It is a common thing among lovers. The male is built to
dominate, to impale. The female is made to receive and submit. In
their little night-time games, in their liasons during the day, a
dervish of lust can overcome them. It can push them to push each other
to new heights of dominance and submission. And so it was with Chip,
and with Ginger.
They lay together in her bed. Her big Raggedy Ann doll stared
senselessly at them from her bedroom chair, the one she used to sit in
when her mother would count her toes and braid her hair for her.
Chip stirred. His cock felt like it would become rigid again.
He liked the feeling and he felt her legs draw apart a little beneath
him. Her tummy was hot and smooth and soft and his belly pressed
against it. He had hair on his belly but hers was like satin. Only a
sheen of her sweat covered it, from their lovemaking.
Their breath mingled. Chip kissed Ginger on the lips. She
opened them and he thrust in his tongue. His hands ran along her body
and he found them under her wiggly ass. Delightedly he cupped the soft
childish cheeks and he pulled them hard apart and he heard her yelp. He
lifted himself up off her to give his growing cock room. He lengthened,
filling the space between them. Despite her discomfort at being so
harshly separated, the cheeks of her fanny feeling like they would pop
apart, she opened her thighs for him and offered him her virginal dell.
She was tight. He had to work hard to get his erection inside
her. She moaned and lifted her legs and kicked her heels against his
ass, as if to protest his entry, but she was quite helpless now, pinned
under him. In a series of short, urgent strokes he filled himself with
her. And then he set himself to the labor of shafting her as many times
and as hard as he could without spilling into her small little womb.
They bathed together afterward. He hoped she was keeping up
with the Pills Annette had given her for, in a frenzy of lust, he’d cum
in her, and he had no idea how he’d explain to her father why. Yet his
lust for her was growing and when she knelt in front of him and washed
his cock, he felt an unbearable desire to possess her forever.
“There’s a club downtown,” he said to her. His voice was deep
and her hands upon him were small and infinitely gentle, washing his
penis as if it were her favorite toy which, since she was only 12, it
may well have been. As she handled him so carefully it inflamed him and
he felt a roaring need to make her completely subservient to himself.
One might have thought that a small, delicate creature, treating him
kindly, would arouse compassion in him. But instead it heightened his
need to utterly and totally dominate her and to force her, somehow, into
the most obscene demonstration of submission to him that his wicked mind
could envision.
After their shower, as she stood naked, letting him pat her dry
with a towel, he told her how he wished to make her his complete and
total slave. It was the most perfidious form of slavery, for it was not
a slavery of mere work but of the body itself, of her body, of her
sexual organs. It would involve her breasts and her tongue and her
bottomhole and her pussy. And it would necessitate him forcing her to
his will and beyond her will, for there was no point in being a slave if
everything was agreeable.
Ginger bit her lip and nodded. She consented. But of course
she was only 12 years old, and could hardly consent to what they’d
already done, let alone this, being his private, personal sex slave. He
stroked her cunt and he watched her shiver and it scared him, for
suddenly he had her completely to himself, and he felt a strange sense
of responsibility wash over him. But he was determined to force her to
submit to a total and complete slavery all the same, for he was young
and lusty and increasingly wild.

Since Chip had gotten out of the Army he’d let his hair grow.
It was almost shoulder length now, and Ginger’s, which had been shoulder
length, now hung halfway down her back. She’d started out with short
pigtails but now her pigtails were long and sensuous. He glanced at her
in his car. He hadn’t shaved and he had a rough look. He felt
increasingly lawless. The Army, which he’d joined at 17 with his
parent’s permission, sick of school, sick of being in their house, had
trained him well. He was never to have anything to do with minors, or
men’s wives for that matter, or, increasingly, any of the women who were
in the service with him. Yet since getting out of the Army he’d played
with Dave’s wife, Annette, and now he had little Ginger sitting beside
him in his Camaro, and he was not taking her to the playground. They
were going downtown, and she looked lovely in her starched white blouse,
like a little Catholic school girl, except now even girls like her, who
went to public school, were made to dress in uniforms, so men seeing
them walk home from school would know most definitely that they were not
women but only little girls.
