Message-ID: <31074asstr$993456602@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <news@newsread2.prod.itd.earthlink.net> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail X-Original-Message-ID: <3B3655E7.7845@earthlink.net> From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net> Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 24 Jun 2001 21:01:02 PDT Subject: {ASSM} NND in "Intimate Acts" (Andrew Roller) X-Original-Subject: penis torture Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2001 04:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/31074> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates - NND --------------------------------------------------------- Visit my FTP site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/ <--click Click, or put the address into your browser. All my stories are there. --------------------------------------------------------------- Virus attacks computers that don't have kiddie porn! Warning! A brand new virus has been released. This virus is very smart. It's like AIDS. It sends you a preliminary e-mail attachment that scans your hard disk and determines what your favorite subjects are. Then it sends you a second e-mail attachment. You will find this attachment irresistible, since, having scanned your hard disk, the virus has deduced what you like best and sends you an attachment on that particular subject. If you like real estate, the e-mail attachment will be about real estate. If you like politics, the attachment will be about politics. Apparently some warped computer genius wrote this virus, not a mere script kiddie, and its ability to determine what you like best is considered 99 percent accurate! When you open the e-mail attachment, which will be about your favorite subject, the virus springs into action. As you sit there reading the attachment, the virus busily erases your hard disk. If your disk is linked to any operational backup systems, the virus will invade those systems and erase that data too! Already many users have found years of work and saved files zapped into oblivion. Fortunately, there is a way to protect yourself. You must ensure that your hard disk (and your backup systems) contain kiddie porn! The virus has very strict parameters. It must be bona fide kiddie porn or your data will be erased! Go to a web site or IRC chat line at once and get some kiddie porn. Don't worry about law enforcement, tell anyone who asks that you're just doing it to protect yourself. And of course you're doing it to protect your children too, since their schoolwork is undoubtedly stored on your hard disk. Your whole family can be kept safe from this virus by making sure you have kiddie porn on your hard disk. Get a lot of it, just to make sure that you're 100 percent protected. When your own hard disk is protected, don't forget about your friends. Protect them too by sending them kiddie porn. Give some to your co-workers, your boss, and make sure your local police don't lose all their data by giving them some kiddie porn too. There is one other way to protect yourself, but I hesitate to mention it since it is obviously totally unacceptable. Since this new virus only attacks computers running Windows, you could go out and buy a Macintosh. But obviously that approach won't be followed by anyone. Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in Intimate Acts Chapter Two Word soon spread of Mr. and Mrs. Brown's eager new acquisition, and orders flooded in for a chance to meet Emily. Her next party took place not in the home of the Brown's, but at the nearby home of a wealthy aristocrat and his wife. "You will be spending the night, dear," Mrs. Brown instructed Emily as she brushed the girl's long blonde hair to a glorious lustre. "What- what do you think they will have me do?" Emily asked, gazing at her made-up face in a mirror, still naked, her nipples rouged, waiting for Mrs. Brown to finish with her hair so that she might choose a dress for the evening. "You must be prepared for anything, which is why I am sending you to these two next," Mrs. Brown said to the girl. She addressed her reflection as she brushed her hair, and Emily was aware of the woman looking not so much at her hair, tumbling down her naked back, as the vision of her bare breasts presented in the mirror. Teasingly Emily opened her legs. She gave Mrs. Brown a view of her bush. "I think you might want to brush my pubic hair too," Emily said to Mrs. Brown. She still remembered well how the woman had tongued her to bliss two nights ago on the dining room table. "Tch. A quick brush maybe, but you must not be too much in earnest when you arrive at their house," Mrs. Brown answered. A brief tremble passed through Emily. "Ohhh, Mrs. Brown. I don't really want to go," Emily sighed. "Can't you just put me on the table downstairs again and do me? It was so delicious! I never thought a woman could be so wonderful." Mrs. Brown smiled. "You are to be trained, dear. Keeping you cooped up in the house and fucking you for my own enjoyment will not broaden your horizons." Emily pouted. "Oh, pooh!" she said. Mrs. Brown stopped brushing her long golden locks. She went round in front of the girl. Immediately Emily wettened. She spread her legs like an eager puppy and watched with fascination as Mrs. Brown lowered the hairbrush to her pussy. "Ooooooh!" Emily gasped, as a quick swipe of the brush made her even wetter and more excited. "There. That's enough. I want your panties to be dry when you greet the Aaronson's," Mrs. Brown said to the girl. "They might inspect you, you know," she added. "You mean, feel my panties?" Emily gasped, keeping her thighs apart in invitation for another pass of the hairbrush. "They are dominants, dear. They're going to do much more to you than just feel your underwear," Mrs. Brown said to the girl. She checked her makeup, smiled, and added, "The man's nearly 60. I doubt you'll find yourself attracted to him. Which is exactly why I've picked them to be your next clients. I want you to be able to do whomever I choose, without reservations." Touching a finger to silence a gasp from Emily, Mrs. Brown said, "However the woman of the house is a young bitch. I think you'll like her. She's 23, very lovely, and has a wicked sense of fun. She can be quite demanding, and I've told her to be sure to challenge you this evening." "You're mean!" Emily gasped. "No, I'm making sure you're properly trained," Mrs. Brown said. Emily was taken to the home of the Aaronson's by Mr. Brown. He took Emily to the door and knocked for her. A light came on in a window beside the door. Then the door opened, and an ancient man, almost 60 years old, peered out. "I have a delivery," Mr. Brown told the man. Emily blanched and felt her stomach churn. Was this the man she was expected to sexually satisfy? He was older than her father. "Ah yes. Bring her in," the older man said. Emily felt her hand tremble as Mr. Brown took it and passed it to the man. He grasped it, with barely hidden glee. "I should rather not come in, lest I fall prey to your wife," Mr. Brown told Mr. Aaronson. "Oh yes," Mr. Aaronson said. He let out a cackle. Emily felt as if she were about to shrink into his elegant stone doorstoop. A moment later she was yanked inside, the older man peering at her with less than fatherly interest. She felt like a girl in a pin-up magazine, with sperm about to splatter all over her. There were footsteps, but she barely noticed them, as the front door shut behind her and she felt intense pressure upon her wrist, where the old man was holding her. "The girl is here," Mr. Aaronson said to his wife. Emily turned. "Oh!" Emily gasped in shock. For Mrs. Aaronson was as young and beautiful as her husband was old. Obviously she had married him because he could provide her with a sumptuously decadent lifestyle. Emily had barely had time to even glance around, yet she could see that she was in an intensely elegant house. Everything in the house came from London's finest shops, and, though she did not know it, things were frequently taken back when they failed to live up to the old man's rarefied taste, and the increasing sophisticated taste of his wife, despite their first-class origin. Emily was taken hold of by Mrs. Aaronson. To her relief she felt the old man let go of her wrist. She got a glimpse of four gorgeous young men sitting in the couple's parlor, and then, next thing she knew, she was in the kitchen. Mrs. Aaronson gazed at her new guest with interest. She had big dark lovely eyes and a pert nose, beneath which was a sexy young mouth that looked perfectly shaped for teasing men's cocks. Emily thought again of the four men in the parlor. What was this young smartly dressed woman going to do with