Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 268
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Three
We spent the day sunning ourselves. We were careful to keep our
bottoms and tits covered to keep Rose happy. She watched over us, me
especially. We played dominoes, twister, monopoly, all in the nude. We
swam in the pools, wearing our bikinis for that to preserve the distinction
between our covered and uncovered places. We ended the day sucking
popsicles and eating an early meal. Then we turned in, each to our own
beds to keep us from being mischievous.
ÒGet up!Ó Rose urged me the following morning. I was not permitted
to bathe, but there was no real need for it. IÕd taken a bath the night
before, was still feeling fresh. She did up my hair with pins so that I
wore it in a loose coiffure. Then she brought me downstairs.
Out back in the sunroom Polly and Cheyenne were busy tugging on
thick socks and leather hiking shoes. I was made to sit down on a step
with them and do the same. When we each stood, we were made to put on
backpacks. We wore nothing else.
ÒI feel like a pack horse,Ó I said, struggling into my backpack.
ÒAndre and Louis are taking us hiking!Ó Polly said gleefully.
ÒLouis? Is he back?Ó Rose nodded. I smiled.
ÒWhatÕs in this thing?Ó Cheyenne asked. Her backpack was
especially bulky. Her bosoms were squished a little by its padded straps.
ÒYours is an insulated cooler, carrying three bottles of wine, plus
glasses, two of them, for Louis and Andre,Ó Rose told her.
ÒWhat will I drink out of, then?Ó Cheyenne asked, squeezing her
bottom cheeks as she contemplated an opening in herself that she did not
want to use for drinking.
ÒWhy, youÕll just have to share with the men, if they let you,Ó Rose
replied. If they let us? I wondered at that. I looked down at my shoes and
felt I might, indeed, be just a pack horse.
ÒWhatÕs in mine?Ó I asked. I gripped the straps and squared the
weight against myself to carry it better.
ÒPillows for the men to sit on, a tablecloth, two sandwiches I
packed for them, plus some fruit,Ó Rose told me.
ÒHow about mine?Ó Polly chirped. She looked like she expected to be
told hers carried toys. It did, of a sort, but not the kind she was thinking
of. No colored chalk, or bathtub boast.
ÒWhips,Ó Rose answered. She turned her head. Louis and Andre, clad
in hunterÕs gear, but carrying nothing, came into the sunroom.
ÒAlright, I see the girls are ready,Ó Andre grinned.
ÒLetÕs go, girls, IÕm hungry!Ó Louis said, and walked past us, as if we
were indeed horses, albeit pretty ones. Shouldering our backpacks, we
followed them. We stepped out into the open air and felt the breeze upon
our faces. And our tushies. We were totally nude, we three girls, except
for our hiking shoes.
ÒHave fun, and donÕt worry about screaming, girls,Ó Rose called after
us from the sunroom. ÒTheyÕll take you where no one can hear!Ó
With that send-off we walked most apprehensively behind Louis and
Andre. They led us out into the fields, past the workerÕs huts, on toward a
distant mountain. I saw a jeep waiting at the end of the field. Louis and
Andre put us into it. We were allowed to take off our backpacks and throw
them in back. Then we got into the backseat and strapped ourselves in.
The seat was leather. We were offered nothing to sit on except the bare
seat itself. The men strapped us in with seatbelts so that we wouldnÕt
fall out. Then, getting in front, they drove off with us jostling in the back.
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We drove up the mountain. It was a jaunty, butt-thumping ride that
took little cognizance of the fact that Cheyenne and Polly and I were girls.
We drove through indian villages, our breasts showing, bouncing
helplessly, as natives came outdoors and grinned at our passing. Did they
practise the same ritual, taking their girls into the mountains?