Ginger had some taffy and she drew it from between her lips and
as Chip watched her play with it, he knew the uniform, in her case, was
quite superfluous. Even a blind man would have been able to tell that
she was a minor.
“Try not to get that taffy stuck to the inside of my car,” Chip
warned her.
“Why, will you punish me for it?” she asked without looking at
him. Her voice was high and there was no mistaking it for a child’s
voice.
A police car passed them, in the other lane, heading down the
street. Her school was two blocks behind them. Large trees dappled the
windshield of Chip’s car with shadows. They ran up the glass and darted
on over the roof unseen and more raced up behind them up the polished
hood of his car. He always washed it just for her and he’d spent hours
waxing it and although he couldn’t afford a new paint job for it he was
proud of the work he’d done on it.
“Just don’t get my car all sticky, okay?” he asked her. Just
then she pulled her taffy a little too far and suddenly it was stuck to
the inside of the roof of his car.
“Yikes!” she proclaimed. She let go of it and then grabbed it
anew and tried to pull it off the ceiling but it only stretched
farther. Chip hit a bump and the taffy dangled about like some
stalactite hanging down, or perhaps like a penis. Ginger laughed.
“Damn bitch,” he swore. But he didn’t strike her, despite a
sudden desire to, for he knew she’d be quite sore before the night was
out.

They arrived downtown. He parked across the street from the
club. He walked her across the street feeling like her uncle, hoping he
looked like her uncle. Her long luscious auburn pigtails bobbed around
her shoulders as they walked, dancing down her back. She’d learned to
walk by crossing her legs and her bottom wiggled salaciously. She had
on a skirt from last year and it was shorter than it was supposed to be
and it hugged her hips. Her blouse was soft and he watched it press up
against her bosoms when the wind caught them from the front. She had
breasts that seemed to grow by the day. He felt his palm growing moist
as he held her hand. She squeezed his tightly. She had no idea what he
had planned for her. Her taffy still hung inside his car. It was,
perhaps, her last act of independence. From now on she would be
completely and totally his.

It was ‘New Couples Hour’ at the club. Because it was
mid-afternoon there were less people there than usual, and it was a
specialty of the club to devote this time to people who were new to
bondage. They could come and experiment, without being excessively
pressured. They could explore, test their limits, and not have to go
beyond them if they didn’t wish to. Another advantage for Chip was that
the owner was more liberal with the ages of the participants. As Chip
entered the club with Ginger he saw some couples who were clearly just
kids, not even out of high school yet. He breathed a quiet sigh of
relief. But still he was a little worried, for his girlfriend was the
youngest of all, a mere 12-year-old. No one would mistake her for 17,
or even 16, and she squeezed his hand with the quiet fright that you’d
expect of a mere 7th grader, even a precocious 7th grader, in a place
like this.
The club was tastefully decorated. Like the club that
sponsored group gropes, it could only be entered secretly. An elevator
in the lobby of the building went down instead of up if you pressed all
the buttons in rapid succession and then entered 7-11-13. The numbers
reflected the philosophy of the club’s owner. Age 7 for playing doctor,
age 11 for petting, age 13 for sex. Well, Ginger was short a year, but
he hoped the club’s owner didn’t mind. The Blonde Widow had told him
about the club as he sat on his hands in her Prowler.
“Such a little boy you are,” she’d teased him, purposely
hitting bumps in her Prowler to make his journey more painful. He had
only half-listened at the time, thinking she was just taunting him, but
somehow, despite his scorched buttocks, he’d remembered the building the
club was in, and the code for the elevator.
“You should go downtown to Club Virgin,” she’d laughed. “That
would be the place for you. You’ll have to take someone with you,
though. Stags aren’t allowed. Perhaps you can find some little miss on
the playground who wants her cherry popped. Hmmmm?”
“Fuck you,” Chip had replied, not knowing she’d dump him out
when they got back to his car, and he’d never see her again.
