"Girls, I will do my best to provide for your comfort while you're here with me," Rose explained. "But you must each surrender yourself completely to your lover's desires. And he may desire whatever he wishes! He is not to be denied anything for the next two weeks, and I will make sure of it. Although I am a complete feminist, I do believe men have rights too. Men need to dominate sometimes, and to control. Here they will be permitted to do that. Elsewhere they might be punished for raping their wives, or talking to or even looking at girls like yourself. Not here. I provide this as a small service to mankind to allow him a brief retreat to the days when men were men, and unrestrainedly so. There will be no political correctness here. The law is their law, and you must obey." She smiled. "You must think of it as being done for you, otherwise you will never be able to bear it. That is what I discovered. If you remember that always they are thinking of you, watching you, whoever might actually be screwing you, then you will find yourself able to accept it all."

She turned and turned down the bedcover and top sheet on the bed. "Now Polly, since Fleurette went first last time, let's have you be first now. I want you to get on the bed and lie down on your tummy and open up your legs. Nice and wide." Rose took Polly by the arm and guided her onto the bed, Polly lifting her knees, first one, then the other, so she could crawl onto it. Rose made her lie flat on her tummy, then placed a pillow beneath her chin so she might have some comfort for her head. Her arms remained firmly bound behind her. "Spread your legs, Polly," Rose told the girl. She slapped her bottom lightly to get her to comply. Immediately, still sore from the paddle, Polly opened her knees into a wide vee, lifting her heels up and letting them kick aimlessly in the air. "Now stay like that, Polly, while I vaseline your anus for you. Don't make me tie you. You're a big girl and you should be able to take this."

"Whomapmout?" Polly asked behind her gag. Rose opened the top drawer of the dresser and drew out a jar of vaseline. She dipped her finger in it and, at a squeak from Polly, opened the girl's ass and rimmed her anus. "It's an enema, dear. You'll have a nice solid enema stuck up your bottom to get out any shit that might be in there. Then, after you go potty, your boyfriend will show you what it's like to be buttfucked. Have you ever been buttfucked before, Polly?"

"Noooophoph!" Polly squealed behind her gag.

"I didn't think so...my, you're so tight!" Rose exclaimed. "I wish I was still that squeaky-tight but I'm afraid I've had men sawing away in me since I was seven, and I'm quite a bit older than that now. Lie still, Polly, I don't want to cut your insides with my fingernail."

Rose stuck her finger into Polly's hole with some considerable effort and then, to squawks from the girl, lubricated the inside of her channel up to the first inch. Polly seemed to sense that she might be injured and lay with only a few wiggles while the passage was eased. At last Rose drew out her finger. There was a cup on the nightstand for little girls to have water in and Rose dipped her greased finger into the cup to wet it. Then she wiped off her finger on a linen handkerchief that had been lying fresh in the drawer. I made sure to remember not to ask for a drink during the night.

The men, on their own initiative, began disrobing. I don't know if Rose noticed at first, perhaps it suited her purpose not to. Off came the men's dark, steeply-priced jackets, both tailor made and worn to convey substance and rigidly conservative values. They dropped them on the floor like day-old laundry. Their ties followed, loosened first, nooses being undone on the scaffold by prisoners given a last-minute reprieve. I saw their breath increase. Their chests worked rhythmically beneath their starched shirts, runners getting up their wind for a critical race.

As the men worked open their shirt buttons Rose, sitting primly with her finger in Polly's hineyhole, looked up. A smile flitted across her face as she saw the sumptuous manflesh being exposed just as fast as the boys could get their bodies out of their clothes. She let her eyes fall across their hairy chests, tracing their fingers a moment with her stare as they raced to get their shirtbuttons open. And then her countenance took on the appearance of a woman delighted by the vigor of her charges, but finding them undisciplined.

"Ah, boys," Rose said with a librarian's condescension, scolding a whisper. "Did I say you could undress?"

"No," Andre admitted, staying his fingers a moment. My Louis kept on unbuttoning his shirt.

"Louis!" Rose admonished him. Reluctantly he stopped his hands over his navel button.

