Party Pussies 2.

“And me too! Let me milk the men too!” Bow said impetuously. “I’m going to send you up to your room if you don’t act your age,” Petra warned the girl. (Of course, if she did act her age, not asking repeatedly to be fucked, she got to go to an orgy, which struck me as rather strange.) “Oh, alright,” Bow said. “At least I’ll have Bert with me.” She shrugged her shoulders, hoisting the bear that hung from her back. She looked at me. “He’s really a boy,” she assured me. “Mine too,” I answered. We walked outside into the night. What a strange procession we must have made! Petra led the men. She was clad but unclad in her riding gear. The men loped along beside her. Their big penises stuck out from them like batons. They bobbled freely. Petra kept them mindful of her crop by aimlessly (or so it seemed) swishing it alongside herself. It whipped through the air past her thighs, and past the thighs of the men who walked at her flanks. A quick flick of her wrist and she could deliver instant pain to their erect penises. Perhaps it excited them, being so vulnerably displayed to her crop like that. Bow and I followed. We carried our bears on our backs. Bethany liked my bear, his diapers. She wished she could have one to keep her company, but we only had two. I told her she could have my bear on the trip back up from the dungeon. That satisfied her. Walking alongside Bethany was Annette. They held hands. Annette had red hair and it streamed off her shoulders, lifted by the light breeze. The owl was out again. I heard it screech. It was looking for prey. The men lifted the storm door to the cellar open for us. How courteous, I thought, except it was a wry sort of courtesy, I thought, since we were, unequivocally, being led toward a fate that would leave us girls raw and sore. Nonetheless, I gave both men a shy smile as I passed. I didn’t wish to be difficult, as Bethany was sometimes. I wished to please. I wished to be admired as pleasing. It was in my nature. But I felt apprehension, for a female asked to please a man in a dungeon can get herself into more than she wishes to. Could I cope? I didn’t know. I would try. That was all I could do, wasn’t it? Try to please my boyfriend, Robin, and the new man, Luke, that Petra had assigned me to meet. Yes, I would do my best. Both men’s big penises throbbed at me as I passed between them. Their sacs were full beneath, hanging like taut, hairy bags. A touch of my finger might set them off. Bow passed between them next. She wished to suck upon them, tried, was given a quick slap on her bottom by Petra. Next, with me leading the way this time into the darkness, came Bethany and Annette. I heard them both squeal, as they passed the men. Standing halfway down the ladder, trying to find the next rung with my bare foot, I looked up. I couldn’t see what was happening. Bow’s bottom wiggled nakedly above my eyes. Her long hair shifted across her back. I saw feet, a glimpse of cunt, above her. I noticed light growing in the dungeon. A new invention? Perhaps a servant had installed a bulb that would slowly lighten the chamber once the doors had been lifted. I was grateful. I looked up again, tried to catch a glimpse of the stars above the open hatchway. But there were too many people on the ladder now. “Don’t drip your sperm on my head!” I heard Bethany announce petulantly. Robin, or was it Luke? was above her. The men’s dicks leaked precum. Bow, the little slut, lifted her head and opened her mouth wide, hoping to catch some. The cage. It stood before us in the now bright light of the dungeon. We would be locked in it again, in with all that awful equipment. Somewhere in there waited ‘the chair’. Bethany would be bound into it, her feet spread, I guessed. What other use could there be for such an innocently named device in such a diabolical place? The men would mate with her. They would loose their sperm inside her, to make them a little bit easier for Annette and I to take up our bottoms. Petra moved ahead of me. She alone was clothed. The rest of us were stark naked. Her clothes were minimal, though. Just gloves and boots, a cap, a scarf. And her handy riding crop. Were we animals? She unlocked the cage door. She swung it open. With a beckoning of her crop, she herded us into her cage. Then, when we were all inside, she swung the door closed again, locking herself in with her pets. She smiled. She had us all at her beck and call now. Annette and I were too inexperienced to challenge her. Bethany and Bow were too little. The men, Robin and Luke, were in thrall to her, and too hard to think of anything but obeying her whims. We were all wet with baby oil in our privates. (Except little Bow, of course, who longed to be.) “The purpose of our party is pain,” Petra announced. She eyed Annette, who was new. Then Bethany, then me. She ignored Bow. Then she let her eyes fasten themselves on first one man’s tool, then the other. “And pleasure,” she added, almost as an afterthought. She lifted a gloved hand. She used it to brush back her hair. Then she advanced on Annette, cat-like. She touched the woman’s face. “How much pain can you stand, hmmm, Annette? And how much pleasure? We’ll find out tonight, I’m sure. Or at least we’ll begin to.” Annette was shivering. She’d never been in a dungeon before. I wished I hadn’t been. I was only 13, after all. I shouldn’t be here. I should be home, content with Love@AOL on the Net, reading messages posted by dweebs. But instead I was here, naked, my pussy wet with baby oil. I swallowed. I prayed I could survive whatever Petra had planned for us. I wondered if the two randy men, hard as they were, and desperate, would really step in and save me if Petra got out of hand. I hoped they would. I trusted Robin. I didn’t know