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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} NND1 At a Womans Command
Date: Mon,  1 Oct 2001 16:10:02 -0400
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                                        Andrew Roller Presents
                                   NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
                                                       in
                                       At a Woman's Command

                                                Chapter One

         He fingered the crumpled piece of paper.  It was smudged with
soot, but he could still read it:  "Valerie, Chinese with cute small
face and slightly fat bottom.  About 13, 14 growing tits, likes
stickers."  He had written this when he'd met the girl, before his shift
a week ago.  Now she was dead.  He had wanted to see her again.  There
were few women left and she had seemed like such a nice girl.  But he
had watched on T.V. when the tower she lived in collapsed.  Her father
had been rich.  They had lived up on the 112th floor.  He didn't have
confirmation that she was dead but with the building gone, it was almost
certain.  It had been one of those big `all in one' buildings they
started putting up about ten years ago, when people became frightened
and didn't want to venture out anymore.  It had everything.  Filtered
air, filtered water.  Even the food was randomly tested as it came in to
make sure it wasn't being poisoned.  But of course no one could stop the
missiles.
         "We keep making them and they do too," Mark mumbled to
himself.  He could hear the launchers now, the low distant roar of them
suddenly erupting.  He looked up, still holding the paper.  He saw the
missiles streak up into the slowly darkening evening sky.  He knew that,
almost simultaneously, on the other side of the world, in Afghanistan,
the other side was firing interceptors.  Probably none of these going up
now, into the twilight, would reach their targets.  They would be
knocked out in the upper reaches of the atmosphere, or in the fringe of
outer space, by the missiles being fired from Afghanistan.  But perhaps
one or two would get through; that was the hope.  Then buildings would
be struck on the other side of the world.  They would tumble and kill
girls like Valerie, and her entire family.
         "The Clash of Civilizations," it was called in the classrooms,
where the children huddled, listening to the rockets go off during their
lessons.  The kids didn't use the long form of the word, however, they
simply called it "CC".  Originally it had been called World War Three
but then there had been that half-baked truce, which had lasted for nine
months, just enough time for the world to deliver a new war baby. 
Nobody had bothered to call the new eruption of war that broke out after
the truce World War Four.  It had seemed to gruesome.  So some egghead
scholar had come up with this long, seemingly antiseptic name, for all
the killing.  "The Clash," some Brits had called it, apparently trying
to link it to one of their bands from the previous century.  Perhaps to
sell a few more DVD's?  But the kids just said "CC," as if to say, "See,
look!  They're destroying the world!"
         Everything was used now, in this seemingly final battle of
humanity.  All the beasts had been let loose.  Nuclear, chemical,
biological.  It all was beginning to lose what distinction it had
seemingly possessed in earlier days, when the weapons were simply being
stockpiled.  Now earth was bathed in a radioactive soup, replete with
biological antigens, spiced with chemical poisons.  Nobody could go out
anymore without a complete bodysuit and a mask, with tanks strapped to
his back.  Mark stood watching the darkness close in over the towers of
the city, feeling his breath heave in his chest from a long day of
work.  He was entitled to twelve hours leave now.  Where would he go? 
He had wanted to see Cindy but that seemed pretty useless.  The last
thing he wanted to do with his twelve hours leave was poke around in
some burning ash looking for a dead child.  Even if she was pretty and
he liked her.  In twelve hours he would have to strap this mask back on,
the suit, the tanks.  He would be back at work, and although it would be
nice to be assigned to Cindy's ruins, as he now found himself calling
them, with his luck he probably wouldn't be.  Instead he would be
pulling some other dead child's body out of the endless wreckage that
the missiles kept making, someplace else in the city, while some other
rescue worker was finding her.  Or digging up, with his bare hands,
without even knowing it, the ashes of her body.
         The children were the worst.  He didn't mind the half-naked
headless ladies and the men, but yanking out dead children from the
newly-made ruins was awful.  The work was worth it, though.  Now and
then he found a survivor.  Once a woman had been trapped in a car.  Its
doors and windows had kept out the awful stuff swirling in the
atmosphere.  The radiation had hit her of course, but she was still able
to get up and walk, once Mark got a door on the car prised open for
her.  That had been nice, very nice, seeing someone actually walk away. 
Mark and his men had gotten her right into a body bag, of course,
slapping a mask on her and zipping her up like some corpse.  He had no
idea if she was still alive now.  Hopefully she had done well in the
decontamination chamber.  If she had, she would now be in a waiting area
somewhere, perhaps filling out paperwork for readmission.
