Naughty Mommy’s Fantasy Collection:
Finding Some “Practice”
By Naughty Mommy
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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Copyright © 2011 by Naughty Mommy
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Naughty Mommy’s Fantasy Collection:
Finding Some “Practice”
It was the Christmas holidays, and he’d been sent to find himself some practice. She was just an average girl, he thought, but at least she was passably attractive. Long raven hair danced in ringlets about her heart-shaped, pale face, and her deep brown eyes shone with merriment the likes of which he was not accustomed. She was wrapped in a warm, fur-lined coat, a black and maroon scarf evident just below the neckline. Her gloves matched her scarf and were also edged in fur, and she appeared to be the only woman for miles around wearing anything other than jeans; instead she wore heavy corduroy pants that tucked deep into her thick Inuit boots.
He decided that she was to be his early Christmas present and made his way to her through the crowds. She was window shopping, not paying any attention, and with a simple “accidental” bump into her, her purchases fell to the snow-dusted walk. Jarred from a fantasy about how the diamond-encrusted necklace in the window would feel on her neck, she looked around, embarrassed, and began to pick up her things. He had no desire to help her with the mess and waited until she’d managed to scoop everything up to offer her a hand in standing. He knew, looking as he did, she would not refuse him.
He started a conversation, claiming great horror at “the child” who collided with her and “didn’t even stop to help clean up,” and was every bit as charming and debonair as he’d been taught. Since he had been “unable” to assist her in her plight, he invited her instead for tea at a nearby hotel restaurant. “It’s lovely – very elegant – and it’ll warm you through, I promise.”
“I’m not dressed for – ” she protested.
”You’re exquisite,” he interrupted. “Please. I can’t bear to part from you so soon after meeting you, especially like this,” he motioned to her arms full of snow-covered packages. She colored deeply, accepted his arm after shifting her purchases to her other hand (never noticing he offered no assistance), and accompanied him to the nearby Hyatt. Therein was a delightful bistro specializing in proper English tea, and she did not notice the drug he slipped into her cup as he poured for them both. As they sat and chatted and sipped and warmed themselves, she found herself growing wary of the attractive young man before her. His mannerisms seemed feigned, his charm had a cold, hard edge to it, and when it seemed enough time had passed to find reason to excuse herself, she reached for her things.
“You can’t leave yet,” he stated, a distinctly wicked gleam in his eye, and just as she was about dash for the door because her misgivings had so intensified, she felt her mind go numb. It was as though she had had one drink too many; her brain was fuzzy and she could not think straight. “Come with me,” he ordered, and it did not occur to her not to agree.
They made their way to one of the elevators in the lobby, sailed up to the fourteenth floor, and he followed behind her as she floated in a haze toward room 1467; it had been reserved for the week under the name “Samuel Jones,” and the young man’s key card was already out and waiting.
At first she did not notice the others in the room; instead, she’d been intent upon following the direction of her companion to leave her things by the door. When she turned, the stupor that had consumed her mind waned and was replaced instead by terror. Standing before her were four tall men clad in black, masks on their faces. The door came into contact with her back, and she turned and fumbled madly with the handle, which would not move. Swinging around again, the door once more at her back, she began to plead with the assembled group that they would not kill her and was horrified by the cacophony of quiet laughter that met her ears, then doubly so as they began to move, as one, in her direction.
The youth at her side smiled grandly at her, and in a fit of rage and panic, she grabbed him and thrust him in front of her at the men, leaping for the door to her right. The snickers resounding off the walls around her brought home the fact that she had stepped into a closet, and she was overcome by a feeling of defeat, the drugs in her system surging afresh through her veins.
Four sets of hands were on her, lifting her through the air, dropping her onto the bed. She cowered against the back wall, images of Satanists and other devil worshippers filling her mind. One of the men stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her head and into her hair, pulling her to him to kiss her through his mask. She cried out and he slapped her across the face, sending her reeling backward on the bed. She lay gasping, the tears flowing freely from her eyes. “Undress,” came a husky voice from behind the mask of the man who had struck her. She only gaped at him. “I said, undress,” he drawled again, “or would you prefer I see to it for you?”
“Go to hell!” she shouted in a fleeting moment of bravery.
He chuckled quietly – everyone in the room laughed with him – and then he stepped forward and struck her again across the face, once, twice, and a third time as she dared to turn back toward him. Her head swam in a sea of pain and drugged stupor. She writhed on the bed, trying to decide whether or not to hold her throbbing cheek or to cover her head with her arms to protect herself from any further onslaught, and she was met again by his directive. “Undress,” repeated the voice, “or you will know my wrath.”
She did as she was told, slowly, doing her best to keep herself covered from their view, her mind slogging through the exercise as she fought the drugs in her system. As the men were circling the bed now, keeping herself covered became nearly impossible.
When she was wearing only her underclothing, the young man with whom she’d been having tea stepped forward and whispered to the man who seemed to be the leader. The leader of the group nodded, his mask firmly in place, and the young man started to remove his clothing. When he was about to unbutton his trousers, the group leader stopped him. “Have her do it,” he ordered.
