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Naughty Naked Dreamgirls #23: Tee Time
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 23 Saturday June 17, 1995
alt.stories.erotic alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Note: Due to the length of Roller's
...story, we are required to provide you with an intermission. -h.j.
***********
INTERMISSION
(Or: Your Empty Soda Cup is not a Urinal, Sir)
***********
Tee Time
by Andrew Roller
I met him in the grocery, of all places. I was picking up a bottle of
milk. The contents inside the glass sloshed slightly. He looked at it,
me.
"I could save you money on that particular item," he said. I smiled.
"Sure you could, if I don't mind changing diapers," I replied.
"Well," he paused. His eyes looked directly into mine. "There are
tradeoffs in life." I gasped. "Oh! You saw me at the beach!" I said.
"No, don't go," he begged, catching my arm as I made to quickly turn
away. I could not fight him, though I wanted to. He was imperial,
commanding.
"I remember y0u from the audience," I lisped. "At the wet t-shirt
contest." I was blushing now.
"Did you think no one would see you if you stood up on the stage?" he
asked. His eyes trailed down my body. I was in clothes now, of course,
primly dressed in my schoolgirl attire. I was shopping for mommie on the
way home from school. Neat, conservative, the sort of girl policemen make
sure get home safely.
But he remember me from spring break. I could feel his eyes stripping me
of my clothes as I stood there. Leaving me as I'd been then. On stage.
In only my tiniest bikini panties, newly purchased. My mother hadn't
known about them. Or my trip with my girlfriend Jennie to Fort
Lauderdale.
And, I suppose, he replaced the sleeveless t-shirt I'd worn there, as he
looked at me now. It had been made of the lightest cotton, wavering in
every puff of breeze. I'd stood on stage, thrusting my young titties out
proudly. Waiting. Waiting with the other girls as the man with the
spritzer bottle came down the line, spraying. All afternoon I'd trotted
with Jenny along the beachside storefronts, window shopping, buying food
and trinkets. Letting the boys caress me with their eyes, longingly, as I
passed by in my teensy panties and tee. They could see my youthfully
excited nipples indenting the fabric. And sometimes a ray of bright
sunlight would pierce the obscuring cotton to delineate my cherry teats.
Standing on stage I saw the yearning boys in the audience, open mouthed,
watching as the man with the bottle came closer. My breasts compressed
inside my tight shirt, too big for my age, nearly bursting it. And my
ever-erect nipples, thorns threatening (they hoped) to tear my t-shirt
apart. And I saw him. He who was with me now. Older, reserved, perhaps
forty, certainly married. Yet he stood watching me with glowing eyes.
They followed my hands as, suddenly nervous under his gaze, I tugged on
the hem of my tee. Trying to make it cover my panties, my pussy. It was
too short. Alas, he could even see my belly-button!
And now here he was again, beside me, remembering. Remembering what he'd
seen before and watching me twist under his gaze, knowing what he knew.
The bottle had come. My breasts had been sprayed. The boys had hooted
like triumphant steers as my virgin areolaes had come into view. My
shirt, glued to my tits, shorter than ever in its newly wettened state,
hid nothing. Both globes of my mammaries could be seen in their fullness.
The strawberry tips, seen only by my father ere this, shone under the
stage lights. Wet and succulent. Ready to be picked.
Jenny shouted in the crowd. She was proud of me. Her new driver's
license had paid off. She'd known boys since she was 12, but I only once.
Fucked by a cousin, quickly, at 13. He hadn't even removed my shirt.
Now, at last, I'd come out of my shell. I was willing to try my hand with
boys again. And men? My eyes caught his. Or his caught mine. He did
not look at the other girls. Just at me. The rest were older, surely
more his type. They were college girls. Sophisticated. Serene. Jenny
and I were just interlopers. Skinny girls from high school, mingling
illegally with the college crowd. Only the rowdiness of spring break had
let us get away with being in the bar, the moon rising outside, the night
young with promise. Little girls like us weren't supposed to know about
such things. Beer, loud music, carousing, women on stage letting their
breasts be bared even as they retained their shirts.
"You are a freshman in high school?" he asked, standing before me now.
In the grocery where modesty prevailed, was enforced by the guard at the
door and the matronly women at the registers. Where store surveillance
made sure men and girls stayed apart.
"Yes," I shivered, wilting under his gaze. Yet somehow feeling delighted
with myself that he'd remembered me. Had he followed me? Was it just
coincidence that he was here?
"Miss, is there anything you need help with?" It was the loutish
rent-a-cop. Someone had seen us. I wavered, uncertain.
"No!" I blurted suddenly. "My uncle is helping me shop," I said.
"Please go away." The guard frowned, turned away. Even uncles were
illegal now, I suppose.
