Nudie Nursery

It was all my mom’s fault. When I was 16, she insisted I get a
job. She said she was tired of me just playing on the beach. My grades
had dropped from a little too much partying. I think she thought I was
up to more than I actually was. But what was I going to say: ‘Don’t
worry, mom, I just blow the guys I like, I don’t bed them’?
I’d had fun at Kate’s, I must admit. I think I walked around
in a daze for about a month after that weekend at her place. She
decided to sell it, and moved back to New York. There were too many
stories hidden down there for her to play in that preschool dungeon
I went back to teasing guys. I loved to make them lust after
me and then leave them with nothing; yearning for me, desperate, jerking
themselves off someplace as they wished they could have me. It was
especially fun sometimes to make a hunky guy drop dead over me. After
all, what good is it knowing a nerd is creaming his pants for you? But
a hunk is another matter. To think that a cute guy who deserves you is
left with blue balls and sperm that just HAS to cum out, but can’t, but
MUST; that is wickedly fun. Unfair, perhaps, but fun all the same.
Sex just didn’t seem to sizzle after playing in Jeff and
Sherry’s canyon retreat, and at Kate’s. Everything was so heightened
there, so intense, so immediate. I think I missed the challenge of a
dungeon. To be commanded, to know you have to obey. In real life I was
swamped with choices. I could diss cute guys, or not. I got invited to
teen parties where we danced, or just got drunk. There was freedom but
there was boredom too. Pearl Jam on 10 is only so interesting. Beavis
and Butthead might be content to re-run their lives every day, watching
the same old videos, but I got annoyed with it all.
So when mom said I just HAD to get a job, well, I wasn’t really
bothered by it. I imagined I’d wind up in a boutique near the beach
selling cosmetics or trinkets or something but, well, what could you
expect as a teenager? I opened the paper to look for some job like
that, but for some reason my eyes were drawn to the Secretary page. I
don’t know why. I can’t type. I’m a terrible speller. Even my name,
Kelly, I sometimes spell Kellie, or Kellee, just to have fun. But I saw
an ad that said, “Secretary Desired: No Skills Required.” Somehow the
way it was phrased, you know? It seemed tantalizing. Who could
possibly want a secretary who didn’t know how to do anything?
I made an appointment over the phone. Then I had to buy
clothes: you can’t get a secretary’s job wearing ass-high cutoffs! (At
least I don’t think you can.) I bought a prim waist-length jacket and a
white blouse with a neckerchief. I also picked up some nice black
stockings and silvery heels. The skirt, I must admit, was too short.
But I felt daring. I bought a string of pearls to try to compensate.
All businesswomen, I think, wear pearls. It makes them look proper but
elegant. Then I put my Hello Kitty pencil in my jacket pocket and went
off to see my new boss. (Well, I promised myself I’d be successful; I
practise the Power of Positive Thinking!)
As I walked into the lobby of the building in downtown L.A. I
was on pins and needles. The floor tiles echoed my footsteps and I felt
like everyone looked up to watch me pass. I tugged nervously on the hem
of my jacket. It hung down a little lower than my miniskirt and I was
grateful that it could cover me where my skirt couldn’t! I took an
elevator upstairs to the 11th floor. The bellboy in the elevator made
eyes at me. I pretended not to notice. He was pretty cute but I was on
a mission: to become a working woman. Hopefully they’d teach me how to
type at this place.
I was let into Suite 1117 by a woman. She looked lovely, and
seemed to be in her mid-twenties. She had me sit down in a little
anteroom outside the boss’s office and she asked if I’d like some
coffee. I swallowed nervously, said ‘yes.’
“Is this your first job?” she asked politely. I nodded that it
was. In fact, I admitted, it was my first job interview. She smiled.
“I think you’ll like Brent,” she said. She handed me my coffee. It was
hot. I had to wait to let it cool before I could drink it.
I was just starting to sip my coffee when the woman tending to
me told me it was time to go in and see Brent. Another woman had just
left; twenty-something, beautiful, with long legs and a composed
demeanor. I felt a sudden rush of anxiety again. But somehow I
gathered myself together and walked into Brent’s office: my first job
“Can you type?” he asked. He was big and strong and looked
like he worked out a lot. I judged he was about 30. He suit seemed
barely able to contain him. He sat behind a big desk but he had me pull
a chair close so we could sit facing each other without the desk between
us. His assistant helped me move the chair.
“How good is your spelling?” Brent asked. I admitted it was
pretty poor.
“How are your grades at school?” Brent inquired. I gulped and,
figuring all hope was lost and I may as well be truthful, admitted they
were bad.
Brent straightened up. He shuffled some papers. I braced
myself for the ‘thank you, we’ll call if we need you’ dismissal. The
thing they always say on T.V. when the show’s about a woman who nobody
wants to hire. Because she’s black, or poor, or got fired from her last
job for union organizing. I wondered why I’d even bothered to come.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Brent said. He looked at me and his
eyes were unexpectedly gentle. Was he going to talk down to me? ‘Stay
in school, girl, study hard and learn to spell your name,’ I could hear
rising up from his chest. So when the words broke from his lips I was
stunned. “I’m not really looking to hire a secretary. I’m looking to
hire a love slave. Would you like to accept the position?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. My throat was
constricted. Somewhere on my lap my hands began to shake. “I’ll have
to ask my mom,” was all I finally manged to say.
Brent looked at me more closely. Despite my nervousness I
actually found myself worrying that his bulging arms and shoulders would
rip his nice suit. Couldn’t he at least take his jacket off? The poor
thing seemed about to burst at the seams. I felt a sudden urge to drop
my eyes to his crotch to see if his pants were equally challenged.
“I’m only at this location for today,” Brent said. “Obviously,
hiring a teenage girl to be my love slave isn’t the most popular thing
to do, even in L.A. So you’ll have to decide right now.”
I gazed at him. Our eyes seemed to merge. I felt myself
breathing. My breasts were held within a gossamer bra. It offered no
support, but at 16 I didn’t need any. And that’s why he wanted me,
wasn’t it? I let myself drink in his frame and his powerful arms and
shoulders. His face was polite, discreet, but underneath it was like
hardened steel.
I tugged on my skirt, pulling it down as far on my thighs as I
could. “Okay,” I said.
“Our plane leaves in an hour. We’ll have to go to the airport
now,” Brent told me. He stood up. He offered me his arm.
“So soon?” I asked meekly. I was a mouse.
“I wouldn’t want you to change your mind,” he smiled. He
towered over me, grinning down. I lifted an arm, to ward him off? I
caught his sleeve with my hand. He drew me up.
When I was standing he lifted my chin with his finger and
looked at me. My eyes raised to his. I felt bold as I let my eyes
clash with his and then, quite suddenly, he kissed me. I felt his hand
clasp my back and then sink lower. My skirt was in the way. He lifted
it. He palmed my bottom with his hand. I wore cashmere panties, thin
as rice paper.
“DON’T!” I squeaked as his finger probed into the stretchy seat
of my undies, prying into the crack of my ass.
“You mustn’t say ‘don’t,’” he replied. I felt my throat
constrict. He kissed me hard.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door and we were apart; just
standing, it seemed, though I was blushing a little and my hair, so
perfectly coiffed and piled atop my head, had become a little mussed.
He was breathing hard. I dropped my eyes and inadvertently looked at
his crotch. I saw a tent there, trying to break open his zipper.
“Mr. Carson?” the female who’d let me in asked. She opened the
door to his office, looked in. “A modeling agency wants to send several
applicants over. Would you like me to make appointments for them?”
