"Bathtime, girls," Rose said to us. We ignored her. I spit out mud and molded it in my hands. Playdoh, colored brown. It was fun. I would make dinosaurs with it.

"Come, you two, we must get offstage before the audience joins in the fun," Rose told us. We gazed up at her with children's eyes, happy now in our playpen of mud, two girls suddenly free of the adult world, reduced to toddlers in a sandbox. "Up," Rose insisted. We could not stay. We'd find ourselves joined by men with penises if we did. Reluctantly we let her pull us up. We got out, tried to brush off the mud, found we only smeared it over what little whiteness remained of our bodies. As a last act of vengeance Polly yanked down my nightie.

"Polly!" I blurted, but my nightie was down round my ankles before I could stop her. She smeared her mudcaked hands over my still unsoiled tummy, protected before my my nightie.

"Look! Tic Tac Toe," Polly said gleefully. She drew X's and O's on my belly with her muddy fingers.

"Come, Polly," Rose said, and gave the girl a slap on her naked behind to get her attention.

"Owww!" Polly moped. She rubbed her heinie, despite the fact that she would make herself messier still back there, hoping to assuage the sting. I took her hand other hand, squeezed it. Together we walked offstage, she rubbing her butt, me just walking casually, knowing the audience watched my clinging cheeks jiggle about as I made my exit. Rose was more circumspect, her bottom a red pattern of stripes, making her sway her hips more than she wished. Together we stepped from the stage. Looking behind me, just once, I saw David unzip himself. I heard him announce to the audience that the show was over. He presented his penis to them and, as I looked away, he peed on them. I heard several women scream as his stream gave them an impromptu shower.

With careful steps we descended the staircase back into the safety of the dressing room. I felt the floodlights of the stage as they slipped away, one moment illuminating me for all to see, the next unable to pierce the curtain that closed behind me. A small, but effective curtain, at the top of the stairs. Beyond it we could clean up, pee, eat, whatever we wanted, without being offered as entertainment to public view. David tromped down the steps behind us. He pulled up his zipper. Even he was through, though perhaps in a more basic way than we were.

Turning, I spotted a small glass shower stall. A woman was just finishing up cleaning it. She plunked her mop into a bucket. I saw that the stall was set upon wheels, and could be moved, perhaps out onto the stage, or anywhere else one pleased. A hose ran from the shower head to a sink. It was a sink used for washing hair, as in a beautician's parlor, except now, with the hose attached, it could provide water to the portable shower.

"Well," the woman harumphed to herself, dropping her sponge and cleaning fluids back into a little cart in which she carried her bucket and mop. "I do hope I don't have to scrub this shower stall down again tonight." She did not see us coming. She was a woman who appeared to just be arriving at middle age. Her face was careworn, and I guessed she must be a single mom, working her way through life to support children left to her by a lover long gone. She stood, put a hand to the small of her back, grimaced a little.

"Oho, honey, you ain't even begun to start workin'," the lady who'd done our hair piped up. The cleaning lady turned her head, saw us approaching.

"Oh, shit!" the cleaning lady swore.

"They got a little muddy, I'm afraid," Rose said politely to the cleaning lady of myself and Polly.

"How could they BOTH lose?!" the cleaning lady asked.

"They're just little girls. You know how little girls are. They find mud irresistible," Rose smiled.

"What, you didn't know they was puttin' on the mud show tonight?" the beautician asked the cleaning lady? The beautician was laughing and slapping her thighs. "You cin forgit about strippers with boas, honey. David's into REAL entertainment now!"

"Damn, I'll be here all night cleaning," the cleaning lady answered as we stepped past her and inspected the shower stall.

It was old. The glass was yellowed and it was cracked in the upper corner of one of the panels. Significantly, there was no door or curtain to the stall. Just three glass walls, with the front utterly open, perhaps so an audience could see inside. I guessed it was used mostly on stage.

"Get in, girls," Rose said. She placed her small palms on our bottoms and urged us to step up into the wheeled stall. "I'll go after you."

"What happened to you, honey?" the cleaning lady asked Rose. She took a lesbian's interest in Rose's injured heinie.

"She gave David his money's worth, and the crowd too," the beautician opined.

"Is that sperm or just whipped cream?" the cleaning lady asked Rose, taking some amusement now in our plight.

