NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS


                                          Chapter Six

         “They must rest,” Helene said.  She gazed down at myself,
Audrey, and my aunt.  We sat naked on a wooden bench in her basement. 
We had been scrubbed clean by the men after they peed on me.  Now we
were downstairs, being permitted a brief respite before being tortured
anew. 
         Helene had stripped off her bikini panties.  She had donned new
clothes, however.  Now she wore her hair in an elaborate coif, with a
corset round her midsection.  The corset covered her belly but left her
tits free.  They wobbled nakedly above the decorative fringe of her
garment.  Below, where her corset formed an upward-arching vee, Helene’s
bush could be seen.  How prettily furred her nest was!  I could see her
pubic lips, soft and exposed, looking quite brazen in contrast to the
corset which gripped and shielded her midsection.
         Helene’s legs were long columns of silk.  Thin, delicate
stockings sheathed both her legs.  The stockings rose to the uppermost
parts of her thighs, where a band round the top of each held it in
place.  No garters were needed.  When she turned, Helene’s bottom made a
bold display.  It was round and saucily bare.  On her feet beautiful
silver heels sparkled; one would have thought her dressed for a ball, if
it weren’t for the sexy display of her bottom and pussy and cleavage.  
         To complete the picture of dissolute luxury, Helene had draped
a frilled shirt over her shoulders.  It had long, puffy sleeves that
enclasped her arms right down to her wrists.  But the shirt had no
collar, no buttons, and could not be closed.  Helene let it hang open,
framing her nude breasts, covering her back, down to her waist.  The
shirt was too short to conceal the bare cheeks of her bottom.
         In her coiffed hair, Helene had tied a ribbon.  It was silver
in color, with a touch of pink.  It matched her corset, her frilled
shirt, and her stockings.  It was merely decorative.  Like her corset,
it served no useful function, other than to adorn her.  Helene smiled. 
She stalked back and forth in front of us, slapping a riding crop
against her thigh.  She let her bosoms shake freely, their nipples
visibly hard.  She wiggled her hips with the abandon of a streetwalker
seeking clients on the curb.  With her eyes, she watched as my auntie
and I and Audrey were fed wine and cakes by the men.
         With my hand, I tenderly rubbed my pussy.  It still hurt, a
little, but the pain I’d felt earlier had now transformed itself into a
warm, suffusing glow.  I felt hot and sexy.  I wanted to run, to escape,
but between my own lust and the memory of the cat biting my cunt,
inciting it, I could not.  I had to find fulfillment here before I
left.  I gaped at the men as I ate the small cakes they offered us. 
Both men were naked.  Their muscular arms rippled.  Their thighs tensed
and relaxed.  Their white buns flexed.  I was so awed by their movement,
especially by their cocks!  How freely their penises stemmed!  How taut
and full their balls looked!  Both men wiggled their loins frequently in
obvious anticipation of cumming.  They were hungry.  Desperate, even. 
Alas!  I was too!  I burned with a desire I could barely understand.  I
had to be filled.  At the moment I was forced to content myself with
filling my belly.
         “You like the cakes?” Helene asked.
         “Yes,” my aunt said, her eyes wide, biting into a cake but
gazing with desirous eyes at the bare backside of David.  He uncorked
another bottle of wine.  Instead of refilling our glasses with it he
lifted it to his lips and drank freely.
         “David!  You are to attend to the girls!” Helene said to her
houseguest.
         “Sorry.  All that peeing made me thirsty, I guess,” David
said.  He smacked his lips.
         “You are to attend solely to the needs of the young ladies,
David,” Helene scolded.  “I don’t mind if they get tipsy.  But I’ll not
have two drunken bastards down here, especially two bastards with
hard-ons.”
         “We’d be harder to control if we were drunk, wouldn’t we?” Alan
asked.  He offered round a tray of little brown cakes, in expectation
that my auntie and Audrey and I would want more.
         “Yes,” Helene said.  “I need you both sober if you’re to do as
I say.  I’ve tried letting men get drunk before.  They lose all respect
for me.”
         “Hmmm.  Sounds like a great reason to get sloshed,” Alan said.
         “We can get sloshed all we want later, downtown,” David said. 
“She’s right.  There’s no telling what we might do if we got shitfaced.”
         “Personally, I’d grab that wine right now if she weren’t so
beautiful, and drink the whole thing right down!” Alan said.
         “You’d have to get past me to do it,” David reminded him.  He
turned to me.  “More wine?” he asked me, in a most hospitable voice.
         “No,” I said quietly, gazing at his big penis.
         “I insist,” David said.  He refilled my glass.
         “Really, Helene, we must be going!” my auntie said to our
hostess.
         “Not yet, dear,” Helene said.  “I have an important lesson to
teach you.”
         “What’s that?” Audrey asked.
         “I want you to feel what it’s like to be boys,” Helene said.
         “Helene!” my aunt cried.  “Whatever do you mean by that?” 
Reflexively she cupped her cunt and looked at our hostess with a mixture
of awe and fear.  Helene gestured with her long crop at David and Alan.