“Newlyweds go there, and teens sometimes. Just hop in the
elevator and press 7-11-13.” She’d explained the numbers’ meaning.
“Mostly it’s just a regular bad-ass bondage club, but in the early
afternoons ‘newbies’ can play there. The code changes for regular
business hours.” She didn’t tell him that code, only the one for
“virgins and ‘newbies,’” as she’d laughingly put it. He’d dismissed her
chatter from his mind at the time. He thought she was making it up.
Yet here he was! The walls were panelled in oak and there were
tables made of expensive cherry wood, with carved wooden chairs that had
plump cushioned seats. Up on stage a woman was stripping. She looked
like someone’s new wife, and seemed a little nervous. Chip watched her
with interest, almost forgetting Ginger for a moment. She tugged on his
hand to remind him of her presence and pointed at the entryway to a
bathroom.
“Sure,” Chip replied, as he watched the woman on stage reveal a
pair of sumptuous bosoms. Ginger darted away. He found a table for
them amidst the half-crowded room and sat down. A waitress appeared.
She wore hotpants that were made of white fabric and slit unhelpfully up
the sides, showing her bare hips underneath right up to her waist. She
had on a blouse that she’d tied under her breasts to leave her belly
bare. It was flat and her body was slim and she looked no older than
19. She had a small hat perched on her head and her hair, which was
red, was pinned up underneath it. A smattering of freckles decorated
her cheeks. She wore too much lipstick.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “Are you new?” She set down a drink
which Chip thought was a glass of water but when he picked it up and
tasted it, he found it was gin.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I saw you come in with your girlfriend,” she smiled. “Can I
get you anything?”
“Do you, like…” he swallowed hard. He hated asking but he
wanted to possess Ginger more deeply than he had before. They’d made
love in her bed and shared some adventures together and now he had a
no-nonsense feeling about her, and about himself too, and he wanted to
cut to the chase.
“Hey! No pervs allowed!” a harsh voice rang out. Chip
flinched. But then he saw the voice, which he somehow thought might be
directed at him, was instead being directed at a man who’d just entered
the club, alone. A bouncer went up to the man and ordered him out. The
man protested. A second bouncer appeared, and between them they got the
man back out through the club’s entryway and onto the elevator that was
never supposed to go down, unless you knew the code.
“They’ll have to change the code soon,” the waitress mused.
She turned and watched and Chip was torn between watching the commotion
and staring at her ass. Her hotpants were excessively short in back and
they left the luscious lower halves of her ass exposed. She turned back
to him. “The bouncers are supposed to stay by the elevator,” she said.
“Unfortunately the bartender lets them sit and drink at the bar when the
owner’s not here. I guess since she’s got the head of the Vice Squad on
her payroll they figure they can loaf at the bar instead of guarding the
door. Would you like some pot or coke or anything?”
“Nah,” Chip replied. “But I was wondering if you had, like
some bondage stuff we could play with?”
“Sure, there’s plenty in back,” the waitress answered. “I will
have to ask you for the $500 cover charge at this time.”
“$500.00?!” Chip blurted. That could completely repaint his
old Camaro in whatever color he chose, even gold, perhaps, or at least
silver.
“Or you can have sex onstage,” the waitress continued. She
smiled at him. “I’m sure people would love to see you naked. I know I
would.”
“Thanks,” Chip breathed. He wondered if she was somehow
inviting him to get into her hotpants after work.
“But I’ll get you a mask if you want to go the free route,
dancing onstage and making love to your girlfriend,” the waitress said.
Ginger emerged from the women’s bathroom. She had apparently omitted to
use a paper towel after washing her hands and was flinging her hands
around in the air to dry them. “She’s pretty young, you know. Almost
too young to be here, but I’m feeling generous, and you’re very
handsome. Put on a mask when you go onstage.”
“Okay,” Chip said. The waitress left. Ginger sat down. The
woman onstage was having sex with a man now. Ginger turned and watched
them.
“She’s lovely,” Ginger said. Her voice sounded strangely
mature. The woman lay on a mattress that was placed on an elevated
platform on the stage. A man who looked like he might have been her
husband entered her and she bucked her hips up at him. The crowd, half
adults, half teenagers, applauded. Ginger clapped her hands and then
slipped from her chair and went over to Chip and sat on his lap. Chip
stroked her long pigtails.
“I want to do that,” Ginger whispered. She wriggled her bottom
and he felt himself grow hard underneath her ass.
“Well,” Chip replied, stroking her hair. “I guess we’re going
to have to. I don’t have any money for the cover charge.”
Ginger turned and looked at him. Onstage, the couple climaxed.
“You need to get a job,” she said to him seriously.
“Yeah,” he said. “I just wanted, you know, to kind of get my
feet back on the ground first,” he said. Actually he’d been too busy
fucking her and every other female his penis led him to, but he didn’t
want to admit that to her, or himself. He was getting pretty damn low
on money.
“You could be a gigolo,” Ginger said. She put a finger to his
face and stroked it. The couple onstage was having another orgasm but
they were both ignoring them now, Chip hard underneath Ginger’s soft ass
and she not unaware of his state. “I like it when you don’t shave.
Even if it does mean you’ve got yet more hair on you,” she said. The
music accompanying the couple’s performance reached a crescendo. Yet it
wasn’t the loud, deafening music heard in some clubs, as if some quiet
space needed to be left for the audience, so they could make plans for
themselves.
“I want, well, I need to take you up on stage and…” Chip
began. He hiked Ginger’s dress up her thighs. She had lovely tanned
skin from playing out by her backyard pool. He pushed her dress up
more, so he could see her white panties between her legs.
Ginger kissed him. A small, child’s kiss. He eased her down
off his lap. “Come on,” he said throatily.

There was a locker room in the back, unisex. The waitress
showed it to them. She pointed to metal lockers, a bare wooden bench.
The room was clean but spartan. There were a pair of sinks against one
wall and three toilet stalls. A small curtained cubicle held a shower.
“Naughty or nice?” the waitress asked Chip. He stood with a
hand behind Ginger’s head. His fingers played with her pigtails.
“Huh?” Chip asked. Ginger stared at the waitress’ hotpants.
“Accessories, silly!” the waitress laughed. “You can’t just go
out there completely naked. You have to, you know, be playful.”
“Naughty,” Chip grunted.
“Good,” the waitress answered. She leaned forward and pecked
him on the cheek. Then she turned and left. Chip drooled at the sight
of her ass.
“Quit looking at her bottom!” Ginger scolded Chip. To get his
attention she slapped the bulge in his trousers.
“Sorry,” Chip said. Then, looking down at Ginger, he added,
“Show me yours instead. Get undressed.”
Ginger lifted her hands to the top button of her blouse,
obediently, where a small black bow circled her throat, completing her
schoolgirl’s uniform. She loosened the bow, asked, “Are you getting
undressed to?”
“Yeah,” Chip said. He unbuckled his belt. She looked down at
his hands, her eyes growing wider, watching his fingers on his belt.
“I may have to whip you a few times with this onstage,” he said
to her. He drew the belt out of his trousers. But she didn’t say
anything, just kept undressing, turning away finally from him when it
came time to unzip and draw down her skirt.
The waitress returned with a small tray. Ginger was naked,
hanging her clothes neatly in a locker next to Chip’s. He was naked
too, but he held the belt from his pants in one hand.
“Oh, my! You’re huge!” the waitress said to Chip. He looked
down at himself. His cock was erect. Ginger turned and clasped a hand
over the head of his penis, her fingers spreading apart to accomodate
the thick throbbing bulb.
“And he’s sticky,” Ginger commented. Chip felt pre-cum ooze
onto her palm.
The waitress set down her tray on the bench. She picked up a
black mask and tied it around Chip’s face as Ginger watched.
“What’s that for?” Ginger asked.
“He’s going to be Zorro,” the waitress answered. “And you, my
dear, are going to be a little maiden in peril, hmmmm?”
“We’ve had sex before,” Ginger answered.
“Good. Then you must not be a virgin anymore,” the waitress
said. “I’m glad to hear it. How old are you?”
“12,” Ginger replied.
“Well you’re getting started early,” the waitress said. She
finished tying Chip’s mask on.
“We’ve already been to a bordello and I even went to some clubs
by myself,” Ginger said. She poked Chip in his belly button. “Without
him.”
“I see,” the waitress said. “Well, I’ve got something special
for you. Have you ever seen nipple clamps before?”
“Hmmm,” Ginger said. She followed the waitress’ gaze down to
the tray she’d brought in.
“These are junior-type nipple clamps,” the waitress said. She
lifted one from the tray and let it dangle from her fingers. She looked
at Chip. “It ties on her instead of clamping, to protect her little
teats. But it’s still weighted.”
“Ummm,” Chip grunted. He almost spilled onto the tray, looking
at the nipple attachment the waitress held up in front of him. She was
still properly uniformed, he was buck-naked, Ginger was surprisingly
docile and willing. He wanted to just grab himself and ejaculate on the
two of them, but he instead took the nipple weight from her fingers.
“And this,” the waitress continued. “Is for her tongue.” She
picked up a sheath. It was in the shape of a tongue, or rather half a
tongue, for that was the amount of one’s tongue it was designed to
enclose. At the tongue-tip it had a spring, to allow it to be snapped
shut. The open end of the tongue-sheath was designed to bite down on
the tongue across its middle.
“And finally,” the waitress said, picking up a small G-string,
“This is something for her puss.” She ran a manicured nail along the
part of the string designed to go between Ginger’s legs. It was round,
like a rope. It looked soft as cotton but gnarled, as if designed to
rub her between her legs and arouse her. The waitress handed the
G-string to Ginger. “I expect you to do a sexy little dance in this,”
she said.
“I don’t like it,” Ginger said. “It looks silly with this big
pink bow attached in back.” She ruffled a pink bow sewn into the back
of the G-string’s waist belt where it connected to the part that ran up
through her ass. “Where’s the rest of it?” she asked.
“It’s a G-string, silly,” the waitress replied. “There is no
‘rest of it.’ You’re going to put it on and wiggle around in it
onstage, with your pigtails flying, and then you’re going, I think, to
get a good strapping for being so naughty from Zorro here, and then
hopefully he’ll fuck you with that big thing of his.”
Ginger blushed. She turned red from her toes to her forehead.
“I could never do that,” she sighed. But Chip saw she was
simultaneously excited by the prospect of being seen by so many people,
of being the center of attention.
Chip snapped his belt and it almost hit Ginger’s bare bottom.
“Get it on,” he growled at her. She shivered and looked at him and he
looked quite ominous unshaved, with his hair growing long on his head,
and his chest hair standing up because the room was cool and both their
bodies were chilly.
Like a nude little baby Ginger stepped into the crotch belt.
She drew it up her thighs and it was made of elastic and it became tight
on her as she got it up around her hips.
“It was tough finding a size that small,” the waitress admitted
to Chip. He nodded. He felt impossibly criminal watching little Ginger
fit herself into a G-string, but she was absolutely darling in it. Her
bottomcheeks were split by the string, looking like twin apples ready
for polishing. It sliced between her pussy lips. She complained
immediately that it made her feel all wicked between her legs. She
pulled the string out of her pussy and looked down at it.
“It won’t stop RUBBING me!” Ginger whined.
“Let go of it,” the waitress admonished. She unhooked Ginger’s
little fingers from the string and it snapped back into place within her
cunt.
“Ooooh, I’m getting wet!” Ginger sighed.
“Good. You’ll need it for his big thing,” the waitress told
her.
Chip was a man, but he was a young man, and he couldn’t help
grabbing himself, looking at Ginger snug in her little G-string.
Holding his belt in one hand, but otherwise naked, he put a fist to his
cock and began masturbating himself. The waitress smiled. She put her
hands to the front of her hot pants. She unsnapped them.
“Do you think you could handle both of us?” she asked Chip.
Her eyes were warm, bright.