When Louis finally stopped the jeep we got out. He and Andre made
us reshoulder our backpacks. Then, forcing us to lead the way up a small
dirt path, they followed. They admired our bottoms as we walked. We
were feeling a bit more like pack horses with every step, clad only in our
shoes, as if shoed like horses, carrying loads not intended for our
amusement but only for that of our masters. Cheyenne and Polly and I
huffed and puffed under our loads, climbing steadily, while the men behind
us carried nothing. My breasts swung beneath me. I wished for a bra but
had none. I wished for panties to keep the menÕs leering eyes off my
bottom but, out here, the nearest pair of panties must have been 50 miles
away.
The mountain was bare. There were only rocks and crags, plus fields
of daisies, all bright and glowing under the warm summer sun. I felt
bereft, though, carrying so much weight. Was this, I wondered, what it
felt like to be pregnant? Obviously the weight would be in my tummy
when I was with child but, nonetheless, IÕd be carrying my husbandÕs
future child, bearing up under the strain, while he, naturally, carried
nothing heavier than his own erection.
We walked higher into the rocky waste. The wind was mercifully
quiet. It was as if God had set aside this special day for us and, knowing
what Polly was forced to carry in her pack, he had calmed the winds to
give us respite from them at least. I thought of horses out West, in
America, with the men walking behind them, wondering at their asses,
wondering if they might, just might...
I could feel LouisÕs eyes burning into my bottom. It hung like a
white cloven marshmallow above my bare tanned legs. How close weÕd
come, yesterday, to consummating our love for each other with another
punishment. And now, with my bottom quite naked, and Polly loaded down
with whips, there was no chance of me being spared again. None of us, I
thought, would escape down the mountain with our bottoms still white.
In front my snowy tits jangled in their fullness beneath me. I panted
and hefted my backpack higher on my back.
ÒHere,Ó Louis said. He pointed to a small grassy clearing amidst the
daisies. There was a sturdy log in the middle of the clearing. I wondered
at it, bit my lip.
We were led to the clearing and allowed to put down our packs.
Their packs, for their contents were picked by Louis and Andre, and
brought for their own pleasure. The men made us squat and undo the packs
and lay out their contents. Cheyenne and I unfurled a tablecloth for the
men to sit on. Three pillows were drawn from my pack, and placed, at the
menÕs orders, atop the log, in a neat row that boded ill for our bottoms.
The men sat down on the blanket and had us girls sit amongst them. Polly
with fear in her eyes, was made to arrange all the whips from her pack in
a neat row on the blanket. They were awful, absolutely the worst.
Rattans braised in a fire to make their tips hard and tough. A cat with
jewels worked into the ends of each of its tails, glittering, beautiful, but
promising to flay a girl alive if its beauty was used on her. A pony whip,
used to drive horses, brought out and laid with care amongst the other
whips despite our obedience.
ÒOh, I donÕt wish to be whipped!Ó Polly moaned.
ÒThen drink. ItÕs why we brought the wine,Ó Louis told her. He made
her take a sip from his glass. Cheyenne, who had never been touched by a
whip, sat with frightened eyes looking at the implements, with her palms
firmly beneath her seat, afraid to let it touch even the blanket, lest she
somehow be harmed by it.
I tried to be brave. Yes, we were alone. Yes, no one could possibly
come to our aid. But Louis and Andre were our favorite guys. Surely they
would not harm us. What, though, had Louis been called away for,
yesterday? Did he still love me? Did he--my breath caught in my throat-
-did he need to dispose of me? High on this mountaintop no one would
know if he did. Only the natives, and they did not share the mountainÕs
secrets with outsiders. Only with Rose perhaps, but she never asked,
merely paid them to use the mountain sometimes, for her own purposes.
As today, paying to let Louis and Andre drive myself and Polly and
Cheyenne up here. Did the natives use this same clearing for their girls?
I thought the grass was especially lush here. Surely daisies might have
grown here, yet they did not. Someone had kept them back, to allow the
grass to grow. And that log. Had it not seemed a little worn, where weÕd
placed our pillows. Three little depressions, worn, perhaps, into the wood
by struggling Indian girls who had only woven blankets underneath their
tummies? We were special. We had pillows, gleaming whitely in their
pillow cases. Yet our fate, I guessed, would be no different from that of
the Indian girls.
