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Naughty Naked Dreamgirls #58: Bubblegum Bondage
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. 58 Saturday July 22, 1995
alt.stories.erotic alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Bubblegum Bondage
Part Twenty-Six
by Andrew Roller
Epilogue
"Were we his love slaves?" Melanie asked, swerving to miss a school bus.
"I guess so," Susie said. "God, what a time I've had on my first trip
away from home!"
"Yes, and we're going to stay with you to make sure you keep having a
great time...even when you get home!" Melanie squealed. "Right, Anna?"
"I guess so," Anna said. "Although I am starting to miss my husband."
"Are we still gonna raise bulls when we get to Nebraska?" Melanie asked
Susie.
"I imagine we could, if we sold Anna's Porsche to buy them," Susie said.
"Sell it," Anna said. "My husband only gets me back, not his Porsche. I
don't want to go to easy on him for fucking my butt."
"Mmmm, thankyou, Anna! You're the best!" Melanie crowed, nearly crashing
the car into a tree as she paid Anna the compliment.
"Keep your eyes on the road," Susie said to Melanie.
"Will your grandaddy give us some of his land for our steers?" Melanie
asked Susie.
"Sure," Susie said. "If you get us there in one piece."
"Now I only want, you know, steers with BIG ones," Melanie said.
"I know, I know," Susie said.
"Very big ones," Melanie said. "So they'll make lots of milk, of
course."
"Milk comes from cows, silly," Susie said.
"Whatever, I still want steers with BIG ones."
"And a few men with big ones too?" Anna asked, looking over at the girl.
"Those are okay too," Melanie said.
"And if the men with BIG ones want to spank you?" Susie asked Melanie.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll be naughty once in a while," Melanie said.
"And if they want to tie you up and whip you?" Susie asked.
"Um, I'm sure I'll be very naughty once in a while," Melanie said.
"And if they want to stick their BIG ones up your butt?" Susie asked.
"I'm sure they'll need to do that to get practice for sticking their BIG
ones up your butt," Melanie said. "And especially Anna's." The
16-year-old broke into giggles.
"And what if these men with BIG ones want to make you their little love
slave, hmmm?" Anna asked Melanie.
"Then I'll sit them down, and I'll take out their very, very BIG dicks,
and I'll tell them all about our adventures," Melanie said. "About
Elaine's wicked mansion, and the time Susie threw my bra in the trash can,
and your swimming pool that we never got to swim in, Anna, and your
husband's splendid reaming of your ass, and that stupid spaghetti we got
all over us, and the killer who did all sorts of totally exhausting stuff
to us and then left us lying naked on a bearskin rug in a dungeon with
strawberries and cream. And if, after all that, if the men with the very
big things haven't ejaculated from excitement, then I'll let them put a
collar on me and make me their little love slave for as long as they
wish!"
"That sounds like a decent deal to me," Susie said. "And if you get
turned into a love slave, I'll come along with you to make sure the men
with the very big things don't wear out your pussy and your anus by
fucking you too much."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Melanie said with a sigh.
"It's their very big things that will probably get worn out."
"That's true," Susie mused. "All the same, I want to come too."
"We'll all come together," Anna smiled.
"Yes!" Melanie cried. "We'll all come together...when we come!" She
began singing the phrase, and Susie and Anna joined in. Susie didn't feel
the least bit ladylike as she happily hollered the familiar refrain, but,
for the first time in her life, she felt an absolutely exhilarating sense
of freedom.
THE END
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
watermelon moon
Part One
by Andrew Roller
Chapter One
It was 1:00 in the morning, but Willette didn't care. She pumped the
horn of her car, creating a bleating noise that reverberated through the
neighborhood. The car's horn would have been annoying enough on any
street lined with homes, but this neighborhood consisted of closely packed
apartment buildings which lined an alley like so many sardine cans waiting
for cats to pry them open.
A figure opened the blind of his window. He peered out at the
silver-grey sports car with the well endowed horn. As the man stared
Willette defiantly gave several more bleats with her horn. This was,
after all, Friday night or, technically speaking, Saturday morning. Who
was this man to be holed up in his apartment on Party Night anyway?
