On holiday for fucking: an adult resort!

Women that I fucked in escort resorts.

Babe fucked in a adult cinema

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my Tongue working back there would feel better then what your using

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I got my very own card to the health club on my fifteenth birthday. It was a relief to me. Lots of cute guys went there, but I couldnÕt go, because if you werenÕt fifteen you were considered too young. Maybe they were afraid IÕd meet somebody. Well, I did meet someone. But it wasnÕt a pervert. It was a woman. I still remember my first day, marching in there, presenting my card, proud at last not to be stuck in day care while my dad worked out. He didnÕt go much anymore, which I was quite thankful for. ItÕs no fun having your dad looking over your shoulder, ÒmonitoringÓ everyone you talk to. HeÕd gone when I was younger; eight, nine, leaving me with the kids and the fat woman in the back, playing Candyland. Then heÕd gotten busy at work, and divorced my mom. I hardly ever saw him anymore. It was fine with me. I think he was, at the moment, having an affair with one of his secretaries. I surveyed the vast assembly of machines. So many! And lots of sweaty guys pouring over their workout. I decided to begin with the stair-stepper machine. I got up on it. There was a woman beside me, blonde, with long tresses down to her waist. I tried to get my machine started. I couldnÕt make it go. ÒWould you like some help?Ó the blonde beside me asked. I blushed. ÒI guess so,Ó I replied. I realized as she bent close to help that she was younger than IÕd thought, perhaps only a few years older than me! But her demeanor was one of utter assurance, complete sophistication. She had a light Swedish accent. I smelled her perfume. It was delicious, like crushed rose petals; light, airy, yet with just a scent of menace, as if any man who let himself slip into her grasp would never escape her long, fine fingers. With her polished nails she deftly entered the needed codes for my machine. She asked if I were a beginner. I nodded, embarrassed to admit that I was so new at this. ÒItÕs okay,Ó she smiled. A radiant, sunshiny smile. Her eyes smouldered. Distant thunderclouds hovered beyond her pupils. ÒI just joined last month. It took me awhile to learn all this myself. There! Five minutes. That should do you. IÕll bet youÕll be winded after that, but donÕt worry, youÕll build up your endurance as time goes by.Ó ÒThanks,Ó I said. There was nothing in her eyes but female companionship, I decided. IÕd found a new friend. We worked out together, and sure enough, after five minutes I was pooped. ÒToo many afternoons at home watching GullibleÕs Island,Ó my new friend smiled at me. I nodded my agreement, my breath gasping. ÒThere are other things you can try,Ó she smiled, her eyes glancing toward the guys in the free weight room. I shook my head Ôno.Õ ÒShy?Ó she asked. ÒYeah,Ó I replied. ÒIÕm Kali,Ó she told me. Her voice was sweet. Her eyes beckoned me to cast away my fears. ÒIÕm Melody," I replied. I walked away. I put a finger to my mouth, contemplating. I think she watched me, going. I wanted her to watch. With her eyes behind me I went where IÕd said I wouldnÕt, to the free weight room. I guy said hello to me. He helped me lift up a barbell and do curls with it. I met Kali a lot at the gym, in the ensuing days. I met some guys too. They were mostly older. They helped me, but seemed afraid to ask me out. Jailbait, you know. But I enjoyed their attention. Kali and I were on the stair-steppers together about two weeks later. It was early evening, a Saturday. There was a World Series Playoff going on at the time, so only a few people were at the gym. Kali and I had the entire row of stairsteppers to ourselves. ÒDo you go to college?Ó I asked her. ÒNope,Ó she replied. There was a smile on her face that hid a secret. ÒYou work?Ó I asked. She always had very cool gym clothes. ÒHmm,Ó she said, half-nodding, dropping her eyes to her stair-stepper, as if to study the codes entered there. ÒWhat do you do?Ó I asked. ÒIÕm a sexual torturess,Ó she replied. Her eyes met mine, blazed a moment, held me. I was unmoved at first, then the words sank in. A little gasp slipped out of my throat. I did not know if IÕd heard her right. Had I? ÒA what?Ó I asked. She could see my cheeks had acquired a flush. ÒA sexual torturess,Ó she said again, firmly. ÒWhatÕs that?Ó I murmured, mouthed, afraid, tantalized. ÒPeople pay me to torment them,Ó Kali replied. Her words were graceful, smooth. ÒTheir genitals, you know, naked and all that.Ó She gave the seat of her bottom a little slap. ÒLike-like a whore?Ó I asked. I was somewhere between Never-Never Land and the Twilight Zone, my mind drifting, my spine tingling. ÒA trollop,Ó she smiled. It sounded Ôlollipop.Õ ÒBut with special powers,Ó she added. ÒLike...Ó my voice trailed off. IÕd heard stories, rumors at school, about people...what they did...what adults did. ÒYes,Ó she laughed. Her voice was high, childish. ÒBut--How old are you?Ó I asked. ÒSeventeen,Ó she said. Yes, sheÕd told me that yesterday. ÒYouÕre too young to be a prostitute!Ó I blurted. ÒShhh!Ó A finger to her lips. ÒNobody is too young or too old to be a prostitute, dear. ItÕs illegal, donÕcha know. Anyway, thatÕs the customerÕs problem, not mine.Ó ÒYes, I guess it is,Ó I breathed. I did not know whether to keep stair-stepping or go running out the door. Only two years older than me, and she was an accomplished whore! ÒIÕm flying to Europe next week,Ó Kali said softly. ÒWould you like to cum?Ó I swear thatÕs exactly how she said it. ÒI-I donÕt know,Ó I replied. But I already did. My mind swirled. In my head I said Ôno,Õ but my conscience must have been speaking very softly. ÒYes,Ó came out. At least I think it did. Thinking back, I might have actually said Ôno.Õ But that wouldnÕt have mattered. Not to someone like Kali.*** We stood before a large wooden door. We were in Belgium. ÒThe cherry of Europe,Ó Kali had told me it was called. Belgium, that is. Well, it had one more cherry now. Me. Not my cunt, though. IÕd lost that cherry a year ago, with an ambitious boy in junior high. But my virgin butt, as Kali was quick to teach me, counted as a cherry too. And my mouth. ÒTwo out of three isnÕt bad,Ó sheÕd smiled at me on the plane. ÒTwo more than I have.Ó I liked her. She was frank, yet elegant. I could discuss the most intimate things with her without feeling dirty. Naughty, maybe, but not dirty. IÕd asked her a lot on the plane. SheÕd told me incredible things, said that was just a little of what IÕd know if I stuck with her. Well, I was stuck with her now, at least for this trip. She was totally paying my way, from an advance, she said, from the customer we were to meet. I gulped. The front door of the house we were waiting in front of opened. It creaked. A lady greeted us and let us in. She was older, a maid. ÒHelp,Ó as they are called. I wanted her to help me out of my predicament but knew it was too late. We were led into a study. A young man sat writing at a desk. He looked up, startled. Then he smiled. Kali smiled back. I forced a smile from my lips. He was quite handsome, but I was nervous. Kali was pert, chic. The man stood and walked out from behind his desk. He was taller than either of us. I looked up at him, scared. Kali was forthright. Her eyes gazed into his, her pug nose upturned, her lips sweet and hiding nothing. ÒIÕm Alex,Ó he said. He extended his hand in greeting. Kali nodded, took it, felt it, examined it. As if looking for signs of his life force in the lines of his palm. She passed his hand to me. Anxiously I shook it, my fingers limp. He squeezed my hand. It hurt a little. ÒI am under stress,Ó he said, turning again to Kali. ÒI have inherited a great deal of money. My father died recently, leaving me all his businesses. A Robert Maxwell type, with as many debts as assets. I have had to make many decisions. I need...Ó His eyes wavered. He seemed afraid to ask. ÒWhy donÕt you visit a dungeon?Ó Kali asked. Her voice was smug, diffident. As if she didnÕt care. As a six-year-old IÕd said that to a nerd once. He had no girlfriend. ÒGo to a singles bar,Ó IÕd snapped, playing with my Play-Doh. When I turned eight I started making penises out of my Play-Doh, but then I was too young to know. Kali sat on the corner of AlexÕs desk. Her skirt was short. Her thighs showed, right to the tops of her stockings. You could see her garter snaps where they held her stockings up. They were frilly, soft. Her legs were like sheathed cinnamon, well-tanned. I guessed she had tan lines underneath her clothes, where her shifting breasts and hidden cunny waited. Kali flipped through a phone book. Alex stood, watching. I drew close to him, clasped his hand. It was moist. He looked down at me. His eyes caught mine, then dipped lower. My jacket was half-unbuttoned. I wore no blouse underneath, just a corset. It did not cover my breasts. He contemplated me. I knew I should leave at once. I was no whore, no tart! But instead I caught sight of his bulge, his cockstand, buried in his pants, rising up, a lump in his trousers. I gazed at his bulge as he gazed at my curves. ÒCome here, you naughty girl! Dial this number for me!Ó Kali beckoned. With a blushing face I dropped AlexÕs hand and wandered over to her. To maintain my innocence I let my finger rise to my mouth, catch in the corner of my lips. Kali was not fooled. She reached down behind me, in back of me. She yanked up the back of my miniskirt. ÒSee? She wears no panties,Ó Kali said to Alex. I reddened. I turned my head and regarded my bare tushy over my shoulder. AlexÕs eyes settled on my snowy globes and he smiled a manÕs smile. ÒYou made me,Ó I said accusingly to Kali. In hunching over to lift my skirt sheÕd let her own slide up farther. Her legs were spread and you could see her crotch between her thighs. Pink translucent panties, cupping a quim I guessed was already wet. I knew I was. I was trembling with my excitement. There was an ache in my belly now, not butterflies. My dress hiked up, my cheeks huddled, cleft and softly naked, Alex unzipped his trousers and pulled himself out. I emitted a little scream. It was of fear, but of admiration too. He was massive! His thing pronged out at me, manly, eager, throbbing with lifeblood and dripping already at the tip. ÒPut yourself away, sir!Ó Kali scolded. SheÕd let him take it out, though, perhaps to size him up, to see what we were in for. I did not like at all what I was in for. SheÕd told me IÕd have to lose my cherry on this trip, my butthole cherry. ÒNot with him,Ó I whispered to Kali. My eyes were pleading. She smiled. Alex, stuffing himself back into his trousers with much difficulty, overheard. ÒWhat? You will damn well screw with me!Ó Alex blurted. He was the manager again, the CEO. ÒShe means her ass, Alex,Ó Kali said soothingly. ÒSheÕs an anal virgin. DonÕt you think youÕre too big to pop her? YouÕre a monster!Ó She grinned. There was wickedness in her grin. ÒI didnÕt mean to yell,Ó Alex said. ÒI need to get away from that. My employees all hate me, right now.Ó ÒDonÕt worry, I can help,Ó Kali replied. She purred like a cat. ÒI can see I have my work cut out for me, with Hercules here, and Sleeping Beauty.Ó She gave my bare bottom a slap. ÒCall this number!Ó Kali ordered. I looked down at the phone book. ÒAuthentic London Dungeons, in Holland!Ó it read. There was a merriness in its tone. Carefully I looked at the number and punched it into the phone on AlexÕs desk.*** We rode in a limo. It travelled fast. We drove at Autobahn speeds. In back we sat quietly together, the three of us, watching a tv screen. There was a game show on, where young female contestants were relieved of their clothing. It was from Italy. Alex wanted to fuck but Kali told him he must wait. ÒYou must learn to conserve your strength sir, not always popping off at every moment,Ó she consoled him. Her hand massaged his lap, his lump. Alex groaned and seemed to want to do something very bad in his pants. I sat with my bare hiney on the leather, my pussy hidden by the crease of my rucked up skirt. Kali, her own dress hiked up in back, sat with her pink panties pressing into the seat. Alex seemed to like this, though we gave him no more favors, saving ourselves for later. Our dresses neatly restored, if only for a moment, we knocked at the given address. It was a modest house, decent and law-abiding by all outward appearances. A woman greeted us, let us in. She had raven black hair and sultry eyes. She was dressed in jeans, torn at the knees. She wore a midriff, too short. Underneath its ragged hem the undersides of her breasts showed, bare and free. They jiggled. I caught sight of her areolaes, the lower part. Just above her nipples indented the fabric. Her hair was swept up, elegantly, in sharp contrast to her informal duds. I guessed sheÕd just slipped them on, to answer our knock. ÒHi!Ó she said. Her voice was bright. She brushed a strand of ebony hair from her eyes. She looked as if sheÕd just come from the gym, was still winded. ÒIÕm Kali,Ó my blonde friend greeted her. Gracefully she handed the woman AlexÕs American Express card. ÒOh yes,Ó the gypsy girl, gypsy woman replied. She seemed almost as young as Kali, now that I could see her more closely. We shuffled inside the house. She closed the front door behind us. She was 22, 23 I guessed. She ran the card quickly, handed it back with a receipt. She was efficient. Business should not interfere too long with pleasure. ÒIÕm Cybil,Ó she added. Only her first name. Kali introduced myself and Alex. ÒI can lock up your valuables for you,Ó Cybil told us. We gave her our important things and she wrote them neatly out on a receipt. Then she opened a small safe sitting in the corner of the room. Inside there were separate drawers. She placed our things in one, together with our receipt. I wished I could check myself inside, knew it was impossible. Only the front door could offer escape now. Cybil had locked it when she shut it. The safe shut with a bang. Cybil twirled the combination lock. She turned to us. Her breasts brimmed underneath her shorn-off tee. I looked apprehensive. ÒYouÕre new?Ó Cybil asked me. She could tell Kali was experienced. They were sisters in crime, the two of them, even though theyÕd never met before. I nodded. ÒDonÕt worry, pain can be a great release,Ó Cybil said to me. ÒShe has the ass for it,Ó Kali smiled. Cybil walked partway behind me, admired my seat. ÒOh, yeah!Ó Cybil said. ÒRound as an apple. IÕd love to polish that!Ó She hooked her thumbs in the worn waistline of her jeans. They were unbelted. I wondered where her belt was, if someone was using it. On someone like me. Cybil tossed her head, clearing her eyes. Her hair was loosely piled. ÒCome, IÕll serve you tea before you get started. It will heat you up,Ó she smiled. We passed down a hall to a sitting room. A fire crackled in one corner, tossing out shadows. There were three chairs, overstuffed, one too few for me. At CybilÕs urging I knelt on the floor, beside Kali. Rice cakes were brought by a maid. Kali took mine and made me nibble it from her palm. ÒShe feeds well,Ó Cybil said of me, observing. Tea was served. The cups were delicate, lavender-colored. ÒThey are from before the war,Ó Cybil said. ÒI use only the finest. DonÕt drop them, handle them carefully. I would have to bill you a lot if you broke one.Ó I didnÕt have to worry. Kali had me sip from her cup. We shared. She held the cup and I drank, savoring the brew. The steam, curling up, tickled my nose. Alex, seated behind my back, bent down and lifted up my skirt. Carefully he tucked its tail under the edge of my corset, to keep it up. My bottom reared, naked and exposed, a big bulb, cloven. It shone whitely in the firelight. I saw a many-thonged whip lying atop the mantelpiece. Its thongs hung down, web-like, the flicking fire arching up behind them. ÒShe will make a delicious pet,Ó Cybil observed, gazing at me, as if I were nothing but a kitty in a store window. ÒYes,Ó Kali murmured, sipping her tea. ÒAre you ready?Ó Cybil asked at length. Kali, Alex nodded. I kept my chin still. My consent was not needed, perhaps not even wanted. Cybil rose and led us down a hall. As we walked, a couple passed us. They looked newly-dressed. Their clothes were slightly rumpled. ÒBye,Ó they said to Cybil. ÒBye,Ó she replied. I passed them red-faced, my bottom bare, not allowed to restore my dress. The man commented to his wife that I had a Òwonderful arse.Ó I thought then that we might be escorted into some kind of Dungeon of Doom, Doom IV perhaps, complete with monsters wielding whips and truncheons. Instead Cybil took us out back, into a leafy yard shaded from the surrounding houses by big maples. Under the canopied spread of the trees I saw you could do most anything you wanted, provided you didnÕt play to loudly. I saw a cloth lying in the close-clipped grass, stepped over it. A gag. Yes, thatÕs what it was. Cybil, following me, bent and picked it up and slipped it quietly into the back pocket of her jeans. Perhaps she expected to use it later. Or maybe she was just picking up. I felt the self-conscious roll of my nude bottom cheeks as she guided us over to three lawn chairs. Again, there was one too few for me. ÒDown, Melody,Ó Cybil commanded. She pointed to a cushion on the grass, beside a chair. Kali plopped into the chair, not bothering to tuck her short skirt under her before sitting down. Her pantied ass rested on the plastic strips of the chairÕs seat. Her panties were so small that they could only keep the lower halves of her cheeks covered; though her skirt, settling in folds over her crotch and rear, kept AlexÕs prying eyes from discerning more. Obediently I knelt on my cushion. I liked obeying, did not know why. Alex seemed discomfited as he dropped into a chair near Kali. His pants bulged more than ever. Cybil sat in a chair right next to his, placing him very favorably between two females, with me at his knees. I was wedged between his chair and KaliÕs, as if I were an afterthought. The sun, though, just now settling into the treetops, lit me with its rays as well as my Ôbetters,Õ illuminating most remarkably my bare bottom. I wished it would hurry up and set, to hide my naughtiness in the oncoming night. Cybil gazed up at the back of her house, as if beckoning our eyes to follow. There were windows, some with curtains drawn, others with their shades or blinds open. Hers was an old house, unique in its characteristics, well-lived in. I imagined all the faces that had peered out of those windows over the years. Even now some of CybilÕs other guests might be looking out, watching us. Did they like my bottom? What would they think of me if Alex put me over his knee and spanked me? Or Kali? I shivered despite the warmth of the sunshine. Birds flitted in the trees, calling, mating. ÒNow Alex,Ó Cybil said, turning her eyes to him, stretched out in the chair beside him. ÒAs a little boy, have you ever wanted to pull your thing out and show it to people? To strangers?Ó Alex cleared his throat. He seemed about to answer when, as if on cue, a maid came out, bringing us lemonade. She was nine, no older. Alex pondered CybilÕs question as the maid served us. She seemed as submissive as I. Quiet as a stealthy nymph she brought three glasses on a tray, none for me. I was forgotten. She did not remark on my presence. She was well-trained. Alex admired her in her short little maidÕs dress. She returned to the house, her bottom cheeks wiggling excessively, deliberately, flipping the tail of her skirt around. ÒHmmm?