Lightly Rose brushed back her long ink-black hair from her face. Her coiffure had become slightly undone by her exertions within Polly's anus. "While both of you are free to dominate your girlfriends," Rose began, with a wiggle of Polly's bare bottom indicating she wished to get up. Rose slapped her tushy lightly with her hand. "While you own your girlfriends," Rose began again, "I own both of you gentlemen, during your stay here at my castle. In my presence, you are to ask my permission before you do anything so gauche as stripping your clothes off."

Andre seemed mesmerized by her words, but my Louis balked. He fingered his final shirtbutton, eager to get it undone so he could go on to his pants zipper. He flexed his considerable biceps, which were still encased in the starched white sleeves of his shirt. "I could break your skinny little body in two," Louis snarled under his breath, looking directly at Rose. She did not flinch or show any emotion. She simply stared back at him.

"Louis," she said finally. "I do have protection. A certain drug lord looks after my welfare, for a cut of my profits, of course." Louis kept his face set in a look of noncompliance. "Lord Shaftsbury," Rose intoned. Louis' face softened. He seemed suddenly resigned to obey. I felt a shiver run right down my spine to my tailbone. My first love, I did not wish to meet him again. I'd left him behind, though we'd been so close once. I had Louis now. Yet Louis seemed to sense that, despite his muscles, which Lord Shaftsbury did not possess, he would be most unwise to take on my first lover. "Ah, so you've heard of him," Rose continued.

"A sewer rat, but a very powerful sewer rat," Louis muttered.

"Good, then I'm glad to see you'll behave. Really, Louis, you had me scared for a minute there. I don't necessarily turn away men who can't obey, after all I am running a business here, but I don't play with them personally. You must work on your chivalry a little, Louis. All your needs will be satisfied beyond your wildest dreams, but you must learn the virtues of patience and self-control." She dropped her eyes to his considerable crotch.

"I can hold my sperm better than any man," Louis growled. He was still upset by being bested by Rose, I could tell. I think that's why I loved Louis so much. He was so primal. A bull in a necktie (which now lay on the floor beside his jacket). I guess I was hooked on musclemen at the moment.

Rose ran her lips over her tongue. They sparkled with her saliva. "Let's see your equipment, then, Louis. You have my permission. But keep your distance. Little Polly here is a bit anxious about having your thing up her hole."

Louis gratefully yanked off his shirt and started working open his pants. "I brought my own girl," he said, with a glance at me. I stood at attention by the bed. My hands were gripped by the handcuffs, and pinned behind my back. I held Polly's panties in my mouth, though I longed to spit them out. Imagine, being gagged with another girl's panties. I remembered her peeing in the ladies room at the restaurant. Had any pee droplets dribbled into her panties? I hoped not. I couldn't taste any pee, anyway, though there seemed to be a hint of cunt juice. I tried not to think about it. There was a wetness between my legs. I knew it wasn't from any unmet bathroom needs. I was too terrified to think of anything like that at the moment.

"You'll do only what I allow," Rose said to Louis. She jammed her finger deep into Polly's hole, abruptly, as if frustrated by Louis' continued obstinance. Poor Polly bleated like a shorn sheep. Her bottom bounced on the sheets as if it had just been given a shot. Rose turned her head to Andre. His penis popped from his pants as he managed to be the first male in the room to present himself. "Andre, I didn't say you could undress, did I?" Rose asked him. Nonetheless her eyes feasted on his erect organ as eagerly as mine. I scolded myself, but couldn't help it. Some say a dead body is that way. You can't tear your eyes away, though your mind screams at you to. Well, Andre's rod was much more mesmerizing. I licked my lips, involuntarily, blushed when I'd realized I'd done it. Louis frowned at me.

"I see if you're to become regular users of my castle, you'll need some training," Rose said to Andre and Louis. As she spoke, Louis got his pants fully open and his huge penis popped out. It was long and thick and I and Rose gazed at both his and Andre's for a long minute, comparing them, gauging their strength, their potential for endurance. I think two finer cocks were never on display. Polly chose to play the child and hid her face in her pillow. I noticed her thighs part an extra inch, though. She wanted them both, but was too shy to say so.