         “Look at them!” Helene said.  “Look how erect their cocks are! 
I have been studying men, and you would not believe how achingly painful
it can be for a man to have an erection.  Isn’t that true, gentlemen?”
she asked.  Helene fluttered her eyelashes, as if inquiring into a
discreet matter at a party or a dance.
         “It’s damn true!” Alan said.  “My dick can hurt if it gets
really hard, and needs sex really badly.  And it’s hurting like that
right now!  That’s why I want some wine.”  He reached for the bottle in
David’s hand.
         “My penis obviously feels stressed and pained too,” David said
quietly, moving his hand away from Alan’s reaching grasp.
         “Which is exactly the point I want to make to you young
ladies,” Helene said.  “We really need to understand how awful it can
feel to be a man and to be plagued with a rampant erection, like these
two men have.”
         “What do you propose?” my auntie asked, rubbing her cunt softly
with her fingers.  I had my hand on my pussy too and I felt a mixture of
excitement and worry.
         “Yes?  What?” Audrey asked.  She played her fingers within her
cunt, as if afraid, if she didn’t, someone might stuff something up her
to prove some mad point to her.
         “I’m going to use a cat o’ nine tails on all three of you
girls, right on your pussies,” Helene said.  “Chloe’s had a taste of it,
but she’ll get more, and you will too, Rebecca, and Audrey.  When your
cunts are stinging, then you’ll understand, just a little, what it feels
like to be a man with his big penis vexing him.”
         “No!” I yelled, as did my aunt, and Audrey.  We cupped our
dells fearfully.  David and Alan laughed.
         “They’ll open more freely if they know how much it hurts to be
a man,” Alan said.  “I remember when I was in the army.  Damn!  We
weren’t allowed to have girlfriends, in boot camp, and boy did my dick
hurt at night, sticking up so hard under the covers.  One night the
sargent came in and...”
         “Helene!  You can’t!” my aunt said, finding her voice.
         “Just a little, dear, right on your pretty pussies, to teach
you three girls a lesson!” Helene said.
         “But I don’t need to be taught a lesson!” Audrey said.  Her
eyes brimmed with tears.  I felt my own eyes wetten.  My vision
blurred.  Oh, how could Helene even think of torturing my poor pussy
again!
         “Yes, I agree,” David said, surveying us girls.  “They should
have their cunts scorched a little.  How many guys do they spurn every
day, when they’re out shopping?  Why, I’ll bet some guys have gotten
hernias whacking off over these three babes.  You know, the poor bloke
sees them, but they don’t care, oh no, not these three.  They’re too
pretty to care.  And so the guy winds up whacking his wiener until he
needs some doctor to sew it back on for him.”
         “That’s what my sergeant did!” Alan said.  “He told me, ‘Son,
if you think ‘lights out’ means ‘hard on,’ you need some serious
instruction.’  He yanked down my covers and wouldn’t you know, stupid
me, I had taken my underpants off, to give my dick some room.  He
grabbed me by it and ordered me to do sit-ups, right there in the bed. 
Do you think that would be, like, sexual harassment?”
         “I have no idea,” David said.
         I had even less of an idea, and barely heard him, as I
contemplated what Helene had in store for me, my aunt, and Audrey.  And
to think David approved!  David, who all three of us girls were longing
for, accusing us of making men whack off?!  By simply going shopping?! 
How could it be our fault if some dweeb somewhere got a hernia jerking
off over us?  And besides, I was only 13.  Men weren’t supposed to
notice me anyway.
         “Oh, auntie!  Save me!” I told Rebecca.  Fretfully I massaged
my cunt.
         “I want to but...” my aunt answered.  A quick glance of her
eyes at David’s penis told me everything.  She wanted to, she cared
about me, and herself too, but she was totally in love with David and
his penis.  If he wished to see her tormented a little, with a cat o’
nine tails, she would oblige him.  Whatever he wanted, he could have. 
It was because her deepest desire was in fact to be wanted by him.  The
want of David, for her, forced her to obey.  She could no more disobey
him than she could save me, and I was too much in love with David and
his spectacular equipment to disobey either, even though I knew it was
bad.  I felt my pussy wetten my fingers and knew I was doomed.
         “Oh!  Oh!  Alan, I hate you, but I love you too!” Audrey
blathered.  She swooned.  David caught her, gracefully, as she toppled
from the bench.  He looked like Superman catching Lois Lane.  I wished I
could faint too but my mind remained stubbornly, hungrily awake.
         “Stand up,” David said.  He held Audrey in his arms and
addressed himself to me and my aunt.  Rebecca stood, unsteadily,
thinking, I believe, that she’d faint, but not doing it.  I stood up
too.  “Now go to the wall,” David said.  He pointed.  I turned, as did
my aunt.  Before us, against the back wall, were manacles.  Each was
placed in an X, to bind hands and feet, just like the X upstairs in the
bathroom! 