Ó Cybil asked Alex. Her eyes gazed meaningfully at his tented crotch. ÒWell...Ó Alex began. His hands clutched his chilly glass. I wanted some lemonade, had no glass of my own. I tilted his glass to my lips and sipped from his. The kitchen windows at the back of the house gazed at us. I thought I saw a little head bob in one of them. Was it giggling? ÒDonÕt worry,Ó Kali said, speaking over my head. ÒYou do not need to take your penis out. It would be most improper.Ó Her words seemed to contradict Cybil, to clash with her over control of this handsome male in our midst. ÒIf you do, though,Ó Kali continued, Òyou cannot put it back in. And I assure you that I will have to punish it.Ó ÒThatÕs right,Ó Cybil said, piggybacking onto KaliÕs lewdness. They were shrewd mistresses of this man in our midst; creative, impromptu in their control. ÒAlex, youÕd best keep it tucked in where it belongs. Because once you take your penis out, if you do, we will have to tell you what to do with it. Have you ever been to a little girlÕs tea party, Alex? Well, youÕre at one now, because there are three of us girls and only one of you. None of us have penises, Alex, so please donÕt embarrass us by taking out your thing. And especially donÕt take it out when my maid is serving us. You would be very evil indeed to let a little girl see your big bad penis.Ó Alex harumphed. ÒWho is she, anyway? And what is she doing here?Ó ÒSheÕs my niece,Ó Cybil replied. ÒSheÕs only visiting for a day or two. IÕve told everyone to be on their best behavior. That includes you, Alex.Ó I did not know whether to belive Cybil. A nose pressed itself to the glass of the kitchen window. How long had such a little waif lived here? Alex seemed in turmoil. All his beliefs, all his morals, were on the line now. Had Cybil planned this? Had Kali known? How could she? They had just met. Yet their minds had woven together quickly, torturing Alex, just as Kali had promised him, just as he had asked. Every chance event was brought into play, used to mount his tension up higher. ÒAh, youÕre nothing but cunts, all of you,Ó Alex said, and promptly unzipped himself. ÒAlex! Please donÕt be rude at our little party by showing us your thing!Ó Cybil scolded. AlexÕs underpants bulged through the opening created in his trousers. ÒThere are people watching, Alex,Ó Kali warned. ÒNot just women, but undoubtedly men too. Do you want them comparing themselves with you? Do you want the females looking at your thing and sizing it up against that of their own lover?Ó ÒAlex, I expect you to behave properly at my little bed and breakfast,Ó Cybil chimed in. ÒEspecially with my little niece present. It would be very offensive for you to take out your manhood and show it off in front of everybody.Ó I looked up. I thought I saw a pair of eyes staring from an upstairs window. Two more seemed to join them. The light was still bright outside and I could not be sure... There were many watching perhaps, eyes in each window, if they werenÕt busy. Resting between bouts of love they gazed down upon us, remembering perhaps their own presentation in the yard. Pop! Alex opened his underpants and released himself. Like children, Cybil and Kali emitted short screams. I joined them, relishing a loud ÒEeek!Ó even as I marveled at the spectacle of AlexÕs throbbing cock. ÒGod, thereÕs so much of it! It may take me hours to punish a big piece of meat like that,Ó Kali swooned. I sipped again from AlexÕs glass, raising my eyes to him as I received the lemony fluid on my tongue. It was fresh, newly-squeezed. Cybil took AlexÕs cock twixt her fingers, admired it in the sunlight. She took his lemonade glass and smiled at him. Gently she thrust his big manhood directly into the glass, letting the stinging, cold lemonade wash over it. Alex grimaced, savoring the feeling even as it distressed him. ÒNow drink it,Ó Cybil told me, taking out AlexÕs cock and passing the lemonade glass over to me. I took it, feeling the wetness of the glass in my palms. ÒDrink it all,Ó Cybil commanded. Working my throat, I gulped it down. Alex gazed bemused at his cock. It was wet, dripping. Cybil let it stem freely in the air once more. I passed the empty lemonade glass to her and she set it aside on the grass. The maid returned. Alex stared in horror as she walked out, silent but precociously wriggling, and bent over and picked up the glass. When she stooped down I could see her undies. They were soft, cottony white. I saw the inrolling of her little bottom cheeks, knew Alex did to. ÒWhy do you allow her to be here?Ó Alex asked. ÒShe is properly dressed sir. You are the one who is not,Ó Cybil replied. ÒDonÕt worry, I learned all about penises in elementary school,Ó the maid replied. She presented herself to Alex, as if addressing Santa at Christmas. Alex seemed to stiffen even more at the thought that she might want to sit in his lap. ÒWhatÕs your name?Ó the maid asked. ÒMineÕs Becky.Ó ÒAl-Ó he could not say more. ÒAl Bundy? You sell shoes?Ó Becky giggled. She turned to Cybil. ÒYour shirt looks like a bib,Ó she remarked. ÒYes, dear, to catch sperm spills,Ó Cybil replied. ÒOh, yes. I learned about that too,Ó Becky said, returning her eyes to Alex. ÒPlease donÕt play with yourself, Al, because I learned that when men play with themselves all this yucky white stuff shoots out!Ó ÒDo you ever play with yourself, Becky?Ó Alex asked. His voice trembled a little. It was a forbidden conversation. Janet Reno would not have hesitated to arrest him. ÒA little,Ó Becky said. Inspired, she put a hand between her legs and rubbed herself. ÒEven though IÕm not supposed to.Ó She flashed a glance at Cybil. Our hostess, however, had lifted up her top and was struggling to free herself from it. Her breasts, unprotected now, jiggled softly on her chest. Her nipples were as hard as my own. ÒItÕs alright, dear,Ó Cybil said. She got off her shirt, tossed her mane twice. It was lovely vampire hair, her breasts like Vampirella. ÒWhy did you take off your bib, mommie?Ó Becky asked. ÒSheÕs your daughter?Ó Alex groaned. ÒNo, but I let her call me that,Ó Cybil replied. ÒMy mommieÕs divorced,Ó Becky explained to Alex. Even as she spoke she kept fondling herself. AlexÕs cock stuck up stiffly. Cybil shook her breasts. ÒI just wanted my top off so I could enjoy the last rays of the sun,Ó she said. Her breasts were snow white, they had not been tanned at all, so far as I could see, though the rest of her was lightly tanned. Perhaps she wanted to catch up on the places the sun had missed. It was too late, though, I thought. The sun was shafting through the trees now, its rays distinct sunbeams, glancing off the birds as they passed through them, darting from tree to tree. ÒHow are your new underpants fitting?Ó Cybil asked Becky. She took hold of the girlÕs dress and lifted it up. CybilÕs panties had little flowers printed on them. ÒFine,Ó Cybil answered. She kept her hand within her thighs, enjoying the brush of her fingers against her twat. Becky turned to me. ÒWhy is your bottom bare?Ó she asked. I blushed. I had forgotten my nudity. The caress of the early evening, late afternoon air upon it had become an accustomed luxury. ÒShe doesnÕt have any panties,Ó Cybil explained. ÒWould you let her try yours on?Ó ÒSure,Ó Becky replied frankly. With artless grace she ceased her masturbating and pulled down her undies. ÒNo,Ó Alex groaned. His hands flirted with the stem of his cock. ÒKeep your hands away from that,Ó Kali warned him. ÒItÕs bad enough that you display your rude thing to little girls, right out here where everyone can see you. Please donÕt jerk off in front of us!Ó Alex obeyed. He was given options as much as orders. Would anyone have stopped him if he beat his meat in front of little wide-eyed Becky? She handed me her underpants. I took them. They were small, for junior girlÕs bottoms. I could hardly fit into them, though my hips were still narrow, immature, but with a gentle, swelling grace to them, promising future developments. My bottom stuck out round and full. BeckyÕs was as pert as mine, though little still, the cheeks sweetly swelling, ripe for picking. ÒTry them on,Ó Kali told me. ÒYou must, since she was nice enough to offer them. Becky looked at me expectantly, her hands pressed to her hips. Silently Cybil unzipped the girlÕs raised skirt and drew the garment off her. Becky did not notice, so pleased with herself was she that her new panties were the center of attention. All eyes were upon me as I stood, Kali neatly unzipping my own dress even as I stood. With my heeled shoes I stepped first into one little leghole, then the other. I drew the flower-print panties up my slim calves, over my knees. They stopped halfway up my thighs. ÒOh! They are too small!Ó Becky said sadly. I blushed, my naked dell visible to all who might be watching, my bottom equally naughty. ÒI bet youÕd like them, if you could get them on!Ó Becky assured me. ÒThey are very pretty, donÕt you think?Ó ÒYes,Ó I breathed. ÒMaybe Alex can help,Ó Kali offered. She took me lightly by my hips and turned my bottom to AlexÕs stiff upstanding prong. He seized my hips and drew me back. I felt his pestle come against my rose. ÒGod, you are one hell of a tight cherry!Ó Alex announced. He pulled my butthole deeper into his pronging stiff knob. I felt my O hard-pressed. I did not like the feeling of imminent intrusion. It was harsh, unyielding. I felt like a post was being stuck up against my hole. He yanked me back by my thighs. I gasped. My bottomhole yielded just enough to let his purplish knob butt half-way into it. ÒEeek!Ó Becky screamed. She seemed genuinely concerned for my fate. Her hairless slit slumbered between her carelessly open legs. She showed her puss without knowing it. Cybil put a hand to her bottom and caressed it gently. ÒItÕs alright, darling. These are adult games,Ó Cybil assured little Becky. ÒWould you like to run upstairs and take your bath now?Ó ÒN-Nooo,Ó Becky replied, not taking her eyes off my fate, AlexÕs prong deep-pressing into my wanton hole. Alex reached up. Satisfied for the moment with his achievement, he undid the remaining buttons on my jacket. He pulled it open, showed my breasts. They joggled with unexpected delight into the open air. My nipples were as erect as his cock. Kali slipped off her skirt. She undid her top, freed herself from her bra. Were were getting naked now, no doubt about it. The time for pleasantries and feigned innocence had passed. Cybil, not wanting to be left behind, unzipped her jeans and stood up and shimmied out of them. Becky, still in her flaring maidÕs top, her hips and legs bare, looked like some denizen of a childrenÕs book, dressed only from the neck to her navel. She lifted up her top then, exposing her belly-button. She was eager, excited. I felt a new nudge against my ass. Alex was in to his flange now, his leaking penis tip well within me, lubricating my heinieÕs channel. ÒWhat? What is he doing to her?Ó Becky asked Cybil. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were bright. I wanted to gloss her little nine-year-old lips with my favorite lipstick. ÒHe is sperming her, dear,Ó Cybil replied. She sat down again, bare-bottomed on the lawn chair. She drew Becky closer and palmed her heinie. Stealthily her other hand slipped up BeckyÕs leg to massage her cunt. ÒOh! Please!Ó Becky said. She hunched forward, squeezed her thighs together. Her hands raised her shirt and she toyed with her nipples. They were pretty, nickel-sized. Already they had formed into swelling peaks. The Mayo Clinic would drug her to make her flat chested again. Psychiatrists would interrogate her. The state would put her in an orphanage because she knew too much. Kali pulled her panties down off the outcurved swell of her bottom. She got them down in front just enough to easily slip her hand in. Playing with her cunt, she reached out and brushed mine with her fingertips. Alex pulled harder on my thighs, gripping them. With a gasp I felt his cockhead embed itself in me fully. ÒYou are popped,Ó he said to me. There was mastery, satisfaction in his voice. ÒYes,Ó I breathed. ÒNot until you open her fully, all the way up,Ó Kali corrected him, me. Becky squeaked as Cybil deftly inserted a fingertip into her bottom. ÒDo not flinch, dear,Ó Cybil cooed to Becky. Her words soothed me also. ÒReceive, let yourself enjoy it.Ó ÒItÕs big,Ó I gasped. I felt as if a huge cork had been stuffed in my asshole. I wanted it out. ÒPlease mommie!Ó Becky whined. ÒWill you go take your bath now?Ó Cybil asked. ÒI canÕt,Ó Becky admitted frankly. She was too excited now. ÒAlex will pee on you then, and that will have to be your bath,Ó Cybil replied. ÒEeek!Ó A little girlÕs favorite expression. Becky leapt up, hands at her cheeks. Cybil let her unplug herself from her finger, draw back from her cunt-seeking hand. Becky turned and dashed for the house, her legs flashing, bottom rearing at us as her cheeks bounced with the pounding of her little feet. ÒSuch a sweet thing,Ó Cybil said. She rose from her chair. Naked as a jaybird she walked over to Kali and lifted her up from her chair. As if to enforce some code of politeness for guests, she straightened KaliÕs panties a bit, tugging at the bows that decorated the vee of her crotch. But she did not bother to pull KaliÕs panties back up over her butt. It stuck out bare and inviting. It was a pumpkin waiting to be slipped into with a knife. The girls advanced on Alex. ÒDo you think your pleasure can come so soon?Ó Cybil asked Alex. Kali seemed to agree that this must not be so. Together they grabbed me by my slim arms and yanked me off his prodder. I felt a withdrawn plug, then a pop, then air replacing what had been so enormously full just a second before. My O thankfully shrank back to its normal size. Blushing, I rubbed my bottomcheeks as soon as the girls let me go. Alex stared up at me, wishing his big thing was back inside me, where no doubt he thought it belonged. Kali took hold of AlexÕs cock. He alone was dressed, amongst us. She yanked on his pecker. ÒCome, sir,Ó she admonished, though I knew her not to be commanding what he wanted so badly. He stood, his big form replying to the yank of her small hand upon his dick. Engorged, trembling with desire, Alex stood. His thing stuck out as Cybil and Kali set about making the rest of him as naked as it was. They tore off his clothes, politely, but with firm resolution. Discarded, his clothes hit the grass, perhaps to be trampled upon later by Becky, playing in the yard. ÒWe shall go to a proper dungeon now,Ó Kali whispered into AlexÕs ear. ÒYou must be trained, sir, and your penis whipped, your balls lashed.Ó ÒI-I wish only to fuck now,Ó Alex replied. He seemed dazed. His hunger overpowered him, made him strangely docile. Did he want this? I mused. Guessing, I realized he must be new to sex, or able to get it whenever he wished. Either way, he wanted someone else to take charge this time. He wanted to be relieved of the responsibility. I had no responsibilities. He was the boytoy and I was the pet. Together we would mate in the barn, rut in the stables. We would have nice children who would never disobey and would always vote Republican. ÒLetÕs go!Ó Kali said. She slapped my ass. In my musings IÕd not realized they were moving toward the house. Cybil walked ahead, lockstep with Alex, admiring his cock as he pointed the way to wherever she might go. Kali urged me forward, pushed me. In my high heels I stepped, stumbled across the grass, she following. She gave my ass another playful slap and said I would make a good victim. Unclothed, naked as the day we were born, we entered into the still coolness of the house. Cybil unlocked a door along the hall. She saw to it that we passed into the room beyond. It was dark inside, cold. I shivered. I drew my arms about my chest in the darkness. Only my bottom, so recently warmed by KaliÕs hand, did not at once feel chilly. The door to the room closed. The sound of its closing was loud. It echoed off stone walls. The lights were flicked on. I let out a little scream. We were not alone. Couples gazed out at us, lost in sexual bliss. Males rodded females, who came upon seeing us. Girls crouched in cages, sipping wine from upraised dog dishes, their bodies white, marked here and there with red stripes, evidence of discipline imposed and well-received. Against one wall a girl stood, clad in nothing but a corset, her stockings pulled down, her garters swinging free, identical to me save that my stockings were still up. Behind her a woman, her titties and pussy showing, a strange uniform crisscrossing her figure but hiding nothing, lashed into the girl with a whip. The girl yelped, begged. The woman cared not to hear, laid on more strokes. The girlÕs bottom was lovely, white where she usually wore her swimsuit, tanned where the swimsuit did not cover. SheÕd worn a kind of thong swimsuit, I saw, though not as narrow in back, letting the outside curves of her now-indrawn ass bounce freely under the summer sun. She was paying for letting her ass cheeks hang out like that now: the woman beat her again and again, laying bright bruising strokes upon her tender flesh wherever she struck. Instinctively I reached out, grabbed the nearest hand. It was AlexÕs. My eyes continued to drink in the scene before us. I saw a girl bound to a rape rack, standing but not standing, her knees long since bowed, exhausted. Her cunt was rent open and there was sperm dripping very obviously from it. Her entire body, in fact, was splattered with male reproductive fluid, as if a hundred Indians had mauled and raped her and left her dying in the desert heat. Her boobs, sticking out firmly despite the mistreatment, jiggled softly with her every quiet moan. Her mouth was forced open with a spring-jaw and I saw that she had been fucked deeply in it, sperm smearing her cheeks and matting her hair, drying as it trickled down her lips and neck. She had practically drowned in the stuff! I guessed. And then I saw the Indians, white-men actually, lying in satisfied contentment at her feet. Were they her masters or her slaves? She breathed quietly, seemingly the sole survivor of the orgy, her males all asleep, as exhausted as she. ÒThis is Hell,Ó Cybil announced to us proudly. ÒMy favorite room, where you can always count on something going on. You can even flick off the lights from a hidden switch in the kitchen, and they wonÕt mind a bit. TheyÕre too busy, you see.Ó Groans assailed our ears. Sperm odors and cunt juice mingled on the air. ÒHow-how long have they been here?Ó Kali asked. ÒSome stay for days. Others just a while, though I daresay you can get locked in in a place like this. I let people out once a day, or more often if I wish. ItÕs a great room if you donÕt have much money but want to stay for awhile. In here you could, I suppose, stay forever. Once in a while I have the place hosed down. I just gave them dinner a little while ago. It must have refreshed them, for they are at it again. Sometimes Becky lets people in and out. Only IÕm supposed to know where the key is, but she discovered it.