Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 181
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
ÒThese men have all paid for the opportunity to dine with well-
cultivated young ladies,Ó Ms. Tuppence said, addressing us. ÒLetÕs be on
our best behavior and show them what perfect manners we have.Ó The men
sat down, on either side of each of us. I saw a very large man beside Ms.
Tuppence, still standing, gazing at us with a sense of ownership.
ÒThis is my husband, Frederick,Ó Ms. Tuppence said, introducing her
husband. I gulped, nodded politely as his eyes slowly regarded us. I
considered her lucky, I must admit, to have such a husband, for he was
physically imposing, with big arms, a big chest, almost bursting from his
Armani suit that he wore. He had piercing eyes and dark hair. His face
was deeply tanned, as if heÕd worked in the fields for years, building his
farm, until finally he could afford all that he had now, including us. I
trembled a little as he gazed at me, feeling the nakedness of my bottom
upon the ruffled pillow. I sensed he expected the best from us, with no
disobedience. Had I found my master? Did I want a master? For a
moment my prior master flashed before my minds, tall and slim but
powerfully built in his slimness, like a Vampire. Well, he had lost his grip
on me now. I was falling for this new man. He looked severe, though, and
that worried me.
ÒGood morning girls,Ó he said. ÒYou are my guests.Ó His voice spoke
of possession, making me feel like something he owned, like one of his
cows. Would he give me a ribbon to wear round my neck, or a bell?
ÒIÕm hungry!Ó Rachel proclaimed.
ÒAre you the youngest?Ó our new master asked, turning his gaze to
her. She shrank from the harshness of his eyes.
ÒNo, sir. She is,Ó Rachel answered. She pointed to me.
I wanted to slap Rachel for making me the special target of his
glare. His eyes turned to me. They did not look at my face, but at my
breasts.
ÒSit up straight,Ó Ms. Tuppence called to me. With flinching mouth,
feeling my spine tremble, I sat up straight and tall, though I wanted to
duck under the table and run back to the barn. The cows would protect me.
I stuck out my tits, as if they were udders, pulling my shoulders back.
ÒShe is no longer on the pill?Ó master asked Ms. Tuppence, as I
stared down at my plate, empty and waiting, conscious of the nude breasts
displayed all around me at table, and the men placed amidst us, admiring
us.
ÒNo, not as of this morning,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒA few days
perhaps, at most, and she will be fully fertile, although she might
conceive even this morning, if you wish to try.Ó
ÒI will,Ó he said. ÒThere is not much time. I must leave soon.Ó
ÒAgain?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked. She sat down at the front of the table,
next to her husband, who seated himself at the head of it, watching us all
the while.
ÒPolitics,Ó her husband answered.
ÒAlways there is something,Ó Ms. Tuppence sighed.
ÒAlways there is America,Ó he answered. ÒGreat women, but a pain
in the ass otherwise. These girls, they are all from America?Ó
ÒTwo of them,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒI think. Girls, tell us
where each of you is from. And your names too, please, that we may know
you better.Ó
We all looked at each other, awkward and blushing. I sensed the
males on either side of me, wanting to touch me, to take me. The maids
began serving us our meal, moving around us as quietly and stealthily as
cats. Their crisp white uniforms rustled as they began pouring juice,
serving bread, the aroma wafting up, making my mouth water.
ÒIÕm Tara,Ó our raven-haired former hostess began.
ÒWhich of you has been pierced?Ó our master asked Tara.
Tara lowered her eyes, blushed. ÒMe,Ó she replied.
ÒI let her take off her adornment,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒThere is
just a little ring there right now, barely visible, to keep the hole open. It
rubs her clitty sometimes. Does it not, Tara?Ó
ÒYes,Ó Tara answered, her voice soft. I looked at her. She had looked
a bit more passionate than the rest of us this morning. Now I knew why. I
wondered what it must feel like, to be constantly caressed, right where it
felt so special. For a second I wanted a ring of my own, on my clitoral
hood, but I dreaded the pain.
ÒIt is an excellent symbol of ownership,Ó Ms. Tuppence explained.
ÒThe chain, I mean, you will like seeing it on her.Ó
He harumphed, opened his napkin. He tucked it into his shirt collar,
in front, under his chin.
