Message-ID: <34418asstr$1009973404@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Andrew Roller Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 01 Jan 2002 15:43:55 PST X-ASSTR-Arrival-Date: Tue, 01 Jan 2002 23:43:55 GMT Subject: {ASSM} cherry valley, chapter two Date: Wed, 2 Jan 2002 07:10:04 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw Lines: 402 - NND --------------------------------------------------------- Visit my FTP site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/ <--click Click, or put the address into your browser. All my stories are there. --------------------------------------------------------------- F.B.I. NOTICE Recently it has come to our attention that there are pedophiles on the Internet. Because of this disturbing development we have devised the following test. All citizens are required under the new anti-terrorism laws (which extend to pedophiles, of course) to read the following passage. Please rub yourself as you do so. If you do not feel any arousal then call your police department and tell them you are not a child molester. You have passed the test. If you fail, run through the street yelling, "Osama our hero." This will cure you. Andrew Roller Presents CHERRY VALLEY Chapter Two I am awake again. My delirium has not passed. I'm still seeing half naked little girls. Specifically, the "queen", as she calls herself. She busies herself in her leaf petal house, unaware that I am awake. Of course I'm really not, how can I be? I must be lying in the dirt somewhere, on the edge of life, breathing my last, filthy with this rotten jungle and beset with flies. Why do they not crawl in front of my pupils and block my vision? The queen bends over, as I think longingly of my wife. Her bottom is not as delicately round, with such high-set cheeks as this little girl, this nursery school "queen." Ah, such perfection! Where do these visions come from? Why does such luscious beauty beset me in my final moments? Her skin is like ivory where the bikini panties have been. Her bending movement has caused them to decline a little, over the curvature of her girlish ass, showing the orb of it more completely. Her flesh is sun-kissed but not where her bikini usually covers it. There, upon her behind, it is white as snow, untouched and virginal. I remember putting my wife over my knees once and spanking her. We do not do that anymore. Not since the children arrived. Two boys and a girl. I love them dearly. My daughter is in grade school, just like these girls. She has long hair as they do, but she doesn't gather water with an acorn bucket or live in a house made of roses. She plays with commercially-made dolls, created out of plastic. They come with acetate gowns and you can buy expensive plastic cars for them to ride in to imaginary In and Out Burger joints. The queen has long red hair. Whether she has hair down below I have yet to determine. She seems not to notice how her teensy bikini has fallen to show half her ass, revealing the delicate crevice that separates the halves of her high child's bottom. She stands up again, having taken something out of a drawer. She has a bureau in her home, made of wood. It has a fragility to it that seems toy-like. I turn my head. I see a table, chairs, all with the same delicate fragility. She turns. I see that her panties have fallen a little in front, owing to her bending. They are very low across her hips now. I do not see any pubic hair. She is too young. But her breasts press into her top, healthy and growing, firm little apples to match her buttocks behind her. She is a charming vision, a junior playmate all decked out in her ruby crown, wearing white gloves and boots like the other girls, secured beneath her elbows and knees with ribbons. "Oh! You're awake!" she says to me. I nod. What is the point of fighting this dream? It's lovely. I never liked pedophiles, in fact I hated them. But here, in this dream world, surrounded by young lovely things, I find I can no longer protest. The delicious creature moves toward me. My cock, previously milked, rises again, excited by the vision of her approach. I feel her warm hand reach out and touch my belly. I was fat once, but after days of slogging through the jungle and then dying in it I have finally become thin. My wife would love me. I am lean and hard, like in my college days. Obviously on the brink of death but not feeling it at all, just feeling... "Hungry?" the red-haired queen asks me. I nod. She turns and calls out in a musical voice, rather like the girl in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, a movie I never liked. I guess in my death throes all the things I never liked are crowding in on me, making themselves beautiful in my demented mind. One of the girls I met earlier, the brunette with