"May I push your cart for you?" my suitor asked. Even as he asked he was
putting his hand-carry basket into my cart. Putting himself into me, I
thought. Into my life. There was no going back now.
"Yes, please," I replied. My voice was prim, diffident. I had my own
uncle now, despite mommie divorcing daddy, leaving all our relatives
behind. I found him myself, mommie, in the grocery, on the way home from
school. Buying milk for you. And he'd been so sweet, offered to help me
make it myself. That and much else he offered.
***
"You are on the television," he said to me later. I came from the
kitchen to look. I was fixing us dinner. And a pie, too. I would drink
mommie's milk with it.
I plopped down in his lap. I scooted myself up onto the bulge in his
crotch. I was in his house, now. His domain. I hadn't taken mommie's
milk home from the grocery. I'd kept it for myself. For myself and my
pretend uncle.
"You look very pretty on television," he said. Lightly he held me by my
hips, testing me, watching me flinch. I had not been touched by a man,
ever. Except my father, of course, kissing him at bedtime. And by the
cousin at the family reunion who'd rudely taken my virginity in the bushes
behind grandma's house. Leaving me there, my panties torn, my hymen
broken, filled with his seed.
"Gotta go," he'd said as soon as he'd finished, leaving me bereft in the
bushes. Now I was testing the waters again. Like a young rabbit I
twitched under his close-gripping palms. He held me lightly by my waist.
"It is my eighth-grade picture," I told him.
"I thought so," he replied. "Your breasts are nice and big, so I figured
it couldn't have been from seventh grade."
"No," I replied. I squirmed on his lap. "Make love to me," I offered.
I wanted his hands lower. Or higher.
"It would increase the charges," he replied.
"But I am not charging," I answered. "I'm even paying for dinner. Or
rather my mommie is." I giggled.
Lightly he kissed me on the hair. My mane of golden hair, unfurling in
soft waves over my shoulders, framing my breasts.
Within a t-shirt they wobbled. He'd asked me to change out of my
schoolgirl things. He'd offered me this shirt in exchange. He'd said
nothing about my panties. I'd opted to keep them on, and my socks and
saddle-shoes.
"You have very pretty breasts," he said. "I'm glad you were not afraid
to show them at the beach party."
"It was Jenny," I replied. "She wanted me to get up on stage to break my
abstinence. I hated boys for a year after my cousin fucked me. And then
for another year I just thought about them, you know..." my voice trailed
off.
"I know," he replied. He'd thought of girls like me, I realized. Every
time Oprah Winfrey delivered another sermon on T.V. he'd thought about
someone like me, more and more. "I liked how you kept your shirt on, even
after the other women had taken theirs off." He said.
"Jenny scolded me for that," I replied. "We argued about it that night,
driving home. You did not mind?"
"I just figured you were saving yourself," he said. "For someone
special. Who knew how to admire you properly. Just boys at the bar, you
know, clones of your cousin."
"And you," I added. "Alone."
"And me."
He took an ice cube from his drink. I'd mixed it for him myself.
Screwed it up, of course. I knew nothing about bar drinks. But he said
it didn't matter that I'd screwed it up, it was a screwdriver. Or it was
supposed to be, anyway. I'd laughed. He'd admired my breasts in their
jiggling, in his t-shirt. Then I'd started dinner. We were waiting now,
waiting as it cooked. Me in his lap and a cop on t.v., lecturing.
Experts were brought in to deliver opinions on my disappearance. Fat
women with wrinkles and bad haircuts.
"Did I tell you to keep your panties on?" He asked me. I wanted to say
Master. Yes, Master. Except the answer was no.
"No, sir," I gulped. Next time I would call him Master.
Gently he touched the front of my panties, right at the waistband, lifted
it. I watched as he lowered the ice cube. Right into my panties it went.
I wrenched, shivered in his lap. It was cold. His cock grew beneath me,
pushing upward.
"I prefer a girl with wet panties," he said.
"Yes master," I breathed.
"Do you wish to call me master?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, squirming. I stilled myself with effort. "It beats
uncle," I said.
"Though, perhaps, you may cry 'uncle' before too long," he replied.
I giggled. "You did not tell me to keep my shoes on either," I said.
"Would you like to put ice in them too?"
He laughed. "No, we shall just take them off," he said. He lifted my
right thigh, squeezing it. Admiring my milky flanks, all bare for him as
he'd instructed. With gentle hands he untied my right shoe, then dropped
my leg and lifted the other. Untied the other.
"May I keep the socks at least?" I asked.
"Yes, you may keep the socks," he said.
A knock at the door. I started.