Luke. The servants had already come and gone. They had prepared our cell beforehand. Fresh cut flowers stood in a crystal vase on a wooden table. Droplets of water clung to their petals. On the barred wall of the cell, incongrously, someone had hung a painting, or a print of a painting, by Matisse. The sofas were clean. There was no sign of our soapy play from the night before. And, quite grimly, the equipment that made this cell so forbidding waited beyond the twin sofas. “Please, have a seat,” Petra invited us. Quietly we padded past her, past her easily-applied crop, our bottoms flinching as we passed, and sat down on the sofas. Bow and I unshouldered our teddy bears and gave them a seat of their own beside ourselves on the couch. We were seated as we’d been the night before. Except now, instead of having Tom beside me, I had Luke. Bethany flanked his other side. Bow sat next to Bethany. Her teddy bear, Bert, sat next to her. Bow finished arranging her teddy bear on the sofa. She stood up. She walked over to the table with the flowers atop it. She opened a drawer that hung underneeath the table. She took out a bubble wand and a bottle of oil to make bubbles with. Perhaps she had secreted the items in the drawer when last she had played down here, by herself. Or perhaps Verona, to keep her busy, had left the items there for her. In any event, with her wand and her bottle of oil, Bow plopped down on the couch next to Bethany. The two of them were soon sharing the bubble wand. They held it for each other, while the other blew into it, making bubbles. The big diaphanous spheres wobbled from the wand’s tip into the air. They rose toward the ceiling, where they eventually shattered against the barred roof of our cell. Petra ignored them. There was a bucket of ice next to the vase of flowers. Within it was a bottle of white wine. Arranged around the bucket were glasses, but not enough for us all. We would have to share. Petra drew the bottle from the ice. It was slick with melted water. She gave it and a corkscrew to Luke. Manfully he opened it, while she stood over him, watching. When the bottle was open Petra herself served our glasses. Annette was forced to sip from the same glass as Robin. He held the glass for her as she sipped. Luke and I shared a glass. He held it for me. My breasts caressed his arm as I drank from it. “Ooooh, I want some!” Bow cried out. “You get Kool-Aid, my dear,” Petra told her. “You too Bethany.” “I’m not eight,” Bethany protested. “I know you’re not, dear. That’s why I’m putting you in the chair, to receive the men’s sperm. Nonetheless, to keep Bow happy, please share a glass of Kool-Aid with her.” Bethany rolled her eyes. But, perhaps feeling submissive, she protested no further. Bow whispered something in her ear, and she giggled. “What was that, girls?” Petra asked. She poured Kool-Aid from a pitcher that stood behind the ice bucket. She brought the glass over to the girls. “Bow says the lemonade looks like pee,” Bethany laughed. “I’m not drinking that. It’s pee!” Bow confirmed. “Open your mouth, dear. Such pretty lips,” Petra said to Bethany. The blonde looked up at the woman. Petra’s fingers touched her lips. She opened Bethany’s mouth, prying Beth’s lips and teeth apart, until the girl looked like a horse about to receive a bit. Petra poured in the lemonade. Bethany choked a little. Then she swallowed quickly, to keep up with Petra’s pouring. “There. Did that taste like pee?” Petra asked Bethany. “Noooo,” Bethany agreed. She was quite submissive now. She folded her hands in her lap like a little schoolgirl. But unlike a girl in school she had not a stitch of clothing on. Not panties, not even socks for her feet. “You see, Bow?” Petra told her 8-year-old niece. The woman returned to the table. The glass was small. She refilled it with the pitcher. “It doesn’t taste like pee,” Bethany assured Bow. Petra returned with the glass. She handed it to Beth. “Pour it into her mouth,” Petra told Bethany. As I sipped from the glass Luke held for me, as Robin was given a drink by Annette, little Bow was made to drink by Bethany. The 8-year-old resisted a little at first, but Bethany took her lips in her fingers and forced her, just as she had been forced by Petra. Except for a little wiggling, Bow swallowed down the entire glassful without incident. I thought she might wind up spilling it on herself but she didn’t. We chatted. Strange as it sounds, we hardly knew each other. We hadn’t had time to talk much upstairs. Petra asked Luke about his work. She sat down, primly, next to Robin. She pretended to ignore the big aching penis he was carving the air with. Luke, equally stiff and visible, nonetheless answered Petra’s questions like a man in a suit having a job interview. Annette asked me how Bethany and I ever came to be here, being so young. I explained as best as I could. She said she’d run away at 13, but only managed to ride the bus out to L.A. She’d tried selling herself there, she laughed, on Sunset Boulevard, wearing her jeans and her backpack. But the cars only rolled by, ignoring her. Then she’d hit on the idea (for she had only the clothes she was wearing) of cutting her jeans’ legs off. Wearing just the remainder, a small swath of denim around her hips, her legs all bare, and leaving the backpack behind a dumpster, she tried again. “I immediately had three offers,” Annette said. Her voice was cheerful, but a little nervous. Perhaps it was her story, or the coolness of the air down here in this cellar, or the fact that we were all, despite our manners and our polite demeanor, locked in a cell. “Three offers! Two cars almost collided with each other in the street.” “What did you do?” Bow asked. Petra frowned. She didn’t like little Bow listening to stories about