pigtails, enters. She is still wearing the white bikini I first saw her in. Her little breasts jut with as much perfection as before, seemingly beckoning my mouth under her tiny bra. Why do these girls wear such scanty clothes? Haven't they heard of The Gap or Land's End? These swimsuits they're wearing, they're like some man's bedroom fantasy. Their charms, if I may call them that without feeling truly perverted, are barely covered by their little outfits. When they move their growing teat-like breasts seem to want to jiggle out of their bras, which cling to them seemingly half-heartedly, as if disappointed that such succulent young gourds should be covered at all. Below their trim bellies, well below, their bikini panties ride low on their hips, seemingly wishing to drop further, to expose, with only the slightest downward movement, all that these girls have to offer, for what is this but some bizarre dream of underage cunts? I seem obscene but I'm angry at myself. To surround myself with a prepubescent harem in my final moments! Am I trying to send myself to Hell? The girls gaze lovingly at me, but they look with even greater interest at that which I am valiantly trying not to offer to their view, my penis. It stands up at the attention. The dratted thing! Why do I find myself excited by the innocent eyes of grade school girls? Why do I dream that they're looking at me, inspecting my length, seemingly evaluating it and finding it beautiful? I shiver. I'm not cold. The weather seems perfect. But I am ashamed, and I move my hands to cover my erection. But the redhead easily bats my hands away when they come close to my penis. "It is gorgeous. Please do not cover it," the redhead queen begs. I let my hands fall to my sides. I am weak from not eating. But now the brunette with pigtails calls out, musically as the queen had. I see a shadow in the doorway of the queen's petal house and then a moment later a big cherry is being rolled in. "We will prepare it for you to eat," the queen says to me. She strokes my hair. No, not the hair on my head, alas. My pubic hair. The blonde who I met before, accompanied by the six-year-old, who is also a blonde, come into the queen's petal house. They are carrying acorns. They lift them up, not without a struggle. Their little limbs tilt the acorns. A sweet odor comes to my nostrils as I watch the sides of the big cherry doused with something glossy and flowing. I realize a moment later it's honey. The girls drop their acorns when they have emptied them and roll the big cherry closer to me. They are beaming with their effort, a little winded from lifting the buckets. When the cherry is very close the queen urges me to roll on my side, on her bed of daisies, and eat the cherry. I move, after a moment. The girls giggle as my erect cock bumps the cherry. Honey gets on my cock head. Immediately the queen draws close and begins to lick my penis. She looks at me, her eyes seemingly asking permission, but I can see in her cupid-like face a hint of greed. She does not want to let this moment pass. Neither do the other girls. In my perverted fantasy I suddenly have four little girls all feasting on my cock, fighting each other a little as they now all crowd around me, their little hands grasping me, clutching me, their mouths and tongues laving me, licking the honey from me as I fight not to spurt into their perfect little faces. The queen lifts her head, letting the other children have at me a moment as she opens her mouth and speaks to me. "Do not let us stop you from eating," she tells me. I find this all horribly strange but my love of assertive women kicks in and I do as the queen tells me. I lean forward and bite into the cherry, even as the girls continue to lick my cock. The cherry is big but the skin is not tough. It accedes easily to my attempt to eat it, letting me chomp into its skin despite the fact that any cherry this big, in the real world, would be too wide for me to get my mouth into. I chew and swallow, loving the taste of this obviously fictitious cherry. I could eat a lot of cherries like this, especially with four little ones all sucking my cock. I feel a sudden hunger. Food brings that out when one is alive, which I'm obviously not. I bite into the deliciously soft and pliant cherry again, eating it with relish. At the same time the little ones feast on my cock. It takes an effort of will for me not to spend in their faces. But, ruddy-cheeked now, breathing with some effort due to a rising excitement within me, I feast on the cherry, somehow holding back my sperm from my little dinner-mates. I am wishing I would awaken from this marvelous repast, despite its succulence, when the queen lifts her head and speaks to me again. "Why do you hold back?" she asks me. "You came before." I look down