Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 35
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Love Child
Chapter Fourteen
ÒThe horses must be watered,Ó Master said, dropping his cat to his
side for a moment. As we continued to rotate our bottoms shamelessly,
still in shock from the pain, a cup of brandy was brought to each of our
Mistresses, and to Master.
ÒPoor darling, am I hurting you?Ó My mistress asked me. She
lowered the cup to my mouth and urged me to drink it. She stroked my
hair. I slurped up the offered liquor, which promised to serve as a mild
anesthetic. Or so I thought. Later I learned it was mostly hot water, but I
drank it greedily, praying it would get me through my ordeal. Mistress
seemed genuinely solicitous of me, kissing my hair softly and whispering
encouraging words to me. But of course she could do nothing to lessen the
blows. She must copy Master exactly.
ÒIf you like I can clamp your nipples,Ó Mistress asked me. ÒThe pain
in your teats might help to take your mind off your bottom.Ó She pinched
one of my nipples to demonstrate. I winced, new tears welled in my eyes.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed. ÒJust let me up. Let me go.Ó
ÒShhh! You know thatÕs not possible!Ó Mistress said. ÒI wonÕt report
you, but donÕt ask again. You have a lovely bottom and I donÕt want to see
it harmed any more than it has to be.Ó She kissed me. ÒBesides, I know
you want to be a big girl. A grown woman. What do you think this is like
compared to the pain of childbirth? You must prepare for it, darling. And
anyway you have an absolutely adorable bottom. You must expect all your
boyfriends to want to give you a good spanking on it. To see your little
cheeks squeeze and pop apart, mmm, delightful! You look so silly,
waggling your ass around.Ó She kissed me again. I let the tears run freely
down my face. I was helpless. My bottom glowed with pain and a kind of
radiating pleasure. Please, God! Help me get through this! DonÕt let me be
a big baby. Ah, how I wanted to be laid on the smooth sheets that I knew
waited for me upstairs. To be complimented and told how good IÕd been.
How very good. The cool lovely sheets with the misty morning air
filtering through the window as Mexican ladies prepared salves for me.
For my ass flesh. My adolescent puppy fat. What I had and they hadnÕt had
for years and years. And how I held it so carelessly! IÕd lain by the pool,
sunning myself in new bikinis bought by Master in the finest stores. HeÕd
pick them out and have them specially delivered for me. IÕd string them
on, barely covering myself (not wanting to) and prance about all day like
some spoilt child. And yet I knew of his dark yearnings. I knew he was
like this, a sadist, yet I hadnÕt run, hadnÕt hidden myself away somewhere
in the jungle, or even within his giant house. HadnÕt even tried. Perhaps
he was waiting for that. Waiting to let me go if only IÕd asked. But
instead I let him spoil me, fatten me for this wicked love fest.
And now, my bottom cheeks bulging, blushing red, he was cooking my
heinie right in front of the Mexicans. Basting my shameless ass just as if
it belonged to some Turkey! I looked at Tiffany. All of her was pristine
white, save her bottom, which glowed bright red. WeÕd lain outdoors,
ÒsunningÓ ourselves in the shade. We were decadent. Wearing skimpy
bikinis that served no purpose if you werenÕt exposing yourself to the sun.
We may as well have lain on the chaise lounges in shorts and t-shirts,
modestly. But no, we wore little bikinis of delicate cashmere. If you
swam even a few laps in them they would fall apart. This despite
regulation swim suits that lay in our drawers, upstairs in our bedroom.
Master denied us nothing. If we wanted to swim laps, if we wished not to
display ourselves to the Mexican ladies, athletic one-piece swim suits
waited. But we always selected his Òboudoir bikinis,Ó as he liked to call
them, though you could find them lately even on American beaches. He
disapproved of them, he said, but since we were in the privacy of his home
he would not deny them to us...he would make sure we could dress as well
here as we could in America. He ignored the fact that IÕd grown up in
Buenos Aires. IÕd gone to a diplomatÕs school for American children. That
made me an American. And he dismissed my ÒserviceÓ with the Argentine
government out of hand. I had been a toy for them just as I was now a toy
for him, no more. It certainly didnÕt make me a Mexican lady! No, I was
American, and Tiffany too, even though she flew out of Columbia a lot. He
wanted us to be American girls, and we were as white and spoiled as any
American girls could be. So we were getting the stars and stripes laid
across our bottoms. Yes, he wanted bona fide American girls, and we
would confess to being true blue Americans, that we would--his cat would
make us do that very handily.