Willette jumped out of her car and ran up to the bank of apartments. If
she couldn't get her guests to come to her, she would, after all, have to
go to them. Impatiently she rang the doorbell of her friends' apartment.
Finally the two young boys tumbled out, and Willette directed them to the
back seat of her car. As she slipped back into the drivers' seat of her
sports car she saw that the man was still staring out his window. Still
staring, when her horn hadn't gone off now for several minutes? For a
moment she sat staring back at the man, while her two boyfriends in back
busied themselves unwrapping joints. This man may have opened his blind
in anger at the horn, but now his anger wasn't motivated anymore by the
noise. It was motivated by loneliness. He really had no interest in
being in his apartment at all. He wanted to be in the car with the loud
horn. With the girl who was making the noise with the loud horn.
Willette stuck her hand out the window of her car and, with a smirk,
waved at the man. She hit the accelerator on her car. With a loud squeal
of her tires she sped off, leaving the lonely man behind to while away
Friday night in his little apartment. "Goodbye, lonely man," Willette
called.
"Suck on this stuff, it's great!" Peter crowed, passing a lit joint up
between the seats to Willette. Lola, Willette's best friend, who occupied
the seat beside her, was already enjoying the controversial benefits of
hashish.
"I want some Scotch," Lola whined, even as she took a drag on a marijuana
cigarette. "John, did you bring some Johnnie Walker?"
"Too expensive," John replied, sharing a toke with Peter in the back
seat. "Got some Bud, though."
"Plebeian bullshit," Willette scoffed. Tentatively she inhaled on
Peter's homemade cigarette. At least he had finally learned to roll the
paper right. But the sweet smell of the hash made her sick enough without
having to inhale it directly. She passed the weed cigarette on to Lola,
who took it greedily, adding it to the one already in her mouth. Then
Willette rolled down her window.
The party proved to be less than Willette had hoped for. The football
players were big enough, and eager to show off those large parts of their
bodies that they were unable to show on the playing field. But Willette
wanted something more. Perhaps it was only because Lola surrendered
herself so quickly to the jocks. Willette found herself minding Peter and
John, while Lola, who was supposed to be John's girlfriend, retreated to
an empty upstairs bedroom with three of the football players. John, who
did not share Willette's contempt for Budweiser beer, seemed too drunk to
notice.
"Hey, let's ride that new motorcycle of yours, Biff!" John suggested
jubilantly. His speech slurred with every syllable.
Biff lifted his head and shook off his drunken stupor just well enough to
reply, "Sounds great! Hit the road!" He surveyed the roomful of high
school seniors. "Which of you girls wants to come with us?" A girl no
less drunk than Biff and John agreed to accompany whichever of them rode
first.
"You're too drunk to go cruising," Willette hissed at John.
"Aw, no way I'll get caught driving drunk," John snapped. "I can just
outrun those fucking cops if they come after ME. I didn't do dirtbiking
for five years for nothing."
Willette grabbed John's arm. "John! I'm not worried about your getting
a damn ticket. I'm worried about you not coming back!"
"Hey, man, don't razz John!" Biff called out to Willette. "If he wants
to join the cast of Night of the Living Dead, more power to him!"
"You don't even care if he wrecks your motorcycle?" Willette cried.
Biff laughed hysterically, drunkenly. "Night of the Living Dead is a
good cause."
"And you're both dead...dead drunk!" Willette cried. She stormed from
the room to a titter of laughs.
Willette found herself cruising the streets in her little silver sports
car. Now she was alone...just like the man in his little apartment. A
patter of rain began to fall lightly on her windshield. Would John kill
himself? Would Biff? Would Lola kill herself getting gang banged by
three football players? Willette wondered if she cared anymore. She was
18 now. The Senior Prom was approaching, but after two Junior Proms as a
freshman and and sophomore and a Senior Prom as a junior, she was
beginning not to care. It would be the same top ten list she'd been
hearing all spring, the same slow songs that the boys considered a license
to molest her, the same dumb speeches by the coach and the principal and,
as always, the lecture on showing their school spirit by not leaving a
mess in the cafeteria at the end of the night.
