Party Pussies 2.
By: Date: 2022.11.12. Categories: Just Swinger Stories Tags: , , , , ,

“And me too! Let me milk the men too!” Bow said impetuously.
“I’m going to send you up to your room if you don’t act your
age,” Petra warned the girl. (Of course, if she did act her age, not
asking repeatedly to be fucked, she got to go to an orgy, which struck
me as rather strange.)
“Oh, alright,” Bow said. “At least I’ll have Bert with me.”
She shrugged her shoulders, hoisting the bear that hung from her back.
She looked at me. “He’s really a boy,” she assured me.
“Mine too,” I answered.
We walked outside into the night. What a strange procession we
must have made! Petra led the men. She was clad but unclad in her
riding gear. The men loped along beside her. Their big penises stuck
out from them like batons. They bobbled freely. Petra kept them
mindful of her crop by aimlessly (or so it seemed) swishing it alongside
herself. It whipped through the air past her thighs, and past the
thighs of the men who walked at her flanks. A quick flick of her wrist
and she could deliver instant pain to their erect penises. Perhaps it
excited them, being so vulnerably displayed to her crop like that.
Bow and I followed. We carried our bears on our backs.
Bethany liked my bear, his diapers. She wished she could have one to
keep her company, but we only had two. I told her she could have my
bear on the trip back up from the dungeon. That satisfied her.
Walking alongside Bethany was Annette. They held hands.
Annette had red hair and it streamed off her shoulders, lifted by the
light breeze. The owl was out again. I heard it screech. It was
looking for prey.
The men lifted the storm door to the cellar open for us. How
courteous, I thought, except it was a wry sort of courtesy, I thought,
since we were, unequivocally, being led toward a fate that would leave
us girls raw and sore. Nonetheless, I gave both men a shy smile as I
passed. I didn’t wish to be difficult, as Bethany was sometimes. I
wished to please. I wished to be admired as pleasing. It was in my
nature. But I felt apprehension, for a female asked to please a man in
a dungeon can get herself into more than she wishes to.
Could I cope? I didn’t know. I would try. That was all I
could do, wasn’t it? Try to please my boyfriend, Robin, and the new
man, Luke, that Petra had assigned me to meet. Yes, I would do my
best. Both men’s big penises throbbed at me as I passed between them.
Their sacs were full beneath, hanging like taut, hairy bags. A touch of
my finger might set them off.
Bow passed between them next. She wished to suck upon them,
tried, was given a quick slap on her bottom by Petra.
Next, with me leading the way this time into the darkness, came
Bethany and Annette. I heard them both squeal, as they passed the men.
Standing halfway down the ladder, trying to find the next rung with my
bare foot, I looked up. I couldn’t see what was happening. Bow’s
bottom wiggled nakedly above my eyes. Her long hair shifted across her
back. I saw feet, a glimpse of cunt, above her. I noticed light
growing in the dungeon. A new invention? Perhaps a servant had
installed a bulb that would slowly lighten the chamber once the doors
had been lifted. I was grateful. I looked up again, tried to catch a
glimpse of the stars above the open hatchway. But there were too many
people on the ladder now.
“Don’t drip your sperm on my head!” I heard Bethany announce
petulantly. Robin, or was it Luke? was above her. The men’s dicks
leaked precum. Bow, the little slut, lifted her head and opened her
mouth wide, hoping to catch some.
The cage. It stood before us in the now bright light of the
dungeon. We would be locked in it again, in with all that awful
equipment. Somewhere in there waited ‘the chair’. Bethany would be
bound into it, her feet spread, I guessed. What other use could there
be for such an innocently named device in such a diabolical place? The
men would mate with her. They would loose their sperm inside her, to
make them a little bit easier for Annette and I to take up our bottoms.
Petra moved ahead of me. She alone was clothed. The rest of
us were stark naked. Her clothes were minimal, though. Just gloves and
boots, a cap, a scarf. And her handy riding crop. Were we animals?
She unlocked the cage door. She swung it open. With a beckoning of her
crop, she herded us into her cage. Then, when we were all inside, she
swung the door closed again, locking herself in with her pets. She
smiled. She had us all at her beck and call now. Annette and I were
too inexperienced to challenge her. Bethany and Bow were too little.
The men, Robin and Luke, were in thrall to her, and too hard to think of
anything but obeying her whims. We were all wet with baby oil in our
privates. (Except little Bow, of course, who longed to be.)
“The purpose of our party is pain,” Petra announced. She eyed
Annette, who was new. Then Bethany, then me. She ignored Bow. Then
she let her eyes fasten themselves on first one man’s tool, then the
other. “And pleasure,” she added, almost as an afterthought. She
lifted a gloved hand. She used it to brush back her hair. Then she
advanced on Annette, cat-like. She touched the woman’s face.
“How much pain can you stand, hmmm, Annette? And how much
pleasure? We’ll find out tonight, I’m sure. Or at least we’ll begin
to.”
Annette was shivering. She’d never been in a dungeon before.
I wished I hadn’t been. I was only 13, after all. I shouldn’t be
here. I should be home, content with Love@AOL on the Net, reading
messages posted by dweebs. But instead I was here, naked, my pussy wet
with baby oil. I swallowed. I prayed I could survive whatever Petra
had planned for us. I wondered if the two randy men, hard as they were,
and desperate, would really step in and save me if Petra got out of
hand. I hoped they would. I trusted Robin. I didn’t know Luke.