         The basement loomed around us.  I looked at the bench where I’d
been forced to lie on my tummy, on my previous visit to Helene’s.  It
was still there, waiting, looking soothing, like a nice place to relax,
until you saw the chains attached to it.  I turned my head away.  But
there were other things, equally frightening.  I gaped at the horrid
devices Helene had collected:  whips, long cords that were used for
tying limbs, collars, fake penises.  They came from different parts of
the world.  She was quite proud of them.  They hung on the wall, like
ornaments in an art museum, but I knew from bitter experience that they
were useful for more than just decoration.
         My aunt and I crossed the room.  We walked barefoot,
bare-legged, our hips swinging sexily, our hair, freed from the pony
tails, swishing innocently along our backs.  Our bosoms juddered.  Their
nipples stemmed.  I wondered if we’d be forced to wear scissors upon our
tits again.  I clapped my hands to my breasts.  Then, fearing David
might smack me to make me walk faster, I put my hands over the cheeks of
my bottom.
         Oh, I was so scared!  I felt a flight of butterflies swirling
around in my tummy.  But what could I do?  My pussy was hot; wet.  My
hips squirmed as I walked.  I held the cheeks of my ass, frightened that
they would be struck, yet knowing that it was my pussy, not my bottom,
that was in danger this time.  Yet I couldn’t cover all the important
parts of myself.  Oh, what to do?  What to do?
         “I saw an eight-year-old girl today,” David told Alan.  “Nice
ass, exquisitely narrow waist.  Really long hair, hanging down over her
butt.”
         “It looks like little Chloe here wishes she had longer hair,”
Alan smirked.
         “Yes, but then I’d cut it, if she did, so I could see her
perfect ass,” David said.
         “I’ll bet that eight-year-old girl makes men jack off too,”
Alan mused.
         “You bet.  Girls that age have no respect at all for men’s
needs, nowadays,” David agreed.
         “Oh, you men are AWFUL!” my auntie cried out.  She clapped her
hands to her own bottom as she walked.  “You’re just saying those things
to upset us!” she said, still walking, not turning around to face them,
too frightened to contradict them in any way.
         “We’re men,” David said.  “If we see a girl with a good figure,
it doesn’t matter what age she is.”
         “I’m going to tell the National Squire you said that,” I
blurted.  But I didn’t turn around either.  I knew David would have no
problem at all about giving me a solid whack on my ass if he thought I
needed it.  
         We reached the wall.  I turned.  I settled my back against it. 
It felt cold.  The artificial hump that had been built into it, where my
hips rested, pushed against my bottom.  It forced me to offer my hips. 
I opened my legs.  Bravely I lifted my arms.  I felt for the manacles,
but I didn’t put my arms into them.  Instead, submissively, I looked up
at David.
         “Yes,” David said.  He gazed down at me.  His eyes showed love,
and admiration.  “You chose the right one, Chloe.  That X was made for
you.  It’s just your size,” David said.  His voice was low and soft.  I
felt a thrill, seeing him standing over me like that, savoring me.
         “You knew all along, didn’t you?” I asked him.  I pouted.  I
knew I looked sweet in my pouting.  My voice accused.  He was still
holding Audrey.  He grinned at me.  Alan stepped up beside him.  He
passed the nude girl to her naked husband.
         “I noticed your size when I first saw you, and realized why the
X in the bathroom was shorter than I it might have been,” David said. 
“But Helene has other visitors.  I thought perhaps it was intended for
some other girl.”
         “Are you going to buckle me into this one?” I asked him.  I
stood with my arms uplifted, my legs apart.  My eyes challenged.  I felt
the freedom of my limbs, so wonderful, soon to be taken away.  My blood
coursed through me, hotly.
         “Yes,” David said.  “I’m going to lock you into those manacles
and then I’m going to enjoy very much tormenting your pussy.”
         I sighed.  I felt like the eight-year-old girl he claimed to
have seen earlier in the day.  So little, so small, so delicate.  And to
think:  I was only a few years older!  My eyes dared him.  My upturned
face challenged him to admit what he had planned for me was wrong.  I
sighed again.  And then, perhaps to tease him to the point of no return,
I said, with a thankful note in my voice, “At least you won’t put a butt
plug up me this time.”  I felt a thrill accusing him, sassing him,
teasing him.  Yet it was so terrifying, too, having such a big man
towering over me!
         “In that, I’m afraid, you’re wrong,” David said.  “I need you
to turn around, and to stand away from the wall, and to bend over for
me.  I do indeed have something that needs to go up your ass.”
         “What?” I asked.  My eyes gaped.  I looked at his hands.  They
were empty.  Then, staring at his penis, I said, in a shrill, high
voice, “You’re going to sodomize me?”
         “Not quite,” David said.  “At least, not with my dick.”  He
reached up.  To my great surprise, I saw a shelf above my head.  It was
up high, higher than I could have reached.  I had not noticed it, being
fixated on the manacles hung like an X, with the hump, built into the
wall.  As I stared, open-mouthed, with my hands still upraised and my
feet splayed, David took down a small box.  A cord ran out from it.  At
the end of the cord was a rather large egg.  In addition to the egg,
connected to the box, David took down a tube of lubricant.
