Author: Andrew Roller
Copyright Andrew Roller
I sat obediently with my lover at dinner. I sipped my Chardonnay but
said nothing. We'd met just last month. I'd taken several male lovers
since my "sinful sojourn," as my mother called it when holding tea in
the parlor for her friends. She had taken to relieving her mortifaction
at my not turning out "her way," as she liked to call it, by publicly
humiliating me in front of her friends. But I'd culled a few secrets
from her old photos and letters that told me the 60's weren't the placid
decade of civility and conformity that she now claimed they were.
"Well," she would say, over her teacup. "We did have to protest the
social injustices of the time. Vietnam, civil rights. But otherwise we
went to class and did our homework and trained ourselves to be modern
working women," my mother would patiently explain to me. "Styles are
styles, my dear, and the media is always full of hype. Now go do your
homework, and that doesn't mean Ôgo chat up men on the Internet.' I can
read your e-mail now, so don't think I won't catch you."
And she'd nod to her friends and they'd all chime in on how important it
was to "protect the safety of a child," namely, me.
I'd taken back my old name, "Fleury," short for "Fleurette." But I'd
changed it a little in my 14th year of life. "Furry," I was known as
now, and you can probably guess what my boyfriends thought of when they
called me that.
I was no longer trying to grow up. I felt dreadfully mature, in fact.
Trying to keep my various men friends and boyfriends from killing each
other while still actively liking me was no easy job. That's why I was
so happy when I met Louis. He was French, full of money, and with a sly,
overpowering manner that absolutely guaranteed a girl she'd bear at
least one of his children, whether she wished to or not. He made it
possible for me to forget my other boyfriends, gorgeous as they all
were. He expected me to focus fully on him, to think of him all the
time, even if he skipped asking me out and I knew he was making love to
another woman just to force me to pout and see other men. And, of
course, the whole time I'd be with some other man I'd be thinking of
him, spoiling to get revenge. When we'd meet I'd be eager to wreck his
hopes, but find myself embraced in his arms instead, melting like butter.
And so it was I sat at dinner now, in one of Montevideo's best
restaurants, watching the moon rise over the sea and the homely fishing
vessels as they trundled out for a night's hard work amidst the waves.
My panties were tucked into the breast pocket of his $1400 dollar
jacket. He'd dared me to take them off and, infuriating me at last with
his teasing, I'd slingshotted them at him when the waiter's back was
turned and the other diners seemed occupied. I think a middle-aged lady
saw me, but no one else. Except, of course, our dinner guests, Polly and
"You should send her to Traflangier," Andre chuckled, still amused that
I'd shot my panties at my boyfriend.
"Eh, you know what they call that place," Louis replied. He dabbled with
the plastic sword sticking up from his Daiquiri. He leaned close to
Andre, speaking low, but not so low that I couldn't hear. "Cunt Castle."
"Hmmm?" Andre asked. He looked pleasantly startled. Polly shot me a look
of disgust and rolled her eyes, as if to say, ÔMen!' That one word said
it all. But I didn't mind. I was enthralled with Louis. Polly was just
13. She reminded me of myself a year ago, except she was more like my
mother, always trying to be prim and proper. I think she loved Andre
despite herself. She still had her panties, though from the length of
her dress you'd have wondered whether she intended them as underwear or
"It was intended as a place of sexual liberation in the 60's, run by an
old pharmacist who used to hand out his homemade drugs to the kids like
they were candy. Then, in the 70's, as his flock grew a little older, it
became a Ôsex for health' place, for people who weren't into jogging 20
miles a day but didn't mind spending lots of time each day humping in
bed. ÔSexual therapy and then sexual recovery' came into vogue in the
80's, with everyone in the final days disavowing their sexual past as
they feared their newly-born children might one day walk in their ways."
Louis took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled. "He died about
then, Ô87 or so. For awhile the place lay dormant. Then his estate was
finally settled and his niece took it over. Nowadays she runs it as a
place where girls can be taken to Ôreceive instruction,' as she puts it.
