funny.” “Why?” my aunt asked, gazing up at Pauline as the woman passed the syringe across my aunt’s tits. They were still wiggling slightly, like big mounds of jello, from the movement of the chair. Her nipples were risen, little peaks of excitement that now were dangerously close to the sharp-pointed syringe being held above her. Pauline picked up a plastic mouth-examining tool and put it to my aunt’s parted lips. “Yes, let me see into your mouth,” Pauline said. “I’ve studied how to be a dental assistant, so you can be sure I know what I’m doing. Not, of course, to actually be a dental assistant. My husband and I don’t need the money. But to know how to do this properly. You’ll have a lot more fun eating your dinner with your mouth turned to jelly by the anesthesia.” “What?” my aunt asked. Pauline brought the needle-tipped syringe down to her lips. Carefully she inserted it into her open mouth. My aunt’s eyes gaped, then she suddenly shut them, fearing the needle might stab her face in an even worse place than her mouth. Pauline was gloved, cool, confident. She urged Rebecca to part her lips more widely. The lamp blazed down. “I’m going to inject some anesthesia into your mouth now,” Pauline told my aunt. “It won’t hurt any more than when you’ve gone to the dentist, to get a cavity filled. You’ll just feel a little poke. Then another, and we’ll be done. Then we can go back and have our dinner. I’m famished!” She glanced up at her husband. “It should be interesting, getting a blow job from her, with her mouth feeling all wobbly,” John said to Steve. “Yeah,” Steve agreed. He thrust forward his hips, showing us all his big, randy penis. I don’t think he was trying to make a spectacle of his organ, he was just desperate, that’s all. I think even us girls were desperate, teased to distraction by John and Pauline, to the point where we were even willing to play decadent dental games. “Ouch!” my aunt exclaimed. “Careful, I’m injecting you now,” Pauline said. “Isn’t it fun knowing this isn’t part of an extraction, but just for play? Don’t worry. I know where to shoot the anesthesia so no harm will be done at all. You might have a little trouble finding your mouth when you’re sitting up in your booster chair, trying to eat your food without getting messy, though. Would you like me to get you a bib, like Chloe is wearing?” My aunt nodded. “One more stick, now, farther back. Open your mouth nice and wide, dear,” Pauline said. Then she laughed, a carefree laugh, as if she didn’t really care all that much if she hurt my aunt or not, and her laugh made me shiver. “I should stick you in your tits,” Pauline said. My aunt’s mouth gaped in alarm. Then she said, “Oooch!” in a half-gagged sort of way. The needle poked her again, in her mouth. “There, get up!” Pauline said. There was a touch of jealousy in her voice as she raised the chair so my aunt could stand. As soon as the chair was up my aunt leapt from it. I watched her big, lovely bottom as she sprang up from the chair. Her cheeks were huddled together, as if she feared getting a stab from Pauline’s needle up her ass as she got out of the chair. She put her hands to her mouth, feeling it. We all stared at her. “Chloe, you’re next,” Pauline said to me. “Oh, I don’t want to!” I protested. “Get in the chair,” Steve said to his wife. “No, please!” Chrissy said. But she moved toward the chair, hesitantly. With her eyes fixed on Pauline, looking for reassurance, she took hold of the chair. Pauline smiled and tossed back her black hair. “I feel so randy,” Pauline confessed. She pushed down her cocktail dress, baring her pussy. She thrust her hips forward. Daringly, she took the needle and inserted it between her legs. I gasped. But Pauline didn’t stick herself with it, though she must have come quite close to doing that. Instead, she wet the needle by rubbing it back and forth against her twat. Then she lifted it up again, showing it to Chrissy. It was covered with her dew and she intended, now, to put it into Chrissy’s mouth. Chrissy sighed and collapsed into the dental chair. Lustily she spread herself out on it, opening her legs and grabbing hold of the chair arms. “Do me, if you must!” Chrissy said. She gazed over at her husband as Pauline dropped the head of the chair. Soon Chrissy was lying with her head below the level of her heels. Pauline took hold of her face with a gloved hand and twisted her head so that she was forced to look up at the big, blazing lamp overhead. Then she urged Chrissy to open her lips. “Ahhhhh,” Chrissy breathed, letting Pauline took into her mouth. “Very good. You are a model pupil. We had to do this to each other at dental school, for practise,” Pauline said. “Would you like to study dentistry, Chrissy?” Chrissy wagged her head ‘no.’ “Too bad, because I’m going to stick you anyway,” Pauline said. And she did. Two pokes, in the mouth, leaving Chrissy with a rubbery mouth that would prove hard to feed at dinner, without spilling food all down the front of herself. Pauline told Chrissy she’d give her a bib, just like I wore, but we all knew it would be too short to cover her tits, and leave her with a messy mouth and breasts by the time dinner was over. We returned to the dining room. John passed out black bow ties to the men, which they tied around their necks. It was to be a formal dinner. Pauline got booster seats for all the females but herself and made Rebecca and Chrissy and me sit in them. We all wore bibs, all except Pauline. Mine had Tweety on it and Rebecca’s had Road Runner. Chrissy’s bib displayed Sylvester the Cat. “Now Brad here will serve us our meal,” Pauline said, taking a seat beside me. Suddenly she told me to get out of my booster chair. “Why?” I asked. “I just thought of something, that’s why,” Pauline said, grinning mischeivously. “What?” I asked, more curious than ever, and feeling suddenly safe, perched up high in my booster chair. My mouth didn’t feel all funny like Rebecca and Chrissy’s mouths did. I was sure I could eat my dinner without making a mess of myself. “You’re going to sit in my lap, and I’m going to feed you your dinner,” Pauline told me. “You’ll-- you’ll spill it all over me!” I protested. “Really?” Pauline asked. Her eyes glowed. “Oh, I don’t want to be whipped for being messy at dinner!” I cried. Pauline took me by my arm and yanked me down from my booster chair. She made me sit in my lap. She straightened my bib. She kissed my cheek. “It’s a bit late to worry about that,” Pauline said. “Don’t you think?” She kissed my cheek again. “Yes, mommie,” I said quietly. Her breasts budded against my back. She dropped her hands to my tits and squeezed both of them playfully, savoring their ripe fullness in her hands. She passed her thumbs tantalizingly over my bare nipples. “But I still don’t want to be whipped by your husband,” I added. “Oh, neither do I,” Pauline said. There was a hint of gloating in her voice. “It would be *so* awful, wouldn’t it, to have a long, vicious whip biting into the soft tender flesh of baby slave’s bottom?” “Yes!” I agreed. “Suck my finger, then, and try not to think about it. Dinner will be out in a minute. Brad’s bringing it now,” Pauline said. Greedily, impelled by lust or desire or what I don’t know, I let Pauline stick her finger into my mouth. I sucked hard upon it. I watched as Brad, with his gold-trimmed penis, served us our dinner. My prediction proved correct. Pauline cut my dinner into small pieces and served it to my lips with a spoon. I tried to help her guide the spoon. She didn’t like that. She told John to get a pair of handcuffs for me. He did, and ordered Brad, my own boyfriend, to put them on me. Pauline held me in her lap as Brad pulled my arms back behind me and snapped on the handcuffs. Imagine, my own brand-new boyfriend, doing that to me! I thought about running away but knew that was useless. John and Steve and Brad were all big men. They were all hard as bones. They were all desperate to cum, and would sooner kill their own fathers than let a wet-slitted young female out of their sight. My age, at this stage in the evening, was probably as much an invitation as a defense. They all knew I’d be very tight. They knew I was not entirely unwilling. I was shivering with my own desire and wasn’t sure I could trust myself to run out the door if I got up. I might, instead, run like a bitch in heat to one of the men, and plop myself down on his lap. That would put me straight from the frying pan into the fire! Worst of all, I was out in the middle of the sea on John and Pauline’s own private island. It was too far to shore for me to swim. Could I grab a boat? John, gazing at me from the head of the table, spoke to Brad: “Brad, I want you to take a break from serving us and go out back,” John said. “I have three dogs. They’re hungry too. I want you to serve them their dinner. Then, while they’re feeding, unhook their chains. I let them roam at night, to protect the island.” John glanced at me. “From those who wish to enter, and those who wish to leave, without my permission.” “Yes, sir,” Brad said. He was mesmerized