Ó I had not seen her take up the key, guessed sheÕd done it passing through the kitchen, as Kali hurried me toward the house. Perhaps sheÕd made Alex close his eyes so he would not see. She held it now, a big iron ring with one long key dangling from it. A dungeon key, a prison key from an old west movie. Except this was the 20th century and I was as imprisoned as the rest of them now. There was a knock at the door. Cybil turned, unlocked it, lovely in her nakedness, her long mane swaying as she worked the key in the door, thrusting it in, twisting it. She pulled open the door and a man and a woman came in, fully dressed, a naked girl between them. She was blonde, blindfolded, skinny and leggy, but with wonderful big boobs and an ample bottom. ÒYou look dressed for church!Ó Cybil chided the couple. ÒWe tied her up while we made love,Ó the woman replied, caressing the girlÕs fanny. ÒShe watched, listened, but could do nothing. It was lovely seeing her yearning figure in the corner, her nipples stiff, her cunt wanting. Then we showered and dressed. Now itÕs her turn, but sheÕll be lucky to get anything out of my husbandÕs cock. I pumped him dry.Ó The womanÕs eyes glanced at her hubby. ÒUnless, that is, heÕs inspired by whipping a maidenÕs ass.Ó ÒI might be. ItÕs lovely enough,Ó the man replied. ÒItÕs his secretary. From work. I caught them exchanging love notes,Ó the woman replied. ÒItÕs her fault,Ó the man said, nudging the girlÕs ass with his thumb, tracing the furrow there. ÒGo forward and grab your ankles, you cunt!Ó Trembling, blind in her blindfold, the girl stumbled forward a few steps. Her mouth was open, her lips wet, seeking. She wore spiked heels that made her steps unsteady. Then, perhaps sensing she had best obey quickly, the girl bent right over and took hold of legs. ÒLower,Ó the woman admonished. The girl, holding her calves, slid her hands down to her ankles. Her ass, desirable and round, presented itself to us, all white and unblemished. The man drew off his belt and I knew she would not remain unflawed for long. ÒWiden your stance,Ó the woman ordered. The girl hesitantly drew apart her legs, showing us the fig of her cunny. In front her breasts hung down, gourds ripe for milking. Her lovely hair fell forward. It brushed the stone floor. All quiveringly she was then, bare-bottomed, awaiting her fate. I could almost hear her little gulps, anxious, her teats quiveringly heavily. I wanted to run to her, to put my small hand over her bumptious bottom, to protect it from the heavy belt that dangled in her masterÕs hand. Yet my excitement stayed me. I was as eager as the man himself, I think, to see this darling girl brought butt-wriggling to the heights of torment, and of inevitable passion. He would fuck her, I knew, when her bottom was red and her cries howling, indriving he would pierce her, spike her with his tool. Holding her to him he would pump out his spermy essence. Did I wish the same for myself? I felt suddenly as tremulous as this girl, my own breasts moving up, down, up again with my every halting, uncertain breath. In my cunny I felt a new wetness, so exquisite. I felt empty, desperately empty, and wanted to be filled. The man, so near to me, his cock was out, Alex. Out and rearing. Holding AlexÕs hand I turned to him. Our palms were wet with sweat. The room was muggy. ÒOh, Alex, would you do that to me?Ó I saw Kali glance at Cybil. I did not know myself whether I was asking Alex if he would be so evil, or so good to me.Ó Fascinated we watched hand in hand as the deliciously bent over girl stood with hovering bottom, with hanging breasts and fallen mane, before her master. My nipples were erect, my clitty fully budded, my pubic hair stood revealed to wandering eyes. And Alex too, beside me, stood nude as Adam. We were Adam and Eve, come with Virgil to visit Hell, to see the penitents at their work. The belt was drawn back. The girl must have heard its slither, snake-like for her legs stiffened. Her knees grew taut. THWACK! Across her bottom the belt was sweetly laid, a full, juicy stroke, catching both her darling hemispheres, making her cry out at its stinging touch. She bit her lip, she did not cry out as I thought she might. Good girls must be quiet. Mommie must not hear. Sister must not be awakened. Brother must never know (though he be, in fact, lying with his Newton under the bedcovers, reading of such things on iNet even now). Manfully ÒMasterÓ (I knew not what else to call him) drew back his belt. He was a fisherman, reeling in his rod for the next fling. SWAAACK! A harder stroke. Deeply it impressed itself into the girlÕs cheeks. She wiggled, her perturbation increasing now. ÒKeep still, your legs wide!Ó the woman instructed. Her words were toneless, words of impeccable command. They neither chastised nor reproved. They merely expected. She would behave. She would do as she was told. She would receive her punishment, which I knew to be richly UNdeserved. ÒOhhh, it hurts!Ó my heroine, my young companion, fellow-traveler in love whined. ÒOf course it does, darling, as it should. Thou shalt not commit adultery.Ó WHACKCK! A double salute flamed across the girlÕs upturned ass then, cheek juddering. Zeus blinding a slim, full-bottomed Earth with his bolts. ÒWhooo-ooooh!Ó the girl cried out. Her bottom rolled, gyrated. She could not still its motions now. Round and round she ground it, reminding me of little Becky in the yard, wilfully moving her little ass so sexily. ÒTell me that you will never try to have my husband again,Ó the woman called out to the girl. There was silence, despite the girlÕs obvious agony. She coughed, she bit her lip, she sobbed out little sobs. But she did not say should would not tempt the very man who now reproved her. ÒYou may have others,Ó the woman said to the girl. ÒWhy do you think we brought you here? Do you think I want a sex-starved slut inhabiting my husbandÕs office? Do not worry, my dear, I will see that you get your fill of cock, just not my husbandÕs that is all. Is that agreeable to you?Ó ÒNoooo,Ó the girl sighed, sobbed. ÒGive her harder blows,Ó the woman told her husband. ÒShe is utterly wilful. She would destroy our marriage and run off with you and make you her very own. Show me your love by whipping this girlÕs bottom properly!Ó ÒYes,Ó the man agreed. But there was a smile on his face, and his wifeÕs. They were co-conspirators, I thought, playing out an elaborate game. I could see that the man was delighted at the girlÕs faithfulness to him. If anything, her suffering for him was making their bond stronger. He measured out his belt again, weighed it in his palm. Then he drew back and fired in a ghastly blow, making me lift my hand in fright. The belt swung in, fast. It caught the poor girl on the undersides of her quivering hinds. It lifted her up on her toes even as it thundered with a clap across her tenderest portions. ÒAaaaaaa!Ó the girl screamed. Her voice echoed throughout Hell, rousing even the slumbering Indians, staying the hand of the butt-whipping domme in the far distance, her own victim weeping. Up leapt our own pretty girl, dancing on her tip-toes now, forgetting her posture. I clapped my free hand to my cunt and squeezed it, wondering if a ripple in the belt had stung her pouch. Alex grabbed his cock and frigged himself freely, desperately. The girl herself clapped her hands to her ripe bottom. Briskly she rubbed it, trying to ease the sting. Her titties wobbled on her chest, stiff-nippled. Her skinny legs hopped about, knees bending, lovely thighs arching, calves stomping the floor with her pretty spiked feet. I watched her ribs as they indented themselves into her skin. She was lovely as a model, and suffering so sweetly. I did not know I had such thoughts in me. Perhaps it was my surroundings. ÒHell does that to you, dear,Ó Cybil might tell me. I found my cunny moist and fingered myself shamefacedly. Beside me Alex spouted a tribute to the delicious maidenÕs torment. She turned. She made to take off her blindfold but the woman was upon her, bending her over again, facing her away from us once more. I looked at Alex, down at the floor. There, spilt on the stone, was his manhood. A small white puddle, all goopy, lost sons, daughters. ÒAlex!Ó I heard Cybil cry. Kali was upon him. I took my hand from my dell and stared at him. We were peevish. He had spoilt our fun. ÒIt was only the first load,Ó Alex explained. His cock lost its iron firmness as his words came out, softened. His testicles, so balled-up and tight moments before, now sagged, drooped. ÒYou are not here to enjoy yourself, Alex,Ó Kali scolded him. ÒAt least, not until you earn that right.Ó She took him by his cock. Scornfully she pulled at it, bringing a yelp from Alex. Cybil opened the dungeon door for us and we went out, me following, unknowing, stealing a glance over my shoulder, seeing the players in Hell return to their tasks. The girl was bent over again, her sobs open and free now, still resisting, still certain of her heretical love. The girl with the Indian lovers was being raped again, the domme with the gartered beauty was once more at work. Cybil shut the door. I glanced away. I was not to look anymore. I would be like JobÕs wife if I lingered, turned to look again. Cybil would lock me in with them and I would toil the night away, fucked and raped and beaten too, all with love, no doubt, but relentlessly, unceasingly. They would delight in having such a new, innocent virgin in their midst. I would have no protection, no master. I would be alone, naked, my cunny wet, my nipples rigid. Truly it was Hell, entering in bare-skinned, seeing those couples at their unholy work. Worship of the flesh it was, where high-born and low-born mingled like farm animals, peeing, farting, mating and pooping. All together, without regulation, arms and limbs and necks and bottoms all rubbing freely, exploring, seizing, thrusting. And receiving. Most of all, for me, receiving. In all my private places. I would be pillaged by morning, Troy after the sack, my hair disheveled, my makeup trashed, my arms and legs aching, my cunny sore. My nipples would perk painfully, hating their stiffness. My mouth would be filled with drying cum. My bottomhole would bubble like some gurgling hot spring at Yellowstone. My hands would be sleek with caked sperm. Ah, how I shivered, walking away from all that. Cybil treaded softly behind me, seeing my hips sway, knowing my wants, my wretched needs. Here in this amazing place new thoughts came to me, unbidden. Thoughts from girlhood dreams, but more vivid, of hunters on the chase, of little fawns running, of Paul Bunyan stooping down and grabbing me up from my woodland rabbithole. His cock bulged in his trousers. His axe threatened to rend me if I did not obey. I would be his bedmate, or his dinner. It was my decision, yes. Either way I would have to spread. To be stuffed in bed, or in the kitchen, turkey-like, for his evening meal. ÒCome, such fine equipment must not go to waste,Ó Kali teasingly told Alex. He was limp now. I saw his genitals as he passed a hallway mirror. KaliÕs voice was sardonic. Yet I knew her words to be truthful, for in his hardness he was amazing indeed. A cockstand fit for a champion, I thought. He had eaten Wheaties as a boy and they had grown him up tall as the wheatfields of Kansas. Where it counted. The third leg. A leg of lamb, or of cock, my dear. We shall stuff it up your turkey-twat. Instinctively I touched myself. Cybil, behind me, saw my squeezing, noted the pressing juncture of my thighs. ÒDo you have to pee?Ó she asked. ÒA little,Ó I answered. We both knew, though, that it was passion that had impelled my hand. Our eyes met. I thought her pretty then, her full gypsy figure, bosoming into my bosoms, her hips wider than mine, full-formed. I felt a yearning as I had not ever before. A woman? Was I, a female myself, so impressed with a fellow female that I would...? God, love is strange. It was the environment, I know. The big house, the echoing halls. From the outside it looked unimpressive but once within its walls new expanses seemed to appear. Dr. Who in his phone booth, traveling the lanes of love. Yes, I was the Good Doctoress, wasnÕt I? Exploring in the name of science. Kali looked over her shoulder. There was a grin on her face. She squeezed AlexÕs behind reassuringly, impelling him forward. Lost in his loss he did not know of my imminent departure. ÒI had a pet dog once,Ó Cybil began, gazing into my eyes. ÒA little dog. I lived in an apartment then. When it wanted to pee I took it outside for a little walk. The gentlemen admired me. And my little dog too.Ó Did I hear the voice of the Wicked Witch of the West? Was I in Oz now, threatened, or loved? Cybil turned me about. ÒIt frames your ass beautifully, but really, doggies do not need such things,Ó she said of my corset. She unlaced me. I stood quietly. I liked having the corset off. Why wear it, when I was otherwise naked? It seemed unfair. A kind of last remnant of civilization, of morality, in a world, a displaced place, that had freed itself of such cumbersome things. Cybil eased the corset off my figure. I breathed easily. I found new freedom in the sleek hefting of my ribs beneath my breasts, expanding as I breathed. Cybil stroked my mane of blonde hair. Her hands flitted over my bottom. She turned me round. I faced her. My cunny tingling, my breasts thorn-like at their peaks, I let my eyes gaze into hers. They were mysterious, plotting. ÒThe shoes are perfect,Ó she said. ÒBut you need a collar, a leash.Ó I let her fingers play over my hips, trace their outlines. I wanted to explore new frontiers with her. To go where no girl had gone before. We would go to places John Luc Picard never dreamed of. Cybil took me into the kitchen. She opened a drawer. She took out a collar. It was made of rough leather. She buckled it on me. ÒToo tight?Ó she asked. I nodded. She loosened it a notch. I felt the leather against my skin. The inside of it had been softened somehow. It was not uncomfortable. She attached a leash to me from behind. I wore the collar backwards. The leash ran down my back and its tip settled in my bottomcrack. I felt as if I were being silently invaded by it. When I shifted my weight it moved, rustled. ÒSo pretty,Ó Cybil said, admiring me. ÒCome upstairs with me. I must dress. We must take a walk in the park so you can pee. Do you have to poop? Here, have these granola bars. Munch on them while you await me.Ó I looked at the bars. I could not believe her wickedness. ÒYou could not,Ó I breathed. I wanted to obey, to be her friend, but it was so strange, so bizarre. It was the kind of thing you read about on a.s.s., saying to yourself, ÔOh sure, sure this would happen. Sure they would do this. Exon should ban stuff like this, it is so silly.Õ But, perhaps because of the impossibility of it in my mind, the utter nonsensicalness of it, I lifted the granola bar to my lips and bit into it. ÒMmmm, roasted chestnuts,Ó I admitted, smiling at the taste. ÒWith a mild laxative,Ó she replied. They were medicinal bars, but they tasted good. ÒEat your fill, I want you to make a nice poop in the park, in front of all the gentlemen. I have a pooper-scooper, donÕt worry. If youÕre too runny afterward I can give you something to stop you up again. But there shouldnÕt be any problem. ItÕs mostly just wholesome food. Fill up your tummy. I may lock you in the dungeon afterward and mightnÕt get anything more for days.Ó I bit again. I felt like a fish. I was hooked. She had me, my cunny wet and tingling, my nipples poking up at her, my breasts uptilted in their fulsomeness. She watched me eat a moment, then turned, beckoned me to follow. Upstairs we went together. We held hands on the stairsteps and mounted them together. In the distance I heard a man groan and the cracking of a leather whip. Alex. Kali. I knew he was getting punished for spilling his seed. ÒHe deserves it,Ó I said smugly to Cybil. She smiled, said nothing. Despite her arousal, Cybil encumbered herself with clothes. She put on panties first. Then stockings, drawing them tight, hooking them with the garters of a corset she made me tie her into. Then came a hooped skirt, eighteenth-century style. Lastly a bonnet, and a parasol. She repaired her makeup, then mine. ÒCome, dear, we must have your walk now,Ó she said to me. I felt shiveringly vulnerable in my nakedness. At the door she donned gloves. A final touch of civility. Then we left her bedroom behind. Did I envy her her clothes? I did not know. Surely I would soon. It depended on where we went, didnÕt it? Were we leaving the house? Surely we could not! Downstairs we went. Near the front door she stopped. She turned into a small bathroom. She took a towel from the towel bar there. She brought it to me folded over her arm. ÒHere, put this on,Ó she said. I took it from her. It smelled fresh. It was soft. Carefully I wrapped it around myself. It barely fit. I saw how it indented my breasts, leaving them bulging out, just covering the nipples. Below it just stretched far enough to hide my pubis. ÒThey will think we are going to a public bath,Ó Cybil smiled. She took my hand. ÒWhat about Kali?Ó I asked. ÒNo matter,Ó Cybil replied. Alex has his hands full with her. He doesnÕt need another tormentress. He will wish soon he hadnÕt paid for her services, let alone yours.Ó We approached the front door together, hand-holding, girls going to nursery school together. Leaning against the front door I saw it. A pooper-scooper. Who had placed it there? Becky? Did she know of my fate? I blushed deeply, thinking she might. That such a little urchin should know... We stepped outside. It was dark. Somberly the street lights lit the pavement with little pools of light. A police car slipped past, unseeing. We stood on CybilÕs porch, bathed in shadow. A limo pulled up. It was rented, I saw. The driver! He at least would see me! I could not bear the thought. Cybil pressed my hand firmly, drew me forward. I stumbled down the front porch steps. My heels were spiky, showy. They were not good for walking in. Tucking a finger into the top of my towel to keep it up, I walked down the frontyard walkway with Cybil beside me. I dared not glance to the left or the right. My hair hung alongside my eyes, hiding my face a little, disguising me. I thought I heard laughter in the distance, voices. Were people sitting out on their front porch? It was warm out. I prayed they were inside, their voices drifting out through open windows. The limo driver got out, awaited us. He opened the limo door. Cybil made me get in first, followed. I smelled fresh leather, clean, newly polished. I was glad of it. My bare bottom made contact with it. I held the towel to me, clinging to it like some stricken passenger might hold a life preserver on the drowning Titanic. We sped away from CybilÕs house, from Hell. But where were we going? Cybil took out a blindfold from some hidden place in her bodice. ÒYou must not know, dear, it is the rules,Ó she said. Quietly she tied the blindfold over my eyes. I sat still, feeling the soft swathing fabric bind me. I was blind now, a young Oedipus. When she was done Cybil stroked my nearest thigh. Shiveringly I sat beside her, anxious, uncertain. I was a fawn. I had submitted to the huntress. I did not have to be shot. We rode. We arrived. I was taken from the limo. I was brought inside, still blindfolded, unknowing. I heard voices. We walked, me unsteady in my heels, Cybil firmly striding, guiding me. My blindfold was unfurled. I blinked. I was in a backyard garden. My breath caught in my throat. My titties bobbed on my chest in surprise. I saw gentlemen, suavely dressed, women too, some attired like Cybil. ÒWhat a pleasant surprise,Ó a woman said, coming forward. She had red hair. It was piled atop her head. She wore a formal gown, all frilly, sequined. Without any introduction she took my chin, kissed me on my mouth. Her tongue drove into me and stabbed within my mouth. She released me. She drew back. She smiled. ÒMay I walk my doggie?