Men take their wives there, or their lovers." Louis shot a glance at me.
"Or a girl might take her manly boyfriend there, it makes no difference."
Louis lifted his hand from his drink and fiddled with my panties. Part
of them stuck out the top of his pocket, and I was wishing he'd stick
them all the way down in so no one would see. "And so the place is
alternately called ÔCunt Castle,' or ÔCock Castle,' depending on which
version of the eroticized estate most suits your fancy. As for me, I
propose a suggestion. You and I might send Polly and Furry there for two
weeks, and then later, they might send us."
A shiver ran down my spine. Immediately I knew somehow he'd pull it off.
And I knew something else too. Despite his words, I knew he'd never let
me send him there. No, it would just be me. My mind swirled. What must
it be like to be taken someplace by your husband, or your lover, and
made a love slave for a week? How long was it? Did he say a week, or was
it two weeks? I'd found a book once in my dad's dresser, when I was
snooping around. It was under his underpants. Probably a fitting place
for it, too. Story of O'revoir, or something. O? Au revoir? I couldn't
remember. Maybe it was the book version of 9 1/2 weeks. I'd seen part of
the movie once, late at night, after Leno. Well, this was 2 weeks. Yes,
that was it. Two weeks. Polly looked not the least amused, but I found
myself a little intrigued. And I could hear a little voice somewhere
inside me warning me away. Ôno, furry, and change your name back too,
you can't go there, your mother will report you missing and...'
That's why I liked Louis. My other men friends worried constantly that
they might get in trouble seeing me. Louis absolutely did not care. He
knew my mother had her Ôsurveillance radar' on me 24 hours-a-day. He
knew if I disappeared for two weeks there'd be no way to hide it from my
mother. And now here he was, smoking his head off, not caring the least
about the Surgeon General, and proposing sending me to some weird castle
or something where I'd get to play Geisha Girl for two weeks. Polly was
"Alright," I heard Andre agree. And I realized I must have missed some
crucial bit of their conspiratorial conversation, the words spoken just
quietly enough to force Polly and I to strain forward to find out what
they had planned for us. "The price is steep, but it would be worth it
to make this bitch more agreeable." He pinched Polly's thigh. She
flinched, frowned. She looked like a cat who, seeing a canary, wants it
but remembers the last one had given it indigestion. My cat ate a bird
once, one that had eaten pills intended for pigeons. Only a fast trip to
the vet had saved her. My mother insisted on giving her away a year
later when we moved. I wanted to run away, to go back for her, but I got
lost trying, and the police delivered me home at 9 o'clock that night to
a cold supper and stern words from my father. I know the real reason
mother insisted on giving away my cat. It was pregnant, and she didn't
want me to know about sex. But I knew. I saw her getting fat and a
friend had told me the reason. Mother maintained we were feeding her too
much, and actually cut back on her food. I had to feed her
surreptitiously under the table.
"Okay," Louis said. He smiled at me. Nothing more was said between them.
He ordered dessert for us. Cherry Rhubarb pie. A little sweet, a little
sour. Was it a way of telling us what they had in mind for us? I didn't
know. I ate mine slowly, savoring the tangy mixture, yet contemplating
it to, wondering if I should let Louis lead me into his fantasy of me
being his absolute, total slave. I had no illusions. That's what it
would come to. Utter subservience to his will. I felt a thrill deep
inside myself as I wondered whether I should accept this, or run to the
maitre de, explain I was only 14, and that Louis was not my father at
all but my illegal lover. The police would come quickly, he would be
whisked away. Or he might harm me. There's no telling what an enraged
man might do. Then again, if I slipped away, to use the toilet, he would
never know. My daddy would protect me from him. But my daddy screwed my
mother every night. He was mine, but...