"Do not worry," he replied. "It is a friend." I looked over my
shoulder. A woman entered. She wore business attire. She was fresh from
the world of work. She strode over to us and set down a briefcase.
Taking a chair she sat down near us. It was a hard backed chair, next to
the dinner table.
"There is no possibility," she said. Her voice was stern. Master
flicked his eyes to her. His gaze alone was sufficient to challenge.
"Look at her!" Mistress felt compelled to add. "She is too young."
"She is willing," he said.
"It is for husbands and wives only, dear," she said. Master had told me
earlier, teasingly I thought, that I needn't fix dinner, that he wanted to
take me to a party where all would be provided for us. "Food and much
more," he'd said.
The woman fixed her eyes firmly on me. I knew I dared not confess my
ignorance. It would spoil my opportunities completely.
"I want to go," I said. I knew not where.
"Darling, it is for breaking in young wives, not schoolgirls," she said.
Yet under Master's gaze she was faltering. "Not, well, it is rough sex,
dear, you are so young and fragile."
"My ice cube is almost melted," I said. I was captive. Yet in my
master's arms I had power. I did not have to answer Ms. Naysayer. I did
not have to listen to the feminists on T.V.
Master took another ice cube, opened my panties, deposited it. Willingly
I shivered at the intrusion. My panties stuck out, as if I had a little
thing of my own inside them, to match his own pressing so vigorously up
against my squirming bottom.
I let the shivers subside. My hips quivered to a cessation. But his
thing remained, upward pressing. Urgent, insistent. I wanted to pull my
panties down. Just the bottom at least. Yes.
He sensed my need, lifted me from his lap. He unzipped himself, drew
forth his cock. I watched wide-eyed over my shoulder. I forgot about
lowering my panties. He remembered, took them down, bared my bottom to
his upstanding thing. It was enormous, a snake come to pierce my
apple-round bottom.
Gently, lifting me, he eased me over his thing so that he would not stab
me with it. I settled atop it, felt the snake insert itself into the soft
fold of my bottom. Hard it wedged its length up me, my cheeks splitting
over it, enclosing it in young puppy flesh spheres. Twin spheres of white
schoolgirl bottomflesh, unmarked, untouched. Unpierced, as yet, with his
cock settled nicely into my furrow. The tip of his penis chatted
pleasantly with my clit.
"Darling it is not for you," Ms. Naysayer said, drawing close to me. She
had left her chair behind. She approached me, unbuttoning her jacket.
I gazed up at her. Master's cock in my bottom. Her over me now,
Mistress, her blouse full and firm.
"You have breasts like mommie's," I told her. Naughtily I lifted my
hands, touched the buttons of her blouse, began opening them one by one.
"Do you have any milk?" I asked impishly. I was the center of attention.
Anything I did sent tremors of pleasure over these two adults, me just a
little schoolgirl, them so mature, yet so aroused. I felt the power of
myself and I loved it. It was new, shocking, satisfying. Incredibly
satisfying. I was the Directoress now. The principal. They were my
pupils. Yet I was unlearned.
Her breasts spilled out. She could not restrain herself. She wore no
bra. She pushed a nipple rudely into my mouth. I sucked upon it.
Lovingly I sucked upon it, after my initial surprise, feeling the foreign
nipple sticking itself into my teeth, forcing them open.
"Oh, yes, please let me nurse you," Mistress groaned. "Ah, like a baby
you suck. I should never have had that abortion, nooo."
I nursed at her nipple. After a little while she switched me to the
other. All the while Master, sweating, still in the business suit he'd
met me in at the grocery, kept himself under control. I'd heard of men
spurting, felt my cousin inside me. He came quickly, immediately. Yet
despite my girlish wrigglings master contained himself. Only a few
glistening drops of himself wetted my bottom. Pre-cum, I'd heard it was
called, saying that a man was ready. Ready for me, yes, but containing
himself somehow. Holding back his seed until I was ready for him.
Was I ready? Mistress lifted her bosoms off me. "You may go," she said
to Master, overlooking me. I went where he went. I was his property now.
Master boosted me off his lap and made me stand upright.
"We must go," he said. He replaced my panties on my bottom. I felt his
wetness there, held tight in my furrow, lingering, as I watched him zip
up. He had to struggle to get himself inside his trousers. I turned
finally, helped him. It was very difficult. Together we got him back
inside, got the zipper all the way up to where it was supposed to be.
In my panties, my t-shirt whipping in the wind, master took me outside,
out to a waiting limo. At his front door he had me slip into heels. They
fit perfectly. What other sizes did he know? I wondered, sitting in the
limo now, feeling my new shoes on my feet. My stockinged feet. The limo
squealed away and we travelled down empty streets. A light rain began to
fall, blurring the windows.
"You must arrive without the shirt," Master said. "It is the custom."
