Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 170
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
ÒDonÕt worry, itÕs rented,Ó he said of the limo. We were on smooth
asphalt again. Beside him two women sat, their own dresses raised, as
beautiful as the first, and intent now on seeing to their own pleasure. As
we rode, myself recovering, my host relaxing, they filled the limoÕs cabins
with their cries as they masturbated themselves to fulfillment. I
watched, captivated. Their feminine odors rose up to join with the scent I
and my host had already saturated the cabin with. My ass felt terribly
sore, and like it wouldnÕt ever be whole again, as if some huge thing
belonged inside it, forever, filling it, though I dreaded the thought of it.
My master rubbed my belly and admired my breasts.
ÒSexual entertainment,Ó he said. He kissed my young cheek. ÒYou
will see much of it in the days to come.Ó The women frigged themselves
until they were done. Then one of them poured drinks and passed them
around. I sipped mine slowly, savoring it, as they all sat and admired me.
I was their new playmate, and I knew I could not escape whatever other
awful pleasures they had in store for me, as an inspiration to themselves.
ÒYou will do well, dear,Ó the raven-haired beauty said to me. She
touched my chin. I flinched. I did not like her touching me. My bosoms
still hurt from her raping them. I glanced at my titties. They looked well
enough, but I wondered if older womenÕs breasts sagged because of too
much love-play.
ÒSo young and sweet,Ó another woman said of me. She took hold of
the cord which bound my wrists and used it to press the glass I held to my
lips. She pushed the underside of the glass up until I was forced to rapidly
swallow its contents. I felt the liquor run down my throat and fill my
belly. A headiness quickly overcame me. I giggled. I felt silly. The tips
of my nipples wiggled sweetly.
ÒWe are almost there,Ó my master said to me, his voice soft, liquor-
spiked. His breath mingled with my own and I pressed my mouth to his so
we could share our exhalations with each other, privately, blocking out the
other females. I was on his lap, not they. Though I hurt in my private
places and blamed him for it, I kissed him lovingly. Our tongues met and
he drew me closer. ÒI am going to have you whipped, later today,Ó he said
to me. I shivered but I did not care. I was his, he could do with me as he
wished.
My masterÕs house proved to be a small brownstone townhouse. It
looked like any proper suburban home you might see on a quiet, leafy
street. We pulled into the driveway. I saw a nightlight on, a lamp in the
yard to light our way up the front steps. We drove with sedate
purposefulness up the driveway, parishioners returning from late Sabbath
services, perhaps. I sat on masterÕs lap, wrecked, my bottomhole stinging.
I panted, catching my breath. My eyes were moist, my cheeks red. He
stroked my hair. The limo rolled to a stop.
ÒThis is it. Time to get out,Ó the raven-haired woman announced.
Like rumpled, dissatisfied children, too long in the back seat, we rose and
got out. My movements were awkward. My hiney felt open still, as if a jet
could zoom right up it, without the least tightness on my part to stop it.
The blanket was hastily cast over me to keep my nudity from showing.
The blindfold was disregarded. I glanced about, but could not know in the
least where I was. Someplace in Buenos Aires, thatÕs all. I guess. Deep
down inside I wished I was farther away, away from my school, my
sometime friends, my mother, Kimberly. I felt guilty that we still shared
the same city. To be fully enslaved, fully me, a grown female, a woman
and not merely a runaway girl, I felt I needed to be far away from
everything IÕd ever known. Just me, and master. Together, exploring each
other, me learning, him teaching.
ÒWhere is this?Ó I asked.
ÒShhhh,Ó the raven-haired woman said. Leading me with an arm
round my waist, she put a finger to my lips. She bent close, shared a
secret. ÒDo not wish to be too far, you may want to leave someday.Ó
I turned to her, startled. Master and the other woman followed, hand
in hand, heads bowed, thinking of nothing, probably, a couple coming home
from dinner after a pleasant evening out. Could anyone see me, the little
bundle of joy they were bringing home with them?
Across the lawn we walked. The limo began backing down the drive.
It was leaving, taking the remnant of our pleasure with it, to be cleaned
out in the morning by exploited, underpaid workers. People who never got
to do fine things, wonderful things, scary things, because they werenÕt
born beautiful, like me, or the raven-haired woman, or master. They got to
clean our shit, thatÕs it. I stepped up the front porch steps with an odd
sense of pride. I was special. I was being included, indoctrinated into a
special, self-selected group. Had the raven-haired woman fallen in love
with master too? Had she joined his entourage at my age?
She stretched out her hand and opened the front door. I stepped
inside, her arm around me. The house was silent. In the shadows master
entered behind, flicked on a light. Suddenly the raven-haired woman
yelped. I turned. Master had his hand on her bottom, pinching it hard
through her gown.
ÒNo feminist rhetoric,Ó he said to her. ÒJust take her to her room,
then go to bed yourself.Ó
He let go. The raven-haired woman twisted her lips in a painful,
silent admission of guilt. She put a hand to her hiney and rubbed it.
Large-eyed, she reclaimed me and walked me down a narrow hall. I heard
another shriek, a cry of Òwhat did I do?!Ó and the other woman followed
us, her own butt given a warning pinch. Glancing back, I saw master turn
and depart out of the entryway.
ÒIs he going to his room?Ó I asked.
ÒShhh, do not ask where he goes or why he comes,Ó the raven-haired
woman replied. ÒHe is mysterious, thatÕs why we love him.Ó
ÒAnd a good pincher,Ó the woman behind me said remorsefully.
We turned a corner, came to a room. We entered, there was a bed
inside, a night-table, closet, and dresser.
ÒThe bathroomÕs down the hall,Ó the raven-haired woman said to me.
She removed my blanket. For a moment she just stood and stared, as I
bashfully stood before her. The other woman seemed as fascinated by my
beauty as her friend was. Without clothing, I had no protection from their
eyes, but I placed my bound hands over my pussy.
ÒDonÕt,Ó the raven-haired woman said. She reached out, lifted my
hands. The other woman found a ruler on the nightstand, conveniently
placed, perhaps, and briskly struck my hands.
ÒYeeeow!Ó I blurted. It had happened so fast, IÕd not even had time to
tense.
ÒNever cover yourself, even in front of us,Ó the raven-haired woman
said. ÒNow as to formalities, IÕm Tara, and this is Jasmine.Ó
ÒCurtsey, show proper deference, dear,Ó Jasmine said to me, and
whacked my bare hiney faster than I could imagine. TheyÕd obviously had
experience in dealing with a young girl like me.
Or had they, I wondered? Would not a full-grown, mature woman be
just as untutored? As I bent my knees to pay them homage my nipples
stiffened at the thought of some vastly successful woman, or even a
proper, dignified young mother, made to obey as I was now. Would it not
be even more exciting for these ladies, to see one of their own forced into
servile humility? A vision of my French teacher at school flashed through
my mind, stripped of her clothes, forced to curtsey. I laughed.
ÒYou are well-suited for it,Ó Tara observed. She and Jasmine
brushed back my hair. ÒYoung, long-limbed, with eye-popping breasts that
show no sign of sagging.Ó
ÒSheÕs only 15,Ó Jasmine reminded.
ÒAh, but she looks older, doesnÕt she? Except for those cutesy-
cheeks sheÕs got. What a fine treat for master, to have such a young girl
at his complete disposal.Ó
A young woman entered. She was blonde, her hair shoulder-length.
ÒHi,Ó she said quietly, deferentially. She wore a short grey jacket
with a school emblem embroidered over its left pocket.
ÒEsquelo High,Ó I mouthed, recognizing the emblem. I rival school to
my own. The jacket had been cut neatly at her waist, by a tailor. Girls did
that sometimes, to show off. It was supposed to go down to her thighs, to
keep her warm on cold days. I wondered if sheÕd done the same with her
blouse. Girls with boyfriends did that sometimes. I saw she had her
jacket unbuttoned, another little provocative touch. The school rules
dictated that the jacket should be buttoned right up except in class. But
then, this was a bedroom, not a classroom.
ÒThe bastard doesnÕt trust us,Ó Tara said, glancing at Jasmine.
ÒWeÕll be going now,Ó Jasmine said to me. She gave me a little pinch
on my ass as, simultaneously, Tara did the same.
ÒOooh, Oooch!Ó I yelped, as each of them saluted my naked appeal
with their pinches right on the inner curves of my bottom crack. TheyÕd
gotten me right where it counted, in as close to my hole as fingers could
go in a briefly considered attack.
ÒOh! DonÕt hurt her!Ó the new blonde cried, and rushed up to me. Tara
and Jasmine left us alone, shutting the door behind themselves. It closed
with a loud bang.
The blonde turned me and flicked on a small lamp. The room, lit only
from the hall before, now blossomed more fully into light. She vented my
behind and peered at the small marks left by our departing friends. ÒOooh,
youÕre okay, I guess,Ó the blonde concluded after studying my spread hinds.
ÒTheyÕre not allowed to mark you in any way. I should report them. I see
you got it up the ass too. From master?Ó
ÒYes,Ó I replied, my voice soft, lisping.
ÒGood. For a moment I was afraid,Ó the blonde began, then let go of
my behind. She walked round and faced me. ÒNobody must touch you
hurtfully except master, or those he designates, like me,Ó she said. She
clasped me at the waist with both her hands and leaned forward. We were
about the same height. Our breath exhaled into each otherÕs faces. I
smelled Spearmint gum on hers. I hoped she found mine equally sweet.
Quietly she kissed each of my tear-stained cheeks. ÒDid it hurt, having
him up your bottom?Ó she asked.
ÒYes,Ó I said again. I felt like a rag doll, with her as the little
blonde girl who played with me.
ÒItÕs all part of growing up,Ó the blonde answered. She kissed my
lips once, then backed away. I saw she wore a blouse, a little black tie
round her neck, a pleated skirt, schoolgirl shoes. Her socks were short,
turned down so the ruffled tops of them decorated her ankles. Her hair
was in a ponytail. ÒIÕm to be your teacher,Ó she said, assuming a more
serious demeanor. I held my hands aloft, afraid to hide my pussy with
them, not sure what to do with them.
ÒHere,Ó the blonde said, noticing. She went to the nightstand, opened
the top drawer, took out a little scissors. With her tongue in the corner of
her mouth, childishly extruding, she cut me free of the awful rawhide. She
inspected the red mark round my wrists where it had bound me. Reaching
into the drawer again, she took out a small jar of vaseline. She applied it
liberally to the marks. Then she turned me round, bent me forward, and
rubbed some where the women had pinched me.
ÒThere,Ó she said. ÒIÕd do your hiney hole too, but I donÕt want to get
shit on my hands.Ó She already had a little, though, since I wasnÕt entirely
clean in back, thanks to my fucking. She took a kleenex from a decorative
box on the nightstand and wiped her fingers.
ÒMy job is to properly inculcate into you all the slavely values. Sort
of like the wifely values, only more submissive,Ó she said. I stood before
her, she facing me again. She spoke like a teacher might. I felt like a
child on its first day of school, or a dog at obedience training. She found
the wastecan by the nightstand and tossed away the kleenex sheÕd used.
ÒDonÕt worry, IÕll help you get broken in,Ó she assured me. ÒIÕll guide
you through the whole process. When youÕre done youÕll know exactly how
to behave as a slave, for any man you please.Ó She glanced quickly over
her shoulder. ÒDonÕt tell master I said that last bit,Ó she added, in
confidence. ÒNew girls arenÕt supposed to know that they can leave when
weÕre done with them.Ó
ÒWhat if I want to leave now?Ó I asked.
ÒBit late, donÕt you think?Ó she said. ÒWhy did you come if you want
to go?Ó
ÒI donÕt know,Ó I said. I looked down at my toes. I wiggled them. I
liked how they wiggled freely, freer than me. I doubted master would ever
think to restrain my toes.
ÒWell, youÕre going to have to work to keep masterÕs eyes on you,Ó
the blonde told me. ÒAnd by the way, my nameÕs Rachel. YouÕre Barbi,
right?Ó I nodded.
Rachel ran a hand over my belly. ÒAre you pregnant, Barbi?Ó I shook
my head Ôno.Õ ÒGood. There are some birth control pills in the nightstand.
IÕll make sure you get one every day, masterÕs orders. If he got you with
child heÕd feel compelled to keep you, and we wouldnÕt want that, would
we?Ó
ÒI wouldnÕt mind,Ó I blushed.
ÒWell, I would,Ó she replied. ÒWeÕre all a little selfish about master
here, tell the truth, and greatly resent any new females cutting in. But
master is master, and we must obey his proclivities. He says as long as
girls like him, heÕs going to train them. When heÕs old heÕll quit, he says,
but not until then. So youÕll just have to put up with me and I with you,
and Tara, and Jasmine, and all the rest who catch masterÕs eye.Ó She
slapped me, hard, suddenly, right across the face. My ears rang. I gaped at
her.
ÒJust to let you know I hate you,Ó Rachel spat at me. ÒHowever much
I kiss you, and look after you, and no matter how many times I comfort
you, I want you to know we all hate you for stealing master from us, even
for a minute.Ó
I began to sob. IÕd been through too much. ÒThere, there,Ó Rachel
said, as if sorry for hurting a friend whoÕd just dropped her favorite toy.