Louis was mine altogether. Well, he loved other women, but I hoped he
loved me most of all. If I said Ôno' to him I knew I'd lose him. Oh,
what to do? What to do? I looked at Polly. She was complaining about her
dessert. Andre was quite indulgent. She explained to him in her high-
pitched voice that while the cherries were fine, the rhubarb was much
too sour. And, come to think of it, the crust was not flaking properly.
Her mother made much better crusts than this. Andre nodded patiently.
Louis rolled his eyes, accepted that the girl must be listened to. I
liked the way Louis rolled his eyes. So worldly. Yet, as I gazed at
Polly, I noticed how freely her breasts shifted within her blouse. It
was tight. She had let her jacket become unbuttoned. Andre liked toying
with her clothes while she was eating. I saw that Polly's blouse was
tented where her nipples were. She was excited by all the attention she
was receiving, both from Andre and Louis. Why had she not worn a bra? I
had a bra on, a nice black one, with my vest neatly buttoned over it, to
give just a hint of it out the top. Yet she, with her jacket now opened,
showed everyone how thin her blouse was and how stiff her nipples were.
I glanced around. Did anyone else see besides us? Oh well, we girls have
a right to skip our bras if we wish, but... This was an elegant,
high-class restaurant, not a nightclub. The waiter returned. Andre made
to order a cherry pie, without the rhubarb, but after her long soliloquy
Polly seemed not to wish to change her order after all. I knew then she
just wanted to be noticed, paid attention to. I was jealous. Here she
was, cheating, with her nipples all erect and her blouse treacherously
thin, with even Louis watching her now instead of me. Should I slip away
to the ladies room and ditch my bra? That would top her, me sticking my
bra in the waste bin where it might be seen by the other ladies, and
returning, sitting down, with my breasts noticeably bare beneath my
The waiter, at a nod from Louis, presented the bill. Louis handed him a
$100.00 bill and rose. We were leaving, just that suddenly. Polly, more
or less finished with her pie by now, took a quick sip of her coffee and
the four of us were outside the restaurant within the minute. I felt the
cool night air brush against me beneath my skirt, my panties still
tucked neatly in Louis' pocket. I reached for them, for the bit of them
that stuck up, in his jacket, where he might have worn a carnation
instead of using my underwear. With a suave movement he brushed my hand
away. He wanted to keep them. I gritted my teeth and realized I would
have to bear up without them. I felt so cool, so free. There was
absolutely nothing underneath my dress. The wind caught it. My hands
leapt to my thighs, trying to keep the doorman fetching our car from
catching sight of my nakedness. I regretted wearing such a short dress
now. Mother would never have approved, and now I knew why. It was not
handkerchief-short, like Polly's but it was still way too short to run
around in without any panties on.
Three couples passed us, the men in tuxes and the women wearing evening
gowns. We nodded. I gripped my dress tightly, trying not to look obvious
as to why. Louis' convertible rolled to a stop in front of us. The
doorman hopped out. Discreetly he offered me his hand, and I hoped he'd
not seen anything in his lazy roll up the last few feet of the
restaurant's driveway. Or the couples, for that matter. With people in
front of us, behind us, I wished to get into the safety of Louis' car as
quickly as possible. The doorman opened the side door and seated me. I
made sure my skirt got tucked right up under my bottom. Louis plopped
into the driver's side seat as Polly and Andre got in back.
"Louis!" I hissed. But he ignored me. As the car pulled away he removed
my panties from his pocket and handed them to the doorman.
"She won't be needing these," he grinned. The doorman smiled back,
glanced beyond him to me, and I hunched as fast as I could into a
humiliating crouch on the front seat. Behind me I heard Polly giggle
into her hands. Andre failed to suppress a chuckle.
"Louis! That was awful!" I sulked.
