Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 128
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bordello Girls
Chapter One
I put on my skimpiest bikini. After all, Marla had minced no words
about what she had planned. ÒWeÕre going to make dessert out of you!Ó
sheÕd smiled. My parents would never approve. Fortunately, they were in
Rome for the weekend. IÕd decided to stay down by the shore. My dadÕs an
oil executive. He and mother had taken a house along the Mediterranean
for a month. It was someone elseÕs house, of course, a friend of my DadÕs.
I didnÕt know them, which didnÕt matter, since they werenÕt here anyway,
and wouldnÕt be for the entire time we were staying here.
Marla lived next door. It was a very wealthy area. The homes were
perched along a cliff overlooking the beach. There was a little path that
led down to the sand. IÕd met her on the path one day. We chatted. For
two weekends IÕd watched her parties from my bedroom window. Watched
the people come, go, wondered... The men were gorgeous. Some of the
girls were no older than me.
IÕd spent all last week at MarlaÕs. Swimming in her pool instead of
in the ocean. It was much more fun. Servants brought me sodas,
occasionally a surreptitious cocktail. There were no parties, though. She
only had those on the weekend. There was just me and Marla. WeÕd talked
a lot. About men, boys. She was surprised to learn IÕd only had sex twice
in junior high. I was going to be a freshman this fall.
I walked up to MarlaÕs front door. My bikini barely covered my
bottom cheeks in back. Feeling quite self-conscious now I yanked on it,
trying to pull it higher. Then I knocked. I stood in the heat of the
Mediterranean sun, waiting. Finally a servant answered. He ushered me
into the coolness inside. My eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was a huge
house, cathedral-like, my bottom cheeks clenched apprehensively. My
panties were too small, my bottom too large, though it was trim,
childlike, thrusting as only a young girlsÕ can. I knew the story was the
same with my bra, my boobies jiggling within the tiny cups like jello. I
couldnÕt party like this! I turned, wanted to go home, change. Marla was
there.
ÒWhy hello, Jennifer!Ó Her smile was like the sun. Contagious. I
smiled back, shyly. Yet proud she found pleasure in my appearance. I
valued her opinion. She was young, very beautiful. Taller than me, older.
About 23, married to a millionaire. I looked up to her. ÒCome into the
kitchen and weÕll take off your bikini and get started,Ó she said to me.
ÒHave you been swimming?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I replied, haltingly. ÒYou want to take off my bikini?Ó I asked.
She had me by the hand, was leading me. I followed.
ÒYes, dear!Ó She turned to me, took me lightly by my hips. We were
at the kitchen entrance.
ÒBut I picked out my smallest one,Ó I replied. ÒSurely --Ó Marla
laughed.
ÒYou thought we might pop strawberries down the front of your
bikini, squirt in a little cream?Ó Marla asked. ÒOh darling, this is an
adult party, not some elementary school game. Come, there is a shower
stall in the kitchen. LetÕs have you bathe, then someone will do your hair
and nails, and make up your face. After all, this is your official
presentation to Mediterranean society. You must look your very best, even
if we make a little treat of your initiation.Ó With that she helped me out
of my bikini. It wasnÕt too difficult. A tug on a drawstring or two and I
was totally naked amidst the gleaming pots and pans of her kitchen, her
servants looking in on us, discreetly. Feeling like a newborn, I let her lead
me to the kitchen shower stall. It had once been for seashore bathers to
rinse off in, I guessed, but a remodeling had put the kitchen next to it.
Now I supposed it was used exclusively for washing turkeys, chickens, or
perhaps the occasional girl, come for dessert.
I tried not to think about what she had in mind for me. Marla gave
me soap, no washcloth, told me to hurry. When I was through she gave me
an extra rinse herself, using a hand-held shower sprayer. ÒWe wouldnÕt
want any of our guests to get soap in their mouths!Ó She laughed. I gulped,
said nothing.
Marla dried me herself with a soft blue terrycloth towel. It was big,
it seemed to envelop me. I wanted to keep it. She gave it to a servant to
take away. She brought me over to a single wooden chair, sitting alone in
the middle of the kitchen. She dropped a satin pillow on it for my bottom,
sat me down in it. A woman came, did my nails, another did my hair. A
third did my face.
ÒWe wonÕt be covering her face, so it must look terrific,Ó Marla said
to the makeup lady. She smiled at me. ÒWhich shouldnÕt be too hard, given
her bright blue eyes and perfect lips.Ó Marla came and went, watched
approvingly. At last I was done. ÒPull her hair back now, tie it off in a
short ponytail. We want it to be kept simple. Yes, thatÕs it. Just use a
piece of ribbon. WeÕll tie a rope onto it later, before she goes in.Ó I was
confused, sat compliantly. They pulled back my shoulder-length hair and
bound it with a bit of white ribbon. My hair hung loosely round my eyes. It
was casual-looking, as if I were but a wench about to do kitchen chores.
ÒUp dear,Ó Marla urged me. She took me by the hand. I stood. For a
moment she admired the shaking of my boobies as I stood nude before her.
ÒUp onto the counter, darling,Ó she said. There was a freestanding counter
in the middle of the kitchen, pots hanging over it. She had me scoot my
bottom up onto it and lie back. She kissed me once, on the lips. The
servants came in and she instructed them. She used French, I could not
understand. In the distance I could hear music, voices. The kitchen door
was closed now, to keep out prying eyes. Marla and I were not alone in her
house anymore with the servants. There were others. Girls, gorgeous men.
She left me on the table, with the servants in attendance on me.
ÒWeÕre going to cover you in icing,Ó a servant woman told me. I
flinched. They brought out a big vat, a long wooden spreader. Slowly they
began smearing me with icing. They did my belly first, easing me into it.
Then my thighs, my legs. Soon I was noticing only my breasts and pubis
were bare. I wanted those covered too, surely. Those most of all, if I
were to be seen in public. They obliged, smearing the icing over my boobs,
spreading it with the wooden spreader between my legs. They made me
stand and they did my backside. I glanced in a mirror. I was like a bride,
covered in white, except it was sugary icing.
A white rope was tied around my neck. It felt like a noose. Above it
there were traces of icing in my hair, nothing else. Below it I was a
complete mess, totally covered in icing. The rope ran down between my
breasts, down to the fringe of my pubic hair, as if I were a donkey needing
to be led. In back they tied a second rope, slightly shorter. They tied it to
my abbreviated ponytail. They said nothing about why I needed the ropes.
There would be many people present, were they afraid I would run away?
A wiggly girl covered in slick icing could escape, but with the ropes it
would be another story.
A sumptuous wedding cake was brought in. Yes, at last. Marla had
said I would be popping out of a cake. I hoped I was merely a decoration,
nothing more. With my icing on it should not be too bad. IÕd have preferred
to have my bikini too, but the icing did a fair job of hiding my charms.
The cake consisted of four sides. Servants carefully removed the
four sides of the cake, propped them against a wall. A small platform
remained, sitting near the floor, on wheels. They had me sit down on the
platform. Then they replaced the four sides of the cake, putting it back
together, careful not to lose any of the cake as they repaired it. I
crouched within, in darkness.
A little later I felt a tug. The cake began rolling. I heard the swing
of kitchen doors. Someone made an announcement. There was clapping.
The cake came to rest. I guessed I was in the center of the ballroom now.
Someone said something. ÒThe bride and groom must eat first,Ó it seemed
was said. Then I felt the cake wobble a bit on its wheels as others took
pieces. They were eating me. I was the soul of the cake. At last I heard I
cry of triumph. Someone had found something within his cake. A key, or a
coin, something that denoted a treasure found. Me?
The cake opened. Suddenly, unexpectedly. The four sides of the cake
popped apart, fell to the ground. Any cake remaining on the four sides was
smashed upon the floor. There would be no more eating of cake now. I
looked about, surprised. My eyes blinked under the bright lights of the
ballroom. From darkness I was in light now, bathed in the glow of an
overhead chandelier.
My eyes found MarlaÕs. She smiled at me. I smiled back. I was the
center of attention. All eyes were upon me. I enjoyed it. My icing still
kept me pure. I laughed, briefly. It was so silly, yet so outrageous.
Though my hands were coated in icing I held them delicately above my
thighs. As if IÕd been playing in mud. Yet the mud was white and all over
me. But I was still a girl, still dainty. A mess, but dainty all the same.
Marla came forward, offered me her hand. Blushing, I clasped it. She
drew me up. The gentleman whoÕd found the key in his cake hovered over
me. Barefoot I stood. An apparition in white. All around me the
gentlemen and ladies were smartly dressed. I alone was naked.
The man with the key was upon me. I jerked, drew back. There was
noplace to run. I was surrounded. He pressed his face to my breasts.
Shocked, I lifted my hands. I wanted to push him away, yet I did not wish
to get icing all over his suit. He feasted upon my breasts, licking up the
icing, baring them with his tongue. Tremors of pleasure radiated from my
attentive nipples. I attempted to walk forward. The man fed at my
breasts, coming along with me. I was moving now, the crowd gathering
around me yet parting before me, letting me walk. Shamelessly they put
out their hands and touched me. Men, women ran their hands over me, my
arms, my back, my bottom. I was explored and caressed. Fingers to
mouths, then, tasting my icing.
Marla stayed near me. Gracefully I walked forward, not knowing
where. Keeping my composure, my dignity. My cheeks flushed, my smile
shy. My hair, caught up, tied behind, the loose strands of my locks hanging
down round my childish cheeks.
I was jostled. My hair was pulled from behind. A pull on the rope
binding my ponytail. My back arched, I gasped. They nearly toppled me.
The man with the key was still at my front, kissing my tummy now. He
fought for possession of me, yanking the rope at my neck. His tongue dove
lower. My pussy felt him. Wet, inquiring. His tongue like a cock. I jerked
and yelped. A quiet yelp, submissive.
I turned to Marla. She met my shocked stare, turned it to a smile
with her shining, approving eyes. She bid the men to let the women in, to
let them taste me too. A man at my back was urged away. I felt freer, yet
the man with the key had possession of me still. He licked my tummy,
swirled his tongue in my navel.
Two women nearest me unzipped their dresses. Smiling, absorbed in
myself, I watched with awed eyes as they made themselves as naked as I
was. More naked, actually, for they had no covering of icing. Still wearing
their jewels, their hair perfect, their nude breasts swinging, they came at
me. Compliantly I lifted my hands to let them eat of me. I knew not how
else to respond. I was dessert. They wished to have me. Their faces
pressed to me, smearing themselves, like children with milk and crumbs
on their mouths and cheeks. Their tongues licked, one woman finding my
nipples while the other traced the spine of my back. Their hands were
soft, stroking, feeling.
All around me the private wedding reception began to take on the
look of an orgy. Guests shed their clothes, began kissing, soft moans were
heard and groans of imminent pleasure. Half a dozen cocks sprang out and
titties without any covering became the norm. I stood like a fawn in the
center of it, surrounded, hands upon me, my ropes gripped fore and aft to
prevent my escape.
The tongues became more aggressive now. The man with the key
found my pussy again, did not desist. My knees buckled, I struggled to
straighten them. The woman behind me snaked her tongue into the crevice
of my bottom. In front the woman at my breasts was joined by another.
Like starving babes they licked off my icing. My bosoms were gripped,
squeezed, held. I felt like I was being made to express milk into their
mouths.
Somewhere a string quartet played. Unperturbed, it played on
through the hubbub all about me. I gulped air as the man in my twat fucked
me with his mouth. I was helpless, hopeless. I wanted to get him out of
me, couldnÕt. In behind my cheeks were gently prised open by female
hands. I had no icing in my bottomhole but she delved there anyway. She
seemed to find it sweetest.
ÒPlease, let me go!Ó I mouthed. I turned to look for Marla, could not
find her. She had abandoned me to the guests. I was theirs now, their
precious dessert. Legs splayed, hardly able to stand, I fought to keep my
composure. They delved deeper, made me cry out though I wanted not to.
More tongues came. Elegant women ruined their faces by smearing
them in my icing. Tanned bodies, crisp from the Mediterranean sun, rubbed
against me. I gave them the whiteness of my icing. They would not stop,
would not desist. A finger poked into my mouth. I sucked on it, blissful
suddenly, a tongue up each of my channels below. My breasts were no
longer mine. Too many mouths hungered for them. In and out tongues went
down below; the same ones, others? I lost track. A wave of pleasure
washed over me, unbidden, yet welcome. I was speared more deeply still
up my hiney, my cunt. Shafted and penetrated, all oral, cocks waggling
about but kept from me as tongues did the work instead.
I was bent back. My ribs showed. A mouth came to my mouth and
dueled with my tongue. Another ran along my ribs, counting them. I
shivered, spilled. Shivered and spilled again.
A hand, suddenly, gripping my wrist. It yanked me forward. The
other hands fell away, tongues withdrew. When I came to my senses my
wrist had been dropped in favor of the rope at my neck. My tie, my noose.
A girl led me, my rope over her shoulder, pulling me like one leads a
recalcitrant pony. She was naked save for a veil of white over her face,
part of a wedding headdress. Otherwise she wore only white stockings,
ankle-high white booties. Her garter was gone, had been tossed away
along with her dress and her underthings. I stumbled behind her as she led
me from the ballroom.
I was taken upstairs, to the wedding bed. The groom greeted me as I
came into the bedroom. He wore his bow tie, black socks and shoes,
nothing else. He was strong, powerful. In his hands he held a belt, coiled
leather. He bid me to get on the bed.
Mincingly I tread across the bedroom floor. The carpet was plush,
absorbing my every barefoot step. My feet, covered in icing, did not soil
the carpet, for the undersides of my feet were bare. Yet I walked on
tiptoe to keep from leaving any creamy footprints, if I could.
I stopped before the bed. It was high. Stairsteps led up to it. I
hesitated, waited, contemplating the steps, what they meant. A mistake.
For I glanced again at the groom. His cock was huge, pulsing. I wanted it.
Like a girl wanting a popsicle in a candy store I wanted it. And I wanted
to hold the big scrotum that dangled beneath, tightly drawn now, excited,
its spermy contents churning. Madly churning. I did not know much about
men, but I knew they could get very hungry, deliciously hungry, and when
they did they were like big animals, raving, raging, and only a pussy would
quench them. My own tight purse tingled, hungered in return. His eyes
blazed at me. There was silence. Like lovers staring across an ocean at
each other we stood. The bride ran from the room. I heard water.
ÒWhat is your name?Ó the groom asked me, his voice low. His body
was taught, unmoving. Only his cock moved, trembling in its hardness.
ÒJennifer,Ó I said quietly, a touch of demureness on my lips. Trying
so hard to be graceful.
ÒYou must not look at me, Jennifer,Ó he replied.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
GINGERBREAD-WOGG
God scrapes up Golliwogg,
throws him on the pottery wheel
to mold in likened image.
Fires Golliwogg in His kiln
to bake out sin.
With heat singed soul,
a glazed Golliwogg
bursts truculent from the oven--
DIVINING THE WORM
Golliwogg searches himself--
masturbates his mind:
discovers charred-stick blackened soul
seething with worms
OEDIPUSWOGG
Golliwogg beholds the mother of Crow--
Morrigan the Raven:
The wrinkled face
The Time-sagged skin
The shriveled dugs
bloats his penis.
SQUISH
God turns to Crow
and says:
Squish GolliwoggÕs soul
sticky
like a wad of gum
stepped in
on mid-August asphalt.
AND IN THE END...
VOTE FOR A SINNER: holy joe!
ÒShow me a man without vices, and IÕll show you a man without
virtues.Ó - Abraham Lincoln
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-END OF 128 EMISSION
- Alan FreerÕs e-mail: FAFREER@wpo.hass.usu.edu
- Lincoln quote: The Newshour with Jim Lehrer, October 25, 1996.