Willette dreamed of college. Of holing up in the library with gourmet
popcorn and bottled European water. Of parties with real men, not little
boys flush with testosterone trying to pass themselves off as men. And
Willette dreamed of law school. Now there was a profession worth
pursuing! No glass ceiling there! She could argue with the senior
partner in a law firm if he didn't promote her to the top. And if he
still didn't, well, by then her reputation would be so great that she
could just set up a law firm on her own. She wouldn't even have to go
solo. Freshly minted young law grads would flock to work for the law firm
of Great Attorney Willette Means.
Willette sidled up to a nightclub. It was growing late, 3:30 in the
morning, but she knew she'd hate herself if she let the night pass away
without any fun. Willette parked and sauntered up to the club door.
Predictably, the bouncer let her in without paying. Her great looks
almost always got her past the front door without a fee. Did the silly
hunk who manned the door think by letting her in without paying the $4.00
tab he could get some sex off her? He looked like he did. Absolve
Willette of a $4.00 debt and get $200.00 worth of sex in return. Not a
bad bargain, if Willette was stupid enough to fall for it. But she
snubbed the bouncer's eager looks and continued on her way into the smoke
filled recesses of the club.
Willette found a round stool near the back of the club and daintily
seated herself. She knew she wouldn't be alone for long. Sure enough,
soon a young man with oversized biceps came up to her and attempted to
make small talk. Apparently he was of the mind that he deserved a
beautiful girl like Willette. She disabused him of his notion. Then, a
minute after the first boy had scurried away with his tail between his
legs, a second boy showed up. Willette dismissed him as easily as she had
the first. The boy hurried back to the comforting sanctuary of his
friends.
"Maybe she charges," the boy suggested. Willette frowned. It was one
thing for a boy to make light of his loss, another to accuse her of being
a whore. She decided to make use of the third applicant when he arrived.
As luck would have it, the third male to approach Willette's makeshift
throne looked like he had missed the boat on evolution. He was fairly
short, but with big, heavy shoulders that looked like they could have
lifted the roof of the dance hall off Willette if an earthquake struck.
He had a low, sloping forehead and a prematurely receding hairline. But
he would be great for taking out the boy who had called her a prostitute.
After several slow dances, in which Cro-Magnon man turned out to be a
perfect gentleman, Willette complained that a boy was teasing her behind
her back. Cro-Magnon man welled up with chivalrous intent. Was his Queen
being insulted? Cro-Magnon man would put things right! Willette pointed
out the boy in question and Cro-Magnon man waddled over to where the boy
was dallying with his friends.
Willette stayed just long enough to see the fight. "Whore boy," as she
thought of him, was unlucky enough to have his back turned when Cro-Magnon
came up to him. When Whore boy responded to a tap on his shoulder he got
decked in the face. Naturally, his friends jumped to his rescue, and
Cro-Magnon was quickly wrestled to the ground. Last Willette saw
Cro-Magnon was receiving a series of brutal kicks to his body as he lay
writhing on the danceroom floor.
The rain was heavy now, and Willette had to run to reach her sports car
without getting too wet. At least no policeman had stopped to ticket her
for parking in the handicapped stall. She hopped into her little grey
sportscar and cut the engine to life. She flicked on the wipers. She
headed for the road.
"...a rather cruel, headstrong young girl," Willette found herself
reading two days later in the high school library. English Literature was
one of her favorite classes, even if it did sometimes provide disturbing
summations of her own personality. Well, if Willette ever wanted to be a
District Attorney she had to learn to be even tougher than she was now.
She had to learn how not to just manipulate one stupid low-browed boy, she
had to learn how to manipulate an entire jury. She intended to have the
highest conviction rate of any prosecutor the world had ever seen. And
then, when she retired from that and inevitably turned to criminal
defense, she intended to have the highest rate of acquittals.