"You are young, I am young, the night is young, and we are free," he
said, a whisp of the poetic in his voice, the lights of the restaurant
passing away behind us and a starry sky opening up ahead. I sat up a
little. I felt the long silkiness of my hair flow out behind me and into
Andre's face. He was forced to move a little closer to Polly to get out
of my hair. She moved a little bit away, keeping her distance. She did
not want him toying with her clothes in the back seat, for she knew
she'd lose them if he did. Passersby would find 13-year-old girl's
panties on the road the next day, a sock, a shoe, and think the worst.
Louis turned on the radio. My favorite song wafted into the night. Up on
a down escalator. A remake, by a new band. Or at least that's what Louis
said. I'd never heard the original. I began to sway to the tune. I did
feel free. I wasn't at home, like I was Ôsupposed' to be, doing my
homework. I wasn't even chatting with guys on the Internet. My mother
should at least be happy for that! You never know who you're talking to
on the Net. It makes it exciting, but it can be a drag to. I was sure I
was talking to Sylvester Stallone for three whole weeks and then it
turned out to be the nerd down the street. He collected Stallone movies
and I found out (after the fact, of course) that he even published a
zine about Stallone called ÔMillions of Cunts and Dead Bodies.' He
probably knew more about Stallone than Stallone himself did. So I wound
up being in his stupid zine. When our Ôrelationship' fell apart he
wrote, ÔBimbo Stoned on Stallone,' and put all kinds of things in the
story, including totally untrue stuff about me that he'd made up.
I saw the road was becoming thick with old trees, their branches
obscuring the sky. Moss hung from some of them, almost reaching into our
car as we passed. I shivered a little. An owl passed overhead, startled
by our passing. In back Polly was prattling about her mother's pie
crust, and how she sometimes made home-made lollipops for her, and Polly
and her little sister would peddle them round the neighborhood in a
"And this boy, he always tries to get them for 50 cents instead of a
dollar," Polly declared, quite caught up in her recital. "He says our
lollipops aren't WORTH a dollar! Well, if they're not worth a dollar,
what is he doing standing there arguing with us, when it says right on
our wagon, Ôlollipops, $1.00' Don't pull on my jacket, Andre. It's
special. My grandmother bought it for me. Anyways, I think he should
just read our sign, and if he doesn't want any, he should just let us
be. Finally we made a sign that said Ôlollipops for girls only' and..."
I let my mind detach itself from Polly's babble. She was a little girl
sometimes, a moody teen other times. You could never tell which. I think
she liked best getting some man totally absorbed in her life, listening
for hours perhaps, and just having him sitting there, endlessly
fascinated. It was certainly more than her dad did. He was a big fat guy
who threw his rolled newspaper at her and told her not to interrupt him
when he was watching T.V. Trouble was, he wasn't ever not watching T.V.
And her mother was as much of a bitch as mine was. So we partied
together. She'd done it already, several times, said she liked it but it
had scared her at first. I tried to keep an eye on her a little, like a
sister might. Not that she was my sister. She reminded me now and then
that she was free to do as she pleased. But I kept a subtle watch over
her, if I could. Like right now, I knew Andre was trying to slip her
jacket off. She probably didn't even notice, except she kept batting his
hand away as she talked. Her nipples stood up like thorns in the chilly
night air. I think she was actually trying to button her jacket up but
she was so preoccupied in telling her stories that she never quite got
it accomplished. She liked to wave her hands around a lot to make her
Important points, which were always quite numerous in her stories.
Suddenly the trees gave way and I saw, up on the heath, an old castle
crumbling in the moonlight. Its turrets stood up starkly but you could
see that time had eaten away at them. I think the Spanish had built the
place as a fortress, to guard the harbor, but had not gotten much done
with it before quitting. Then, later, a millionaire at the turn of the
century had taken up residence, intending to finish it, only to go
bankrupt, leaving it half-built, and wearing away in its original
Spanish form from the storms that blew in off the coast each year.
Gazing at it, I sensed it was otherworldly, its stones glimmering in the
moonlight, half there, but also not there as much as it was there.
