Nudie Nursery

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

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