"We are going to have a little intermission," Rose said suddenly. She stood up from the bed. At once Polly rolled on her side and gazed at everyone, her mouth open, her legs turned but still invitingly wide. She walked to the dresser. She dipped her finger that had investigated Polly's backside into the water cup. She dried it on the handkerchief. Leaning over the dresser, she reached down behind it. She withdrew a wickedly slender Malaccan cane. The men looked at her with uncertain eyes, their cocks on full display. "Finish undressing, men," Rose commanded. They eased down their trousers, revealing their athletic legs. They kicked off their shoes, confident, but perhaps just a little worried too, as Rose flicked her cane idly against the side of the dresser. It made an insidious swish through the air and then struck the dresser with a clean, sharp whack.

When the men were free of everything, including their socks and shoes, Rose spoke again. "I'm going to cane you both on your bare buns," she said simply. She took off her vest, never letting go of the cane as she spoke. Then she undid the buttons of her blouse. Finally, reaching behind herself, she unhooked her bra. Her bosoms spilled from the brassiere. They were twin cones of quivering white flesh, made all the more alluring by the fact that, from the waist down, Rose still wore her yuppie-perfect dress, while from the waist up she was utterly nude.

Rose whacked the open palm of her hand with her cane when she was stripped bare to the waist. She eyed Louis and Andre, both of them naked as jaybirds now, their cocks quivering with manly need, their bottoms surely as worried as mine was. "Turn around, both of you," Rose said to my boyfriend and Polly's.

"No! Please," I begged, but Polly's panties, in the mouth, obscured me. I did not want to see our boyfriend's lovely asses flayed, laid open by the cane. I liked my boyfriend's butt just as it was! Yet, difficult as he'd been just a minute before, Louis now turned and offered Rose his backside.

"Open your legs," Rose said to both men. They seemed uncertain. "I know, I know, you do not wish your testicles injured. You must both trust me. You must show complete subservience to me. If you're both good I shouldn't think I'd have the slightest interest in cutting off your lineage." With an exchange of frustrated glances, Louis and Andre parted their well-built legs and showed Rose their testicles from behind. They were two nutsacks of perfect proportion, heavy with sperm and promising many babies for both of us. I wanted to rush forward and save them from whatever might transpire. Rose walked up to both of them and felt between their legs and squeezed their sperm pouches. I prayed she didn't milk them too thoughtlessly. A stray touch might trigger their seed, and all might be lost.

"Bend over," Rose ordered. Both men glanced at each other, then complied. They gripped their ankles. Their dongs were pushed down by their bending stomachs. "Oh, you are both so long," Rose said in a tone that was half admonitory, half admiring. She clucked and ran her fingers slowly down the tender underside of each man's penis, leaving little pinch marks as she went, testing the tensile strength of each organ. I watched, holding Polly's panties delicately in my mouth. Oh, how I longed to soothe those poor pinched penises. But with Rose armed with a difficult cane, one whose reputation was as challenging to a backside as any imaginable, I was in no mood to test her will.

Both men held up well as Rose felt their organs, their balls, examining them from behind as thoroughly as a gynecologist might check a woman with child. "Very good," she said at last. "Please remain standing just as you are. I like my men compliant sometimes, depending on my mood. Now I'll give you both a few whacks to show you who's boss."

"That's a ruthless cane," Louis said, looking through his parted legs with his head upside down. I almost giggled, losing Polly's panties. He looked quite silly.

Rose patted Louis' rear. "I don't believe in making things easy, dear," she said quietly. She lifted her cane and ran out its length on her palm. It was a frightening four and a half feet long, I guessed, yet it was incredibly light, just a handle, really, with a shard of palmstem sprouting out to its tip. A silken thread wound with lighthearted grace along the stem, then looped through a hole at the tip, where it formed a decorative little bow. A very feminine instrument, really, but able to pack a substantial bite. "Ready, boys?" Rose asked.

"No," Louis and Andre grunted, no doubt wondering how a castle that promised them utter freedom wound up having them bare their holes.

"I expect you both to be as demanding with your girlfriends as I am with you," Rose said, sending a chill down my spine. I pushed my tummy out, struggled with my handcuffs. No use. My breasts jiggled on my chest. My ribs showed.

Graceful as she was deadly, Rose turned away from the men and lifted her cane above her head. But for the fact she was topless, I might have thought I was watching high culture, a ballet in New York or Berlin. Rose touched a finger to the tip of the cane, bending it toward herself, watching with upraised eyes a moment as it flexed in her hands. Then she released the tip, lowered her head, and whirled about and struck Louis right on his ass.

"Yeeeeow!" Louis shouted with all the force a man might muster. His head shot up. His balls bounced beneath him, though they were, fortunately, not a recipient of the blow. His ass clenched and then released, clenched again. Spittle flew from his mouth and hit the floor. His cock waggled like an old lady's finger.

I drew in my bottomcheeks tightly as I watched Louis' buns contort from the blow. His asscrack shrank to a narrow threadlike line, then, his cheeks releasing themselves at last, his hair within showed again. He did not get up. He remained bent double, though he might have stood, grabbing his ankles tight. I admired his fortitude even as I pitied his pain. A slim line, no more than a pencil, announced itself across his backside. It was deep red.

Louis received his in turn. His antics, complete with his penis flying and his balls bounding like twin balls in Jacks, burned deep into my mind. I found myself liking the show, even as I knew I stood a good chance of getting equal treatment myself before the night expired. I prayed I'd be somehow forgotten. Let Rose whip the men, and fuck them afterward. Polly and I would be good girls and just watch.

Her footing sure, her aim precise, Rose gave each man a half-dozen strokes of the cane over his tense, sweating rump. She never hit anyplace twice. That would have been truly cruel. It would have burst those tight little buns, right across their surface, and made them bleed, possibly marking them for life. I thanked God Rose had a practised hand. I could tell these weren't her first victims. Her expertise was daunting. She told myself and Polly where she would hit from the second strikes onward, describing the men's asses in loving detail. And then she'd hit right where she'd promised. Louis and Andre gritted their teeth. They said nothing, except to howl and moan. I felt their cocks got ever more huge, though, despite the obvious pain they were suffering.

At last Rose permitted the men to stand. Their hands flew to their hineys and they ground their teeth as they worked their palms over the injured surfaces. Their knees moved back and forth a little, as they stood in place still, examining the damage and trying to assuage it.

"Oh, come on!" Rose teased. She made Andre howl by sticking the end of the cane straight into his asscheeks. "That's nothing, boys. A little starter. Turn around and let's see how your things are doing." The men turned about, their eyes wincing, their penises bigger than I'd ever seen them. Rose poked at the tip of Andre's cock with her bow-pointed cane. Andre lurched backward to avoid a second touch.

"Let's adjourn briefly to the sitting room, where we can contemplate what's to be done," Rose said, turning with a meaningful look at myself and Polly. Louis, apparently guessing at its purpose, went to the side of the bedroom and drew open a door. Beyond lay not a bathroom, as I had expected, as you'd find in any ordinary bedroom, but an upstairs parlor instead. Walking toward it, I realized that the bedroom we were in was not for sleeping at all, but for training a girl, pure and simple. The sitting room served as a place where a man might talk with Rose and plan the girl's denouement. It was fed by a back stairway that meant a visiting girl, perhaps in olden days brought up from the village, could immediately be debauched. The front entrance, the grand staircase, the long hallway leading past the other rooms, all could be avoided. A girl of 12 might be slipped within the house with nobody seeing. She could be used, her hymen torn, and then taken away again, all through the rear of the house, perhaps while a formal dinner transpired below, or an elegant ball.

I heard heavy footfalls on the steps. A maid entered into the concealed little parlor just as we ourselves walked in. There were no windows in the room. It had the feel of a hidden chamber, like the bedroom itself, which also allowed in no light from outside. It was sumptuously decorated, however, with overstuffed chairs, paintings, a few books. The wallpaper was damask, not paper at all, but silk, finely patterned with natural dyes. Rose told us this as we stood and looked at our place of confinement. She warned the men not to shoot themselves onto the walls.

"Bring a comforter for each of the young men," Rose told her maid. The men stood with squirming legs and buttocks, obvious in their condition of agony. Their pricks stood out like thick, throbbing spires above their strainingly-tight balls. The maid, whom I'd glimpsed as we sat so calmly in the parlor downstairs, was an old woman, perhaps 60. She'd spied on us a little downstairs. I'd dismissed her from my mind at the time, hardly paying her any attention. I thought she was the cleaning woman. She looked too old to serve us. I wished we still had the young girl. She was polite, attentive, helpful. The old woman, whom I'm sure the men never saw at all as they relaxed downstairs, was dour and mean. I doubted not that she felt the men had just gotten what they deserved. They were rich boys from the city. Her husband, I'm sure, was no more than a peasant farmer, laboring in the fields by day until his skin cracked in the sun and his hands turned to gnarled claws. His sex would have shrivelled by now, leaving his wife bereft. She was worn and lined from age and years of hard work. She had no pity for us. I shrank back as I looked at her. It was so humiliating, where was the girl? She I'd felt a little embarrassed about being nude in front of, but this woman! Her eyes grazed me like a toad eyeing a tasty bug. It was so shameful to be stripped naked in front of such an old hussy, her hands gnarled, her breasts hanging low and flat like pancakes, her hips huge and matronly. Worst of all, she wore her clothes as neatly as if she were going to church. Layer after layer of clothing hid her figure from our view. A heavy dress of white showed its hem beneath a second dress of black, each flowing down from her middle. I knew she must wear bloomers beneath, encasing each of her legs. I could hear them rasping together as she walked. Above her rustling, heavy dresses was her blouse, with a firmly buttoned vest over it, and a full-length apron tied down her front. She wore a maid's hat. It looked like it was so well-secured to her head that she expected to meet a typhoon. Only her arms and hands were bare, her sleeves rolled up, as if she'd just been doing the laundry. Her arms were thick and manly. They were spotted with age, as was her face. She glowered at us, but with a trace of amusement in her eyes, cynical amusement, jealous and wishing the worst for us. Her hair, neatly drawn up into a bun, gave her a business-like look. It was a sharp contrast to my own hair, flowing and free and playful, and Polly's. Even Rose's pretty coiffure, slightly mussed now, looked utterly uninhibited compared to our maid.

I thought the maid would turn and have to go back downstairs, but she opened yet another door, into a closet, and drew out two comforters and set them on chairs for the men. With gritting teeth our loves sat down, each in his own princely stuffed chair, but with his bare buns smarting fiercely as he sat on the downy white-ruffled cushion brought by the maid.

Standing in my birthday suit, with my titties twitching, my muff moist, I tried to avoid the maid's eyes. Polly too seemed to find her modesty. She had the added discomfort of a shiny heinie-hole, obvious from the traces of fingermarks Rose had left behind. They trailed out from the center of her backside, leaving no doubt what had been done. All vaseline trails lead to the greased butthole, as a Roman might say. She wore her hair with a My Little Pony ribbon tying off a few of her long locks, a kind of ponytail that bound a few ropelike strands of her hair together but left the remainder underneath free. The effect was to make her look even more schoolgirlish than she already did, and all 60-year-old maids know where a little schoolgirl should be on a Saturday night. Home preparing her lessons, so she could go to church on Sunday, both morning and evening, and say her rosary. Instead Polly stood with her hiney packed with vaseline, her hole prepared for the men's cocks which stood up so heedlessly.

"Get the potties out for the girls," Rose said with a refined air, as if we were to be entertained at an embassy instead of made ready for sex. The maid glanced at myself and Polly and, as we stood hoping to claim seats for ourselves, waiting only for Rose's permission, she brought out two children's potties and sat them down on the top of a dresser along the back wall. I blanched. I think I felt my blood rush to my face and my toes simultaneously, with all parts between equally pink. Were we to sit up on the dresser? The men's chairs, I saw, were angled to give them a perfect view of the potties. The maid brought a stepstool out of the closet and sat it down in front of the dresser.

Rose, swishing her cane, turned to myself and Polly. "Girls, do you have to go to the bathroom?" she asked. Polly and I quickly shook our heads no. "Well, then you'll just have to sit on the potty until you do," she smiled. We looked at her with woebegone eyes and nervously constricted throats. "Married women have sat on them," Rose said. "You two are practically Ôof age' by comparison. Don't worry, I'll hold your hand as you mount the stool. I don't want you to fall. Once you're settled on the potty you won't have any worries. The dresser is nice and big. Come, girls, I want to make sure you're both toilet trained before I put you to bed for the night!"

She urged us both forward. Then she had me step on the stool first, minding me to be ladylike, and she watched as, with her fingers touching my handcuffs, keeping me balanced, I stepped with a well-lifted knee up onto the dresser. The maid stood nearby, her eyes prying into me like a lesbian's. Involuntarily I showed off my sex with my movements. Raising up each of my legs, I felt nervous under her gaze, like a showhorse about to be put to stud. My males sat nearby, gazing wishfully at my cunt. It felt incredibly open, swollen with yearning. Finally standing where all could see me as intimately as they wished, my pussy above their heads, my feet firmly planted on the dresser, I blushed anew. I felt like a model hired out to med students to teach them the female reproductive system. There'd be no cold cadavers today. We'd make a clinical assessment of an actual girl, watching her, probing her, making her cum for us so we could learn all aspects of her most completely. In our coats, with our spectacles on and our headlamps lit, shining into her privates. I turned and faced the toilet. There it was, just like I remembered sitting on as a child, except I was 14 now! Gracefully as I could I turned my fanny to it and sat down on the seat. I tried not to think of having a bowel movement.

"Lift your legs, draw up your knees to your chin," Rose told me. I saw that there were footrests running out like wings from the sides of my toilet. Sticking out just far enough, they were adorned at each end by a little hole through which I might, if I was utterly foolish, stick the spikes on my pumps. Under Rose's watchful gaze I drew up my heels until they were level with my bottom. Then, carefully, I fitted each of my heeled spikes into the hole provided for it. I felt the spikes slip down like long nipples into the clamplike holes. I realized that, with my arms cuffed behind me, I stood little chance of extricating my legs without Rose's permission. Gazing down, I saw my cunt was widely displayed, my thighs not blocking it at all. I turned redfaced once more and could do nothing as the maid glared at me with ravenous eyes.

Polly was seated in turn upon her toilet. We sat shivering, our honeypots lewdly displayed, our tits quivering, their roundness brazenly offered by our contorted postures. Our nipples stuck up like pins atop our balloon-like tits, perhaps hoping to stab the maid's fingers should she choose to touch us.

"Pee when you like," Rose told us, taking a chair for herself, not needing a comforter. "We'll enjoy it when you do." She asked the maid to bring stiff drinks for us all. "To ease the men's sore bottoms, and serve as anesthesia for what the girls must endure," Rose declared. "And for myself too, to fortify me for the night ahead." She laid her cane across her knees. They still hid within her dress, the only modesty remaining amongst us, the combatants for love.

"Oh, what is to happen to us?" Polly asked when the maid loosened her gag and tugged it bib-like beneath her chin. Before Rose could lift her eyes from her own drink to answer, the maid was already forcing Polly to swallow a glassful of liquor. "Yuck! It tastes terrible!" Polly confessed. At the restaurant she'd pretended to sip the drink Andre ordered for her. Now she made no attempt to hide her displeasure.

"Drink it down!" the maid ordered. Polly gasped and received another mouthful of gin. She spluttered. Some went down, the rest splattered itself in droplets over her tits. The maid brought the cup to me and insisted I drink some too. She plucked Polly's panties from my mouth and held them while I leaned my head forward. I did my best to swallow down the drink. In truth, I didn't like it much either. The maid swallowed the rest herself. She did not stuff Polly's panties back into my mouth. Instead, she lay them in a little saliva-wet ball next to me, on the surface of the dresser. I did not mind, but it seemed strange. Was I to lecture, from my perch here atop the potty seat? Were we to be fed dinner? Baby food, perhaps, strained so we could feed on it with little fuss, while we pooped and pissed into our potties?