"It looks so strange," I said to Louis. Our small sportster began
crossing the lea. I saw cows grazing on either side of the road. We were
out in the country now, down the coast, coming at the castle in such a
way that I guessed we'd been in the forest behind it, and would wind up
at last smack in front of it, the road now curving round to affirm me,
the pounding of the sea now reaching our ears as we ran along the edge
of a cliff and soon found ourselves at the castle gate, with the sea at
our backs, some 50 meters down where the rocks dueled endlessly with the
The gate was closed, but I saw the latch might be lifted to let us in.
Louis stopped the convertible and leapt out. For a moment I speculated
on jumping into his seat and just driving away and leaving him there.
But I was too young to drive. I might get in trouble. As I watched the
swagger of his hips I knew I couldn't do it. He was such a rogue, and I
loved him for it. He lifted the latch and the gate, with a loud creak,
swung open fairly easily, its opening slowed only by its own rust, and
by the sense I got that it had never been quite properly installed.
Louis returned to the car, and we breezed on into the compound behind
the castle's broken walls. I was reminded of Troy, after the entrance of
the Trojan Horse, except here the problem was as much that the walls had
never been built as that they had since been destroyed by the elements.
I could see piles of shattered stone mingled with neatly stacked stones,
waiting a century now to be built with, grass growing amidst them, their
weight gradually sinking into the earth, returning to that primal
bedrock from which they had once been quarried.
We glided to a stop in front of the castle's residence. It was a modern
home built upon and within the stones that had made up the original
unfinished fortress. Louis had me get out and guided me up to the front
door. We must have been expected for, without knocking, he opened the
door and let me in, waiting for Andre and Polly to step in behind us.
I found myself in an entryway floored with maple, potted plants
sprouting flowers and vines, a living room beckoning just beyond. A
woman emerged from the room. She was darkhaired, exquisitely dressed.
She seemed a bit of a cross between a modern business woman and a lady
in her home expecting to entertain guests. Her blouse was ruffled, long-
sleeved. She wore a patterned vest over it with a long flowing dress
cinched round her narrow waist that hung in folds down her legs to her
shoes. They were modest, not spiked high heels like Polly and I wore,
but not flats either, sort of inbetween, elevating her just enough to
give her a graceful, self-assured dignity without being showy. I
immediately felt a sense of warmth and comfort seeing her. She smiled at
us. Louis took me by my elbow and squired me into her living room.
We sat down on a brocaded couch. A primly dressed young woman dressed in
a maid's white blouse and black skirt brought us tea. I took the cup,
saw it was excessively fragile, held it with a little trepidation. I
thanked the maid and took a sip. It was delicious!
"Jasmine, with a twist of Orange," our hostess smiled. "The cup is from
before the war. I do so like authentic things, you know. I was surprised
to find the set of them here, still intact, given my uncle's antics."
She glanced at Louis and I thought I saw a knowing look pass between
them. I gulped. Was she really a hedonist? She looked so proper, a new
traditionalist, like someone you might find at the health food store
sifting beans with a pitcher, worried that Campbell's might give her
lymph node cancer or whatnot.
Louis engaged her in a pleasant conversation about the weather up on the
heath. She said it could be windy sometimes. Polly said she was glad it
wasn't windy tonight since she'd already found her dress Ôliked to be up
more than down,' as she put it, on nights when the wind blew. It was
short enough that a good gust might completely lift it and wrap it
inside out around her waist.
Our hostess, who went by the name of Rose, laughed. She said Polly's
sort of dress was a favorite of hers in her high school days, and with
legs as excellent as Polly's she shouldn't feel the slightest remorse in
picking such a revealing skirt.
"Stand up, girls," Rose said to us quite abruptly. "I'm sure your
boyfriends have seen you in your bikinis before. Strip down to your bra
and panties, each of you. I want to see how pretty you are in them."