Brent cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “That won’t be
“Alright,” his secretary replied. She closed the door. I
looked at Brent with renewed admiration.
“Do you really want to hire me?” I asked him. I lifted a hand
and tried to fix my hair.
“Yes, I want to… hire you,” Brent answered. His voice was
commanding. He seemed to shiver for a moment with passion and then he
looked abruptly away, picked up some papers on his desk. “We must go at
once,” he said.
“I’ll have to call my mom,” I replied.
“On the plane,” Brent replied. “It’s noisy and the connection
won’t be the best. It’s expensive, too, so she won’t, in the end,
expect you to talk for long.” He looked at me again. “Is there anyone
else you need to placate?”
I glanced down at my shoes. “No,” I said. “I just live with
my mom. She said I should get a job because I party too much.”
Brent laughed. He pulled an expensive greeting card from
amidst his papers and handed it to me. “Here, fill this out,” he said.
“We’ll mail it to your mom at the airport. Tell her you’re taking a
five day trip for Genovese Diamond Co. and you’re to be interviewed in
“Interviewed?” I asked. He gave me a business card with the
face of a kindly old woman on it. It said ‘proprietor’ under her
“Yes, interviewed,” Brent said. “Your mom would never approve
if you were simply hired and spirited away, but she’ll probably accept
the fact that we flew you down to our headquarters to interview you.
After all, she told you to get interviewed, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” I admitted. I sat down with the card and filled it
out. Brent gave me a check for $2,000 to put into the envelope with the
card. It was a very proper-looking check, from the Genovese Diamond
Co. “Is there really a Genovese Diamond Co.” I asked him.
“Of course not. But the check will cash,” Brent said.
“What line of business are you in?” I asked him. I licked the
envelope as I spoke. He gazed at my tongue.
“I’m just a rich playboy,” he smiled. Neatly I pasted the back
of the envelope down with my hands.
“You should be put in jail for hiring someone like me to be
your love slave,” I said. I felt a sense of pride and power as I
spoke. I was a play policewoman again at Kate’s.
“I should be shot, I’m sure,” Brent said. He made me stand and
he took my arm. We walked out of his office. “Cancel all my other
appointments,” Brent told his secretary. And then it was just the two
of us, alone, in the hall. We walked to the elevator and he pushed the
button for us. When the car arrived the bellboy looked disappointed.
Yes, I’d found someone cuter than him, and much wealthier, and more
powerfully built, and… more demanding? Yes, I guessed that was true
too. More demanding.
We made a quick stop at a photographer’s and Brent got me fake
I.D. and a fake Visa and Passport. I looked cute in my photo, with my
Hello Kitty pencil sticking up, my hair repaired but just a little
askew, as if I were going someplace in a hurry, and my eyes wide, with
extra makeup on them, to make me look older. Brent kept my passport for
me. He said I wouldn’t need anything myself; he’d provide everything I
We were soon settled into First Class on a 747. The
stewardesses were nice; they didn’t pry like I feared they might. I
think they mistook Brent for my father. Either that or he was just too
handsome for them to pepper with questions. We were treated just like
any other couple. I felt unusually mature. Just think: if my mom
hadn’t made me get a job I’d be on the beach trying to make some boy
have wet dreams. Instead I was accompanying a very wealthy playboy, a
man of the world, and he was taking complete care of me. The stewardess
offered me champagne and I happily accepted.
Mom wasn’t home when I called. Breathing a sigh of relief, I
left a message on her answering machine. Fortunately I didn’t have a
father. I’ve known some girls who’ve met really nice guys only to have
Dad decide he didn’t like them. Well, I didn’t have that problem. I’d
always wished for a father who lived with me and mom but, really, at age
16 it was just too late. So a quick message to mom solved all my
problems, with a card in her mailbox soon after. As I hung up the phone
on the plane I felt giddy and queasy at the same time. I was free! But
my new love was not just another boy who’d happily settle for a quick
blow. He was possessive. And he had my I.D.s. All I had was my Hello
Kitty pencil and my purse with my makeup and bubblegum in it. I took a
deep breath, calmed myself, and then walked back to my seat. He sat on
the outside, I sat by the window. He let me pick my way past him and
when I sat down again he looked at me.
“Did you call your mom?” he asked.
“She wasn’t home,” I answered.
“Fine,” he replied. He went back to reading his magazine. I
looked out the window and watched the clouds floating by beneath us.
They looked happy. I felt a happy tenseness inside myself and didn’t
know whether I was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. But then,
I like that. It makes me hold my breath and contemplate and worry a
little. And when, well, when whatever happens happens, it blows my
The flight cruised on. They had us draw the shades so we could
watch a movie. The film was boring, but in the darkness Brent and I
necked. I was really getting to like him now. At the airport, despite
the high prices, he’d bought me a fur coat. It hung in the closet at
the rear of First Class at the moment, but I couldn’t stop thinking
about it. Imagine, my very own fur! I let Brent grope my breasts and I
found the tent in his pants and caressed it. We were really getting hot
and heavy as the film wound on through some boring plot about space
aliens. ‘We have come to conquer earth.’ Yeah, right. Well, I’d come
to serve man. My man, Brent. Whenever a stewardess passed we had to
stop. After all, they might be thinking he was my father. We didn’t
want to look improper!
Brent had me pretty high in all my erogenous zones when he drew
a pair of police handcuffs from his inner jacket pocket. They were
metal; suddenly I understood why I saw him passing money to the guard at
the metal detector. I bit my lip and watched as he took hold of my
arms, drawing them back behind me, the handcuffs lying for the moment on
my thigh; open, unlocked. When he had my wrists behind my back he
locked his handcuffs on them.
“Sit back, don’t let anyone see,” Brent told me. We kissed
some more. I was feeling really hot now. It was amazing to be sitting
there, wearing my prim business suit, in First Class, the stewardesses
breezing by now and then, but with my hands tightly locked behind me.
Brent had a new surprise in store for me a few minutes later.
“Lift up your bottom,” he told me. I obeyed. He reached inside my
skirt, someplace he’d not gone before. He did it quite frankly, without
asking. He grabbed the crotch of my panties. He drew them down my legs
and, when he’d got them past my heels, he put them inside his coat
pocket where the handcuffs had been just a little earlier.
“You’re wicked,” I said to him. It was one thing for him to
feel my bottom in his office and grope my breasts on the plane, but to
actually take off my panties? I wanted to make him put them back on but
I didn’t want to betray our love to the stews.
“You haven’t seen wicked yet,” Brent grinned. From someplace
in his jacket he drew out an ostrich feather. It was very delicate and
fluffy at the end. He lifted up the front of my dress. I let out a
little gasp as he introduced it between my legs and slid it up to touch
my bare cunny.
“Don’t cry out,” he warned me.
“I won’t,” I whimpered. I didn’t want to get us in trouble. I
bit my lip and stifled a moan as he gently teased my clit with the
feather. Up and down, up and down it went, then round, and up and down
and round again. I was going wild!
A stewardess approached. He slid the feather out and dangled
it in the darkness below my knees. I gasped. She looked in on us.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked politely.
“Not now,” Brent replied, a little annoyed.
“Sorry to bother you,” she answered, and drifted away.
Brent picked up the feather again. He slid it back inside my
“Don’t,” I begged, but I felt the feather touch me again as I
spoke, right where my legs met, where my cunny dwelled in all its
girlish ambivalence.