them? Emily's eyes trailed from the woman's slim neck down to her bosom, even as Mrs. Aaronson sized up Emily's own tits with her eyes. The wife had lovely big breasts, bigger than Emily's. They were presently contained behind a blouse and a buttoned jacket, but, owing to the jacket's decollete nature, and the way her blouse already had three buttons undone, Emily suspected that the young wife would not long remain so well clothed. She saw no evidence of a bra under the half-unbuttoned blouse. When Mrs. Aaronson moved or breathed, her bosom gave an enticing jiggle. Lower down the woman's slim hips were encased in a tight-fitting skirt. To Emily's surprise, the skirt was so short that it showed off the underside of her panties, right where her cunt was. Indeed, the woman's jacket was longer than her skirt. It spread into a sexy open vee at its base, allowing a view of Mrs. Aaronson's panties and the center of her skirt. As for the rest of her skirt, off to either side, her jacket hung down over it, blocking it from Emily's view. The woman wore dark see-through stockings that rose right up to the tops of her thighs. They were kept in place by ruffled bands of silk that were part of her stockings. An inch wide, the bands were thicker and more elaborate that the see-through sheaths that encased the rest of her legs. The woman wore black spiked heels that matched her black jacket. Yet her jacket was not made of leather but of cloth. This sassy young woman didn't need the added touch of leather to let everyone know she was a total bitch. Showing with her eyes that she liked what she saw, Mrs. Aaronson said to Emily, as the young woman smelled food cooking in the kitchen, "Hurry. The men are waiting. Take off all your clothes." Emily blinked. She tried to comply. But as she began unbuttoning her pink blouse, and as Mrs. Aaronson stepped behind her to unzip her skirt, she suddenly felt her stomach knot up. A moment later she was rushing to the sink. She threw up in it. "It's alright. It's alright," Mrs. Aaronson said, patting Emily on the back as she threw up what little she'd had to eat at the Brown's for dinner. "You are young and unsure of yourself. It will pass." Emily finished throwing up. Mrs. Aaronson got out some mouthwash for her to clean her mouth with. When Emily had gargled with it, several times, Mrs. Aaronson commenced undressing her, unzipping her skirt the rest of the way and letting it drop to her ankles. Gazing at Emily's pretty white panties, Mrs. Aaronson told her, "You're very beautiful." Soon Emily was naked. However she wasn't yet ready to go meet the men. Mr. Aaronson appeared, bringing items for Emily to wear. The girl saw a pair of long black stockings, similar to what Mrs. Aaronson wore. And spiked heels, purchased to Emily's measurements, which Mrs. Brown had forwarded to the Aaronson's that afternoon. In addition Emily saw a little black mask, and a sparkling bauble that she had no idea how she was supposed to wear. it looked too large to be an earring. It made a tinkling bell sound as Mr. Aaronson laid it on the kitchen counter. If it was an earring, where was the other one, for Emily's other ear? Mrs. Aaronson brushed Emily's long blonde hair with a brush. Then, to Emily's uncomfortable surprise, she had Emily stand still, which was difficult to do, as she brushed Emily's pubic hair. "My, you're wiggly," Mrs. Aaronson said to the girl as she longed to feel the bristly brush inbetween her legs. Indeed, despite her better judgement, Emily opened her legs for Mrs. Aaronson. But the woman pretended to ignore Emily's unstated request. However Mr. Aaronson didn't. "I think she wants a quick brush in her pretty cunt," Mr. Aaronson said to his wife. "She wants many things, I'm sure," Mrs. Aaronson answered. "And will get all in due time, I'm sure." The little black mask, which matched Emily's stockings and shoes, was tied over her eyes. She could see through it. However her identity was now hidden, she noticed, looking in a mirror. Who was she? The men would not know, although they wouldn't have known even if they had seen her without the mask. She was just a girl. But she felt fetchingly mysterious gazing at herself with the pretty mask on. However the final item of Emily's attire was much less intriguing to her. It turned out that the tinkling bauble, the one that looked too big to be an earring, was in fact something to be dangled between her legs. It was, specifically, a butt bauble. It had a golden clasp at the top which, when inserted into Emily's anus and sprung, like an opened trap, would hold it in place. Emily watched as Mrs. Aaronson got out a bottle of baby oil and lubricated the clasp. "Bend over," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. "Ohhh, couldn't we skip that?" Emily asked, her eyes wide, hearing Mr. Aaronson cackle behind her. "No," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. The girl bent over. She grimaced as she felt Mrs. Aaronson spread the cheeks of her bottom. Then there was a sharp stabbing pain, which grew more painful when Mrs. Aaronson sprang open the clasp. "Ouch!" Emily shouted, feeling her bottom hole spread and stretched open. At the same time she felt something bang against the back and insides of her thighs. It was the butt bauble, hanging down from her ass! It made a jingling sound, announcing to all the world that Emily's asshole was open. Emily felt a small amount of gas escape from her bottom. Mrs. Aaronson waved her hand across her nose. "I think I just smelled the remains of your dinner," Mrs. Aaronson said to Emily. "Ohhh, what if I have to go to the bathroom?" Emily asked in a frantic voice, hearing the butt bauble jangle as she stood erect once more. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Mrs. Aaronson said to Emily. "You can still pee, of course." "Yes," Emily admitted, looking down at her belly and her pubic hairs beyond, feeling the butt bauble bang with with a tinkling sound against the backs of her thighs. "Do you have to poop right now?" Mrs. Aaronson asked Emily. "No," Emily said. "Good. Then lets get the food out of the oven and have you serve it to the men," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. She handed the girl some oven mitts. With her butt bauble tinkling behind her, Emily opened the oven and took out little cooked bits of chicken. These were put on crackers, by herself and Mrs. Aaronson. Mr. Aaronson had slipped away, and as Emily heard laughter coming from the parlor she blushed. The old man, no doubt, was telling the men about Emily's bottom! When the chicken was parceled out to a trayful of crackers, and layered with bits of cheese and pickles and peppers and olives, Mrs. Aaronson told Emily to take the tray out to the men in the parlor. "You look lovely, darling. Now it's time for you to make your grand entrance," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. "Don't worry. I'll be right behind you," she added. To Emily's surprise, she opened a cabinet and took out a small leather whip. And then she took out one more thing, a thin black leather collar. It had long spiked studs on it. Looking at it, Emily gasped. Mrs. Aaronson told the girl to hold still while she tied the collar around Emily's neck. "What- what is this?" Emily asked. "It's a bondage collar," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. "I wasn't sure if I should put it on you but, seeing how sexy you are, I think it's only appropriate. I call it a blow-job insurance collar, meaning, the men will think twice before trying to shove their long hungry cocks in your mouth. The points aren't quite as sharp as they look. Feel," Mrs. Aaronson said. She took one of Emily's small hands in her own and lifted it up to one of the points on Emily's collar. Indeed, though being pointed at the tip, the stud Emily felt wasn't razor sharp. It had a slight blunt to it, but a man looking at her might not know that. "Thank you," Emily breathed, her breasts joggling nakedly as she spoke, the butt bauble down below giving a slight tinkle. "Would you feel safer if I attached a leash to it, so the men know you belong to me and not them?" Mrs. Aaronson asked Emily. "Okay," Emily gasped, after thinking about it a moment. Mrs. Aaronson got a leather leash out of the kitchen cabinet. She buckled it onto Emily's collar. Then, standing behind Emily, holding the end of the leash, she gave the girl a light crack on her bottom with the whip. "Ouch!" Emily cried. Her long golden hair whisked on her back as she turned her head abruptly and looked back at the young wife who'd struck her. "Proceed," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. The girl saw a glimmer of mirth in the young wife's eyes. Emily gulped. She turned back around