         “What’s that?” I said, staring at the egg.  I let my hands drop
to my sides.
         “This, I’m afraid, is a battery-powered, egg-shaped dildo, and
it’s going to go up your pretty 13-year-old bottom,” David told me.
         “You’re insane,” I said.
         “Your butthole, please,” David told me.  “Turn around and bend
over and show me your ass.”
         “No!” a voice cried.  At first I thought it was me.  Then I
realized it was my aunt.  She was being accosted by Helene who, like
David, had just fetched a battery-powered egg from an overhead shelf. 
In Helene’s case, she had to stand on a small stool to reach the shelf,
but the sight of the egg now frightened my aunt just as much as it
frightened me.
         “Oook!” A voice to my right exclaimed.  Both my aunt and I
turned our heads to see Audrey, already bent over, receiving an egg up
her rectum, courtesy of her husband.
         “Oh, not for Chloe, please!” my aunt begged, as Helene gripped
her arm firmly and made her turn around.
         “Bend over, dear.  David is a true gentleman and will see that
your niece isn’t hurt,” Helene told my aunt.  “As for you, I’m a woman,
so you can rest assured that I know what to do with another woman’s
bottom.”
         “Oh!  This is horrible!” my aunt cried.  But perhaps because of
the wine, she let herself be bent double, by Helene’s coaxing hands. 
Then, with her bottom well-presented, Helene greased the egg and
inserted it into her ass.
         “I CAN’T!” I shouted, but David handled me with the same
implacable resolve that Helene displayed with my aunt.  His large hands
were firm, certain, demanding.  He pulled me away from the wall.  He
turned me around.  He made me offer my backside to him.  My bosoms
dangled beneath me.  He nudged apart my thighs with his knee.  Then, as
I waited, trembling, holding apart the cheeks of my ass as he insisted I
must, David lubricated the egg.
         “This won’t hurt... too much,” David assured me, but I could
already hear my aunt shouting as the egg cleaved her own peach.
         “OH, NO!  It’s travelling up me!” my aunt shrieked.
         “Yes, dear, your bottom is a natural vacuum, and the egg is
well greased,” Helene said.  “Naturally it will slide up.  But would you
rather I used no lubricant at all, and had a much harder time getting it
in?  I think not.  Relax and let the egg find a natural resting place. 
Then we’ll have you stand up and be fixed to the wall.”
         “Oh!  Stop!” I cried to David.  I looked between my legs, over
the tips of my rosy breasts, at his feet.  At the same time I kept my
hands on my ass, pulling my cheeks apart for him.  I wished, foolishly,
to obey him in every way, yet to convince him to spare me.  He didn’t. 
With a quick laugh, he prised my hind cheeks open as wide as he could. 
Then he pressed the tip of the cold, greasy egg to my anus.  “David!” I
shrieked.  An instant later I felt my rosette forced open to admit the
egg.  First the very end of it, then its wider middle, nearly splitting
me and forcing a shout from my frightened lungs.  Lastly the back of the
egg slipped up within me, followed by the long cord.  
         Up, up, up the egg went.  I felt like I was pooping in
reverse.  I shouted in dismay.  David laughed.  The egg ceased finally
to slide up me.  David told me to stand erect.
         Oh, how silly we looked!  From each of our bottoms, mine, my
aunt’s, and Audrey’s, a long tail extended.  It was the cord connecting
the egg to the box which controlled it.  How awful I felt with my ass
plugged by the egg, and, worse, a cord sticking out of my butt, which
attached to a box that David held in his hands!
         “Now spread your arms and legs and back up against the wall,”
David told me.  His voice was gentle but his gaze was demanding. 
Fearfully, afraid of causing internal damage to myself, I backed up
against the cold wall.  I was too scared to lift my arms.  David lifted
them for me, one by one.  He locked my hands into the manacles in the
wall.  Then he spread my feet and fastened each of them, so that I stood
against the wall in a bold V.  The hump built into the wall pressed hard
and cold against my ass, making me feel the egg in my rectum more fully,
forcing me to make a lewd display of my pretty, furred cunt.
         “Very good,” David said.  “Now I’ll whip that tight little
pussy of yours, while the egg in your ass causes you to feel the most
strange vibrations where the sun never shines.”
         “OHHHooooooooo!” I heard, next to me, as Alan started up the
egg in his wife’s derriere.  
         “YoHOOOOOOOoooo!” I shouted, as David switched on the egg in my
ass.
         “Oh, God, Helene, NOOOoooooooo!” my aunt screeched.  We were
like three angels, caught by devils, pinned to the wall, and torturously
plugged in our bottoms.
         “They should have done this to the slackers at boot camp,” Alan
said, admiring his wife’s distress.  My aunt, Audrey, and I howled at
the top of our lungs.  Unfortunately, being down in the basement, only
the two men and Helene could hear us.  They congratulated each other and
said they found the sound of our torment pleasing.
         With the eggs vibrating inside us, Helene passed out whips to
the other two men, arming herself with one also.  I stared at the
implements.  Each had nine wickedly long tails.  They were made of
leather.  At the end of each tail the leather had been bound into a
small knot.  I tried to speak, to protest, but the egg in my butt was
vibrating so fiercely that all that came out of my mouth was a
high-pitched wail.