young girls running away, I guessed. But Bow was all ears. Her bubble wand didn’t interest her anymore. “I got scared, with so many men suddenly interested in me,” Annette confessed. “I ran away.” Petra smiled. I suppose she liked that ending. It wouldn’t inspire little Bow to take up the idea. Yet I could almost see the small girl, out on the dirt road, wearing just her swim panties, sticking her thumb out and strolling along, hoping a driver might stop and buy her. Fortunately Petra’s estate was remote. There was little chance of a car coming by, even if Bow were to stand by the roadside all day. “I took the bus back home,” Annette said. “But I had only my hot pants now. I looked quite sexy, riding the bus in them. A boy got on the bus in Nevada and he sat with me. We necked.” Annette blushed. “Did he screw you?” Luke asked. He looked perturbed. “He was nice,” Annette replied. She let Robin hold their wine glass and she sipped from it. Perhaps to show her independence from Luke, despite being his girl friend, she stroked a finger along Robin’s dick. My beau, my boyfriend, shuddered at her touch. To get revenge, despite liking Annette, I stroked the dick of Luke. It throbbed against the tip of my finger. “Well, we must begin,” Petra said. She had a wine glass of her own and she downed its contents, quickly. She stood. She beckoned with a wave of her crop. We stood. Luke took my hand. With his other hand he took hold of Bethany. She started, feeling him grab her hand. But she acceeded, let him draw her across the room. Bow strolled behind us. She brought her bubble wand with her, and blew more bubbles as she walked along. One of them drifted to Luke’s butt and burst upon it. “Hey!” Luke said, startled. “Your ass killed my bubble,” Bow pouted. “You’ll feel more demanding things upon your cute buns than a bubble before the night is over, I assure you, Luke,” Petra told him, laughing. Robin led Annette. She was shy. She shivered as he made her rise and walk from the sofa. We trailed back behind the couches and into the maze of equipment. “Ohhh, what’s this?” Annette asked. She touched a hook dangling from a device. “Perhaps you will learn about it, soon enough,” Petra answered. “But first we must get Bethany seated.” “Ohhh, I don’t want too,” Bethany said. “Come, child, here it is,” Petra said. “What is it?” Bethany asked. I might have asked the same thing myself. There was a large barrel. It looked like it might have once held moonshine. It was tall, and only half of it remained. I have no idea where the other half was. It was sawed in half, from top to bottom. It served as the backdrop for a small leather covered stool. The stool was set within the curving walls of the barrel. Not quite connected to the stool, but leaning back from it, was what looked like a narrow seat back. It, like the stool, was covered in leather. Chains hung suspended above the stool. I saw metal stirrups fixed to the barrel’s edges. There was one on the left side of the barrel, and one on the right. They were at the same height as the stool. I suddenly realized that a girl might sit in the stool, and lean back on the seat back, and put her feet up into the stirrups. If she did, her sex would be shamelessly displayed. Even a man might sit on the stool and, if he fitted his feet into the stirrups, his erection and even his balls would be exposed to whatever depredations others might wish to inflict upon them. “Yeek!” Bethany cried. Petra took my friend firmly in hand. She plopped Bethany’s bare ass down on the leather covered stool. Annette and I, perhaps inspired by the naughtiness of seeing her thus displayed, moved forward and grabbed her knees. I lifted her left knee. Annette lifted her right. We placed her small bare feet into the metal stirrups. There was a leather strap at the back of each stirrup and, seeing it, I buckled the strap around Bethany’s heel, so she couldn’t remove her foot. Annette did the same with Bethany’s other foot. “Her knees too, dear,” Petra told me. I felt Petra’s riding crop touch my behind. I obeyed. I was fearful she might swat it against me if I didn’t. I took the chains which hung down over Bethany’s left knee. I wrapped them underneath my friend’s knee. Then I drew them up, and attached them high above her to a hook. I had to stand on my tip-toes to do it. I felt my bare breasts wobble on my chest as I lifted my arms high. Petra’s crop grazed my bottom again, making me flinch. “Lie back, dear. Make yourself comfortable,” Petra told Bethany. She stroked the girl’s belly. Rather anxiously, Bethany was leaning back against the chair back, the back that was not quite attached to the stool. “Reach back,” Petra told Beth. “Do you feel handcuffs back there, dangling from the back of the barrel?” Petra asked. “Ooooh, yes. But I can’t stick– can’t stick my hands back that far–,” Bethany protested, though even now, perhaps out of curiousity, she was doing just that, feeling for the cuffs. Petra stepped into the barrel, straddling her uptilted thigh. She reached back. Her hair brushed against Bethany’s face and breasts as she leaned deeply over the girl. I heard one click, then another. “Oh!” Bethany cried. But it was too late. Petra had locked her hands into the cuffs. The woman stepped back out of the barrel. Bethany was left fruitlessly wriggling her arms, quite trapped now, her legs akimbo, her wrists cuffed far behind her. Her bare bosoms wobbled invitingly on her chest. I saw her nipples stiffen. She was ready. Petra, quite pleased with her wickedness, went to the back wall of our cell. She drew back a black curtain. I saw whips arranged there, and other implements, and also several black gags. Annette, standing beside me, gasped as the things were revealed. I felt butterflies rise in my