“Sure,” Chip groaned. He felt a tremor of need rush through
him, right to the end of his cock, and he had to quickly let go of
himself, lest he shower them both with his seed.
“Good,” the waitress replied. She bent forward a little and
skimmed her hotpants down her legs. Her bottom bulbed out at him, high
and firm as Ginger’s was, but wider and more fully developed. She
dropped her pants to her feet and stepped free of them, still wearing
the new white sneakers that were part of her uniform. “I think it will
be better for both of you if I appear onstage with Ginger. We can
annouce that we’re sisters, and people will be less suspicious.”
“Okay,” Chip agreed. He was hungry for her. Ginger pouted.
“I don’t like sharing,” she said. The waitress sat on the
bench in front of her and picked up a nipple attachment.
“Just be good. We can’t let him get in trouble,” the waitress
told her. She reached for one of Ginger’s nipples and caught it between
her polished fingers. She tugged on the girl. Ginger stepped closer.
The waitress tied the nipple attachment onto Ginger’s erect tit-bud.
The girl looked down, watching.
“Ooooh,” Ginger sighed, when the tit attachment had been
securely knotted around her nipple. A small weight hung by a thread
from her right breast. It made her high, firm pointy breast tug
downward a little. Chip almost shot off, watching her. How lovely her
perfect tit looked, drawn down by the thread, springing up in
resistance, then sagging down a little again, then up! A precarious
balance appeared between the weight and her tit, the weight fighting to
pull her breast down, her breastflesh responding with an upward lilt.
Every time Ginger moved her breast wiggled anew, and the weight and her
teat fought a new battle.
Carefully the waitress tied on the remaining weight. When she
was done Ginger looked like some white-fleshed African princess, a
captured Jane adorned with lewd ornaments. But Chip, her Tarzan, wasn’t
about to save her. Instead he continued to aimlessly thrash his belt by
his leg, while rubbing himself with his free hand.
“Ooooh, I hate you!” Ginger scolded him. But those words were
her last for the waitress picked up the tongue sheath and made her open
her mouth and clipped it smartly to her tongue, making her gasp.
“I- don- li- thi-,” Ginger protested, but the waitress only
laughed, and Chip laughed, for she was quite captive now, unable to talk
and with weights dangling tortuously from her breasts and a belt rubbing
her snatch. Ginger flung her head about and her pigtails went flying.
Perhaps she was trying to rid herself of the sheath, but it was quite
impossible, that way. The waitress held her hands as she tossed her
head about and when she was finished with her little soundless temper
tantrum the waitress snapped a leash to her captive tongue so she could
be led around by it.
“Best use of a girl’s mouth I’ve seen in years,” Chip said.
The waitress removed his hand from his cock and made him take Ginger’s
mouth-leash in his hand.
“It’s better than piercing, for a girl her age,” the waitress
replied. She looked at Ginger. “You are too young for that, my dear,
so don’t even think about it. No tattoos, no piercings, and no weird
hairstyles either, okay?” Then, impulsively, the waitress bent forward
and kissed Ginger’s belly. She had a small, soft child’s belly, one
that stuck out a little, until the waitress leaned forward to kiss it.
“Oook!” Ginger protested, drawing in her belly. She felt
over-loved, as if both of them were about to have her for their
afternoon snack. The waitress ignored Ginger’s protest and yanked on
her crotch belt, pulling it up. “Yeek!” Ginger cried. The belt was
already tight in her pussy and the waitress pulling it up only made it
rub her even more snugly.
“I want to get pregnant and have a baby soon,” the waitress
told Chip.
“I- no- a ba-eee,” Ginger gurgled within her tongue-gag. The
leash hung from her mouth and Chip tugged on it.
“Come on, Little Miss Colorado,” he teased. “I’m not going to
fracture your skull but I think I’m going to ram myself up your cunt.”
He throbbed, his erection hard between his legs, his knees working back
and forth a little from his lust to ejaculate. “Or sperm your thigh, if
we don’t hurry,” he said. He looked at the waitress. “Are you
coming?” She smiled and impulsively she rubbed her pussy.