“You’re not permitted to say ‘Don’t,’” Brent reminded me. I
felt like screaming out to betray him but I kept my lips pressed
together. I wanted, even as he made me feel feelings I knew were
immoral, that could get us both in trouble (him especially!), I felt an
urgency. The binding of my wrists behind me threw my breasts out. I
felt my nipples standing up inside my bra. Why, oh why, had I let this
man, twice my age, steal me away? I didn’t know. All I knew was I
liked him better than boys. They were fun too but he was, well,
awesome. No boy would pay to fly me first class and then lock up my
hands and make me cum on a feather. But did he love me? I wanted to
look at him but the feather between my legs was so intense… I had to
fight hard not to scream. Despite his ruthlessness he seemed to judge
my every breath. Just as I toppled on the brink of crying out he drew
the feather slightly back. I gasped, my eyelashes fluttered. He waited
for my crisis to subside. And then, insidiously, he delved into me with
the feather again. We played like that seemingly for hours, though
probably no more than five minutes passed. I was only 16. Too much of
it and I would surely have blurted out my passion, lost my senses, gone
babbling down the aisle, perhaps, and confessed everything to the flight
The plane descended into the clouds. The movie was over.
Brent’s feather was put away. He buckled my seatbelt over my lap. My
hands were still cuffed behind me. He’d fed me my in-flight dinner
himself, with his hand, stopping when a stewardess approached so our
intimacy would not be noticed. My drinks, too, he put to my lips
himself. He made me drink more than I wanted, insisting I drink it
all. I couldn’t refuse; I didn’t want to spill anything onto my
blouse. I wasn’t allowed to pee after he cuffed me. As the plane
descended I found myself wriggling in my seat.
When we left the airplane I was wearing my fur coat again, just
as I had when we boarded. But this time I had my hands secretly cuffed
behind me, inside the coat. And my panties were gone. And I had to pee
pretty badly. Brent had taken control of me, there was no escaping
that. He even carried my purse for me. The stewardesses didn’t
notice. They thought he was merely being a gentleman. All was
concealed, thanks to my fur. It had proved a wise purchase for a man as
decadent as Brent.
We travelled by airport limo a short distance to a small villa
in the city of Caracus. We were in Venezuela. I could smell the scents
of the Carribean sea as we stepped out of the car. Brent bustled me up
to the front door of the villa, passing through an iron gate hinged to a
tall concrete wall. A woman answered, we were let in quickly.
Brent took off my fur. The woman, dressed in a pantsuit and
vest, showed no emotion at seeing me handcuffed. She was a brunette,
perhaps 23, with tanned skin and lovely hair that was pinned up
seemingly for the sake of efficiency. Her eyes possessed a cold
diffidence, almost a tired look, jaded. “Come,” she said, and crooked a
finger at me. I followed. My hips rolled more than they should have as
I followed her. I needed to pee badly and there was no concealing it
anymore. She led me into a living room where two couples stood
chatting. They were holding drinks, wearing business clothes. They
looked at me with little emotion. They were as jaded as the woman who’d
brought me to them.
“I-” I began, wondering if I dared to speak to any of them of
my need.
“Yes?” the woman who’d led me in asked. Her eyes were
expectant. I felt my throat constrict. I had to pee so badly! My eyes
bulged. My cheeks puffed.
Brent entered the room behind me. I turned to him.
“Tell Jasmine if you wish anything,” Brent said with eyes that
seemed suddenly hard. I looked at the woman who’d brought me into the
living room. From the corner of my eye a woman, waiting perhaps for me
to speak, plucked a little cream-topped cracker from a tray on a piano
and put it in her mouth and ate it. She sucked her finger a moment to
lick off some cream that had smeared onto her fingertip.
“I-I have to pee!” I blurted suddenly to Jasmine. The others
“Well, why didn’t you say so? All the necessary accomodations
are provided here,” Jasmine said with a smile. She walked to the piano,
reached underneath it, and took out a low, broad urn. It was made of
fired clay. She placed it down on the rug. “Step over it,” Jasmine
urged me, coming round behind me and pushing me forward. I found myself
standing with my legs apart over the urn. She lifted the tail of my
jacket and matter-of-factly unzipped the back of my miniskirt. It
skittered down my legs. She lifted my feet, one by one, and removed
it. I gazed at the other guests. I’d just arrived, yet I was already
naked below my waist! My knees trembled. How silly I must have looked,
standing there, bare-legged, showing my bush.
“Kneel,” Jasmine said. “Kneel down over the pot and release
your pee.” I trembled into a squat. Gently she held me from behind to
guide me as I lowered myself. With the guests watching, I suddenly
released my urine into the pot. I heard it hit the clay and then
listened as the pot slowly filled. Everyone listened. The room was
silent, all eyes on me, I unable to hide anything at all.
My very public private duty complete, Jasmine helped me stand
up again. Brent came up behind me and unlocked my handcuffs. I rubbed
my wrists. The woman who was eating the cream-topped crackers offered
me some. Another woman put a drink in my hands. They surrounded me,
seemed not the least abashed that they’d just seen me pee, or that I was
standing bare-hipped in their midst, wearing only my blouse, my jacket,
and (though they hardly counted for anything) my black thigh-high
stockings. And my pumps, of course. I tried to compose myself, to
forget that I was utterly nude from my tummy on down. The women chatted
politely, the men also. But they looked freely at my bush as we
“If her breasts are as nice as her pussy she’ll prove a fine
mount,” one man said to another. His friend nodded. A woman plucked at
my pubic hair with her fingers while telling me she’d gone yachting the
day before, out on the carribean sea.
“You’d like it, really,” she said. “We did a little fishing
off the side of the boat. I didn’t catch anything, though.” I felt her
hands roving down between my legs and had to stifle an urge to tell her
that she was catching something now, and I didn’t like her not asking
permission. She fondled for my cunt and explored with tracing fingers
the lips of my vagina. Her touch was feather-light, almost not there,
yet it was there, and I was too scared to stop her.
“Brent, you must display also,” Jasmine said to him. “How was
your flight,” she asked casually, reaching down and undoing his zipper.
She felt within his pants as he murmured something in reply. A moment
later and his dick was exposed. I turned around and looked at it. I
gasped. The others laughed, sensing I’d not seen him before. He was
big and long and the tip of him was wet already, oozing forth the
precurser to his seed.
I was offered a hot dog bun. “Put it around his penis,” a
woman told me. I knew not what to do; she guided me forward and pushed
on my shoulders and made me drop to my knees.
I gazed up at Brent. His huge thing pulsed just inches from my
face. “Do as they say,” he ordered. “They always make new lovers
perform for them.” His words made me feel warm and somehow reassured
me. We were lovers, yes. I fitted the bun to his rod. It was like a
big knockwurst sausage. I had difficulty getting the bun to hold him.
“Do you have a bigger bun?” I asked aloud.
“No, that is fine,” Jasmine answered. Her voice was
Spanish-French, it seemed. Foreign, exotic. She handed me a bottle of
Hershey’s chocolate. It was a squirt bottle, made of plastic. “Put as
much or as little as you like on him,” she told me. “Have you ever had
a chocolate dog before?”
“No,” I breathed.
“You’ll like it,” she said.
Carefully I squirted some chocolate syrup along the length of
Brent’s cock. It was so strange, holding him within a hot dog bun,
applying the chocolate as if it were mustard and he he was a human
“Now eat all of the bun, sucking him into your mouth just as if
he were a real knockwurst,” Jasmine told me. I heard the others laugh.