Willette's mind drifted back to the man in the apartment. Now there was
a true loser. Probably some nice, humble guy who had long since given up
on women or career advancement. He would just plod through life doing
what he was told, getting his little paycheck, and then he would die.
Perhaps if he were lucky he would find a divorcee with three children who
needed a man with a steady income. Willette laughed. That woman might be
her, in another 20 years.
The following Friday night Willette found herself once more in front of
Peter and John's apartment. This time, though, it was only midnight.
Would the lonely man come to his window again if she blew her horn? He
should know that Peter and John had just moved into their new apartment on
what she thought of as Sardine Row, and unless she found something better
she'd be blaring her horn outside their door every Friday night from now
on. In fact, if Willette was especially unlucky in her search for a
better senior year spring, she might well be outside Peter and John's on
more nights of the week than just Friday.
"Beep! Beeeep!" Willette began pressing on her horn. Lola, sitting
beside her, was already giggling. "Beeeeeep! Beeeeeeeeeep!" Surely that
would bring the man! And it did. The blind didn't just open this time,
it went straight up. And there stood the dark male figure again. This
time his arms were crossed. And this time Willette had a little surprise
for him.
Willette flicked on her headlights. She had angled her car so they would
shine right into the man's window. Suddenly his anonymity was stripped
from him. Surprisingly, he turned out to be younger than Willette had
imagined. No more than 30. He was only of a medium build, about 5'11",
and his face was not unhandsome. But his eyes returned a glare that was
ten times brighter than the glare of Willette's headlights. Yet, at the
same time, he looked sad.
Willette began tittering to herself as Lola broke into guffaws. The man
couldn't see them this time, thanks to the headlights in his eyes! But
they could see him very well. They could sit and judge, he could only
stand there, stolidly staring back at their lights.
Peter and John skittered out of their apartment and dashed to the car.
As usual, John had a small brown paper bag which Willette knew was stuffed
with as much hash as John had been able to earn money for that week with
his job at McDonald's. Peter carried the Bud. Lola opened her car door
and John rudely pushed her seat forward and climbed in behind her. Was he
trying to exact a little revenge for her fling with the football players?
Peter hopped in behind John and Willette hit the gas. Again she waved at
the lonely man in the window as she broke for the street.
No prearranged party was to be had this week, and the girls and John and
Peter sped off to a nearby nightclub. After a few too many drinks
Willette found herself being persuaded to go backstage and offer herself
as a dancer. The prize was a case of Bud, and John and Peter were quite
eager to save their money by having Willette win the Bud for them by
dancing on the club's stage.
Willette unwrapped her leather vest, giving the club's owner a better
look at her ample cleavage. The man smiled, obviously quite pleased at
what he was seeing. His pencil thin mustache twitched spasmodically.
"Nice, nice," the owner breathed in a reedy voice that exuded cigarette
smoke with his every word. "If you dance well you may very well win the
prize. And don't forget, that will qualify you to compete for an even
bigger prize."
"Don't tell me. The couch in your office," Willette snapped. She
unzipped her lambskin skirt as she spoke.
"That we can do right now, without the dancing, if you're interested,"
the owner rasped. His eyes glowed bright, competing with the tip of his
stubby cigar.
"I'm just in it for the beer for my friends," Willette answered. She
kicked her dress off her spiked heels. In fact, Willette was in it for
herself. She had ended last Friday miserably, alone and wondering if she
should go knock on the door of the lonely man in the apartment building.
Tonight she would have fun. She would strut herself before the randy boys
in this club and know when she went to bed that they were all at home
masturbating over her performance.
D R E A M G I R L S L E T T E R S
The reason the yuppies are so big on "values" these days is
because they have suddenly realized they are mortal. Their "values" will
die with them unless they can manage to infect a younger generation with
them. -- Joe Emeritus, Professor of Facts
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36868 U.S.A. Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN:
1070-1427) is copyright 1995 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Chat:
alt.sex.stories.d END OF 58 EMISSION
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