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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 301
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Four
ÒOh, please stop!Ó I cried. But Jeff just watched, enjoying the sight.
Sherry, having suffered a similar fate, had no wish to see me escape. As
she bathed my forehead she kept touching her poor abraded pussy. Jeff had
seen to it that she should never have anything there but a gash.
In my agonies, feeling the flames and with Sherry petting me, I
imagined I was a girl in Egypt, having her clit cut away. I moaned and
pleaded. I screeched at the top of my lungs and promised to be good. At
last, feeling merciful, Jeff doused the coals and I felt a rush of hot steam
scald my bottom. Whimpering, I settled back onto the table. I felt my
bottom sink through the hole in the table and did not try to stop it. Jeff
lifted me off the soft felt and kissed me and held me. Sherry squirted
lotion on my bottom and rubbed it briskly. I was rosy cheeked in back,
nothing more. IÕd escaped unharmed, but I was sighing and weeping and my
chest was heaving with fright. Jeff held me close and I felt my bosoms
press into his hairy chest. His manhood rose between my legs and I felt it
bump against my twat.
ÒOhhh, please donÕt hurt me!Ó I sobbed. I bit into the flesh of his
chest and he flinched and I tried to draw blood. Carefully, he separated my
teeth from his body. He kissed my lips.
ÒSilly girl, IÕm only training you,Ó he said gently. I cried more loudly
and Sherry, sensing I was pitying myself just to please him, gave my poor
bottom, glossy with lotion sheÕd just applied, a firm slap.
Jeff felt me bounce against him as SherryÕs slap hit my bottom. I
emitted a heartfelt cry of pain into his ear. He gripped me tightly. His
hands, hard and calloused, slid down over my pampered bottom and held my
cheeks wide apart, exposing my hole. Sherry lurked behind me. I trembled
from my head to my toes, fearing a new assault by her. But the rest of my
ass, held in JeffÕs palms, was protected. How awkward to be so nicely
protected, yet left with my hole open and vulnerable! And the man who
was now keeping me from being slapped again by Sherry was the same man
whoÕd just tried to burn my bottom off!
I wept. The emotions were too much for me. Yet as I wept, wanting
to break free of Jeff and, at the same time, relishing the feel of his
holding me, not letting me escape, I was aware of his penis. It was
deathly hard, and jammed up between my legs. It ran from his groin under
my cunny and then, tantalizingly, stuck out behind my thighs, where Sherry
could admire his drooling, unemployed cockhead waiting for permission to
enter me.
ÒI want to be your master, and also your slave,Ó Jeff confided hotly
in me. He bent over me, whispering in my ear. I was on tiptoe against
him, yet my head only rose up to his shoulder. He had to bend close to tell
me his secrets. Sherry could not hear. ÒI want to work you, to exert
myself in you every day, forever...Ó Jeff said to me in a rushed, hushed
voice. ÒI want to be like a horse to you, and ride you every day, fucking
you, again and again, stopping only to rest a moment, and then to begin
again!Ó I swooned. I could picture what he wanted. To be hard forever (it
was possible with Jeff!) and to have me under him, ramming himself into
me, exerting himself in me, spilling his seed in MY womb, just mine, not
hers, over and over. As soon as his balls would fill up again IÕd be on my
back again. IÕd be his slave, but heÕd be mine. We would couple forever,
never working, never even playing, really. Just mating. The two of us
doing our duty to each other. Our reproductive duty.
Sherry bobbed from one side of us to the other. She was aware, now,
that Jeff was telling me something special. Something that might not
include her.
Jeff pushed me back and away from him. It was as if weÕd
disagreed, from all outward appearances, and heÕd shoved me away. But
we hadnÕt. HeÕd breathed his lust to me and IÕd sighed agreeable in
response, in between my tears.
ÒTake everything off,Ó Jeff said to both of us. His words were
words of command. Much in the dungeon had to do with commanding,
obeying. ÒEverything. Right down to and including your earrings.Ó We did
not deny him. We could not. We were just two frail, big-bosomed girls,
Sherry older, but still a teen, and me younger. We stripped ourselves of
all of civilizationÕs baubles. We were Indian maidens, without even our
feathers. We put our stockings and SherryÕs corset and our earrings and
heels in a little pile on the floor.