The servants had already come and gone. They had prepared our
cell beforehand. Fresh cut flowers stood in a crystal vase on a wooden
table. Droplets of water clung to their petals. On the barred wall of
the cell, incongrously, someone had hung a painting, or a print of a
painting, by Matisse. The sofas were clean. There was no sign of our
soapy play from the night before. And, quite grimly, the equipment that
made this cell so forbidding waited beyond the twin sofas.
“Please, have a seat,” Petra invited us. Quietly we padded
past her, past her easily-applied crop, our bottoms flinching as we
passed, and sat down on the sofas. Bow and I unshouldered our teddy
bears and gave them a seat of their own beside ourselves on the couch.
We were seated as we’d been the night before. Except now,
instead of having Tom beside me, I had Luke. Bethany flanked his other
side. Bow sat next to Bethany. Her teddy bear, Bert, sat next to her.
Bow finished arranging her teddy bear on the sofa. She stood
up. She walked over to the table with the flowers atop it. She opened
a drawer that hung underneeath the table. She took out a bubble wand
and a bottle of oil to make bubbles with. Perhaps she had secreted the
items in the drawer when last she had played down here, by herself. Or
perhaps Verona, to keep her busy, had left the items there for her. In
any event, with her wand and her bottle of oil, Bow plopped down on the
couch next to Bethany. The two of them were soon sharing the bubble
wand. They held it for each other, while the other blew into it, making
bubbles. The big diaphanous spheres wobbled from the wand’s tip into
the air. They rose toward the ceiling, where they eventually shattered
against the barred roof of our cell. Petra ignored them.
There was a bucket of ice next to the vase of flowers. Within
it was a bottle of white wine. Arranged around the bucket were glasses,
but not enough for us all. We would have to share. Petra drew the
bottle from the ice. It was slick with melted water. She gave it and a
corkscrew to Luke. Manfully he opened it, while she stood over him,
watching. When the bottle was open Petra herself served our glasses.
Annette was forced to sip from the same glass as Robin. He held the
glass for her as she sipped. Luke and I shared a glass. He held it for
me. My breasts caressed his arm as I drank from it.
“Ooooh, I want some!” Bow cried out.
“You get Kool-Aid, my dear,” Petra told her. “You too
Bethany.”
“I’m not eight,” Bethany protested.
“I know you’re not, dear. That’s why I’m putting you in the
chair, to receive the men’s sperm. Nonetheless, to keep Bow happy,
please share a glass of Kool-Aid with her.”
Bethany rolled her eyes. But, perhaps feeling submissive, she
protested no further. Bow whispered something in her ear, and she
giggled.
“What was that, girls?” Petra asked. She poured Kool-Aid from
a pitcher that stood behind the ice bucket. She brought the glass over
to the girls.
“Bow says the lemonade looks like pee,” Bethany laughed.
“I’m not drinking that. It’s pee!” Bow confirmed.
“Open your mouth, dear. Such pretty lips,” Petra said to
Bethany. The blonde looked up at the woman. Petra’s fingers touched
her lips. She opened Bethany’s mouth, prying Beth’s lips and teeth
apart, until the girl looked like a horse about to receive a bit. Petra
poured in the lemonade. Bethany choked a little. Then she swallowed
quickly, to keep up with Petra’s pouring.
“There. Did that taste like pee?” Petra asked Bethany.
“Noooo,” Bethany agreed. She was quite submissive now. She
folded her hands in her lap like a little schoolgirl. But unlike a girl
in school she had not a stitch of clothing on. Not panties, not even
socks for her feet.
“You see, Bow?” Petra told her 8-year-old niece. The woman
returned to the table. The glass was small. She refilled it with the
pitcher.
“It doesn’t taste like pee,” Bethany assured Bow. Petra
returned with the glass. She handed it to Beth.
“Pour it into her mouth,” Petra told Bethany.
As I sipped from the glass Luke held for me, as Robin was given
a drink by Annette, little Bow was made to drink by Bethany. The
8-year-old resisted a little at first, but Bethany took her lips in her
fingers and forced her, just as she had been forced by Petra. Except
for a little wiggling, Bow swallowed down the entire glassful without
incident. I thought she might wind up spilling it on herself but she
didn’t.
We chatted. Strange as it sounds, we hardly knew each other.
We hadn’t had time to talk much upstairs. Petra asked Luke about his
work. She sat down, primly, next to Robin. She pretended to ignore the
big aching penis he was carving the air with. Luke, equally stiff and
visible, nonetheless answered Petra’s questions like a man in a suit
having a job interview.
Annette asked me how Bethany and I ever came to be here, being
so young. I explained as best as I could. She said she’d run away at
13, but only managed to ride the bus out to L.A. She’d tried selling
herself there, she laughed, on Sunset Boulevard, wearing her jeans and
her backpack. But the cars only rolled by, ignoring her. Then she’d
hit on the idea (for she had only the clothes she was wearing) of
cutting her jeans’ legs off. Wearing just the remainder, a small swath
of denim around her hips, her legs all bare, and leaving the backpack
behind a dumpster, she tried again.
“I immediately had three offers,” Annette said. Her voice was
cheerful, but a little nervous. Perhaps it was her story, or the
coolness of the air down here in this cellar, or the fact that we were
all, despite our manners and our polite demeanor, locked in a cell.
“Three offers! Two cars almost collided with each other in the street.”