"It isn't your concern," Rose murmured. She blushed a little. The beautician laughed again, a harsh laugh. She and the cleaning lady lacked all culture. But they were, at least, not caked with mud or ass-whipped. They at least had clothes on.

Polly and I huddled into the shower stall. Rose fitted us into it, pressing upon us with her hands. It was a tight fit. Rose nodded to the beautician. The beautician turned on the sink and a moment later a spray of ice cold water blasted down onto us.

EEEEEEK! Polly and I both shouted in unison.

"A little warmer, please," Rose told the beautician.

"A LOT wamrer," Polly said somewhat inarticulately, her speech garbled by the shivering cold water. We clung to each other under the spray. Our nipples poked at each other's bosoms like thorns. I felt the water sleet down my belly and gather like snow in my pubic curls.

The water warmed. David settled into a chair and opened his fly. Rose turned and watched him as he took out his cock and began stroking it. He was huge and hard and a gleaming drop of pre-cum formed on the tip of his penis. Rose stepped away from the shower so he could watch us. She offered us soap, no washcloth, no sponge.

"Do each other," Rose told us.

"I can wash myself," Polly protested.

"Do as you're told," David said. His voice brooked no disobedience.

We still wore our platform pumps, with our calves and ankles bound by their straps. We still had on our fingerless mittens, and wore scarves round our neck. Light pink pastel scarves, that once had matched our nighties, and made our t-shirts look alluring before that, but now hung all by themselves. Polly still had barrettes in her hair, and it was pulled into pigtails.

I lifted my leg up behind me and reached back to undo the lacing of my shoe.

"Don't bother," David told me. "Just soap each other where it counts. Use your hands."

"But I've got mud between my toes," I said. I looked at him, the water streaming down on me, warm now, breaking up my coiffure and pushing my hair down into my eyes. I saw he would not allow me to do as I wished. I was bathing for his erotic entertainment only.

"Come and suck my cock," David told Rose. Trippingly she went to him, her feet encased in her heavy cowgirl boots. Her dress hid nothing, arched up in front and back by her responsibilities, showing her pubis, her bottom. Quickly she knelt and put her mouth to his cock. She began to service him. He sighed, relaxed more in his chair. The cleaning lady and the beautician laughed.

As we washed, Polly and I found pleasure in each other's hands. My fingers explored her slit. She swooned, fingering me in turn. In his chair David strove to poke his organ deep into Rose's throat, even as he fought to retain his seed within the confines of his balls. Such were the games we played with each other.

At last David's passion ran its course. Rose stood up from him, her cheeks bloated with his sperm. David told her she did not have to swallow it. She went to the sink and spit out his essence.

"I'm sorry, but I prefer only to swallow the sperm of men I love, and you, sir, are just a client," Rose apologized to David when she'd emptied her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

"It's okay. I don't love you either, or the girls," David answered. There was a satisfied look on his face. "I just needed to cum, and you were available." He zipped himself up. "I care nothing for females anymore. However beautiful they may be, to me they're just a gentlemen's way of relieving himself. I might be gay, or just jerk myself off, but that would hardly be proper. It's sort of like going to the bathroom to me. Just as I have to poop and piss, I have to shoot now and then too," David said with a glowering smile to Rose. "You're a walking toilet, my dear, nothing more. Despite your pretty legs. Sorry. I just have no feeling for you, that's all. Or any woman."

"Well, the feeling's not mutual," Rose replied. Tenderly she touched her bottom. "In my case, I'll be feeling you for the rest of the night, sir."

"And tomorrow too, at breakfast, I'll bet, sitting on extra cushions," David laughed.

"Come on, girls," Rose told Polly and me. "We're done here." The beautician turned off the shower. She detached the hose from the sink. She turned on the faucet and rinsed away David's sperm. The cleaning lady passed her mop over the floor outside the shower stall and wiped up the water that had exceeded its bounds. Polly and I waited, watching her. When she was done, the cleaning lady took a big fluffy towel and spread it out on the floor for us to step on.

Wetly Polly and I emerged from the shower. Our neckerchiefs dripped. They were sodden. Our mittens retained a little soap. Our feet were mostly clean, with perhaps a trace of mud between our toes. The cleaning lady gave us a towel to share.