Ó Cybil asked. Her voice was sweet, plaintive. ÒYes, please do,Ó the woman answered. Cybil took me by my leash. She lifted it off my back, out of the slumbering crease of my bottom. ÒDown, doggie,Ó Cybil told me. She brushed my long hair with her hand as she spoke. Feeling awkward, almost wanting to laugh, yet mortified, I knelt onto the ground. It was soft grass, Japanese grass. It would not hurt me. ÒUp with your bottom,Ó Cybil said. She lifted her open-toed shoe, pressed her toes to my belly. I leaned forward and arched my butt up. I did not want to, knew I had to. ÒWiggle it, show it off,Ó Cybil urged. I waggled my butt like a dog, feeling ludicrous, blushing deeply. Right down to my toes. ÒAh, delightful creature,Ó I heard a woman sigh. ÒShe is not house-broken, though,Ó Cybil replied. ÒI must use your yard.Ó ÒGo ahead,Ó the red-haired woman answered. She seemed eager to see my display. I felt my need then, knew I had suppressed it on the ride over. But no. I would not do it. I would not embarrass myself in front of these strangers by doing such horrid things. Peeing? Pooping? It was awful, truly! Cybil toed my bottom. ÒGo,Ó she said. I hoped she meant to move, to crawl, for I pawed my way forward across the grass in response. ÒOh! She IS a doggie!Ó Cybil, evidently surprised, cried out. She followed. I pulled on my leash like an eager puppy. The yard was bright as day. Overhead lamps lit my bottom-rolling four-legged crawl across the grass. I found a bed of flowers. Daffodils. Delicately I sniffed them. I liked their fresh scent. I kneed on. I met a man. He gazed down at me, quite pleased with my demeanor. I wagged my tail at him. I could not help it. I felt a fullness in my bladder, in my nether tube. I realized I had to go pretty badly. Could I hold it? Would they let me prance around a bit and then let me get up, like a dignified young lady, and go use the toilet? As I watched the man unzipped himself. His cock stemmed out. The garden party was sprouting new growth. A dozen penises soon burst forth from flies and stood quavering in the air, fully erect, all deliciously over-sized, long and wiggly, with perfect heads. I lost my head, my manners. I squatted as neatly as I could and let my bottom hang behind my heels. I was grateful for their height, now. They would keep me aloft, above the impending puddle. Looking up at the man, I peed into the grass. ÒAh, not housebroken indeed,Ó a woman said behind me. I shivered. It was the redhead. Lightly she caressed my back. When I was finished I stood. The game was over, wasnÕt it? I was heel deep in a puddle. I could not crawl out of it without splashing myself. ÒCome here,Ó the redhead said. She took my hand. I thought she would lead me to the privacy of a bathroom for my number two. Instead she took me out to the daffodils. She turned me around. There was a whiff of lilacs in the air, from nearby bushes. ÒPlease fertilize my plants,Ó she said. She pushed my head down, a hand under my belly. Like a mechanism she bent me forward. I grabbed my knees. She pushed against my back and I let my hands slide farther down my legs in response. My long hair hung down. It wavered softly in the air. The redhead separated my legs. I adjusted, letting her part me, knowing I could not do otherwise. Cybil appeared beside me, her pooper-scooper in her hand, but I guessed she would not get to use it. My shit was needed, according to the redhead. ÒPoop,Ó the redhead commanded. I felt my titties flinch at that. My bottom quavered. I did not want to. I felt the enema at work, the laced granola bars. Their remains slid down my chute. I drew in my cheeks, trying to stop them. I felt fullness. ÒBear down, child,Ó the redhead said, stroking my hinds with swirling fingertips. In a moment I would be dirty. I gritted my teeth. I flexed my cheeks, feeling a sliding within me. And then, then I knew. Something big was nosing its way out of my hiney. My virgin hole. Nothing had ever gone up it. But this one was big, coming down. Would it prepare me? A plop. I looked between my slim, spread legs. At my heels, just beyond the spikes, a big turd lay upon the daffodils. It would nourish them. I felt another one coming. ÒAh, a perfect stool,Ó the redhead announced. People gathered round me. There was a murmuring. Cocks were fondled. Dresses were upraised and pussies sought. ÒGood, good,Ó the redhead told me. I heard a snip. A branch was passed to her from a nearby tree. It was a birch branch, newly budded. I did not like that. It scared me. I urged my bowels to expel the turds faster. Plop! Plop! Two more. I felt grateful. I thanked myself for eating just the right amount of granolas. Enough to actually go, when needed, here in the garden; not so many as to embarrass myself. I had not planned it. I had prayed. God had answered. Hoping to avoid the birch, I knelt again. I felt a last tardy turd make its way down my passage. I spread my knees on the grass. I forced it out. Then, lickety-split, I headed across the grass. My leash trailed out behind me and dragged along, loosely. I was a loose doggie. Someone would have to catch me. I spied a sprinkler. Yes! God was with me tonight, despite my immense sinfulness. I drew the leash into a coil in front of me. I turned around. I backed into the sprinkler. I felt a rush of terrible excitement as I gasped at the icy sprinkler water spritzing onto my behind. I was douching myself, right here, at the garden party! In front of two dozen people, elegant strangers. I giggled. It was too silly to be true. Yet I was doing it! I wagged my hiney in the cooling chill of the prickling sprinkler. My lovely hair tumbled over my face, still dry, my boobies hanging dry and bare beneath me. Only my bottom was wet. I kept my legs apart, trying to aim the spray just where it was needed. I was fortunate. It was reasonably well-directed. ÒShe is beautiful beyond belief,Ó a woman said of me, coming up. They all gathered around me. A few stole away, in the distance, to undress more fully. They were unable to wait any longer. Could I wait? I gazed up at the gorgeous cocks arrayed over my head. I licked my lips. Instantly I knew it was a mistake, for they all interpreted it as an invitation. The birch was passed forward. The woman took it, the one who had so recently complimented me. She had long blonde hair pinned up in a bun, a few strands hanging down. She was still in her fancy gown, a true Lady welcome at any ball. ÒBad dog!Ó she said. She brought the birch firmly down on my rump. I cried out. I did not want this! I looked up at Cybil pleadingly. My bottom, bitter-stung, bounced behind me. My mouth hung open, agape. My bosoms bounced their nipples above the grass. ÒIt must be so,Ó Cybil said sweetly, courteously. ÒThe price must be paid.Ó ÒBad doggie!Ó the blonde said again. Her hair was whitish-blonde. Her face was delicate. Her tits bulged out above the confines of her low cut gown. Swiftly she brought the birch down again. I yelped. Like a doggie I yelped. My bottom stung all over. I felt as if IÕd backed into a rosebush. Tears brimmed in my eyes. I had backed into a beeÕs nest, thatÕs what! A whole swarm of them! A few extra strands were free now of the blondeÕs pinned-up bun. A nipple popped free of her dress, stiff from her exertions. My eyes met hers. We were two blondes together. Gentlemen prefer blondes, donÕt they? She preferred me with a sore hiney. ÒBad, bad, doggie!Ó the blonde admonished again, giving me a third. I bolted under the blow. I ran, crawling, dashing on my knees across the grass. The people laughed. They made way for me with my swinging tits. My ass churned through the cool night air, red-speckled from the birch. I heard someone shout that I should be greased down and made into a pig. My leash was caught. Alas, the curse of every household pet! The blonde came forward. I cowered. I could not take any more. She smiled at me. There was a communion between us. I realized she might have played this game, months before, last summer perhaps. ÒOne more,Ó she said to me. Her eyes were bright. She reminded me of a blonde on MTV, a game show host. I saw her naughtiness. Her silken hair was tousled. Strands hung freely down around her eyes, her ears. Her nipples had wiggled free of her dress, both of them, though her bosoms were still firmly gripped by the dress farther down. They looked like half-birthed babies. Twins. ÒThatÕs it,Ó the blonde said to me. With awful fright I raised my bottom up for her. My legs shook. I knew this one would be the worst. I could guess it in her eyes. ÒYes,Ó she breathed. She waited, savoring the wicked blow. ÒOh, please get it over with!Ó I begged. My hiney was high, too high, high as the clouds, scorched by the sun, though it had long since set. The yardlights illuminated my distress. My bosoms quavered beneath me, full and round and pendant. I sank forward on my shoulders. I could not bear it, no! But I kept my bottom high. My breasts touched, pressed into the grass. WHACK! Deep-impressing the birch came then. I felt it swoop under me, scooping me up, lifting my hiney high as the moon. ÒAughgghgh!Ó I cried out like a banshee. The buds had bitten me, my poor soft hiney, even my cunt! I wailed out my unbelievable, unending pain. Oscillating, grinding, my cheeks clenching for dear life, desperate, I worked my ass. The people laughed. They did not care. They enjoyed my display. And then I felt it. A dozen pricks spouted right onto my burning bottom. It was like the sprinkler again, except the seed was hot, blazing, like my beet-red ass. Suddenly I pressed my face to the grass and abandoned all my principles. I knew what Cybil meant, suddenly, thrusting my hands back. I found my cunt, fingered it. In between the burning pricks where the birch had struck I found my clit. It was unharmed. The blonde was either a very good aim, or I was very lucky, for I had been fully budded when she struck. Gently I massaged my spot, but with passion, yes, feeling it upon my seeking fingertips, loving it. My bottom ground on, spermed, wet, flaming flames of strawberries and cream. Never would I have done this, never! Upreared, my face and shoulders thrust into the padded grass, I rubbed myself to orgasm. Two dozen eyes watched, four dozen! I could not keep track of my surroundings anymore. Crying out my pain, my pleasure, I worked myself to bliss, again! Again! And yet again, in throes of untold dreams and nightmares on the dewy grass. At last I was finished. I was a mess. There was no question. My bottom burned, my cunt was bitten, my breasts had ground their nipples into the earth. My hair and makeup were beyond repair. Quietly, almost as an afterthought, I peed out a new tribute on the earth. I felt Cybil nudging me with her toe. ÒGet up, darling,Ó she said. I turned my face to her. I had grass stains on my cheeks. She saw me wide-mouthed, my tongue lolling on my lower lip, smiled. ÒYou are virgin yet. I have hardly begun with you,Ó she said. I gulped. I could take no more of this. ÒCome, we must treat your bottom,Ó she said to me. ÒAll play and no rest would make for a very worn out wench indeed.Ó Unsteadily I rose. She bent, lifted me. Amidst my bedraggled hair I surveyed the scene around me now. Couples sprawled upon the grass, or on blankets hastily thrown down, imitating me in my so-recent cries. Men fucked women deeply, women worked their bottoms, elevated their cunts in quick successions. All was as if in Hell, except there were no tortures. Just wild, unceasing fucking. The tribute that the men had paid had not finalized the night. In my wild buckings they had gained new strength, watching me. With cries and grunts echoing in my ears Cybil took my hand, led me away. In the distance I saw the blonde, receiving her due. Ah, yes! The redhead had the birch now, it looked worn down. Valiantly she struck the blonde with it, besmirching her bottom, making her sob, as the blonde herself sucked greedily on a manÕs cock. So she received her due also. Good. I found myself impulsive, suddenly. I broke from Cybil and ran to where the redhead stood. I grabbed the branch from her. And then, seeing how hurt the blonde already was, I could not strike her. No, there were too many red lines already, crisscrossing her, too many little bruises marring those lovely, creamy, shuddering round hinds. I dropped to my knees. Feeling absolutely unimpeded by any remaining morality, I laved my hot tongue over the poor blondeÕs bottom. My own knees pressed into the grass. I lost my footing on my heels and knelt like a bitch in heat, bottom upreared once more. The redhead dove down behind me. Immediately she began giving me the same tongue bath I was treating my blonde tormentress to. And Cybil, somewhere back behind it all, took up the birch and raised the redheadÕs skirts. Uncaring, I heard a howl as that well-used birch rod made a new acquaintance. Above us, the moon raced through the clouds. We were werewolves, members of the werewolf club. We had each in turn howled out to the mistress moon and she had shone down upon us, tut-tutting at us. New wonders seized me. The redhead found my clit with her delicate tongue even as Cybil lashed her. I prayed the redhead would not bite me there. Licking, licking, licking she brought me to orgasm. I could not hold it, I groaned and moaned and bucked. I forgot about my chastised bottom. I lived in a world of bliss, eternal, licking the ass in front of me and being licked in turn in back. Rearing we formed a kind of female daisy chain. I think I peed again, doing it there, on the grass. I think the redhead drank my pee. Later, it became obvious we were finished. The game had been completely played out. Mouths separated slowly from cunts. Final kisses were exchanged, in the most intimate places. I arose. I felt abashed. Teetering on my heels I made for the back door of the house. I had not seen it earlier. I had been blindfolded before. I was in a new landscape. Cybil bobbed up beside me, pulling up her dress, her titties hanging free. I saw others, gathering their clothes. People dressed quickly, hastily now, as if not wanting to be the last to be seen in embarrassing nakedness. I had nothing to wear. Cybil passed me a dress, said the wearer was inside somewhere. I heard a shriek. Someone played still. There was the swift unmistakable crack of leather. But the rest were done. I dropped the dress to the grass and stepped into it. I pulled it up. She was slim, whoever she was, now receiving her torments upstairs. I got it up, Cybil slipped the straps up onto my shoulders. They were spaghetti thin. I heard soft moans, a command. Another, quieter slap of the leather. And then then creaking. A bed on springs. They would be done soon too now, unless the male still had much strength left. Perhaps it was a nightcap. ÔOne for the road,Õ for lovers of discipline. I was not one of them. I had cum, yes, but I was going now. I would go home and go back to the health club and get my ass back in shape. I hoped never to have it Ôshaped upÕ again. I would ship out. I would leave all this behind. They would be dreams, memories. Cybil guided me by my shoulder. We passed a gentleman, a lady. She said goodbye to them. I bowed my head, too embarrassed to say goodbye myself. I was submissive again. I was with Cybil. She would take me home. We went out the front door. Cybil took out the blindfold. I looked at her. She tied it gently over my eyes. I must not see, must I? The police would come. They would ruin it. All must be kept anonymous. Except my bottom. Flaming brightly, it knew what had happened. It would be introduced into evidence. The prosecutor would introduce it to the jury. ÒThis is her ass, let me see, mmmm, it is a virgin ass, isnÕt it? IÕd better check, to verify the authenticity of our evidence. She SAYS she has a virgin ass, but we must be sure.Õ He would jab me. The observer would change the observed. The limo came. We got in. I could not sit in it. Cybil had my lie sprawled over her knees, my bottom up. She raised my dress and squirted cold cream on my sore hinds. I shivered. She rubbed, but lightly, gently. I cried softly then. ÒDonÕt worry, you have a healthy bottom,Ó Cybil assured me. ÒIt will be back to normal in just a few days.Ó She grinned. ÒProvided, that is, you stay out of the dungeon.Ó ÒIÕm already in Hell,Ó I groaned. ÒYour bottom will have a sweet sting to it after awhile,Ó she said. ÒA kind of flush. It will present a blushing brideÕs pair of cheeks to all who see it. You must show it off, show what a good girl youÕve been.Ó I bit my lip. A virgin showing off her cherry, blushing hiney. Yes, what a capital idea. Perfect. If you wanted your bum speared by the passing gentry in the hall. ÒNow dear, do not be at all upset about this,Ó Cybil urged me, squirting cream directly on my still injured cunt. ÒDo not let it dampen your enthusiasm. She was a little rough with you, I admit.Ó Cybil eased her fingers over, into my cleft. ÒBut nothing too terrible. I will see to it that you are better treated in the future. The moon was full, you might say, and she got carried away. But a girl must feel it at least once, donÕt you think? That biting, right where it really makes an impression. I think so, anyway. Then you know you are truly female. It is our lot in life, you know, despite the best efforts of NOW and Hillary Clinton. We must receive if the race is to continue. This is but practise. Wait until you have a babyÕs head bulging out between your cuntlips. Then you will REALLY feel something, I can assure you.Ó ÒHave you ever had a baby?Ó I asked. I was pouty now, sulky. My bottom jerked as Cybil touched my sore spots. ÒNot yet,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒBut I will soon. I want to feel it, you know. I want to feel my belly swell with some manÕs seed. The perfect father, of course. He has to be Mr. Right, not just some boytoy. But when I find him IÕll let him rut in me until IÕm quite well pregnant, I assure you. We will do it every night. And when IÕm pregnant too, to make sure I stay that way.Ó ÒIÕve never given birth,Ó I said moodily. ÒI didnÕt think so, dear,Ó Cybil replied. I felt immature then. I wanted to be older. Yes. And she would certainly make me older, wouldnÕt she, if I let her? Still 15, maybe, but Ôroadtested.Õ ÒModel drives well, men find,Ó the headline would read. ÒItÕs our newest,Ó the proprietress told the press Friday. ÒA fine specimen of American engineering.Ó Lee Iacocca would be pleased. America had triumphed again. Except I might be a little sore, after all that test-driving. Ah, well, kick my tires, why donÕcha. Take her for a spin. Well creamed, I got out of the limo. Cybil urged me forward, back to her house, back to new mysteries. I would go exploring once again, I knew. I loved, dreaded it. Betsy met us as we entered. She had on pajamas, clutched a teddy bear. Her thumb was in her mouth. She seemed to have been roused from a late night movie. A cartoon Bugs Bunny squawked in the next room in Dutch. ÒWhere have you been?