“What did you do?” Bow asked. Petra frowned. She didn’t like
little Bow listening to stories about young girls running away, I
guessed. But Bow was all ears. Her bubble wand didn’t interest her
anymore.
“I got scared, with so many men suddenly interested in me,”
Annette confessed. “I ran away.”
Petra smiled. I suppose she liked that ending. It wouldn’t
inspire little Bow to take up the idea. Yet I could almost see the
small girl, out on the dirt road, wearing just her swim panties,
sticking her thumb out and strolling along, hoping a driver might stop
and buy her. Fortunately Petra’s estate was remote. There was little
chance of a car coming by, even if Bow were to stand by the roadside all
day.
“I took the bus back home,” Annette said. “But I had only my
hot pants now. I looked quite sexy, riding the bus in them. A boy got
on the bus in Nevada and he sat with me. We necked.” Annette blushed.
“Did he screw you?” Luke asked. He looked perturbed.
“He was nice,” Annette replied. She let Robin hold their wine
glass and she sipped from it. Perhaps to show her independence from
Luke, despite being his girl friend, she stroked a finger along Robin’s
dick. My beau, my boyfriend, shuddered at her touch. To get revenge,
despite liking Annette, I stroked the dick of Luke. It throbbed against
the tip of my finger.
“Well, we must begin,” Petra said. She had a wine glass of her
own and she downed its contents, quickly. She stood. She beckoned with
a wave of her crop.
We stood. Luke took my hand. With his other hand he took hold
of Bethany. She started, feeling him grab her hand. But she acceeded,
let him draw her across the room. Bow strolled behind us. She brought
her bubble wand with her, and blew more bubbles as she walked along.
One of them drifted to Luke’s butt and burst upon it.
“Hey!” Luke said, startled.
“Your ass killed my bubble,” Bow pouted.
“You’ll feel more demanding things upon your cute buns than a
bubble before the night is over, I assure you, Luke,” Petra told him,
laughing.
Robin led Annette. She was shy. She shivered as he made her
rise and walk from the sofa. We trailed back behind the couches and
into the maze of equipment.
“Ohhh, what’s this?” Annette asked. She touched a hook
dangling from a device.
“Perhaps you will learn about it, soon enough,” Petra
answered. “But first we must get Bethany seated.”
“Ohhh, I don’t want too,” Bethany said.
“Come, child, here it is,” Petra said.
“What is it?” Bethany asked. I might have asked the same thing
myself. There was a large barrel. It looked like it might have once
held moonshine. It was tall, and only half of it remained. I have no
idea where the other half was. It was sawed in half, from top to
bottom. It served as the backdrop for a small leather covered stool.
The stool was set within the curving walls of the barrel. Not quite
connected to the stool, but leaning back from it, was what looked like a
narrow seat back. It, like the stool, was covered in leather. Chains
hung suspended above the stool. I saw metal stirrups fixed to the
barrel’s edges. There was one on the left side of the barrel, and one
on the right. They were at the same height as the stool. I suddenly
realized that a girl might sit in the stool, and lean back on the seat
back, and put her feet up into the stirrups. If she did, her sex would
be shamelessly displayed. Even a man might sit on the stool and, if he
fitted his feet into the stirrups, his erection and even his balls would
be exposed to whatever depredations others might wish to inflict upon
them.
“Yeek!” Bethany cried. Petra took my friend firmly in hand.
She plopped Bethany’s bare ass down on the leather covered stool.
Annette and I, perhaps inspired by the naughtiness of seeing her thus
displayed, moved forward and grabbed her knees. I lifted her left
knee. Annette lifted her right. We placed her small bare feet into the
metal stirrups. There was a leather strap at the back of each stirrup
and, seeing it, I buckled the strap around Bethany’s heel, so she
couldn’t remove her foot. Annette did the same with Bethany’s other
foot.
“Her knees too, dear,” Petra told me. I felt Petra’s riding
crop touch my behind. I obeyed. I was fearful she might swat it
against me if I didn’t. I took the chains which hung down over
Bethany’s left knee. I wrapped them underneath my friend’s knee. Then
I drew them up, and attached them high above her to a hook. I had to
stand on my tip-toes to do it. I felt my bare breasts wobble on my
chest as I lifted my arms high. Petra’s crop grazed my bottom again,
making me flinch.
“Lie back, dear. Make yourself comfortable,” Petra told
Bethany. She stroked the girl’s belly. Rather anxiously, Bethany was
leaning back against the chair back, the back that was not quite
attached to the stool. “Reach back,” Petra told Beth. “Do you feel
handcuffs back there, dangling from the back of the barrel?” Petra
asked.
“Ooooh, yes. But I can’t stick– can’t stick my hands back
that far–,” Bethany protested, though even now, perhaps out of
curiousity, she was doing just that, feeling for the cuffs. Petra
stepped into the barrel, straddling her uptilted thigh. She reached
back. Her hair brushed against Bethany’s face and breasts as she leaned
deeply over the girl. I heard one click, then another. “Oh!” Bethany
cried. But it was too late. Petra had locked her hands into the
cuffs. The woman stepped back out of the barrel. Bethany was left
fruitlessly wriggling her arms, quite trapped now, her legs akimbo, her
wrists cuffed far behind her. Her bare bosoms wobbled invitingly on her
chest. I saw her nipples stiffen. She was ready.