Anxiously I stood. I'd wondered when she'd broach the reason for our
visit here. Couldn't we just sit and sip tea? It was so nice, the room
was so pleasant, decorated in a style a woman might choose for our home.
Yet, rising up, I felt Louis' eyes running up my legs, and Andre's too,
hoping to catch a glimpse of what should have been concealed beneath my
skirt but wasn't.
Polly stood up too, like a child at a recital might stand, as if to play
a song and sing a melody, and win a prize. She liked being the center of
attention. I, however, seeing the maid return, felt less sanguine, less
Pollyannish. Was I to bare myself in front of her? I tried to clear my
"Ma'am, I'm--" I began. How could I hint to her that I didn't HAVE any
"Just unzip it," Rose said, still seated, waving her finger like a man
"Ohhh, I don't mind, I guess," Polly announced. "Could we go down to the
beach perhaps? I don't have my swimsuit but I could swim in my panties."
She unzipped herself, the fiend, leaving me with little choice to
follow, as the mens' eyes all turned to her to watch. I zipped down my
dress in back and we both pushed our miniskirts down our legs to our
"Oh!" the maid exclaimed, seeing my naked bush.
"She's new," Rose said, grinning with a sideways glance at the maid. She
spoke to me, as if confidentially, as if between friends. I with my
dress round my ankles and she with her lovely clothes that covered her
from neck to toe, sitting as I stood before her, Andre and Louis
grinning at my back. Or, rather, a my body a little lower down...
Polly laughed. "I'd forgotten you shot your panties at Louis!" she
laughed. She bent and picked up her dress and stood momentarily, not
knowing what to do with it. Then Louis, the devil, reached out and took
it from her, making her beam. I think she had a thing for my Louis.
Perhaps she hoped to have both he and Andre eating out of her hands
simultaneously, with me forgotten.
"And your blouses, dears," Rose added.
"Oh, I don't have my bra on," Polly piped up. Suddenly it mattered to
her that the maid was present, observing us. Maybe she didn't even want
Rose to see her.
"You may go topless on the beach here in Brazil," Rose said to her.
"Yes, but my parents don't allow it," Polly replied.
"I'm not your mother," Rose said. "So take off your top. I won't tell."
Reluctantly Polly shed her jacket. I unbuttoned my vest, dropped it to
the floor. Louis bent and picked it up. With a grin he passed it to
Andre. What were they planning? Polly was having trouble getting her
blouse off, having chosen to just pull it over her head instead of
unbuttoning it, and she danced around on her tiptoes with the blouse up
round her face and her panties entrancing the men. Her boobies,
substantial in size for her age, wiggled freely. Her nipples were
naughtily stiff, and I knew she was quite aware that both our boyfriends
were eyeing her keenly.
I settled for a less acrobatic undressing. Reaching behind myself I
unsnapped my bra. I did it without thinking, seeing Polly's breasts so
grandly displayed, forgetting entirely that Rose had not requested it.
"My," Rose said, drawing the men's attention to me. "I like the no-
"Whoosh!" Polly let out a great breath of air as she freed herself from
her shirt. Her bosoms gave a final joyous wiggle, then gradually settled
down. "Oooo, you're totally naked," Polly declared, seeing me.
"Well, I have my shoes on," I answered.
"Don't leave your friend like that," Rose told Polly. "And pick up your
blouse. Don't just drop it on my floor." Contritely Polly picked up her
blouse and gave it to her boyfriend. Then, shrugging and putting her
hands in her panties, with a dubious glance at the maid, she yanked them
with childish efficiency down her legs and walked out of them. "Pick
those up too," Rose reminded her. Polly turned, bent over, picked up her
undies. "Bring them to me," Rose ordered.
"To YOU?" Polly asked.
"Do as she says," Andre said gently. Polly complied, a bit puzzled. Rose
accepted her panties, gave them a quick sniff, then beckoned me. I
approached her, carrying my bra. I'd not had time to give it to Louis.
