I relish the feel of my body in the cool air, with nothing between me and whatever might happen! Of course, as mistress, I'll be clothed when we entertain guests, and I control everything that goes on here. Now, who shall it be? Do you see that sawhorse there? Get a pillow if you wish it for your tummy, and bend right over, for I don't intend to wait all day. I am being paid by the hour, girls! Nervously, obviously wishing this all could somehow be avoided, but knowing it was her master's wish, Barbi let go my hand and walked slowly to an innocuous to me, at least! wooden trestle set near a corner of the room. When she reached it she stooped and picked up a leather pad that lay at an angle beside one of its legs. She put the pad on top of the trestle and, after taking a moment to brush back her hair, bent over so that her bottom mooned us. I almost broke out giggling. A girl like Barbi, showing us her ass like that! Then I watched as mistress approached Barbi with an ominous, cat like prance in her step, stalking garden robbins and their little nestling eggs. Mistress swished her cane once. Barbi spread out her hands and took hold of a post that ran way down between the legs of the trestle.

Then she made us girls roll over on our tummies and, to our dismay, lift up our shifts in back. The boys exclaimed when they saw our damaged tushies. The marks seemed to excite some deep primal male interest in them. They were the marks other men had ordered, mistress explained, our real owners, who wished to let the boys know that even though they might enjoy us, we did not belong to them. We each belonged already to a lovemaster, and he was merely loaning us to these nerdy boys for his own. These are slaves, boys, not mere whores. Did you know that you're being watched? Yes, there are men looking right now at your naked cocks, laughing at them, perhaps. But you can't bear to leave now, can you? Despite how silly you must look to the experienced masters of these girls. Alright, boys. Here's a hot dog for each of you. I want you to stick these hot dogs into each girl's butthole. Do it gently, especially for Fury here, because she's new and had never been buttfucked before. As you can see, her master is still afraid to mark her, for her bottom is white, no?

Tuppence called out. Instead of striking me, she passed by, just letting her crop tremble a bit, in her hand, keeping it limber. I wondered then at myself, at her. Were we really being enslaved, punished, or were we being treated to some special experience? Perhaps that was why we had not fought more, though how we could I did not know, given the men who'd taken us, and who now guarded us, in the distance, their weapons at the ready, and their cocks too, no doubt, if we acted up and fell from grace with Ms. Tuppence and her sprightly crop. Yet I felt, somehow, as if perhaps I'd earned this moment in the barn. I'd been to the Andes, and to London and its environs, and on into the jungles of Mexico, seeking what I knew not, and finding danger, passion sometimes, but mostly an otherworldly kind of loss of control of my physical self, only to repossess myself at the last minute, before all was lost. Now, again, I had brought myself into some special zone, where few entered. Naked, shivering slightly in the coolness of the barn, the sun hot already in the fields beyond. Made to work, yet in a freshened barn, lined with sweet hay, with freshly scrubbed cows waiting to be milked. I guessed not every day was this barn so clean, so well prepared. They had done it for us, because we were special. And why were we special? Not because of our minds, tho we might speak with special eloquence, or tenderness, or warmth, or passion. No, it was because, of all the females in the world, we were the best, the most perfect. And, most importantly, we were young. We were the girls of this season, though I found it hard to believe there would ever be any other seasons when I was not perfect and special and just as unique as I now was. I slip on the pinafore, tie it in back. I put the ribbons in my hair.

Do you stories about women being raped work out a lot, Ray? It was strange. We knew so little about each other, yet here we were, all of us naked, playing and enjoying each other. I work out every day, Ray replied. I have to, to stay in shape as a lifeguard. People's lives depend on me, you know. Oh, I'm sure those little 0-year-olds were in constant danger of drowning in their baby pool, Kate laughed. Her bosoms shook as she laughed and a bit of foam flew from her hands and landed on one of her nipples. She bent her head down, tried to flick it off, but the foam on her fingers just added more. A baby pool can be just as dangerous as the beach, Ray replied. Oh yes, especially if a shark is the lifeguard! I giggled. I pinched his bottom. He grunted. He had an excellent tolerance for pain.

That's all a girl apparently needed son fucking mother around here. At least if she were a new girl, I mused. Cybil sat down across the corner from me. Table-mates, we were, with a little swimsuited, half-naked nine-year-old mermaid as our waitress. I'd really prefer lunch, I said. I thought you would, Cybil smiled. I think I got cancer from the bacon this morning. I didn't burn it THAT badly, mommie, Betsy answered. She seemed crestfallen. Of course you didn't dear. Get the sandwiches out of the fridge that the deli man brought. He was nice, Betsy said. He rubbed me to make me feel real good inside. Oh, God! Cybil said. She dropped her face into her hands.