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Naughty Naked Dreamgirls #32: CHambers of Love
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. 32 Monday June 26, 1995
alt.stories.erotic alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Chambers of Love
Part Thirty-One
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Eighteen
A chill desert breeze pricked at our skin. We waited. A coyote howled
in the distance. Then, opening the door slowly, a stooped-over, elderly
Mexican woman let us in. She regarded us. Then she beckoned us forward
to a room where men were laughing. Opening the door to the room she urged
us inside. We stepped in.
Half a dozen men smiled as they saw us, welcomed us with eager gentility.
They occupied a large room with sumptuous divans and ottomans, complete
with a wet bar. A young Spanish girl in an abbreviated maid's costume
stood at the bar, dutifully mixing drinks, her head bowed submissively.
Heavy drapes, richly embroidered, were drawn shut against the desert
night, against the bright high-flying moon.
Fresh drinks were passed to us from the bar and we graciously accepted
them from the nearest men. Our suitor on the airplane introduced us, by
our first names only. Julie and I were all dolled up in clinging, low cut
gowns that shimmered with our every movement. After we'd met each of the
men our host, named Alex, asked us if we were ready to party. We said we
were. With polished grace Julie turned and unzipped my dress in back. I
wiggled and it glimmered its way down my body, pooling around my ankles on
the plush carpet. I stepped out of the $2,000 gown as if from discarded
Jockey shorts. Then I turned and did Julie. A moment later we stood
before the men, and they were most delighted with our party clothes.
I wore a pink corset. The edges were trimmed with ribbon and little pink
bows. It was laced in front, very tightly. Cupping my breasts, it just
covered my nipples, leaving the tops of my areolas enchantingly visible.
The constricting corset descended to just above the wisps of my pubis,
which it left uncovered. It was shorter behind and left my bottom
completely free. Cinched so tightly about my waist, the corset actually
made my bare bottom stick out like some overripe pumpkin. Alex expressed
an interest in the effect and I turned about to let him see.
"Ah, that is why I love seeing women in difficult clothing," he said
admiringly. "You girls would never wear such outfits if it weren't for us
men wanting them, would you?"
"Not likely," Julie said. Her voice came breathily. She was cinched as
tight as a drum. Her corset could not quite contain her womanly bosoms.
The upper halves of her areolas along with her pointed nipples overflowed
the top, where tightly drawn cups of thin lace had been forced to give way
to them.
Garters clung snugly to a pair of long semi-sheer stockings that sheathed
my legs, right down to my booties with their decorative buckles. My
stockings were pink, the booties white patent leather. Julie was
similarly attired, in colors of violet and blue.
"Sir," Julie said expectantly. "As you can see we have no panties. You
promised you'd give us something upon our arrival?"
"Ah, yes!" Alex replied. He presented us each with a color-coordinated
G-string. Daintily I stepped into mine, as did Julie with hers. I pulled
it up around my hips and looked down at it. Rope-like it dropped in front
over my mound, utterly failing to cover it. Threading through the lips of
my cunt it ascended through the clenching of my bottom crack to rejoin my
string-wide waistband in back. There was nothing more. Yet I found that
I could spread it open slightly with my finger tips where it crossed
through my cunt, forming a little gusset of sorts that just barely
enclasped my labia lips within it.
"Yes, that will form your diaper," Alex told me.
"My-my diaper?!" I asked, shocked. Julie had just covered her own cunt
with the makeshift gusset and looked up in alarm as well.
"Did you not know?" Alex asked us. "We have only one bathroom, right
over there, and it is unfortunately a men's room. You girls will have to
wear diapers...little adult diapers that suit your attire." He glanced
meaningfully at our G-strings. "However, there is the matter of your
bowels. Adult diapers like you are wearing now cannot hold back a bowel
movement. Therefore each of you will be fitted with a butt-plug prior to
partying with us men this evening. Did you know that having something
inside your rectum while you are being fucked in the pussy adds
immeasurably to your pleasure, and that of your lover? A sidelight I
thought I'd mention." He produced two well-greased butt plugs, thin but
rather longish. "Kindly bend over and pull down your G-strings in back,
girls. I must get these up you before we can begin partying in earnest."
With very great reluctance Julie and I drew down our G-strings in back,
hooking them under the cheeks of our bottoms. Then the men led us to the
nearest settee, of bright red and yellow fabric, and pushed us over its
back, so that we were standing on our tiptoes. Gasping within the
confines of my corset, my elbows found the seat cushions in the front of
the sofa and gratefully rested upon them. My hair fell about my face.
Julie's head plopped down beside mine.
My legs were roughly separated, into a bold vee. I turned my toes
inward, desperately trying to keep them in contact with the floor.