         Mark turned and went down a flight of ash-coated stairs,
leaving the night behind.  A glimmer of white light at the base of the
stairs revealed a neon-lit hallway.  Mark entered it, and went to the
platform to wait for the subway.  There were other men like himself
standing around in grime-laden suits and masks, tanks on their backs. 
There were a few women too, but it was difficult to tell one gender from
the other in their baggy uniforms.  They were just ambulatory shadows,
it seemed, black from smoke of the fires and white from the ash, grey
baggy cadavers-to-be, all zipped up and waiting to be incinerated if
they should happen to die.
         But Mark wasn't dead, and as a train whooshed into the station
ten minutes later he boarded it with the others.  Mark found a seat. 
The subway doors slid shut and the train raced off, into the darkness of
a tunnel, the only lights now those shining inside the car Mark was
sitting in.  They seemed like dim candles, almost Medieval.  Mark looked
around.  His fellow corpses were being rushed into a catacomb, it
seemed, with himself along for this grisly ride, wondering how it had
all come to this.
         It had started, of course, back at the beginning of the
century.  2001 had not resulted in a space odyssey to Jupiter and the
evolution of mankind into a celestial lifeform.  Instead, with the
destruction of the World Trade Center towers, all Hell had broken
loose.  Not right away, though.  The people in power had seemed to sense
that, with all their weapons, they were on the verge of some abyss.  But
in the end revenge had to come, didn't it?  And that led to new attacks,
and new necessary acts of revenge, or "justice," as the elites had
called it.  Then Russia and China switched sides, and that was the end
of it.  Technology kept advancing, seemingly more rapidly than ever,
with the inspiration of war, but instead of reaching a final "just"
climax the battles had grown more devastating and complex.  What had
once been an endless scuffle between Israel and Islam became America
versus Islam, and it was just as endless but much more destructive.
         And here they were, ninety years on.  The cities of the world
were half-smashed and rebuilt.  Now people were beginning to build
underground, no longer at ease in their gleaming interceptor-protected
towers.  Mark was thinking about leasing an apartment underground but at
the moment he still liked the damn view, from the 55th floor of the
Orion Center where he lived.  Yes, the city wasn't the gleaming marvel
it had once been, before the really rough stuff of the war got
unleashed.  But it was still nice to look at, especially with the sun
setting in the distance, lighting up the waters off San Francisco with a
gleaming gold.  Mark laughed.  The one benefit of the destruction of
earth's atmosphere was that the views of the setting sun had improved. 
It was as if, in their final throes of death, the earth had given humans
one last gift:  a parting shot of extraordinary beauty before the end of
all intelligent life on the planet.
         Are we intelligent?  Mark wondered.  Other creatures seemed
less so but they didn't turn their living space into a radioactive
wasteland.  The train lurched to a stop, tossing Mark forward and then
back as if to argue with him, to prove to him that yes, humans must be
intelligent because they had created machines like this that could rush
the human body, soot-covered though it might be, eighty miles to the
West in twenty daydreaming minutes.  Mark was no longer in SD,
Sacramento District.  He was home again, ready for his twelve hours
leave in SF.  He got up.  The corpses around him moved forward, shuffled
out the doors of the train.  He followed.  They entered a
decontamination chamber.  The air could be heard hissing out of the
room, leaving it empty as the vacuousness of outer space.  Then a door
at the far end of the room opened, and they all shuffled forward.  When
they were inside this second room there was a sound of air hissing in;
fresh, clean filtered air.  They began to strip.  When they were naked
they piled their clothing and tanks in a corner.  Then yet another door
opened and they walked into a third room.  Showers came on.  Their
bodies were bathed in fresh filtered water.  Mark let out a grateful
almost primal yell, and he was not the only one.  It was good to be back
to "civilization," or what was left of it.  Then he and the others
proceeded into a fourth room where they picked up towels and dried
themselves, and put on clothes.  Mark zippered himself into a white
jumpsuit.  Feeling good with the weight of the tanks off his back, he
went out with the others onto a boulevard.  They parted company there,
each going his own way.  Mark hailed a yellow cab and it pulled up
alongside the curb.  In his white jumpsuit everything was free; rides,
food, entertainment.  The government picked up the tab.  Mark opened the
back door of the cab.  He wanted to rest and he hoped the driver
wouldn't ask him about his day if he sat in the back.  The man, burly
and unshaven, nodded courteously.  Mark nodded back.
         "Where you like?" the cab driver asked.  By his accent and his
use of language Mark realized he must be from a foreign country.  Mark
gave an amused grimace.  The immigrants kept coming, even as America and
its enemies continued to pound themselves and the rest of the world into
dust.