by his predicament, his penis all decorated with gold chains, and a dildo jammed intrusively into his butthole. Pauline had done that to him. I don’t think he’d have let anyone else do that to him. Not even me. But a beautiful, richly seductive woman like her could do the most kinky thing she wished. I wondered what it had been like, the two of them privately in the kitchen, she suiting him up in his gold penis chains as he watched. He turned to walk from the room. I gazed curiously at the flanged dildo rammed up between his steel-hard cheeks. How had Pauline managed it, getting that dildo up such a perfect, manly ass? He had a small, rock-hard butt, from years spent lifting weights. My eyes drifted lower. I watched his heavy balls dangling between his thighs. I felt a rush of desire well up in my tummy. He looked so full of cum! Dangerously full, as if his balls might pop if someone didn’t take hold of him and pump some of the sperm out of them. “Oh, Brad,” John said. “It’s very important that you follow my directions explicitly. The dog’s clean bowls are in the kitchen, under the sink. Fill them in the kitchen with their food. Then, you’ll see a stick, by the back door, that you can use to slide their food out to them, after you place it down on the cement porch outside the door. Don’t go near them to unhook them until they’re eating. Otherwise, they’ll bite at you.” He looked at Brad’s penis. “And with your luck, you can guess where they’d bite you. Be careful. Unchain them while they’re busy eating. Then don’t delay, getting back into the house. Otherwise you’ll feed them a nice big sausage along with their Alpo.” Brad shivered, listening to John. But he was young, and the dare of trying to feed dogs with his dick sticking out in front of him, all hard and bloated with his erotic desires, somehow appealed to him. “Oh, God!” Chrissy said, listening. She flushed. “May my husband feed your dogs their next meal?” she asked. “What?!” Steve said. “Yes, dear! I want to see it!” Chrissy said. “That’s why we came here, didn’t we? To explore strange, erotic things like that? With our bodies? I want to see you feed the dogs next time, with your penis hanging off you, all stiff and erect, and your big balls dangling down, tempting those dogs!” Oh, I was doomed, I told myself. Loved and teased but doomed! They were all nuts with their own desire and I was one of them too, lusting between my legs at hearing how my boyfriend would have to feed those dogs! “Brad, if you open the curtain along the side of the room, we can all watch you as you feed my dogs,” John told my boyfriend. “They’re housed right out there.” “Yes,” Brad said. He went to the wall, his dick wiggling stiffly. He drew back a pair of curtains and we gazed out at three sleek, well-fed dogs sitting around a single dog house. They growled at us as the curtain was drawn back, but we couldn’t hear it, for the glass of the window was thick. “Now go to the kitchen and get their food,” John told Brad. “Then get the stick by the back door and slide it out to them.” “Yes, Master,” Brad said. There was a jauntiness to his gait as he left us, jangling his full balls between his legs and enjoying the lewd swinging motion of his penis. I stared at his behind as he departed from the room. I hoped he didn’t come back with any bite marks in it. Shivering with wantonness, I accepted Pauline’s feeding of me without resistance. We watched Brad feed the dogs. He didn’t lose any of his equipment. Did we wish that he might? I don’t know. We were all filled with lust to the point of craziness. None of the dogs left teeth marks in his ass. Brad came back inside and began once more serving us the courses of our dinner. He refilled our glasses as we drank down heady gulps of wine. Pauline made me drink grape juice, so I wouldn’t get drunk and find myself well-fucked in the morning and claim complete innocence of my fate. She whispered to me that she wanted me to feel all 12 inches of her husband’s penis. “Every inch. Every fucking inch,” Pauline told me. “And I want you to remember it.” “Oh, I’m scared of your husband’s big penis!” I said. I spoke softly, so John wouldn’t hear me. I knew he’d only be inspired by my misgivings. Pauline patted my bare tummy with her hand. “Yes, you’ll be full of more than just dinner before the night’s over,” she laughed. She continued feeding me, using a spoon. Now and then, on purpose, she missed my mouth. She spilled food onto my bib, onto Tweety Bird. She spilled it down over my stiff nippled tits. She even took