tummy. I palmed my belly, wished I wasn’t here. But I was, and I couldn’t leave now. My best friend Bethany was trapped on a stool in a barrel! Petra selected a gag. It was made of silk. She returned to Bethany. Leaning forward over the girl, she made Bethany accept the silk gag in her mouth. She knotted it behind the girl’s head. “Now you are ready, my sweet,” Petra said. Yet there was one thing more. Petra took hold of some ropes that were fixed to the chair back. She drew their length out in her palms. Then, quite ruthlessly, she bound the ropes around Bethany’s breasts. “Oh! Yeek! No! Please!” Bethany cried through her gag. It muffled her protests, making her words sound silly. When Petra was done, the girl’s bosoms were wrapped by the ropes. They squeezed her tits, compressing them, making them extrude their bulk out beyond the soft clamping of the ropes. Bethany’s nipples stood out like pointed stems on fat cherries held squeezingly between one’s teeth. I thought her breasts might burst, they looked so plump, so exquisitely bound by the tight ropes. I longed to lean forward and lick at her nipples. Petra had more sinister plans. “My, my, little Bethany, how deliciously you present yourself,” Petra taunted the girl. She went to the back wall again, leaving us to admire Beth. The men seemed mesmerized by her. The small 12-year-old had her legs spread wide, her knees strung up by chains, her little feet bound securely into the widely-spaced stirrups. Her cunny was wet with baby oil, set within her splayed thighs like center of a nectar-laden flower whose petals have been opened. There was no stamen, of course, to this flower. Just her little dell, beckoning, urging the men to plunge themselves up within its warm, wet depths. Bethany’s bare tummy trembled tautly. Her tits jiggled within their rope bindings. She tried turning her head to see what Petra was bringing back with her from the back wall, where the implements hung. I saw. It was a feather. And in her other hand she still held her riding crop. “I– haftoo pe-ee!” Bethany said through her gag as Petra reappeared beside her. “Well of course, dear. Just after you’re all seated and trussed up too, hmmm?” Petra said. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of that chair for such an unimportant thing as that.” Bow, however, scurried away, and returned moments later with the same pail we’d used the night before. It looked freshly scrubbed. “Here,” Bow said. There was a look of concern on her small 8-year-old face. “Well, for your sake, then, dear,” Petra told the girl. She gave her feather and her crop to Luke. He received them, stared at them. The feather was a big ostrich feather. It looked very soft. The crop, of course, was as hard as his dick. Petra placed the bucket underneath Bethany. She knelt down between the girl’s uplifted legs. I watched her bare bottom as she squatted. It split nicely as she knelt, and hung underneath her like a ripe peach waiting to be picked from a tree at harvest time. Luke, I think, contemplated bending down and giving her a swat on her exposed hiney, but he didn’t, perhaps because just then Bethany began peeing. We crowded in to watch. Holding open the lips of Bethany’s cunt, Petra let the girl pee right into the bucket. The chair wasn’t in the way for Bethany. My friend, leaning back, actually had the frontmost part of her ass off the seat. She was well-displayed, and well offered, and I knew the men must be looking forward to kneeling in front of her and stabbing into her with their cocks. PISSSSS! went Bethany’s pee into the bucket. The sound was intoxicating. We watched her, urinating, and I felt a little envious, for the men hardly noticed myself or Annette. Their eyes were fixed on Bethany, on the opened flower of her cunt, on the naughty fluid it was offering. She finished at last peeing into the bucket. There was a small box of tissue wipes on the clean-swept floor next to the base of the barrel. Petra took one. She passed it up through Bethany’s legs. “There. All wiped. All set,” Petra said. She stood, hoisting the bucket up with her. She turned to Bow. “Here, go empty it dear, in the drain,” Petra said. She handed the bucket to the small girl. Bow took it, and looked quite silly as she did, for it was quite heavy for her, and her eyes bulged and she grunted as the weight of the bucket was placed into her small hands. “Oh! Ah! Ug! Oh!” Bow proclaimed, waddling away with the bucket. I could hear the urine sloshing within it. Her little ass jiggled behind her. She reached the drain and, with a great sigh, dumped Bethany’s pee down it. Some pee splashed on her feet and her legs. Bow dropped the empty bucket onto the floor. She skipped back to the back of the cell. There was a box of wet Handi-Wipes on a shelf at the back of the cell, I saw, my eyes following her movements. Bow pulled a half dozen wipes out of the box. Anxiously she wiped herself off. When she was done, she dropped the crumpled wipes on the floor. They lay there like discarded flowers, picked by a lover, then left when his love proved unwilling. I guessed the maid would pick them up after we were done playing. “Ohhhhh!” Bethany announced. My eyes returned to her. Petra was leaning over her. She had retrieved the ostrich feather from Luke. Lightly she brushed the feather up over Bethany’s nipples. The girl shivered. She gasped into her gag. Petra dipped lower, stroking her belly. Then, going lower still, Petra assualted the girl’s wet cunt. “Ah! Damn!” Luke declared. He grabbed his cock. Eagerly he began fisting himself. His dick was wet with baby oil and his hand, though gripping himself quite tightly, slid easily up and down his shaft. “Yeech!” Bethany whined. She bit her gag. Petra was driving her crazy with that