         "Home, Orion Complex," Mark was going to say.  But he suddenly
remembered a notice he'd seen on a bulletin board on his way into work.
         "Pleasure centers re-open," it had read.  And Mark had smiled
on seeing it and wondered if he might want to go there.  He was new to
the rescue profession.  He had just left college a month ago to begin
the week long shifts that were expected of new recruits.  The pleasure
centers had been a boyhood fantasy of his, one of the reasons he had
joined the rescue profession in the first place.  You could get all the
sex you wanted there, or whatever else might relax you, given by the top
females, all volunteer, of course, that the society could provide.  Cops
went there too of course, and firefighters, and then the army invited
itself to have the privileges also.  The politicians weren't far behind
in being qualified to join, despite being far from the front lines.  At
first there had been protests by feminists but these had died away as
the war dragged on and the shifts went from twelve hours to two days and
finally to three, and a full week for the new recruits.
         Then disaster had struck.  A biological virus was let loose
somewhere on the planet and it wiped out more women than men.  Some said
it was radical feminists who had concocted the virus, in an effort to
close down the pleasure centers.  It worked; without women, the centers
closed.  But the virus couldn't discriminate between women who worked in
pleasure centers, or other women.  Many women died, all over the
planet.  The only group that was unaffected was radical feminists.  They
claimed they were safe because they were enlightened, but others said
they had created the virus and injected themselves in advance with an
antidote to it.
         But now the pleasure centers, according to the notice at least,
were back in business.  Young girls had escaped the ravages of the
virus.  Mark had heard that some were volunteering to work in the
pleasure centers, as a patriotic service.  But the feminists were still
savoring half a victory.  For the notice had said, "No sex will be
provided."
         "Oh well, it would still be restful," Mark said to himself.
         "Where you like?" the cab driver said again, in a more
insistent voice.  Mark blinked.  He felt the cab moving under him.  It
felt rather like the subway and for a moment he was back on the train,
moving however "outbound", back to work, again wearing his tanks,
wrapped in his suit.
         "Take me to the nearest pleasure center," Mark said abruptly. 
He knew he needed a good twelve hours sleep.  He'd be popping Wake pills
again in twelve hours, kept artificially awake for another whole week. 
But hadn't he become a rescue worker, in addition for his love for his
country and helping people, to go to one of these places?  What would
the guys say when he met with them again, in video-mode, if they asked
if he'd visited a center yet and he'd said "no"?  Sure, maybe sex was
forbidden now, but he'd still feel a bit sheepish if he told his friends
he'd spent all his hours off asleep in his apartment.
         "Nice, nice," the cab driver said, smiling as he raced the cab
through traffic.
         "There's no sex allowed there anymore," Mark told the driver,
feeling he needed to defend his intentions.
         "Nice girls though," the driver said.
         "That's true," Mark agreed.  The feminists may have wiped out
the women in the pleasure centers, but with the decline of women
worldwide more men were now allowing themselves to date girls like
Valerie, that Mark had met briefly the week before.  And the society
wasn't complaining, as it had in the past.  Babies were needed, if the
war was to continue.  Whatever arrangements people made to produce
children or to enjoy themselves were increasingly their own business,
not a matter for state intervention.  But being publicly funded and so
overtly dedicated to pleasure, the pleasure centers were not going to
give in quite yet to free love.  Mark was sure that the feminists would
keep them sex free for as long as possible; making them, perhaps, in the
end, compared to the society at large, not so much pleasure centers but
puritan centers.
         Still, it was worth at least one visit, Mark told himself, even
if he would be half dead next shift and feeling like his brains were
being fried by the Wake pills he had to swallow.
         The cab rolled to a stop.  The driver reached back and shouted
and shook Mark's shoulder.  Mark's eyes flew open.  Was another building
toppling?  His reflexes tensed; he was ready to move at a moment's
notice.  Then he realized he wasn't about to be crushed but was merely
sitting outside one of the pleasure centers.  Mark thanked the driver
and got out of the cab.  The vehicle left at once; off to another
waiting rider somewhere in the vast building.
         Mark looked around and got his bearings.  He had gotten off the
train in the Bryanston Area but now he near Llewellian Park.  He looked
along the covered boulevard, at the rush of traffic, wondering if a
missile might come suddenly crashing down.  Then he stepped forward.  He
wanted to leave all that behind now, or try.  He walked up to a glass
door.  A clerk sitting inside, seeing his white jumpsuit, opened it for
him.
         "Hello, welcome to Pleasure Center Fallon," the clerk said.  It
was a woman, with long red hair that she'd piled into a loose chignon. 