Rose smiled, thanked the maid, told her to remain in the room, standing over by the corner closest to the door. The men, amazed at the sight of Polly and myself, fondled their hard-ons. Rose warned them not to cum. All three, plus the maid, waited for Polly and I to pee.

"It is hot here now in the summertime," Rose said, making small talk, though all three kept their eyes on me, on Polly. "I let my guests swim naked, during the day, in the pool. Before I felt they should wear swimsuits. Many of the girls are from the best families. I did not wish them to expose themselves in front of the field hands. After all, this is a working farm. The help has work they must do each day, planting the crops and tending them, harvesting them in the fall. It seemed inappropriate to me to have the girls baring their all in front of peasants. But they bugged me about leaving their panties and bras off, so I finally allowed it. The bras, of course, were just my little rule. Those silly decency laws! I'm glad they were repealed. South American girls should be able to go topless on their beaches if they want to. But here, at the pool, I wanted to make the girls more conscious of themselves. Sometimes a breast halter is necessary to teach a girl that she's sensitive and can sag someday if she doesn't take care of herself."

"Well, you don't sag," Louis grinned. He gazed at her breasts with open admiration.

"I had a strict mother who always made me wear a bra," Rose replied. "But the girls today, they want so much to be free. They want to feel a part of nature. So last summer I let them take their bras off, and this summer its the bottoms that have come off too. Now they look like little Indians out by the pool, splashing around all day. We built a baby pool this year and they simply love it. You can see them paddling around in it with their waterwings on, as if they were children in preschool, or lying on a towel sucking their thumb and hoping someone will notice them. I think they enjoy showing themselves off to the field hands, with nothing hidden, knowing the field hands can never have them. I do not allow mixing or fraternization between the two groups." She laughed. "God knows, there's enough swapping and mixing just between the paying guests, without letting the field hands in on it too!"

Louis looked at me. "Keep her in a bra and panties if you let her use the pool," he said. "I want her breasts and bottom white so I can paint on them with a whip. I like to see the contrast, the red and the white. Make sure she always is covered if she goes outside."

Rose smiled. "Louis, you have such a wicked eye for detail. Of course that's the real reason I wished to keep my girls covered up, so you could see the swats on their bottoms when they were spanked. Perhaps I should be more strict, then, hmmm? Not let them play nude in the pool?"

"Be more strict," Louis answered, still gazing at me. He sipped his drink. His fingers ran up and down his cock, lightly, toying with himself to ease his penile tension, yet not too much, lest he spurt right onto the carpet.

"I'll make sure Fleury is always modest outdoors, then," Rose agreed. "And how about you, Andre? Do you wish to keep Polly's privates nice and white so you can see your handiwork more clearly when you flog her?"

"Yes," Andre nodded. Polly squirmed on her potty seat. I saw she was about to blurt out words of disapproval. I turned my head to her. I caught her eye. Despite my fright I tried to ease her own. Silently, for we were being watched. She looked at me, I at her. We shared sympathies with our eyes. Surely they would not mistreat us. Louis had merely fucked me, a boyfriend and girlfriend exploring the newness of each others' bodies. And Andre had not abused her. I hoped we were just being treated a little here, teased. Something different, something new. Yes, the paddling had hurt. Being bent over by Rose, whacked on my fanny. Yet I'd felt a kind of delirium as it was done. I was so mortified, with the maid watching, so shocked, and yet so free, so female. My breasts had felt like love balloons, bouncing their fulsomeness beneath me. My bottom had seemed to blossom under the punishment, my cheeks reddening like roses, dewy springtime in my nest. And the men watching. Their eyes fixed on me. Christ's Second Coming would not have torn their gaze away. For a moment, I was the absolute center of their universe. Just me, the mother goddess-girl, in total command of them despite my suffering.

30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------

Copyright Andrew Roller