She kissed the top of my head, my face bowed down, mother-like. ÒI wonÕt
slap you again, none of us will, without permission. But that was from
me, and Tara, and Jasmine. You should know that we covet master more
than ourselves. ThatÕs why we became his slaves.Ó
I lifted my head. My eyes were full of tears. ÒIÕm sorry!Ó I wept.
ÒJust call the limo. IÕll go right now!Ó
ÒBe quiet, silly!Ó Rachel said to me. She touched a finger to my chin
and lifted it. ÒWhat do you think would happen to ME if you disappeared?
You should not complain at all. When I arrived, just last month, Jasmine
showed her contempt for me by beating me with a riding crop. Master put
a stop to that. I got to beat her back the next day, as a new slave, not
trained or anything.Ó
I snuffled. She put a finger to my nose. ÒQuit snuffling,Ó she said,
as if to a pet cat that was meowing too much. ÒYouÕre my first. I expect
you to behave. I donÕt want to get in trouble by not teaching you properly.
Whatever I say, you must do it at once. Do you understand?Ó I must have
been slow responding, for the next thing I knew, she was pinching my right
nipple.
ÒOoowww!Ó I howled.
ÒSay ÔI love you, Rachel,ÕÓ she ordered me.
ÒI love master,Ó I answered. She twisted my nipple more. In
revenge I grabbed her tit, found no bra underneath the stiffness of her
starched blouse.
ÒYeeeow!Ó Rachel yelped. I found her nipple, erect with her
youthfulness. I pinched it hard twixt my nails.
ÒYou bitch!Ó Rachel cried. She grabbed my hair, pulled on it. I ripped
open her blouse with my free hand.
ÒOh my God! If master sees this.... If Tara, even!Ó Rachel yelled,
fright in her voice. She swung her hand, without aim, struck my nearest
boob, sending both into wild wiggles. I yanked down her skirt. Then,
laughing, manic in my sudden freedom, I retreated to the bed and leapt
upon it. I grabbed up a pillow for my defense and, looking down, saw that
she wore no panties. Her blouse was cut short and left her pubis bare. I
stared at her and laughed, saw by the cut of the shirt that she must be
just as naked behind. Her jacket, its tail shortened, gave her no more
protection than her abbreviated blouse.
ÒWhy, you! YouÕve ruined my place as teacher!Ó Rachel said. There
was a pillow remaining on the bed and she grabbed it.
Suddenly the door to our room opened. Rachel turned her face, seeing
as I did the huge figure in the doorway...
AM I A PERVERT?
Recently I went to Tower Books. I bought one magazine. But when
the clerk rang me up, he said to me, ÒCongratulations, holy joe! YouÕve
just bought your one millionth porno magazine here at Tower Books!Ó I
couldnÕt believe it. Everyone in the store clapped, even some little girls
who had no idea what they were clapping about.
So IÕve been a little worried. I mean, the Tower Books count doesnÕt
even include the porno IÕve bought at Waldenbooks, and BrentanoÕs, and
ScribnerÕs. (Plus some other stores I canÕt remember.)
I went and bought a book on psychology. After I was done jacking off
over the part on ÒHuman Sexuality,Ó (all the diagrams showing ÔhealthyÕ
ways to do it), I did some careful reading. And it said, under a part on
ÒUnhealthy Expressions of Human Sexuality,Ó that you should fantasize and
then tell your fantasy to a psychiatrist. And then he will tell you whether
youÕre a pervert or not.
Well, I donÕt have any money for a psychiatrist. So I figured IÕd just
write something and put it up on my ftp site. Then people could write to
me and tell me whether they think IÕm a pervert or not. I mean, I could be
sitting on the toilet, or standing around at Tower Books (or even
Waldenbooks!) and you could meanwhile be reading my story for me and
telling me whether or not IÕm a pervert.
Now I wouldnÕt say that this is actually my fantasy. But I DID write
it, so we could theoretically posit that itÕs my fantasy, and then I would
get at least a little help if it is my fantasy, which it probably isnÕt but
could be.
Anyway (just to hurry up here, since I have to go to the bathroom),
my ÒfantasyÓ is Labors of Love, Chapter Three. I put it at my ftp site:
members.aol.com/nnd66
AND IN THE END...
ÒThe First Amendment protects free speech and that also means stupid
speech.Ó
- Small Press Review, November 1996, pg. 3.
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-END OF 170 EMISSION