Ó she asked. Her eyes met mine. I looked a wreck, I could not hide it. I smelled very feminine, too feminine. I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. A smack. The back of BetsyÕs drop seat pants were open. Her little bottom stuck out. Cybil spanked her hand across it. ÒOw!Ó Betsy cried. ÒFasten up your seat,Ó Cybil told her. ÒDon wanna,Ó Betsy replied. But she set her teddy down and lifted up the flap, struggled with the buttons. Her teats budded into the front of her tight-stretched pajamas, forming twin tents. I loved her then. I bent, kissed her lips. ÒYou taste funny,Ó Betsy said. She wiped a hand across her mouth. ÒThen donÕt ask where IÕve been,Ó I replied. I stood. I made to leave. Unknown to me, as I turned, the well-slit evening dress I wore billowed out. ÒYou got a spanking!Ó Betsy cried. She glimpsed my streaked ass, the nearest hind. I, of course, was completely without panties, lucky to have the dress. ÒYes, she went to get a spanking, and now sheÕs back,Ó Cybil told Becky. Without even asking me she pulled up my dress in back and let the poor innocent see my flinching, reddened bottom. ÒW-Why?Ó Becky asked. ÒBecause she wanted one,Ó Cybil lied. At least I hoped it was a lie. ÒItÕs what big girls do sometimes. They get spanked, because they want it.Ó ÒOhhh! I donÕt care how big I get, IÕll never want a spanking!Ó Betsy cried. I loved her self-assurance. For her, the world was determined fact. It would remain so until she was twelve. Then, somehow, it would begin to change. ÒWell, youÕd better not stay up past your bedtime, then!Ó Cybil continued, as I stood with indrawn cheeks, wishing I were someplace else. ÒBut Bugs the Bonker only comes on after midnight,Ó Becky replied. Her eyes were wide. In the next room I thought I heard a pig getting porked with a carrot. ÒWhat?Ó Cybil dropped my dress. The lesson on the bare essential meaning of life was over. ÒWhat are you watching in here?Ó Cybil asked. Traipsing into the room with the television, her hair as mussed as mine, her perfume almost as thoroughly natural, she let out a little howl. ÒGood heavens! This is pornography!Ó she cried. I heard a click. Silence followed. A scampering of footsteps. The teddy was gone, picked up again. ÒWho ever told you you could watch such trash?Ó Cybil scolded Betsy. ÒNobody,Ó Betsy replied, wan-eyed. ÒSkkeeeat!Ó Cybil cried, thrusting out her palms. ÒUpstairs with you, or youÕll look just like Melody there!Ó Betsy scurried past me. Her drop seat pants remained half-unbuttoned, her bottom showing. She dashed up the stairs and was gone. ÒShe can be such a little dickens sometimes,Ó Cybil told me. ÒWell,Ó I answered. My eyes were loving, reproving. ÒAh, yes, I guess IÕm not the best example either,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒBut itÕs all natural, with me. She likes playing maid. Who cares if she sees a boyÕs cock, or a manÕs? TheyÕre all born with them, you know. A boy sees his penis from birth. Does that rob him of his childhood? I think not. ItÕs those T.V. shows that bother me, all artificial, lowest-common denominator. And that SimpsonÕs program. Making fun of cartoons that saw people in half and squirt blood all over the place. ThatÕs the problem in the world, Bosnia, Rwanda, Pol Pot, still at large, I might add, and supported now and then with United Nations funds, IÕll bet.Ó ÒWell, my ass is sore,Ó I said, cutting her off. I felt quite in need of a bath. ÒYes, itÕs your bedtime too, isnÕt it?Ó she smiled. She took my hand. Wriggling still with my soreness, I proceeded up the stairs with her. We bathed together, tenderly, and then shared her bed.*** ÒWake up, silly!Ó Cybil said to me the next morning. I opened my eyes. At first I did not know who she was. ÒI licked you to sleep last night, donÕt you remember?Ó Cybil asked. I blushed. I flexed my thighs. ÒOuch!Ó I said. I remembered my bottom. The rest flooded back. ÒItÕs almost noon,Ó Cybil chided. ÒBetsy canÕt keep breakfast warm forever.Ó ÒUm, no thanks,Ó I replied. Breakfast at TiffanyÕs that wasnÕt, I was sure. I rolled back over on my side to go to sleep. ÒIÕd swat your bottom, but-Ó Cybil said to me. ÒDonÕt you dare!Ó I shrieked. ÒIt will be all better soon,Ó she said, lifting the sheet. ÒYou licked it enough last night,Ó I replied. ÒI was trying to heal it,Ó Cybil said primly. She laughed. ÒSleep if you want to. For all I know youÕll wind up in the dungeon by nightfall, and be kept awake in there for days.Ó ÒNo way!Ó I replied. I stuck my thumb in my mouth. I had seen the outer levels of Hell. I did not need to meet Satan himself. For all I knew the place did go down, down all the way, concentric walled circles spiraling in and down. It had been muggy in there, hadnÕt it? Stephen King would be at the bottom. ÔAnd the scariest thing is, my childhood was perfectly normal!Õ he would grin at me. Anne Rice would be his bride. Hades and Persephone. Ray Bradbury would be their chronicler. I Sing the Body, never mind the Electric. ÔWe have fire down here, sir, hotter than rockets. We are well lit, I can assure you.Õ ÒYou have the cutest dimpled bottom,Ó Cybil remarked. ÒNo thanks to you,Ó I replied. ÒGet up, I insist,Ó she said. She threw the sheets off me, leaving me a naked babe, huddling, fetal-like. ÒOh, you are the winner again,Ó I replied, testily. I had to go to the bathroom. She watched me walk into the toilet, my ass waggling. I had to go worse than IÕd let myself believe. I shut the door behind me, to give me a little privacy. It had no lock. Oh, great. Locks on Hell, but no lock here, where you needed it. I vowed if she opened the door I would spit in her face. She did not. She let me have my little moment. When I came back into the bedroom she was there. She sat at a mirror, a summer dress on. She was brushing her hair. ÒDo you have any panties?Ó I asked. I opened a chest of drawers. It seemed a ridiculous question, but I was literally without clothes. Whatever IÕd come in was long gone, I was sure, made into rag dolls by Betsy if nothing else. ÒYou wonÕt be wearing any,Ó Cybil replied. Her voice was casual, self-assured. ÒWhat?!Ó I asked. I lifted a hand to my bosoms, realized I needed more than panties. ÒExcuse me?Ó ÒYou are not going to hide that lovely whipping you got,Ó Cybil replied. ÒA good girl always shows off a good whipping. It wonÕt last long. Enjoy the admiration of your fellow guests while you can.Ó She turned to me. Her eyes met mine. ÒIt certainly hurt enough getting it, didnÕt it?Ó ÒI should say so!Ó I replied. My hands flew to my ass on a sudden impulse and I rubbed it. My titties wiggled. ÒThink of all those silly girls who get their bottoms tattooed,Ó Cybil said. ÒAnd then theyÕre stuck with the thing for life. ÔDebbie loves Robert.Õ You enjoyed more pain, yet in a little while your fanny will be as white and smooth as it ever was. I wish all girls were as bright as you about such things. ÒI didnÕt exactly choose it,Ó I replied, hopefully. ÒWere you ever naughty, just so your daddy would spank you?Ó she asked. Her knees were apart. Indecently, I thought. Spread for someone to enjoy himself between them. I saw she wore panties, though. ÒOnce or twice I might have been,Ó I answered. Why not tell the truth for once, even to myself? ÒIt was fun getting Daddy all steamed up. Knowing heÕd soon tear his attention completely away from my mom, if I kept up my antics. And sure enough...Ó ÒSure enough, youÕd go to bed red-bottomed, and be proud of yourself, wouldnÕt you?Ó she asked. ÒSo itÕs all my fatherÕs fault?Ó I asked. My eyes were wide. My hands massaged my still-aching tushy. ÒEverything is menÕs fault, nowadays,Ó Cybil grinned at me. ÒGet a clue.Ó ÒDinner!!!!!Ó I heard beyond the door. There was a clanging of a bell, childlike. ÒYou wouldnÕt,Ó I said. I gripped my cheeks, despite the pain. I did not want that little rugrat to see my condition again. ÒA little humiliation is good for the soul,Ó Cybil answered. ÒCome, itÕs warm out. You havenÕt need of clothes. Besides, youÕll look sweet at breakfast, eating your cereal with your tits swinging above your bowl.Ó ÒI donÕt want to,Ó I said, but it was no use. Cybil was at my arm, escorting me. I came down the stairs less dress than IÕd ascended them the night before. We went to the kitchen. ÒOh!Ó Becky turned, saw us. She was standing on a chair, mixing something awful-looking in a bowl. ÒAre you going swimming naked?Ó she asked. She wore a swimsuit herself, wet, no top, just the panties. I saw that her nipples were fuller than ever, little mounds. Had someone stolen into her room and sucked on them during the night? ÒYes, she might swim naked later,Ó Cybil answered, all propriety. ÒHere, dear, sit.Ó She went to the breakfast table and pulled out a chair. ÒThere is a cushion for you.Ó I looked down. A plump pillow lay upon the chairseat. Under it the chair was woven fiber. ÒOkay,Ó I said, relenting. In nothing but the heels IÕd slipped to in the bedroom, I sat down. I still had my shoes, at least. ThatÕs all a girl apparently needed around here. At least if she were a new girl, I mused. Cybil sat down across the corner from me. Table-mates, we were, with a little swimsuited, half-naked nine-year-old mermaid as our waitress. ÒIÕd really prefer lunch,Ó I said. ÒI thought you would,Ó Cybil smiled. ÒI think I got cancer from the bacon this morning.Ó ÒI didnÕt burn it THAT badly, mommie,Ó Betsy answered. She seemed crestfallen. ÒOf course you didnÕt dear. Get the sandwiches out of the fridge that the deli man brought.Ó ÒHe was nice,Ó Betsy said. ÒHe rubbed me to make me feel real good inside.Ó ÒOh, God!Ó Cybil said. She dropped her face into her hands. ÒThatÕs the third deli guy this week! Is she too pretty, or what?Ó ÒShe is pretty,Ó I answered, considering. Betsy came to us, her face radiant, her long hair flowing out behind her. I realized suddenly that she was a junior version of myself. Her belly bulged out at me as she carefully laid a sandwich down for me upon the table. She had an innie. I had an innie. I wondered if Cybil had an innie or an outie. ÒThere you go!Ó Betsy cried. She was happy. ÒIÕve got to get the sharks out of the pool now, bye!Ó ÒWait!Ó Cybil called after her. ÒI should see whether the sharks are real or not,Ó she said to me. ÒHmmm?Ó I asked. I picked up my sandwich, bit into it. A club, with bacon (unburnt), lettuce, tomatoes... The deli man made good sandwiches, even if he was a bit forward with the help. ÒThe other day, a man was swimming around just underneath the surface,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒHe had his cock sticking up. Told Betsy he was a shark, and that was his fin.Ó ÒDum dum dum dum dum dum,Ó I smiled. ÒA nice guy, great build,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒShould I just give up, or what?Ó ÒDid you ever even try?Ó I asked. ÒI canÕt help it,Ó she said. ÒI make great money doing this. Sure, last night was just us, no charging anybody, but I thought you needed it. Or I just got carried away. Sometimes its fun not to charge.Ó ÒI think Betsy knows how to keep the men in line,Ó I mused. I remembered my own childhood. Nine-years-old, dashing around the neighborhood. Not always with the purest of intentions, either. Spin the bottle was popular that year. And that pointing bottle neck, well, it made a girl think of other things. Things that also pointed, but were made of fleshier stuff. ÒAs long as she doesnÕt try to ride the sharkÕs fin, right?Ó Cybil asked me. ÒRight,Ó I replied. I moved uncomfortably on my pillow. ÒEspecially with her bottom.Ó ÒWell, dear, youÕre older,Ó Cybil smiled wickedly. She had mischief in her eyes. We heard a scream from the pool. I judged it, guessed it playful. Cybil, inured already to such cries, ignored it. Nine-year-olds were happiest when they were screaming, and they loved doing it, I remembered. ÒDo you think you might like to ride a sharkÕs fin?Ó ÒUmmm,Ó I answered. I honestly did not know what to say. I munched quietly on my sandwich.Ó ÒAll girls must eventually, you know,Ó Cybil said. I knew she would just love to see me bent over, grunting, goggle-eyed, a man thrusting himself up me, breaking forever into my virginity. After all, she wasnÕt virgin anymore, was she? She had made the passage. ÒTime enough for love,Ó I replied. ÒWhoÕs talking about love?Ó she said in a low whisper. ÒOh, I canÕt stand you!Ó I cried. I jumped up. My chair fell back. My pillow fell off the upturned seat. ÒIt would be best to do it while your bottomÕs still warm,Ó Cybil cooed to me. I turned. I stomped out of the room. My titties bounced on my chest as I walked. I was aware of their lewdness. My bottom rolled, felt wanton, brazen. I went into the parlor. There was a big beanbag chair in the middle, for Becky to play in. I flopped down into it. Inevitably my legs opened wide. I did not bother to close them. My cunt, my thatch showed. My breasts lolled heavily on my chest. Adipose tissue. Wobbling, quivering. The nipples stiff. I felt a sense of abandon. My long hair streamed down alongside my face. My lips were parted. ÒWell, the very picture of ladyhood,Ó Cybil said. She sauntered up to me, following me. ÒShall I get you a cucumber, miss?Ó ÒNo,Ó I replied, sulky. ÒAnswer the door for me if it rings,Ó she said. ÒCan you do that, at least? I have to go downtown.Ó ÒWho watches for you when IÕm not here?Ó ÒWhy, some other girl, of course. But today youÕre around, so you can do it, hmmm?Ó ÒOh, alright,Ó I answered. ÒTry to look presentable if its somebody on business,Ó Cybil told me. I laughed. ÒDonÕt they want to see something like this?Ó I pressed my knees farther apart. I arched my pussy at her. ÒDonÕt be crass, dear,Ó she answered. ÒSomeone on regular business. You know, like the deli man.Ó ÒOh, of course. IÕd be too old for him,Ó I said. ÒNot that, I mean, well, you KNOW what I mean, donÕt you? Someone who has to check the water meter, or whatever. Or deliver something.Ó ÒCucumbers?Ó I asked. I still lay with my legs indescribably wide. ÒYou are too naughty,Ó she replied. There was a smile on her lips. She turned and left then. SheÕd had enough of me, for now. I dozed. I heard her go out a little later. I did not hear much. An occasional scream from the pool, giddy. Perhaps Becky had found another shark to scare her. I guessed the dungeon was locked. Well, they would have to wait for Cybil. I wasnÕt going to check up on them, whoever was in there, that was for sure. I listened and heard creaking sounds upstairs. Somebody was doing it. Somebody was always doing it here. Did I want to join them? No... I might quickly wind up with the creaking being made by me, with somebody I didnÕt fancy. And where was Alex? I felt like leaping up then, but a lethargy had possessed me. I was still sleepy from last nightÕs late night party. I drew my arms around my ribs. I felt their smallness, the flesh drawn smooth-tight over them. The undersides of my boobies rested with weighty significance on my indrawn arms. My period was still two weeks away. Lucky me. I still had plenty of time to play. I was like Becky. I didnÕt need anything. No clothes, just a snack now and then. I could dance around out back by the pool, if I wished. And then I felt a quiet, gentle yearning. I wasnÕt quite like Becky, was I? No, not quite. I needed cucumbers. There was a ringing sound. The doorbell! I jumped up. I realized I was naked. Quite naked, in fact, unless you counted shoes. I glanced about. I ran into the hall. I spied folded laundry in the T.V. room. I rushed in. The T.V. was off. It wasnÕt time for Bugs Bonker yet. Atop the pile there was a little undershirt. It was tiny, sleeveless. I struggled into it. The neck was scooped out, with only frilly delicate straps going over my shoulders. The tight shirt hugged my breasts. I looked down and saw the shirt was too short to cover my navel. Oh well, it would have to do. CybilÕs customers paid well. I didnÕt want her to lose the account. She might have to cut back on cucumbers. Titties bulging, my flaring hips as bare as my twat and my bottom, I strode with all the elegance I could manage to the front door. I must admit I felt a certain wickedness doing it. Wait till I turned around! They would find out what went on here, that was for sure, when they saw my ass. With delicate fingertips I unbolted the door, edged it open. I peeked out. A drop-dead hunk waited there, with two women. One looked wifely, the other submissive. ÒMay I help you?Ó I asked. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. ÒWe have come....Ó ÒTo...Ó I paused. ÒCum?Ó I licked my lips. I wanted to tempt him. ÒYes,Ó he replied, smiling. I beckoned and eased back the door. They stepped within. The girl looked startled at my nakedness. The man merely smiled, as if he had guessed such a treat might await him here. The woman seemed unmoved. ÒYou have to sign in first,Ó I said, trying to act as best I could like the proprietress. ÒAnd, um, there is a charge card thingy around here someplace.Ó Trying to keep my hair back from my eyes I glanced around the room, looked into drawers. ÒOh, yes! Here it is,Ó I said. I found a big American Express charge plate in one of the drawers. I got it out. The woman handed me a card. I looked at it. She was paying. Too bad. The dreamboat was obviously going to be kept busy tonight. I felt a little freer though, knowing I could tease without consequences. I looked at him. ÒYes, this will do. Is the lady paying, sir?Ó he gulped. The woman looked a bit peeved. ÒJust run the damn thing,Ó she said. I saw the girl was wiggling, as if unsure should remain. The man gripped her arm firmly. The woman stood opposite, her hand firmly pressed into the small of the girlÕs back. She wasnÕt going anywhere without them, I could see. In fact, I guessed she was going straight to bed. Or someplace worse... I couldnÕt get the charge plate to move. ÒAllow me,Ó the man said. He let go of the girl. She quietened a bit, then. I saw she was just being wilful. She did not try to run away. The man pushed the plate over the card and then gave it back to the lady. I had her sign the slip. ÒThis way, please,Ó I said, turning. We walked down a hall. I let them admire my rolling derriere, so newly scored with lines, fading now a bit, but still quite visible. The girl seemed to watch my rear cleavage with a kind of morbid fascination. I showed them the yard in back, pointed out the pool. ÒJust a room, please,Ó the woman said, as if certain that I was just trying to tempt her man, steal him away. I led them up the back stairs. My bottom moved its big, fleshy round cheeks as I mounted each step. I savored my whipmarks now, how they shocked, aroused. I moved with a kind of sweet slowness. I savored each mooning step of the stairs. My cunny felt moist. Down a second hall we went. I opened a bedroom door at random, found it was empty. Someone had made it up for the next guest. Well, here they were. ÒWill this do?Ó I asked, turning. The man entered, the girl, the woman. ÒAnything with a bed,Ó the woman replied. ÒAnd amenities...Ó ÒAll in the armoire,Ó I replied. Which was true. Condoms, towels, washcloths, whips. ÒVery well,Ó she said. She saw the room key on the dresser and picked it up herself. ÒIs there room service?