Mark returned the woman's smile and said,
         "I'm glad to see the O plague didn't get you."  O was short for
Ovarian plague, for that was where the virus began its attack on a
woman's body that had so devastated them.  
         "Yes," the woman said.  Mark wondered for a moment if she might
be a radical feminist and then dismissed the thought.  What would such a
person be doing here?  The woman, seemingly smiling endlessly, asked,
"What would you like?"
         "I'd like to get laid," Mark answered. 
         "Wouldn't we all?" the woman said, either faking a small laugh
or managing to suppress a more vigorous one.  "I'm afraid that isn't
possible here at Pleasure Center Fallon but we have many other
entertainments," the woman smiled.
         "But you're a woman," Mark said, not wanting to lose the
opportunity to press his request for sex, at least as long as it lasted.
         "Yes, and you're quite cute.  And young too," the woman said,
still smiling.  "But I'd be fucked to death if I let every man have me
who wanted me.  Perhaps some other time," she said, "Away from work."
         "Of course," Mark said.  He didn't want to put himself into a
position where he could be accused of sexual harassment.  That was a
full year's sentence, down in the morgue.
         "I appreciate your interest," the woman said to Mark, her
eyelashes fluttering now, coyly as she continued smiling at him.
         "Only asking because I'm here," Mark assured the woman.
         "How would you like to be entertained?" the woman asked.  She
handed Mark a Palm pilot.  As he took it in his hand it flashed brightly
at him.  "We have a menu of options to choose from," the woman said. 
Mark gazed at the screen and said, 
         "I think I'll just have a massage."
         "A fine choice," the woman said.  Mark made to hand back the
Palm pilot and the woman said,
         "Return it when you leave.  It lists everything we offer, from
golf to Bible readings."
         "I think I'll stick with the massage," Mark said, and shook his
head, wondering if "pleasure center" was the right word for a place that
had no sex and that the fundamentalists had insisted include Bible
readings on the menu.  The woman pointed Mark to a doorway beyond her
desk.  He went to it and, when she pressed a button on her desk the
doors slid back.  Mark smelled sweet perfumed air, like roses.  To his
right, on a seemingly endless lawn, men in white shirts and shorts were
playing golf.  To his left the blue waters of an Olympic swimming pool
beckoned.  Mark stood bewildered for a moment, when another set of doors
opened and a girl stepped out.
         She was blonde, about the same age as Valerie had been, with
the same small cute face that girl had possessed but larger eyes, blue
as the waters of the pool.  She smiled at Mark.  She stepped up to him,
holding a towel in one hand and wearing a loose white robe.  On her feet
were low-heeled sandals.  Before Mark could say anything she had taken
his large hand in her small one and was leading him through the doors
she had stepped out of.
         "Hello.  This way.  My name's Elizabeth," the girl said.  "But
you can call me Beth."
         "Alright," Mark answered.  He was ushered into a white room
with metal ivory-colored lockers on both walls.  Keys hung from the
lockers, waiting to be used and then extracted.
         "Please undress for your massage and put your personal items
into the locker of your choice, as well as your clothes," Beth told
Mark.  "I'll be waiting for you in the next room," she said.  She
pointed to another set of doors, white painted like the walls of the
room and the lockers.
         "So many doors," Mark murmured.  At one time humans had evolved
outside, in the open air and the unfiltered sunshine.  Now they were all
locked away, as if slowly closing themselves off to be entombed.  But at
last he would be able to strip everything off, not just the mask and
tanks he wore at work but this white jumpsuit too.  He would be able to
relish in being naked, or almost so.  The girl thrust the towel at him.
         "Please put this on before you come in," the girl said.
         "Alright," Mark said.  He took the towel from her.  She left
him, walking on through the doors beyond.  He stripped and hung his
jumpsuit in a locker.  Then he wrapped the towel around himself.  He
went to the doors and as he approached a sensor, set in the wall above
the doors, opened them for him.  He saw Beth standing next to a
cushioned white-sheeted table.  There was a white pillow at one end of
the table.  The girl smiled at him.  Around him were wood-paneled
walls.  Their brown color spoke of the natural world above, of trees and
falling leaves and the color of furred animals, before the war had
ruined it all.  Next to the table, which sat low to the ground, was a
low cabinet with drawers.  The cabinet was brown and made of wood like
the walls.  Mark walked up to it.  He saw things scattered on top of
it.  Beth, smiling shyly, picked up one of the items, a bottle, and
said,
         "We have everything here for your satisfaction.  Mineral oil,
vaseline, foam ice, balsamic cream and gelatin heat."  Mark saw a pile
of colored condoms and said,
         "What are those for?  I thought there wasn't any sex."