"Thank you," Polly and I both lisped in unison to her. We were shy, quiet, domesticated. We both wiped our faces on the towel. Then I took it and dried Polly. She dried me afterward. David rose and poured himself a drink, watched us absently, as if wishing he might stroke himself, but also glad that he'd rid himself, at least for now, of his need to cum.

Polly and I stepped off our bath mat towel to give Rose room to take a quick shower herself. The beautician reattached the hose to the sink's faucet. As David cleared his throat impatiently, sipping his drink, Rose rinsed off under the shower.

We rode in silence back to the castle. There was just Rose, myself, Polly. The driver was in front, separated from us by smoked glass. The moon gleamed overhead, a miniature spotlight. In a normal car, passing vehicles might have looked in, their occupants seeing our dishevelment. But behind the tempered privacy glass nothing could be seen. I felt squishy between my legs. I know Polly did too. The leather stuck to our bare bottoms. We were damp. We had nothing now, save our scarves and our shoes. And our little mittens, hiding nothing, letting even our fingers show. Polly sat uncomfortably. I knew the sting of Dave's belt still blazed deep into her flesh. He had hit her hard. Had she wanted him to? I wished to ask, could not find the courage to do so. We were three females, adventuring in the world. We met men, on their terms, daring them, paying for it a little, perhaps. I wondered what else Rose had planned for us. Did I wish to stay with her? Should I disobey my lover and find a way to leave her? I looked at Polly. She sat twiddling her thumbs. She seemed entertained by it. I do not think the night affected her the least, now that it was past. She was like a toddler, crying one moment, content the next, sleeping in the cradle of her mother's arms. Her blonde hair hung down round her face, over her shoulders. She'd been allowed to undo her pigtails in the car. She seemed shrouded in innocence now, her hair forming a kind of veil, keeping her modest. I wanted to reach out and pinch her bare bottom but I did not. She was sweet. I wished I was still like her, unknowing, even as I experienced love, kept innocent somehow by the imperviousness of my youth. A year ago I'd been like her. But I'd grown. My experiences had eventually taken hold and changed me. Lying that first night on the beach, pulling down my panties, I'd been a babe still, hoping to be splashed by an unexpected wave. A wave rising above the tide-mark, wetting me, bathing me in its overpowering love. And then I'd met Barbi, and Lord Shaftsbury. How he had loved me! And lastly I remembered Max, brutal and direct, prying apart my ass and making his love felt within me. And so many experiences in between. Yet I was only 14. I had still so much to see. I'd stay a little longer with Rose, I decided, at her spooky castle.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked Polly at last, nudging her.

"Don't bother me," she replied, not looking up from her twiddling fingers. "I'm making up a new song." She hummed a few bars, her head still down, her hair still blocking her eyes from my view.

"What sort of song?" I asked.

"Pink Panther," Polly replied. She looked up. "Rose, do you have T.V. at your castle?" she asked. Her hair fell back and I saw her face, her nose upturned, her lips puckered as if inviting a kiss.

"Yes," Rose answered. "Why do you ask?"

"I like the Care Bears, and Pound Puppies," Polly declared. "They come on every day, during the week, when there's school. And then on Saturday there is Pink Panther, and on Sundays I sometimes like to watch Captain Doom."

"We'll see," Rose answered. "If you're good I suppose you both can be permitted certain liberties." She had glanced at us but now she turned and looked out the window, as if lost in her thoughts. Was she thinking of past lovers, or making plans for us?

"I don't need to see cartoons," I said aloud. I straightened my back, feeling mature by my declaration.

"Well, who cares about you?" Polly said. She went back to her finger-fiddling.

"Louis," I said to myself. "Louis cares about me." And my parents, sort of, but they didn't matter. Your parents always love you. In their own way, of course, trying to keep you a child. So it was Louis, I guess, who loved me most of all. And I decided to keep him happy by staying with Rose, just a bit longer, at the Castle whose name I dared not say. Even to myself.

The castle seemed different when we returned. A man in a black robe waited and watched us as the limo pulled up the drive. I did not see him until the last minute, then realized that he must have been there all along, vulture-like, watching our car approach. He opened the door for us, from Polly's side, and we spilled out. Our eyes widened as we saw him. His hood was thrown back. His head was bald. It gleamed in the moonlight. He did not smile. He showed no emotion.

Rose scooted herself out behind us, using our door. "Branson," she breathed, seeing our new visitor. He perhaps smiled a little at her. I could not tell.