Opening my mouth wide, struggling to make him fit inside me, I put the
head of his cock between my lips. He urged himself forward. He was
eager. I gagged, found myself drawing him back a little, out of my
mouth, then I bit very carefully into the bun, biting his cock too, and
sucked the bread away from his pulsing meat.
“She’s not half bad at it,” a man said. Another agreed. I
took another bite. It was odd, biting him from below to get a chunk of
the bun, while making sure I didn’t bite too hard on top lest I bite
into his cock. Brent grunted and thrust himself at me. He wanted, I
think, for me to eat faster. Or perhaps he simply wanted to cum.
“Sir, this is a chocolate dog, not a sperm dog,” I reminded
him, feeling a sudden blush of confidence. I kissed his pee hole. Then
I bit more deeply, taking more of him, and chewed the bun. He waited
for me to swallow.
We played like this for some time. As I gradually devoured the
bun it suddenly occured to me that I’d like to squirt his balls. I
picked up the Hershey’s and spritzed some chocolate up onto his hairy,
hanging nuts. Then, ignoring his cock a moment, merely rubbing my cheek
against it, I mouthed each of his twin nuts in turn, licking them clean
of chocolate.
Brent groaned. He was enjoying me very much, even as I enjoyed
him. I finished the bun. I stood up and whirled around and greeted the
other guests again, a bright happy look on my face.
“Take off your jacket and blouse,” Jasmine said to me. Their
eyes glowed but they showed no sign of granting me any reprieve. I
swallowed. I flushed. Red-faced, I looked down and slowly removed my
jacket and then unbuttoned my blouse. I wanted to hand my nice new suit
to somebody to put away but they made me just drop my clothes on the
floor. “And your bra,” they added, when I’d stripped down to that. I
reached behind myself and undid it. My breasts popped out as the cups
fell away. I was truly free now, yet captive at the same time.
“Go to the piano, put your hands on it,” Jasmine told me. I
obeyed. I let my hips sway behind me as I walked. I wanted to show
them what I had. I was proud of my figure. “Brace yourself against
it. Stick out your bottom,” Jasmine said. Turning my head, looking
fearfully back at her, I offered her my heinie. What did she have
planned for me?
“You do know how to pick a nice ass,” one of the men said to
Brent. A woman, the one who had been sampling the crackers when I’d
squatted over the urn, bent and took Brent’s cock in her mouth. Jasmine
undid her vest. She slipped her pantsuit down and stepped out of it.
Wearing just her undies, she came up behind me. The others began to
undress, except the woman who was busy suckling Brent’s penis.
“Why did you come here?” Jasmine asked me. She placed a hand
on my bottom and felt it as one might caress a pumpkin, picking it out
for slicing on Halloween night.
“Brent brought me,” I answered truthfully.
“To be a love slave?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
Jasmine shocked me by suddenly slapping my bottom hard with her
palm. I gasped. I lurched in toward the piano and she waited for me to
recover my balance.
“A love slave requires training,” Jasmine told me. “We do that
here.” She slapped me again. It was a burning slap. It seemed to
engulf my bottom. When her hand fell away I could feel the impress of
her slim fingers against myself and it made my heinie wriggle. I felt
shameful, showing my ass to them, clenching my cheeks. They laughed at
the sight of my waggling bottom.
“Kiss my hand,” Jasmine said. She presented it palm upward,
the very palm that had just slapped me! I hesitated. She drew her hand
away and abruptly slapped me again.
“OWWWW!” I cried. I bent my head down and felt my breasts
shiver beneath me as my ass bobbed all around, brazenly displaying
itself. I squeezed my cheeks into themselves and then let go, squeezed
“Kiss my hand,” Jasmine ordered once more. This time when she
offered her palm to my lips I kissed her hand freely. “Very good,” she
said afterward. She made me turn around. “Your breasts are lovely, let
me feel them,” she said. I stood quietly and she fondled me roughly,
squeezing my tits like fruit in a market. She gave each of my nipples a
little pinch. I suppressed a cry. “You are young and healthy, fit for
training,” Jasmine said. “Let me see your teeth.” I opened my mouth.
I said ‘ah.’ She looked inside. “Yes, you can wear a bit,” she said.
She reached down and fondled my dell. A finger intruded. “You have had
sex before?” she asked. I bit my lip and nodded. “You feel tight. We
will work on that. Turn around again.” I turned, fearfully. She
spread my ass cheeks and looked at the dimple of my hole. “Fine, good,
let me feel,” she said, pleased with my appearance, wanting to check me
inside. “Don’t resist me, girl,” she warned. But despite licking the
tip of her finger she could barely get it in. “You will have to be
widened,” she said at last with a sigh. Again I sensed her jaded
nature. She had trained other girls before, I knew. I was nothing new,
just another 16-year-old, I realized. Had Brent brought other girls
before me, or was I his first, and Jasmine merely a woman old before her
time, her looks remaining, but her desire depleted? She made me turn to
face her again and I felt as if I were in the presence of a nurse, being
examined clinically, not for the purposes of love.
“Sit down on that chair,” she said. She pointed to a big furry
armchair and I walked self-consciously to it and sat down in its warmth
with my bare bottom. My bottom that would have to be widened. My
cheeks felt tight upon the soft fuzzy seat of the chair. I did not want
to be widened.
Jasmine lay a simple cloth beneath my left arm. Then she
produced a needle from a little bag and a tourniquet. I gasped,
cringed. My nipples, hard already, stiffened even further in fright.
“A blood test is necessary to make sure you’re free of disease,” Jasmine
said. She did not stop to ask my permission but merely took my slim arm
and wrapped the tubing tightly around it. She swabed the crook of my
arm with an alcohol pad. “All our men here are free from disease, you
can be assured of that,” she told me. She stabbed. I screamed briefly
but I couldn’t help it. “Don’t resist any of them. They will not give
you any diseases, nor the women either.” When the syringe was full
Jasmine removed the needle, popped the tourniquet, and handed me a fresh
piece of cotton. I daubed the place where she’d stabbed me.
Another woman made me stand. I remembered from our
introductions that she was named Lisa. She clasped my shoulders and
guided me out of the room. As I passed Brent I saw that he was still
being entertained by the other woman, the one who liked cream-crackers.
A friend had undressed her and she was down on her knees now, sucking
hard on my new boyfriend. With a grunt he suddenly came in her mouth
and she began swallowing quickly. “We all share here,” Lisa told me.
“Never refuse anyone. It is not permitted.” I watched in dismay as my
new boyfriend’s seed spilled from the lips of the woman and ran down her
chin and speckled her breasts. “Do you feel jealous?” Lisa asked me.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Good, you have come to the right place then,” Lisa replied.
“We can train you not to.” She took my hand. Together we walked from
the room, as if girlfriends, and she guided me down a long hallway and
out onto a back porch. There were leaves on the porch. A small
fountain tinkled forth its essence, surrounded by rose bushes. Lisa,
her hair as golden as mine in the moonlight of a fresh summer evening,
walked me through the open air to a wing of the building. It was made
of old stone, as if the villa where the living room lay had been built
years afterward, the newer portion being of brick. “We keep the slaves
here,” Lisa said. She produced a key from the top of her stocking,
which she’d neatly folded down to hold it, and opened a wooden door in
the side of the wall.
Inside, despite the age of the building, was a room with new
furniture. There was a chair with a rattan seat, a soft carpet on the
floor, and, in the corner, a vanity with a mirror and a place for me to
sit and do my makeup. In the center of the room was a big bed with
brass railings at both ends. Above, ominously, hung chains, two on the
stone wall at the head of the bed and two suspended over the bed, fixed
to the ceiling.