         "It's to allow you to enjoy an ejaculation, if you wish," the
girl told him.  "I'm told these things are necessary sometimes."  Mark
felt a stirring in his loins.  His balls felt full and he nodded.
         "Maybe you're right," he said.  His towel lifted slightly, down
where he was feeling suddenly excited, despite his tired limbs.
         "Please lie down," the girl said.  "I'll take care of
everything."
         Mark stretched out on the table.  It felt reassuringly soft, as
if welcoming into his own bed.  He let his head rest back on the
pillow.  For a moment he feared he might fall fast asleep there, but
then the girl opened one of the bottles and a sweet, slightly pungent
smell as of violets struck his nostrils.  The girl wet her hands with
the bottle and he watched her, looking up at her.  She was so young a
beautiful!  Her long blonde hair, which had been loose and flowing down
over her shoulders when she met him, was now pinned up, in the loose
chignon that the woman at the desk wore.  She had taken off her robe and
was wearing instead just a towel, a white one, the same as Mark wore
around her waist.  But hers, owing to her feminine form, was wrapped
around her growing breasts and belly and hips.  There must have been an
art to the way she wrapped it, for it hugged her waist while allowing
her tits to push hard against the top of it, showing their young growing
fleshy cones to him as she bent now and applied her little hands to his
bare chest.  Mark marvelled at the girl's ripe young tits.  If only the
towel were a little lower he could see the beginning of her areolas--
there, he could!  Just barely, teasingly.  He felt himself rise up a
little more in his loose and carelessly wrapped towel.  The girl,
smoothing her hands across his hard muscled chest, admiring with her
fingertips the hair growing there, noticed Mark's rising erection.  She
giggled.
         "Sorry," Mark said.
         "It's quite alright.  Tell me if you need to put on a condom,"
the girl said. 
         "I will," Mark said, and then he bit his upper lip as his cock
grew even bigger, making his towel suddenly stand up, as if a World
Trade Center of his own had suddenly been built there between his
towel-covered legs.  "How long have you been working here?" Mark asked
after a little while, beginning to feel himself fall asleep as the girl
slowly worked the flesh of his shoulders.  They ached, from having the
straps of the oxygen tank over them for a whole week straight.  The
girl's little fingers seemed to push deep into his flesh and free them
of their pain.
         "A week," the girl said.
         "That's not long," Mark said.
         "Am I displeasing you?" the girl asked.
         "No, no!" Mark assured her.  "You're doing very well.  My
shoulders are starting to feel like they're part of my body again."
         "That's good," the girl said.  She seemed to want to kiss him,
or perhaps he just fantasized it, as her young face hovered over his and
she worked his shoulders.  A blonde strand of her hair fell down.  She
paused, lifted a hand from his right shoulder and replaced it behind her
ear.  Then she kept working, and after a while, seeing Mark was starting
to fall asleep again but that his cock was still erect, she asked, "Are
your balls full?"
         "Huh?" Mark asked.  The girl giggled.  She had moved down to
his stomach by now.  It was flat and hard.  She eased its tenseness by
moving her hands across it, feeling it soften like the rest of his tired
body.  But his cock remained straight and tall, and the girl asked
again,
         "Are your balls full?"
         "Are you supposed to ask me that?" Mark asked.
         "Not really," the girl said.  "But I can help you relax
yourself if that's what you need."
         "With a condom," Mark said.
         "Yes," the girl said.
         "I don't know that one good yank would be all I need," Mark
said.  He did indeed feel full, and now lying here so comfortably, so
close to a beautiful female, he felt as if his testicles were going to
burst.  He bit his lip again.  This girl wasn't helping the matter with
her questions.
         "I'm sure I can satisfy you, sir," the girl said.  "If you'll
roll over I'd like to start on your back."  She reached up, replaced a
fallen hair that had again slipped down from her chignon.  Mark
grunted.  He lifted himself.  He was about to roll over when the girl
said, "If you'll just scoot down a moment, sir."  Mark wasn't sure what
she meant but he allowed her room to lift and fold back the white sheet
that was covering the cushioned table.  When she had, a hole was
revealed.  It was in the center of the table and it looked about the
size of something a tire iron might be put through.
         "What's that?" Mark asked.
         "It's for your penis, sir," the girl replied.  Mark frowned and
looked at her.
         "You want me to fuck the table?" Mark asked.  That was some way
for him to relive his balls!
         "It's to keep you from having to lie flat on your erection,
sir," the girl told Mark.  "Just put yourself through-- I don't think
you'll be too big to fit."