         “Hmmm?” David asked, as Helene dropped two small pieces of foam
into his hand.
         “Earplugs,” Helene said.  “It is precious to hear them scream
but, really, my ears would be ruined if I let every girl I bring down
here shout all she pleases.  Either she must be gagged, or I must stuff
up my own ears.”
         “Thanks,” David said.  “It is rather annoying.”
         With all three of our tormentors happily blocking out our
screams, our torture began.  SWISH!  SWISH!  SWISH! came the knotty
cats, slicing down between our legs, cutting into the folds of our sex! 
I howled like never before.  Beside me, my auntie, who wasn’t prone to
swearing, began inventing a whole new vocabulary. 
         “Oh, Helene, you BEAST!” she cried, adding some curse words
too.  “Not there!  Oh, please not in my cunt!  OWhOOOOOOOO!”
         Audrey begged her husband not to touch her with the awful cat
he held.  He ignored her and, at Helene’s suggestion, attempted a wicked
upward-slicing attack.
         “Be careful of her eyes,” Helene said.  “The whip must be
brought in, lifted, and then, after connecting with the cunt, drawn
away.  Use her bosoms as a kind of shelf beyond which the thong tips,
even while moving through open air, never fly.  We could blindfold the
girls but I do enjoy so much having them able to see how we leer and
grin at them.  Besides, two of them have gorgeous men torturing them,
and I think many women would gladly have their cunts suffer like this if
they could see David and Alan’s bodies nude.  Isn’t that right, my dear
Rebecca?  Don’t you consider yourself lucky to be able to view someone
as gorgeous as I?” Helene asked her own victim.  Alan laughed.
         “Do you hear that, dear Audrey?” he said.  “You came all the
way to France with me, just to see me naked!”
         “Oh, boo hoo!  You’re howwible!” Audrey said.  Her eyes were so
full of tears that I doubted a mis-placed blow from the whip could even
have grazed them.
         With David, despite my agony, I knew I had nothing to fear,
except for my poor burning cunt!  He had outstanding muscle control, and
had been well-trained by Helene.  The thong tips went exactly upon my
sex, never touching even my thighs or my belly.  He was considerate,
even when delivering into my sex the most exquisite tortures.  I gaped
at him through my tears.  Like an Atlas he stood over me, watching my
every reaction, placing his whip repeatedly upon my beseechingly offered
cunt.  I wept abjectly.  He ignored my protests, my cries, but carefully
watched that he should only cause as much pain and suffering to my cunt
as he intended; no more, no less.  It was not in any way an all-out
torture, as a boy, bent on evil, might deliver to some hapless cat.  It
was rather the suffering inflicted by a lover, eager to bring his
beloved to some new, if agonized, awareness of her body.
         SWISH!  SWISH!  SWISH!  went the whips.  Rebecca contented
herself with howling and ceased her cursing as she realized how
thoroughly planned and well-executed our torture was.  We were splayed,
open, our butts buzzing away as deeply-embedded dildos made us feel
utterly abject, and filled in the most obscene way.  Our cunts were
loved by thong-tips that searched our inner folds as intimately as any
lover, but with the purpose of causing pain.  Ah, how excruciating it
all was!  How bold and beautiful the vista of David standing before me,
his cock longingly erect, my cunt available to him like some worthless
whore’s, but he holding back, despite his hunger, and using only the
small tips of the thong to touch me.  How well he controlled his wrist! 
How like a sculptor he carved away at my sex, while his own statuesque
body rippled before me!
         “Gentlemen, you have done well,” Helene said after we’d
received numerous blows.  She gazed at the two men with bright eyes. 
“Now the time has come to fill their bellies with your seed.  But Alan--
come here.  You may not get a chance to fuck the lovely Rebecca again. 
Come and do her while she is prettily poised, and cannot refuse you.  I
shall show your young wife the joy of a thrusting female tongue.  Has
she been fucked in that manner before?”
         “N- No,” Alan said.  He glanced at his newlywed wife.  “Not
that I know of,” he added, hesitantly.
         “Owhooooooo!” Audrey howled, still suffering from the whip,
though it was no longer being applied.  It had made her sex, like mine,
burn with pain and desire.
         Alan strode away from his suffering wife and over to Rebecca. 
As he passed me I saw his cock was gloriously erect.  It had waited long
for this moment, suffered much in waiting, so hard and full and turgid. 
At last it was being given the job Nature so wanted it to do.
         “My what a nice cunt you have,” Alan said in a chortling
schoolboy voice to Rebecca.
         “Oh, God!” my aunt sobbed.  I think she would have said more,
but her crying kept her from speaking.  As for myself, I had to piece
together later much of what happened, for my suffering was overwhelming,
and where the touch of the whip did not sear through my consciousness,
the heat of lust did.  How odd those whips were!  Even though their
touch bit and tormented, at the same time, the abjectness of our
positions, the forced openness of our cunts, and the raw, rare beauty of
the men served to excite us even as we begged to be spared.