A bathroom beckoned in an ajoining room, seen through an open
door. “It’s a communal bath,” Lisa said. “But the bedroom’s private,
if your master permits the door to be closed.” She drew me to the
vanity. There was a vase of fresh roses there, still dripping with
dew. She let me bend close and sniff them. “Jasmine will come in a
little while and whip you,” Lisa said. “She may bring your master to
watch, or she may do it alone.” I started, my face bent to the
flowers. Lisa saw my surprise and patted my bottom. “You are
well-formed for it,” she said. “You would not have been selected if you
weren’t. Brent’s very picky, and only the best girls are accepted
here. The photographer in L.A. faxed us your photo, did you know
that?” She pointed to jars and phials arranged on the vanity. “Don’t
worry, there’s plenty here to soothe your bottom when she’s done. I’ll
take care of that. Would you like a mint?” she opened the top of a
small glass container. Inside were small wrapped mints, expensive ones,
with a German name stamped on each of them.
“Thank you,” I said. She plucked one from the bowl and
unwrapped it for me. I felt submissive. She made me open my mouth for
her and she popped it in. “Let’s get you all ready for Jasmine,” she
said. The mint melted on my tongue. I swallowed. “Come, it’s my duty
to give you your bath.”
We stepped into the communal bathroom. It was made of cedar
wood, with a rich odor wafting up from the planks which surrounded us.
Along one wall a sunken tub waited to be filled. There was one commode,
and a bidet, plus a long countertop with plenty of room for the sink and
various brushes and combs and bottles and lotions. I saw a glass with
three toothbrushes standing up in it.
Lisa began the tub water and then opened the medicine cabinet.
Inside was a small packet of birth control pills. She removed it and
filled a glass with water. “Open wide,” she told me. I did and she
popped in the pill and made me take a big gulp of water. “There, now
you’re all set,” she said, and patted my fanny. She made me take off my
stockings and shoes and get in the tub. She added bubbles to make the
water scented. I splashed awhile, enjoying the heat, the freedom, Lisa
kneeling beside the tub, watching me, happy, observant but unobtrusive.
Finally she made me stop playing and she had me stand up in front of her
and she scrubbed me very freely and thoroughly with a sponge.
When I got out of the tub my whole body was tingling. Lisa
dried me with a big fluffy towel. Then she drew me back into the other
room, leaving the bathroom door open. Beside the vanity she put a
leather collar around my neck. It was black, like soft felt inside,
shiny on the outside. She locked it around my throat so that I couldn’t
remove it. “This helps us control you, if we need to grab you or tie
you or anything,” Lisa explained. “It’s also a sign of your
submission. It’ll be replaced by a black frill, like I’m wearing around
my neck, when you graduate.” She kissed my cheek. “Now hop into bed.
Jasmine will be here soon.”
“I-” How could I say this to her? That I was having second
thoughts, that I wanted to go home. “I don’t want to go through with
this,” I said in a small, halting voice.
“That’s fine,” Lisa said. “We’ll be sterner with you if you
resist. Some girls need that.”
“No, I mean, REALLY–!” I said, but she simply took my arm and
led me to the big bed and, when I refused to get in, she tumbled me into
it. I was afraid and as a result my knees were wobbly and so when she
pushed me, unexpectedly, I fell quite easily.
I lay under her gaze, awkward, newly fallen, my knees partly
drawn up to my chest, my legs long and coltish. My chest heaved with my
fear and my bosoms wobbled. My nipples were stiffer than I’d ever felt
them. I raised my hands, covered them. I tried to close my thighs to
keep her from seeing my bush. “Resist if you like. Jasmine has trained
all kinds,” Lisa smiled. She walked from the room, naked as myself but
wearing only a frill round her neck, plus her stockings and heels. I
was utterly nude now, without a single stitch of clothing, collared like
an animal.
Lisa stopped at the door, turned, and blew me a kiss. Then she
stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her. I heard her
turn the key in the lock.
I jumped up. I was free as an Indian. This wasn’t like other
books, other stories, I’d heard of, where girls were chained up in their
bedrooms. I ran to the door, struggling with my collar. It wouldn’t
come off. I grabbed the door’s handle. It wouldn’t open.
I looked about. There had to be a way out! Suddenly I heard a
door open within the bathroom. There were three doors, one inlaid
within each of the walls, with the sunken tub having a wall all to
itself. A girl stumbled into the bathroom. Her hair was lovely but she
was naked and crying. Her bottom seemed to have a deep blush upon it.
I was about to run up to her, to help her, when a huge monster-like man
emerged from the door she’d just come through.
“Drink from the toilet, bitch!” he yelled. I gasped. My hands
clutched at my throat. I crept to the door to see into bathroom.
They’d passed by my door, both of them, not seeing me, and were now out
of sight.
I snuck up to the door, frightened as a deer, but curious about
its hunter. I looked in and, to my shocked surprise, I saw the poor
sobbing girl bent down, dog-like, on her hands and knees with her lovely
auburn hair tumbling all over the open bowl of the commode. Her face
was somewhere down inside, and I heard a lapping sound.
The big monster-like man was behind her. He was hugely
muscular but in an obnoxious way, like those weightlifters you see in
the Olypmics, not sculpted brawn but just raw, almost unformed brawn.
He was hairy and he wore a big belt with rivets in it, as if the belt
had been bolted to his stomach. He was not fat, though. He was hard
and lean in his bulging, unsculpted hugeness. He was not overly tall
and he had big huge legs and wore boots, as if he were some medieval
fetishist. Gloves of leather contained his enormous hands and,
thankfully perhaps, he wore a hood of black leather over his head. In
his hand was a cat o’ nine tails. It looked as if it was made of soft
leather strips, but he made up for that by striking it hard against the
weeping girl’s bottom.
“Drink more, bitch!” the ogre-man commanded. I saw that the
girl had indeed been getting spanked, for her bottom was bright red,
like a tomato, even though her skin on her limbs and her back and her
breasts, squished against the rim of the toilet bowl, was creamy white.
“Why are you making her drink from the toilet?” I blurted. It
was a mistake, but I was so shocked I couldn’t help myself and my words
escaped before I could stop them. The Hunchback of Caracus turned and
noticed me for the first time.
“INTO your bedroom, slave!” he roared. I retreated, scared out
of my wits. I heard a voice behind me.
“The toilet is clean,” Jasmine said. I whirled about.
Jasmine! “We wouldn’t harm a girl by making her drink from a dirty
bowl,” she said to me. She didn’t smile but I sensed there was a smile
lurking behind her lips. “Get on the bed for your first whipping,” she
said. She gestured at my bed.
“I-I don’t want one,” I said.
“I can tie you down or Olaf can,” she said, actually smiling
now. With her hand, which held a long, thin riding crop, she gestured
at the bathroom door. “You will, of course, be whipped much more
sternly if I have to put you down forcibly,” she added. “Either way is
acceptable to me. Olaf can have you chained down in no time. I only
handle the whip.”
“I-I’ll go with you,” I said meekly. I put my hand to my
breasts. I was completely nude and defenseless. What could I do?
Jasmine simply gestured at my bed.
With greatly hesitent steps I inched toward my bed, all the
while the whipped girl in the toilet sobbing in my ears. Reaching the
bed, I pressed my knees against it.