As refreshed as any slave girls might ever hope to be, we watched as
Master took up his cat again. Tiffany, gazing now over her shoulder, but
with her bottom cheeks desperately huddling, her crack a fine line, begged
him to let us off.
ÒI have already,Ó he replied, polite and gentlemanly in his demeanor.
ÒNormally we bring in five fine prison gaolers to administer the
flagellation. Hard men with a steely grip on the rod who delight in flaying
their victims alive. But this year I decided to show mercy, at least for my
first celebration. I brought in dommes, experts at sexual torture rather
than outright punishment. And I practised long hours on horsesÕ rumps to
perfect my stroke, so I would not needlessly injure you. Ah, you should
have seen those poor horses! We had to shoot three of them to put them
out of their misery. Fine racing horses, too. But I convinced my father
that you girls were worth the expense. You would not have me disappoint
him, would you? Wiggle your bottom, perform for me a little.Ó
ÒBut it HURTS!Ó Tiffany cried.
ÒOf course! We must have some enjoyment out here in the jungle, far
from the cityÕs pleasures. What better than half-a-dozen stuck up white
girls getting their heinies whipped? Stick out your bottom, girl. Even the
Mexican lasses we usually use show more courage than you do.Ó
I was really afraid now. But Tiffany, hesitating, debating within
herself, finally arced her back inward and offered her bulbing bottom.
With her toes turned in it presented the most feminine spectacle, already
polished as bright as an apple, yet willing to suffer more. She couldnÕt
keep it still, it hurt so much, yet she pushed it out at Master with a
rudeness I feared she might be scolded for!
ÒPlease donÕt mistreat it,Ó she said, glancing down at her swollen
cleft orb. ÒPlease donÕt hurt it too much. I-ItÕs the only one IÕve got!Ó
ÒI will do what I must,Ó Master replied sternly. ÒIt is the feast of
the flesh.Ó
With ever-rotating bottoms we watched, breathless and scared, as
Master swept in again, a long curving stroke that caught Tiffany on the
underside of her ass. With a curdling scream she leapt up to the very tips
of her toes, her feminine bottom clenching, releasing, wobbling like jello.
The Mexican ladies, even the aristocrats laughed at her. We girls,
kneeling, got our due seconds later.
Four high-pitched screams shattered the room. Our pussies! WeÕd
been caught right on our seductively offered pouches. Hoping to inspire
Master to lay down his whip and fuck us, weÕd each gotten instead a bee.
It went zooming right up our pussy hive. It tasted our sweet honey, robbed
us of some of it. Master caught up the whip when it returned to him and
smelled the cords, finding the wet one.
The uncoiling had been swift and light. But the shock of the
violation, and the undeniable sting, left us sobbing openly. We were no
longer brave maidens anymore. We were babies. We had sore bottoms and
needed them powdered. We were submissive. We hung our heads and cried.
In came the awful tips again. Tiffany, struck, let her sobs burst
forth now, shaking her bosoms. Big heavy sobs, unrestrained, humiliating.
A big girl now, with big girl crying to do.
Casting aside the cat, Master could restrain himself no longer. We
had been broken, I saw, made to blubber, and that was going to have to be
enough for the Mexican ladies. Let them stage their own entertainments.
Let them find their own American girls to give bees up the ass to. I
sighed, relieved, and I heard Mistress sigh behind me. As Master cupped
TiffanyÕs bottom in his insistent fingers she took hold of mine. She
attempted to control my squirmings.
ÒThere, there, you have survived, darling,Ó Mistress cooed behind me.
ÒYour beauty has saved you. Now you must simply be fucked and then it
will be over.Ó
I froze. FUCKED? My ass was on fire. The last thing I wanted now
was the burr of some hairy manÕs loins pressed up against my fanny.
ÒNo, please!Ó I sobbed. But I was mistaken. Mistress herself would
do me, her silken belly to my silky bulb. With our pussies still smarting
from our bee bites we would have to be taken up the ass.
Oh, I did not want a woman forcing a fake cock up my poor, swollen
bottom! Over unintelligible sniffles I wept my protest. Mistress had
heard such before, in previous years, from other girls. She understood
without hearing. SheÕd known IÕd complain about this from the very first
moment.