insidious feather. It flicked her cunt, it stroked along the insides of her thighs. It tickled her bare toes in the stirrups. Then Petra began applying her crop. “Oh, don’t!” I cried. My friend was utterly vulnerable. She was trussed up, bound, gagged. Yet her nipples were quite forcibly presented, as was the wet openness of her cunt. Petra payed me no attention. She whacked Beth’s nipples. She flicked the crop hard against her tummy, leaving small red marks. She slapped its loop down upon Beth’s wide-open cunt. Bethany began to sob. It must have hurt her quite badly, I thought, to have that nasty crop whacking her slit. Petra laughed. “Fetch towels, Bow. The men must have something nice and soft to kneel on,” she told her little niece. Bow scurried off to the back of the cell. I saw towels stacked there, all soft and fluffy, as if, in this nearly waterless cell, we were going to have a bath. She picked up a half dozen towels and returned with them. She looked so sweet, the towels piled right up to her eyes. Petra took them from her, one by one, and laid them down on the floor in front of Bethany’s spread cuntlips. “Ah, Luke. Are you ready?” Petra asked, when she was done. She tossed her whip and feather to the floor. Bow scampered over to them and picked them up. “Don’t hit me with that,” I warned the girl. Eagerly she swished the forgotten crop through the air. Petra, meanwhile, reached beckoningly for Luke’s cock. He placed its warm length in her palm. Her hand was much too small to contain all of him. Even both her hands, grasping him, would have left some of his length extruding out beyond her gripping hands. As it was, with just one hand holding him, she looked rather like she was trying to take hold of a big knockwurst sausage with just a small delicate white bun. Petra drew Luke by his penis over to where Bethany sat waiting. Through tear-clouded eyes, the girl watched Luke kneel down before her. He flexed his bare behind. He gazed at her. He leaned forward and, gallantly, placed a kiss on her small indrawn tummy. Then he kneed forward a little, on the towels. His big purplish cockhead bumped against her wet slit. “Oh!” Bethany cried. Her teeth chattered against her gag. Big tears rolled down her cheeks but, suddenly, she was no longer sobbing, just crying quietly. Did she accept his presence, pressed against her dell? I didn’t know. But I was too entranced by how big he was, and how small her little opening looked, to interfere. Could Luke really get that big sausage-like thing of his up into Bethany’s cunt? I feared he would try. I knew he would. But I didn’t say anything, just stared, waiting. “Yeeeeoooch!” Bethany howled. Suddenly, quite deliberately, Luke jabbed at her cunt with his lance. Some of him managed to stick himself into her. The girl twisted her head. She tried vainly to separate the gag from her teeth, working her mouth, so that she might protest more vocally. Luke’s bare bottom flexed again. The motion caused him to sink even deeper within her. Bethany shouted. I leaned forward. I was curious. He was in her now. Up to almost a third of his cock. I touched my belly. Would I too feel him in me, before the night was over? I guessed I would. How big he was! He looked like he would rip her open, yet I saw no blood, just the big thick stem of his cock, slowly sliding up into her. “Ugh! God! She’s tight!” Luke said, gritting his teeth. He gave another shove. More of his manhood disappeared inside her. Bethany shouted at the ceiling but none of us paid her the least attention. We were too entranced by Luke’s progress. He flexed his bare buns, and more of himself sunk into her. He was almost completely up her now. I wondered how she could take all of him. She was only 12. Where was she managing to put him? I feared at any minute his cockhead might push its way out between her lips, and show itself, bulging, under her gag. “Ah!” Luke gasped. He was in her completely now. His balls swung under his cock, happily. They knew salvation was close at hand. Luke drew back. His cock began sliding out of her. It was wet with her juices. Bethany gave a sigh of relief. But too soon, I fear. For just as Luke was about to withdraw his head, he rammed himself forward. “YEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Bethany yelled. It sounded like a never-ending scream. I don’t know when it finally died away. It seemed to continue forever. Luke slammed himself up inside her. Then, just as I thought he might spend, relieving both himself and her, he drew back. And, maliciously, just before withdrawing from her completely, he shoved himself forward again. In and out he moved now. His asscheeks clenched tight as he worked. His balls grew more taut. He stuck her repeatedly with his big prong, as if sticking a piglet with a sword in order to kill it for dinner. Bethany was in turmoil. Her neck twisted, her mouth worked at her gag. She wrenched at her bonds, trying to free her hands. It was no use. All her struggles were fruitless. She was open and exposed and there was nothing she could do, nothing at all, to stop Luke’s assualt on her privates. “You’re up next,” Petra told Robin. He was fisting himself. She made him desist. To keep him happy she glided her fingertips across the top of his cock. But she didn’t touch him underneath, for a touch there might have triggered his release. I slid my hand down my belly. I sighed. I touched my slit. Ah, I did not wish to play with my opening, but how could I not? It was so erotic, watching little Bethany have to take big Luke up her snatch. And he an adult, and she just a child. Was there ever such a mis-matched couple? He was big and strong. His job was building tall buildings, in Mexico City. He was a welder. He welded together beams on the