"I'm finished with Miss Pettance," Branson said to Rose. His voice breathed with intelligence, yet was low, growling, brooding.

"Her two weeks are up already?" Rose asked.

"They are," Branson answered. "She will serve her husband better from now on."

"It is good that you are finished, then," Rose said. "I have two new guests. We've played a little, but their training hasn't really begun in earnest yet. Show each of them to a room of their own. Have them bathed. They are not to do anything by themselves. Assign a female attendant, for privacy. Make it two. They are young, and might prove wilful."

"Yes," Branson said. He turned to Polly and I. We shrank back, looked with wondering eyes at Rose. She tossed her hair back. She seemed not to see us, yet she was thinking of nothing else. "The potty, wiping, all is to be done by their attendants. Have them fed. Then see that they are put to bed properly."

"Yes, mistress," Branson breathed. His breath seemed to flow out like a dragon's at rest. Hot, tense, waiting.

"Polly, Fleury, stand up straight!" Rose told us. "Be proud of yourselves. Arch your backs, lift your bosoms." We obeyed, knowing not what else to do. I wished for a bikini at least, standing nude before Branson. "All is being done according to your lover's wishes, so don't fight it, please. You will be well cared for by Branson. I have other responsibilities right now. We'll meet again in the morning. Until then, behave, act your age, and remember that trouble can be easily repaid. I intend to make you both grown-up girls, and you can both be grown-up girls, I can tell, because you already have the right demeanor and attitude." We stood quite alertly, our backs rigid, gazing at her in the moonlight. I felt the moonlight caress my bosom and bottom, my flesh jutting out to intercept it. "There! Such perfect bodies," Rose complimented us. "Truly, it is like curating delicious new works of art, working with both you girls. You are living museum pieces, the best of the new, the avant-garde, fresh from Andy Warhol's studio, or some new artist, perhaps, unknown yet to the larger world. When you are finished here your lovers must hold coming out parties for you, in my opinion. You will be perfectly formed then, not just in body but in mind too. How you'll delight men, and twist them round your fingers. You'll have Louis, Andre, or any others you choose. But first you must learn to be submissive. To submit, yet control, that is the trick of it, for a female. To control by submitting. Don't worry, I'll show you how. Take them, Branson, and make them do just as you say. Bye, girls. We'll meet again soon!" She turned, and her bottom gleamed in the moonlight. As she walked away from us, she tugged down her too-short skirt to try to hide it. We were left watching a slim leather bib flap haplessly over her tush, hiding nothing, really, given how her hips wobbled. She had a bold derriere and such a small skirt could not compete with its fullness. Her bottom was womanly, complete and round and yet firm and trim. It swayed and jiggled with a life of its own, though, tossing her bib-like skirt to and fro, catching even Branson's eye, though I guessed he'd seen it many times before. She retreated into the darkness, leaving us, going someplace in nothing but her skirt and boots, perhaps to fuck out back on the haystack with the help. As for myself and Polly, we were hastened up the castle steps and within its doors.

Upstairs I found myself placed in a small but hospitable bedroom. It had no windows. None had seen Polly and I as we entered the castle, and I was thankful for it. We both had had quite a night.

I felt someone enter the room behind me. I turned quickly on my heels. It was scary, being alone suddenly, without Polly beside me. She had been taken elsewhere, by Branson. I did not know where.

"Hi!" two female voices chimed at me. They looked like college girls. Their hair was piled atop their heads, one blonde, the other brunette. The brunette introduced herself as Joanne. The other said her name was Sylvia.

Both girls wore long, flowing dresses. But seeing them, I was immediately struck by how their dresses had been forcibly altered. In front, the dress of each girl, despite binding her closely about the waist, had been pulled back to show off her bosom. Their breasts were young and bare and they had obviously been chosen because they had lovely bosoms, high and finely tipped by rouged nipples.

Their dresses were pulled apart below the waist. Their legs showed, right up to their muffs. Their skirts were rolled up in back, letting their bottoms bulb out. Uncovered, their derrieres shone with youthful dignity, white and soft and cleft in the middle.

"Why- why are you dressed that way?" I asked, gulping as I spoke.

They giggled. For a moment I thought of Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle- Dee. "You are dressed more conservatively?" they asked me. I flushed crimson.