         "No, no," Mark murmured, looking again at the hole.  It had
been made sufficiently wide to accommodate any size penis, that he could
see, even one such as his which was routinely complimented for its size
when he managed to get a female into bed with him.  Mark rolled over. 
He allowed the girl to take off his towel.  As he felt the cool air of
the room touch his naked ass he reached down with his right hand and
inserted himself into the hole in the table.  He felt his cock slide
through it and out the other side.  Then he eased down onto the table,
chest flat against it, his ass inviting the girl's hands to come down on
his bare cheeks and begin rubbing them.
         "Mmmm," Mark grunted.  "That feels good."  He felt his balls
lying heavily between his thighs.  At the same time he felt his dick,
still gloriously hard and sticking down beneath him.  The table was snug
against the base of his cock but not too snug.  There was still a little
room to accommodate a man bigger than himself, if such a man existed.
         "Spread your legs," the girl told Mark.
         "Huh?" Mark asked.
         "I have to give you an enema," the girl said.  Wondering why
she was no longer calling him `sir' and if he was dreaming such a
statement, he shook his head a little, keeping it pressed lightly to the
pillow, and said,
         "Did I ask for an enema?"
         "If I'm going to empty your balls I need to fill your ass," the
girl said.  "It's part of the procedure."
         "I don't need my ass filled to get off!" Mark said.  The girl
patted Mark's back.  He wished for a moment he had his towel on again. 
It was lying on the floor where the girl had tossed it, just out of his
reach.
         "Let me explain, sir," the girl said, once again using the
honorific.  "There are certain limitations to what I'm allowed to
provide, and what you're allowed to request.  If you want to cum you
can, but as a--" the girl scrunched up her nose and stopped massaging
him and thought a moment.  "As a dis--  A distinction-- No, I mean as
not being allowed to do something..."
         "A disincentive?" Mark asked.
         "That's it!" the girl said.  She began massaging him again. 
"As a disinstinctive, to cumming I mean, I'm required to give you an
enema if you want to cum."
         The door leading to the locker room opened.  Mark looked up, as
did the girl massaging his back.  Mark saw the redhead from the front
desk.  His cock lurched in the hole in the table; she was more beautiful
than ever and she was wearing a tight-wrapped towel, like the girl.
         "Sorry, I couldn't resist," the woman smiled.  She stepped over
to where Mark was lying and, without interrupting the child massaging
his back, she reached down and eased her hand between Mark's legs.  "Oh,
so full!" the woman marvelled, grasping part of Mark's testicle sac with
her fingers.  Mark felt the woman's nails against his skin; her nails,
unlike the girl's childish hands, were long and sharp!
         "Hey," Mark said.
         "When did you last cum?" the woman asked.  Mark felt the
woman's fingers put pressure on his balls.  At the same time she said to
him, "Please spread your legs."  Mark obeyed, feeling his cock grow even
more rigid where it hung down straight and urgent below the table.
         "Last- last week," Mark gasped.
         "Did you have sex or masturbate?" the woman asked.  Mark
blinked at the woman's directness.  He looked over his shoulder at her,
past the slender arms of the child massaging his back.  She was lovely,
like an apparition, her large breasts seemingly wanting to burst from
her towel.
         "I masturbated," Mark confessed.  The little girl giggled. 
Mark blushed.
         "It's quite alright," the woman said.  "That's what we'll be
doing to you here.  As Beth explained, if a client wishes to spend
himself it's considered a physical procedure.  As such all of the
client's physical needs must be attended too, as complete as possible. 
That's why Beth needs to be able to give you an enema if you want to
cum." She smiled understandingly at Mark.  "Thank the feminists," she
added.  "Or perhaps it was the fundamentalists who insisted on the
enema."
         "Either way I'm getting one if I want to cum, eh?" Mark asked.
         "That's right," the redhead said.  She squeezed his balls
again, and urged him to open himself to her hand a little more,
spreading his legs more widely on the table.  "In this position the
girls may not call you `sir'," the woman said.  "It's considered
demeaning to a woman to call a man `sir' when he's asking her to bring
him off."
         "That's alright," Mark said.  He watched as Beth wet her hands
anew with oil.  Then she went for his ass and spread his cheeks with her
hands.  He resisted, his buttocks clenching.  The woman reached down and
helped the girl open his ass.
         "My name is Kathy," the woman told Mark, rather incongruously
as she pulled apart his butt.
         "Nice to meet you," Mark grunted.  He felt Beth's pointing
finger on her right hand push suddenly into his anus.  "Ack!" Mark
gasped.