skyscrapers. Bethany was just a girl, a seventh-grade girl, to be sure, but just a year past the lunch box-toting days of primary school. She had a Barbi lunchbox. We used to play a little game on the back of her lunch box, moving pennies across a printed board to see who could get to Ken first. Now she had Ken inside her. He pumped her lustily. She moaned, tried to sit up, couldn’t. She could only receive him. She could only lie there, and entertain him with her feminine cries, and wait for him to release himself into her. He did, at last. With a final series of manful thrusts he gave himself completely to her. When he rose, sperm dripped from her wet cunt. He turned away. His schlong looked less elongated now. It hung between his legs, like a spent snake. It no longer stood up stiffly. My Robin was still stiff. He walked past me, his cock carving the air before him with wobbling flourishes. He knelt before Bethany. Her eyes widened. Perhaps she had thought her ordeal was over. Not quite. Not until Robin satisfied himself. I felt my tummy tighten. I wanted to rush forward, to free her. But Robin was quick. Before I could even move, he gave her the first stab of his cock. “EEEEEEEEK!” Bethany blurted, through her gag. Robin ground into her. He was hungry. He shoved with quick thrusts of his hips. I thought poor Bethany might pass out. Her eyes rolled in her head. Robin gazed at her fiercely. In he went, deeper, and then when he finally got himself all the way into her he pulled back. Ah, how vicious it was. I had to turn away for a moment. She was too helpless. This was no match of equals, or even of half-equals. She was bound, was only a child. He was a full-grown man, and free to move against and within her however he wished. Annette touched my bottom. I turned. Her lips sought mine. I was grateful. I did not wish to see anymore Bethany’s sufferings. I threw my arms up around Annette’s neck. She clasped my waist. We kissed. I felt a finger slip up between my legs. Whose was it? Not Annette’s. I could feel both her palms holding me by my hips. I pressed close to her, my tummy to hers, my breasts crushed against her own. Then the finger between my legs was replaced by a bubble wand. I heard a childish giggle. “Ah! No!” I gasped, murmured. My words were lost in Annette’s seeking lips. The bubble wand found my clit and scraped against it. “Mmmf! mmmmmm! Mmmff!” I cried. Wildly I rubbed my belly to Annette’s. My nipples clashed with hers. Our muffs, pressed close, intertwined their springy curled hairs. “Our bottoms are next,” Annette confessed to me through close-pressed lips. “Yes!” I whined back at her. I shivered. I felt her trembling against me. Would we be able to endure it? I knew not. We were both virgins, untested in our hineys. It would be a struggle, I knew, taking those big men up our butts. I prayed we could do it. Otherwise, I feared, I might die down here, and never see the morning, my ass split wide, myself left as limp and lifeless as the smiling teddy bears Bow and I had carried down with us. Robin finished his work. He coughed. He rose. I separated myself from Annette. We clasped hands. We stood close, our cunnies wet and needing attention. Bethany, poor girl, had a surfeit of attention. I dripped out of her in great, white blobs. She looked like some little fertility goddess, that all the men in the tribe had paid tribue to. Petra walked up to her. She bent, kissed the girl on the cheek. Then she began untying her. At last Bethany was permitted to stand. She could barely do it, she was so thoroughly plumbed and defiled by the men. Her knees wobbled. Her ribs heaved beneath her wobbling breasts. Her mouth opened, shut. Her eyes blinked. I knew she must be sore. I wondered what my bottom would feel like after both men had finished putting themselves to me in that manner. Would I have to take both of them? I wondered. I did not know. I hoped they didn’t have enough stuff in them to go three rounds. Yet, curiously, another part of my mind wished they might be capable of going forever. We walked back to the couched. Bethany was picked up and carried by Luke, she was so unsteady on her feet. He dropped her onto one of the sofas. Immediately she rolled over onto her belly. She hid her face in her arms. I sat down beside her. I stroked her soft hair. It was all tangled from her struggles. She whimpered something, telling me to desist, I think, but I kept caressing her hair anyway, hoping to make her feel better. She kicked her feet. Bow was going to sit down next to her feet but when she almost got kicked she removed herself to the other couch. Both men sat there, and Petra, and Annette. Annette had to sit on Robin’s lap. I felt a little jealous at that. Bow climbed up onto Luke’s lap. “Oooohhh, your thing is getting big again,” Bow told Luke. “I guess you’re inspiring me,” Luke kidded her. Bow smiled. She tossed back her blonde hair. “Don’t play with his penis,” Petra warned Bow. “Come sit next to me.” But the girl didn’t listen. Instead, quite inquisitively, she touched and fondled Luke’s growing member. “Will it shoot white stuff onto me?” Bow asked Luke. “Hopefully not,” Luke answered. Petra rose and poured more wine for us. She gave me a glass, and Annette. I sipped mine. Annette would have to share with both Luke and Robin, I guessed. I didn’t mind. We were closer now. We could share and share alike with our lovers. “I hope both you girls are ready to lose your anal virginity,” Petra told myself and Annette. She said nothing. Neither did I. Finally she nodded, just a bit, and then quickly took another sip of her wine. “Fine. I’m going to whip you both a little first, to warm you up for it,” Petra said. “You’ll relax more once the whip has plied some of your more anxious emotions