ÒHow many swats do we have to get?Ó Jackie asked with alarm. The
girl was busy humping the post, hoping to cum.
ÒThere is no limit,Ó Master replied.
SINS OF THE FLESH
Chapter Three
Now available for downloading from ftp site: members.aol.com/nnd66
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 187
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter One
ÒFury?Ó I asked. My eyes lifted up from my work.
ÒIt is your new name,Ó he answered. ÒYou are bold. And it is good,
for you must be bold, where I am taking you, for your training. Whenever
the going gets rough, remember the nickname IÕve given you. Fury. In this
way you will become a woman. Stronger than me perhaps, someday. But
for now, to learn to lead you first must follow.Ó
ÒH-How?Ó I asked. This business of being Ôtaken someplaceÕ was
new to me. We must leave Montevideo, certainly. We were too close to my
mom, and especially my dad. But what did he mean by it all?
ÒYou will be made to do things you might rebel against,Ó he said, his
voice deep, as he lolled in the bath with his prong just rising, inspired
anew.
ÒOooh! I know what that means!Ó Barbi said, wiggling her heinie.
ÒWhat?Ó I asked.
ÒNevermind,Ó she answered. ÒYouÕll know soon enough. But I
survived it, so donÕt worry. Training, I mean. Master, what special place
are you taking us to?Ó
ÒYou will see,Ó he answered. ÒI make the rules from now on. But, as
a hint, IÕd advise you both to pack a pillow.Ó
ÒI can sneak home and get my sleeping bag if itÕs needed,Ó I offered.
I remembered a fun overnight trip in fourth grade, sleeping outside. IÕd
gotten my first kiss from a boy that night, and spent the next three days
sleepless, worrying IÕd have to tell mom I was pregnant.
ÒYou wonÕt need the pillow for sleeping, silly,Ó Barbi told me.
ÒHmmm, dear?Ó Her eyes darted to master. I saw her bottom shiver.
Her bare bottom, so lovely and unprotected, like mine, as we stood before
master, washing our swimsuits.
ÒThatÕs right. YouÕll want it for sitting down on,Ó master answered.
What could I say? I wanted to blurt out, ÔYou fool! You think youÕre
in charge of me, but my dadÕs trying to kill you!Õ But I said nothing. I
wouldnÕt be his then, not with that kind of ÔheatÕ bearing down upon him.
HeÕd forget all about me, IÕd never see him again. And my dad (whom I
loved) might well be dead by nightfall. No, to protect both the men in my
lives, I could say nothing. Perhaps the name master had given me, Fury,
wasnÕt such a bad name after all.
Chapter Two
The rainstorm had passed when we went downstairs for brunch.
Barbi and I hung our bikinis out on the clotheslines. We found we were the
only ones in the house, save for master. The other girls, seeing master
was busy, his bedroom locked, had gone out shopping.
ÒMore of my money going down the drain for females,Ó master
whined. He was dressed now, weÕd helped him. Barbi and I strolled about
naked, wearing just heels. SheÕd found some that fit me. Master,
apparently, had gotten a pair for me yesterday, just in case I stopped by
again...
ÒSell more drugs, dear. Then you can buy us nice things all the
time,Ó Barbi answered. Her eyes were careless. I think she knew a little
bit what we were getting ourselves into. I saw that she drank more
champagne at brunch, even offering me some, but I just sipped a little. It
didnÕt taste very good to me, to be honest. Master insisted it was the
highest quality, which IÕm sure it was. He seemed not to mind that I didnÕt
drink more of it, though. Barbi, for her part, seemed intent on getting
downright drunk. ÒAnd donÕt think our trip to your lady friendÕs is going to
be inexpensive,Ó she told him. Master frowned.
ÒIÕm trying to cut back expenses,Ó he mused. ÒBut for you, there can
be no curtailment, at least in respects to your training.Ó
ÒNo gaoler from the central prison, for a few pesos an hour?Ó she
asked. She poured more champagne into her lips and tossed her hair, as if
trying to forget, or not speculate.