and, with her bare hands, she picked up the tray with the condiment-laden crackers on it. There were at least two dozen crackers, plenty for every man. Emily took a step in her high heels. She nearly lost her balance! A cracker dropped off her tray as the tray wobbled in her hands. "Bertie!" Mrs. Aaronson called. To Emily's dismay and surprise, the woman's old geezer husband appeared. He clapped a liver-spotted hand to the snowy white right cheek of Emily's naked behind. Emily shivered. But much as she disliked the hand, a finger of which quickly intruded into the crack of her bottom, it kept her steady in her high heels. Emily took a step forward again. The tray of crackers shook in her hand but she managed to keep it level this time. Into the living room they went, and what a sight they were! The four men who were guests at the house gasped when the saw the trio. Emily, hidden behind her mask, her only substantial covering her long golden hair which both Mrs. Brown and now Mrs. Aaronson had brushed to a coin-bright lustre. And beside Emily, naked except for her black stockings and heels, her spiked collar showing her utter submission, was Mr. Aaronson. The men laughed as they followed his hand down past the girl's waist and located the sound of the tinkling bell that they heard. Between Emily's stockinged legs, in the space that came and went as she walked, glimpses of the butt bauble could be seen! For a moment the men seemed to think the item was hung from the lips of Emily's cunt, but as Emily approached, and they gazed more closely, they saw that the decoration was indeed hung from behind, banging and jangling against the backs and insides of her thighs. The men laughed; this was the little item Mr. Aaronson had told them about, and by God he hadn't been lying! Emily stopped in front of the men. For a moment she felt a tinge of unexpected jealousy, for much as the men had obviously admired her, their eyes were now slipping one by one over to Mr. Aaronson's wife. The woman was more astonishing than ever, holding the leather leash that connected to Emily's collar. Like Emily, she wore spiked black shoes and long silky black stockings. Despite her skirt, her panties could be seen, and right where it counted, in between her pretty black-sheathed legs. The contrast between black silk and white cotton panty was intoxicating. When the men got their fill of Mrs. Aaronson's pussy, their eyes lifted. Her jacket was now unbuttoned, completely, and within it her blouse was open to the fifth button. The men gasped as Mrs. Aaronson came forward, still holding Emily's leash, and made a pretense of putting a shifting a magazine on the low coffee table in front of the men where the tray of condiments would be put down. As the young wife bent, the inevitable happened. Her bra-less breasts slipped by their very weight out of her nearly unbuttoned blouse. The men found themselves staring at two very lovely, trembling naked white tits, surmounted by pretty pink teats that looked ripe for milking. "Dear, you're coming apart," Mr. Aaronson said with some disapproval to his wife. "Indeed I am," Mrs. Aaronson answered. But she made no effort to repair herself. Instead she went round the table and presented herself to the nearest man on the couch. "Sir, do you think my dress is too short?" Mrs. Aaronson asked the man. "No, not at all," the man answered. "But I believe you can see my panties," Mrs. Aaronson said. She thrust her hips forward, making Emily swallow hard as she realized, however naked she was, she would always be playing second to such a lovely and forward woman. "You were looking down at them when I first answered the door this evening, and now you're looking at my panties again," Mrs. Aaronson said with mock anger to the man, the three other guests, also sitting with him on the couch, now all leaning toward him to get a better and closer view of the wife's pantied crotch. "Is something wrong with my panties?" Mrs. Aaronson asked. "N-No," the man said. "Well I don't like having them always stared at," Mrs. Aaronson said. And then, standing right there in front of her husband, she added, "If they interest you so much, sir, why don't you have them? Take them off me and put them in your coat pocket or something." The man looked up at Mrs. Aaronson. He was young, college age, and obviously unsure of himself in such a suddenly sexually charged atmosphere. The other three men, one of whom was his age but two of whom were a few years older, visibly longed to be in his place. "Take them," one of the older men whispered to the young college age boy. With trembling hands the young man reached out to the young wife's hips. Mr. Aaronson cleared his throat, to no avail. The young man reached under Mrs. Aaronson's micro-mini, as Emily gulped again, realizing that for all her display none of the gorgeous hunks was looking at her at the moment. If a quiz had been taken right then, she was sure they would have come up as having forgotten her completely. "Oh my!" Mrs. Aaronson gasped, feeling the air of the room touch her pussy as the young man pulled her panties down her silk-stockinged thighs. "Mmmm," the young man breathed, and it was simultaneously hummed by the other three men, all of them fixated now on the lovely dark bush that presented itself indiscreetly beneath the hem of Mrs. Aaronson's too short skirt. The young man pulled Mrs. Aaronson's panties down the rest of the way, savoring the chance to feel her long lovely stockinged legs as he denuded her of her undies. When he reached her shoes, Mrs. Aaronson stepped as daintily as she could out of her underthings. The young man lifted the white panties up to his nose and sniffed. Then, spurred by the other young men present, he passed Mrs. Aaronson's panties to them. Each one in turn took a sniff. Emily thought for a moment she was back in elementary school, watching boys pass around Scratch n' Sniff stickers. When the panties had been returned to the youngest man on the right of the couch, he took out a handkerchief from his coat's breast pocket. Sheepishly he passed the handkerchief to Mrs. Aaronson, as if the thing could in fact be of use to the woman in covering up her pussy, which it obviously couldn't. But Mrs. Aaronson smiled and accepted the gift. Then the young man placed her panties in his breast pocket, letting part of her panties stick out as if they were some sort of rose. "What a nice thought. I'm so glad we're not out in public," Mrs. Aaronson smiled sardonically. "We're not, yet.. but at the end of the night I'll wear them home, just like this," the young man promised Mrs. Aaronson. "And will you tell everyone you meet whose panties you've got sticking out of your breast pocket?" Mrs. Aaronson asked. "Yes. Mine, naturally," the young man answered. The other young men laughed. Even Emily giggled a little. Mr. Aaronson cleared his throat again. This brought the attention of everyone this time, and all eyes turned toward him. "I expect you gentlemen can provide some sort of compensation for depriving my wife of her panties?" the old man asked, his hand still placed on Emily's bottom and making the girl cry out now as he found her sprung open bottom hole with his errant finger. There was more laughter, as everyone watched Emily nearly drop the tray again in her distress, and then Mrs. Aaronson said, "Of course they will compensate, dear," Mrs. Aaronson said. She looked at her four guests. "Bill, Joe, Mike, Stan," she said, addressing the men from right to left, from the man who had taken her panties off the the oldest one on the left, "I want you to undo your flies. Take your penises out! If I can show my pussy, you four can certainly show your cocks! Emily watched as the men quickly unzipped themselves. She noticed that despite Mr. Aaronson's finger in her anus, he watched with at least as much interest as her. The four men popped out, the older two getting themselves undone more quickly than the somewhat bashful younger two. Emily gasped as she saw four imposing cocks spring into view. Mrs. Aaronson, still holding Emily's leash, smiled and nodded. Emily didn't know it, but with Mr. Aaronson's approval she had previously blow-jobbed 15 different young men in various clubs, looking for four with the finest dicks. These were the ones now displaying themselves before Emily's eyes, and the young girl felt her heart race as she realized that none of the men were an inch under ten in length; indeed, two of them, one younger and one older, looked footlong! "Such delicious looking hot dogs, don't you think Emily?" Mrs. Aaronson asked. Emily blushed as she felt all four men's eyes once again remember her. With their penises out, their stares were more lascivious than ever. "Please