Julie's legs were opened next. Speaking gentle words to us, Alex had men
forcefully spread our bottoms. I felt the cool air of the room touch my
anus. Beneath me I noticed that my nipples had popped out of my corset.
I was like Julie now. Nothing remained hidden, save my lately covered
labia...in my diaper.
A cold film was applied around the ring of my anus. It grew warm as the
finger applying it circled, lovingly. Then the tip of a tube was gently
inserted within me there and a long ejaculation of creme shot up my ass.
I mewled in protest at the unwanted anointing. My bowels did not wish to
be baptized. The tip went to Julie next, she shared in my plight.
I felt the intruder then. Snub nosed, of india rubber, probing
expectantly against the tightness of my anal ring.
"Oooch!" I said suddenly, and my cherry was popped, my ring opened anew.
Julie cried out as her own bottom was breached.
We were told to pull up our panties then...our diapers. Reaching back,
still over the couch, I yanked up my G-string. Julie was equally happy to
get hers up. I stood with difficulty, the men helping me. Bow-leggedly I
regarded the new sensation in my innards. My guts were well plugged, my
anus distended, bottom cheeks moulded about their intrusive new friend.
Julie stood gaping, looking from one man to the next. We were given fresh
drinks and told to swallow all.
"Bottoms up, girls," Alex said of our glasses. "I'm having the liquor
content cut back so you can enjoy yourselves without getting sleepy.
Please drink as much as you can! And now I think a relaxing game of
shuffleboard would be in order after our strenuous preliminaries.
Gentlemen, ladies?"
A curtain was drawn back, revealing a narrow space with a shuffleboard
painted on a polished wooden floor. Julie and I were invited to go first,
competing against one another. The winner would play against a male
guest, we were told. The loser would have her fanny smacked.
Spraddle-legged and huffing in our corsets, Julie and I played
shuffleboard. Julie lost, and was promptly put over Alex's knee and given
a dozen "well deserved" slaps on her rump. It was blushingly red when he
finally let her stand up. She rubbed it briskly.
I soon lost to a male guest and he gave me a spanking just as Julie had
suffered. Red-bottomed, we were now ordered to play hopscotch. A slab of
cement was revealed behind another curtained wall, complete with a stone
and chalk. Bending down, nearly crushing our tummies in our corsets, we
were forced to draw out a hopscotch pattern on the cold slab. Our bosoms
burst completely from the confines of our corsets as we worked. They
jiggled merrily, oblivious to our torment, happy to be free.
We played out two rounds of hopscotch, and were spanked afterward for our
errors. Then more drinks were served and we were urged to indulge
ourselves on snacks which the Spanish girl brought around on a silver
tray. "Keep your energy up, you know," Alex reminded us. We stood
munching on cheese-laden celery sticks and bits of toothpick-speared beef
as the men chatted amiably around us. This was definitely not a party I'd
seen the likes of before.
Alex reached out and touched a finger between my legs, which I'd been
bidden to always keep at least a foot apart. I felt a tingle of pleasure
as he rubbed my gusset-covered cunny. "Still dry, I see," he observed.
Simultaneously he felt Julie. Then he ordered more drinks for us and
waited while we swallowed down every drop.
"Good girl," the Spanish lass said to me when I was done, patting my
bottom. She took my glass. Then she complimented Julie in the same way
and took her empty glass also. She sashayed back to the bar, her bottom
peeping out from under a very short leather skirt.
"You'll get to know her better later," Alex assured us. "Her name is
Ophelia. She's very loyal. My best maid."
The party progressed next through a series of card games, played around a
low coffee table. Julie and I were allowed to sit on a sofa like the
other guests, but we were made to keep our knees wide apart. Occasionally
Alex reached over and felt our gussets. Slowly a need to pee began
building within me and I found it harder and harder to keep my legs
spread. Alex told me he'd introduce my ass to the riding crop if I put my
legs together.
More and more, as the card game idled along, this time being a long
version of bridge, I burned to pee. Julie dropped her hand at one point
and pleaded to go to the bathroom. She was denied. I put a hand to my
pussy and squeezed it. No relief. Julie did the same. Within minutes we
were sitting there, before half a dozen strange men, with our thighs
compressed tightly together and our fingers mashing our cunts. Our eyes
bulged, our cheeks were puffed. We squirmed like toddlers.
"Tsk! Tsk! Such an expensive couch you girls are sitting on, you know,"
Alex observed. "I hope I've given you big enough diapers. That's
Ophelia's favorite couch and she'd be quite upset if you emptied your
bladders on it." Julie and I grimaced. I squeezed my eyes shut, opened
them.