         “Oh, no, David,” I gasped, as the big man dropped his whip and
grasped my small hips with both his large hands.  I watched as his
foot-long cock bulged toward me and offered its turgid, knobbed head to
my sex.  How big it looked!  How small my delicate lips against it!  I
felt the wetness of the pre-cum that was oozing slowly from his penis
tip.
         “I’m quite large for you,” David told me, gazing down at me
from above.  I lifted my eyes.  I stared up at his face and our vision
burned into each other.  “It might hurt a little too,” David said.  “We
shall do our best.  I’ll take my time.  But you will have all of me,
that I swear.”
         “No,” I gasped.  A sob escaped with my gasp.  I was still
choking with tears from my ordeal under the cat.
         “Yes,” David said, implacably.  “You must learn to take a grown
man’s penis, Chloe.  You must be opened.  You must be completely
opened.  Think how large will be the head of the baby you give birth to,
compared even to my penis.  It is necessary, Chloe.  I know you are
young, but you have bosoms and a nest.  It is time, Chloe.”  
         With the egg already inside me, filling my butt, David began to
work his cock head into my cunt.  I screamed.  My eyes bulged.  My legs
were forced wider apart as David’s body pressed close to mine.  His dick
speared me.  I stretched upon the bloated, blood-filled muscle of his
indriving dick.
         “Ahchcchch!” I gasped, gagging on my own tears as David pushed
himself into me.
         “You are doing well, Chloe,” David intoned.  His voice was
sober, as if he were a doctor, delivering my first child, or a father,
helping me to learn some especially difficult task.  He took his time,
just as he’d promised.
         To my right, as I remembered afterward, I heard my auntie
scream as Alan fucked her.  He was less a gentleman than David.  He
enjoyed ramming himself up her, with no regard for her feelings. 
Fortunately she was so wet, as she told me afterward, and so heady with
her own lust to be fucked, that Alan’s boyish depredations did her no
harm.
         Meanwhile, to my left, Audrey enjoyed the first female tongue
in her snatch.  Helene gave her quick, thrusting jabs.  It was amazing,
as Audrey told me later, how like a man Helene could make her tongue. 
What it failed to provide in terms of length it made up for in talent. 
Audrey was used to Alan, who knew only his own need.  Helene, being a
woman, knew just what Audrey wanted.  She delivered it to her as
expertly as she handled a crop or, indeed, as expertly as she’d planned
this whole event for us.  Audrey reached new heights of bliss she’d
never imagined before.
         Stretched and filled on David’s cock, I was made to copulate
with him.  His thrusts were long and slow.  He had excellent control of
his desire to spend.  Though I noted a desperate hunger in his eyes, he
waited until I’d been brought to the very brink of ecstasy.  Then,
wickedly, he held me there, for a long time, toying with my feelings
until at last I begged him, with tear-stained lips, to “ruin me.”
         “Yes,” David said.  “Now you are ready.”
         I rode upon him like a girl on a huge, fiery horse.  He worked
himself in me zealously, thrusting and thrusting.  All the while I
crashed from one orgasm to the next; an unending series of orgasms, each
one hoping to coax from David the fruit of his seed.  But he held back. 
Even with me weeping and screaming and begging him to flood me, he
restrained his sperm.  He seemed almost to be made of steel, a Superman
able to repress his own needs so deeply that all he felt was me, my
desire, and my urgent happiness in being so thoroughly fucked.  Finally,
as if flipping a switch, as if doing it for ME, for the purpose of my
own fulfillment, still thinking nothing of himself, David deluged me
with all he had to give.  For what seemed like hours he pumped me with
every ounce of his strength.  A great torrent of sexual seed was ejected
into my womb.  I worried, feeling it, for his tribute was so great that
I thought, “Surely I must conceive.  No pill could keep this flood of
sperm from making me pregnant!”
         When at last I was detached from David, his cum had been so
abundant that it drooled from within my cunt.  I gaped over the cones of
my breasts at the sperm running down my thighs.  I was a man! I
thought.  He had so filled me up that he’d made me just like him, a
sperm-machine, sperm running down my legs and bubbling from within my
cunt.  Sperm pooling between my feet as if I were some randy boy who’d
jacked himself off.
         “I am undone!” I cried.
         “No, you are simply done,” David smiled.  He switched off the
egg in my butt.
         “Oh, you turned me into a boy!” I said.  I gasped and fainted. 
I did not feel his hands as he detached me from the wall.      


         The rubble shifted around the Tamagochi.  A broken, jagged
square of cement toppled from within some other chunks of concrete and
fell very close to where the Tamagochi was lying.  Another inch and the
small, glowing egg, with ‘Palm Pet’ written on it, and ‘Over 18 Only’
stencilled below, in red letters, would have been crushed.  But the
block of cement missed, and the Palm Pet kept glowing.


         Smith stared at his car.  His mouth was open.  There was a
ruined Sky Dwelling behind him and now, in front of him, his own car was
in flames.