Clutching our bottoms, we each took sips from LouisÕs or AndreÕs
wine goblets. Little was said, save for the occasional simperings of Polly.
But even she seemed to accept her fate, finally. The sun shown down as
the men ate their sandwiches, offering us none, admiring our bare brown-
limbed bodies. Polly asked to pee and they led her to the edge of the
clearing and squatted down and relieved herself in the lush grass. I took
the same opportunity. There was no fighting it. Once put over the logs,
we might be kept there for hours. Cheyenne went after me.
ÒIt is time,Ó Louis said, after we were done and weÕd wiped
ourselves as best we could with handkerchiefs and moist towelettes. We
were taken to the log. Our hands were cuffed in front of us, to keep them
away from our bottoms, though we might frig ourselves, if we wished.
Louis and Andre told us we could if we needed to. It would make it easier
for us, they said. Then Cheyenne, and Polly and I, their faithful pack
horses, were made to kneel in front of the log, as if to receive communion
before it. They did not serve us wafers and wine, though, but instead bent
us over it. I felt the softness of the pillow receive my tummy. I felt my
head pressed down on the far side of the log until my cheek met the lush
grass.
ÒOh, please donÕt, Louis,Ó I begged.
ÒSpread your legs,Ó was all he said in reply. His hands came
between my thighs and opened them. I felt the sun on my hiney. How
carefully IÕd protected it from the sunÕs rays, yet now here I was, white-
bottomed, with nothing covering me. And Rose would not disapprove now,
would she? No. Nothing must come between a girlÕs bottom and the whip.
Polly whimpered.
ÒIÕm not going to give you a gag,Ó Louis told her. I want to hear you
scream. Scream as much as you like.
ÒI have to... I have to go to the bathroom again,Ó Polly claimed. The
men fixed leather straps into the wood and bound them over the small of
our backs. We were truly imprisoned now.
ÒYou donÕt have to go to the bathroom, Polly, youÕre just saying
that,Ó Cheyenne scolded. Perhaps she was trying to distract herself from
the inevitable. Her voice was shaky, unsure, but she scolded Polly anyway.
ÒI do too! Very badly,Ó Polly said, but immediately began crying in
soft sobs of fear.
ÒThen just hold it,Ó Cheyenne snapped, almost on the verge of tears
herself. We had been so good, and now the men were fixing to treat us
horribly!
OUR MAILBAG...
by holy joe
Subj: atheist?
From: mckaig@mail.nwlink.com (Courtney)
I was just reading a posting of yours on usenet, and I had a couple
questions.
I find it strange that you call yourself an "atheist" and yet you
believe in the "theory" of evolution. Am I missing something?
Also, do you believe that the Bible is fiction or history? Or both? If
the Bible is history, does that mean the religion is true? If the Bible is
fiction, how is it that it's proven to be completely historically acurate?
If it's both, which parts are true and which aren't? I'd like to hear what
you think.
Sincerely,
Courtney McKaig
Seattle, WA
holy joe replies: The FACT of Evolution, then. (At least until
science comes up with a better idea.)
I place my belief in science. The beauty of science is that it is
willing to adapt itself as it learns more. For instance, as a child, you
might have run out into the street. Then, learning about cars, and the
danger of getting run over, you adapted to the fact that there are cars in
the world that might roll over your little body. This is why youÕre still
alive today.
Yet when it comes to things far more important, such as the
beginning of the universe, or how it will end, or whether the sun will blow
up, you (apparently) refuse to adapt your mind to science. Instead, you
believe in religion.
There is a simple reason for this. A car is immediate and present.
The beginning of the cosmos, or the danger that the sun might blow up,
seems distant; so far removed from everyday experience that it is bound
never to happen. (Certainly not in your lifetime.)
Yet just because something might not happen in your lifetime
doesnÕt mean that it will never happen at all.