“Get in, get on your knees,” Jasmine said. “Don’t make me get
mean about it, dear. Your bottom will be sore enough as it is.” I
dropped down onto the bed and crawled forward. I plunked my head down
on my pillow, but let my bottom stay up in the air.
“Where’s Brent?” I asked.
“Brent’s busy,” Jasmine answered. And I knew doing what, too.
Getting his penis sucked by all the other girls, as if he were King Tut
or something.
Jasmine kneed onto the bed behind me. She placed a hand on the
small of my back and brushed me lightly with her fingers. “You have a
fine darling ass,” she complimented. “A bottom like this is always a
delight to whip. Scream and cry if you like. Crying is preferred. It
lets me know I’m doing my job. Try not to wiggle around too much. And
whatever you do, don’t put your hands over your seat. That will earn
you extra strokes.” She patted my long golden hair. “Bite your pillow,
dear. This is going to hurt, I won’t kid you.” I obeyed, wordlessly,
and put my teeth into my pillow. It felt so soft. Was I really to be
Jasmine raised her hand, her whip hand, lofting her whip high.
It was stiff and whippy, springy, a cross between a crop and a whip.
She let me look over my shoulder at it, fearfully, mouthing my pillow,
my eyes wide.
“You should see how you’re tensing your bottom cheeks,” Jasmine
laughed. “Such a little kitten. Lisa will come and make you all better
when it’s done.”
And then her hand swung down. I felt a biting, scorching line
of heat dig into my bottom. I bounced forward. My mouth sprung from
its hold on the corner of my pillow. My bosoms smooshed onto the silky
surface of the sheet beneath me and my hands flew back and clapped
themselves to my tush.
“WAAAAAH!” I shouted. And in my shouting, to my utter
humiliation, I realized that the ugly ogre, Olaf, in the bathroom could
hear me.
“Take your hands away,” Jasmine said sternly.
“No, please,” I blubbered.
She caressed my hair. “I have trained so many girls,” she
murmured. “Some submit willingly, others refuse. Still others try to
submit and then find they can’t. It’s up to you, my dear. You are not
the first to kneel upon this bed, and you are far from the last.”
“Oh please,” I sobbed. I buried my head in my pillow. Quietly
she lifted my hands from my bottom and placed them beside my face. She
was naked as I, and lovely in her nakedness, wearing just a frill round
her neck to show her own submission to… whom? And her stockings,
pulled tight, plus her pumps, and glistening earrings which dangled down
from her ears, making her look delicate even as she was uncompromising.
“This is just a taste,” she said. “There is much more to come, poor
baby. What did you think being a love slave involved?”
“I don’t know,” I sobbed.
“Well, neither did I, when I started,” she said. “Now lift up
your bottom high. This is not gym class, and I am not your gym
instructor. There you’re given demerits if your shorts are too short.
Here you must bare all, yes, your precious fanny. And you must let me
whip it so I can see your cheeks clench and release. It will help me
judge your tightness so I can open you more effectively.” She slapped
my fanny, making me clutch at my pillow. “Bottom up, girl! Open your
thighs. Very good. Dip your back. Now you’re showing as you should.”
My reward was another stinging sweep of the whippy cane across
my fanny. I howled, lifting my head, but somehow I managed to clutch
onto my pillow.
“OooooWhooo!” I shouted. Jasmine stroked my back, as if
pitying me. I heard small footsteps. I turned my teary face and saw
the spanked girl from the next room enter. Her tears were drying now.
Sniffling, she held a lollipop and was softly licking it. It was a huge
lollipop, swirled, colorful. She held it above her nakedly swinging
breasts. Her tummy sighed. Her bush was chestnut colored and fleecy.
A heavy tread followed and Olaf stood behind her. She did not notice
him now. Her punishment was done and she watched me, bug-eyed, as I
received mine. She looked no older than me, younger, perhaps. Olaf
crossed his arms behind her. I could not see his face because of his
hood and I was glad.
WAHCK! Came the cane again. It whirr-whipped down onto my
tushy and I rolled it urgently about, burying my face in my pillow
again, somehow holding on to it.
“She’s been bad,” our nude visitor said over her lollipop.
“No, Missy, she’s being very good,” Jasmine corrected. “She is
not like you, brought here by your parents because you’re unruly and
insist on playing with boys when they tell you not to. She didn’t pee
on my flowers outside like you did. She’s being trained for love, to
serve her loving master in whatever way he pleases.”
Jasmine smacked my bottom hard again, with the whip, sending me
into a new ululation of urgent appeal. She ignored my pleadings. She
didn’t even bother to answer my ‘no’s’ anymore, because I kept my hands
on my pillow, and my ass, somehow, up high. Another blow fell, searing
itself into my soft ass flesh, and I howled and spilled new tears on my
“Well, good or bad, she’s being punished just the same,” Missy
piped up again, showing remarkable spunk given the state of her bottom
and Jasmine’s unremitting discipline on mine.
Jasmine whacked me again, very hard, as if angry with Missy but
taking it out on the most immediately convenient target, me! I hissed
and hooted with pain and lurched forward, bumping my head against the
brass rails of the bed. My hands flew back to my fanny and I collapsed
onto my tummy. I held my bottom tight and shouted, “NO MORE! NO MORE!
Jasmine bent and gave a lick between the lowest part of my
hinds, right along my crack. Then she leapt up from the bed, tossed her
hair, and walked with the gait of an Olympic victor to the outer door.
She opened it, turned, and spoke to Olaf.
“See that they behave, Olaf,” she ordered. “Missy, you are
insufferably naughty and I’ll have a crack at your hiney just as soon as
I’m done partying in the West Wing. Until then, you can worry and wait
for it. Kelly, you’ll be whipped again in the morning. And we’ll start
your dildo training then, after you’ve been turned to toast to make you
more receptive. For now, enjoy the last hours of your tight little
ass. Olaf, make sure Missy drinks from the toilet all night!”
“Aye, Miss!” Olaf responded to Jasmine.
“…And Missy, to show your contrition, put some lotion on poor
Kelly’s bottom. Lisa’s probably too busy having fun at our orgy.
Tootle-loo, kids. You’ll play with us as soon as you both grow up!”

Oh, I felt horrible, lying there on the bed, clutching my
burning bottom, knowing Brent was having the time of his life without me
in the West Wing, with the women, leaving me here bereft, with a bratty
insouciant child and some big molester dude in a hood. I coughed, I
wept, I held my hinds, rubbing my bush against the sheets, squeezing my
thighs and my cheeks.
Small knees dented the sheet beside my hips and I felt sticky
hands lift my palms from my ass. A cold squirt hit my shuddering
“This will help,” Missy said to me. She began rubbing lotion
into my wounded bottom with her lollipop fingers. It lay on my vanity,
staining the wood. I imagined by the time she was finished Missy would
find to her dismay that it was stuck there. And I’d have a big sticky
swirled lollipop to keep me company in my bedroom for the rest of my
“You’ll have to pee in the chamberpot under your bed if I’m to
drink from the toilet,” Missy said to me. I was beginning to see why
her parents didn’t like her. Despite her impish size, smaller than me,
she seemed to have no qualms about assuming command. She was blessed
with large tempting breasts that I had no doubt had gotten her in
trouble. Perhaps she bared them, I thought, in Sunday School, or on the
Playground. Her legs were breathtaking. Their slimness made up for her
undeveloped height. She was grow, I was sure, but she was, at least, a
year or two younger than me, perhaps more. I looked at her over my
shoulder, still clutching the sides of my bottom as she spread oil in
“Missy, how old are you?” I inquired. My voice was trembly
with my subsiding sobs.