         “What the Hell?” Smith said.  He’d just made his last payment
on the damn thing; a nice car.  It didn’t do Jumps to the moon but it
was a great vehicle.  Smith looked around.  He saw a pell-mell of
people, most of them in the distance, down by the wrecked building. 
“Where’s a damn cop when you need one?” Smith said.
         “Shot,” a voice said behind him.
         Smith turned.  He regarded a figure with a small, hand-held
camera.  The man had a pencil in his ear.  He was filming Smith’s
flaming vehicle.
         “What the Hell are you doing?” Smith said.  He felt his face
growing red.
         “Filming, what does it look like,” the man said.  His voice was
flat, as if the answer had been pried from him, unwillingly.  Then,
satisfied that he’d recorded Smith’s car on digital tape, he brightened,
and said, “How do you feel about the Revolt?”
         “What revolt?” Smith asked.
         “The riots,” the man said.  “KLAW News, Jim Zenger.”  As if
certain he’d get an answer, the man with the pencil tucked behind his
ear pointed his camera directly into Smith’s face.
         “I didn’t know there was any damn rioting going on,” Smith
said.  “I’m just an engineer.  I’m here to get some answers to why that
damn Sky Dwelling dropped out of the air.”
         “Oh, that,” the newsman said.  He turned.  He regarded the
huge, broken building with indifference.  “That’s old news,” he said.
         “Old news?  It just happened three hours ago,” Smith blurted. 
“Some kids stole a car and rammed the building with it.  As best we can
figure, some bad programming caused the Main Lift Engine to shut down. 
Since the Backup was offline, the building went into a Full Drop and--”
         “It’s all part of the revolt,” the newsman replied mildly. 
“The kids have dropped seventeen buildings so far.”
         “What?!” Smith roared.  He gazed at the other Sky Dwellings. 
They hung motionless, just under a gathering of early evening clouds,
illuminated by a rising moon.
         “Not here,” the newsman said.  “All around the Imperium.  The
president is due to make a speech soon.  It’s the fucking kids... you
know... they’re really out on a rampage this time.  Did you ever read
‘Armies of the Night’?”
         “No,” Smith scowled.  He turned.  He looked again at his car. 
Not really wanting to ask, but asking anyway, he said, “What’s that?  A
book about the Indonesian war?  I fought in that war, back in--”
         “No, nevermind,” the newsman answered.  “You really don’t know
what the Hell is going on, do you?”
         “Obviously not,” Smith said.  “I’ve been working all day.  And
all night!  I went home after work this afternoon.  Then they called me
back out for this shit!”  Smith gestured at the crashed building. 
         “Well, you know about the kids stealing the car and ramming the
building, obviously,” Zenger said, looking at the wrecked pile of
concrete behind them.  It was somewhat obscured by a low hill that stood
between themselves and the building.  “But there’s another kid.  Tong
Sun.  I think that’s his name.  He was having an affair with his
teacher.  Some woman in her 30’s.  And when the police came to arrest
her, at his house, he just exploded.  Someone in his family had an
illegal, unregistered Laser Rifle.  He got it and started firing at the
police.  Then the whole neighborhood exploded.”
         “Where’d that happen?” Smith asked.
         “Southlawn, outside New Washington,” the newsman replied.
         A police vehicle glided overhead.  Its searchlights scanned the
ground.  The spotlight passed over Smith and Zenger.  Smith cringed
under the powerful beam.  
         “Good God!  My family lives there!” Smith said.
         “I thought you lived here,” Zenger replied.  He squinted and
waited for the police vehicle’s beam to pass.  Then he pointed his
camera up at the vehicle.
         “Damn Hoodoo,” he swore.  It was the nickname for the police
vehicles.
         “Put down your camera!” a voice bellowed from a loudspeaker on
the vehicle.  The spotlight swung back from the emptiness of the night. 
It froze Smith and Zenger in a glare of white light.  “Put down your
camera!” the voice demanded again.
         Smith got the distinct impression that a high caliber Laser
Gatling was being trained on them both.  He knew the type of weaponry a
Hoodoo carried and he knew that if the gun was fired, there was almost
no way to avoid hitting just Zenger, with his camera, and not himself
too.
         “Damn!  Put it down!” Smith said to Zenger.  He prayed to God
the newsman complied.  He crouched lower, hoping to avoid a burst from
the gun, should it choose to fire.
         Zenger put down his camera.  The police vehicle passed.  It
pulled away its searchlight.  It went over the low rise that stood
behind the two men, toward the pile of rubble that was once a building,
that could be seen sticking up beyond the top of the hill.  It began to
circle in for a landing.
         “Thanks for your comments,” Zenger said to Smith.  He turned.  
         “Hey!  Where are you going?” Smith asked.
         “To report on the news!” Zenger called back.  Smith watched as
the newsman went jogging up the hillside.  When he reached the top of
the hill, he aimed his camera at the police vehicle, which was landing. 
He disappeared over the top of the hill and Smith shook his head.