ÒIt is the sign of another man,Ó he said diffidently. ÒYou should have
brought me only unblemished girls, ones I could mark myself.Ó
ÒAll girls except the littlest ones bear the mark of another man,
dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered quietly. The maids served us eggs, once
over, trembling with egg yolk which threatened to break and run from
them at the slightest touch. ÒThe hymen, you know. Did you expect me to
bring you 12-year-olds?Ó
ÒNo, I must have bosoms and asses on my females, and they must be
capable of giving birth,Ó he answered. He looked at her. ÒWhen did you
lose yours?Ó
ÒAt twelve, dear,Ó she replied, with a little smile, remembering
briefly some long-lost lover.
ÒPerhaps that is the reason you have not borne ME any young,Ó he
answered.
ÒI have not borne anyone any Ôyoung,ÕÓ Ms. Tuppence said, taken
aback.
ÒWe will begin after breakfast,Ó master said, and cut into his egg.
Immediately the yolk flooded his plate. ÒI must have a heir.Ó
We ate a little while in silence, then, the men observing us, we
ourselves self-conscious, though a little proud too, like show ponies at a
fair. We were stunningly beautiful, I knew, me and my friends, all of us
with perfect nails, soft flowing hair, and faces men went to war and died
for, not to mention our bodies. I felt a bit queasy from my surroundings,
but the milking had done much to give me an appetite, and my desire for
food won out over my desire to keep my tummy empty so I could flee.
ÒYou will enjoy hosting parties, putting on your masterÕs long chain
before the guests arrive, greeting each one in turn, showing them your
masterÕs adornment,Ó Ms. Tuppence observed at last, turning to Tara. She
wished to fill our silence with pleasant conversation. ÒYour tinkling
little bell at the end of your chain will always announce you to be the
hostess, as you walk through the assembled guests. It is a wise use of the
pussy.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Tara answered shyly. She must have felt most irregular
talking about her pussy in front of all these strange men.
ÒDid it hurt?Ó Rachel asked. She forked a piece of egg-soaked bread
into her mouth.
ÒOf course,Ó Tara answered. ÒYou should know. You helped hold my
legs open.Ó
ÒOh, yeah. I donÕt want one,Ó Rachel informed master, her cheeks
bloated with her food.
ÒRachel, dear, your body contains b-endorphins, do you know what
they are?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked the girl. Rachel, munching with smacking
lips, shook her head Ôno.Õ
ÒWhen you feel pain, b-endorphins are released,Ó Ms. Tuppence
answered. ÒYou can feel a sense of euphoria from that.Ó
ÒWell, as long as it doesnÕt hurt, IÕll take the endorf-whatevers
then,Ó Rachel replied. ÒBut you can keep the bees. I donÕt like bees. They
sting!Ó A mild murmur of amusement passed among the guests. I shook
my head. Rachel reminded me of Mandy, all young and innocent and bold
and carefree, sure she owned the world, and was the center of attention in
it.
ÒTheir names, I was wondering...Ó a man piped up.
ÒIt is nothing,Ó master answered. ÒThey are walking wombs, that is
all. Beautiful wombs, IÕll grant, as I expected them to be. But I care
nothing for their names. This one is Tara, and has been owned by another
man, who had her pierced. That one is Rachel, who is as foolish and
childish as they come, yet she has been fucked by other men already, and
has no hymen to offer me.Ó
ÒYou sound upset, dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. She put a hand
lightly on his wrist. He brushed it away.
ÒI should go into the jungle, perhaps, and mate with the Indian
girls,Ó he snorted. ÒPerhaps they have virgins there.Ó
ÒAll girls are born virgins, dear, itÕs just that...Ó
ÒThey canÕt keep their panties on, and their parents pretend to care,
to ÔprotectÕ them, but look the other way when their boyfriend comes
calling,Ó master said. ÒIt is no matter. I will fuck these girls and we will
see what comes of it.Ó
I lifted my eyes from my plate, glanced at him. I think we all did. I
myself felt sorry for him. So handsome, yet somehow so disappointed
with the world. Perhaps his expectations were too high.
We finished breakfast. We ate strawberries for dessert, to make our
breath sweet. Our chairs were scooted back by the men and we rose,
princess-like, though we were naked as jaybirds and my bladder longed to
pee.
ÒCome, girls,Ó Ms. Tuppence beckoned us. ÒI want each of you to pee
into this little cup. ThereÕs one for each of you.Ó She handed out plastic
containers to us, as we stood around the breakfast table. The maids began
clearing away the plates and glasses. ÒDo it right here. Just hold the cup
beneath you, bend your legs a little, and open your cuntlips. IÕll test the
pee to see that youÕre not pregnant, so master and I can be sure any child
you bear will be his.Ó
ÒIf I have a baby, I want it to be MINE!Ó Rachel said.
ÒShhh,Ó Anna said, bumping her. She glanced at Ms. TuppenceÕs riding
crop, letting RachelÕs eyes follow her gaze. Rachel, who herself had
served as a slave under our previous master, got the message. Obedience
was required. She accepted her cup and, like the rest of us, dutifully peed
into it. I had trouble stopping my flow, but I managed. I had much left to
give.
Mistress collected our glasses, giving each of us a kleenex to wipe
with. I wiped myself, then darted forward and dropped my kleenex on my
plate. The maids would collect it. I stood fidgeting. How strange it had
been to pee so candidly, with the maids working around us, the men
standing amongst us. In a girlÕs locker room one might have gone ahead
and just peed, to get it over with. But here, it had been so unusual, peeing
in this wood-paneled room. There were paintings on the walls, perhaps by
Old Masters, or unknown artists of equal skill. They portrayed generations
past, two men, a woman, masterÕs ancestors perhaps, frigid and cold,
glaring out from the walls, with a layer of dust lightly covering them, for
someone had forgotten to dust their canvas surfaces, perhaps out of
respect for them, or indifference. There was no glass covering the
paintings. They hung in ornate gold-gilt frames. A plant stood in one
corner, leafy and green, with long-stemmed stalks. A bouquet of flowers
on the table seemed the perfect compliment to it, all buds and flourishing
color, female perhaps, to the plantÕs stern masculine growth. The plant in
the corner reminded me of master; cold, withdrawn, yet large in its
corner, imposing, proud of itself. Well, I was proud of myself too, though I
was much frailer, with my pink pussy lips wedged neatly between my
thighs, fringed with hair, and my pink colored toenails and fingernails. I
looked down at myself, over the offered fruit of my breasts, with their
tender teats. I ran my hand across my tummy. It was smooth, flat,
despite my big meal. It felt soft. I pressed my fingers into it. Would
master make me bulge there? I wondered what kind of child such a big
man would sire. A giant, perhaps. Still, I wished IÕd been given my pill. I
should choose when I gave birth, not him, shouldnÕt I? I looked up at him
with meek eyes. He was watching me, seeing me stroke my belly.
ÒI enjoyed watching you pee,Ó he said.
ÒThank you,Ó I replied, not knowing what else to say. I felt myself
blush. ÒI-I still have to go some more.Ó
ÒMe too!Ó Rachel said, a note of urgency in her voice.
ÒIÕm glad that chainÕs out of my way,Ó Tara said. We were feeling
free again, open. ÒAnd I do have to pee, sir, if you donÕt mind.Ó She
brushed her hair back with a flip of her hand, a toss of her head. She was
cultured, privileged. The only agonies sheÕd ever known were those
inflicted for the sake of pleasure. Her teeth flashed in a white, candid
smile.
ÒI see why your master pierced you,Ó Ms. TuppenceÕs husband said to
her. ÒYou must host a party for me sometime. I shall take you with me, to
Paris. You will greet the guests, and show each one your pussy as she or
he comes in.Ó
ÒI would be honored,Ó Tara answered simply. She looked down at
herself, bent her legs, opened herself, tugged lightly on the little ring that
adorned her most private place. ÒIt is special, though it hurt like the
dickens getting it in,Ó she admitted.
ÒI should have loved to have seen it,Ó master answered.
ÒJasmine is still to get one, according to our old masterÕs orders,Ó
Tara offered, casting a quick glance at Jasmine, who flinched and cupped
her hand to her nest.
ATTENTION GIRLS
I know what youÕre thinking. YouÕre wondering, ÒDo I look good
enough to be a model? Do I look great enough to be a Playmate?Ó Well,
well, well! At last count I ÔreadÕ 1,249,683 porno magazines. IÕve also
jacked off over some modelling magazines when there wasnÕt any new
porno at Tower Books. So as you can see, IÕm pretty much an expert when
it cummes to rating girls.
Now IÕve decided that the time has come in my life to give something
back to the community. So I am going to provide a free Rating Service for
all girls. All you have to do is come by my dumpster and take off your
clothes. I will ensure that everything is completely private. There will
just be you, and me. I will examine you from head to toe and provide you
with a professional rating as to your suitability as jackoff material.
But thatÕs not all! I am also going to take your picture. Normally, a
girl has to find someone to take nude photos of herself when she wants to
submit them to one of the National girlie magazines. Can you imagine
asking your mother, your grandmother, or your aunt to help you with this?
Or your father? With me, itÕs all very quick and easy. IÕm constantly
filming people around my neighborhood with my patented X-Ray camera,
and it is very easy for me to convert this camera to normal use for the
purpose of sending your photo to Playboy.
I will also act as your agent. Many beautiful girls arenÕt too good at
math. I understand the problem: worrying constantly about hair, nails,
makeup, and whether you need a (yet larger) bra, you have no time to do
your math homework. Not to worry! For a small additional fee I will
handle all your contracts and paperwork as a Playmate, model, or Hustler
Honey.
Now there is also the matter of sex. I hate to bring this up. Please
understand that as a Nationally Known pair of bosoms (etc.) there will be
many, many men who will lust after you. Bankers, Lawyers, Doctors,
Architects, all of these men will be begging you to marry them and bear
their children. How to choose? I will handle all these men for you. IÕll
tell you which is the best for you. And, if none of them meet my very high
standards of suitability, we can just have sex together until the right guy
comes along. I want only the very best for you, so letÕs not be hasty about
marrying, okay? I have found that, on average, it takes about 20 years for
a really great dude to come into your life. But until then you will always
have me to keep you company and whack your fanny for you if you happen
to be naughty and stuff like that. Plus you can keep up all those important
domestic skills by doing my laundry and stuff in the meantime.
Now about being a movie star. I know every girl sees Hustler as the
first step to fame. Yes, indeed, I also have Holy JoeÕs Plan for Fame. In
this Plan you will meet Tom Cruise and many other fine celebrities.
However, movies being what they are today (alas) there is usually some
kind of sex scene in most films. Or if there is not sex, I can guarantee you
that the girl in the film, at some point, is going to have to scream. So we
must practise your screaming, and also we must make sure you are fully
experienced in sex in case there happens to be a sex scene in the film. As
you know, your time is valuable. So I have combined both the screaming
and the sex into one activity. We will practise both at once on my couch.
Then, when that special call comes from Tom, youÕll be all set!
Okay, okay. I guess IÕm just making all this up and being mean. But,
you know, you girls have had me in the palm of your hand for [number
deleted] years! Every month I look forward to you and I cut out your
pictures, and hang you up on my wall, and I dream about you in my sleep. I
wish I could meet you and I wish I could fuck you (sorry Exon) and I pray to
you. My hands tremble when I am holding your picture in my hands and I
sweat. Sometimes, if you look really great, I even shit in my pants! Now I
know the feminists all say IÕm exploiting you but, really, I have to wonder.
How can I be exploiting you when IÕm quavering with desire and guilt and
lust and hope and all those other emotions coursing through me? How can
I be exploiting you when I spend my last penny just to have your photo?
How can I be exploiting you when youÕre having a wonderful life and IÕm
just some guy in a dumpster whoÕs too busy doing (well, never mind) to do
his laundry or take a bath?
Well IÕm sure the feminists must be correct (theyÕll pass a law
saying they are if theyÕre not). But I just wanted you to know that my
dumpster is always available. ItÕs pretty full of porno magazines but, I
figure, since theyÕre photos of you, you should feel right at home!
AND IN THE END...
ÒTheir debut CD, Spice, has topped the charts in Britain and captured
audiences in France, Italy, Japan, Australia and almost every other
country where there are young girls and young boys who like looking at
young girls.Ó
- Time, February 3, 1997, pg. 68.
(Plus some old farts. - h.j.)
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-END OF 181 EMISSION
- About Spice Girl Mel B., whoÕs spreading her ass in Time, what
happened is I had to force a butt plug up her and bvgmxl;