He lifted my tee off me, wrestling to get it over my young breasts, so
firm in their roundness. My nipples wiggled stiffly as the shirt cleared
them. He drew it over my tousled head, over my hesitant arms.
I had only my wet panties now. And my socks, inside his shoes that he'd
bought for me. The limo stopped and let mistress out. She would not come
with us. I watched her hurry away. She was the arranger only. She was
too old to participate, master told me. The party was only for young
wives. To help introduce them to the labors of marriage.
The limo halted again. The rain had gone away. I had not noticed its
passing. Fifteen minutes I had sat by master, alone in the limo. Alone
with my thoughts. He'd let me gaze out my side window, watching the
street lights go by. Glimpsing other girls safe in their homes, installed
at kitchen tables, doing homework. Geometry and Latin and Science. I
would be assigned new lessons.
Bare except for my wet panties I got out of the limo. Master took me by
the arm, led me up to a brownstone house. In the distance I saw the flash
of police lights. They were searching for me. They would not find me.
Unless they heard me, perhaps. Yes. Unless they heard me, playing inside
the brownstone.
We were met at the door. A girl peeked out, let us both in. She had no
bra, her breasts were heavy yet stood up sweetly. Her nipples offered.
She drew me into her arms. I did not respond, but did not resist either.
"Oh, let me kiss you!" she said gaily. She cupped my breasts and opened
her mouth, offered her tongue. It was a ritual, I guessed. My arms
dangling uncertainly at my sides I let her see the inside of my mouth.
She drew out my tongue. Together mine danced with hers, briefly,
delighting Master. Then she let me go, took me by the hand, brought me
over to the other girls. Trippingly I went, in my new heels.
Three girls sat around a tea table, dainty porcelain cups waiting, a
pitcher of hot tea brewing on a hot plate there.
"We are almost ready," my welcoming mistress said to me. "We shall have
to dress soon." She introduced me to my new companions. They were young
females, all newly married, save for one who like me had been brought
specially. A girl of 16 she was, myself 15, yet looking as confounded in
her innocence as I myself was. She wore a little openwork bolero. It had
buttons, though. So she could close it over her breasts if they became
chilly, I guessed.
I gazed at her and the other girls. They were all topless as I myself
was. We would be bosom buddies. I was offered a chair, sat down. I
glanced over my shoulder and saw that master had disappeared. Mistress,
my new mistress, took my hand, directed my gaze back to my new friends.
"You are Lisa?" she asked. I nodded.
"Good." My other mistress had phoned ahead, told her I was coming.
"I'm Pamela," my new mistress told me. "Never mind that dowdy Ms.
Johnson. You will have a wonderful time." Her eyes caressed my breasts,
dipped down to the level of my panties. "You'll love every agonizing
minute of it," Pamela added, smiling.
"Agonizing?" I asked. My 16-year-old sister in innocence flinched at the
word as I did.
"You are here to learn the wifely duties," Pamela said. "And it is my
job to make sure you learn them all properly." She offered me a cup of
tea, I accepted with reluctance, sipped. It tasted hot, sweet. Pamela
turned to the others. They were less giggly now.
"I've been married for six months, so that makes me ringmistress," Pamela
said. "This is my third party, in fact, and I can tell you that the other
two were...ah...difficult, but delightfully so."
"What did they do to you?" a girl asked, wide eyed. Like myself she wore
panties, pulled as high as they would go. Stockings ran up her legs,
patterned like lace doilies, but tightly clipped at the tops of her thighs
with a garter belt.
"Well, I was an anal virgin when I arrived," Pamela said. "And when I
left I...wasn't. My husband and his friends made sure of that. Then my
husband and I decided to host a party a month ago, and now again. He's
made sure we have all the equipment to train wives properly, I can assure
you." She seemed to remember some past agony, flinched, then regained
control of herself. We watched wide eyed, wonderingly, yet afraid of the
answer. Yet not absolutely afraid, I realized, for I could feel myself
tingling in hidden places.
****
HERE ENDETH THE INTERMISSION
We Thank You for not Molesting the Popcorn Girls in the Lobby
****
D R E A M G I R L S N E W S
If you are having difficulty getting Dreamgirls I can now e-mail it to
you. Just send me your e-mail address and an age statement. (18 or
over.) -a.r.
FREE minicomics! Send a greeting-card SASE to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box
3663, Phenix City, AL 36868. NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS (Library of
Congress ISSN: 1070-1427): sex stories. (Include age statement-18 or
over.) DREAMGIRLS WITH SHAMAN: poetry. COMIC UPDATE (ISSN: 0894-5195):
small press comix. Chat: alt.sex.stories.d END OF 23 EMISSION
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