Rose made me bend forward as if she wished to whisper something in my
ear. Instead she bade me to open my mouth. Did she wish to inspect my
The panties! Before I could refuse, Rose had popped the entire wad of
Polly's discarded underpants into my mouth.
"Oh, my!" Polly said. But Rose took her hand, keeping her from drawing
away, and took my bra and pulled Polly down to her face by her hair.
With Polly staring Rose right in the eyes, Rose bound my bra across
Polly's rosebud mouth, forcing it between her lips, then tying it
tightly in the mane of her hair at the back of her neck. "Ooooph!" Polly
was reduced to saying, her wished-for protest cut off before she could
give it. As for myself, I had only to reach into my mouth to take out
her odious underpants (tasting them revolted me!) but somehow I sensed I
must not disobey. Lightly, brushing my hand over my mouth, I touched
them, but I did not remove them. The maid watched us both with
ever-growing amusement. Behind us, our boyfriends were clearly enchanted.
"Good, you learn your lessons well," Rose said, seeing I had not removed
her makeshift gag. "Keep it there, hold it in your mouth. It delights
your boyfriend to see you so, and it delights Andre also." She turned
her eyes back to Polly, who was hoping to untie the knotted bra at the
back of her head. "No, Polly!" Rose told her. "When I attach something
to you, you are to leave it there until I wish it removed."
The maid had skirted round behind us meanwhile and I felt her take both
my arms and draw them back. I was complaisant. I did not think quickly
enough. A moment later I felt cold steel bind my wrists and a telltale
Ôclick' gave me the warning I'd wished I had sooner.
"Yes," Rose said. She lifted a fingernail and ran it down my belly. "How
sweet you look all nude, with nothing but a gag and handcuffs to adorn
you. And your pretty shoes, of course." I wished very much now to spit
out Polly's panties but I felt Louis and Andre rise from the couch
behind me and draw near. They both lifted weights, I felt a sudden
sinking feeling that any disobedience on my part would do nothing to
advance my interests and only make things worse for me.
Polly made to bolt away but the maid, expert at least in something,
caught her before she escaped and managed to get one handcuff locked
round her wrist. Andre, his hands reaching out to grab her, quickly
immobilized her so that her other wrist could be attached to the first.
"Now, girls, I'm glad we have that out of the way," Rose said politely.
She remained sitting still, all cultured and dignified. The men returned
to the settee. The maid remained close, certain to intervene if we did
not do as asked. I realized she was much stronger than she looked. I
wondered if she worked out with men at the gym. Her figure did not show
it, but I her arms, though slim, had a steel in them I'd not sensed
"Omopho," Polly began.
"Shhh," Rose scolded her gently. "You'll be here with me for two weeks,
Polly. That's all. But I've entertained many girls like yourself and I
really don't need to hear all your little complaints and protests. I
myself was trained here, long ago, under my uncle's tutelage. And I was
only seven, so you've nothing at all to complain of." She settled her
hands in her lap and looked at us both. Her eyes admired our nudity.
"There is much that I must do with you both in two weeks, girls, and I
expect strict compliance with all my requests. We haven't really any
time for disagreements." The maid, who had, unnoticed by me, withdrawn
briefly, now reappeared and passed into Rose's hands a most daunting
object. A paddle, hard as oak and with holes cut through its center so
it could be swung faster. "This is one of my friends that helps me keep
order in my house," Rose said, receiving the paddle with a warm caress
of her hands upon it. "I'm going to introduce both of you to it so we
can understand what's at stake when I ask you to do something. Fleury,
you're the oldest. You first." With that she pulled me right up to her
knees and had me stand bending over them. "Don't drop your panties, or
it'll be extras for you," Rose told me.
I bit into the silky cotton of Polly's panties and felt Rose raise her
hand behind my bottom. For a moment I just stared at the rug. It was so
lovely, deep-pile with interwoven threads of different shades of blue.