at her sweet face. It is so delicate, with perfect pink cheeks! "I don't want to get you all sticky," I tell the perfect little apparition. "I won't mind," the queen answers. "I don't even know your name," I tell her. "Chloe," she whispers. She strokes my cock with one of her little hands, where the mouths of her compatriots have not attached themselves to me. Wet little tongues work me avidly, but I manage to offer them nothing, and the queen frowns. "Don't you have any more?" she asks me, pumping me like some junior whore eager for payment. "I have plenty," I tell her, and it's the truth too, at least in my delirious state. I dream of bulging balls, newly refilled despite being pumped only hours earlier. Even my wife couldn't get me this hard again, this fast. I'm 40, after all. Sex isn't exactly new to me. Well, with little girls it is, but of course this can't really be happening. "Girls, stop," the queen commands. At once her fellow apparitions lift their little mouths from my penis. I relax, slightly. Not my dick, unfortunately, but the rest of me, relieved not to be so urgently solicited. "We are expecting too much from him too soon," the queen says. "Has he not come to give us his milk?" the six-year-old asks with guileless eyes. I see other girls now in the doorway, and their mouths smile with delight at my erection. Only the queen's obvious hesitancy, new-found, holds them back from attacking my cock as the other three little girls have. "He is not a beast, as the bees are," the queen says, her voice regal and fine, musical and yet not singing, merely speaking. "He is a man," she continues. I'm stuck now with blue balls but too embarrassed to admit it, as the girls rise up, leaving me to my damnable erection, my cock waving like a flag pole and my balls tight and roiling. The queen pats my belly again and tells her eager little friends to go back to their play. The eyes and faces disappear from the doorway. The blonde, the ten-year-old blonde that is, opens the jar of cream and begins to rub it on my chest, obviously loving the feel of my hairy skin, so different from her smooth little body. "Do you have any needs?" the queen asks me. I shake my head no, then go back to eating. After many minutes, all the while conscious of the state of my erection, and wishing my wife were here to relive it, I finally finish the honey-drenched cherry. It was delicious. The queen takes something soft from her chest of drawers and hands it to me. It feels like the petal of a lily, or rather a piece of a petal. I realize after a moment she intends me to use it as a napkin, for I have gotten rather messy from the honey and the cherry. I wipe my face and realize this is no ordinary lily petal. The cherry juice and honey wipe off onto it like magic. I finish my face and wipe my hands, even one of my shoulders where a little juice has fallen, and my neck. "Thanks," I tell the queen. I hand the lily napkin back to her. It's soiled. She crumples it and places it outside the doorway to her home. Immediately I sense someone coming by. The lily napkin is taken. "Your panties are falling down in back," I tell the queen. I had to speak of it. Her bottom is so perfect, it's giving me a desire to see all of it. "Thanks," the queen says. She reaches behind herself and pulls up her little swimsuit. As she reaches back I find myself terminally tempted by her small breasts. Her bra stretches, almost losing its grip on her teats with the backward movement of her arms. The queen notices my interest and says, "I can take my top off if you wish." "No!" I gasp. To require a young girl to undress in front of me would be unthinkable, even if she is just a girl in a dream. The blonde's hand moves lower. "I want to take mine off," the ten-year-old rubbing cream on me tells me suddenly. I look at her. It's getting difficult to handle these multiple illusions. Suddenly on a whim, annoyed that all these little girls should still be around me despite every effort on my part to make them disappear, I say, "Sure." The unthinkable happens. The little blonde stops creaming me and reaches back and unties her top. A moment later it's fallen onto my belly, and her small breasts are jutting out at me, naked and perfect, twin cones of delight. I gaze at her white flesh, white like the queen's bottom. Her nipples are pink to a degree that can only be described as flawless, a Barbie-pink, as if crafted by Mattel's finest machinery. Except these pink nipples shiver and sprout little tips as the blonde gazes at me. Oblivious now of her lack of a top, letting the garment lay upon my stomach, she picks up the cream and begins anointing me again, rubbing me with her little hands. I notice, for the first time, that she's wearing sparkly nail polish on her fingernails. Did she paint her