Ó ÒIÕm the room service,Ó I replied, with a meaningful glance at the man. He gazed back at me with his dark eyes. He was tall, broad-shouldered. ÒWe may order some later,Ó the woman said. ÒThank you.Ó Her eyes bade me to leave. I turned, wanting to stay. I flounced out. He at least would see what he was missing. Quickly the woman closed the door behind me when IÕd made my exit. Dolefully I walked back down the hall. I thought of checking in on Alex, Kali, but I didnÕt know which room they had. Feeling a bit empty somehow, I walked bare-legged back down the stairs. I decided to keep the shirt on. I returned to the parlor and flopped down again in the beanbag chair. I closed my eyes. In a minute I was asleep, not knowing, still exhausted from the day before. I would wait for the deli man.*** Several days passed. I played at giving room service. I got to serve the dreamboat and his ladies breakfast. They let me get in bed with them. I sucked the man. He had awakened with a big tent pole. I helped him keep it nice and stiff. The woman wanted to whip me. I left before she could. I found Kali and Alex. He was tied up, his cock and balls held by a little pouch and teased with a soft leather teasewhip. She danced the tails over his awesome genitals. He begged her for release. I didnÕt dare try blowing him. He would have cum instantly. I left them to their games. I did not wish to see a male so abject, so desperate. I served others also. I brought what they asked, stayed a bit sometimes, but never quite allowed myself to fuck. Just a kiss here, a quick blow, something fun and easy. I wanted to screw, I guess, but couldnÕt allow myself to. I was scared, maybe. I was only 15. I was Betsy with breasts. My marks went away. I had a flawless ass again. I played with Becky in the pool. And thatÕs where I met my next mistress. Funny, isnÕt it? I always shrank away from engaging a man directly. I mean, I might give him a little suck, but then IÕd flit away. It was as if I needed a firm hand to guide me. It could be a manÕs hand, I guess, but the men were always so nice, so concerned for my age, perhaps. They didnÕt want to rob me of my so-called innocence. My so-called innocent life. But a woman wouldnÕt hesitate to. There is always a little jealousy between women. If she is roadtested, her thinking goes, why arenÕt I? At first, when youÕre just a little girl, they persist in keeping you innocent. Then you get older, you grow breasts, your bottom fills out, your long legs stand in sharper contrast to your other assets. And suddenly the other, older women of the world say to themselves, I think, ÒOkay, cunt. You want to compete with me? Alright. We shall both be sexy, then. I will let you into the world of adults. In fact, IÕll help you, so you arenÕt just Ôlegging around,Õ showing off to any man you please. And they bring you into society. They make you a debutante. They hold proms for you, coming out balls. And then youÕre in their world. Their hope, I guess, is to marry you off to someone, to get you to join Concerned Women for America. Yes, it neutralizes you. You start to worry about whether Tide or Wisk gets your clothes whiter. Should I use liquid detergent, or powdered? I lay face down on a chaise lounge, my chin in my hands, my legs bent up, kicking lazily at the sky. I was reading Cosmopolitan. Something about 101 ways to Bed a Man. I had on a little pair of bikini panties. My bra was lying on the cement. She sat down beside me. I ignored her a moment, then looked up. She had raven-black hair, like Cybil. Gypsie eyes. She looked about 30, looked as if she could read my palm and tell me my fortune. Her bust was impressive. I imagined her at my age, wowing the men with her overgrown breasts as she walked off to school. She was dressed in chic business attire. A small coat, upturned collar. Her blouse had to struggle to contain her bosoms. It was tight, perhaps purposely a size too small. She wore pants that tucked into knee-high leather boots. Running a hand through her deliciously curly hair she said, ÒHi, IÕm Laurie.Ó ÒHi,Ó I replied. There was almost a lisp in my voice, submissive. I felt naked before this woman. Well, I was naked, almost, but, I mean... I could not express it. Her eyes burned into me. I knew she had cucumbers somewhere, lots of them, attached to dreamboat men. ÒIÕm Melody,Ó I answered. For a moment neither of us said anything. We just gazed. My eyes drifted to her bosoms. You could hardly ignore them, so the were so fascinatingly big. Her own eyes absorbed the sweet hanging of my tits. She watched as my nipples stiffened. Cybil appeared. ÒHi!Ó she said brightly. ÒMelody, this is Laurie.Ó ÒWeÕve already introduced,Ó Laurie replied. I nodded, smiled. I wiggled my tushy. My panties barely contained the cheeks. ÒSheÕs a world famous dominatrix, IÕll have you know,Ó Cybil told me. ÒSo donÕt cross her, okay?Ó She smiled. I shivered, nodded. ÒShe hasnÕt told me to do anything yet,Ó I replied. My face blushed. I looked guilty. ÒWould you like me to?Ó she asked. ÒWould you like to?Ó I answered. ÒItÕs not nice to answer a question with a question,Ó she said. ÒLaurie runs a big fashion magazine in Paris,Ó Cybil chimed in. ÒA French version of GQ.Ó ÒThat sounds cool,Ó I replied. ÒPut your shoes on,Ó Laurie said. ÒShe keeps her men in line, I can assure you,Ó Cybil said, winking at Laurie. ÒAnd how are things here? Do you have any discipline problems?Ó Laurie asked Cybil. She turned from me. I sat up. I dropped my feet to the pavement. I slipped them into my heels. My mules were my sole companions. Nothing else belonged to me, except my body. Did I wish to lose that too? I flicked the waistband of my panties open, let it snap shut against my skin. This was a loaned bikini. From Cybil. Other than that I had just my shoes. I bent and wrapped the little ankle straps around my ankles, buckled them closed. My breasts swung as I worked. I sat up. My breasts bounced like jello on my chest, subsided. Laurie turned to me. She stood. ÒI need you,Ó she said, and reached out her hand, took mine. In her eyes I saw magazine covers, layouts, cameramen with cameras and me posing for them, a GQ guy on my arm. I stepped forward. I bent to get my bra from the walk. ÒNever mind that,Ó she said. She pulled me. I turned to Cybil, hapless. She smiled. ÒHave fun!Ó she urged. Tits bouncing, leggy and awkward, I let Laurie lead me across the well-clipped lawn. ÒDo you need me for a model?Ó I asked. ÒOf course, dear,Ó she said, half turning, smug. ÒBut not nude modeling. So we can play, too.Ó I wondered at her words. So we can play... Did she mean? We reached the house. She took me inside, down the hall, around a corner. We exited through the front door. Down the front walk we went, me all naked, save for my swim panties. I put my arm up, tried to hide my jostling tits. A limo waited out front. Had it been there since sheÕd arrived? The engine was running. We got in. Laurie poured me a drink in the back seat of the limo. I sat on the leather bench beside her, comfortable in my new surroundings, but curious, tentative. She was clothed, I was bare-legged, topless. My hair was flowing and free, hers was precisely curled, permed. We did not drive far. We got out. She took me up a walk into her house. Again I had to raise my arm to keep from showing my boobs to passersby, neighbors. I clutched at my breasts with my hand, did a poor job of hiding them. I saw no one, but there could be eyes, watching. From windows, perhaps. We went inside and I saw that my attempts at modesty had been futile. There was a party in progress. Guests turned, stared at me, turned away. It was not a pool party. Everyone was in formalwear, though it was quite fashionable, trendy. Laurie guided me through the guests, wordlessly. They seemed not overly concerned with my appearance, my plight, only looked to admire my nudity. She took me to a room just beyond the festivities. It was small. I gasped when I saw it. It looked like a cell. The floor was tiled, some tiles were cracked. The walls were bare. In a corner stood an old-fashioned toilet, the tank overhead, a chain hanging down. A roll of perfumed toilet paper, however, waited. At least that was a luxury. There was a small sink beside the commode, a mirror for a girl to fix her makeup in. And then there was a bed. It was just a cot, actually, like a prisoner might sleep on. It had an iron frame. There was just a sheet covering the mattress. There was no second sheet, no blanket. A pillow waited at one end. And tied to each of the four iron posts of the bed was a black cloth strip, knotted loosely, needing only an arm and a tug on the cloth to be fully secure. Scariest of all, there was a stout pegboard on the wall. From it hung a variety of whips, straps, and paddles. I nearly fainted. Laurie pushed me into the room, closed the door behind us. ÒSit on the bed,Ó she told me. I turned, abashed, afraid. I sat my bottom neatly on the edge of the mattress. Quickly she undressed, taking off everything except her boots. Then she put her jacket back on, left it open. Her bosoms thrust out from between its halves, impressive as ever, their cherry tips hard and wobbly, the nipples as big as dollar coins. I watched her, feeling like a hunted fawn. She had found me. She had brought me to her lair. Nude and beautiful, if utterly deadly, she drew a small phone from her coat pocket. She unfolded it. She punched a button, spoke. ÒThere is no cane,Ó she said. ÒBring me my cane.Ó A moment later the door opened. A middle-aged woman came in. Not a partier, but a kind of washer-woman. She had big arms, wet, looked as if she had just come from scrubbing floors. I looked down at the tiled floor. It was sparkling clean, polished, despite its age. Perhaps she had scrubbed it this morning. ÒHereÕs your cane, maÕam,Ó the washer-woman said, handing it to Laurie. ÒI had to give Tommy what for this morning. Sorry I forgot to return it. He was in the apple orchard again, picking them apples. I got him right across his arse -- oh, my what have we here? Oh, youÕre going to get it! I see youÕre stripped down for action, maÕam, yes indeed. Has she been naughty, then?Ó the washer-woman spoke in a kind of lilting cockney, never quite finishing a sentence or pausing before she ambled right on to the next. ÒThank you, Hilda. SheÕs one of my new models. I just discovered her. IÕm going to give her a few pointers, thatÕs all,Ó Laurie said. She eased the old washer-woman back out and shut the door behind her. She turned to me. ÒDo you remember when you answered my question with a question?Ó she asked. ÒYes,Ó I gulped. I wanted to run, to hide. I wanted to shrink into my panties, but they were too small. ÒThatÕs one of the things you mustnÕt do when you work for me,Ó she said. She flexed her cane. ÒStand up, please.Ó Her voice was kind, courteous. I stood. I was all trembly, like a newborn calf. She saw my anxiousness. ÒTurn around,Ó she ordered. Still her voice was soft, gentle. I turned my back to her, knew where her eyes went when I did. ÒYes, take them right down, get them right off,Ó she said to me, knowingly. I hooked my thumbs reluctantly in the waistband of my panties. ÒMy heels too?Ó I asked. ÒNo, of course not, dear. The panties, that is all. Pull them down. I wonÕt do it for you.Ó I hesitated. Oh, why was I even here? Why was I even in Amsterdam? This was so silly, so crazy... ÒThe longer you wait the harder it will be,Ó she warned me. I tugged on my panties remorsefully, drew them down, felt my bottomcheeks spring out, into the air. It felt cool, caressing. ÒAll the way down,Ó she said. Anxiously I stooped lower, pulled the panties down my thighs, over my small round knees, down my calves. I let go of them at my ankles. They hung there, forlorn. ÒTake hold of yourself,Ó she said. I grabbed my ankles. I felt my breasts swinging gently beneath my chest, saw the nipples wiggling, the plump gourds hanging like ripe apples. ÒStraighten your legs,Ó she said. ÒPosture is important. Surely you know that, as a young lady, donÕt you?Ó I raised my bottom higher, felt my knees lock. I strained to keep hold of my far-distant ankles. ÒNow we shall conduct the job interview,Ó Laurie said matter-of-factly. ÒWhat is your name?Ó ÒMelody,Ó I answered. WHICK! The cane sliced into my bottom, catching me just below the tender inward curving of my cheeks. ÒOW!Ó I cried. My hinds wobbled, my tits bounced. ÒThatÕs just your first name,Ó Laurie told me. ÒI need your full name, please.Ó She flexed her cane, as if in readiness for the omission of my middle name. ÒMelody Emily Carr,Ó I said. I felt a tear in the corner of my right eye. ÒAnd your age, Melody?Ó Ò15,Ó I answered. WHICK! Another wicked cut. ÒYeow!Ó I cried. My nipples danced, my bottom bucked and reared. I had trouble holding on to my ankles. Ò15, maÕam, is how you should answer, Melody,Ó Laurie told me. I sniffled. Ò15, maÕam,Ó I choked out. ÒDonÕt worry, youÕll learn it all. YouÕve quite an incentive, donÕt you think?Ó she asked. ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I answered. ÒSee? YouÕre learning already. Did I have to remind you that time?Ó ÒNo, maÕam,Ó I answered. ÒWould you like to pull your panties up, Melody?Ó she asked. ÒYes!Ó I cried. SNICKCK! A double-salute! I almost bounded right up then, losing my grip entirely on my ankles. ÒOh, Boo! Hoo!Ó I sobbed out. I did not like this whipping, not at all, though the thought of being a GQ model girl had me tingling in inappropriate places. ÒYes, maÕam,Ó Laurie reminded me. ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I said, and reached for my panties. WHACK! ÒNot yet!Ó she told me. ÒI merely asked.Ó ÒOh! I canÕt stand this!Ó I cried. ÒYou are the chosen,Ó she said. ÒLook how sparkling clean this room is! Do you think youÕd ever be made to scrub it down, except for the pleasure of some gentleman? Of course not! Only for erotic reasons would I ever give you a scrub brush and bucket, or anyone else, for that matter. Look how slim and lovely you are! Surely a few disciplinary strokes of the cane are not too much to ask. Afterward we shall dine together, you and I, at a fine restaurant somewhere. And I will introduce you to my male models. But first I must establish who is boss. IÕll have no Beckys here. You are too old to act like that, though youÕd try to get away with it if you could. ÒOh, please hurry!Ó I said. Whatever she needed to do, I wanted her to get it over with. ÒAh, sweet dear, wait for it,Ó she said. ÒThere is no rush. You are young, I am young. Show me how you can take it, be patient. Ask for the next stroke.Ó ÒPlease, then -- but not too hard!Ó I still wanted her to hurry up. WHACK! ÒOoooch!Ó I danced about. I weaved, waved my hips. I lurched. I almost fell on the bed. My boobies bounced like they were spring-loaded, under the blow. ÒSee? You keep your posture well. You are more well-behaved than you think, precious. I like that in a girl. Tell me what kind of modeling youÕd like to do.Ó Laurie whisked her cane through the air, testing it, keeping me on edge. ÒUh,Ó I gulped. ÒNot bare-bottomed modeling, thatÕs for sure,Ó I answered. WHACK! Again the awful cane. I jumped up this time, I could not bear it. My hands flew to my ass and I rubbed it. ÒMy, my, if youÕve had enough, why didnÕt you just say so?Ó Laurie asked me. ÒI-I Oh, you wicked woman!Ó I cried. My bottom was seared. It was not its flawless white anymore. ÒGet your panties up, we shall go to lunch,Ó she said then. ÒWhat about you?Ó I asked. ÒAh, I am not dressed. I had forgotten,Ó she smiled. ÒDo you have to pee? I have to,Ó she said. She walked to the toilet, sat down gracefully. I watched her bosoms jostle one another as she settled onto the ceramic seat. ÒI have to go too,Ó I said, walking towards her, pulling my panties up. ÒThen youÕll just have to take these down again,Ó she smiled, putting a hand out, catching my half-raised panties by the crotch. My bottom wiggled excessively from my caning. I heard her piss into the toilet. She pushed my panties down my calves again. I did not know what to say. I felt we might not make lunch, after all. I heard her pee stop. ÒSit it my lap and weÕll do it together,Ó she husked. I straddled her. Still wriggling from the searing strokes across my ass, I got down on her open thighs, rested my bottom between them, facing her. She took my hair, drew me forward. We kissed. ÒPiss now!Ó she breathed. Together we released our streams into the bowl. We wiped each other. It was a moment of sharing, helpfulness. It felt unique. She eased me off her legs and we both stood up. The door opened again. It was the washerwoman. She had a little rack of clothes. Just filmy panties, sheer nothing nighties, an insubstantial bra or two. ÒIÕm sorry, maÕam. I forgot to return the clothing,Ó she said. ÒIÕm lucky wasnÕt a man with her in here. He might have wanted her to dress up for him.Ó ÒJust put the clothes against the wall,Ó Laurie said dismissively. She had me by the arm. My panties ringed my ankles, impeding me. We drifted even now toward the roomÕs far end, toward the bed. ÒAh, now she has a nice dell, doesnÕt she?Ó the washer-woman said. Her eyes admired my pussy greedily. ÒWill you be needing a hand-towel, maÕam? I see there isnÕt any in here.Ó ÒNo, not right now,Ó Laurie answered. ÒJust privacy, please.Ó ÒYes, maÕam,Ó the washer-woman replied. Giving me a knowing wink she turned, trundled out, shut the door. ÒGet out of those panties and kneel up on the bed,Ó Laurie instructed me. ÒOh, not another spanking!Ó I pleaded. I knew there were still quite a few implements hanging on the wall, all of them as yet untried. ÒJust do as I say, or I will spank you indeed,Ó Laurie answered. I bent, sniffled, untangled my panties from the spikes of my heels and tossed them towards the door. ÒDo you want someone to trip over them when they come in again?Ó Laurie asked me, seeing where IÕd thrown my undies. ÒI wouldnÕt mind,Ó I replied. I hated that washer-woman. So ridiculous. Big and fat and admiring me like I was some thoughtless object. ÒGet on the bed,Ó Laurie told me. ÒFace on your pillow, bottom high, kneeling.Ó I dropped my knees onto the cot and kneed my way forward on it. I bent my head, my back down, pressed my cheek to my pillow. It smelled fresh. Laurie admired my rearing ass. Clean, neat strokes of the cane made searing red lines across it, keeping me perpetually jiggling it even as I waited for her next move. ÒDo you know what drew me to come see you this morning, to meet you?Ó Laurie asked me. ÒNo,Ó I breathed into my pillow. ÒBecause I hear youÕre an anal virgin,Ó she answered. Her words were frank, scary. ÒI-I-Ó I wanted to deny it. She took a vial of oil from one of her coat pockets. She uncorked it. She sprinkled some on her finger. ÒNoooo,Ó I gasped. Yet I did not flinch, save for the gentle weaving undulations of my ass. ÒYesssss,Ó she replied. She drew close to me, bent, her bosoms full, nipples stiff. She parted my cheeks with a thumb and forefinger, found them tight, springy, clenching. She put a finger to my rosette. ÒDo not tighten yourself, Melody,Ó she urged. I tried to relax. I knew I had come for this. I knew, yet I did not know. She pushed her finger within my sphincter. I stiffened, jerked. She prodded me. I blubbered into my pillow. She burrowed deeper still. ÒHave you ever had anyone up this far?