WAHACKCCK! I nearly jumped out of my skin as the paddle descended and
hit my behind. What a smoking hand that woman had!
"Eeeeyahah!" I cried. I nearly regurgitated the panties in my mouth,
spittle and all, the sting was so sharp. My bottomcheeks wobbled as if a
thundercloud had shattered upon them. The pain reverberated across my
hemispheres, impressing itself deeply and making me want to burst into
"Two more," Rose said. Without waiting to hear from me she thundered in
another blow. I did lose the panties this time.
"Eeeeeek!" I shrieked, loud and long and lusty. My poor heinie shuddered
and felt for a moment like it had been pressed into a hot summer
sidewalk. I gasped.
Rose waited a moment for me to quiet down.
"I'd prefer if you'd not wake my other guests," Rose said. She lifted
her hand and toyed with my locks of hair. She brushed a few strands back
from my eyes. "They turned in early, you know, and I'm sure they'd love
to have you join them. But the male slaves are so rough. I don't want
you too put out your first night here. One more, dear. I'll forgive the
And with that she laid on the third stroke, as hard and firm and
unforgiving as the first two had been. I screamed out my pain and
collapsed over her knees, still so neatly covered by her conservative
dress. I kicked up my legs and held my bottom like it was the last
precious thing on earth. Tears welled in my eyes and I did not try to
hold them back.
As I wept, the maid picked up Polly's panties from the floor. As soon as
my sobs had subsided a little she stuffed them right back into my mouth.
Polly, for her part, had run and hidden behind the grand piano, but
Andre had fetched her and now brought her to Rose. She was bent over
amidst much gagged squawking and given three butt-thumping swats just as
I had been. Louis, meanwhile, took me back to the sofa and had me sit my
wounded bottom down on his lap. I could feel his thing rudely growing up
between my asscheeks and I did not like it at all. How dare he be
excited at my suffering? And yet it was undeniable that he was. As I
squirmed with painful remorse upon his groin he grew bigger and bigger.
His cockhead pushed deep into my crevice and I soon found my squirmings
were actually impaling me upon him. I tried to shift my bottom but he
restrained my legs, holding me by my naked thighs so that I was forced
to relieve the sting of my fanny by grinding it into the upwardly rising
stem of his thing. Finally I was able to sit still, sniffling, with
Louis grinning his sardonic grin at me as Andre consoled Polly in a
"Come, girls, we haven't all night," Rose said. She stood and beckoned
us all to follow. We were led back into the entryway and, through a
portiere, up a long flight of wooden steps. They were brightly polished.
I had to be careful not to slip on the brightly waxed surface. Upstairs,
with the noise of rowdy parties emanating from closed doors on either
side of us, we walked down a long hall. At the back we were let into a
little girl's bedroom.
What a pretty room it might have been, but it had, like the castle
itself, a twin nature to it. I drew in my breath over Polly's panties as
I saw that the lovely fourposter bed, intended to have a canopy, had
instead made use of its four posts to allow straps to be fixed to them.
I eyed the straps at the baseboard posts and guessed my own feet might
soon make their acquaintance. Lifting my head, I was shocked to see
straps hanging above for the feet or the arms to be placed in, should
anyone wish it, while a mirror on the ceiling promised to reflect all
back down upon the poor victim bound in the bed.
Next to the girl's bed was a painted nightstand, with flowers and
decorative daisies embossed in small wooden embellishments upon its
white surface. But atop it, next to the bottle of the Winnie the Pooh
bubble bath, lay a heap of men's condoms. There was also a tube of
lubricant and, next to that, a sinister looking device that I knew to be
Rose turned to us both and met our eyes. We stood before her like
disciples waiting to be crucified, all trembly kneed and with our
bottoms still feeling like well-smacked jello. Our teats were hard,
though, and my tummy swirled at the prospect of such complete
subservience to Louis' wicked wishes. We had simply made love before, in
our trysts. We had not gotten kinky.
30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------