serve each of the men some crackers, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "I'll see to the wine." There was a wet bar in the living room. The men had already been imbibing, courtesy of Mr. Aaronson, and now Mrs. Aaronson took their glasses, two at a time, and refilled them at the wet bar. Emily, meanwhile, put the tray down on the coffee table and then gave a cracker to each of the men. It was rather annoying moving between them and their side of the table, for as Emily walked in between, the men's knees and each cock banged or wiggled against Emily's stockinged calves. "Oh! Oh my," Emily said, serving each man, which Mrs. Aaronson, getting the wine, required her to do. "Much will be asked of the men this evening, Emily. I don't want them needlessly exerting themselves on things that we can so easily do for them," the young wife told Emily as she went to the wet bar. So instead of leaning down for crackers, as any of the men could have easily done, Emily was forced to work inbetween them and the table, bothered by their penises which left wet stains on her stockings whenever she was bumped by them. And that was not the end of Emily's troubles. As she worked inbetween the men and the table, the four men reached out and played with her butt bauble. It seemed irresistible to them. They increased its tinkling sound by hitting it with their fingers; the only relief Emily could find in the matter was that Mr. Aaronson had taken his own finger out of her anus and retreated to a chair. However when Emily had served each of the men, Mrs. Aaronson told the girl not to forget her husband. With trepidation Emily took a cracker and went to the man. Just as she reached him he gave her a disapproving look. "One cracker?" Mr. Aaronson asked the girl. Emily blinked and looked blank. Then she said, "That's- that's what I gave the other men." "Do you think I'm trying to be a miser? That I can't afford to give my guests more than one cracker?" Mr. Aaronson asked Emily. Again the girl looked blank. In the background she heard Mrs. Aaronson, who had returned from the wet bar, giggling as she served the men their refills of wine. "Get over my knees, you naughty young thing!" Mr. Aaronson told Emily. He reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist. Emily tried to draw back but the old lizard showed surprising strength; a moment later 15-year-old Emily found herself lying facedown over the old man's lap! Whack! Whack! Whack! Without so much as a moment to let her get her composure, the old man began whaling Emily's bare behind with his hand. Emily let out a scream; it was utterly humiliating to be spanked like a little child in front of the four hunky guests! She heard laughter; her own lungs were preoccupied with hollering as the old man gave her a spanking unlike anything she'd felt since she was six. Emily's breasts, hanging down beyond Mr. Aaronson's right thigh, wiggled and leapt with fleshy abandon. Her head twisted in screamy denial, making her long golden locks toss again and again across her back. And worst of all, above her sexily stockinged thighs, her white bottom began turning bright pink! To Emily's dismay, the butt bauble, hanging down from its clasp, banged its girth inbetween her legs against her cunt. So Emily, despite the pain in her behind from Mr. Aaronson's rapidly moving hand, found herself, to her blushing surprise, feeling aroused even as she screamed from the spanking. Bang! Bang! Bang! went the butt bauble against Emily's slit, all the while that Mr. Aaronson was making her bottom glow red. Emily at last got the idea of closing her thighs, her legs kicking up and down all the while, but at once Mr. Aaronson, seeing what she was doing, hit her harder and ordered her to spread her legs wide. "Wider! Wider!" Mr. Aaronson yelled. And so Emily found herself feeling like some floundering fish, hearing laughter behind her as with splayed and kicking legs she suffered the rest of the spanking. At last, gasping, Emily was allowed to stand up. To her mortification, she was wet between her legs. Where she had asked Mrs. Aaronson to brush her, provoking a polite refusal, she had now been hit repeatedly by the bauble hanging between her legs. She felt all tingly down in her slit, and her arousal increased despite her flaming bottom, and her hands which flew to it and clutched it, when Mrs. Aaronson told the wincing girl to come over and suck the men's dicks. "They must be apologized to for only getting one cracker," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. The girl came over and, at the young wife's insistence, knelt down before the oldest man who sat on the extreme left of the couch. From the right, the college age boy watched with cock-trembling interest. Glad now of her spiked collar, which made the oldest man of the four shiver as Emily put her lips to him, Emily began to suck. "Must she wear that collar?" the oldest of the four guests asked Mrs. Aaronson. "Yes. It's insurance, to make sure you men behave and don't try to take advantage of her," the young wife said. Then, copying Emily, she got down on her knees. In a mirror against the far wall the young men could see Mrs. Aaronson's miniskirt rise up over her ass, due to her posture. With her bared bottom showing, the young woman put Bob's penis into her mouth. The youngest of the four men gasped, feeling himself sucked upon. At the left end of the couch Emily was working the oldest of the four guests. Inbetween the two young men waited with tremblingly exposed dicks; they could not stand the pressure of the wait and, with Mr. Aaronson eyeing them greedily from his chair, they both began to masturbate themselves. Mrs. Aaronson popped the youngest of the four out of her mouth. Holding Bill's penis twixt two fingers, promising with her touch that she would give him more, she addressed the four men, even the one on the extreme left who was groaning now as he felt the under-age Emily suck his dick. "Gentlemen, there are a few ground rules we must cover," Mrs. Aaronson said to the men, as casually as if she might have been at a card game, explaining the rules of bridge. "First, I have high expectations of you this evening. To meet my expectations, not to mention those of my husband, you must remain hard, which means you cannot spend. I want your fine cocks perpetually hard; however, there is a compensation. Whenever you wish to pee, you may do so, and as freely and openly as you desire. Here of course, to protect the carpet, a container will be provided by myself or Emily for you to pee into. But you will find that in other places, such as outdoors in the back yard or in the sauna, you may simply start wetting whenever you like, pissing right where you please." "Can we piss on you?" one of the men who was masturbating himself asked, and took a stab at aiming himself at the woman. "You may piss however it pleases you, but not in this room because our carpet is too expensive to replace every time we have company," Mrs. Aaronson smiled. "God damn! Take this collar off this bitch!" the oldest of the guests, on the left, demanded. He was clearly eager to get himself more fully into Emily, but feared the girl might gag and lose him and he might stab himself on her spikes. "That is why Emily has the collar, dear," Mrs. Aaronson said to the man. "She is just a little girl. I knew you'd want to deep throat her and while I can stand such punishment, she cannot. You will have to let her determine the pace and depth of your insertion into her mouth." "God, it's like being sucked by some incompetent little girl," the man groused, though he grimaced a second later because, for all her inexperience, Emily's wet little mouth was bringing him dangerously close to spending. "She must be trained, and that requires slowness and patience," Mrs. Aaronson told the man at the left end of the couch, while continuing to hold the man on the extreme right. "Her collar enforces your patience. Don't worry. I will be at you soon and then you can feel the depths of my throat. Without spending, of course," Mrs. Aaronson reminded him. Then she tossed back her long black hair, to get it out of the way, and proceeded to deep throat Bill at the right end of the couch, nearly making him cum. She looked up from her computer screen. How long had she been reading this story? Another early morning search of the web to finish her homework had wound up as a time-wasting activity on some irrelevant site. Still, the story was rather curious. She gazed out the window over the red martian sand, watching the horizon blush to the color of sand in the east. The sun was rising. Her wristphone beeped. She looked down at it. It was six a.m. precisely. She read the day and the month and the