The youth climbed onto the bed and knelt before her, waiting for her to open his pants. She clenched her teeth, closed her eyes, and fought the haze still enveloping her mind, knowing she’d never willingly undress him. The young man tilted her face toward his own and said words she could not quite make out, and suddenly she found herself doing what seconds before had revolted her: fumbling with the button on his pants.
Dazed, she helped him undress, and noted that the body before her was lithe, tight, and sexy. She did not argue as her bra was removed, nor protest at the removal of her panties, but sat calmly on the bed, her spinning mind awaiting instruction. She blinked and shook her head violently to clear the drug-induced fog. “Good,” said the young man before her, “It’s more fun when you’re frightened,” and she suddenly felt as though she were in a vice, tense and short of breath.
The battle began, but for her, it was more internal than external. Here she was, scared to death, surrounding by masked men watching her be straddled by a youth about her own age under the direction of another, older man, and frightened as she was, she found herself desperately aroused by the young man now atop her.
He was sculpted, pale, full of angles and anger and hatred and need. The tattoo on his forearm seemed both to fit perfectly with and to be perfectly opposite his demeanor, and she felt herself grow wet as she clawed at the beautiful body above her, still pleading to be left alone.
She drew blood on his chest with her cat scratches, and he slapped her hard across the face…so hard, her world went briefly black. Each of the four men stepped forward and pinned down one of her limbs, holding her in place with determination and a tenderness by which she was repulsed. One had begun to stroke the calf he held, and another was gently patting her left shoulder.
The boy lowered himself onto her again and took one of her nipples into his mouth, teasing her, nibbling at her, and finally biting down hard enough she believed he had to have drawn blood, but when he moved to her other nipple to repeat his cruelty, she noted that her breast was still intact. She tried with all her might to ignore his ministrations, to fight against the hands that held her, spread-eagled, on the bed, but the drugs swam in her mind and her mental faculties went spinning into space. She exerted every effort to control the whirling of her brain, to keep from crying out as his tongue began to circle her clit, all to no avail. She felt angry, ashamed, terrified, and miserably high…and felt an intense pleasure unlike she’d ever known as his mouth took full advantage of her inner warmth.
Suddenly he ceased his teasing and instead brought himself eye to eye with her, stopping her cries with his mouth. His sleek white-blonde hair hung in her face, and though she attempted to turn from him, part of her wanted to drink him in. Eventually she broke his kiss, closed her eyes, and, weeping, turned her head, but this was what he had hoped; he began to lick and suck her neck and ear, breathing huskily and further arousing her wonderfully abused body. He then turned her face back to his and licked the trail of her tears, relishing the saltiness of her fear and disgust.
As he steeled himself to use her here before the other men in the room, he slid his hands down the length of her body, caressing her soft white skin and using the head of his cock to tease her clit. She was crying in earnest now, battling the drugs in her system, and it made him harder than he’d ever been before. He placed his head at her entrance, and all at once thrust into her, making her scream in both pain and pleasure. He rode her hard – angrily – calling her every name he could think of, telling her he knew her to be a whore, reminding her that she had moaned when he’d gone down on her, even though only moments before she had protested his use of her, and that that proved what a slutty bitch she really was. He told her he knew she loved to be used, loved to have other men watch as her body was ravished, and the floating that had seized her mind in concert with the pleasure that had seized her body left her almost convinced of his words.
As his orgasm began to build, he grabbed hold of her throat. He began to throttle her as he exploded into her body, and she clawed desperately at his hands…but as the lack of oxygen consumed her, she came around his rod, experiencing a pleasure almost more intense than was her need for air. Finally she could take no more and she passed out.
When she regained consciousness, she was surrounded by all four men, each taking turns using her for themselves, their pants around their knees, two stroking themselves as the other two delighted in her orifices. All the while the young man that had first enjoyed her reclined naked on the room’s overstuffed sofa amusing himself by changing channels on the television. She let herself be lost in the haze the drugs created for her, her conscious thought fading into the background.
All of them having finished with her, the leader of the group ordered that she dress, and as she did so, sobbing, she caught site of his long, white-blonde locks. Her tears dried up immediately when the man’s hair color connected in her mind to the youth on the couch. Suddenly she felt emptier than she had when she’d been used minutes before by close to half a dozen men. She had ceased to dress herself, and the punishment was swift and sure: two of the men began to beat her, and though she endured it, she felt her mind slipping and allowed herself to float back into a drugged stupor.
The youth was summoned from his entertainment, and irritated by further requirements placed on him, he stormed across the room, pulled on his discarded trousers, and finished dressing the pathetic creature before him. His father instructed him to leave her in the room across the hall, bound and gagged, and he did so, locking the door behind him as he abandoned her. He knew the drugs would leave her questioning her memory of what had happened, but he truly did not care; he had proved himself to his father – that he could procure, drug, and use a woman – and he was eager to return to his programming, hoping to finish the show before his father told them all to clear out. Yes, he looked forward to continued opportunities to prove himself capable to both his father and his father’s friends, but for the moment, the History channel was proving incredibly entertaining…