Jeff watched us with possessive eyes. When we were quite nude, he
left us standing together a moment. He went to a shelf along the wall and
picked up a sweatband and put it on. It would keep the perspiration out of
his eyes. Then he put on two wrist sweatbands. Sherry and I, watching
him, huddled together. We werenÕt the best of friends, but with his hard
cock and his menacing eyes, Jeff made us both feel like victims. On his
way back, Jeff picked up his switch. He stood before us and let the sight
of his cock impose itself on us. We were all nude, like babies or, more
likely, the first man and (two!) women in the world. Except instead of
being in a garden, we were in a dungeon. Jeff slapped the switch into the
open palm of his free hand, once, then again.
ÒJeff, my ass still hurts from that hot seat you made me sit on,Ó
Sherry confessed.
ÒMine too,Ó I piped up. I put my hand behind myself and wondered if I
hadnÕt been licked a little by the flames, after all. We were both pretty
red-bottomed. I hoped we wouldnÕt peel.
ÒItÕs not your bottoms IÕm interested in right now,Ó Jeff said to us
gruffly. ÒWeÕve been playing without protection. IÕm afraid I may have
made you girls pregnant. YouÕve been totally remiss in taking your pills.
But there are other ways to make sure you donÕt bear me children I donÕt
want.Ó
With our hair still lovely, though unpinned, Jeff walked Sherry and I
over to a rape rack. It was made of lumber, boards that had been worn
down over many years until, in certain places, you could see where the
boards held a person bound to them. Sherry and I stood staring.
ÒThis Ôrape rack,Õ as its called, can be used for conception, or to
terminate a conception,Ó Jeff told us. A topmost bar, higher than our
heads, waited for upraised wrists to be bound against it. I reached up,
touched where the wrists of many past girls had been set firmly against
the wood. The board was smooth there. Instinctively Sherry reached out
and palmed, then held, the nearest cheek of my bottom as I, on tiptoe,
examined the place where the arms were bound. We were both, I think,
quite frightened of it, but she must have been put here at least once
before. Now we would, it seemed, share the experience. But Jeff was not
rushing, not pushing us. He was letting us drink in our fate, perhaps even
to agree to it?
ÒA girl,Ó Sherry began, then her voice broke off. She began again,
nervous. ÒA girl is bound against the wood with fresh vines from the
jungle, in the olden days, or now, with rubber cuffs,Ó Sherry gulped. I
could see that Jeff had his options with us. The arms could be bound
directly over the head, together, or wide apart. Below, where a girlÕs hips
would hang, a board pushed them forward, so her tormenter could amuse
himself with the sight of her bare pussy shoved outward at him. That
board was also worn down, in the center, where my hips would be, if I
Ôaccepted my mission,Õ as a certain film might say. And, lastly, the feet
were not simply allowed to drop down to the floor. A separate foot stool
rose up on either side of the rack. There, spread apart, a girlÕs feet would
be held open so that her cunny would be the lowest point on her body.
ÒThis is how a woman should give birth,Ó Sherry said to me.
ÒUpright, with her cunny split open. The baby simply falls out. Gravity
helps pull it out of her.Ó
ÒYes,Ó I agreed. I ran my finger along the wooden beams. They were
big and old and had the aura of ancient wisdom about them. But the cuffs,
made of soft rubber, were new. Fresh chains with no weak links promised
to hold a girl remorselessly to the rack.
ÒIt is used for birthing, but also for insemination?Ó I asked. I turned
and looked over my shoulder at Jeff.
ÒRight now it will just be used for an abortion,Ó Jeff answered. I
gasped.
ÒJeffÕs going to beat any baby you have right out of you,Ó Sherry
taunted me. Her fingers glided over my shoulders and then dropped down
to cup and offer my bosoms to him. She nudged me around so that I faced
him full on. She pinched my nipples. I gasped. I ran my fingers over my
tummy. It felt smooth, flat. But you could never be sure, could you?