Petra, quite pleased with her wickedness, went to the back wall
of our cell. She drew back a black curtain. I saw whips arranged
there, and other implements, and also several black gags. Annette,
standing beside me, gasped as the things were revealed. I felt
butterflies rise in my tummy. I palmed my belly, wished I wasn’t here.
But I was, and I couldn’t leave now. My best friend Bethany was trapped
on a stool in a barrel!
Petra selected a gag. It was made of silk. She returned to
Bethany. Leaning forward over the girl, she made Bethany accept the
silk gag in her mouth. She knotted it behind the girl’s head.
“Now you are ready, my sweet,” Petra said. Yet there was one
thing more. Petra took hold of some ropes that were fixed to the chair
back. She drew their length out in her palms. Then, quite ruthlessly,
she bound the ropes around Bethany’s breasts.
“Oh! Yeek! No! Please!” Bethany cried through her gag. It
muffled her protests, making her words sound silly. When Petra was
done, the girl’s bosoms were wrapped by the ropes. They squeezed her
tits, compressing them, making them extrude their bulk out beyond the
soft clamping of the ropes. Bethany’s nipples stood out like pointed
stems on fat cherries held squeezingly between one’s teeth. I thought
her breasts might burst, they looked so plump, so exquisitely bound by
the tight ropes. I longed to lean forward and lick at her nipples.
Petra had more sinister plans.
“My, my, little Bethany, how deliciously you present yourself,”
Petra taunted the girl. She went to the back wall again, leaving us to
admire Beth. The men seemed mesmerized by her. The small 12-year-old
had her legs spread wide, her knees strung up by chains, her little feet
bound securely into the widely-spaced stirrups. Her cunny was wet with
baby oil, set within her splayed thighs like center of a nectar-laden
flower whose petals have been opened. There was no stamen, of course,
to this flower. Just her little dell, beckoning, urging the men to
plunge themselves up within its warm, wet depths.
Bethany’s bare tummy trembled tautly. Her tits jiggled within
their rope bindings. She tried turning her head to see what Petra was
bringing back with her from the back wall, where the implements hung. I
saw. It was a feather. And in her other hand she still held her riding
crop.
“I– haftoo pe-ee!” Bethany said through her gag as Petra
reappeared beside her.
“Well of course, dear. Just after you’re all seated and
trussed up too, hmmm?” Petra said. “Don’t think you’re going to get out
of that chair for such an unimportant thing as that.” Bow, however,
scurried away, and returned moments later with the same pail we’d used
the night before. It looked freshly scrubbed.
“Here,” Bow said. There was a look of concern on her small
8-year-old face.
“Well, for your sake, then, dear,” Petra told the girl. She
gave her feather and her crop to Luke. He received them, stared at
them. The feather was a big ostrich feather. It looked very soft. The
crop, of course, was as hard as his dick.
Petra placed the bucket underneath Bethany. She knelt down
between the girl’s uplifted legs. I watched her bare bottom as she
squatted. It split nicely as she knelt, and hung underneath her like a
ripe peach waiting to be picked from a tree at harvest time. Luke, I
think, contemplated bending down and giving her a swat on her exposed
hiney, but he didn’t, perhaps because just then Bethany began peeing.
We crowded in to watch. Holding open the lips of Bethany’s
cunt, Petra let the girl pee right into the bucket. The chair wasn’t in
the way for Bethany. My friend, leaning back, actually had the
frontmost part of her ass off the seat. She was well-displayed, and
well offered, and I knew the men must be looking forward to kneeling in
front of her and stabbing into her with their cocks.
PISSSSS! went Bethany’s pee into the bucket. The sound was
intoxicating. We watched her, urinating, and I felt a little envious,
for the men hardly noticed myself or Annette. Their eyes were fixed on
Bethany, on the opened flower of her cunt, on the naughty fluid it was
offering. She finished at last peeing into the bucket. There was a
small box of tissue wipes on the clean-swept floor next to the base of
the barrel. Petra took one. She passed it up through Bethany’s legs.
“There. All wiped. All set,” Petra said. She stood, hoisting
the bucket up with her. She turned to Bow. “Here, go empty it dear, in
the drain,” Petra said. She handed the bucket to the small girl. Bow
took it, and looked quite silly as she did, for it was quite heavy for
her, and her eyes bulged and she grunted as the weight of the bucket was
placed into her small hands.
“Oh! Ah! Ug! Oh!” Bow proclaimed, waddling away with the
bucket. I could hear the urine sloshing within it. Her little ass
jiggled behind her. She reached the drain and, with a great sigh,
dumped Bethany’s pee down it. Some pee splashed on her feet and her
legs.
Bow dropped the empty bucket onto the floor. She skipped back
to the back of the cell. There was a box of wet Handi-Wipes on a shelf
at the back of the cell, I saw, my eyes following her movements. Bow
pulled a half dozen wipes out of the box. Anxiously she wiped herself
off. When she was done, she dropped the crumpled wipes on the floor.
They lay there like discarded flowers, picked by a lover, then left when
his love proved unwilling. I guessed the maid would pick them up after
we were done playing.
“Ohhhhh!” Bethany announced. My eyes returned to her. Petra
was leaning over her. She had retrieved the ostrich feather from Luke.
Lightly she brushed the feather up over Bethany’s nipples. The girl
shivered. She gasped into her gag. Petra dipped lower, stroking her
belly. Then, going lower still, Petra assualted the girl’s wet cunt.
“Ah! Damn!” Luke declared. He grabbed his cock. Eagerly he
began fisting himself. His dick was wet with baby oil and his hand,
though gripping himself quite tightly, slid easily up and down his
shaft.
