Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 151
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Amsterdam Damsels
Chapter One
ÒWell, my ass is sore,Ó I said, cutting her off. I felt quite in need of
a bath.
ÒYes, itÕs your bedtime too, isnÕt it?Ó she smiled. She took my hand.
Wriggling still with my soreness, I proceeded up the stairs with her. We
bathed together, tenderly, and then shared her bed.
***
ÒWake up, silly!Ó Cybil said to me the next morning. I opened my
eyes. At first I did not know who she was. ÒI licked you to sleep last
night, donÕt you remember?Ó Cybil asked. I blushed. I flexed my thighs.
ÒOuch!Ó I said. I remembered my bottom. The rest flooded back.
ÒItÕs almost noon,Ó Cybil chided. ÒBetsy canÕt keep breakfast warm
forever.Ó
ÒUm, no thanks,Ó I replied. Breakfast at TiffanyÕs that wasnÕt, I was
sure. I rolled back over on my side to go to sleep.
ÒIÕd swat your bottom, but-Ó Cybil said to me.
ÒDonÕt you dare!Ó I shrieked.
ÒIt will be all better soon,Ó she said, lifting the sheet. ÒYou licked
it enough last night,Ó I replied.
ÒI was trying to heal it,Ó Cybil said primly. She laughed. ÒSleep if
you want to. For all I know youÕll wind up in the dungeon by nightfall, and
be kept awake in there for days.Ó
ÒNo way!Ó I replied. I stuck my thumb in my mouth. I had seen the
outer levels of Hell. I did not need to meet Satan himself. For all I knew
the place did go down, down all the way, concentric walled circles
spiraling in and down. It had been muggy in there, hadnÕt it? Stephen King
would be at the bottom. ÔAnd the scariest thing is, my childhood was
perfectly normal!Õ he would grin at me. Anne Rice would be his bride.
Hades and Persephone. Ray Bradbury would be their chronicler. I Sing the
Body, never mind the Electric. ÔWe have fire down here, sir, hotter than
rockets. We are well lit, I can assure you.Õ
ÒYou have the cutest dimpled bottom,Ó Cybil remarked.
ÒNo thanks to you,Ó I replied.
ÒGet up, I insist,Ó she said. She threw the sheets off me, leaving me
a naked babe, huddling, fetal-like.
ÒOh, you are the winner again,Ó I replied, testily. I had to go to the
bathroom. She watched me walk into the toilet, my ass waggling. I had to
go worse than IÕd let myself believe. I shut the door behind me, to give me
a little privacy. It had no lock. Oh, great. Locks on Hell, but no lock here,
where you needed it. I vowed if she opened the door I would spit in her
face. She did not. She let me have my little moment.
When I came back into the bedroom she was there. She sat at a
mirror, a summer dress on. She was brushing her hair.
ÒDo you have any panties?Ó I asked. I opened a chest of drawers. It
seemed a ridiculous question, but I was literally without clothes.
Whatever IÕd come in was long gone, I was sure, made into rag dolls by
Betsy if nothing else.
ÒYou wonÕt be wearing any,Ó Cybil replied. Her voice was casual,
self-assured.
ÒWhat?!Ó I asked. I lifted a hand to my bosoms, realized I needed
more than panties. ÒExcuse me?Ó
ÒYou are not going to hide that lovely whipping you got,Ó Cybil
replied. ÒA good girl always shows off a good whipping. It wonÕt last
long. Enjoy the admiration of your fellow guests while you can.Ó She
turned to me. Her eyes met mine. ÒIt certainly hurt enough getting it,
didnÕt it?Ó
ÒI should say so!Ó I replied. My hands flew to my ass on a sudden
impulse and I rubbed it. My titties wiggled.
ÒThink of all those silly girls who get their bottoms tattooed,Ó Cybil
said. ÒAnd then theyÕre stuck with the thing for life. ÔDebbie loves
Robert.Õ You enjoyed more pain, yet in a little while your fanny will be as
white and smooth as it ever was. I wish all girls were as bright as you
about such things.