         "Sowwy," Beth said.
         "He looks tight.  Is he?" Kathy asked Beth.
         "Yes!" Beth said.  Mark grimaced and grunted again as he felt
the child's finger work more deeply into his ass.  It felt like a little
wiggling worm, going down deep now and making him gasp.
         "You'll open more easily if you visit us weekly," Kathy said to
Mark.  One of her hands let go of his behind and she stroked the back of
his right thigh.
         "I- wasn't- really-" Mark began, but he had only begun to utter
the sentence, grunting between each word, when Beth reached back behind
herself with one hand and pulled open the top drawer on the wooden
chest.  She took out a cone shaped object.  She held it up to Mark's
gaze, he straining to look back over his shoulder as she kept one finger
in his ass.
         "This is a solid enema," Beth told Mark.  "It will hurt going
in.  It's bigger than my finger.  You need to lie still and keep it in
you.  It will dissolve in a few minutes and then you'll have to go to
the bathroom."
         "Which you may not do, until you've cum and you're given
permission," Kathy added.
         "But--" Mark said.  It was no use, the two females were quick
and determined.  A moment later he let out a pained howl as he felt
something the size of a baseball shoved into him, but going with its
point first, to ease the way.  "GodDAMN!" Mark bellowed.  Kathy laughed,
little Beth pushed harder and Mark felt the object slide deeper into his
guts.  Suddenly the child slapped his bare behind.
         "There!  All done," Beth said.  Mark's eyes bulged.  He felt as
if he'd sat on something, despite his upturned bottom, and that it had
gotten up into his ass, which indeed it had.  He tried forcing it out
with a pushing movement, but it was solidly lodged.
         "You took that well," Kathy told Mark.  As Beth agreed that he
had, the woman came around to the front of Mark's table.  She reached
down and played with her hand in his hair, tousling it.  Meanwhile Beth,
humming happily, began massaging his legs.  "I'm going to give you a
treat.  If you will place yourself entirely in my hands, doing whatever
I ask, I'll have sex with you."
         "You will?" Mark gasped.
         "Yes.  But perhaps not this visit," Kathy said.  "It depends on
how obedient you are."
         "I would be very obedient to have sex with you," Mark
confessed, looking again at her luscious body, and wishing he could have
it.
         "We'll see," Kathy said.  "Total obedience is what I require. 
And in a minute I'm going to test you on just that point."  She laughed
and pulled down the front of her towel.  Her tits burst forth, like ripe
fruit spilling suddenly from a basket.  His mouth salivating, Mark gazed
up at her lovely juddering breasts, white-fleshed like the table he was
lying on, with their pink points, seemingly so tender, the nipples
standing up as stiffly as his cock was, downthrust through the table.
         "Oh!  May I pull my towel down?" Beth asked Kathy.
         "Of course, dear," Kathy said.  "We're going to give him the
special treatment."
         "Oh boy!" Beth said.
         Kathy reminded Mark to be good and to keep lying on the table
and letting his enema dissolve.  Then she left the room and returned a
minute later with a second girl.  She was blonde like Beth, but slightly
shorter.  Her tits were somewhat smaller as well and Mark, gazing up at
her from where she was resting, guessed she must be no more than
twelve.  As he was still staring at her slender body, covered up to her
tits but with her breasts showing, like Beth and Kathy's, the girl went
to the chest and rummaged amongst the condoms.
         "He'll need the biggest one," Kathy told the 12-year-old.
         "Okay," the girl answered.  Her voice was high and chirpy, like
a chipmunk's.
         "This is Sheila," Kathy told Mark.  "She what pretty lips she
has?"
         "Yes," Mark said.  He gazed at the girl's mouth as she selected
a lime-colored condom.  Her lips were full and red, sweetly innocent, or
so they seemed.  The girl knelt down, still holding the condom.  A
moment later she had disappeared under Mark's table and he let out a
yell of surprise as he felt something grab hold of his cock.
         "What's she doing?" Mark asked.  Kathy laughed.  Mark felt a
wetness suddenly around the end of his cock, and then a delicious pull
on himself as an "Mmmmm!" made itself heard under him.
         "She's sucking you, darling," Kathy said to Mark.  She ran her
fingers through his hair again.  "Don't you enjoy it?"  She asked.  Mark
shivered, Beth still massaging his right thigh as she now took hold of
his balls.
         "Yes!" Mark said.  "But- but I don't think she's put the condom
on me, has she?"