year underneath, reflexively: Tuesday, Bush, 51 A.F. The day was a name borrowed from earth, the month was named after former U.S. President George W. Bush, who got the manned Mars program going again, and the 51 A.F. was for 51 "After Foot," meaning 51 years since the first human set foot on Mars. She had just learned all that, in school, especially about the meaning of A.F. and B.F., "After Foot" and "Before Foot." She wondered what she would be like when she was 15, like the character in the story she was reading. Then she remembered that the girl's age was of course an Earth age, measured in Earth years. Her own age was measured in Martian years, just like the time on her watch, 51 Mars years since the humans first set foot here. She was 10 Mars years old. She wondered how that would translate into Earth years. Earth was closer to the sun and went around it faster, so... she lost track of the math. She pressed on her wristphone. A moment later a voice spoke out of it. Quickly she turned down the volume. She didn't want her mother to hear. "Did you get the answers in Social Studies?" she asked the voice on her watch. "Huh?" The voice sounded groggy. "No," her friend said a moment later. There was a pause. Then, "What are you doing? her friend Mary asked. "I'm still asleep!" "I'm trying to get my Social Studies done," Claire told her friend. "Who was U.S. President after... um... Bush? George W. Bush?" "How should I know?" the groggy voice answered. "It's due today!" Claire told her. "Oh," Mary's voice said. It became more awake. "Maybe we should call Sue," it said. "She did hers last night and has her wristphone turned off and is still asleep," Claire told her watch. "I'm sure of it." "Oh," the still-groggy voice said again. "How about Clinton?" Mary asked after a moment. "I think it was Clinton. As if it fucking matters." "Okay, I'll put Clinton," Claire said. She pressed her finger to the computer screen. The text of the story vanished. Then she picked up a stylus and wrote across the screen, as a view of her homework assignment appeared. "Clinton," she wrote in answer to a typewritten question. Then, studying the screen more closely, specifically the answer two lines above, she said into her watch, "No! It couldn't be Clinton. He was president before Bush." For a moment the watch did not respond. Then Mary said, "That's it! It's Bush, Clinton, Bush, Clinton! Now I remember. Bush the father, then Bill who had sex with that girl, then Bush the son, then Bill's wife, who he'd divorced by the time she became president!" Claire smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that her friend was correct. "I wish all the answers were like that, for all the U.S. presidents," Claire said. "Yes. It would make it much easier," Mary answered. Confident that she could easily finish the rest of her homework before school, Claire pressed her finger to her computer screen again. The text of the story appeared once more, the one about the 15 Earth years old Earth girl. "Thanks," Claire spoke into her watch. "Sure. No problem. I'm going back to sleep," Mary answered. Claire pressed her finger to her computer screen again and the text of the story reappeared: Mrs. Aaronson felt Bill's thing in her mouth suddenly lurch, like a snake being wakened from a deep freeze. The rock hard stiffness of his prick flexed. Quickly she drew him from the confines of her throat, then from her mouth, her silky wet lips stroking his penis as she pulled him out. With a flick, her tongue laved the crown of his thing as it left, feeling its ridge, touching his pee hole. Suddenly a geyser tore from the hole, which opened wide, like a snake eye, to emit it. Mrs. Aaronson tried to dodge the spray. It was no use. He splashed into her eyes, he flooded her cheeks. Mrs. Aaronson gasped. In an attempt to control the mess she aimed the spray at her lips and spread them wide. The discharge hammered her tongue. She gulped quickly, working her throat as fast as she could to try to get it all, to keep it off herself and her expensive carpet. When Bill finished she kissed the tip of his prong, which was already shrivelling in her grasp, her little fist seemingly bigger now upon it. "My, that was quite a torrent, sir," Mrs. Aaronson said to Bill. She blinked rapidly, then let go of him. "Of course you will have to be dismissed. But I admire your enthusiasm. Perhaps we will meet again to train that thing of yours so it won't make quite such a mess." Mrs. Aaronson moved on her knees to the next man, Joe, who sat on the couch with his legs spread and his own penis still erect. She took hold of him. As she did she looked to her right. Mr. Aaronson had moved to the end of the couch and was urging the young man who had lost himself to rise, to zip himself up, to leave. "I could probably get hard again in a matter of minutes," Bill said to Mr. Aaronson. "It is a rule of the house," Mr. Aaronson answered. Mrs. Aaronson flicked her eyes up to the face of the new man whose prick she now held in her hands. Kneeling before him, seemingly a supplicant to his massive cock, she said, in a high girlish voice, noticing that he was drooling down onto her breasts, "Don't drip too much, or I'll kick you out too." Then she downed him, in one practised swallow. Joe croaked with pleasure at finding himself suddenly within her throat, her tongue playing over the nearer end of his shaft as his farther extremity plumbed her tight depths. Her throat was sperm soaked now, oily from Bill's discharge. Mrs. Aaronson worked Joe up and down in her throat like a reluctant sword swallower, the blade in her neck but unwilling to plunge it down to her stomach. "Oh God!" the third man, Mike, his cock waiting its turn, gasped. He watched as Joe twisted his hips beside him, barely able to stand the pleasure of this practised young wife's deep throating. Meanwhile the man beside Mike, Stan, the oldest of the three, was still being licked by Emily. What she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm. She traced the veins of Stan's big prick with the tip of her tongue, her curiosity evident in her gaze, her hands both holding him at the root of himself like a little girl clasping a glass of milk. "I really think I could get hard again pretty soon," the youngest man, now being escorted from the room by Mr. Aaronson, protested. "I'm sure you'll be invited again," Mr. Aaronson smiled. He had his hand in the small of the young man's back, and he seemed to be admiring his broad shoulders as he moved him toward the door. Suddenly his hand went lower, and Bill yelped as he felt the pressure of the ancient man's palm on his trousered behind. "There is one way you could remain and perhaps rejoin the festivities later," Mr. Aaronson suggested. Emily yelped as Stan tried to force himself into her mouth again, testy that she could not take him like Mrs. Aaronson could. "Wh- what way is that?" Bill asked Mr. Aaronson. The party going on by the couch was exciting in the extreme. He hated to leave it. "If you will place yourself in my hands, doing exactly as I require, I will see to it that you get to fuck my wife. And the new girl too, the little visitor, what is her name?" "Emily?" Bill asked, not sure himself, though he was at that very moment admiring her near-naked figure. "Yes. Emily," Mr. Aaronson said. "You will get to fuck them both, even if you have to rest inbetween. But to obtain that pleasure you must agree to spend time with me." Mr. Aaronson squeezed the young man's small tight behind. He left no doubt in Bill's mind where his thoughts were going. "You mean, gay sex?" Bill gasped. "I prefer not to call it that," Mr. Aaronson said. He could tell Bill had never even thought of having a gay encounter before. Those were exactly the sort of boys Mr. Aaronson liked. "Let's go upstairs," Mr. Aaronson said, focussing on the young man's right cheek through the cloth of his pants and giving it another squeeze. "Upstairs?" Bill asked, lost in a perplexion of shame and desire. Emily shrieked by the couch as Stan now put himself into her mouth, despite her reluctance. "What- what for?" Bill asked. "Why, if you're going to be staying, I need to put you in the guest bedroom," Mr. Aaronson said. He felt with his other hand the front of the young man's pants, feeling the boy begin to grow hard again at the thought of such forbidden things. "Come. Let's get you upstairs and undressed. You must be tired after having such a torrential discharge." "No. Really, I'm quite alright," Bill said. "Do you wish to stay?" Mr. Aaronson said. "Yes. I--" Bill answered, growing even harder under the pressure of Mr. Aaronson's hand on his crotch and behind. "Then let's upstairs," Mr. Aaronson said. "We'll rejoin the others after