a glass of milk and dumped it (accidentally, she said) over my breasts, laughing as the milk ran down my flat belly to accumulate in the hairs of my nest, inbetween my thighs. “Oh well. A little extra white stuff between your legs won’t hurt, I suppose,” Pauline said. “You’ll be quite well coated with white stuff down there by morning. All over you and even up inside you.” “You’re wicked,” I told Pauline. “I know I am,” Pauline answered. Her breasts bounced perkily against my back. “And you know what?” she whispered, in a low, soft, seductive voice. “There will be white stuff all over your ass too. And up inside, between your tight cheeks.” “No!” I cried. But I wiggled my bottom on her lap, as if inviting an exploration. Fortunately, Pauline was a girl, and didn’t have a penis. I wondered if the squirming of my bottom against her thighs made her pussy wet. Rebecca fared no better, eating her dinner from the high perch of her booster seat. Her hand trembled as she brought forkfulls of food up to her anesthetized, rubbery lips. Try as she might, she often missed, and wound up serving her food to her chin or her nose instead of her mouth. Her face got all messy and food dripped liberally down her front, splattering her breasts with sauce and speckling her belly. At first she sighed fretfully at her predicament. As the meal progressed, and she became increasingly messy down her front, she began laughing. By the time gooey ice cream was served she and Chrissy were laughing. They were children again, messy and wanton. I laughed too. I picked up a bean sprout left on the table, spilled from my eating, and threw it at Brad as he approached to pour me more juice. It hit his penis. He danced up on his heels, surprised. John and Steve laughed. A moment later, with dinner over, we began tossing food at each other. I grabbed handfulls of food from the serving dishes that cluttered the table. Still sitting in Pauline’s lap, I tossed food at Rebecca. She retaliated. Chrissy, hoping perhaps to win some extra punishemnt from John, threw a big handful of mashed potatoes at him. He threw a bun back at her. Pauline picked up a wet handful of ice cream from her ice cream dish and smooshed it into my face. “There,” Pauline said. “That should fix you for starting a food fight!” John ordered us all to rise. Pauline pushed me off her lap. I stood, unsteadily. My bosoms hung in front of me, wobbling like ripe gourds just picked off the vine. My wrists were bound behind me with handcuffs. I was suddenly very conscious of my bottom. I’d been bad, and messy, and now dinner was over and John could begin the discipline he’d promised us all. I shivered, feeling scared, but somehow wishing too to begin whatever was due me, and get it over with. There was no escaping it, that was for sure. I knew that. “Well, white girls,” John said. He surveyed us all. He was standing at the head of the table. His big penis was lined with veins. It stuck out in front of him like a lewd advertisement for a porno film. It throbbed, mightily. I looked away, frightened of it, but my eyes fell upon Steve’s penis, and it looked just as big and just as awful. When I looked away from him, my eyes found themselves gazing at Brad’s dick! There was no escape from all these penises! They were hungry, and I was handcuffed, with a wet, tight hole between my legs where they could give themselves relief. I felt my knees tremble. I leaned back against Pauline. “Save me!” I said to her. “From what?” she asked. “From all these big, bad penises!” I cried. “And the whip too?” Pauline said, mock-humor in her voice. “Oook! Especially that!” I said. I felt girlish. Pauline, standing behind me, hugged me possessively. “Such a sweet dear,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person, though. I’ve a mind to see you flogged first, and then forced to entertain all three penises at once!” “No!” I cried. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Back issues (and stories): type http://www.dejanews.com/ into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key. Click on “Quick Search”, then type in: roller39@idt.net Press your “return” key. Scroll to the very bottom of the page that appears. Change “Standard” to “Complete” roller39@idt.net is already typed into the window. Click in the window behind the “t” in “.net” Press your “return” key. -Or look under: roller666@earthlink.net -Other providers: Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder. -END OF story EMISSION -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |