The Town of Nrfle Ch. 02

"Loose" Lucy was more friendly than anything else, but that's not how alliteration works. She lived with her seven over-affectionate brothers and under-affectionate father, Paul Revere, above the family silver smithery. Her brothers were burly boys with curly black chest hair and muscles. She was small and dainty with long golden locks and a warm smile. Lucy loved attention, so even when the boys hugged her until her joints cracked, she didn't ask them to stop—not ever, not once.

Not when the youngest, George, caught her alone and tickled her until she was breathless with laughter. Not when the next older brother John pinched her bottom while she was preparing his dinner, she dropped his plate, and it made an awful mess. When Lucy saw the spy hole troublesome Thomas drilled in the shower wall, she blushed but didn't plug it up. The James twins (they had the same name since no one could tell them apart) routinely stole Lucy's unmentionables, and she didn't mention it. The other brother John made her give him kissing practice behind the shed, which just caused her to giggle uncontrollably. And then, in the communal bed, when she felt the rough hand of Andrew the eldest, creeping up her thighs, she closed her eyes tight and pretended to snore.

When Paul saw his daughter's virtue crumbling, he took matters into his own hand and bent her ample bottom over the anvil for a spanking.

"Oh!" said Lucy under his stern discipline, "eek!" And her seven brothers, watching from where they stood in a row, cringed sympathetically as her pert bottom turned pink and then purple. But a moment after he finished and she stood, her luminous smile shone through the tears and sobs, and everyone knew "Loose" Lucy was just as friendly as ever.

Gossip about Lucy's friendliness grew and grew until her father, Paul, feared her reputation would prevent her from finding a husband. A month and a day before her marriageable age, he appealed to the village priest for help. Paul led Lucy gently but firmly to the old stone chapel on the outskirts of town. From the curacy office, she heard a stream tinkling through an open window, and bird calls from on the old oak outside. "I'm looking for a mate!" chirped a sparrow. "Let's fuck!" advertised a bluebird. "Tweet tweet," heard Lucy.

"Bless you, my daughter." said the priest.

"Bless me, Father," said Lucy. "For I have sinned."

"Carry on," encouraged Father Karras trying not to notice her cute stub nose splashed with freckles or where her cleavage had outpaced the size of her bodice.

"It has been a long time since my last confession," confessed Lucy. "My brother George holds me down, pinches and strokes me until I can't breathe for the tickling."

"That's no sin," replied the priest.

"But father," replied Lucy, "Every morning, I wait for him in the bedroom alone where I know he'll find me. His touch gives me a delightful tingle!" Father Karras coughed uncomfortably, and she continued. "And my brother John pinches me on the bottom every chance he gets."

"But surely you can't help that he pinches you," said the father.

"But I lean forward over the kitchen sink to tempt him," countered poor Lucy turning red with embarrassment. "A couple of brotherly tweaks and a pat, and I can barely walk straight for hours." Karras shifted in his seat, setting his tablet over his lap to conceal his unprofessionalism. "And troublesome Thomas, he spies on me naked through a hole in the bathroom."

"But surely you didn't drill it for him, my child," said Karras with a sinking suspicion she might have.

"No, of course not," said Lucy. But when I see his handsome brown eyes looking at me, I lather long and hard, giving him the best show I can." The poor priest was turning red in the face and sweating as he tried to remember his vows.

"The Jameses, they steal my panties," she continued. The priest struggled to reply, but the words stuck in his throat. "And I know where to find them, but being bare down there is so deliciously naughty—I feel a draft teasing me right now."

"Me, dear," exclaimed the priest, "this has to stop!"

"That's not the worst of it," said Lucy. "The other John tosses me over his shoulder and carries me behind the shed for kissing practice. I try to struggle and squeak, but when I feel his hardness through his trousers, I can't help myself. I grasp it with both hands to feel its heat."

She wanted to tell him how soft and luscious she felt as Andrew molested her in the night. How deliciously indecent it was to be in a bed with her father and brothers as he traced the shape of her breasts through her shift while he thought she slept. But the pious man couldn't take it anymore. "Out! Out!" he shouted, pointing at the door. "I adjure you, depart!!"

Lucy followed the cobblestone road back through the village trying her best to feel obediently contrite for upsetting the priest. But the sun was shining, the little stream beside her was burbling cheerfully, and the shopkeepers were setting up colorful booths for the upcoming fall festival. She resolved to head straight home like a good girl and managed not to stop and look at the pretty blue dirndls, even though she'd outgrown her own in the spring. She barely glanced through the cobbler's window even though her own shoes were beginning to split from wear. But when she saw the jolly old mayor peeking into the pet shop, the curiosity to know what he was looking at was too tempting.

"Aren't they charming," said the mayor as she stood beside him. His enormity overshadowed her small frame. Through the window squirmed a litter of golden retrievers, their coat as soft and flaxen as Lucy's locks.

"Darlings!" exclaimed Lucy wishing with all her heart she could have one. But she knew her stern father wouldn't allow it; she was all the frivolity he could stand and more.

"Pretty little things," said the mayor rolling his giant, charismatic eye to look down at her. "But a chore to train. I dare say it would take the attention of seven strong men to give one of these treasures the attention it deserves."

Deep in her stomach, Lucy felt a strange flutter, and on the edge of her consciousness, odd thoughts nipped at each other cheerfully. "Oh, but my father would never," said Lucy. "I'm handful enough for him."

"I'm sure you do your best, my dear," said the mayor patting her on the head. "Have you ever considered being your own puppy?"

Lucy looked up at him, ready to laugh at the joke, but he seemed serious. Behind the window, the little dogs yipped together at the shopkeeper. "I'm sorry?" she said.

"Be your own puppy," repeated the mayor as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You seem like a girl who enjoys petting." Lucy reddened a little, but she couldn't deny it. "And being the center of attention?" he asked. She nodded. "And maybe your father feels you need a little training?" he kept going, making her answer a new question with every breath she took.

The mayor talked and talked; his deep voice droned on and on. Lucy felt his questions buzz in her brain like bees in a field harvesting her thoughts to make honey. After each answer, she felt lighter until, an hour and a half later, she couldn't recall how she'd gotten home, but it felt like she might have floated there.

She found herself in the forge surrounded by her seven burly brothers while the mayor addressed her father. He held one end of a soft leather leash, the other connected to a pink collar at her neck with a little brass tag engraved "L-U-C-Y."

"She's a purebred for certain," he was saying. "Look at those flanks, her nimble gait, and her friendly, lively expression." Lucy blushed.

"But mayor," tried Paul—he didn't get a chance to finish.

"No, no," said the mayor, "you don't have to thank me, I found her loitering outside the pet store. You can't let her wander like that; breedable bitches are in hot demand."

"She's not," Paul tried to say.

"I'm returning her to you on one condition," the mayor barreled on, "you train her, exercise her, feed her, and care for her daily. I want her in the fall festival next month; I want to see you win the best of show blue ribbon, my dear man."

The condition hung in the air, taking on a life of its own. Paul opened his mouth, but he couldn't find a thought to express, not a single one, and shut it again. Outside, the birds chirped merrily, and inside the boys watched the mayor tug on the leash of their pretty little sister with their mouths agape in disbelief.

"Ah," said Paul hesitantly. "I guess that seems fair." He felt something wasn't entirely correct, but the more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

"Excellent!" bellowed the mayor, startling a bluebird to flap off its perch. "Now, Lucy, be a good girl, and let's get you out of that dress."

"I'm sorry?" said Lucy, looking to their father for guidance. The mayor gave an insistent tug on her collar.

"Jump to it, my best to breed; we can't have you dressed up like you're people."

Paul, feeling a paternal urge to take charge of his family, butted in. "Lucy, that will be enough, do as the mayor says; off with that dress."

In Nifle, women were kept carefully under wrap—first, a dirndl tied with ribbons, then a bodice with straps, and finally layers of petticoats. Lucy fumbled with her clasps and knots in the center of the circle of attentive men. The indelicate layers peeled off her like petals leaving her standing pink and naked in the middle like the pistil of an exploded flower.

"A marvelous pedigree," said the mayor with excitement. He gently but firmly pulled up on her leash, forcing the girl to her tiptoes. "See the muscles of her calves, the curve of her thighs." Around them, Paul and his sons nodded, admiring Lucy. They had to admit, every part of her was lovely, from the curve of her butt like a ripe peach, up the trim slenderness of her rib cage, to the small breasts on her chest boyant with the lightness of youth. Her blush deepened from her face down her neck to her waist. Paul, his gaze falling perilously south of her hips, shook himself and focused on the task at hand.

"Yes, mayor," he said. "I agree she has promise. Next month, you have my word, she'll be the best trained at the show. Boys, caring, feeding, and training your sister. . . I mean puppy, is not going to be easy. Are you up to the task?"

"Yes, sir," came the eager chorus.

"George," commanded Paul, "You'll groom her. John, you'll feed her and clean up after her. Thomas, you'll wash her. Jameses, you'll ensure she's collared and leashed to prevent her escape. Other John, you'll train her. And Andrew, you'll pet and play with her."

"Marvelous!" beamed the mayor. "My work here is done. Soon, my gentlemen." With a wave and a blown kiss to Lucy, he handed the leash to Paul and took his leave.

"Boys," said Paul to his boys, gathering his wits as best he could. "Your puppy is a big responsibility. We can't disappoint the mayor. We have a month and a day to prepare Lucy for display."

Around the table, they nodded back, eyes wide with excitement. Lucy felt butterflies in her belly and below.

George was first, and he took her to the bedroom where he used to tickle her, leading her with care so he didn't pull on her neck with the leash. Lucy, in a daze, followed him obediently, wondering what was in store for her. He had her kneel on the floor as he sat on the bed and combed her soft hair, running his fingers through her long tresses to feel for knots. She felt the pull on her scalp in relaxing waves, sighing as each run of the comb soothed her tensions. Next, he guided her to lay down on the duvet, beams of sunlight through the window warming her backside. He kneaded her muscles from the balls of her feet to the nape of her neck. Under his rough hands, her soft body relaxed and became supple; the pressure of his strong hands released every tension and knot—in her feet, her claves, the backs of her thighs, the curve of her butt, the dimples of her back, and the stress in her arms and shoulders. The only ticklish sensation was between her legs. It built without release until she couldn't help wishing for a little of his old irascibility, the brief catch and manhandle that left her relieved to be free.

John had her then. He cooked a meal for her taking her spot where she used to work at the stove. From the kitchen floor where she kneeled, Lucy watched him prepare, her tummy rumbling with hunger, a hearty lunch of chicken and dumplings. He served them to her in a dog bowl, and she ate with no hands, just as a puppy would, her butt in the air. He cleaned up after her, washing her plate and sweeping the floor.

Thomas was next, and her trepidation returned with the memory of his teasing. But he was patiently gentle. He heated a bath, testing the water with the back of his hands to make sure the temperature was not too hot or too cold. He washed her all over, not missing a spot until each nook and cranny was clean and fresh. He lingered when soaping her breasts and took extra care to clean between her legs. The sensation of the sponge mirrored a tingle inside her that made her sigh with a desire for more after she was clean. "Thank you," she said after he helped her stand, "but aren't you going to dry me?" Then he toweled her and applied a soothing lotion that left her skin warm and soft and smelling of beeswax and lilac. He shaved her last leaving her delicate v vulnerably bare. When he tested the smoothness of his work with his hand, Lucy could help making a little whimper.

The Jameses were less gentle, ensuring her collar was firmly tight and describing to her in detail the punishment for escape.

"Paul will whip you," said James One, "if you open the gate."

"Be a good girl for us," said James Two, "and submit to your collar."

They pulled on her leash, demonstrating her helplessness against the restraints, and built a crate to spend the night in, it was just long enough for her to lie down. Its bars trapped her securely, and the catch lock only the boys could reach reminded her she was only their pet.

The other John started her training in the afternoon after they let her have a nap. He corrected her gait so that she pranced as she walked, her little titties bouncing with each step. He led her through the house, and each man enjoyed seeing her nimble stepping as she passed. "Good girl," congratulated John stroking her neck. "Keep your back arched and stay up on the balls of your feet. Let the judges know you're a fine bitch for breeding, and the first prize will be ours." She did her best not to feel self-conscious and take pride in his compliments.

And then, as the sun set, it was Andrew's turn. He stroked each naked part of her, whispering, "Good girl." He ran his hands from her shoulders to the cleft of her back until she pleasedly kicked a little. He had her lie face up and traced the curves of her tummy right up to her breast, and he affectionately kissed her face whispering what a perfect bitch she was.

That night, while her brothers slept in their bed, Lucy lay awake feeling where they had touched and cared for her, wishing for something more, but she wasn't sure exactly what.

As the days wore on, the boys' training perfected her mind and body for the show. She developed a lean, athletic tone and learned poses to display her best attributes. The brothers couldn't resist petting and loving on their eager sister, stroking her hair and squeezing her curves. Lucy whined at them to be touched, laying on her back to expose the firm lines of her belly. She beamed at their compliments and practiced good posture, revealing every aspect of her perfect figure. In her spare time, she learned to do tricks. And even Paul had to admit that nothing was more charming than little kneeling Lucy balancing a treat on her nose.

But the constant attention and indiscriminate touching began to get to Lucy. She developed a faraway look in her eye and a graceless habit of rubbing herself when she thought no one was looking. Lucy's constant whimpering for petting became so frequent that the boys were embarrassed to invite over their friends. And what's more, wherever she sat, she left behind a mysterious wet patch. Something had to be done, so they summoned the village vet, Buster, to help her.

He got her up on the kitchen table to examine her in detail. "On your hands and knees, dear, keep those legs spread," he instructed. Her brothers looked on with worry, anxious about the diagnosis. Buster was a small man with a big pipe. His beady blue eyes peered at her from behind thick glasses like blue lamps in a fog.

"Arhmm," he said thoughtfully, chewing the bit of his pipe.

"Mmhra!" replied Lucy, shocked by the chill of his stethoscope.

"Well, well," he continued tweaking her nipples.

"Oh dear!" said the poor girl feeling his pinch.

Buster took out a thin, smooth steel rod, and Lucy's eyes widened as she felt its tip at her opening behind her.

"Deep breath," said the vet, and she took and held it. He slipped the rod in with the ease of professional experience, and then pulled it out again. In a small voice, Lucy said, "oh!"

"See here," he said, leaning to show Paul, "this dipstick is wet to the hilt. Your poor girl is in heat." The boys strained their necks to see over his shoulder.

"Is it bad?" asked Paul with concern.

"No, not at all. I prescribe gentle stimulation two times a day. Here, let me show you."

He inserted his thumb into the girl—"Oh!" she said loudly and breathlessly—and he placed his pointer finger over her clit.

"Are you quite comfortable, my dear?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," whimpered Lucy moving her hips against his touch.

"Now you jiggle the hand like so," said the vet to the boys demonstrating a vigorous oscillation of the young woman's pussy.

"Oh god!" Exclaimed Lucy with very little piety.

"Oh my," said Paul, watching his daughter writhe. The boys took careful notes, trying with their hands to make the same C-shape the vet did.

"If you find climax difficult to achieve, you may place your other pointer finger in her bottom just so," demonstrated the vet inserting another finger. Poor Lucy, beside herself with intense sensations, let loose a high-pitched howl. "Good girl," praised Buster withdrawing his hand with a wet slurp.

"Remember," said the vet as he packed up his instruments, "at least twice daily." Lucy had collapsed on the table, where she lay twitching and panting.

The boys were careful to give her the treatment as many times as that or more, and Lucy found herself more focused on the upcoming competition than ever before. She drilled from sunup to sundown, perfecting her form. At night, as she pranced in her dreams, she gave little kicks in her sleep. Andrew pined for her in the bed, but until the show, she slept in her crate.

Finally, it was the big day. The people of Nrfle wore their best smiles and their one set of clothes. They closed down their businesses, hung the square with bright banners and streamers, and every corner of the town was thick with the smell of savory snack carts. The new crop of milkmaids proudly peddled their own products at farmer Stratton's stall. Madison, the barmaid at the Blue Beetle, carried a platter of beers through the crowd. "Half off!" she yelled but didn't mention it was half off double the usual price. From deep in the sideshow tent came the sound of satisfied grunts from where Noehans kept his boars.

The mayor took charge of Lucy personally, congratulating Paul on her presentation, and her father beamed with pride. He led her out through the square, right up to the judges' stand, where she presented herself proudly, just as her brothers trained her to do. A shocked hush spread through the audience, and women shielded the impressionable eyes of their husbands from the spectacle.