you and I have had a little rest." And so Bill, confused as ever as to what his actions should be, let Mr. Aaronson guide him to the stairs of his home, and they went up together, Mr. Aaronson letting go of the front of the boy's trousers but keeping his other hand firmly on his ass. Drawing Joe from her mouth, Mrs. Aaronson moved to Joe, the third and final man. Beside him Stan was working himself into Emily's throat. The girl gagged in protest but Mrs. Aaronson, sensing that she had to learn sometime, did not interfere. Looking up at Mike she asked, through sperm-laden eyelashes, "Ready?" "Yes," Mike gasped. His cock trembled in her small fist as she put him to her lips. She kissed him, Bill's sperm and Joe's precum wetting the tip of him, mingling with what he himself was emitting from his pee hole, the clear fluid that precurses an ejaculation. Mrs. Aaronson sucked Mike into her mouth. She worked her cheeks, looking up at him with her big dark almond-sized eyes. He smiled down at her, his teeth chattering slightly, desperate not to share the fate of Bill who could now be heard on the stairs with Mr. Aaronson, saying, "Do you really mean to put yourself in my ass, sir?" The thought of the danger Mike faced, of cumming and having to join Mr. Aaronson in the bedroom upstairs, or leave, added to Mike's tension. Mrs. Aaronson felt it all along the length of his cock. She smiled a little. Beside her Emily was silenced by Stan's thing deep down in her throat, her breath exploding in small puffs of protest through her pretty nose. "I think we should all have a sauna," Mrs. Aaronson said a minute or so later, when she had let Mike plumb down into the deepest depths of her throat. She held him gently now, now wanting to add to the mess already on her face from Bill's accident. Beside Mike, sitting with his legs apart and his still-erect thing hanging out, Joe stared hungrily. He obviously felt inspired to grope himself with his hand, to bring his cock off, but he knew what would happen if he did: Bill would have company upstairs. So he sat rubbing his thighs, as Stan, finally on the brink from his forcing of Emily's throat, suddenly pulled himself free of the girl child's mouth. "Whew!" Stan gasped. Emily gasped too, but entirely from relief that she could breathe again. "Would you like me to suck you?" Mrs. Aaronson asked Stan, holding Mike's still stiff prick in her hand. "No. Not just now," Stan sighed. His big penis trembled. He gritted his teeth and eased Emily's hands off the root of himself. "I'd like us all to have a sauna," Mrs. Aaronson said. "When do we get to fuck?" Stan asked. "Oh, not for a long time yet," Mrs. Aaronson said. "I like to keep my men very hard and ready for action. You'll probably see me fuck little Emily here several times before I let you men lose those fine erections of yours." "What?" Emily asked, looking up from Stan, whose cock hovered before her face like a rattler ready to pounce. "Oh yes dear, you and I are going to fuck, no doubt about it," Mrs. Aaronson smiled at Emily, kneeling beside her, her right hand holding Mike's thing as her left crept over to Emily. She found the girl's nearest hand and squeezed it. "But-- but-- you don't have a penis!" Emily said, and, just to make sure, leaned forward, her forehead bumping against the end of Stan's cock, and gazed down between Mrs. Aaronson's legs at her bush. It was dark like the hair that swept down from her head, and Emily, to her great relief, saw that the little muff of hair was as useless for fucking as her own blonde muff was. "My husband and I have plenty of dildos. He's not always able to satisfy me, you know," Mrs. Aaronson told Emily. She giggled. "And sometimes he wants me to satisfy him," Mrs. Aaronson added, as Emily's eyes widened in mortification. "But first we'll relax in the sauna," Mrs. Aaronson said. She stood up. "Everyone take off your things, every last stitch," she said. She smiled and reached back behind herself and unzipped her too short skirt. Looking down at Emily she said, "Take off everything except your collar. You must always wear that. It is a sign of your status." Stan reached forward and unclipped Emily's leash. Then he helped her to stand and rose up himself. He got her out of her things as quick as he could, as Mike and Joe stood up and helped Mrs. Aaronson. In a few minutes they were stark naked, Mrs. Aaronson stripped to her earrings while Emily was naked except for her earrings and collar. The men were completely naked, their cocks stiff in invitation as Mrs. Aaronson directed them all to the sauna her husband and she owned. It was at the back of the house, so that in the wintertime, after baking in the sauna, they might run outside for a moment and cool themselves in the snow. Mrs. Aaronson pinned up her hair, then opened the door to the sauna. A smell of wood escaped into the hall. She ushered men, their cocks still erect, into the dark room. She flicked on a light for them as they entered. Emily went last, followed by Mrs. Aaronson. The young wife bolted the sauna door shut from the inside once they were all in the pine-panelled room. "Sit down," Mrs. Aaronson urged the men. She handed them each a folded towel, taken from a pile of towels inside the sauna at the end of a wooden bench. She told them to put the towel under their naked behinds. "So you don't get any splinters," Mrs. Aaronson teased. The men sat down. Each of them was aware of the fullness of their balls between their legs as they sat, their scrotums dying to release their seed through their long erect dicks. Little Emily, placing a hand over her muff, sat down on the bare wood of the bench. Mrs. Aaronson hadn't given her a towel. "No, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "I don't want you sitting down. Not yet. I want you to kneel on the floor." Emily's eyes widened but she obeyed. Thinking that she must be needed for her mouth again, and giving a little grimace as she looked at the three men with their stiff penises sitting on towels on the bench, she crouched down on the floor. She settled her soft round white ass on her heels. Her hands slaked her thighs, aware of the way her blonde muff was tingling up between her legs, her whole figure trembling a little, like the big long cocks that the men displayed with both enthusiasm and worry, afraid they might spill themselves when the fetching young thing at their feet was put to them again. But Mrs. Aaronson didn't have another cock sucking in mind. Not just yet. She told Emily to lift her bottom, to show it off by placing her elbows on the floor in front of her knees. Emily, a puzzled look coming over her, obeyed again, watching over her shoulder as her uplifted behind drew the men's eyes to it, her small lovepouch nestled between the white expanse of her trim white thighs, the backs of her thighs almost as alluring as what she was offering above it, in the form of two supple white cheeks with a wide crack between them. For Emily, being young, had a bottom that opened in invitation when she got on her knees. A mature woman's bottom would have bottom halves that touched, but a young girl like Emily, sticking her ass in the air, stretched the taut halves so that what lay between, the crack itself and its little back hole, opened wide. Of course the hole itself remained like a little dimple, widening just a little, it would have to be forced and stretched over time to become as accessible as the men now staring down at Emily's ass would want it to be. Mrs. Aaronson took down a paddle hanging from a peg on the wall. She stroked it, feeling the smooth surface of it. Then she flicked a switch on the side of a round wooden cabinet standing near the bench. Coals, atop the cabinet, resting on a grill-like surface, began to heat. "While the oven warms the room, I'm going to warm your bottom, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "A good spank will serve to remind you of your place here. That way when it's time to fuck, you won't protest. Your stinging behind will cause you to remember that obedience is best." Mrs. Aaronson smiled. She pulled a hair pin from her hair, then another, and handed them to Emily, who straightened up to receive them. "I don't want your hair to get in the way of your face when I spank you, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "It excites the men to see a girl crying and screaming, especially if another woman causes it. Always we must remember to keep the men entertained. I never allow my guests to have a moment when they aren't on tenterhooks." Mrs. Aaronson looked at the men. "I think you'll find this quite stimulating, gentlemen," the young wife told them, as Emily, kneeling before them, pinned up her hair. "To keep you from