They walked up to me and took up a position on either side of me and gently guided me with light-touching hands on my shoulders and back toward a room next door. "It's for convenience's sake," they said, their voices soft and melodious. "We don't have to lift our skirts when we pee, or when we poop, and, of course, men have ready access to us, which is the main point of it. Branson ordered it. Otherwise we would not dress this way. But our lovers enjoy it and Branson offers us to them, and other men too, dressed like this to kill, you might say, or, rather, to fuck and show off our all bodily functions, which some men enjoy seeing." Each of them spoke a line or two, contributing to the other's thoughts. It was eerie. They seemed like twins. They were mentally bound into Branson's world, and that of their lovers, as fully as any two girls could be.

The adjoining room proved to be a private bath. Like my bedroom, it had no windows. I found there was a tub already waiting for me, a big claw-footed tub, old-fashioned, with hot water and bubbles filling it to the rim. Gratefully I let the maids undress me and I sank into its warmth. The two girls, older sisters it seemed, with me as their darling baby sis, knelt down on either side of my tub. Carefully, trying not to get their boobs wet with bubbles or spray from my splashing, they washed me completely. I tried to push them away at first. But they insisted on doing me.

"Relax," they said. "You will have plenty of chances to do things later." Their eyes twinkled. "Just let us do this. It is mundane. You are to be spared such silly things. We'll bathe you, and wipe you when you go to the bathroom, and we'll even spoon-feed you, how's that? Relax and enjoy it. We ourselves were once like you..." They spoke on, easing my fears, though never entirely. Joanne had been studying Law. She'd been in her first year, toiling away, buried under seven classes worth of work. Then, one day, she'd met a new lover (after abstaining to get all her studies done). He brought her to Castle Cunt, and she'd never left. She was a Ôveteran' now, here for a whole month, perhaps staying forever, she didn't know. Law school was forgotten. Life was forgotten. She was just Joanne now, the brunette sex pet in the lovely but too-revealing robe. She did as she was told, she explained, and thought of nothing else. She began like me and, when her initial training was done, she decided to stay on to help out with the new girls, while undergoing more advanced training herself.

"But the delightful thing about it," Joanne assured me. "Is that you don't have to plan. They tell you everything. It's hard sometimes, but never from the standpoint of responsibility. You have no responsibilities. You get to sink completely within your body and let them love and admire you."

"Don't you have responsibilities now?" I asked her. She sponged down my tummy and on into the cleft between my legs.

"Not really," Joanne answered. "I mean, I don't have to obey. I'd be punished, sure, but they would do that. And they would care for me as they punished me. It's not like real life, where you have to worry about rent, or eating, or getting here or there. My lover sees to everything. Even if I'm being punished, it's his responsibility to see that I'm fed, and watered..." She looked at Sylvia and they both giggled.

Sylvia had been a nurse. She'd been a new nurse in the Air Force, just done with MIMSO and ROTC. No boot camp for her. To be an officer and a nurse one had only to attend a two-week training, with doctors. But working the night shift at the hospital, trying to keep up, and keep everyone happy, had burned her out. She'd gotten a chance to leave the Air Force, and jumped at it. Downsizing had saved her. Now she was just her boyfriend's sex pet. He commanded, more thoroughly than any general, but she could obey or not, as she wished, though she'd be punished most indiscreetly and intimately if she chose to disobey.

"We're planning to have me branded at the end of the month," Sylvia told me, sending a shiver down my spine. "I'm trying to prepare myself for it. It makes me very scared. But I want to wear his initials within the cleft of my bottom, much as I wore rank in the Air Force, except these indications of status would be much more intimately placed. Already I've met two girls who have similar marks. Imagine going to a party where everyone had such rank and comparing each other's brands!" Sylvia's face glowed at the possibility.

"Yes, its exciting, but I think I'm too frightened of something like that to ever do it," Joanne replied, in a rare show of disagreement between the two.

"Maybe I'll convince you by my example," Sylvia offered.

"Don't feel you have to," Joanne answered.

"I would never do that," I breathed. I touched my bottom cheeks. I parted them a little, beneath the safety of the bathwater. I felt the water flow against my anus.

"You'd be surprised at what you'll do once you're properly trained," Sylvia assured me. I listened, said nothing in reply. My stomach had butterflies flying within it.

Author: Andrew Roller

Copyright Andrew Roller