ÒShhh, dear. The festival of flesh is, for you and the Master, one of
pleasure only. No children may come of it. Watch and you will see Master
fuck Tiffany up the ass.Ó She spoke softly, reassuringly. And, kneeling
behind me, she opened a pot of cream and began lubing a big rubber dick.
ÒGo ahead,Ó she urged. ÒI saw you stealing looks before but did not give
you harder cuts for it.Ó
With her encouragement I gazed straight at Tiffany, trying to ignore
what was happening behind me. My bottom blazed in the air, untouched for
the moment. Thankfully it was unscarred, I knew, seeing the state of
TiffanyÕs. But it was a bright red rising sun big enough to lead the
Japanese army to victory. They would spear me with their banzai charge.
The grandee reminded his son to let each of the aristocratic women
suck his cock prior to its insertion in Tiffany. He seemed slightly miffed
that we had not received our full due from the cats. He would have seen us
wealed and bruised.
I think all of us prayed to God then to get us out of this place at the
first possible moment. We had gone too far, risked too much. Play had
come too close to torture. We had chosen a Master in an offhand way,
letting a drug lord pamper us silly and treat us like goddesses. WeÕd loved
every minute of it but weÕd been too oblivious. Even the warning delivered
to our bottoms in the square weÕd let slide by us. HeÕd spoiled us so
deliciously afterward, weÕd almost wanted to be beaten again.
Yes, weÕd wanted it. For itself and for what came afterward. We
would be beautiful dolls forever and ever, never growing old, always the
favorite pets of our Master. Always young and healthy, always toying with
pregnancy and never quite going all the way with it. But now we knew
only the chance slip of the grandeeÕs son coming to power had saved us. He
was still young and romantic, merciful. He could not bear to spoil us. But
the old man would have. He was old. He would be like the king who had all
his wives and mistresses buried with him when he died.
Yes God, let us get through with this. Let us do our duty and be gone.
We would flit away in the night. I knew we could do it, somehow. A good
cock-sucking, applied to a guard, would get us a van. By morning when
they found him all tied up weÕd be back on...well...maybe not Dungeon Air
again. No, I think we were all through with letting arbitrarily chosen men
be our masters. We were just a little older now.
Vainly Tiffany thrust back her bottom, lifted the tight red ball,
offering the pouch of her dell. Despite her bee sting she did not want to
take him up the ass. She was too new, she said, and he was too big.
Master grinned at her, the Mexican ladies still licking his cock into
hugeness. Big globs of pre-cum anointed their noses.
ÒNext year I will give you girls much harder bee stings in your
pussies,Ó Master said. ÒYou should not want anything going up your pussy
at all. You should beg to be taken in the ass, no matter how big I am.Ó
ÒI told you, son!Ó the senior grandee called from the sidelines.
ÒI will not let them get away with it next year,Ó the junior assured
his father.
ÒYou value them too much,Ó the elder grandee replied.
Despite the offering of her fig, wet and seductive, the grandee
could not take her there. If she were to get pregnant it would make her
too practical, just another workhorse for the grandee. This the Mistress
explained quietly to me, buckling herself in and showing me with relish
the big cock I must somehow take up my ass. She knelt by my face, told
me to kiss the tip. Softly I extended my tongue, touched it lightly. It was
black and cold and covered with grease.
ÒYou are special,Ó Mistress said. ÒYou are like a sacrificial lamb,
you know. An exotic pet. Be proud that youÕve found a gentle master and
do not fear for next yearÕs plans. YouÕll be a year older then, and well
trained. You will take it easily.Ó I gazed up at her, down at the cock
intended for my ass. For a moment I forgot Tiffany. My own plight seemed
worse.
ÒYou know you cannot get that big thing of yours up my ass,Ó I told
Mistress frankly. We were communicating girl to girl. Surely she knew
my limitations. I was 15, for GodÕs sake.
ÒDonÕt worry, IÕm well trained in popping open young girls,Ó she
replied just as frankly. ÒWould you like some more brandy?Ó There was a
bottle nearby and she took it, poured some of its contents in a glass. All
this she did on her knees, never having to do anything more than twist
about to find what she wanted. There were discarded glasses and half
empty bottles everywhere. The orgy of the aristocrats had been well
provided for. Most of them now lay contentedly around us, watching our
fate proceed as they dallied with one anotherÕs genitals. Even poor Amber
had finally had her breasts released, though a second woman now sucked
just the nipples very lightly. They were miraculously as young and well-
formed as ever, despite the rough handling, though I thought I detected
some light bruising. Amber hung her head passively, waiting, as her own
Mistress prepared to invade her. Amber was drunk with brandy. I wanted
to be too.
Mistress gave me the glass and I drank every drop, losing only a
little.
ÒThere, that will help,Ó she said. She placed the glass on the floor
and waddled back behind me, going on her knees with her fake cock leading
the way. Gently she prised apart my bottom cheeks, making me howl at
her touch. ÒIÕm sorry,Ó she smiled. ÒIÕll try to handle your sensitive skin
as little as possible.Ó She wedged the nose of the big dick right up
against my anus. We were waiting now, waiting for Master. He still
dallied with the ladies.
Teasingly Mistress jabbed me with the cock, stroking the insides of
my thighs but keeping her hands off my bottom. I felt like I had a bolt
stuck up against me back there, attached to some kind of crossbow.
Master would pull the trigger.
ÒOh, how I would have loved to sting your little hole,Ó Mistress said
to me gaily. She bumped my nether opening with her cockhead, eager to
get inside me. ÒMaster was too good to you girls. But I donÕt blame him.
You are so lovely, so pretty.Ó She grasped my hips with both her hands,
sizing me up, ready to break into me at the first hint of permission from
Master.
The women finished laving MasterÕs cock. Glistening with the saliva
from all their mouths, he presented it to TiffanyÕs rear. She glanced back
at it. Her eyes were wide with apprehension. Yet she could not take her
gaze off it. She was mesmerized.
Master approached to the point where Tiffany, strain her head as she
might, could no longer observe his manhood. It was too close now. She
would have to switch senses. Touch, right where she didnÕt want to feel
anything...
IN her precious hole! It happened suddenly, brutally. Like some
stuck pig she squealed, and he showed her just as little mercy as the
farmer at christmas, providing for his family.
And then me! My cheeks split wide as Mistress forced her way into
me. Right up me she went, sparing me not. I whooshed out my breath and
bulged my eyes. I felt like I had no air in me. Deeper she urged her thing,
just like Master was doing to Tiffany. She copied him in every respect.
And Master was avaricious.
Tiffany must have thought her bottom was going to burst, because
she shrieked at the top of her lungs and writhed like a snake. But then,
amazingly, I saw her transformed.
Perhaps to lessen the discomfort, the pain, she decided to absorb it.
She began humping her bottom to the grandee madly. He almost came to a
dead stop in his own urgings, he was so surprised. With quick, desperate
thrusts Tiffany impaled herself on him, bumping her bottom back against
him, forcing his spike-like cock deeper and deeper into herself.
Yes, she was tired of being so tight. She wanted to be able to take
men easily in her rectum. The time for girlish games of chastity and
abstinence had passed. She was a woman, 23-years-old, and she must
learn to take men as they wished to take her.
All of us felt a rush of inspiration, watching her. To MistressÕ
surprise I began forcing myself back on her, bouncing my ass
remorselessly against her thing. My hole screamed for pity but I gave it
none. Amber, too, began humping violently, and together with Tiffany we
split our cheeks wide upon the offered cocks.
Finally Master regained the initiative. Working with Tiffany, helping
her take him absolutely to the very last inch of his organ, he fucked her.
And when he came he gushed and flexed his hips and squeezed his buns
mightily, as if to propagate all his sons in her this one night. Yes, her ass
would bear his children! Cain and Abel and all of his sons. There would be
no need of a womb. The heat of her ass would suffice, and the spewing
ravenousness of his cock.
THE PROMISE OF YOUNG GIRLS (Part Two)
by holy joe
ÒAnna Larina lived with her mother and father, an economist, in
apartment 305. On the floor below, in apartment 205, lived Nikolai
Bukharin. ...She was enchanted by him. She was only ten when she first
met Bukharin in the Metropole. She was intrigued by this man in the floor
below... Miss Larina lived with him from 1934, when she was 20 and
Bukharin was 46. ...Bukharin was executed in 1938 for Ôtreason.Õ ...His
torch-bearer, across half a century, was Anna Larina.Ó - The Economist,
March 9, 1996, pg. 89.
AND IN THE END...
(Fuck Òredeeming valueÓ)
ÒThe best art makes sense by itself. ...The best art is stimulating on
its own and repays going back to again and again.Ó - The Economist, March
9, 1996, pg. 86.
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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-END OF 35 EMISSION
-(ThatÕs Anna Larina, not Anna Latrina! - h.j.)