cumming, I have a suggestion to make. A command, in fact," Mrs. Aaronson smiled. "I want each of you to grab the balls of the man next to you. Don't be afraid," she told them. "It's not gay to do it if a woman orders you to. Grab your friend's balls and pull down on them, continuously, while I spank Emily. Joe, you grab Mike and Stan. Stan, you grab Mike's balls. With your other hand I want you to toss water on the stove when it needs it," Mrs. Aaronson told Stan. She pointed to a bucket of water on the floor. A ladle was sitting in it, its handle projecting upward out of the water like a slim stiff cock. The men grabbed each other's balls as the young wife had ordered, after a moment's hesitation, each one remarking at how full his neighbor's scrotum was. When Stan had a good hold on Mike's balls, he lifted the ladle out of the bucket. Full and dripping, he tossed its contents onto the coals atop the stove. There was a quick sizzling sound, as of sperm being wasted on a hot summer sidewalk. Then a cloud of steam rose up in the room, as Mrs. Aaronson sized up Emily's bottom. The girl was on her knees and bent forward again, displaying her white naked ass to the men's greedy eyes. Gently Mrs. Aaronson touched her paddle to the surface of the girl's well-rounded behind. "This will hurt you more than it hurts me," Mrs. Aaronson laughed. "But I don't want you to think of it as punishment. You've been very good so far, with just a little fussing, which I hardly can complain about in a girl of 15. Think of it as an experiment," the young wife told Emily as the girl craned her neck back to see what the woman was doing to her ass. She could feel the paddle moving gently back and forth across it, in slow caressing strokes. But a moment later Mrs. Aaronson lifted the paddle high. Emily blinked. Her hair pinned up so that everyone would be able to see the effect the paddle had on her face, she waited. Then suddenly Mrs. Aaronson brought the wooden object swinging down. It struck Emily, squarely on her upraised bottom, and the girl, surprised, let out a howl. Trying to cool her ass in the air after the paddle had stung it, Emily rotated her bottom, squeezing and flexing the cheeks. The men followed the alluring display of Emily's nether parts with their eyes. As they did so, they pulled on each other's balls. But their intention with each other was not as altruistic as Mrs. Aaronson had hoped. Wickedly, each one squeezed the balls of the man next to him as erotically as he could, hopping to make his friend spend while he himself stayed intact. Mrs. Aaronson caressed the paddle with her hand; Emily had received one stroke, she intended to give her quite a few more. She looked at Emily's cheeks. A red hue had appeared on the whiteness of her flesh where the paddle had connected. Emily, looking back once more after lifting and twisting her head to let out a scream, eyed the paddle with trepidation. "I want you to meet the challenge of the paddle, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "Don't look so frightened of it. It's just a piece of wood. You can take much more than this. I've had whips, canes, even a chain once, although I admit that came close to breaking my hips. "Let me see your eyes," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. Emily lifted her gaze from the paddle to Mrs. Aaronson's face. "Yes. Show me that you're willing to accept the challenge," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "Lift your bottom higher. Really display it; show it off. It's quite pretty. The men seem to be in love with it. I'm not going to damage it too badly, just give it a little color. Ready for the next stroke?" "No," Emily said. Mrs. Aaronson laughed. "I think you are," she said to the girl. "I can see it in your eyes." "Eeeeyow!" Emily shouted, closing her eyes and launching her head up high, stretching her neck, when the paddle came crashing down. Desperately she squeezed and rotated her bottom. Stan, lifting the ladle from the bucket again, threw more water on the oven, as with his other hand he squeezed and fondled Mike's balls. "Oh God, I think I'm going to cum!" Mike gasped, watching Emily's torment as he clutched at both Stan and Joe, Stan's hand giving him as good as it got, the two of them trying to urge the other to shoot first. "Another one, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson warned the girl. She brought the paddle down again, hitting Emily a third time. Emily screeched and made a new display with her bottom, arching it higher than ever, after the paddle had rebounded off it, tears now appearing on the cheeks of her face. Still holding the paddle, Mrs. Aaronson took a step forward. She bent down, her lovely breasts shuddering as she touched a finger to Emily's behind. The girl flinched. Through tear-filled eyes she gaped backward at the woman and then let out a frightened sigh as Mrs. Aaronson sought the well-displayed lips of her cunt. "My, but you're becoming wet, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson said, feeling the moisture that had oozed out of Emily's sex to dampen and lubricate the lips of her pussy. Then, to the girl's even greater surprise, the young wife lifted her cunt-wettened finger and touched Emily between the well-spread cheeks of her ass. Her aim was direct and without shame. She poked Emily right in her bottom hole! The girl gave a shout; her slightly opened nether hole contracted in alarm. Unable to actually penetrate the suddenly tightened hole, Mrs. Aaronson made Emily wince by patting her reddened right cheek. "We will see to that foolishly tight little hole of yours upstairs in the guest room," Mrs. Aaronson said to Emily. "With luck I will shove something into you there even as my husband gives Bill a fuck in the ass. How delightful it would be to do the two of you together, my hubby fucking Bill as I open you." Mrs. Aaronson took her finger away. Emily watched as the woman raised the paddle up again; she bit her lower lip. The young wife looked into her eyes. She smiled; but it was deceptive, for even as the smile spread over her lips she brought the paddle down again. "Yohoohoo!" Emily wailed. Her young bottom heaved and clenched under the sting of the wood. It was awful, and yet it was as nothing compared with the threat of the dark-haired woman to shove something up into her guts. Emily felt a sudden wetness splash hotly across her stinging behind. She looked up; had one of the men, unable to endure the squeezing of his balls, suddenly spurted? To Emily's horror she traced a stream of liquid upward to the penis it was coming from. It was Joe, who was closest to her, and in his excitement he was suddenly peeing! "How sweet of you, Joe. Perhaps it will cool down Emily's naughty bottom," Mrs. Aaronson said to the young man. The look of alarm on Joe's face softened. He had not intended, Emily realized, to let loose of his bladder that way, it had just happened; perhaps as a last resort to avoid losing the contents of his balls. But now, seeing that peeing would hold no penalty, the other two men resolved to give themselves some relief. Both of them stood up abruptly and, still holding each other by the balls, Stan and Mike eagerly peed on Emily's upraised bottom. In fact they aimed for the very spot Mrs. Aaronson had promised to violate; they placed their streams squarely on Emily's bottom hole! "Yeeek!" Emily howled. She was about to reach back with her hands and try to defend herself, but Mrs. Aaronson ordered her not to. "Stay just as you are, Emily, or you'll feel the paddle as never before," Mrs. Aaronson warned the girl. So Emily, mortification showing in her face, was forced to remain kneeling with her bottom displayed as the men peed into her crack. This of course gave her reddened cheeks little relief, save for what splashed inadvertently onto them, for the men's pee, having hit her square on her bottom hole, ran down between her legs, drenching her cunt and then the insides of her thighs. When the men had finished Stan tossed another ladle of water onto the oven. Stream clouds were filling the room now, making the air inside heavy with droplets of water. Beads of sweat coated everyone's skin, but Mrs. Aaronson wasn't ready to relax yet. She gave Emily another stroke of the paddle, the hardest yet. The girl shouted; her bottom wiggled with pain. "I love two things, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson said to the girl, as she waited for her screams to subside and her ass to regain its poise. "Comfort, of which I demand the very best, for myself and for my guests. And one other thing, which some might regard as exclusive of the first; torture." This brought Emily's head round again, and she stared with frightened