ÒWould you prefer that?Ó he asked. He glanced at her. They were
like a couple, having a spat.
ÒIt would get it over with quicker,Ó she replied. I felt like I should
leave, and let them finish their little argument alone. Yet, wherever Barbi
was going, I was going too! It was downright scary, now that I was
thinking about it. IÕd heard a story now and then at school, of a woman
who pampered and ÔtrainedÕ young females. Of course, IÕd dismissed it out
of hand, thinking it something the boys had dreamed up in the locker room.
But could such a place really exist? I was like the Curious Cat, willing to
court danger just to find out.
ÒIÕll go check on our bikinis,Ó I announced, rising from the table.
Master glanced up, nodded. Barbi drank again from her champagne.
Out in the sunshine I let the bright rays fall upon my skin. I felt
warm, happy. I was free of my mother and (truth to tell) my father too,
and their endless watchfulness. For the first time in my life I was
experiencing the world on my own terms. And I had a man in my life, self-
selected, with whom I could tryst, or argue, as Barbi seemed to
sometimes do. We might dream together, or plan together, or he might
just Take me, and use me as his lust required.
I watched two birds, a male and female, flitting back and forth from
their nest. One leaving, the other staying awhile, then the second leaving
when the first returning. Yet, even apart, they were together somehow,
thinking of each other. I crept closer and saw a baby bird, chirping madly,
with two powder blue eggs nestled beside it, waiting to hatch, slumbering
still, waiting to meet mom and dad, not knowing yet that their parents
even existed, or that they would one day wish to be free of them, no
matter how religiously they were fed.
Tip-toeing back into the house I heard Barbi sobbing softly. I
entered the kitchenette and saw them sitting there, breakfast done, with
Barbi just regaining her seat as she served master and herself some
strawberry pie. There was a slap mark on her right cheek. Her hair was
tousled, but she brushed her fingers through it, straightening it.
ÒAre you okay?Ó I asked Barbi. She glanced up at me. It was as if I
was just her child, inquiring, half-ignored.
ÒYes, dear,Ó she answered. ÒItÕs all part of growing up,Ó she said
mysteriously. Master surveyed her with a newly acquired sense of
ownership. Sitting down now, with the pie in front of her, she impulsively
leaned over to him and kissed him. He seized her breast and squeezed it. I
felt uncomfortable, unwanted. I almost made a scene, doing anything, to
get the attention back on me, but I controlled myself. At last they parted.
ÒCome, eat your pie,Ó Barbi told me. I saw there was a piece for me
as well as for the two of them.
ÒAre your bikinis dry?Ó master asked me.
ÒAlmost!Ó I answered. My voice was high, sweet. Wriggling
delightedly now that I was back at the center of things, I sat down in my
chair and ate with feigned self-consciousness as master stared at my
jiggling breasts and my long, silky-soft mane of hair, so neatly combed, so
free and uninhibited, a girlÕs hairstyle, falling down over the sides of my
breasts and threatening to cloak my nipples. I brushed my hair back so
masterÕs view wouldnÕt be blocked. Barbi was as naked as I. I preferred
that, given a choice of breasts, he chose mine to admire.
We fetched our bikinis from the washline after breakfast. We left
the plates on the table; a maid would come in the afternoon to clean them,
tidy up, find panties behind chairs and (perhaps) a condom or two on the
floor.
Master made us tie on our bikinis with the greatest care. ÒYou must
look your very best,Ó he told us. ÒThis lady doesnÕt just accept any girls.
Only the fairest are allowed. Do your hair and nails now too, and see that
her makeup is done, Barbi, not much, just enough to highlight her features
and let everyone know sheÕs an older girl now, ready for love.Ó
I blushed. Barbi led me into a bathroom. There were always makeup
things in each of the bathrooms in masterÕs house, even his rented homes,
lest girls needed to tidy up to keep looking their best for him. Of course,
since he seemed to prefer only the finest girls (at least in my opinion!)
such things as makeup were little more than frills, but who was to deny a
pretty girl her indulgences? We did our makeup in our bikinis, closing the
door so we could tantalize him with the enforced privacy. When we
emerged, he beamed at us. Two girls in nothing but bikinis, with their
nails impeccable and their faces freshly painted, their hair glossy and
glowing, are a sight to behold! He ushered us out front to his limo before
he succumbed to the need to take us right there, outside the bathroom
door!
Master drove us himself. He had lost his chauffeur in the war with
Ms. Tuppence. We sat obediently up front with him, bouncing along in our
bikinis, causing a stir at every stoplight we passed. At last we gained the
countryside, where we could travel in peace amidst quiet two-lane roads.
We came to a little village. Master drove in amidst its neat streets
and well-clipped lawns. ÒSheÕs moved since last I visited her,Ó he
mumbled, glancing around. At last he found her house. There was a drive
that allowed us to pull back behind it, so we wouldnÕt be seen going in.
I emerged from the limo and found myself amidst an apple orchard.
The big trees cast dappled patterns on my white skin. Barbi got out behind
me, took my hand, squeezed it.
ÒWeÕre here!Ó she said with feigned brightness.
ÒHave you been here before?Ó I asked her.
ÒNo, silly! I got my training...elsewhere,Ó she answered. She lifted
her chest, seemed to walk with newfound poise. I did my best to imitate
her. The blush on her cheek from her slapping was almost gone. Master,
locking the limo, trailed behind us, caught up at last. We walked some
distance through a small forest of trees. I wanted to pick an apple and eat
it but master told me not to.
ÒFrom now on, donÕt say anything, and try to keep your eyes
lowered,Ó Barbi said quietly to me. We followed a little path of glazed
rock, a kind of futura-stone walkway, through the hushed forest of trees.
At last, quite suddenly, the house emerged. Perhaps weÕd walked no more
than a minute, but it had seemed much longer to me, with each tree
seeming to stand in warning against my treading further. Yet IÕd gone on,
my master behind me.
There, sitting quietly at a table, reading a book by Emily Post, was
the proprietress of Abandon Gardens, as it was called. Apparently some
Spaniards had named it. TheyÕd made a last stand here against rebelling
Indians. The Indians had won, the Spaniards, despite all their finery, their
guns and knowledge, had fled back to the sea in the face of the naked
Indian onslaught. I think the next day the Spaniards returned, reinforced,
and slaughtered all the Indians for their insolence to their masters, but
ever-after this place, as Barbi had whispered to me in the car, was known
as ÒAbandon Gardens,Ó as a warning to those who would try to paper over
their primal urges with refinement and civility.
Lady Highbourne put down her book. She glanced up at master, did
not look at Barbi or myself at all. I found her imposing, yet I wished
perhaps to be like her someday. Master seemed almost a boy in her
presence.
ÒI hear your credit is not what it used to be,Ó Lady Highbourne said
calmly to master. She took a puff on a cigarette that she held in a long
ivory holder. Her hair was blonde as summer, with glorious breasts set
high on her chest, yet she wore a dark, severe dress, as if about to embark
on a funeral procession. Her neck, I saw, in contrast to ours, was free of
any collar or adornment.
ÒIÕm good for this,Ó master answered. He fidgeted. Barbi and I did
the same, except we felt doubly naked under her steely eyes, for we wore
nothing but the tiniest, most alluring bikinis. Master at least had his
elegant business suit on. Her eyes looked him over, up and down. Then she
flitted her eyes across our tummies, our hips, our breasts, as if examining
meat, skipping our faces, as if to look at us face-to-face would be like
God deigning to greet Eve.
ÒHave them turn around,Ó Ms. Highbourne told master. With flushing
faces, perhaps even blushing right down to our bottoms, we turned about
and let her see our asses. They were covered by just the flimsiest of
seats. Panties arenÕt what they used to be. But they werenÕt thong
bikinis, instead they seemed naughtier, trying to hide our tushies and
failing miserably. Instinctively, after weÕd turned to face her with our
behinds, we each reached back and checked on our panties, pulling the
material out of our buttcracks. Our little walk through the woods had left
us with bunched swimsuits.
ÒHmmm, their manners could be better,Ó Ms. Highbourne observed. I
guess its not the most polite thing to be yanking your panties out of your
asscrack when youÕre greeting a dignified lady! ÒHave them turn back
around,Ó she said. ÒTheir derrieres are certainly well-made, even if their
owners canÕt keep their panties on properly.Ó
Master indicated for us to turn back to face her. We did so with a
new sense of self-awareness, feeling her eyes as she fixed them on our
breasts. I lifted my hands and nervously straightened my bra, though it
didnÕt need it.
ÒCome closer, girls,Ó Ms. Highbourne instructed. We approached her.
I felt like a supplicant before some Mother Goddess, except this one was
extraordinarily beautiful, perhaps even as beautiful as Barbi and I. ÒDo
you know what pain is, girls?Ó Ms. Highbourne asked.
ÒItÕs,Ó I began. Barbi nudged me, as if I was not supposed to speak,
not ever, but simply to listen and obey. Still, I answered her anyway,
trying to catch her eyes as I spoke. ÒItÕs being hurt,Ó I said. She gazed
resolutely right at my crotch, which was now just inches from her face. I
sensed her breath exhaling onto the little pulpy mound between my legs,
where my secret place lay, as yet all mine, untested, untried.
ÒPain is liberation,Ó Ms. Highbourne answered. Taking her cigarette
from her lips, holding it twixt her fingers, she reached toward me with
both her hands. She took hold of the drawstrings of my bikini and, without
untying them, gently lowered my panties down my thighs. She pulled on
them until even the little snatch of fabric between my pussy lips gave
way, springing down to join the rest of my suit at mid-thigh. With the
moist tip of her cigarette holder, the part normally held by her mouth, she
probed the pussy-mouth of labia lips. I watched with anxious eyes as the
burning tip of the cigarette came close to my thigh, while with trembling
knees I felt her open me where it counted. She inquired gently, not prising
me open much, and indeed I kept my thighs as close together as I could,
though not daring to press them tightly together to exclude her.
From me Ms. Highbourne turned to Barbi. Her undies were lowered
too, and Ms. Highbourne pointed out to each of us the little impression the
drawstrings of our bikinis had made across our hips.
ÒYou must not allow yourselves any disfigurement, however slight,
unless it is truly necessary, girls,Ó she told us. ÒPanties are not needed in
summer. Do you feel chilly with them around your knees?Ó she asked us
frankly.
ÒNo, maÕam,Ó we chimed in reply, sensing an answer was wanted in
this particular instance. It seemed to serve her needs to have us answer
rhetorical questions, for which there could be only one answer.
ÒSo let us have no more of panties while you are here, girls,Ó Ms.
Highbourne announced. ÒTake them right off. You will not wear anything
while you are here below the waistline, save boots, perhaps.Ó
ASSEMBLED FRAGMENTS
by Jasmine DonteÕ
Think me not weak for caressing your being with my eyes
For devouring your energy like my favorite taste of sweet
For escaping into your gorgeous head of precious dreads
Caress my body like brick to mortar
Roll in the earth with me and float in the clouds
unintimidated
Make no predictions beyond this point
Experience the here and now
Fill my calm with breathless yes-es
erase my thoughts
color my images
make me come in multitudes
shatter my bones
follow my reason
talk that talk and walk that walk
Take us/we/me/you
to that place
of peaceful, cherished, soaring
solitude
AND IN THE END...
Does This Remind You of Your Professor?
ÒIndeed, sometimes it seems to me that the Language Poets simply
created themselves to have a forum in which they could publish,
scratch each otherÕs back, swap murky polemics and obscure poetics,
and play crony to each other in their own erudite, high-brow, elite
world of letters.Ó
- Small Press Review, January 1997, pg. 16.
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