“Yeech!” Bethany whined. She bit her gag. Petra was driving
her crazy with that insidious feather. It flicked her cunt, it stroked
along the insides of her thighs. It tickled her bare toes in the
stirrups. Then Petra began applying her crop.
“Oh, don’t!” I cried. My friend was utterly vulnerable. She
was trussed up, bound, gagged. Yet her nipples were quite forcibly
presented, as was the wet openness of her cunt. Petra payed me no
attention. She whacked Beth’s nipples. She flicked the crop hard
against her tummy, leaving small red marks. She slapped its loop down
upon Beth’s wide-open cunt.
Bethany began to sob. It must have hurt her quite badly, I
thought, to have that nasty crop whacking her slit. Petra laughed.
“Fetch towels, Bow. The men must have something nice and soft to kneel
on,” she told her little niece.
Bow scurried off to the back of the cell. I saw towels stacked
there, all soft and fluffy, as if, in this nearly waterless cell, we
were going to have a bath. She picked up a half dozen towels and
returned with them. She looked so sweet, the towels piled right up to
her eyes. Petra took them from her, one by one, and laid them down on
the floor in front of Bethany’s spread cuntlips.
“Ah, Luke. Are you ready?” Petra asked, when she was done.
She tossed her whip and feather to the floor. Bow scampered over to
them and picked them up.
“Don’t hit me with that,” I warned the girl. Eagerly she
swished the forgotten crop through the air. Petra, meanwhile, reached
beckoningly for Luke’s cock. He placed its warm length in her palm.
Her hand was much too small to contain all of him. Even both her hands,
grasping him, would have left some of his length extruding out beyond
her gripping hands. As it was, with just one hand holding him, she
looked rather like she was trying to take hold of a big knockwurst
sausage with just a small delicate white bun.
Petra drew Luke by his penis over to where Bethany sat
waiting. Through tear-clouded eyes, the girl watched Luke kneel down
before her. He flexed his bare behind. He gazed at her. He leaned
forward and, gallantly, placed a kiss on her small indrawn tummy. Then
he kneed forward a little, on the towels. His big purplish cockhead
bumped against her wet slit.
“Oh!” Bethany cried. Her teeth chattered against her gag. Big
tears rolled down her cheeks but, suddenly, she was no longer sobbing,
just crying quietly. Did she accept his presence, pressed against her
dell? I didn’t know. But I was too entranced by how big he was, and
how small her little opening looked, to interfere. Could Luke really
get that big sausage-like thing of his up into Bethany’s cunt? I feared
he would try. I knew he would. But I didn’t say anything, just stared,
waiting.
“Yeeeeoooch!” Bethany howled. Suddenly, quite deliberately,
Luke jabbed at her cunt with his lance. Some of him managed to stick
himself into her. The girl twisted her head. She tried vainly to
separate the gag from her teeth, working her mouth, so that she might
protest more vocally. Luke’s bare bottom flexed again. The motion
caused him to sink even deeper within her. Bethany shouted. I leaned
forward. I was curious. He was in her now. Up to almost a third of
his cock. I touched my belly. Would I too feel him in me, before the
night was over? I guessed I would. How big he was! He looked like he
would rip her open, yet I saw no blood, just the big thick stem of his
cock, slowly sliding up into her.
“Ugh! God! She’s tight!” Luke said, gritting his teeth. He
gave another shove. More of his manhood disappeared inside her.
Bethany shouted at the ceiling but none of us paid her the least
attention. We were too entranced by Luke’s progress. He flexed his
bare buns, and more of himself sunk into her. He was almost completely
up her now. I wondered how she could take all of him. She was only
12. Where was she managing to put him? I feared at any minute his
cockhead might push its way out between her lips, and show itself,
bulging, under her gag.
“Ah!” Luke gasped. He was in her completely now. His balls
swung under his cock, happily. They knew salvation was close at hand.
Luke drew back. His cock began sliding out of her. It was wet with her
juices. Bethany gave a sigh of relief. But too soon, I fear. For just
as Luke was about to withdraw his head, he rammed himself forward.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Bethany yelled. It sounded like a
never-ending scream. I don’t know when it finally died away. It seemed
to continue forever. Luke slammed himself up inside her. Then, just as
I thought he might spend, relieving both himself and her, he drew back.
And, maliciously, just before withdrawing from her completely, he shoved
himself forward again. In and out he moved now. His asscheeks clenched
tight as he worked. His balls grew more taut. He stuck her repeatedly
with his big prong, as if sticking a piglet with a sword in order to
kill it for dinner. Bethany was in turmoil. Her neck twisted, her
mouth worked at her gag. She wrenched at her bonds, trying to free her
hands. It was no use. All her struggles were fruitless. She was open
and exposed and there was nothing she could do, nothing at all, to stop
Luke’s assualt on her privates.
“You’re up next,” Petra told Robin. He was fisting himself.
She made him desist. To keep him happy she glided her fingertips across
the top of his cock. But she didn’t touch him underneath, for a touch
there might have triggered his release.
I slid my hand down my belly. I sighed. I touched my slit.
Ah, I did not wish to play with my opening, but how could I not? It was
so erotic, watching little Bethany have to take big Luke up her snatch.
And he an adult, and she just a child. Was there ever such a
mis-matched couple? He was big and strong. His job was building tall
buildings, in Mexico City. He was a welder. He welded together beams
on the skyscrapers. Bethany was just a girl, a seventh-grade girl, to
be sure, but just a year past the lunch box-toting days of primary
school. She had a Barbi lunchbox. We used to play a little game on the
back of her lunch box, moving pennies across a printed board to see who
could get to Ken first. Now she had Ken inside her. He pumped her
lustily. She moaned, tried to sit up, couldn’t. She could only receive
him. She could only lie there, and entertain him with her feminine
cries, and wait for him to release himself into her.
He did, at last. With a final series of manful thrusts he gave
himself completely to her. When he rose, sperm dripped from her wet
cunt. He turned away. His schlong looked less elongated now. It hung
between his legs, like a spent snake. It no longer stood up stiffly.
My Robin was still stiff. He walked past me, his cock carving
the air before him with wobbling flourishes. He knelt before Bethany.
Her eyes widened. Perhaps she had thought her ordeal was over. Not
quite. Not until Robin satisfied himself. I felt my tummy tighten. I
wanted to rush forward, to free her. But Robin was quick. Before I
could even move, he gave her the first stab of his cock.
“EEEEEEEEK!” Bethany blurted, through her gag. Robin ground
into her. He was hungry. He shoved with quick thrusts of his hips. I
thought poor Bethany might pass out. Her eyes rolled in her head.
Robin gazed at her fiercely. In he went, deeper, and then when he
finally got himself all the way into her he pulled back.
Ah, how vicious it was. I had to turn away for a moment. She
was too helpless. This was no match of equals, or even of half-equals.
She was bound, was only a child. He was a full-grown man, and free to
move against and within her however he wished.
Annette touched my bottom. I turned. Her lips sought mine. I
was grateful. I did not wish to see anymore Bethany’s sufferings. I
threw my arms up around Annette’s neck. She clasped my waist. We
kissed. I felt a finger slip up between my legs. Whose was it? Not
Annette’s. I could feel both her palms holding me by my hips. I
pressed close to her, my tummy to hers, my breasts crushed against her
own. Then the finger between my legs was replaced by a bubble wand. I
heard a childish giggle.
“Ah! No!” I gasped, murmured. My words were lost in Annette’s
seeking lips. The bubble wand found my clit and scraped against it.
“Mmmf! mmmmmm! Mmmff!” I cried. Wildly I rubbed my belly to
Annette’s. My nipples clashed with hers. Our muffs, pressed close,
intertwined their springy curled hairs.
“Our bottoms are next,” Annette confessed to me through
close-pressed lips.
“Yes!” I whined back at her. I shivered. I felt her trembling
against me. Would we be able to endure it? I knew not. We were both
virgins, untested in our hineys. It would be a struggle, I knew, taking
those big men up our butts. I prayed we could do it. Otherwise, I
feared, I might die down here, and never see the morning, my ass split
wide, myself left as limp and lifeless as the smiling teddy bears Bow
and I had carried down with us.
Robin finished his work. He coughed. He rose. I separated
myself from Annette. We clasped hands. We stood close, our cunnies wet
and needing attention. Bethany, poor girl, had a surfeit of attention.
I dripped out of her in great, white blobs. She looked like some little
fertility goddess, that all the men in the tribe had paid tribue to.
Petra walked up to her. She bent, kissed the girl on the cheek. Then
she began untying her.
At last Bethany was permitted to stand. She could barely do
it, she was so thoroughly plumbed and defiled by the men. Her knees
wobbled. Her ribs heaved beneath her wobbling breasts. Her mouth
opened, shut. Her eyes blinked. I knew she must be sore. I wondered
what my bottom would feel like after both men had finished putting
themselves to me in that manner. Would I have to take both of them? I
wondered. I did not know. I hoped they didn’t have enough stuff in
them to go three rounds. Yet, curiously, another part of my mind wished
they might be capable of going forever.
We walked back to the couched. Bethany was picked up and
carried by Luke, she was so unsteady on her feet. He dropped her onto
one of the sofas. Immediately she rolled over onto her belly. She hid
her face in her arms. I sat down beside her. I stroked her soft hair.
It was all tangled from her struggles. She whimpered something, telling
me to desist, I think, but I kept caressing her hair anyway, hoping to
make her feel better. She kicked her feet. Bow was going to sit down
next to her feet but when she almost got kicked she removed herself to
the other couch. Both men sat there, and Petra, and Annette. Annette
had to sit on Robin’s lap. I felt a little jealous at that. Bow
climbed up onto Luke’s lap.
“Oooohhh, your thing is getting big again,” Bow told Luke.
“I guess you’re inspiring me,” Luke kidded her. Bow smiled.
She tossed back her blonde hair.
“Don’t play with his penis,” Petra warned Bow. “Come sit next
to me.” But the girl didn’t listen. Instead, quite inquisitively, she
touched and fondled Luke’s growing member.
“Will it shoot white stuff onto me?” Bow asked Luke.
“Hopefully not,” Luke answered.
Petra rose and poured more wine for us. She gave me a glass,
and Annette. I sipped mine. Annette would have to share with both Luke
and Robin, I guessed. I didn’t mind. We were closer now. We could
share and share alike with our lovers.
“I hope both you girls are ready to lose your anal virginity,”
Petra told myself and Annette. She said nothing. Neither did I.
Finally she nodded, just a bit, and then quickly took another sip of her
wine.
“Fine. I’m going to whip you both a little first, to warm you
up for it,” Petra said. “You’ll relax more once the whip has plied some
of your more anxious emotions out of you.”
“I’m still sore from last night,” I protested.
“I’ll go more lightly on you, but you must have some, all the
same,” Petra told me. “And Annette, of course, having never been
whipped, must have the full treatment.”
“What will you –?” Annette gulped. “What will you use… on
my bottom?” she managed to say, gulping again when she’d finally gotten
the question out of her throat. I saw her mouth tighten. She took
refuge in her wine, sipping it again. Her big eyes looked up at Petra
from the rim of her uptilted glass.
“Why, there is such a variety of things available,” Petra
replied. “Isn’t there? Spanking straps, single-thonged whips, cats.
Which would you prefer, my dear?” Petra asked. Annette stiffened. I
don’t know if she’d been seeking to make the choice herself. She turned
around. Over the back of the couch she could see, in the distance, all
the items of flagellation displayed on the peg board, where the gags
hung. I gazed at her bare shoulders, her slim bare arms, the line of
her spine running down her curving back. I felt a great love for her
then, and a great admiration too, for she knew whatever she chose must
hurt. That was it’s purpose.
“The–” she pointed. “That one,” she said. “With the tails.”
“The cat? Brave girl!” Petra said. She walked up to Annette
and stroked the girl’s long red hair. Annette shivered at her touch.
“It will lash your bottom most exquisitely, and leave long red marks in
its wake,” Petra told her. “You won’t be able to sit for a week.”
“That’s — if it’s to be any of them — that’s the one I want,
all the same,” Annette said. Her voice was small, submissive. She had
no more wine to drink. Graciously Petra took her glass from her and
went to the table and refilled it.
The men were soon stiff again, with all the talk of which whip
we might take on our bottoms. I chose the single-thonged whip. I was
not as bold as Annette. I knew how much a cat could hurt, if it was
applied with vigor. She was utterly new to the sport, and naive in her
newness. By morning she would understand better.
Petra needed more baby oil, but could find none. She swore.
The maid, apparently, had forgotten it, though she remembered much else;
the flowers, the bucket, the ice, the wine.
“We could use my bubble potion,” Bow offered.
“Why yes! That’s nice and oily,” Petra declared.
“But only if I get to put it on the men’s penises,” Bow
insisted. Petra frowned. She did not like seeing her 8-year-old niece
sport so casually with the men. At the rate she was going, she’d be
pregant before her 12th birthday. But she could hardly stop the girl,
at least in this matter. Sensing she’d won, for there was nothing else
we could do, Bow began using her bubble wand to spread bubble lotion
across the men’s dicks. The men shivered. The girl was, after all,
only 8, a freshly-minted graduate of the third grade. But they could do
little except present their cocks to her. They were excited in their
stiffness and longed to puncture the bottoms of Annette and myself. If
they expected to be successful, they had to be re-greased for the
venture. Bottoms did not wetten like pussies, though, I was soon to
learn, they might offer up some moisture when the event was fully
underway.
With the men dripping with Bow’s bubble fluid, Petra bid us to
rise. We did, all shivering a little, I think, for we were all so bare
and naked and about to embark on forbidden acts. She drew us into the
back of the cell. There, I saw to my surprise, behind a big rack, where
a girl might be hung up by her wrists and tortured, were two padded
bolsters. They were made of leather. There was a depression in the
middle of each where other girls had obviously left their mark. Petra
took my hand. She drew me to the bolster. I looked down at it. It
rose to the level of my tummy. It looked soft. Comfort would not be a
problem, until, that was, the men, Luke or Robin, quartered my bottom.
Petra laughed. She knew I was nervous. My bottom cheeks were
clenching. She pushed me over the bolster and I let myself fall,
knowing I must. I gasped. My belly bounced upon the bolster and then
settled nicely upon it. I hung with my head down in front and my toes
scraping the floor behind me. My bottom was lofted high, on full view
to the eyes of the men. I saw a bar and gripped it. It gave me
confidence. Behind me I felt Petra draw my legs apart.
My ankles were bound to the sides of the trestle. Then my
wrists, to the bar in front. I gripped it tightly, even though, once
bound to it, there was no way to separate myself from it. I closed my
eyes. I felt female fingers come to my lips. A gag was inserted. It
would spare me embarrassing words in the heat of the battle.
I heard Annette cast down over the bar beside me. I opened my
eyes. I turned my head. She gazed at the floor. Her eyes widened when
she felt her legs separated behind her. She gripped the bar that hung
low between the legs of her trestle, as I gripped mine. She waited.
Her breath, exhaling, blew at her hair that hung down all round her
face. When she relaxed, briefly, lowering her head, her hair fell back
from her face and, mane-like, dropped in long red curls all the way to
the floor. I watched her, feeling my own sighs, my own wrigglings
against the bonds which held me. Petra came around to her front and
tied off her wrists. Then Petra went behind her again.
“Oh!” Annette suddenly blurted. I twisted my head, looked
back.
“Be still, girl. You know I must do this,” Petra scolded. I
saw to my surprise that Petra was dipping her finger into Bow’s bottle
of bubble fluid. Drawing it out, she poked Annette in her bottom. I
guessed she must be oiling Annette’s bottomhole with her finger. I was
next. I watched as Annette, flinching and trying to rise, suffered the
intrusion. At last Petra was done. She walked over to me.
“Oh, I doth neeth any,” I tried to say through my gag. But I
felt fingers pry apart my bottom. Then, a moment later, something hard,
with a sharp nail on it, circled my anus. It felt wet, oily. I
jerked. It drove in, punishing me. I gasped.
“They are ready,” Petra told the men. “Do you desire to whip
them, or shall I have the honors?”
“You forgot to gag her,” Robin said of Annette.
“Oh, yes. No matter,” Petra said. “Let her boyfriend hear her
screams. He will enjoy them. It’s her first time.”
“Please let me up?” Annette asked. She spoke in a small,
squeaky voice, like a little mouse hoping for mercy from a cat.
“Ah, she is going to be too vocal,” Petra decided. “Bow, bring
me a gag for her.”
And so Annette was gagged, over her protests, her mouth even
trying, I think, to bite at Petra’s fingers. Luke helped her with the
task. When she was muffled I looked over at her. She looked foolish.
Her eyes were gaping wide, her teeth were apart. The gag was pushed
deep into her mouth, making her lips look like fish-lips, gasping for
oxygen. Yet I knew I must look the same, to her, for I was gagged too.
I heard the swish of a whip. It frightened me. I pulled at my
bonds. They did not give way.
“Which of you shall I do first, hmmm?” Petra asked us. Of
course, being gagged, neither of us could answer. I wondered how we
might have, though, if we could have done more than just mumble. Did I
hear myself saying, ‘Do her?’ Or was it ‘Do me. Get it over with
please.’ I felt confused in my fright. I wiggled my fanny. Was I
inviting her to strike it, to do me first, to finish with me, so that I
might rise, or did I hope somehow to ward off her blows by wiggling my
ass? The wine, I think, had made me a little heady. Perhaps that was
best. I knew, whichever of us went first, I would feel awful when the
whip finally connected with my bare flesh.
“SHEEEEEEEEK!” Sounded suddenly beside me. I jerked my head to
my right. Annette had gone rigid. I realized that the whip had struck
her. The sound of its report echoed in my ears, blended with her
scream. Her breasts, hanging beneath her, wobbled like fruit on a tree
in a storm. “YEEEEOOOCH!” Annette shouted again. Again the
whip struck her. I suspected they were using the cat. How it must
sting, I thought, all those knotted tails biting into her soft, tender
flesh. And it was hitting her where it was sure to hurt most, too.
Against the curving cheeks of her seat. I hoped she didn’t plan to do
any sitting soon.
I watched her torment. I knew I was next. Blow followed
blow. Annette writhed and shook, cried, protested. Her bosoms joggled
under her, needing a bra, having none, all exposed to whatever
depredations they might wish to visit upon her. Her ribs stood out
along her frightened sides, heaved with her gasps. I counted them. I
wondered if she would make a tasty meal of spare ribs for cannibals.
Big tears rolled down Annette’s face. They wet her long red
locks of hair. Petra and the men took their time with her. There was
no rush. When at last, perhaps a half hour later, they were finally
done with her, they left her to sob and cry while they turned to me.
I suffered my blows little better than Annette had. Each one
seemed to burn anew into my bottom, making my sore tushy cringe at its
touch. They were not as considerate of my previous punishment as I’d
hoped they’d be. I think they liked seeing my bottom react. It would
tighten as the lash hit, then rebound outward as the lash leaped away.
Burning, I’d squeeze my seat cheeks together, but that would only
impress the pain more into me. Finally, hopelessly, I’d let my bottom
relax into the air. It would bulge out, like a big pumpkin trying to
rise up into the sky. That made them laugh. It looked like I was
asking for more.
At last we were both weeping and crying, undressed, oiled,
flayed. Prepared. Luke came to me. Robin took Annette. I was forced
to watch as Robin entered her. I did not want to, but Luke waited, and
made me turn my head to see her. I watched her face as it reacted to
his entrance. She gasped. She blubbered protests through her tears.
But there was no stopping him. He was hungry to spend again. No amount
of tightness, even in her poor bottom, was going to deter him.
When Robin was fully embedded in her, Luke presented himself to
me. I felt a spear split the cheeks of my ass. I shivered at his
touch. His orgain was intruding between my hemispheres. It felt like a
big banana was trying to insert itself up into my cleft.
“No!” I cried. It was awful! I felt his big plum-like knob at
my portal. He bumped against me, as if knocking. “No!” I cried again.
I twisted my head. He was too big! He ignored me. I felt a sudden
thrust. Inward it came, splitting me. I was being invaded by a big
knob coated with Bow’s bubble fluid. Did I hear her giggling, somewhere
behind me?
“Ahhhh! God!” I cried through my gag. His hands gripped me.
My bottom was burning from the whip. I did not want to be touched,
anywhere. Least of all on my fanny. Yet he gripped me, oblivious to my
pain. I struggled. He did not mind. I think it inspired him. He
drove deeper into my fanny. I could feel the big tube of the stem of
his prick following his hard cockhead into me. I tried to squeeze him
out. He laughed. I think he liked the tightness of me, the
resistance. I felt like a burning pike was being shoved into my ass.
“YEEEEEE!” Annette hollared beside me. Robin was beginning to
work her. In and out his cock drove, making her buck with each of her
thrusts. I was still being invaded. I could not stop Luke, much as I
tried. I felt him bend over me. His hairy belly pressed against my
upturned ass, my back. I felt his weight upon me. His kisses showered
my neck. I tried to buck him off. I felt him slide in deeper as a
result.

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