Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 217
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Five
Jill ran a finger along the top of her panties. Lightly she fondled the
drawstrings a moment, and then gracefully undid them. She pitched her
frail garment straight into the fire. I played with my own drawstrings a
moment, and then untied them myself. I did not want to be showed up as a
coward. Bravely I turned to the fire and, biting my lip, I tossed my panties
irretrievably into the hissing coals. I watched my undies disappear into
ashes upon them.
Boldly we faced Max. Our twin pairs of boobs bobbed sensuously
before his eyes. Naughtily we thrust our hips at him, letting him admire
our well-furred nests. Jill did not put her hands on her hips, but I thought
she might have, so directly did she stare at Max, daring him to do his
worst to her. Max pulled down his trunks, letting us see his cock for the
first time. It stuck up lewdly, springing into action as he yanked down his
pants. Jill and I both gasped at its monstrous length and its imposing
width. He might be a sadist, but he had a cock to die for! I fidgeted,
watching it, and Sam saw my eager apprehension and smiled at me as he
turned as threw his shorts into the fire.
ÒYou will both do well, I think,Ó Sam told us. ÒI like girls who are
able to face whatÕs ahead of them.Ó With that he took us each by the hand,
and led us to the cellar door. From a tiny slot in the wall he removed a
hidden key. He unlocked the door, replaced the key, and ushered us inside.
I lifted my fingertips into the hushed darkness, feeling for anything
that might tell me where I was. A moment later Max flicked on the lights.
I saw I was at the top of a wooden staircase. Below me I could see only
the steps, and a little to either side. Like a child wading into a pool,
frightened of the water, I descended the stairs on tiptoe. Jill followed.
We were truly courageous, I thought, bravely leading the way down into
this forboding, hushed place, wearing nothing at all to protect us, armed
only with our beauty. Would Max love us enough not to hurt us? He
followed, naked as us, we being two against his one, yet he was so huge I
knew Jill and I were utterly at his mercy. I felt my sleek sunbrowned legs
timidly take each downward step beneath me. Why did they not stop? You
could see the whiteness at my hips where my bikini was supposed to be,
yet IÕd taken it off and tossed it away. My boobies, so freshly grown and
beautiful, jiggled their sensitive tips between my tummy and chin.
JillÕs hand brushed my bottom. Was it an accident? Did she like my
ass? I dared not turn my head and look back at her. The stair had no
railing. There was nothing to hang onto. All my concentration had to be on
keeping myself from falling, yet wasnÕt I falling even as I walked, would I
not be a fallen woman coming down here, or at least a fallen child?
I felt JillÕs breath on my shoulder and knew she must be in the same
predicament. She feared tumbling down the stairs. Max came after her, no
doubt entranced by her nervously waggling hips, her womanÕs hips, bared
like a brideÕs must be for the wedding night festivities.
My breath caught in my throat as I descended the last few steps.
Here, in this simple suburban cellar, Max had created a separate world.
The stone on the walls was old. Had he imported it specially, or built the
house over this place? The floor was carpeted, I realized, stepping down
onto it with my bare feet. Its warmth comforted me as I stood shivering
in the half-cold of the dungeon, its temperature somewhere between
midnight and dawn, never warming to the heat of midday, always staying a
recessed, quiet place, where the skin might be cooled down for warming
with wicked things, things that might warm certain portions of the body
only, leaving the rest chilly and unloved, unhurt. I reached behind myself
and let my hands hug the plump 13-year-old cheeks of my bottom. Feeling
the carpet beneath me, I realized it was not for my comfort, or any girlÕs,
but only for MaxÕs. He would rule us here, and we would suffer and be
discomforted. In the dungeon I saw old, wretched equipment, from the
days of the inquisition, imported, I guessed, from Spain, to break the
Indians of their innocent beliefs in spirits and ghosts and make them
baptised members of GodÕs Holy Church. There was a guillotine, with a
special bench for the victim to lie on, its rearward portion upraised so
they might be sodomized even as they waited for the gleaming blade above
to descend. There was an indoor scaffold, its noose dangling down, with
straps along its base where the girl might have her legs spread apart,
displaying her sex to her captor as he prepared her for her doom. Looking
close, mesmerized, I saw the ankle straps would skitter downward along
the upright posts of the scaffolding when the noose was dropped, leaving
the poor girl bitterly wide open and available even as she felt the noose
grip and break her pretty neck. Had girls struggled there, I wondered,
feeling their lights go out even as men savored their split-apart legs,
their little sex hungry in death, from loveless nights spent here in the
dungeon? Next to the brutal scaffolding I saw a smooth, clean feather
duster. It was a truly perverse sight, and I wanted to tear my eyes away,
yet I could not! To torment a girlÕs clit even as she waited to die, to
watch her squirm in frustration, her ankles hopelessly bound, her cunny
implacably spread for her captorÕs amusement. Her slim swanlike neck
roped off from the rest of her, her head twisting above the noose,
pleading. Were spoilt white girls brought here too, I wondered, in days
gone by, girls whoÕd slept with other men or eaten apples their parents
disapproved of?
Nearby there was a stocks, a timber frame with holes not for the
wrists, or the head, but for (I feared) the breasts. I saw I might be made
to stand before it with the holes just at the height of my breasts. They
could be put between the two halves of wood and then the wood brought
together, sliding down in grooves, until it squeezed and distorted the
breasts as much as the girlÕs captor might wish. And the stocks could be
raised or lowered, to accommodate Jill perhaps, or some other girl.
Hanging from the stocks, on a little peg, was a pair of nipple clamps. Jill
touched my back. Her finger found my spine, ran down it. I felt her blonde
hair fall upon my shoulder. I reached back, found her hand with mine,
squeezed it. We were crazy, standing there, feeling our cunts moisten, our
nipples so hard they hurt, looking wide-eyed at such horrid things!
Nearest to us, beneath a wall filled with whips and straps and tawses,
was a small table for our masterÕs pleasure. It held tubes of fresh
lubricant, and condoms in a pretty flower vase. I saw nothing for my
comfort, or JillÕs. Just the necessities a man would wish for himself, as
he worked his organ in and out of the pretty captives in his possession. He
would be protected, right down to the latex sheath on his penis, yet the
girls would be utterly at his mercy.
ÒMax, please take us upstairs!Ó Jill blurted. Her finger dimpled my
bottom even as she echoed my own fear. Max did not touch us. He merely
stood, still on the last step, towering over us, like a troll guarding a
bridge over which we had too hastily crossed.
ÒJill, is it not your honeymoon?Ó Max asked her. His voice was low
and growling.
ÒYes!Ó she answered. ÒWell, Flurry and mine, with Sam! But he is
not here!Ó
Max laughed. ÒAll you see before you is not old. Sam is watching
you, through hidden cameras IÕve rigged up. Even as he dallies with his
lady friends, or does their bidding, suffering perhaps, or not, as they
choose, his cock tested hour after hour with new challenges, new tortures
(I cannot say, it is their choice what to do with him), he watches you. He
has left you here to be trained, both of you, and he is watching. You must
obey, to please him, or to let him know you suffer even as he suffers.Ó
I squeezed JillÕs hand more tightly. I scanned the walls, the ceiling,
for cameras. I could not see any. They make them so small these days,
some as tiny as the tip of a pencil. They could be anywhere, even in the
torture machines themselves, perhaps ideally poised to zoom in on my
butthole as Max did some awful deed to me. I felt Jill exhale hard, as if
trying to summon up her strength for Sam. He had done this. He had
brought her here, and he would reclaim her one day, I was sure. We would
not die here. We were just to explore new things, albeit with a difficult
taskmaster to keep us on the straight and narrow.
Were we being watched? Were there women sitting someplace even
now, sipping tea, entertaining guests, perhaps, as we prepared to delve
into the dungeonÕs secrets, offering up our own in exchange? Would they
sit and laugh and observe us, see our every twitch, our every imprecation?
I stepped up to the last remaining barrier between us and the
dungeon. It was a simple steel gate, waist high, with a latch holding it to
the twin posts that kept it erect. Beyond this gate, incongruously set
between posts next to the stairs, lay the awfulness of the dungeon. The
wall of this room was to my right, the stairs to my left. Behind me, Jill
waited, letting me go first, a section of wall beyond her, cutting us off
from whatever lay behind it. I peered into the gloom. The nights did not
show us everything the dungeon held, only the nearer things. Did beasts
lie chained in its deepest depths? Were there machines of impossible
nightmares lurking in its unlit shadows? With a click I lifted the latch.
It was worn, as if many girls had lifted it up before me, intruding into
these uncharted depths of doom. Jill caught my elbow. She held it a
moment, tensely. Then, I having lifted the latch, holding it up, she made
the decision to push my arm forward, by my elbow, opening the gate for
the both of us. We tiptoed within. Max descended the last step on the
stairs and followed us. He shut the gate behind us and I saw him use the
same key heÕd unlocked the cellar door with to imprison us behind the
gate. Once it was locked, just as the door above must now be, I saw he
reached to the wall and opened a small door. There, set in the ancient
stone, a small lockbox had been secreted. There was a number pad, and
Max touched the numbers in a sequence known only to him. A compartment
opened. He put the key inside. He shut up the box. We were truly trapped
now. I scanned about, looking for a weapon. Except for dildoes and straps,
neatly hung up on the wall, I saw none. Could I fight this man barehanded?
I looked at him, judged him. He was as muscular as Atlas. His cock stuck
out boldly, unafraid. His nuts hung below, obscenely full and bulging. I
think kicking my toes up into his nuts wouldnÕt have helped at all. He was
simply too powerful, even in his loins. He would probably just laugh at
me, and then make me pay.
With a sudden loss of all my resolve I stood with a sudden meekness.
I felt the same realization wash over Jill. We were trapped down here
with this man, knowing only his first name, nothing else. We would be at
his mercy, and there was no escaping it. Two young girls like ourselves
would be no match for him, however much we might have been
ÔempoweredÕ at self-esteem classes in school. He would rule, and we
would be his little subjects. I felt a thrill somewhere deep in my womb,
running up my spine even, as I realized the utter subjugation of myself to
this man with his big loins and chest, his powerful back and arms and (I
knew) his iron will. We stood before him with new confidence, Jill and I.
He did not take just any girls down here, I realized. He had his pick of
girls in the world. For him to take this kind of time, show this kind of
concern, loving us for days, serving us, before bringing us down here,
showed he had a special appreciation for us. Yet I had no doubt that once
Sam reclaimed us other girls would stand right here in our place, testing
their own feelings, and being loved and raped by him in turn.
Yes, there was no denying him. His testicles brimmed with his
sperm, his cock stood up like a roosterÕs, its largeness greater than any
manÕs IÕd seen before, and he was clearly sexually excited. He would not
wish to leave here with blue balls. He eyed us closely. He picked up
something IÕd mistaken for lubricant from the nightstand. It was, in fact,
a squeeze-bottle of honey.
ÒWelcome to the dungeon,Ó Max said, and squirted JillÕs pussy with
honey, then mine. We laughed. There was nothing else to do. Jill and I
stood laughing at ourselves, staring down at our nests with the honey
squirted into them. Would we taste as sweet soon, naturally, from our
own excitement? I reached out and took the honey bottle from Max. FairÕs
fair, I thought, and squirted him up and down on his big cock. He let me,
did not stop me, savored the honey as it spurted out onto his stiff organ.
When IÕd ceased Jill pushed her hair back from her face and bent over and
nibbled the honeyed tip of his penis. She looked elegant, standing there,
not wanting to get goo in her lovely hair, keeping it back from her mouth
and face as she gobbled more and more of MaxÕs prick. He trembled. She
bobbed her head upon him, knelt finally, and choked herself as she tried to
take as much as she could of him into her mouth.
ÒStand up,Ó Max whispered. Jill realized she had failed to deep
throat him, and knew not how to pull it off. She rose. She licked her lips
and then bit her lower lip apprehensively. ÒYou must be trained,Ó Max said
simply. He opened a drawer in the nightstand and took out sets of wrist
and ankle straps for both of us. He handed them to Jill, to me. ÒPut them
on. It will make it easier for me to bind you for your workout.Ó
ÒOur workout?Ó Jill laughed. It was a nervous laugh. I felt
butterflies in my tummy.
ÒDid you take P.E. in school?Ó Max asked.
ÒOf-of course,Ó Jill answered. ÒSoccer, baseball, dancing...Ó
ÒBaton twirling,Ó I offered.
ÒYes, they exercised your arms and legs, but what about your sexual
parts?Ó Max grinned. ÒWell, as new young wives we must finally have you
experience the exertions that really matter. Put on the straps. Your
husband is watching. Let him see you go willingly. There are ways to help
the unwilling along,Ó he added, with a glance at the wallfull of whips.
Trembling, I helped Jill into her wriststraps, and she into mine.