With a sudden realization I noticed my g-string was no longer dry. The
spot on the couch where my fanny rested wasn't dry either. In shock I
looked down and found myself peeing! My body had taken over, taken its
own course. I tried to stop the flow but it came out lustily, a full
bladder behind it, urging it on through my peehole. Julie gasped and
looked down at herself. Spurred by my example, her body had followed my
lead. Squishing our pussies with our fingertips we tried to hold back the
flow, failed. We gazed at Alex's stern demeanor with bleak eyes.
Alex ordered the men to remove all of their clothing. He told us to "sit
tight." I watched in wonder as the group of dark, handsome men stripped
themselves to their skin. They sat around us with their cocks and balls
casually displayed. They complimented one another on their attributes.
Ophelia entered the room. Her maid's costume was gone and she was
utterly nude. Her only adornment was a riding crop, which she held
lightly in her hand, between her lovely young breasts. It pointed stiffly
up at her face and she toyed with its loop with her tongue.
"Sir," she lisped over the leather tip of the crop to Alex. "I'm ready
for my punishment." With small, almost tentative steps, yet exuding a
kind of erotic confidence, she advanced with her wicked toy into the midst
of the men. She was young, frail, a twig of a girl, yet with superb
bosoms. Except for her lightly olive-colored skin she reminded me very
much of myself. I who sat wet, shuddering, and frightened upon the couch,
vainly trying to cover myself with my hands.
The men sat admiring Ophelia for a bit as she stood meekly before them,
holding the instrument of her bottom's impending demise. I admired her
cheeks from behind. They were white, flawless, two shades lighter than
the rest of her, and completely unmarked.
They clenched together, then eased, then squeezed themselves together
again, sweet round moons glowing softly. The men stood. They formed a
semi-circle about her of honed, hairy, in-the-buff brawn. Yet they still
merely regarded her, perhaps unsure of who was entitled to her first.
Olivia did not look at the men's faces but rather surveyed the thicket of
penises which surrounded her. She seemed to examine each one with her
gaze, evaluate it, judge it? Was she prey or predator? The men converged
more closely upon her. Stiffly they presented their cocks, their manhood,
many idly thrusting them at her. Olivia placed a finger lightly upon the
head of one, stilling it. She lifted her eyes to the man's face, silently
seemed to say, "Settle down, boy, we have all night ahead of us."
"Please introduce your lovely pussy to each man's cock," Alex told his
maid. Smilingly Ophelia presented her slim hips to the closest man, who
grasped them hungrily. He lofted her up until she was on her tip-toes,
then settled her tight lips onto the bulging head of his organ. Ophelia
gasped as it slipped within her. Yet the man was limited, Alex said, to
giving her the head only. Fortunately no one had greased up yet, so there
was plenty of natural friction present to slow the entry. The man gripped
Ophelia, holding her up, even as she went slack, pretended to swoon. She
dangled her hands behind her, as if to more easily slide earthward, right
down his big shaft. She wiggled playfully upon the impaling head. With a
groan of displeasure the man was forced to lift her off himself before she
should make him violate the rules. Ophelia went to the next man and did a
similar dance upon the head of his prong. Gradually she was passed from
man to man until each had enjoyed a taste of her pussy, and she of his
deliciously intrusive penis. Even Alex limited himself to just a teasing
probe. Her eyes and his seemed to share a special thought as she
entertained his organ. But no words were spoken, save a soft flutter of
moans from her and a grunt from him as he tasted her tightness.
Alex ordered Julie and I to masturbate ourselves as we watched all this,
and we did so, obediently stroking our lips and clittys with a finger. We
pulled our panties down to the tops of our thighs to give ourselves free
access. By the time Ophelia had mounted her final steed we were in a
fluster of impending orgasm.
Alex looked at us. Our titties ballooned naked above the shattered tops
of our corsets. Our faces were flushed. Our panties were prettily
lowered, cunts sweetly moist. Still our legs were sheathed in the finest
silk, and our feet shod with new booties. Their decorative buckles
gleamed. Uncomfortably we shifted upon the plugs which speared our
bottoms.
Ophelia turned to us then, said we must accompany her to the woodshed.
Conscious of the men's admiring gaze, we rose as gracefully as possible.
Julie seemed more ladylike than ever, poised and sleek. She walked before
me as we filed out of the room, the men taking up position at our rear,
following us. Ophelia led the way.
We stepped through a door and out into the stillness of the night. I
heard cows lowing in the distance. A tumbleweed lazily rolled by, as if
to gawk. We stepped upon flat, shattered flagstones, following them in a
path to a weatherbeaten stable. It was small, built for one purpose only.
Julie and I stepped inside, big-bottomed in our clenching corsets,
following behind the lithe, light-hearted Ophelia, free in her nudity. I
spotted a brazier. Its coals glowed brightly. "We brand the cattle
here," Ophelia said easily, by way of explanation. As if I wanted one.
