Message-ID: <32773asstr$1001967002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <news@newsread1.prod.itd.earthlink.net> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail X-Original-Message-ID: <E6E62630.7784@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: Mon, 01 Oct 2001 03:59:41 PDT X-ASSTR-Arrival-Date: Mon, 01 Oct 2001 10:59:41 GMT Subject: {ASSM} NND1 At a Womans Command Date: Mon, 1 Oct 2001 16:10:02 -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/Year2001/32773> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw - 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. --------------------------------------------------------------- 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! ----------------------- -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+