         "When you're ready to cum, darling," Kathy said.  Mark lurched
on the table, feeling something wet suddenly close around the base of
his testicles.  Raising his head, straining back to look as he felt his
cock straining beneath him, he saw that little Beth had bent down and,
with her naked breasts resting against his right thigh, had cupped his
balls in her mouth.  She began to suck too, as the girl under him drew
his cock deeper into her own mouth.
         "And now for the final touch," Kathy smiled at Mark. 
"Remember, complete obedience please.  Do you have to shit yet?"  Mark
quivered on the table.
         "It's still in me.  I think I have to go, a little bit," Mark
said.
         "Hold still," Kathy said.  She left the room again and a moment
later she returned.  To Mark's astonishment she had a boy with her.  He
looked about 16, and was quite handsome, a towel wrapped around him as
Mark's towel had once been wrapped around himself.  At a wink from the
woman, the boy undid his towel.  His cock stuck forth, as hard as Mark's
was beneath the table and nearly as big.  "This is Jeff," Kathy said to
Mark.  And a moment later the boy introduced himself by jutting his
penis right into Mark's face.
         "Hey!" Mark said, frowning.
         "Complete obedience, dear," Kathy said to Mark.  "I want you to
suck him."
         "What?!" Mark cried.  It was an inauspicious use of his mouth,
for by opening it in shocked surprise he allowed the boy to shove his
cock in.
         "Mmmmf!  Mmmmf!" Mark cried, feeling the boy jutting heavily
upon his tongue, half-stilling its movement with the weight of his
organ.
         "Suck," Kathy told Mark.  "We are going to have a grand
celebration.  When you cum Jeff will hopefully cum at the same time, and
then you may get up and go to the bathroom."
         His eyes wide with disbelief, feeling an increasing urgency in
his ass, not to mention in his balls and his dick, Mark began to suck
the young man.  It was not something he did willingly; he wanted to bite
the damn bastard for doing this to him.  But he also longed to fuck
Kathy; if this was what the woman demanded in a female-depleted world,
he would do it.  Above him the young man gasped; he was feeling the
effects of Mark's mouth upon his penis as surely as Mark was feeling
Beth on his balls and Sheila, under the table, on his dick.
         "I want you both to try to get the cock you have down into your
throat," Kathy instructed Sheila and Mark.  The older man's eyes bulged
wider; he felt as if he were gorging himself on this young man's prick
as the boy shoved himself deeper.  "That's it.  That's it, keep it
going," Kathy said, pleased by what she saw.  She bent down and checked
on Sheila, under the table, and then straightened herself and ran her
hands through Mark's hair again, putting her other hand on Jeff's
behind.  Then she let go of Mark and got behind Jeff.  She told the boy
to open his legs.  He did; she knelt down and put her mouth to his
balls.
         They remained locked in this five-person embrace for several
minutes.  Although at first reluctant, Mark gradually found the pressure
of the boy's cock in his mouth and pushing gradually into his throat
enjoyable.  He had wanted sex, and with little Sheila down below sucking
his dick he was getting sex in spades, albeit not quite as he had
imagined.  Suddenly he felt himself unable to hold back his pleasure any
longer.  He burst forth, surprising Sheila, who had failed to put the
condom on him.  Nonetheless the girl obediently sucked him, and he gave
her his all.  The sound of her urgent sucking brought off Jeff; he
spurted into Mark's mouth and the older man did his best, despite his
misgivings, to swallow down the boy like Sheila was swallowing him. 
When they were finished they parted, mouths leaving bodies, Sheila
getting up wet-lipped from under the table.  Kathy kissed Sheila's lips
and licked them clean.  Beth did the same for Mark, licking Jeff's cum
off his mouth.
         "That was delicious," Kathy said, when it was over, though
neither she nor Beth had gotten much, or Sheila for that matter.  Mark
guessed from the sounds the girls had made while they were locked in
their five-person embrace that they had frigged themselves, between
their legs and under their towels.  But they needed more, from the
flustered looks on their faces, and Jeff, turning to Kathy, said,
         "Shall I eat you ma'am?"
         "Yes!" Kathy said.  She laid down on the floor and upped the
base of her towel, exposing her cunt.  "Take Mark to the toilet, girls,"
she said.  
         "Okay," Beth and Sheila answered, in their high child's
voices.  They helped Mark up off the table.  His cock slipped up from
the hole.  It dripped with satisfaction, putting a white stain on the
white sheet.  Smiling, Mark let the two little girls lead him from the
room.  Behind him, Jeff put his eager mouth to Kathy's cunt; the woman
screamed.

30

----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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     http://www.aclu.org
-- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427)
     is copyright 2001 by Andrew Roller.  Dreamgirls, Naughty Naked
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