Ó she asked. Her voice was casual, polite. We were at a garden party. ÒNot-not,Ó I gasped. ÒWell, now you have,Ó she replied. She thrust in more, I felt my cheeks flex reflexively wide, then tighten again. ÒTry to relax,Ó she said. I felt my breath huff and puff up from my throat, past my teeth. She drew back a little. ÒIn and out, in and out now, just like a penis,Ó she said. I felt her surge back and forth, croaked. It was an utterly new sensation. I was sure I didnÕt like it. ÒYou will have a penis in here soon, I can assure you,Ó she said. ÒYesssss,Ó I breathed, gasped. Did I want that? I did not know what I wanted. My panties were on the floor on the other side of the room. ÒIn and out, in and out,Ó she said. I felt slimness. I wanted something bigger, fuller, deep down inside me there. ÒNow, letÕs take this little finger of mine out and see what else we can teach you with,Ó Laurie said. I heard a pop. Her finger was withdrawn. She went to the sink and washed it. She drew and linen handkerchief from her coat pocket and wiped her fingers. I remained quivering on the bed. I was afraid to move, like a patient after surgery. Laurie reached into her coat. It looked to me like she was reaching for a gun, except she pulled out something worse. A dildo. Fine and big and looking like it had been carved from ivory. She walked over to me again. **** We sat at dinner. We were elegant. It was the next evening. The previous night, as promised, we had eaten at a restaurant. Then today she introduced me to her GQ men. I was shy, blushing. Afterward, when they were gone, she made me choose amongst them, telling her which I preferred. It was a private reception, a private dinner. There were about a dozen people present. The hostess had received me warmly, taken my coat, admired me. All present knew why I was here. The GQ men IÕd favored were here too, deferential, letting the women lead. Letting Laurie make all the decisions for them. They were loyal to her. I admired her management skills. Some of the men were massive, power lifters, though not too heavy, they had to still look tall and fine in a business suit for her fashion magazine. I ate quietly. I was urged to eat. All eyes flitted to me, away, then back again. Dessert was served. Cherry pie. I knew the significance. And so did all the guests. I blushed as my piece was served to me. I nibbled at it, popped a cherry in my mouth, could not eat the rest. ÒAnd in regards to your orientation,Ó Laurie said at last, clearing her throat a little before she began. She looked directly at me. I gazed back, then had to lower my eyes. I could not hold her. They blazed like the sun. Gypsie eyes, with dark fire, as if from some deep shadowland fueled by volcanoes. ÒPermit me to be explicit, if you will,Ó Laurie said to the host, who smiled back at her. Explicitness was permitted. ÒYou, Laurie, do look at me when IÕm speaking to you, darling.Ó I tried to raise my eyes, did a little. ÒYou must be whipped first. It is necessary. Nothing too severe. Your bottom must be warmed for it. It will make it easier for you when it comes. It will make you more receptive. And the male (she cleared her throat softly again) the males will stem all the more eagerly to you, feeling your hot bottom grinding up against them.Ó I sipped a sip of milk. I said nothing. ÒLet us have her clothes off then,Ó Laurie said. Two females rose, two who had sat on either side of me. They urged me up from my chair. I flinched a little as they pulled my clothes off me. There was not much ceremony about it. Just pull up the blouse, unzip the skirt, unsnap the bra, and (alas!) down with my panties. They took everything right off, cooing a little, perhaps to make me feel better, perhaps because they liked my beauty, but they were mostly workmanlike, quick, women with a job to do and doing it. At last I stood like Venus, unclothed, my hair pretty. My new girlfriends unpinned it so that it hung free. My tits wobbled on my chest. My nipples were harder than I could ever remember them being. I felt moist between my legs. Laurie stood. She cast her eyes approvingly over my figure. ÒYou look like youÕre about to have a bath,Ó she laughed. The men rose. I saw their trousers, bulging, eager to spurt out their treasures. The hostess rose. Laurie turned me. The rest of the female guests got up. All were young, though not as young as myself. Laurie pointed ahead of me and told me I must lead the way. ÒGo through that door, dear, and walk gracefully, or I will switch you before we even arrive. Be on your best behavior now, go!Ó I turned. I walked on my spiked heels, my hips swaying. My glorious nude bottom cheeks rolled with my every step. Beyond the door was a stone passage. We were in an old part of town, an old house with mysteries. I tread down the passageway with fearful footsteps. Behind me the others followed. My bottom felt huge. I felt intense embarrassment at mooning everyone with it. But then, thatÕs what I was here for, wasnÕt it? My bottom. My virgin anus. Now was the night I was truly to receive. A man up me. All my life IÕd wondered, waited. Now, within the hour, it was to be done. All that remained now was for the preliminary whipping. I did not like the thought of that. I reached back, unconsciously caressed my bottom cheeks as I thought of it. ÔNecessary,Õ she had called it. Was it really? She said it would make the men even bigger. Did I want that? I realized I had already chosen the GQ guys I thought would be biggest where it counted. I felt chilly, even though I knew the stone hallway was not cold. There were steps at the end. I mounted them, carefully, unsteady in my heels. Beyond the passage turned. And then curtains, a curtain of beads that hung down. I passed within them. They tinkled. Ah, no! A huge round dais waited. And atop it, almost as an afterthought, a trestle. The bar betwixt its vertical supports was padded. For the comfort of my tummy, no doubt. I wished I could sit my bottom upon it. ThatÕs where I would need comforting. The others entering, the tinkling of the beads announcing their arrival behind me. I continued to gaze at the dais. There was a bucket next to the trestle, I saw a sponge. ÒWe use it all the time,Ó Laurie whispered to me. ÒSometimes we bathe the girl first, if sheÕs fresh from the pool, or the beach, or hot from the summer heat. But you are perfect, darling. Just mount the steps.Ó Her fingers grazed my arms, ran down my back, sought even lower still. Flinching from her I approached the raised platform. I slurred my feet up the steps, knowing I should pay much greater care to where I was headed. I would not come down from this platform the same girl. I would be hot, bothered, blubbering. I would most certainly need a bath then, at least in my hindquarters. I turned at the top step, considering. My eyes widened. Everyone was undressing. ÒI-I donÕt want to,Ó I said. A man laughed. ÒYou cannot back down,Ó he replied. ÒBe a good girl and go to the trestle like youÕre supposed to,Ó the hostess said to me. I knew the implication of her words. I would go in any event, dragged or willingly, but if dragged I would need more ÔwarmingÕ on my ass before the men were put to me. Stepping distinctly now, sure of each step that it would be my very last, hoping God would take me up at every second, I approached the bar. Yes, I had been good, hadnÕt I? I used to go to Christian Sunday School. They said if you were good Jesus would make you disappear in the days just before his Second Cuming. I said the word wrong in my mind, felt immensely guilty. I needed Jesus now. Cum, Lord Jesus. Oops! I knew I was doomed then. He would not zap me up to heaven, like in the Late Great Planet Earth. He would leave me with all the wicked people. I turned again, saw my captors were pleasantly naked now, all the important parts displayed. Cocks, cunts, breasts. Some wore clothes still, jackets or stockings or boots. But all showed what they had come to give. Themselves. Their privates. And I was to inspire their evening of pleasure with my virgin contribution. I walked up to the bar. I spied a cane standing against a low table on the dais. Atop the table were vials of oil, condoms, and a pretty vase of flowers. I turned, walked to the flowers. Delicately I sniffed them. They were lilies. For my (soon to be gone) purity. ÒTo the trestle, Melody!Ó Laurie called. She did not want me to see what was in the drawer slung from the underside of the table. I felt mischievous. I reached down, pulled it open. Oh! My eyes nearly popped out of my head. There were AWFUL things! Tit clamps! A speculum! A ball gag! A blood pressure cuff. A needle! Beside the needle something labelled Solumedrol. An enema, more anal suppositories, tubing, with a tag attached saying it was for a personÕs pee hole! I slammed the drawer. I turned, frightened. My GQ men advanced, climbing the dais steps. The females were gathered close. ÒIt is not all for you, dear, at least I hope it isnÕt,Ó Laurie reassured me, then turned and winked at the hostess with a laugh. Scared, but still willing, I turned to face the trestle. I pressed my upper thighs to the bar. I bent forward, found a lower bar beneath, gripped it momentarily, feeling the feel of my openness in back. Then I popped erect again, lest I be restrained that way. I turned. I pushed my bottom up against the comforting leather. ÒI donÕt think I want to go through with this anymore,Ó I breathed. My eyes were frightened rabbitÕs eyes. With my every pulsebeat my resolution not to continue grew. ÒIt is too late, darling,Ó the hostess said. She and two men came up to me, spun me about again. I squawked as they pressed me down. ÒIt is time, dear, you cannot delay it any longer,Ó Laurie said somewhere behind me. Roughly she parted my thighs. I felt loops of leather attach themselves to my ankles. Someone missed his cue, for I wriggled and found myself suddenly upright again. My ankles were bound, my legs three feet apart or more, but the rest of me had got free of them. The two men looked startled, recovered, laughed at their mistake. Each had deferred to the other in tying down my wrists, both had missed a beat and lost his hold on me. Perhaps each was hoping the other would tie me while he prepared to be the first to get up my ass. Let the other tie her, I will fuck her! Yes, that was it. The hostess had long since let go, thinking to leave the matter to the men. I stood there a moment, unmolested. They realized I couldnÕt go anywhere. My tits heavy on my chest, my legs apart beneath my rolling, flexing bottom cheeks, I gazed behind myself. All was being made ready. A line of GQ men stood with cocks displayed. Laurie was passing in front of them, greasing and oiling each manÕs shaft for the job ahead. A female rolled out a rack of punishment implements from some hidden closet. Whips, crops, paddles, unimaginable in their variety and ingenuity. Some had holes, others not, still others had awful-looking brass studs on them. My white bottom gleamed, the target of whichever or however many of those horrid things they wished to spank me with. ÒOver, darling,Ó the hostess said to me. She put her hand to the back of my head. I felt her bend me again, felt my upward-yielding bottom cheeks disclose their inner secrets, felt my pouch displayed in its soft furrowness to all who stood behind me. Gourd-like my tits hung again. She pulled my wrists down, bound them tightly with leather and affixed them with loops of leather to the bar below. I coughed a little cough. I felt cool air upon my hiney. I wanted to cry but didnÕt have the willpower to do it. Soon they would help me in that department, I feared.**** And they did. I remember it as a kind of liberation. The men entered me gently, but remorselessly, each in turn. The hostess had to stop the proceedings a few times, to let me catch my breath. And then it continued. Always it continued. A birching at first, then the loving thrusts, finally the long, hard-won spurts. After holding himself back for so long, each man gritted out his release with a kind of great, heartfelt agony. For none wanted the punishment. A brand on the hiney, administered by the hostess, if he failed to drive into me at least 20 times before he came. The brand was kept close, so he could feel the heat of it lying across the brazier, the red hot coals sunburning his arse. I was not as tight in behind when I left as I had been when I entered. At least, there was no longer that absolutely girlish, virginal resistance. I suppose I was just as tight, physically so, but that clenching, sucking absolute GRIPPING of the hiney cheeks would never be quite so fey again. The childish fright was gone. Still there a little, maybe, but not in such absolute terms as it had been on that first night. That night was the first that I ever felt a long, living male organ slide into me...pump me with the sperm from its balls...and then withdraw, like something out of Alien. It was a rite of passage, a door through which one consciously went through, and which closed forever behind.**** Was I feeling morbid? I spent days afterward languishing. I spent them back at the ÒLondon Dungeon,Ó again playing the nun, Betsy my best companion. And then one day it got chilly. Summer was passing. Surprisingly, this renewed me. I felt a new sense of wonder at my growing body. The world might be passing into autumn, but I felt Spring welling up within me. I went shopping downtown. For clothes. Kali had given me some money, and Cybil too. ÒFor services rendered,Ó Cybil said, telling me that her business had increased since men had reported seeing a lanky, lissome 15-year-old ÒalmostÓ virgin lounging about the place. But I stuck with Becky, enjoying the deprivation that I was inflicting on the males that came by now and then, hoping for my favor. So close they were, and yet so far. Cybil kept them in line. They could not have me unless I said Ôyes.Õ And I eliminated that word from my vocabulary. At least for a little while. Until I regrouped. And then, when I had, I wanted to go deeper still. Into sin. I met them downtown. We chatted outside a store window displaying Moslem fundamentalist literature. A mannikin in a chador stared down on us. She was blonde, long hair, just like me, except her hair was longer. And the male with her, an older guy, was just introduced to me as ÒSir Litchfield.Ó He had a British accent. The blonde told me her name was Juliette. She hinted ÒSir LitchfieldÓ was just a made-up name. Gazing into their eyes, I felt a welcoming, a beckoning. But I knew they were playing Pied Piper for a world I had so far resisted entering. ÒYou wouldnÕt, of course, be able to stay,Ó Juliette was saying to me when my mind re-connected to what she was saying. She had a slim, elvish beauty, a tall princess from the tall ships of Numenor. ÒIt would just be for the evening.Ó ÒThatÕs alright,Ó I heard myself reply. What was she saying? Yes. That I must come with them. Or cum... I glanced again at Sir L. Was the L for love? Such magnetic eyes. No, something else. Something about a field. Plowing my field, hoeing it. He would sow a good harvest there. A bountiful harvest. Juliette took my hand. She smiled brightly at me. Her eyes were expectant. We got into their car as the mannikin watched. Seeing, yet sightless. All but her eyes out of sight behind the all-cloaking chador. I would not be cloaked, no. Just the opposite. They took me home, showed me around their house. I nodded, gazed at their handsome, antique furniture. Their art, 19th Century, their kitchen, brass pots hanging in good business-like order from the ceiling. Polished, handles erect, suspended. ÒLetÕs undress,Ó Juliette said to me casually. It was as if we were going for a swim, except we were still indoors, and they had no pool. Following her lead, I began to shed my clothes. Slowly, easily. She undressing and I also, Sir L watching, undoing his trousers slowly, unhurriedly. Offering a rod of unprecedented proportions to both our eyes when he finally lowered his underpants. And I, stripping off my panties, watched it with awed eyes. Juliette, kicking her own panties off, took my chin. She brought my mouth to hers, averting my gaze from her lover, and kissed me sweetly, lightly, on my lips. An exchange of lipstick. A little smearing. My boobies, with their wiggly nipples, shaking tremulously close to her own. ÒCome,Ó Juliette said. She turned, led me into the bathroom. Her long, wavy blonde hair swayed with her every step as she walked. Her bottom was generous. A ripe pumpkin waiting for a boy to come and take it from the garden, spear it with his knife. Sir L followed, his penis hard, uncompromising. We entered a dazzling marble bathroom. The walls and floor were made of marble. The tub, huge, was inlaid with marble. There was no water in it. Champagne waited in a chilled bucket by the unfilled tub. A servant, seeing us come home, had placed it here, disappeared. And there was something else. A bucket. And old-time, wooden pail. It was filled with brine. And sticking up from it, long and slender, were several birch branches. They were tied off at the end with a kind of little flag, a pink bow. Juliette lifted the birch from the bucket, then laid it crosswise over the bucket so that the excess brine would drip off. She wanted it wet, but not drippy wet. I admired her lovely naked body as she moved, her bare breasts swaying, her nipples risen, her legs long and sleek. Abundant towels waited in folded bliss to be used. Juliette unfurled one, plush and blue, and laid it by the side of the tub for us to rest our bottoms on. Then, as Sir L and I sat down, dangling our feet into the vacant tub, Juliette unfolded a second towel. Or, rather, she simply tossed it, letting it unfurl itself as it fell haphazardly onto the marble floor. It fell near a vase of pretty flowers. For a moment I thought it might hit the flowers. They were roses, mixed with poinsettias, held in a fragile carnelian vase. ÒFor you, when weÕre ready,Ó Juliette said simply to me, meaning the towel next to the vase. ÒYes,Ó I replied. She got Sir L and I drinks. I sipped mine, she swallowed hers. ÒYou might wish to be drunk,Ó Juliette said meaningfully to me. She sat down next to me, refilled her glass, passed the bottle to Sir L, who had downed his own in one gulp. ÒHow do you feel?Ó Sir L asked me. My thigh just touched his. I glanced at his rod, straining in its excitement between his hairy thighs, a projectile at least 10 inches in length. ÒFine, right now,Ó I replied. I tried to drink my champagne a little more boldly. ÒThat is good,Ó he said. ÒYou feel no pain?Ó ÒNo,Ó I replied. I felt young, like a newborn foal, awkward and yet alive, so alive. Always before a storm the air is at its freshest, cleanest. The wind picks up and blows through your hair and you know the lightning will strike soon. ÒDo you wish to be cuffed? Gagged?Ó Juliette asked me. Her eyes looked so innocent, her words so smoothly delivered. ÒWe have those here.Ó ÒNo,Ó I replied. ÒYou wish to play with yourself while it happens?Ó Sir L asked me. ÒIt is easier for a girl that way sometimes,Ó Juliette said. ÒMaybe,Ó I said. ÒI do not really know. I have not...Ó ÒIt is wise of you to do it,Ó Sir L replied. ÒIt will give you a new sense of yourself.Ó ÒYes,Ó I said. ÒLike Spring Break, the first time. You party, you get drunk, stoned. You canÕt exactly remember the boy you slept with the next day, but you know it was wonderful.