JeffÕs penis stared up at me like a huge hose. It throbbed, hungry with his
desire. I almost felt certain, for a moment, staring speechless at it, that
it might spew sperm all over me at any moment. And heÕd already been
inside me; albeit, considerately, in my ass instead of my pussy. But you
could never be sure, could you? Some might have leaked thru, I guessed,
between the membrane that separated my back channel from my front.
ÒDoctor, our patient here thinks she might be pregnant,Ó Sherry
teased. She slid a hand over my tummy, poked in my belly button. Then,
stepping back suddenly, she slapped both my bottom cheeks hard.
ÒYEEEEEOWCH!Ó I cried. The flames had burnt my bottom a little and
her handslaps sent pain bursting through my hind cheeks. My palms flew
back. I cupped myself. My bosoms jutted out at Jeff and my cunny arched
forward as I clapped my hands to my bottom.
ÒGet her a towel,Ó Jeff ordered his wife. She grinned, wickedly, and
walked with her bottom rolling grandly to a shelf. There, next to bottles
of antiseptic and beneath a collection of neatly hung whips, was a small
stack of towels. She picked one up. It was white. She returned to where I
stood and unfolded it slowly for me. She let me run my hand over it. It
was fluffy.
ÒThis will protect your back,Ó Sherry said. She wrapped the towel
several times around the central beam. It was a big towel and when she
was done wrapping it there was no question it would stay put. ÒUpsie
daisy,Ó Sherry said. She pushed on my bottom with her palm. I did not
want her to slap me again. I stepped up with one foot, then both, on a low
rung that hung, ladder like, near the base of the frame. I think if IÕd
thought about the fact that I was mounting a rape rack I would have run, or
tried to escape, but my mind was awhirl with the burning in my bottom
and the stiffness of my teats and the tingling of my cunny, with the
closeness of Sherry, alternately my friend and foe, and Jeff, too, my
master and, somehow, my worshipper. He gazed with awed eyes as I
turned my back to the rape rack and fitted my 14-year-old body into it.
The uppermost beam was a little high. I had to stretch to reach it, leaning
back, seeing if I could. Just as I felt my fingers touching the rubber cuff
waiting there, Sherry intervened. Quickly, before my inquisitiveness
faded, she bound the cuff round my wrists so that I could not escape. Next
a soft collar was put round my neck and my head was pinned back to a
crosswise beam. It ran parallel to the one my wrists were bound to. I felt
the small of my back press against the towel where my hips hit the
central beam. My bottom hung below that beam and, fearfully, I felt each
of my feet lifted up and put on top of one of the toadstool-like footrests.
Quickly my ankles were bound with soft cuffs to keep my thighs wide
apart.
ÒWell, doctor, there you have her,Ó Sherry grinned at her husband. I
expected my tummy to have something bound over it, a wide belt perhaps,
but it was left quite exposed. Only my neck, my wrists, and my feet were
collared or cuffed. But to keep me wide apart Sherry ran decorative black
ribbons out from the sides of the rack and around my bent knees. I hoped
they wouldnÕt hold me but, even if they broke, I was so distended and open
that I had little hope of closing myself. I was squatting, but with my
arms drawn so high and my hips so awkwardly thrust out that I was as
much hanging as squatting.
ÒOh, you poor little cunt!Ó Sherry laughed. She ran a finger over my
cheek. Our bottoms were still red from being ÔtoastedÕ by Jeff and I
looked at her, hoping for mercy.
ÒPlease, Sherry,Ó I breathed. My bosoms rose and fell with my every
gasping breath. ÒThis is interesting but, IÕm, IÕm quite sure IÕve had
enough now,Ó I pleaded. My mom had sent me to a Catholic elementary
school and, strung up like this, I knew I was being too unladylike even for
a rebellious 14-year-old. I wished suddenly I was sitting back in 3rd
grade, clad in my little saddle shoes and my neat blouse and dress. IÕd
count properly this time, and not make naughty words with the alphabet
letters.
ÒDear, you must first learn to suck,Ó Sherry giggled. She and Jeff
were just making up games now, with me as their victim. She walked
casually to a shelf. There was no hurry. She picked up a huge dildo. She
walked back over to me but I was determined not to take it. I feared she
would make me choke on it.