nails while I slept, just to impress me? Of course I prefer the red of a grown woman's manicured hands. Purple with sparkles looks rather silly, but I say nothing, instead obscenely enjoying the feel of the girl's hands on my ribs and watching her little teats wiggle as she works. The queen follows the blonde's lead and takes off her own top. Her breasts are slightly larger. I gaze at them with mouth-watering awe. Even the nine-year-old with pigtails and the little six-year-old join in. Suddenly I'm surrounded by little girls whose names I don't even know, who are all happily topless, showing me what they have grown, seemingly just for me, the six-year-old only able to offer the slightest puckered set of paps, like two little mosquito bites, but the ten and eleven-year-old impressing me with the size of their childish tits. I want to suck on them, as they earlier sucked on my cock. But I hold back. I let myself relax. The blonde finally works her hands down to the root of my cock. I do not stop her. Exploringly she reacquaints herself with my shaft. She rubs her hands up and down it. Why are these little females so damnably interested in my penis? I shudder. Despite my now churning balls I feel excellent. There is a tension running through me that I relish, and it concentrates itself in my cock. I feel my testicles tighten further. I am going to cum again and I know it is only a brief matter of time before I do. I look down at the topless blonde. She is so luscious! I want to stop her but suddenly the queen, seeing my condition, the way my chest heaves and my cock seems to grow thicker with need, calls out. A girl comes through the doorway to the queen's home. She is carrying the gourd. She carries it easily. They must have emptied it. "No. Really. I should not be doing this," I protest. "Do not give us your milk if you do not wish to," the queen tells me gently, drawing near, bending down and stroking my forehead. Suddenly I let my delirium overwhelm me. If this is going to be my dying fantasy, it's going to be done my way, I tell myself. I look at the queen. Her face is so pretty! She has no freckles, despite being a redhead. "I prefer dominant women," I tell her. There is no sense in holding back now. I may as well confess all my fantasies to this child. "Command me, and I'll give you whatever you want," I tell her. My conscience screams at me, but my balls do to. The queen looks slightly perplexed. Then I guess the illusion's royal demeanor kicked in for she nodded slightly and said, "Dick, darling, I command you to give me your milk." My cock leaps at her words, so gentle and yet firm. But I want more. It's my fantasy, after all. Perhaps if I press this illusion with demands it will finally go away. "Get a stick or something," I tell the topless redhead. "Tell me you will hit me with it if I don't cum." She understands, after a moment, what I want. She calls out and a girl brings a stick through the doorway. She gives it to the queen, bowing slightly as she does so. She is a lovely blonde like the ten-year-old and six-year-old, and she surprises me because she is topless like the other girls. I wonder if all the girls in this place are topless now. I'm tempted to order the queen to take off her bikini panties and show me whether she's got any lovely red hair between her legs. The illusion has still not passed so I decide to test it further. Surely it will go away any minute now, if I press it with ridiculous demands. "Hit me with the stick," I tell the apparition queen, certain that she will be unable to accomplish this. To my dismay I feel a sharp pain suddenly along my ribs, where the blonde has just rubbed me with cream. Sure enough the stick the girl is holding, despite being as ephemeral, surely, as the girl itself, has swished down and hit my side. It hurts, after all the delicacy I've been surrounded with for the last few hours. But perhaps this is the way out. Pain will waken me from my demented reverie. "Hit me again," I order the queen. "Tell me I'm bad for not cumming and keep hitting me until I spurt." Stunningly, the queen obeys me. She tells me I must obey her, and unfortunately this has an electric effect on my cock. The other girls notice and press the open neck of the gourd to the head of my penis, enveloping my pee hole, gazing at me with expectant smiles as I writhe slightly under the blows the queen now delivers to my ribs. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" I cry, but the queen, puffing slightly, her pink cheeks reddening, seems to delight in her newfound dominance. I have awakened a part of her she never knew existed, I realized, though I still am sure, even in my pain, that she herself does not exist! The stick flashes down again and again, and she tells me in no uncertain terms that I must provide milk for the girls when they tell me to, that I must not deprive them of what the story promised them they would receive from me. Suddenly in my agony my cock gives way. Not in a manner that would save me from embarrassment, of course. I spurt thunderously into the gourd. I do not try to stop myself any more, the stick keeps hitting me, all along my right side, the queen determined to exercise her newfound authority over me. After a good long minute I am finally done spurting. I breathe a sigh of relief as the queen, sensing I have no more to give to their infernal gourd, stops hitting me. The vegetable is withdrawn. I feel a complete relaxation, despite the pain along my right side. Immediately the blonde, amazed at the punishment I have taken, for I have welts now where the queen has hit me, resumes rubbing me with the cream. I watch the ten-year-old's tits as she works and again toy with the notion of asking these little girls to take off their panties for me, to show me what must be the utter delight of their hairless little crotches. Ah, God! I am turning into some kind of pervert! I try to think of my wife but the sight of the little blonde's tits juddering in front of me, the sight of the queen's fine little chest heaving as she breathes hard from having hit me, blots out any redemptive vision of my spouse. I try to summon up a view of my daughter but she appears topless, and I quickly chase that vision out of my mind. "Do you wish to sleep again?" the queen asks me solicitously. "I want to wake up!" I tell her frankly. "You are awake," the little six-year-old blonde, who has been watching the whole obscene affair, tells me. I do not try to argue with the six-year-old. I let myself relax, commenting to myself that I've never seen a first-grader with such a perfect little set of mosquito bite tits. Then I remind myself that, except for my daughter, I've never seen any six-year-old topless, at least not since my days swimming as a child, when little girls would sometimes take off their tops because they had basically nothing to hide. "I hope this fantasy ends soon," I breathe aloud. "Have we not pleased you?" the brunette, watching all the while like the six-year-old, asks in a sudden panic. She leans close, asks the ten-year-old for cream so she can join in rubbing me. "No! No!" I cry. The last thing I need is more soft little hands rubbing me and arousing me. I manage to keep the brunette back. "I feel fine," I gasp. Is there no way to end this dream? Frowning, I decide to try to push it past its limits again. I look at the girls, again impressed with their little titties that jiggle nakedly before my eyes. "If I'm to provide, uh, milk for you girls, I don't want to just be treated like some hand pump," I tell them. "I want you, at all times, to call me `sir'." "Yes, sir," the girls at once say merrily, even the queen. "Oh, shit!" I gasp. They seem puzzled that I would be disappointed. "Do you want me to hit you with the stick again?" the queen asks. "No, no," I tell her. "Only when you want me to do something, like give you milk. Or something like that," I tell her, and an utterly depraved thought rises in my mind, specifically, whether I would fit inside these little ones. You know what I mean. I chase the thought away as soon as I feel it. "And keep your panties on," I add hastily. The queen nods. The other girls nod too. I sigh, still showing disappointment. There is no way to rid myself of these little creatures. I'm doomed to live in some weird pedophile fantasy until the jungle destroys me. 30 ---------------- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls! ----------------- -- More stories at: http://groups.google.com/ Search by typing: roller666@earthlink.net Click on "Power Search" Change "standard" archive to "complete" archive. -- Other providers: IFLC: http://assm.asstr-mirror.org and http://asstr-mirror.org Anya's Lil' Hideaway: http://www.insatiable.net/ Silver: http://www.mr-yellow.com/goodies The Backdrop Club: http://www.backdrop.com Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -- Great art books by David Hamilton and Jock Sturges are at: http://www.amazon.com http://bn.com (photos of naked little girls) -- Naked little girls/politics: http://www.AlessandraSmile.com Man/boy love: http://www.nambla.de Politics: http://www.lp.org http://www.isil.org http://www.fear.org http://www.fija.org http://www.aclu.org -- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 2001 by Andrew Roller. All rights reserved. -- Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/files/Authors/Roller/www666/index.html Or at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/www/index.html (It is case sensitive, i.e. type Roller, not roller). -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+