Ó ÒMmmm, if he wore a condom,Ó Juliette said, with a smirk. ÒWell, then I suppose you simply wouldnÕt remember his NAME, but you mightnÕt have known that in the first place,Ó I said. I was fantasizing a little, embroidering my thoughts with stories other, more experienced girls had told me back home. ÒHad enough?Ó Juliette asked. She reached out, took hold of my glass. I relinquished it. I could see she was eager to begin. She was not as hesitant about her sexuality as I was. Neither was Sir L. ÒMelody, this is going to be quite painful,Ó Sir L said to me. His voice was frank, bold. He made to stand, rose with his cock waggling its majestic beauty before my eyes. I remained sitting. Juliette took me under my arm and lifted me slowly, awkwardly to my feet. We were all barefoot. The bathroom walls muffled the sound of our speaking. Echoed it within, but beyond, beyond the door Sir L had locked, I knew nothing could be heard. It was the ultimate privacy. Just us, our nudity. Even the servant would be unaware of our games. Unheard I would scream within these four walls. There would be, I guessed, no mercy. No witnesses. Did I want that? I wanted someone else to decide, that I knew. I shivered. I faced Sir L. Juliette hovered behind me, admiring my ass. ÒIt will be a challenge,Ó Sir L said to me. I nodded. Silently, submissively I nodded. Juliette quietly took to pinning up my hair. ÒMost challenges in life involve studying, like in school, and certainly require the wearing of clothes. Even the proper wearing of clothes.Ó His eyes savored my nudity as he spoke. My breasts rose and fell softly on my chest with each of my childish breaths. I was breathy, excited. I could feel a swirling in my belly. My nipples were as hard as I could ever have imagined them to be. Sir LÕs cock stood out just as forcefully, quivering at the brink of some deep need, some intense pleasure. ÒHere, of course, no clothes are required,Ó Juliette said behind me. ÒThey are not allowed. Your parents would never approve, Melody,Ó Juliette said to me. ÒI know,Ó I gulped. ÒWould you like another glass of champagne before we begin?Ó Sir L said. ÒIt is not too much to ask.Ó He spoke as if his doing of a favor for me was a great privilege that he was conferring upon me. An honor. ÒOkay,Ó I said. My voice was lispy. He got the champagne, filled my glass, gave it to me. He held on to it as I sipped, then drank more, Sir L forcing me to take it at an ever increasing rate, tilting the glass farther and farther. My throat worked as I tried to get it all. Some spilled, splattered to the floor. ÒTsk,Ó Juliette said. ÒIt is not good to waste such expensive champagne,Ó Sir L told me. The game had begun. I was a victim now. It was my role, my duty. ÒGo to the towel,Ó Juliette said. She spoke from behind me. My bottom cheeks clenched, drew in as her words washed over me. With wobbling, fearful cheeks I walked to the towel. My special towel, next to the flowers. I knelt down upon it. ÒAll fours, face on the towel,Ó Sir L told me. I bent over, my knees on the towel, my back bending until my face pressed to the floor. Right on the edge of the towel my face was, just my cheek touching it, my forehead over the hard, glassy marble. My hands gripped the towel, my arms drew in, squeezing my sides. My wrists pressed against my hanging bosoms. My nipples sprouted into the towel, felt comfort there. I would sew new designs on the towel with my nipples. Juliette picked up the birch rod. She whisked it through the air, testing it. Her eyes gazed at me, challenging eyes, her lips smiled a rueful smile. Did she wish to be in my place? I was a rabbit. I was, indeed, the center of attention. Sir L watched me, not her. I sensed jealously in her movements. She would control mine now, make me respond to her. For Sir L. For his pleasure. I crossed one of my ankles over the other, trying to hide my cunt. It stared back at them, I knew, tucked just under my bottom, tempting Sir L to cease my punishment before its time, plunge himself in, forget Juliette. ÒOpen your legs, you slut!Ó Juliette barked at me. She swung the birch, glided it menacingly over my arse, just missing. I uncrossed my ankles. Tentatively I opened my thighs. ÒWhat makes you think youÕre so special, hiding yourself like that?Ó Juliette asked me. She had not forgotten my haphazard disobedience. ÒCanÕt you see my cunt?Ó I could. Between her legs it lay, sweetly, she arched her hips forward for me to see it better. ÒAnd Sir L?Ó Well, he was obvious, as all men are. ÒWider! Let us really see your private. This is a bathroom, god-dammit! Do you think this is the sanctuary of a church? Do you think youÕre on an alter before God? Get those legs really WELL open, bitch! Just like you want them to be. Just like you know they have to be for Sir L to fuck you properly!Ó As she swung the birch ever closer, sending shivers up my spine, I spread my legs as far as I could. I was trembling with fear. I could not believe I was doing this. Juliette whisked her birch up over my curving hiney, touching it now, just barely. I quivered as the little buds pricked at my soft cheeks. I was bare, so bare, before these naked little buds. They would hurt so badly. I sucked in my breath. It was my last moments, free of pain, free of anything except an immense longing. ÒThis will hurt like the dickens, Melody,Ó Juliette said to me, suddenly compassionate. I gazed up at her tall, nude figure, all curves and slimness, her boobs sticking out like twin melons, her legs open to display her lovely bush. Nothing was hidden between us. And nothing would be, either, once that awful birch rod started in on its task. I would be but blubbering flesh before her then, crying, pleading. In my humbleness I would ask for forgiveness. Sir L passed something to Juliette. A mouth guard. ÒSuch pretty teeth,Ó she said. She bent low, her breasts swinging. She inserted it into my hesitant lips. ÒBite down,Ó she said. ÒOffer your bottom now, up, show me how wanton and bad it is. Tsk, tsk. Something must be done about your attitude, girl.Ó In the distance Sir L began stroking himself. He was pleased by my posture, but would not say so. It might reduce my punishment. Juliette took up position behind me. She gave one final slash at the air with her birch. Then, gazing wilfully at me, she aimed. She struck. I glimpsed it gliding in, as if in slow motion. And then it seared across my hiney. I lurched forward. I thought for a second that a horde of bees had come zinging into the lavatory. I bucked forward, my bottom reared up like a mare in heat. Bounding back down again, I received another. Wicked stings, all over my ass. The flight of the bumblebees, without the music. ÒHow do you feel now? Does it hurt?Ó Sir L asked me. I looked up at him in my nakedness, tears in my eyes. I gagged, murmured over the bit in my mouth. It was there for my protection. It kept me silent. ÒGive her another,Ó Sir L said. ÒShe will ask forgiveness soon enough.Ó WHACK! I bounced, my fanny cheeks flexed, contracted, bulged out. My eyes squeezed shut. I felt flaring bites all over my precocious rump. I sobbed, spit out my bit. ÒNo more!Ó I cried. ÒSix at least,Ó Juliette replied, and told me to ask for the next. I shook, I sobbed. Valiantly I tried to maintain my posture. Bent, submissive, the perfect pose for deep fucking. Sir L gently replaced my bit in my mouth. ÒAsk,Ó he said. ÒSay it. I can hear you.Ó Finally, squeezing my cheeks, releasing them, squeezing again in self-protection, I asked for the next. A murmur, that was all. But he understood. ÒGo,Ó Sir L told his lover. She swung in and cracked me hard against my hiney. ÒOh, woh!Ó I gasped. It stung beyond belief. I scampered off my towel, howling, my bottom waggling like a newly branded heiferÕs. Juliette ran after me. Barefoot she ran, her mane flying. Her arms were slim, elegant. She came upon me cowering in a corner. There was nothing but stern marble walls around, behind me, Juliette in front. ÒGet back to your towel,Ó she ordered. ÒNo, thatÕs all!Ó I cried. My mouth guard lay out beyond me, dropped. My hair tumbled in strands down over my eyes. I wished to hide within it. Juliette reached down, caught me by my hair. She pulled on it. ÒOwwww!Ó I cried. Like a dog she dragged me back to the towel. She made me reposition myself. I sobbed the whole time, pleading. My breasts shook like ripe gourds about to fall from the vine. In the storm. In the wind of the storm. SWAAACK! She did not wait for the perfect pose. Unpoised, bawling, she gave me my next stroke. I was a baby now. A baby in the delivery room. Getting my bottom smacked. A new life in a new world. WHAAAAACK! A final tribute across my ass. A loving swipe, coming up underneath me, lifting me by my tenderest portions up into the air, hitting me right where my ass liked to crease into my thighs. Where my cunt lay. Nipping just the outermost bit of my fig. I shrieked. I leapt up. My hands flew to my ass. Running barefoot across the floor I ran to my corner again, huddled in it. I glanced back over my shoulder, saw them gazing at me, laughing. I rubbed my heinie with brisk hands, tears streaming. I danced from foot to foot upon the cold marble floor, wishing. Wishing the paint would go away, please go away, it hurt so much. ÒWhen youÕre done fooling around, its your turn to do me,Ó Juliette smiled. She tossed the battered birch rod at my feet. It slid on the marble floor. I flinched, drew away from it, deeper into my corner. Sir L took Juliette into his arms. They kissed. They looked like Adam and Eve. Was I the snake? Sir L had the snake, pressed up against JulietteÕs belly. For a long while they kissed, me their naughty child, standing in the corner, weeping over my scorched ass. Did some parents punish their children this way? I wondered. It was erotic, wholesome somehow. Everyone naked as jaybirds, punishing each other for made-up sins in the privacy of the bath. Juliette knelt, brushed back her hair. She bent over the gold faucet on the tub and got it running. She sprinkled in bubble bath. Sir L came, got me, guided me over to the towel where I had so recently paid my penance. Still rubbing my bottom, I bent and picked up the birch. Juliette rose from the faucet and walked over to me. She was chic, graceful. She smiled at me, a bit uppity. Then she got down on the towel, and offered me an elegant pose. Her ass spread before me. Her face dropped onto the towel, wet with my tears. She reached back and pulled her fanny cheeks apart. She smiled at me, then stunned me by letting out a little fart. I was shocked. Sir L laughed. ÒYouÕd better punish her for that,Ó he advised me. Fumbling with the rod, I swished it in against her bottom. Juliette squirmed a little, stilled. ÒYouÕll have to hit a lot harder to get anywhere with her,Ó Sir L laughed. ÒIt isnÕt her first time.Ó ÒI know,Ó I said. I drew back the rod again, feeling my naked breasts rolling on my chest as I drew my hand up, skyward, my heavy jello-like mounds pointing their nipples up, offering themselves to Sir LÕs avid eyes. Down came my arm and I tried to give my wrist the necessary suppleness IÕd heard about. The switch caught JulietteÕs fanny more firmly and she let out a little howl. ÒVery good,Ó Sir L said. ÒYou learn quickly.Ó ÒI try,Ó I smiled. With my other hand I continued to rub my bottom. I think it wished I would learn not to play these games, but I was still curious. Naked as Eve herself I drew the birch skyward again and then sliced it down across JulietteÕs hinds. ÒYeeeeoooch!Ó Juliette gasped. She lifted her head, shook it. Her blonde mane flew in tousled disarray. ÒThere, thatÕs it. Now give her another. Harder,Ó Sir L told me. Obediently I drew back the switch and lofted it over my head and then swung it in again. It connected with JulietteÕs fanny and she screamed. ÒYes, youÕve given her a good one that time,Ó Sir L complimented me. He walked round behind his love and gazed at her seat. A strong red line crossed her lovely white cheeks, parallelled by two pinkish ones where IÕd struck her before. He bent and, his penis sticking out like a tent pole between his legs, he traced the brightest line with his finger. I longed to swish his bottom with my birch. He noticed. ÒGo ahead,Ó he encouraged. ÒI must have a turn also.Ó ÒOkay,Ó I smiled. I got behind him and, as he soothed his finger across his wifeÕs wounded bottom, I gave him a sizzler with my ever more supple wrist right across his hairy ass. ÒYow!Ó He bolted upright. He clapped his hands to his seat. ÒYouÕre getting good at that,Ó he said. ÒI know,Ó I replied. ÒTake your hands away from your bottom.Ó ÒReally, one is quite enough for now,Ó he assured me. You must finish Juliette first.Ó ÒAWAY from your bottom!Ó I annouced. I wasnÕt about to let this dark-haired dreamboat escape with his ass intact now that IÕd witnessed how sweet it was to punish it. ÒDo me while she does you,Ó Juliette breathed to Sir L. Still hiding his little tush behind his hands, he went to the bucket and drew out a birch for himself. He came back to where heÕd been standing. I was waiting for him. My eyes were bright and mischievous. I rubbed my own bottom with one hand even while I waited for him to take his free hand away from his. ÒHumpty Dumpty had a big fall, right on his hairy ass,Ó I sang to him. Reluctantly he removed his hand so I could get a clear shot. At the same time, he whisked his own birch teasingly across his wifeÕs pumpkin. She offered it more boldly to him, hiding her face in the soft folds of the towel. Her hands were balled into tense fists beside her face. WHICK! I gave Sir L a very nice cut right across his gorgeous hairy tush. ÒYeeeow! Damn you, I wonÕt be able to sit for a week!Ó Sir L cursed me. He shook his head. His ass did a little dance. Then, remembering Juliette, he gave her a good one for letting me have my way with him. We traded cuts in the bathroom until our bottoms were all beet red and we could stand no more of it. Then we soaked in the bathwater, adding more water to warm it, for the bath had grown cold waiting for us to enter it. I left the next morning carrying Sir LÕs sperm in my belly and smiling happily. Both of them kissed me goodbye, waved to me as I got into a cab. ÒWhere to?Ó the driver asked. I gave him the address. ÒIs there something wrong with my seat?Ó he asked. He craned his neck back, afraid the back seat of his cab was somehow injuring me. ÒNo,Ó I assured him. I smiled to myself. My bottom hurt, but giving Sir L his due had been a glorious treat. When I arrived back at CybilÕs, Kali was gone. ÒSheÕs gone back to America,Ó Cybil said. ÒA spat with one of her customers.Ó Becky tugged at my arm, eager for me to go swimming with her. ÒDid you get a spanking again?Ó Becky inquired. She clapped her hand to the back of my skirt. ÒYes,Ó I hissed, for the slightest touch hurt my raw bottom. ÒOooo, can I see it?Ó she asked. ÒNo, you may not,Ó Cybil told her. ÒGo watch cartoons.Ó ÒBugs Bonker isnÕt on,Ó Becky whined. ÒOf course not! I hope they donÕt show that trash at noon!Ó Cybil said. ÒWhy does he always stick his thing in Porky?Ó Becky asked. ÒHe never puts in it La Pew, only in Porky, and Elmer, and Tweetie! I like Tweetie. Except Tweetie always says Bugs is too big for him.Ó ÒGod! The things they show on T.V. these days!Ó Cybil cried. ÒBecky, I donÕt want you ever watching that show again, okay?Ó ÒOkay,Ó Becky replied, but as I turned to go up the stairs I saw she had her fingers crossed behind her back. She was curious, just like me. Walking up the front stairs, feeling my bottom tingle painfully in my soft panties with every step, I knew I wished to go on one more mission of love. One more, before I joined Kali back in America, on the stair-steppers that went nowhere. I played by the pool. I waited for the days to pass and my bottom to heal. I endured Becky, who pulled the seat of my swimsuit down every day and insisted looking at the progress of my receeding marks. ÒOooo, you must have been quite naughty,Ó Becky said, exploring my soft uprisen fanny. Her Play-Doh-covered fingers delved between my cheeks. She was making penises with her Play-Doh, setting them up like missiles to dry in the sun beside the glittering pool. ÒBecky, not THERE!Ó I protested. I tried to roll my bottom out of harmÕs way. Her finger burrowed into my little hole. Cybil appeared, carrying a portable phone. ÒCall for you,Ó she smiled. ÒYes?Ó I asked. ÒBecky, donÕt stick your finger up MelodyÕs bottom,Ó Cybil said. She slapped the girlÕs hand lightly but then turned away. I wondered at that. Was she training her daughter to play with girls, for the enjoyment of men? Or simply allowing her daughter to train herself? The result would be the same. I wished Bugs Bonker was on. ÒOoooh, IÕm going to do you just like Bugs does to Porky,Ó Becky announced behind me. I let out a yelp as her finger went deeper. ÒI wish I had a penis,Ó Becky said. ÒYes, I can meet you this Friday, if youÕre a friend of Sir LÕs,Ó I said to the voice on the phone. It was a man. He and his wife had called Cybil, requesting me. My bottom would be all better by then. ÒYes, my ass is fine, or it will be,Ó I said. ÒIÕve just got a little girlÕs finger up it right now, thatÕs all.Ó ÒGood, for I, well, I may want to train it a little,Ó the husky voice said to me. ÒMy wife and I,Ó that is. ÒYou sound very handsome, sir,Ó I said. I blushed and wriggled my hips, glad he couldnÕt see me. Becky giggled. I felt a desire to have something in my other hole, the one Becky wasnÕt playing in. ÒYes, IÕm handsome, donÕt worry,Ó he replied. ÒI wouldnÕt bother you otherwise. But my wife insists on being present. We have a close marriage. You donÕt mind?Ó ÒNo, wives donÕt bother me... too much,Ó I answered. ÒBecky, get your hand OUT of my bottom!Ó I scolded. I rolled on my hip and tried to swat her away. Gleefully she forced her Play-DohÕed finger deeper inside me. ÒOh, goody! YouÕre just like Tweetie Bird!Ó Becky cried. A womanÕs voice came on the phone and the man, who sounded so excellent, was gone. She gave me their address. I tried to write it down but I had no pencil. I felt a drool of spittle drop onto my heinie. ÒCall Cybil back and tell her,Ó I said to the woman. ÒAnd...Ó I felt bold. ÒYour husband sounds gorgeous but I expect to be compensated.Ó ÒOf couse,Ó the woman answered. I clicked off the phone. I hated to charge for my body but I wanted to go home soon. I didnÕt want to have to ask Cybil for more money. I would earn it myself, and if I was lucky, sheÕd make sure I got a nice packet from them for my efforts. ÒBecky, this is my bottom, not yours,Ó I said. I reached back behind myself and clutched at her wrist and drew her Play-DohÕed finger, now coated with a bit more than Play-Doh, out of my bottom. ÒOh, it was fun,Ó Becky said. She gave me a big 9-year-old grin. ÒI know, Becky. I know,Ó I replied. ÒBut youÕre a girl. YouÕre not Bugs Bonker.Ó ÒBut I WANNA be Bugs Bonker!Ó Becky offered, her eyes bright. ÒBut youÕre not,Ó I said. And I turned her around and, as she squirmed in my grip, I yanked down her swimsuit in back and gave her little white bottom a slap. ÒBe good, or IÕll spank you.Ó I said. ÒOook, you already have,Ó Becky said. She darted away from me, escaping me somehow. ÒThatÕs not a spanking. ThatÕs one slap,Ó I told her. ÒItÕs enough for me!Ó Becky cried. And she dove into the pool like a fish, escaping the hook of the fisherman.