out of you.” “I’m still sore from last night,” I protested. “I’ll go more lightly on you, but you must have some, all the same,” Petra told me. “And Annette, of course, having never been whipped, must have the full treatment.” “What will you –?” Annette gulped. “What will you use… on my bottom?” she managed to say, gulping again when she’d finally gotten the question out of her throat. I saw her mouth tighten. She took refuge in her wine, sipping it again. Her big eyes looked up at Petra from the rim of her uptilted glass. “Why, there is such a variety of things available,” Petra replied. “Isn’t there? Spanking straps, single-thonged whips, cats. Which would you prefer, my dear?” Petra asked. Annette stiffened. I don’t know if she’d been seeking to make the choice herself. She turned around. Over the back of the couch she could see, in the distance, all the items of flagellation displayed on the peg board, where the gags hung. I gazed at her bare shoulders, her slim bare arms, the line of her spine running down her curving back. I felt a great love for her then, and a great admiration too, for she knew whatever she chose must hurt. That was it’s purpose. “The–” she pointed. “That one,” she said. “With the tails.” “The cat? Brave girl!” Petra said. She walked up to Annette and stroked the girl’s long red hair. Annette shivered at her touch. “It will lash your bottom most exquisitely, and leave long red marks in its wake,” Petra told her. “You won’t be able to sit for a week.” “That’s — if it’s to be any of them — that’s the one I want, all the same,” Annette said. Her voice was small, submissive. She had no more wine to drink. Graciously Petra took her glass from her and went to the table and refilled it. The men were soon stiff again, with all the talk of which whip we might take on our bottoms. I chose the single-thonged whip. I was not as bold as Annette. I knew how much a cat could hurt, if it was applied with vigor. She was utterly new to the sport, and naive in her newness. By morning she would understand better. Petra needed more baby oil, but could find none. She swore. The maid, apparently, had forgotten it, though she remembered much else; the flowers, the bucket, the ice, the wine. “We could use my bubble potion,” Bow offered. “Why yes! That’s nice and oily,” Petra declared. “But only if I get to put it on the men’s penises,” Bow insisted. Petra frowned. She did not like seeing her 8-year-old niece sport so casually with the men. At the rate she was going, she’d be pregant before her 12th birthday. But she could hardly stop the girl, at least in this matter. Sensing she’d won, for there was nothing else we could do, Bow began using her bubble wand to spread bubble lotion across the men’s dicks. The men shivered. The girl was, after all, only 8, a freshly-minted graduate of the third grade. But they could do little except present their cocks to her. They were excited in their stiffness and longed to puncture the bottoms of Annette and myself. If they expected to be successful, they had to be re-greased for the venture. Bottoms did not wetten like pussies, though, I was soon to learn, they might offer up some moisture when the event was fully underway. With the men dripping with Bow’s bubble fluid, Petra bid us to rise. We did, all shivering a little, I think, for we were all so bare and naked and about to embark on forbidden acts. She drew us into the back of the cell. There, I saw to my surprise, behind a big rack, where a girl might be hung up by her wrists and tortured, were two padded bolsters. They were made of leather. There was a depression in the middle of each where other girls had obviously left their mark. Petra took my hand. She drew me to the bolster. I looked down at it. It rose to the level of my tummy. It looked soft. Comfort would not be a problem, until, that was, the men, Luke or Robin, quartered my bottom. Petra laughed. She knew I was nervous. My bottom cheeks were clenching. She pushed me over the bolster and I let myself fall, knowing I must. I gasped. My belly bounced upon the bolster and then settled nicely upon it. I hung with my head down in front and my toes scraping the floor behind me. My bottom was lofted high, on full view to the eyes of the men. I saw a bar and gripped it. It gave me confidence. Behind me I felt Petra draw my legs apart. My ankles were bound to the sides of the trestle. Then my wrists, to the bar in front. I gripped it tightly, even though, once bound to it, there was no way to separate myself from it. I closed my eyes. I felt female fingers come to my lips. A gag was inserted. It would spare me embarrassing words in the heat of the battle. I heard Annette cast down over the bar beside me. I opened my eyes. I turned my head. She gazed at the floor. Her eyes widened when she felt her legs separated behind her. She gripped the bar that hung low between the legs of her trestle, as I gripped mine. She waited. Her breath, exhaling, blew at her hair that hung down all round her face. When she relaxed, briefly, lowering her head, her hair fell back from her face and, mane-like, dropped in long red curls all the way to the floor. I watched her, feeling my own sighs, my own wrigglings against the bonds which held me. Petra came around to her front and tied off her wrists. Then Petra went behind her again. “Oh!” Annette suddenly blurted. I twisted my head, looked back. “Be still, girl. You know I must do this,” Petra scolded. I saw to my surprise that Petra was dipping her finger into Bow’s bottle of bubble fluid. Drawing it out, she poked Annette in her bottom. I guessed she must be oiling Annette’s bottomhole with her finger. I was next. I watched as Annette, flinching and trying to rise, suffered the intrusion. At last Petra was done. She