“13 and a half this month,” Missy replied proudly. She lifted
her breasts as she spoke, arching her back, and let out a big contented
sigh. Olaf stood in the background, silent, mute, his arms crossed.
“Why were you sent here?” she asked before I could ask her the same.
“I-I don’t know,” I answered.
“Of course you do,” she said. “All girls do. Don’t pretend
you don’t when you do. You can’t fool me!” She grinned and moved my
hands off my fanny onto the sheet beside my hips. She squirted more
lotion on my bottom. It warmed as she spread it on my seat. I was
beginning to feel a slowly increasing glow there, and the lines of the
crop were fading into sharp striations of burn amidst a deeper more
fulfilling warmth.
“I met a man and…” I began. My voice caught in my throat.
“I wanted to submit?” The last word trilled high, making a question,
though perhaps I’d not intended it to be.
Missy patted my bottom. “You’ll learn to submit here, that’s
for sure,” she said. She breathed a big childish sigh again. “They say
it makes you feminine, submitting.” I nodded without nodding, moving my
chin a little on my pillow in agreement.
“Why did you cum?” I asked. We both giggled at the allusion.
I felt soft and warm and cared for.
“I came because I’m naughty,” Missy said. She was confident as
Oliver Twist on a pickpocketing spree. “I get naughty sometimes. My
parents say I’m hard to handle.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Oh, various things,” she replied mischievously. “They decided
they’d had enough when they came home early and I was having a big party
for all the kids and we were having nude footraces up and down my
driveway. That was fun. I got laid too!”
“Did you like it?” I asked.
“Sure, it was a great party. Everyone got laid and drunk and
our parents all said we were going to be whores when we grow up, and the
boys were all going to prison. Of course, everyone blamed my parents,
‘cause its their house and I’m their daughter. So they decided to send
me here.”
“There!” Missy announced, and proudly slapped my bottom.
“YeeeOW!” I shouted. She plopped down onto her tummy beside me
and offered me the squirt bottle of lotion. “Do my ass,” she said. “I
got whipped too, by Olaf!” She turned her face to him and stuck out her
tongue. He ignored her. He apparently had no power over her now,
except to keep her in the prisoner’s wing and under reasonable control.
I brushed my hair back and got up. What an unusual girl! She
actually ASKED for trouble, seemed to relish it. I wondered what would
happen to her in life. She was well brought-up, despite her
naughtiness. But she seemed to need to test life even more than I did.
I squirted lotion on her bottom and had just begun to rub it in when we
both heard a sobbing scream from the bathroom.
“Oooh! That’s Sally!” Missy said, propping her head up on her
elbows and listening alertly. “Let’s go peek!” We leapt from the bed.
I thought Olaf would stop us but he didn’t, merely standing,
sentinel-like, as we rushed with quiet footsteps to my door and looked
into the bathroom.
There, before my astonished eyes, was a woman, perhaps 25, with
big slumbrous breasts and gorgeous hips. Her waist was narrow and her
legs long and lean and perfectly tanned. She dropped to her knees,
sobbing, as a man emerged from her bedroom and began whacking her bottom
with a belt. She’d clearly received much already; her bottom and even
her back and thighs were scored with broad, bright red weal-like marks.
Sally knelt on the floor like a dog and received blow after
blow across her lovely heinie. Her breasts, big as gourds, swung with
every flailing blow of the belt. Her nipples stuck out like thorns, as
if lusting for more. Her master was beautifully formed, not ugly like
Olaf. He had a large, broad chest and column-like legs. His ass seemed
tight and small and he clenched it as he swung the belt again and again
in painful strokes across Sally’s rump. Most tantalizing of all, his
dick stuck straight out, unsatisfied. Perhaps Missy and I would get
invited to an orgy after all!
“That’s David,” Missy said. “He can be mean.” We watched with
wondering eyes as Sally recieved her due and then, forced on her knees
to the toilet, was made to drink from it. As she did David dropped down
to the floor behind her and prodded her with his cock.
“Ohhh, no!” Sally cried. Her voice burbled somewhere inside
the toilet bowl as David rudely forced his prick into her from behind
and began humping her.
Missy fingered her clit. “David’s the worst,” she confided in
me. “He treats his women terribly, even worse than Olaf. Fortunately
we don’t have him for our guard. He’s usually assigned to the ladies.”
“Who’s Sally?” I asked, succumbing to the same temptation that
gripped Missy, dropping a questing finger to my cunny and seeking
pleasure there, or, rather, relief.
“She’s a private secretary, but she likes to get it sometimes,”
she replied. “She checks in and begs not to be hurt, and they don’t,
actually, I guess, hurt her, I mean, but they have David here sometimes
and he really puts her through her paces. This is her third time, I
“How do you know all this?” I said, turning briefly to her. I
felt silly, standing naked in the bathroom door, frigging myself, her
beside me, doing the same, the two of us conspiratorial children, but I
couldn’t help it. My senses were overwhelmed.
“I live three blocks away,” Missy whispered. “I sneak over
here and spy on them. I’ve done it all year, ever since my mom and dad
moved to Caracus. I was too scared to ever play here. And I never
thought my parents would find out about this place and send me here!”
“Ohhh,” I replied. I felt a tremor seize my tummy as an orgasm
built inside me. Missy rubbed herself more eagerly. We watched as
David fucked Sally. Olaf, seemingly unperturbed by our naughtiness, or
simply confident that he could report it all to Jasmine when she
returned, did nothing to stop us.
I rubbed myself faster. Missy showed no inhibition as she
frigged herself. The sight of David plunging his rod in and out of
Sally was just too much for us. And the thought that Olaf, however
reserved he appeared at the moment, might choose to spank us with the
cat he still clutched in his gloved hand, sent us over the top. I
keened out my lust, rubbing my spot furiously, bulging my bottom out
behind me, almost hoping Olaf would strike me for my misbehavior.
Missy, too, seemed smitten with the thought of being punished for
frigging herself. She danced on tip-toe like an orgasmic little elf and
at the same time jutted her cute bottom back, flaunting it at Olaf, then
at David, then at me, as she shuddered through one orgasm and then
When she’d been thoroughly fucked Sally recovered herself and
managed to stand. David, who’d been so cruel to her before, helped her,
his hands kind, gentle, almost loving. She saw us, smiled, and walked
over to us. We stood like Beavis and Butthead now, our orgasms
shiveringly subsiding within us. She put her arms around us and we let
our mouths be put to her bosoms. I suckled one of her tits as Missy
nipped and suckled the other.
“Missy dear, don’t bite me!” Sally laughed. David,
tantalizingly, watched over us, as if he might master Missy and me now
that he was done with Sally. We supped at her tits as if we’d missed
breakfast and dinner. I found myself awakened to a new kind of love.
Soft, nurturing, feminine, but with the male presence right behind me,
in the person of Olaf and David, forever ready to break in and seize
“Go to bed, dears,” Sally said at last, pulling our sucking
babyish mouths from her teats. Missy and I were starting to feel frisky
again and we didn’t want to go.
“Drink from the toilet, both of you!” David said. He ordered
us over to the commode and we were forced to sink down to our knees next
to each other and put our heads inside.
I tasted the water. It was no different from ordinary water,
but the thought of drinking from a toilet–! Missy lapped without
complaint. I decided, reaching back to feel my wounded bottom, that I’d
best follow along. We drank like deer from a stream, just using our
tongues. When we were finally permitted to lift our heads from the bowl
I found myself smacking my lips.