rapture at her hostess. "Yes, Emily," Mrs. Aaronson laughed. "I am as demanding in regards to torture as I am in regards to comfort. But get up now. I will make no further demands on your bottom at the moment." Mrs. Aaronson hung the paddle back up on the peg on the wall. Emily rose and clutched her bottom, wincing as she did so. Mrs. Aaronson, with a smirk, handed Emily a folded towel. The girl placed it on the bench next to Joe and gingerly sat down on it. Then Mrs. Aaronson turned and opened a metal door in the wall of the sauna. It proved to be the door to a refrigerator. The unit itself sat outside, rather like a room air conditioner sits beyond the wall of house, only the front part projecting into the room it is intended to cool. Mrs. Aaronson asked the men what beer they preferred. Surprised, the men told her their favorites; Mrs. Aaronson passed out bottles, opening them with a bottle opener that sat in the fridge. Emily she gave a bottle of Seven-Up to. The girl drank it greedily. She was thirsty from her exertions. Drinking their beers, the men let go of each other's balls. There was something unmanly about having a beer while holding the crotch of another man. Mrs. Aaronson laughed but didn't scold the men for their newfound embarrassment. Instead she got a frosted glass out of the fridge. It had water in it, and she took a small packet containing unused Alka-Seltzer tablets out of the fridge. Indeed there was much more than just the usual items in the refrigerator. Emily, glancing up from her soda, saw condoms and a bottle of lubricant. The fridge served as a kind of makeshift cabinet, despite being chilled. Anything that might be needed, that was small enough to fit, might be found inside it. Mrs. Aaronson unwrapped the Alka-Seltzer tablets. There were two of them, and she dropped them into the glass of water. There was a fizzing sound. Emily saw bubbles rise rapidly in the glass. Suddenly the young wife knelt down on the floor. She grabbed Stan's dick and, as the young man shouted over his beer, she shoved his erect penis downward into the glass. "Yow!" Stan cried, for the effect of the bubbles rushing suddenly upward all around his penis was electric. Not all of his lengthy shaft could fit in the glass, but the part that could felt suddenly like spending. Not only was the water ice cold, in contrast to the steamy heat of the room, but the bubbles felt like they were trying to pry their way into his pee hole. Mrs. Aaronson held Stan in the glass until the bubbling of the Alka-Seltzer tablets subsided. Then, without changing the water, she took two more tablets from the fridge, unwrapped them, and dropped them into the glass. With the contents of the glass suddenly bubbling as furiously as ever, she moved to Mike. He felt his dick grabbed and submerged; the idea that he was being put in the same water that had soaked Stan's penis seemed to unnerve him. "Hey, couldn't you at least have rinsed that glass out first?" Mike asked Mrs. Aaronson. "No, Mike, for if I asked you to all go skinny dipping in the pool you would all be sharing the same water with your naked dicks," the young wife answered. She smiled as she watched Mike brought to the brink of spending by the bubbles. Then she pulled him free of the glass, and, leaving him to drip on the floor, added two more tablets and moved to Joe. "No, please!" Joe gasped. But in his cock went, directed and held there by Mrs. Aaronson. He gritted his teeth with desire. It was clear that the little bubbles, not to mention the thought of sharing the same water that the other two men's penises had been in, was driving him crazy. "Don't spurt," Mrs. Aaronson warned the young man. "If you do you'll have to leave or join my husband upstairs." Somehow, all three men survived the glass with its wicked bubbles. But Mrs. Aaronson was just getting started. She opened the refrigerator and took out a lipstick sized tube of Natural Ice. She applied it to all three men's cocks in turn, laving the waxy substance over the skin of their penises, leaving them in agony as the Ice turned to heat upon them, made worse by the steam of the sauna. When the men had managed to endure that trick, Mrs. Aaronson had one more. She emptied the glass that had the used Alka-Seltzer in it onto the coals of the oven. Then she filled the glass with ice chips from the freezer part of the refrigerator. The chips were small enough in size, like snow, to allow a penis to be shoved down in amongst them. Mrs. Aaronson started with Stan, and worked her way slowly down the benchful of men. "Oh you poor guys," Mrs. Aaronson said, with mock sympathy. Once more the three men nearly lost themselves. But again, much to their surprise, they survived even this torment. Perhaps it was the thought of having Mr. Aaronson's penis in their behinds that kept them from losing themselves. "The key to torture is to linger," Mrs. Aaronson said, when she had finished plunging Mike's cock in and out of the glass with the ice chips. She looked at Emily, sitting on the towel with her legs a little apart, showing the wettened lips of her cunt. "Imagine being tied down over a pillow, Emily, your bottom high, your cunt embarrassingly wet with your excitement as a man with a big penis, perhaps several men, taught your young bottom about shitting. Have you ever shitted with your ass stuck up high, as if for the whip?" the young wife asked Emily. The girl shook her head 'no'. Obviously she hadn't. Who would ever think of pooping anyplace but in the privacy of a toilet bowl, her surprised eyes seemed to say. "Ah, Emily, you have much to learn," Mrs. Aaronson told the girl. "And to think if you hadn't met me, you might never have learned about all the erotic possibilities of a well-displayed ass." Claire looked up from her computer screen. The sun floated red on the horizon, the view of it safely dimmed by a darkening of her window glass. "Tch. This is a howwible stowy," Claire said, mangling her words as she spoke them in sudden ire. "To think that she's going to be made to go to the bathroom for the enjoyment of wicked men and their boners!" By some grand coincidence, her twin brother, in his own bedroom, was reading the exact same story and was at the same place in it. "Oh man!" the boy said, rubbing his dick under his bedcovers as he read about Mrs. Aaronson's proposed torments for Emily. "I'll bet she jams some fluid up her ass! And then as Emily squeezes to try to hold it in, the lady makes one of the guys fuck her! Imagine how tight she'll be, struggling not to make a mess with her bottom!" "Tommeee!" the boy's mother called out. The shock of hearing his mother's voice caused the boy to lose control of himself. Spurrrt, went his sperm, all along the length of his thighs. "Oh shit!" Tommy yelled. His mother knocked on his bedroom door. "Tommy, did I hear you use a swear word? What are you doing in there?" "Nothing, mother, just finishing my homework!" Tommy yelled. Claire, ensconced in her own bedroom, knew she should begin getting ready for school. But the horrific nature of the story had mesmerized her. She had to read just a little more. She hoped it would be about the torments the men suffered, and not anything involving the girl who was almost her own age. She looked again at the screen. AND IN THE END... "My... favorite book... [is] Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita, the greatest novel ever written." - Ben Stein, The Week, June 15, 2001, pg. 32. ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -- More stories at: http://groups.google.com/ Search by typing: roller666@earthlink.net Click on "Power Search" Change "standard" archive to "complete" archive. -- Other providers: IFLC: http://assm.asstr-mirror.org and http://asstr-mirror.org Anya's Lil' Hideaway: http://www.insatiable.net/ Silver: http://www.mr-yellow.com/goodies The Backdrop Club: http://www.backdrop.com Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -- Great art books by David Hamilton and Jock Sturges are at: http://www.amazon.com http://bn.com (photos of naked little girls) -- Naked little girls/politics: http://www.AlessandraSmile.com Man/boy love: http://www.nambla.de Politics: http://www.lp.org http://www.isil.org http://www.fear.org http://www.fija.org http://www.aclu.org -- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 2001 by Andrew Roller. Dreamgirls, Naughty Naked Dreamgirls, and NND are registered trademarks of Andrew Roller. All rights reserved. -- Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/files/Authors/Roller/www666/index.html Or at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/www/index.html (It is case sensitive, i.e. type Roller, not roller). -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+