walked over to me. “Oh, I doth neeth any,” I tried to say through my gag. But I felt fingers pry apart my bottom. Then, a moment later, something hard, with a sharp nail on it, circled my anus. It felt wet, oily. I jerked. It drove in, punishing me. I gasped. “They are ready,” Petra told the men. “Do you desire to whip them, or shall I have the honors?” “You forgot to gag her,” Robin said of Annette. “Oh, yes. No matter,” Petra said. “Let her boyfriend hear her screams. He will enjoy them. It’s her first time.” “Please let me up?” Annette asked. She spoke in a small, squeaky voice, like a little mouse hoping for mercy from a cat. “Ah, she is going to be too vocal,” Petra decided. “Bow, bring me a gag for her.” And so Annette was gagged, over her protests, her mouth even trying, I think, to bite at Petra’s fingers. Luke helped her with the task. When she was muffled I looked over at her. She looked foolish. Her eyes were gaping wide, her teeth were apart. The gag was pushed deep into her mouth, making her lips look like fish-lips, gasping for oxygen. Yet I knew I must look the same, to her, for I was gagged too. I heard the swish of a whip. It frightened me. I pulled at my bonds. They did not give way. “Which of you shall I do first, hmmm?” Petra asked us. Of course, being gagged, neither of us could answer. I wondered how we might have, though, if we could have done more than just mumble. Did I hear myself saying, ‘Do her?’ Or was it ‘Do me. Get it over with please.’ I felt confused in my fright. I wiggled my fanny. Was I inviting her to strike it, to do me first, to finish with me, so that I might rise, or did I hope somehow to ward off her blows by wiggling my ass? The wine, I think, had made me a little heady. Perhaps that was best. I knew, whichever of us went first, I would feel awful when the whip finally connected with my bare flesh. “SHEEEEEEEEK!” Sounded suddenly beside me. I jerked my head to my right. Annette had gone rigid. I realized that the whip had struck her. The sound of its report echoed in my ears, blended with her scream. Her breasts, hanging beneath her, wobbled like fruit on a tree in a storm. “YEEEEOOOCH!” Annette shouted again. Again the whip struck her. I suspected they were using the cat. How it must sting, I thought, all those knotted tails biting into her soft, tender flesh. And it was hitting her where it was sure to hurt most, too. Against the curving cheeks of her seat. I hoped she didn’t plan to do any sitting soon. I watched her torment. I knew I was next. Blow followed blow. Annette writhed and shook, cried, protested. Her bosoms joggled under her, needing a bra, having none, all exposed to whatever depredations they might wish to visit upon her. Her ribs stood out along her frightened sides, heaved with her gasps. I counted them. I wondered if she would make a tasty meal of spare ribs for cannibals. Big tears rolled down Annette’s face. They wet her long red locks of hair. Petra and the men took their time with her. There was no rush. When at last, perhaps a half hour later, they were finally done with her, they left her to sob and cry while they turned to me. I suffered my blows little better than Annette had. Each one seemed to burn anew into my bottom, making my sore tushy cringe at its touch. They were not as considerate of my previous punishment as I’d hoped they’d be. I think they liked seeing my bottom react. It would tighten as the lash hit, then rebound outward as the lash leaped away. Burning, I’d squeeze my seat cheeks together, but that would only impress the pain more into me. Finally, hopelessly, I’d let my bottom relax into the air. It would bulge out, like a big pumpkin trying to rise up into the sky. That made them laugh. It looked like I was asking for more. At last we were both weeping and crying, undressed, oiled, flayed. Prepared. Luke came to me. Robin took Annette. I was forced to watch as Robin entered her. I did not want to, but Luke waited, and made me turn my head to see her. I watched her face as it reacted to his entrance. She gasped. She blubbered protests through her tears. But there was no stopping him. He was hungry to spend again. No amount of tightness, even in her poor bottom, was going to deter him. When Robin was fully embedded in her, Luke presented himself to me. I felt a spear split the cheeks of my ass. I shivered at his touch. His orgain was intruding between my hemispheres. It felt like a big banana was trying to insert itself up into my cleft. “No!” I cried. It was awful! I felt his big plum-like knob at my portal. He bumped against me, as if knocking. “No!” I cried again. I twisted my head. He was too big! He ignored me. I felt a sudden thrust. Inward it came, splitting me. I was being invaded by a big knob coated with Bow’s bubble fluid. Did I hear her giggling, somewhere behind me? “Ahhhh! God!” I cried through my gag. His hands gripped me. My bottom was burning from the whip. I did not want to be touched, anywhere. Least of all on my fanny. Yet he gripped me, oblivious to my pain. I struggled. He did not mind. I think it inspired him. He drove deeper into my fanny. I could feel the big tube of the stem of his prick following his hard cockhead into me. I tried to squeeze him out. He laughed. I think he liked the tightness of me, the resistance. I felt like a burning pike was being shoved into my ass. “YEEEEEE!” Annette hollared beside me. Robin was beginning to work her. In and out his cock drove, making her buck with each of her thrusts. I was still being invaded. I could not stop Luke, much as I tried. I felt him bend over me. His hairy belly pressed against my upturned ass, my back. I felt his weight upon me. His kisses showered my neck. I tried to buck him off. I felt him slide in deeper as a result.