“Yes!” she breathed. She stood up, still wearing her waitress’
cap, and her blouse, which was still tied neatly under her breasts,
covering them but baring the belly she hoped to get impregnated soon.
She took Ginger’s hand and Ginger felt a little bit like a circus monkey
walking between them, the shortest and smallest of them, with weights
adorning her teats and a crotch belt rubbing her slit and being led by a
leash hung from her tongue. But she walked docilely, bowing her head a
little. The couple that had been enjoying each other onstage came down
the small flight of steps from the stage, holding hands, the woman
carrying what remained of her clothes in one hand, the man unassumingly
naked. His cock, once hard, now hung limp between his legs. She walked
with a pronounced wiggle, as if unaccustomed to having him between her
thighs, or the recipient of what must have been a very vigorous
fucking.
The music stopped. Applause drifted down the stairs after the
couple, they passed Ginger and Chip and the waitress, whose name Chip
still didn’t know, and whose name he cared little about, watching her
gorgeous jiggling ass. There were teenage whoops and hollars from the
crowd beyond. Boldly, with brave little Ginger walking beside him, Chip
mounted the steps to the stage. He could feel his big erection all
swollen and stiff between his legs and he wanted to just throw Ginger
down on the steps right there in the stairway and bang her brains out,
but he knew there must be a performance first, featuring his Penis,
Onstage. Either that or he had to very quickly come up with $500.00.
Suddenly the stage came into view. Chip saw two maids
hurriedly changing the sheets on the mattress that waited for them.
Plastic sheeting, then white sheets were stripped off and new ones put
on. Chip stepped onstage and heard wild applause and it was perhaps
fitting, for his dick was joggling wildly and stiffly between his legs.
He’d never felt so hard in his life and he felt Ginger lean in close to
him, excited and scared at being seen in the all together by so many
people.
The maids finished making the bed and departed down stairs
opposite the dressing room entrance. Chip turned, confronted the
crowd. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, standing there naked, so
he bowed. His cock bobbed as he bowed and the females in the audience
loved his gallant gesture. Bras and panties suddenly flew onstage. A
bouncer barked out that the audience wasn’t supposed to strip. Chip
felt himself blushing and he wondered if his dick was blushing too but
he had no time to look, for the waitress took him by his penis and
batted her deep blue eyes at him and Ginger was looking at him all
scared. He was led by the waitress over to the bed and Ginger tripped
along beside him, led by her tongue-leash.
The waitress slapped Chip on his bare buns. “Get up, both of
you,” she told them. Chip picked up little Ginger like a sack of
potatoes, rather ungallantly, after his noble bow to the audience, and
tossed her onto the fresh bedding. Ginger yelped out some kind of a
protest but the sheath over her tongue kept her from being understood.
It made no difference; Chip was hard and desperate and he needed her
legs apart. She squeezed them together but he grasped them and felt
their exquisite softness and then, rudely, he yanked them wide open.
“Eeep!” Ginger yelped. She looked at him with big eyes. He
kneed his way up onto the matress on the platform. He knelt over her
and, perhaps because the girls in the audience were screaming now, he
humped the air, making his cock waggle all about like a big fleshy totem
pole. The waitress came round to the head of the bed, still demurely in
her hat and tied-up blouse. She held Ginger lightly by her frail thin
small shoulders, tanned from the summer sun. Chip grabbed at Ginger’s
white breasts and stabbed his penis between her legs.
The crotch belt stopped him. Chip swore. He let go of
Ginger’s teats and grabbed the belt round her waist and yanked it down
her thighs. It was wet with her dew but he was too busy to notice. He
had to back himself down her legs a little to get it off her feet and as
he did she kicked at his groin lightly, as if to protest her fate, but
not hard enough to stop him. He had planned to spank her for the
audience but now he was like a starved lion and she was wet and he’d
lost his belt, leaving it somewhere on the floor, on the stage, out of
reach. Instead of making Ginger turn over and show her bottom to him
and giving her a good swatting, perhaps even plunging himself up her ass
to her utter mortification in front of the audience, he simply tossed
her crotch-belt at them and reclaimed her breasts with his hands.