Then we both bent over and put on our anklestraps. When we stood up
again, Max had twin collars dangling from his hands. Jill took mine and
buckled me into it. I did the same for her. They were simple dog collars,
nothing fancy. When I returned my eyes to Max I saw he wanted me to put
my hands behind myself. I did. I could feel that a quick snap of my
wriststraps would make me cuffed in my own bonds. Jill stood with her
own arms placed as mine were. Sam walked behind us. With a quick
closing of my wrists he made me utterly captive. JillÕs wrists were bound
together just as easily.
Max stepped back in front of us, tracing a finger over our bottoms
before he went.
ÒWell, sir, now that you have us, what are you going to do with us?Ó
Jill asked him. Her stance was bold, her legs apart, her bush pushed
forward. She tossed her head, like a horse at pasture, regarding a boy who
longed to break it. I tried to emulate JillÕs courage. I stuck my pussy
forward, heedless of the danger. I felt my breasts rise and fall and rise
again as I tried to stare Max down.
NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND
by holy joe
Leg Scene, June 1997, $6.95. Paradise Magazine Group, P.O. Box 2117, New
York, NY 10116-2117. Make checks payable to PARADISE MAGAZINE.
Include Òover 21Ó signature.
Review: FINALLY I get a decent issue from these people!
This is the third issue IÕve gotten free in the mail from Òthe
Paradise Magazine Group.Ó The first two were so boring I refused to
review them.
There is a problem with ParadiseÕs magazines. The females in them
are too old and too fat. Perhaps Senator Hatch wants to open up a ÒgirlieÓ
magazine and look at a bunch of old sluts, but I donÕt. I may as well just
look in my neighborÕs window if I want to see some fat, old slut with no
clothes on. But, at last, Paradise has put together a good issue. There are
still way too many Ô2 dollar whoresÕ in this issue, but all in all it is well
worth buying.
IÕll skip the shitty parts and get right to the good stuff:
ÒMeet the FarmerÕs DaughterÓ features a nude girl in a barn with a
saddle. She goes riding in her saddle-to-nowhere, after first peeing (?)
and posing on a soft blanket. Lying on that soft blanket is a very savage-
looking bullwhip. For her sake, I hope it isnÕt needed.
ÒMomma Mia! ItÕs Tia!Ó stars a luscious young babe and her teddy
bear, candy, and socks. SheÕs at her first orgy, from what I can gather,
studying these photos. SheÕs offered a bottle of drug-laced candy to help
her relax. She accepts, but keeps her teddy bear close by for comfort.
After sheÕs eaten the candy, feeling a little giddy, she eats her socks!
Finally, all limbered up, she boldly offers her bottom for a game of darts.
I pray the other partiers didnÕt take her up on her offer!
A ÒHigh-Heeled Catfight!Ó is what results when two girls get bored
at the office. Alas, both these girls are fat. Nonetheless, this is such a
wild, fun pictorial that I enjoyed it. They tear off each otherÕs clothes.
They spank each other, including with a high-heeled shoe. One girl rides
the other, using a nylon stocking as a bridle. Apparently, however, their
boss finds them goofing off, and decides to punish them. For, as the
pictorial concludes, both girls are lying on the floor. Their legs are
upraised and their bare bottoms are pressed together. Has their boss
given them a double-ended dildo and forced them to share it? They both
look quite inconvenienced by it. Hopefully these secretaries will be more
attentive to their typing from now on.
There are at least two other well-choreographed pictorials in this
issue. However, the girls in them are not attractive enough. ItÕs a shame
to see a good pictorial wasted because the girl was old and fat. Playboy
recently went hunting for new girls and was swamped. Maybe Leg Scene
needs to go visit some colleges. Whores, hookers, and dancers are too
Ôworld wearyÕ to be appealing. But college freshmen might have some
sparkle! (Especially at the junior colleges, where girls who are too shy to
attend a Ôbig collegeÕ go.)
Fortunately, the back cover of this issue, featuring a luscious babe
lying on her tummy, is fantastic. All in all this issue is worth buying. But
beware of future issues. BeavisÕ mom probably wonÕt charge you $6.95 to
fuck her, so why waste your money on photos of her?
AND IN THE END...
ÒThe prosecution of alleged child molesters today has much in common
with the Salem witchcraft trials of the 1600s.Ó
- Alan Dershowitz (Penthouse, April 1997, pg. 44.)
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-END OF 217 EMISSION