         Smith followed.  At the top of the hill, he could see the
entire vista of the fallen building.  A whole cluster of police and
rescue vehicles were gathered around it.  Smith trudged down the
opposite side of the hill and approached the police vehicle that had
pointed a searchlight at him.  The Hoodoo was settled on the ground
now.  It looked large and black in the moonlight.  Smith spotted Zenger
talking to a cop.  The newsman had his camera by his side, and was
gesticulating as he talked.
         “-- the first Amendment!” Smith heard Zenger say as Smith
approached the Hoodoo. 
         “It doesn’t apply under Martial Law,” the cop answered.  “I’ll
arrest you if you try using that damn thing again.  I’m supposed to
confiscate it.  You should thank me for not doing that.”
         “Thank you,” Zenger said.  
         “Officer, somebody burned my car!” Smith said, raising a
finger.  The cop turned to him.  Two more cops came out from behind the
Hoodoo and circled around behind Smith as he walked under the shadow of
the Hoodoo.
         “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your car,” the cop said to
Smith, then added, seeing Smith’s official badge, “Sir.”  He studied
Smith’s badge and then said, “Are you an engineer?”
         “Yeah,” Smith said.  “And somebody burned my car!”
         “Call your insurance company,” the cop replied.  “My name’s
Thorston.  You can call me Bob.  We need to pick up an engineer here to
go drop some bridges.  Get in.”  The cop motioned toward the Hoodoo.
         “What?” Smith asked.  “I’m telling you, somebody torched my
damn car!”
         “Get in!” the cop demanded.  He seemed to want to grab hold of
Smith, but he didn’t.  Again he gestured at the police vehicle.
         “What do you mean you want to go drop some bridges?” Zenger,
the newsman, asked.
         “The rioters are moving in on D.C.,” the cop replied.  “Tongsun
Anu,” the cop said.  “Don’t you watch the fucking video news?”
         “Thanks.  I didn’t know his full name,” the newsman said.  He
yanked a pad out of his shirt pocket and drew the pencil from behind his
ear.  He began writing quickly.  
         The cop took hold of Smith’s arm and, nodding slightly, but
pulling quite hard on Smith, began walking him toward an open door in
the side of the Hoodoo.
         A moment later and all but the newsman had boarded the Hoodoo.
         “Hey!  Wait for me!” the newsman cried out.  Two police
officers were about to pull shut the door of the Hoodoo when Zenger went
running up to it.  He ignored the cop manning the huge Laser Gatling and
leaped within the opening.
         “You’re not authorized--” one of the cops, a woman, bellowed.
         “Let him in.  The prop people might be able to use some of his
footage,” the cop named Thorston said.
         “You’re not using any of my work for propaganda purposes!”
Zenger hollared.  He looked ready to bolt back out of the vehicle.  With
a loud ‘CLANG!’ the door to the outside was drawn shut.  Immediately the
Hoodoo began to vibrate and lift from the ground.  
         “What the Hell is going on?  Why don’t you care about my car?”
Smith asked Thorston in an exasperated voice.  The inside of the Hoodoo
throbbed.  It was like a big Huey helicopter inside, but it was a
vehicle built to levitate.  It didn’t require blades to lift it.  
         “Sir, we’re going to be dropping some bridges, some highways,
whatever the president orders,” Thorston said.  “We’ve got high
explosives on board.”  The cop gestured at a large pile of crates. 
Smith turned to look.  The crates filled the entire back of the Hoodoo. 
Almost half the big levitating vehicle was filled with the crates.
         “Omigod,” Zenger said.  He drew up his camera, placed the lens
over his eye, and began filming.
         “Remember, that all belongs to the government now,” Thorston
told Zenger.  Smith didn’t understand, but Zenger did.
         “Over my dead body,” Zenger said.  “I work for KLAW news, a
private company, owned and operated--”
         The cop grabbed Zenger by the shoulder.  The gesture dislodged
the camera from Zenger’s hands and the cop was able to take it away.
         “Hey!” Zenger hollared.  Thorston glowered at him.
         “You can work for the government, or you can get out,” Thorston
said.
         “What?!” Zenger asked.  He peered to his side.  Through an
opening in the side of the Hoodoo made for the operation of the Gatling,
he could see a moon-illuminated landscape below.
         “Just do as he says,” Smith, not sure whose side he was on,
mumbled.
         “Okay!  Fine!  But the First Amendment allows--” 
         “Nothing, under Martial Law,” Thorston said.  He handed
Zenger’s camera back to him.
         “Is it really that bad?” Smith asked, in a rather meek voice,
of Thorston.  The cop turned to him.
         “Sir, if it wasn’t that bad, you wouldn’t be here,” Thorston
said.
         “KLAW News goes wherever there is news!” Zenger said.  He had
to shout, for the roar of the Hoodoo’s engines increased as it picked up
speed.
         “My wife and kids live in Southlawn,” Smith told Thorston.
         “Then let’s hope they’re okay,” Thorston replied.  “This
country hasn’t been the same since the Indonesian War.”
         “I fought in the Indonesian War,” Smith said, but Thorston
didn’t hear him, because his voice was too soft to be heard over the
increasing roar of the Hoodoo’s engines.