Sherry pushed the dildo against my belly button. ÒI wonder if I
should shove this up your ass first, to make it nice and tasty,Ó she asked
me. ÒOr will you be a good girl and practise your sucking on it just as it
is?Ó
BOOK REVIEW
by holy joe
Driving Blind, by Ray Bradbury. Avon, $23.00.
Review: Yesterday I decided to be a Man. I went down to the Marine
Recruiting Office. I figured IÕd get a job and, more importantly, IÕd get
laid, since girls love Marines.
A bum I met on the street, whoÕd been in Vietnam, warned me about
the U.S. Military. ÒEverything is hurry up and wait in the military,Ó he told
me. So I took a book along with me when I went to the Marine Recruiting
Office.
That was my first mistake.
I made some other mistakes too, which is why IÕm now writing this
review instead of learning how to blow up buildings.
For one thing, how was I supposed to know the sergeant would be a
woman? I thought, you know, IÕd be greeted by some man with a big cigar.
Instead I was greeted by a woman with big bosoms.
When the sergeant asked all us guys who were waiting to enlist if
we had any questions, I made another mistake.
ÒMaÕam,Ó I asked. ÒWhy did you decide to become a sergeant instead
of a Playboy Playmate?Ó
This was not a good question to ask.
I tried to repair the damage by adding, ÒActually, maÕam, IÕd be more
interested in your daughter than I am in you.Ó
That was a mistake.
But, anyway, youÕre probably wondering why it was a mistake for me
to take a book along to the Marine Recruiting Station. IÕll tell you why. It
made me cry.
IÕve read other books by Ray Bradbury. TheyÕre about Mars, and
Illustrated Men, and stuff like that. Usually they contain lots of science
fiction and horror. So I figured it would be safe to take BradburyÕs latest
book, Driving Blind, to the Marine Recruiting Station. I figured IÕd be
reading about astronauts being eaten alive by alien cities on
extraterrestrial planets. Red-blooded, manly stuff like that.
But Driving Blind contains no science fiction stories. It contains no
horror stories. Instead, it contains ordinary stories. For some reason,
many of them made me cry. I have no idea why. TheyÕre not particularly
sad stories. Perhaps theyÕre melancholy stories. In any event, it did me
no good to be sitting there in the Marine Recruiting Office crying.
So, if youÕre thinking of being a Marine, hereÕs some tips. DonÕt look
at the sergeantÕs boobs, no matter how big they are. DonÕt mention to her
that youÕd like her daughter better than her. And for GodÕs sake donÕt take
a book along. It might be a sad book, and youÕll wind up being a crybaby.
Despite getting kicked out of the Marine Recruiting Office, I must
say that Driving Blind is one of the most enjoyable reading experiences
IÕve had in years. If youÕre looking for a good book, this is it.
I must warn you, however, that Driving Blind gets off to a slow
start. ItÕs a collection of short stories. The first few stories are
mindless entertainment. However, the stories get better as you go along.
By the time I got to the middle of this book, I was enjoying it immensely.
The copy of Driving Blind that I bought is a First Edition. Now is the
time to go buy this book if you want a First Edition by Ray Bradbury. At
first I didnÕt like the cover, but now I like it a lot. ItÕs purple, with a
Ôglow in the darkÕ feel about it. The book costs $23.00 because this is a
hard back edition.
Now that IÕve finished this book, IÕm wondering: maybe I didnÕt get
into the Marines, but thereÕs still the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, and
the Coast Guard. They donÕt know IÕm a sexist pedophile crybaby. I wonder
if I could get into one of them? And then, in addition to that, thereÕs the
Federal Civil Service. Somehow, I think being a federal bureaucrat might
be my best option. What do you think?
AND IN THE END...
YOU OWE THE I.R.S. !
ÒOver the past decade, the IRS has spent $4 billion to upgrade its
computers; they still do not work properly.Ó
- The Economist, September 20, 1997, pg. 33.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com,
roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ÔnewsgroupsÕ and search
under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant
bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.)
-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
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- Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age
statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the worldÕs greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 301 EMISSION
- Ò80 percent of taxpayers who call the IRS are confronted by a busy
signal.Ó (Ibid.)