ÒI didnÕt exactly choose it,Ó I replied, hopefully.
ÒWere you ever naughty, just so your daddy would spank you?Ó she
asked. Her knees were apart. Indecently, I thought. Spread for someone to
enjoy himself between them. I saw she wore panties, though.
ÒOnce or twice I might have been,Ó I answered. Why not tell the
truth for once, even to myself? ÒIt was fun getting Daddy all steamed up.
Knowing heÕd soon tear his attention completely away from my mom, if I
kept up my antics. And sure enough...Ó
ÒSure enough, youÕd go to bed red-bottomed, and be proud of yourself,
wouldnÕt you?Ó she asked.
ÒSo itÕs all my fatherÕs fault?Ó I asked. My eyes were wide. My
hands massaged my still-aching tushy.
ÒEverything is menÕs fault, nowadays,Ó Cybil grinned at me. ÒGet a
clue.Ó
ÒDinner!!!!!Ó I heard beyond the door. There was a clanging of a bell,
childlike.
ÒYou wouldnÕt,Ó I said. I gripped my cheeks, despite the pain. I did
not want that little rugrat to see my condition again.
ÒA little humiliation is good for the soul,Ó Cybil answered. ÒCome,
itÕs warm out. You havenÕt need of clothes. Besides, youÕll look sweet at
breakfast, eating your cereal with your tits swinging above your bowl.Ó
ÒI donÕt want to,Ó I said, but it was no use. Cybil was at my arm,
escorting me. I came down the stairs less dress than IÕd ascended them
the night before.
We went to the kitchen. ÒOh!Ó Becky turned, saw us. She was
standing on a chair, mixing something awful-looking in a bowl. ÒAre you
going swimming naked?Ó she asked. She wore a swimsuit herself, wet, no
top, just the panties. I saw that her nipples were fuller than ever, little
mounds. Had someone stolen into her room and sucked on them during the
night?
ÒYes, she might swim naked later,Ó Cybil answered, all propriety.
ÒHere, dear, sit.Ó She went to the breakfast table and pulled out a chair.
ÒThere is a cushion for you.Ó I looked down. A plump pillow lay upon the
chairseat. Under it the chair was woven fiber.
ÒOkay,Ó I said, relenting. In nothing but the heels IÕd slipped to in
the bedroom, I sat down. I still had my shoes, at least. ThatÕs all a girl
apparently needed 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.
ÒIÕd really prefer lunch,Ó I said.
ÒI thought you would,Ó Cybil smiled. ÒI think I got cancer from the
bacon this morning.Ó
ÒI didnÕt burn it THAT badly, mommie,Ó Betsy answered. She seemed
crestfallen.
ÒOf course you didnÕt dear. Get the sandwiches out of the fridge that
the deli man brought.Ó
ÒHe was nice,Ó Betsy said. ÒHe rubbed me to make me feel real good
inside.Ó
ÒOh, God!Ó Cybil said. She dropped her face into her hands. ÒThatÕs
the third deli guy this week! Is she too pretty, or what?Ó
ÒShe is pretty,Ó I answered, considering. Betsy came to us, her face
radiant, her long hair flowing out behind her. I realized suddenly that she
was a junior version of myself. Her belly bulged out at me as she
carefully laid a sandwich down for me upon the table. She had an innie. I
had an innie. I wondered if Cybil had an innie or an outie.
ÒThere you go!Ó Betsy cried. She was happy. ÒIÕve got to get the
sharks out of the pool now, bye!Ó
ÒWait!Ó Cybil called after her. ÒI should see whether the sharks are
real or not,Ó she said to me.
ÒHmmm?Ó I asked. I picked up my sandwich, bit into it. A club, with
bacon (unburnt), lettuce, tomatoes... The deli man made good sandwiches,
even if he was a bit forward with the help.
ÒThe other day, a man was swimming around just underneath the
surface,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒHe had his cock sticking up. Told Betsy he was a
shark, and that was his fin.Ó
ÒDum dum dum dum dum dum,Ó I smiled.
ÒA nice guy, great build,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒShould I just give up, or
what?Ó
ÒDid you ever even try?Ó I asked.
ÒI canÕt help it,Ó she said. ÒI make great money doing this. Sure,
last night was just us, no charging anybody, but I thought you needed it.
Or I just got carried away. Sometimes its fun not to charge.Ó
ÒI think Betsy knows how to keep the men in line,Ó I mused. I
remembered my own childhood. Nine-years-old, dashing around the
neighborhood. Not always with the purest of intentions, either. Spin the
bottle was popular that year. And that pointing bottle neck, well, it made
a girl think of other things. Things that also pointed, but were made of
fleshier stuff.
ÒAs long as she doesnÕt try to ride the sharkÕs fin, right?Ó Cybil
asked me.
ÒRight,Ó I replied. I moved uncomfortably on my pillow. ÒEspecially
with her bottom.Ó
ÒWell, dear, youÕre older,Ó Cybil smiled wickedly. She had mischief
in her eyes. We heard a scream from the pool. I judged it, guessed it
playful. Cybil, inured already to such cries, ignored it. Nine-year-olds
were happiest when they were screaming, and they loved doing it, I
remembered. ÒDo you think you might like to ride a sharkÕs fin?Ó
ÒUmmm,Ó I answered. I honestly did not know what to say. I
munched quietly on my sandwich.Ó
ÒAll girls must eventually, you know,Ó Cybil said. I knew she would
just love to see me bent over, grunting, goggle-eyed, a man thrusting
himself up me, breaking forever into my virginity. After all, she wasnÕt
virgin anymore, was she? She had made the passage.
ÒTime enough for love,Ó I replied.
ÒWhoÕs talking about love?Ó she said in a low whisper.
ÒOh, I canÕt stand you!Ó I cried. I jumped up. My chair fell back. My
pillow fell off the upturned seat.
ÒIt would be best to do it while your bottomÕs still warm,Ó Cybil
cooed to me.
I turned. I stomped out of the room. My titties bounced on my chest
as I walked. I was aware of their lewdness. My bottom rolled, felt
wanton, brazen.
I went into the parlor. There was a big beanbag chair in the middle,
for Becky to play in. I flopped down into it. Inevitably my legs opened
wide. I did not bother to close them. My cunt, my thatch showed. My
breasts lolled heavily on my chest. Adipose tissue. Wobbling, quivering.
The nipples stiff. I felt a sense of abandon. My long hair streamed down
alongside my face. My lips were parted.
ÒWell, the very picture of ladyhood,Ó Cybil said. She sauntered up to
me, following me. ÒShall I get you a cucumber, miss?Ó
ÒNo,Ó I replied, sulky.
ÒAnswer the door for me if it rings,Ó she said. ÒCan you do that, at
least? I have to go downtown.Ó
ÒWho watches for you when IÕm not here?Ó
ÒWhy, some other girl, of course. But today youÕre around, so you can
do it, hmmm?Ó
ÒOh, alright,Ó I answered.
ÒTry to look presentable if its somebody on business,Ó Cybil told me.
I laughed. ÒDonÕt they want to see something like this?Ó I pressed
my knees farther apart. I arched my pussy at her.
ÒDonÕt be crass, dear,Ó she answered. ÒSomeone on regular business.
You know, like the deli man.Ó
ÒOh, of course. IÕd be too old for him,Ó I said.
ÒNot that, I mean, well, you KNOW what I mean, donÕt you? Someone
who has to check the water meter, or whatever. Or deliver something.Ó
ÒCucumbers?Ó I asked. I still lay with my legs indescribably wide.
ÒYou are too naughty,Ó she replied. There was a smile on her lips.
She turned and left then. SheÕd had enough of me, for now.
I dozed. I heard her go out a little later. I did not hear much. An
occasional scream from the pool, giddy. Perhaps Becky had found another
shark to scare her. I guessed the dungeon was locked. Well, they would
have to wait for Cybil. I wasnÕt going to check up on them, whoever was in
there, that was for sure. I listened and heard creaking sounds upstairs.
Somebody was doing it. Somebody was always doing it here. Did I want to
join them? No... I might quickly wind up with the creaking being made by
me, by somebody I didnÕt fancy.
And where was Alex? I felt like leaping up then, but a lethargy had
possessed me. I was still sleepy from last nightÕs late night party. I
drew my arms around my ribs. I felt their smallness, the flesh drawn
smooth-tight over them. The undersides of my boobies rested with
weighty significance on my indrawn arms. My period was still two weeks
away. Lucky me. I still had plenty of time to play. I was like Becky. I
didnÕt need anything. No clothes, just a snack now and then. I could dance
around out back by the pool, if I wished. And then I felt a quiet, gentle
yearning. I wasnÕt quite like Becky, was I? No, not quite. I needed
cucumbers.
There was a ringing sound. The doorbell! I jumped up. I realized I
was naked. Quite naked, in fact, unless you counted shoes. I glanced
about. I ran into the hall. I spied folded laundry in the T.V. room. I rushed
in. The T.V. was off. It wasnÕt time for Bugs Bonker yet. Atop the pile
there was a little undershirt. It was tiny, sleeveless. I struggled into it.
The neck was scooped out, with only frilly delicate straps going over my
shoulders. The tight shirt hugged my breasts. I looked down and saw the
shirt was too short to cover my navel. Oh well, it would have to do.
CybilÕs customers paid well. I didnÕt want her to lose the account. She
might have to cut back on cucumbers.
Titties bulging, my flaring hips as bare as my twat and my bottom, I
strode with all the elegance I could manage to the front door. I must
admit I felt a certain wickedness doing it. Wait till I turned around! They
would find out what went on here, that was for sure, when they saw my
ass. With delicate fingertips I unbolted the door, edged it open. I peeked
out. A drop-dead hunk waited there, with two women. One looked wifely,
the other submissive.
ÒMay I help you?Ó I asked. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes.
ÒWe have come....Ó
ÒTo...Ó I paused. ÒCum?Ó I licked my lips. I wanted to tempt him.
ÒYes,Ó he replied, smiling. I beckoned and eased back the door. They
stepped within. The girl looked startled at my nakedness. The man merely
smiled, as if he had guessed such a treat might await him here. The
woman seemed unmoved.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
WOGGÕS INVOCATION
ÒWhen you look long into an abyss,
the abyss also looks into you.Ó
--Nietzsche
The Poet has fled
and buried His soul.
And now, before which muse shall I kneel
and supplant my will
to beg revelation from the wreckage of a toppled cross
where the Prophet proclaimed,
ÒGod is dead!Ó
How shall I delve the inner-self--
dredge the spirit-heart-mind-whatever
and breathe life into my creation,
arising from the rubbled ashes
of Good and Evil.
Implore the Ravenous Goddess,
Morrigan, the ebony bird:
Oracle of Death and War,
to instill apocalyptic visions
for the fate which awaits.
Or beseech the mangy wisdom
of a Mongrel Dog
to grant a metaphysical glimpse
into the future-past-present
Finding parentage and inspiration
in the spawn of Raven and Hound--
to beget a bastard child
destined to shuffle humped
through the static pages
of my imagination:
A Patchwork-Wogg
Godless here for evermore.
AND IN THE END...
ÒThe feminist movement... has recently become bogged down in issues
that are sexual and are about the evil of men. And everywhere you look
there is another piece of ÔinformationÕ about the nastiness, the
brutality, the innate vileness of men.
- Anne Roiphe (C-SPAN, About Books, December 15, 1996)
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-END OF 151 EMISSION
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