“Well, I’m not at all thirsty so I won’t need any more drinks
tonight!” Missy assured Olaf and David.
“Any time you get up to pee you’ll also take a nice long drink
from the toilet,” David assured her. Was he in charge of us too?
Looking at Sally, with marks all over her back, her bottom, and her
thighs, made me shiver at the prospect of being his slave. Yet, he was
already growing hard again, watching us. Freely he put his hand to his
penis and gave it a quick massage.
“Ah, that feels better,” David grinned. “God, what a gorgeous
pair of girls you two are! Missy, those breasts are like plump little
melons! Who’s your new friend?”
“This is Kelly,” Missy smiled coyly. She put a finger to my
bosom and pushed on my nipple as if it were a button. David put his
hand to his cock and massaged it breifly again, his eyes gazing at me
“Pleased to meet you, Kelly,” he said graciously. I was
surprised at his gallantry.
“Your reputation precedes you, sir, as does your thing,” I
replied. I smiled. I was not entirely unlearned in the art of love.
“I can do that for you if you like,” I suggested. I crept closer to
him, a little afraid, and made to cup his big bulging penis head in my
“Yes! I can do that for you, sir!” Missy agreed. She jumped
forward and tried to grab his penis shaft even as I went for his head.
David stepped back. “I do not have permission,” he said. “If
I were given it, I’m sure it would be for the purpose of punishment.
You must see Jasmine if you want my cock, much as I’d like to give it to
you. I serve her, not you.”
“We are prisoners then,” I admitted, watching in dismay as he
pulled his cock back from our seeking hands.
“Most definitely,” David answered. He was much bigger than
me. I didn’t want to anger him. “Both of you go to bed. Sleep
together. That much of an order I can give. Missy, try not to wet the
bed tonight.” I looked at the girl beside me. She blushed fiercely and
hung her head.
“It’s all that drinking out of the toilet!” she protested.
“She’ll make a good playmate for you, even if she does wet the
bed,” David assured me.
“I don’t want a playmate…” I told him. My voice was firm and
I tried to make it sound as mature as possible. He reached out, took my
hand, and lifted it way up to his lips. I stood on tiptoe, breathless,
my bosoms rising with my chest, and watched as he kissed my hand.
“Put Missy against the counter and lick her pussy,” he said to
me. I gasped. I heard Missy gasp behind me. “Do it!” he roared. I
turned about on my heels, my stomach churning, and ran to Missy. She
hesitated, I moved her to the counter and made her bottom bump up
against the edge. I could feel my bottomcheeks burning still, I had no
intention of getting punished by David!
“Ouch!” Missy said, as I made her press her spanked seat
against the counter. I turned my head and looked wide-eyed at David.
“Must I?” I asked. His look was so fierce I dropped to my
knees at once again put my tongue to her slit.
“Ooooh! Don’t! You’re naughty!” Missy declared. Even so, she
opened her thighs a little to give me easier access. I nosed my face
into her dell and licked as if my life depended on it. My bottom, did,
that was for sure! Behind me I heard David smoothing his belt across
his palm, deeply tempted. And Olaf, who I feared even more, if only
because he might strike me without permission, slapped his cat o’ nine
tails impatiently against his thigh.
“Get me some lotion,” David ordered Sally. Feeling a little
bereft, I think, she walked to the medicine cabinet and got out some K-Y
jelly. I watched her from the corner of my eye. She had a big bottom
and it was seared very vividly with marks. But she held it out proudly,
letting it sway, even flaunting it. Her bosoms bounced seductively on
her chest, big milk-giving bosoms that only needed a baby to make them
Sally applied the K-Y to David’s penis with soothing, liberal
fingers, tickling his balls, hoping to make him want to fuck her again.
But as soon as his pole was greased he brushed her aside. “I’m going to
shoot in her hair,” he said quietly. And, as I felt his big greased
pole stick itself into my mane of tumbling blonde hair, I realized it
was MY hair he was talking about!
David fixed his eyes on Missy as he nested his big dick in my
hair. I felt mortified, humiliated! He was going to go on me, but it
was Missy that sparked his desires. She looked at him, bug-eyed, her
childish cheeks puffing as I worked her slit with my tongue. I was but
an obedient doggie, serving Missy, my mistress, who in turn was being
used by David for his own masturbatory enjoyment. Sally, left to
herself, got some cream from the medicine cabinet and ordered (yes,
ordered!) Olaf to rub it on her poor fanny.
In this way did our most unusual arrangement unfold: Olaf,
standing behind Sally, with her presenting her bottom to him, the two of
them standing, frigged Sally’s slit with his one gloved hand while his
other gloved hand spread soothing cream on her ass. Meanwhile, Sally,
standing behind David, began slapping his ass. Quite hard, it sounded,
from her slaps. I could just imagine how her boobies looked, swinging
around like big cantaloupes as she smacked her sadistic lover. He,
meanwhile, had his penis in my hair, and was hoping to spurt into my
long blonde locks while I, kneeling, the only one down on my knees,
licked Missy. She jigged and bounced on her toes, pleading with me to
stop, but loving it too, heaving her young breasts about and letting
David watch her antics as he massaged himself.
“Finger yourself,” David told me. I didn’t want to, but with
that big man so close behind me, still holding his belt, I wasn’t about
to question him or refuse. I reached down into my slit and began
rubbing my spot. Soon my breath was gasping as much as Missy’s, the two
of us rising toward orgasm. Behind me, I could hear from David’s
panting that he was now on the verge of cuming himself. And Sally, with
a pleased scream, announced that Olaf had made her cum.
“Ahhhh!” I heard above me as David shot his load into my hair.
“David!” I screamed, but my protest was mingled with a cry from
my throat as I felt an orgasm rip through my slitted loins. Missy,
above me, locked her knees as she called out an orgasm of her own. Only
Olaf did not cum. He was wearing trousers. None of us cared. I kept
my mind focused on Missy’s little slit while feeling David’s hot jism
shoot into my hair and run down my neck and trickle in rivulets down my
back. I wiggled my ass and felt his semen anoint me there, where so
recently Jasmine had whipped me raw.
I sighed into Missy’s pussy and let my orgasm finish and
subside. She pried my head back a few minutes later, eager to be free
of me. I took my hands off my thighs and guiltily looked up at her.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Well, at least you’re not a brown nose,” she smirked.
“I’m a honey nose,” I agreed.
“Let’s sleep together,” she suggested.
“Don’t wet the bed!” I cautioned.
“I won’t,” she promised.
We stood up. David and Sally were gone, back in their
bedroom. I heard Sally moaning and howling but didn’t even want to know
what they were up to. Their door was closed. I hoped it was locked,
perhaps from our side, to keep David out. I didn’t like him anymore.
Using me as a dog–what a brute!
Missy and I filled the tub and gave ourselves a bath. She
played with a rubber ducky she found among the towels piled by the side
of the tub. I washed my hair. She helped a little. She felt sorry for
how David had used me. Olaf, ever our chaperone, merely watched. He
had a bulge in his trousers but, unlike David, he had the courtesy not
to massage it.
We retreated to my bedroom and Missy and I straightened the
covers of my bed. Then we hopped in, Missy fetching her lollipop, which
Olaf had to pull off from the surface of my vanity. We embraced, me
getting my hair a little sticky again as I tried, and failed, to avoid
her big lollipop. Then we curled up and went to sleep, the sound of her
tongue licking her lollipop the last sound that I heard.