The men entered and closed the door behind us. It was crowded. I wanted
room. There was a space available, where a post stood, festooned with
iron manacles. Fresh hay upon the wooden floor there. And before the
post a sturdy, leather-topped trestle, waiting perhaps for someone to be
draped over it.
Julie, ever the sweet young mare in times of crisis, stepped up to the
brazier. An iron rod lay within it. With polished grace she slipped on
an oven mitt, which hung from the brazier, then lifted the hot iron.
"It has your mark upon it, Alex," Julie said softly. The tip of the
iron, a little circular brand, glowed luminously. Julie blew gently upon
it, as if to cool it.
"What do you think of it?" Alex asked.
"It is lovely," Julie said of the brand. "I'm sure your cows are very
proud to have it upon them." She lifted her eyes to his. They were
radiant. Yet tears had formed in the corners. "Where-where do you place
the brand?"
"The females receive it right upon the bottom," Alex said. Julie
considered the brand once more, then quietly replaced it in the brazier.
"It must be very hot to do its job," she said. She buried the tip within
the blazing coals.
Lightly Ophelia took Julie by the elbow, turned her to face the post.
Julie shook off her hand. With quiet grace she advanced to the trestle,
clad in her booties, her steps still awkward because of the butt plug, yet
managing to roll her hips seductively. She smoothed her fingertips across
the leather-covered top of the trestle. Ophelia stepped up to her,
grasped her by the soft brown locks of her hair. She bent Julie down over
the trestle. The glorious moon of Julie's bottom rose as her face was
forced toward the floor. Julie's arms were lifted above the back of her
head and, sticking out straight in front of her, were shackled to the
post. Ophelia gagged her with a strip of soft leather, forcing it between
her teeth as a kind of bit.
With a skip in her step Ophelia went behind Julie then, and bent and
spread her ankles. Julie seemed recalcitrant and Ophelia gave her a light
slap on her bottom with her hand. Then the legs were drawn suitably wide,
and clamped into irons. Ophelia stood up and admired her handiwork,
taking up her riding crop where she'd put it aside and impatiently
slapping her flank with it. She tossed her head. Her dark hair moved
freely, casually.
Alex held me tightly. My panties, never recovered, hung tightly round
the tops of my thighs. Julie's panties too remained where she'd slipped
them in order to masturbate. They hugged her just beneath the underside
of her bottom. I'd heard a tearing sound when her legs were pulled apart
and realized now it had been her g-string. Filaments of ripped fiber
glimmered here and there along the string. It would not fit her anymore,
was just an ornament now, a decoration.
Because she had peed she must be washed first, Alex said. He rubbed me
idly upon my clitty as he said this, as if to keep me ready for my turn.
Ophelia, able-bodied as a farm girl, filled a bucket from a spigot and
hoisted it, carried it over to Julie's bottom. With a sponge Ophelia
bathed the glorious haunches in ice cold water. Julie flinched and moaned
beneath her gag. When the laving was complete Ophelia put the bucket
aside. She kissed each wetly gleaming cheek then, lightly, careful to
leave no lipstick mark.
Alex chilled me to my core a moment later, saying, "You shall do the
honors, Kimmy." Roughly he guided me forward to the brazier, fitted my
right hand with the mitt, made me pick up the awful brand. He presented
me with the spectacle of Julie's helpless, darling young wife's bottom.
D R E A M G I R L S L E T T E R S
"About these pedophiles, I think they are a Menace 2 Society," writes
MissLadyAsstor333@titwhittle(elementary). "When we look at them, they
look BACK at us!!! This must not be allowed. Also, if we ask them a
question, they actually answer it. Don't they know that adults are never
supposed to talk to children? (That's what my teacher, Miss Prude says,
and she is 73 years old and bald from many years of living, so she
obviously knows everything.) And then there are the SUPER child
molesters, the ones you see on America's Most Wanted Men. These men!
They want to put their penis where it NOT supposed to go. Up bottoms,
into little girls, and even into a girl's mouth! I'm sure my big sister
would NEVER allow her boyfriend to do that. I hope you will only write
stories about senior citizens from now on, like Miss Prude. It will cut
down on your workload. She has no hair and no tits, so you will only have
to write about her ass. It is a big one, I admit, but other than that
there should be no problem. Thankyou for printing my important comments."
"My theory is, don't do it before you're 21--and then don't tell me about
it." --First Lady (and former Flower Child) Hillary Rodham Clinton,
Newsweek, June 26, pg. 15
"Only old men go to the mosque now. We heard too many lies there."
--Time, June 26, pg. 42
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statement to: [email protected] Free Naughty Naked Dreamgirls
minicomics: send a greeting-card SASE, age statement to: Jim Corrigan,
P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 U.S.A. Naughty Naked Dreamgirls
(Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427). Chat: alt.sex.stories.d END OF
32 EMISSION
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