“Ooooh!” Ginger howled. Chip mounted her. Ginger’s heels
found themselves behind him again and she kicked them against his bare
ass.
“Unnnhhh!” Chip groaned. He stuck her with his cock and he
leaned forward hard. She was small, and wet. He was heavy. His length
stabbed into her and he felt like a wild beast, eating prey. Ginger
screamed. Her tongue was already sheathed but the waitress put a hand
over her mouth to silence her further.
Desperately, urged on by the crowd and feeling absolutely wild
and unstoppable, Chip fucked Ginger mercilessly. She wailed and cried
out but he knew she’d had him before and could handle him, tight as she
was, small as she was. He ignored her flying pigtails and her wet teary
eyes. He paid no attention to the way she tried to squirm out from
under him.
Chip plowed her. He was like a machine making deep furrows in
the soft soil. He battered her with her cock and the waitress kept her
hand helpfully over Ginger’s mouth. After he’d jetted once into her,
finding himself still hard, still within her, he slowed his pace a
little and gave Ginger kisses on her face. She began to buck against
him in response. The waitress let go of Ginger’s mouth and, gaspingly,
Ginger kissed Chip back, still gurgling under a flood of tears. But
they were happy tears now, not frightened, woeful, pettish tears.

“You never did spank my bottom,” Ginger said to Chip in the car
on the way home. Her taffy still dangled from her ceiling.
Chip smiled. “Do you want me to now?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t like spankings. Anyway, I lied
about my mom and dad not being home tonight. I was hoping you’d spank
me and I’d come home crying and then you’d get caught and have to
explain yourself.”
“What?!” Chip asked.
She looked at him. Her snub nose stuck up at him. Her eyes
glowed in the darkness of the car. Passing streetlights flitted across
her face. “Well, you’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, but–” Chip said. “I’m 21! I don’t even like picking
you up at school. I’m not sure your friends think I’m you’re uncle.”
“Well, anyways,” she said. “I liked the club you took me to
tonight. It was weird, but–” she put a hand over her dress and he saw
her wedge it down between her legs. “Wow.”
“You liked that, huh?” he asked. She wrinkled her nose. She
rubbed herself lightly.
“I won’t admit I liked it,” she said frankly. “But I’m not
going to trick you into getting caught by my parents.”
“Thanks,” Chip said.
“You need to get this taffy off your ceiling before you take me
out again,” Ginger told him. She tugged on it.
“Yeah.”
“And get a job, too. I’m running out of candy,” she said.
“We already discussed that,” he told her. “I want you to quit
eating candy and eat healthy foods, like celery, and carrots, and–” He
stopped his car in front of Annette’s house, so she could run home
without her parents knowing she’d been out driving around with some guy
in his car. He looked at her breasts. They bulged nicely into her
starched school uniform blouse. “And drink lots of milk,” he told her.
She leaned over and kissed him. “Get a job,” she said. She
patted his crotch even as she deftly rubbed her own, her skirt between
her underpants and her hand. “And get that thing all ready again,
okay? I think I’ll be needing it soon.”
“I love you,” he said to her.
“I don’t know if I love you or not but you are really cool,”
she said. “Did you ever think of getting a new paint job for your
Camaro, though? My girlfriend says it needs one.”
“I think I better get a new car if any more people catch on
that I’m dating you,” Chip said worriedly.
“Yeah. Get a job and then you can have a new car every time
you pick me up from school,” Ginger told him.
“Sure,” Chip said. She kissed him again.
“Bye,” she whispered. And a moment later she was out of his
car. He watched her dart across her lawn. Behind her the long brown
pigtails that her mother wanted to cut streamed out behind her.
“Bye,” he answered, quietly, only himself hearing. But he knew
he’d be back in a day or two, perhaps sooner, and one way or another he
was going to repaint his Camaro for her. And he was also going to
somehow get her damned taffy off his ceiling.