Sure, itÕs easy to believe in science, when it comes to getting hit by
a car, but to believe in God, when discussing things measured by an
ÒeternalÓ timescale. Yet the fact that the sun will one day blow up is,
according to science, as certain as the fact that youÕll get hit by a car if
you keep running out into the street.
The beauty of science is that when scientists come up with a better
idea, they adopt it. And I, as a layman, and a worshipper of science, adopt
it too. IÕm quite willing to believe that the sun will never blow up if
dispassionate scientists, examining the question, find this to be so. If on
Monday science says, ÒThe sun will blow up,Ó IÕll believe that. If on
Tuesday they say, ÒThe sun will never blow up,Ó IÕll believe that. And if on
Wednesday they say, ÒSorry, I guess the sun will blow up after all,Ó IÕll
believe that. I am proud to believe whatever scientists, examining Nature
without self-interest, tell me.
Religionists, on the other hand, are stuck with something somebody
thought up 3,000 years ago. A bunch of primitive Jews sitting in the
middle of a desert, 3,000 years ago, did not have access to modern
technology. The concept of Science itself had not even been invented yet.
Nonetheless, being human, they wrote literature. And itÕs quite good
literature. I call it ÒYahweh literature.Ó
Apparently, there were various sorts of Jewish religions. They all
wrote literature. But the other variants of the Jewish faith were all
wiped out by the ÒYahwehÓ faction. So was their literature. Only the
ÒYahwehÓ factionÕs literature remains. But itÕs quite good literature,
nonetheless, because it deals with basic human issues and the human
condition. I consider the Bible to be even better reading than the Greek
myths, because it seems more Ôhuman centered.Õ In the Greek myths there
are always various gods walking into the story. In the Bible, God is
present at the beginning, but then he recedes. Only in the New Testament
does he reappear, and then only by way of a man claiming to be ÒThe Son of
God.Ó God himself does not show up in the New Testament.
So, sure, I like reading the Bible. I find it a valuable tool for
understanding human nature. But to claim it is infallible is ridiculous.
The Bible is literature. Part history, part myth. I canÕt begin to untangle
whatÕs real history and whatÕs not. I prefer to read it Òas is.Ó It makes
excellent reading as an (admittedly slanted) history of the Jewish people.
Who needs to claim more than that, or less? ItÕs Jewish history, as set
down by the ÒYahwehÓ faction.
Does this mean there is no God? How should I know? After all,
science deals with quantification. If something canÕt be quantified,
mathematically, science claims it doesnÕt exist. Yet God may well not be
quantifiable.
So, to answer you, I believe in Science. But I understand that there
are limitations, at the present time, to what questions Science and the
Scientists can answer. So one might say that I believe in Science, and yet
also reserve a portion of my brain for belief in God. William Buckley says
the mind cannot hold two opposing views at the same time, but I find
myself simultaneously trapped both in a medieval belief in God and in a
modern belief in Atheism, and in Science.
Perhaps you are content to shut your mind and believe what Ralph
Reed tells you (claiming, of course, to be interpreting the Bible.) I take
one look at Ralph ReedÕs wife and decide IÕd best make my own decisions.
Not only about females but also, and especially, about ÒeternalÓ things,
like the universe and the presence (or absence) of God. And to do that I
look first to Science because, when properly practised, Science is without
self interest. An unbiased scientist is always, in my mind, far preferable
to a self-obsessed religionist, bent on imposing his distorted, Bible based
views on my mind and my life.
AND IN THE END...
Nonetheless, there are good preachers...
1-504-768-7000 gets you Jimmy SwaggartÕs free magazine, ÒThe
Evangelist.Ó You can also ask for two free pins. I was just watching
him today, on T.V. I find him to be an excellent preacher. He has a
great deal of knowledge, excellent delivery, and can even sing and play
the piano!
ItÕs too bad many Christians have (apparently) turned away from
Jimmy Swaggart. When they all believed in him, he was basically just
some bozo who jumped up and down and shouted a lot. Now he is
actually interesting to listen to, even for an atheist like me!
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-END OF 268 EMISSION