Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 56
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Desire Isle
Chapter Four
It was not the first time her step sister had betrayed her, Melanie
thought as she turned away and the bedroom door was locked behind her.
She and Kimberly had battled over boyfriends, competed in school, vyed in
cheerleading. Melanie wished her mother had never married her
stepfather. Why couldn't she have a real sister, or none at all, instead of
stupid little Kimberly? Yet, her mother had remarried when she was only
2 1/2-years-old, and Kimberly 1. For all practical purposes, they were
real sisters. Melanie's earliest memory was of little Kimberly. Perhaps it
was from the day when Kimberly first intruded herself into her life.
Melanie got her first good look at the bedroom which had been given
her for the night. It was sumptuous, there was no doubt of that. The sort
of bedroom Melanie had always dreamed of having, though not, it should be
added, in these sort of circumstances. And it was all hers! Only a few
years ago had she gotten a room of her own, when she had, blooming late,
begun to take on the aspect of a woman. And then little Kimberly's
breasts sprouted shortly thereafter, causing Melanie's mother to remark in
her diffident way that perhaps a separate room for Melanie had been an
unnecessary expense after all.
Melanie padded over to the canopied bed and peeked inside its
curtains. It was fit for a princess, which Melanie had often fancied
herself to be in her younger days. Melanie slithered onto the coverlet and
wriggled underneath it. The sheets were of satin. A moment later and she
was sound asleep.
Gentle tugging of Melanie's earlobe waked her. It was Kimberly,
kneeling nude on the bed, bathed in morning light. Kimberly's crop was in
her hand. "Gwen says to come to breakfast," Kimberly announced. "But
bathe first, if you haven't already."
"IÑI just came in here and fell asleep," Melanie stammered, unsure of
where she was as the drowsiness lifted from her brain. She felt a great
need to pee.
"That's O.K., your sheets will be changed. Now go take a bath and
make it quick," Kimberly said. Finally it dawned on Melanie where she
was. In the house of the evil blonde woman who looked like God's favorite
angel! With her naughty little stepsister, who had betrayed her! Melanie
glowered at Kimberly. She wanted to lunge at the girl, but Kimberly,
perhaps reading Melanie's mind, raised her crop in warning. Then, perhaps
a bit gingerly, Kimberly backed herself off Melanie's bed. "You need a bath
because we haven't taken one since before last night, and we got all
sweaty in the sauna. A cold shower doesn't make up for a bath, you know,"
Kimberly said.
"That's not what I'm mad about...taking a bath!" Melanie scowled.
"Behave or I'll crop your bottom again," Kimberly warned. "I'm better
at it now, I've been whipping Gwendolyn's furniture for practise!" Sullenly
Melanie rose and wrapped her arms over her breasts. Even as she made for
the bathroom she somehow felt lanky, svelte, and forbiddingly cool. She
was taller than Kimberly, her hips fuller (though some men seemed to
relish Kimberly's boyish hips, she'd noticed), a high school graduate ready
for college! Let the little squirt brandish her crop! Nothing could break
the icy reserve that Melanie could muster when she was angry, the
demeanor that so quickly put Kimberly in her place. Behind her she heard
Kimberly switch her crop through the air. The little punk wanted to whack
her, to break her haughtiness, but dared not. While Melanie didn't win all
their fights, she won enough that Kimberly had to think twice before
taking her on, even when armed with the novel new weapon of a riding
crop. In the regal atmosphere known only to those who are the eldest
children, Melanie stalked into the bathroom and shut the door.
Melanie heard Kimberly patter from the bedroom as she looked for a
way to lock the doorknob. There was none. In any normal home this
intimate combination of bedroom and bathroom would have been
considered the master suite, fit only for mothers and fathers. They had no
need of locks to keep their ablutions from one another.
Melanie bent over the rim of a moderately sized tub and turned on its
tap. Then, becoming aware once more of the pressure in her bladder, she
went to the toilet and plopped down upon it. She looked down between her
legs as the first spray of pee ushered forth. Then she put her hands to her
bottom and rubbed the cheeks. They felt well now. When she was done
peeing she rose from the toilet and went to the bathroom mirror. She
stood with her back to it and lifted the cheeks of her bottom with her
palms. They were nearly white again, with only a trace of the red lines
which had so painfully scored them the night before. Melanie traced a
fingertip over the remnants of the lines. There was hardly any sensation
at all, save that one ordinarily felt when rubbing one's bottom.
Melanie stepped over to the tub. She found a bottle of bubble bath
perched on its rim and poured in some of the contents. She stirred the
water with her hand until the bubbles bloomed. Then she stepped in and
sank with a luxurious little sigh into the fullness of the waters.
Melanie must have drifted off to sleep for she awoke to see an
unfamiliar man staring down at her. Melanie gave a start and put her
hands to her floating bosoms to cover them. The rest of her was hidden
beneath the bubbles, though the foam had greatly dissipated from the time
she had first stirred it in. In his hand the man held a short thonged
schooling whip. "Hello, my name is Martin," the man said easily. He was
dressed in formal morningwear. Melanie felt a chill of fright run down her
spine. "Roll over," Martin advised.
"Please sir," Melanie begged.
"Please, I wish to be gentle with you," Martin said. "If you don't obey
I shall have to whip your breasts instead." Melanie's hands were over her
breasts, but she had little doubt the big man could overpower her and lift
her wrists high above her head, where they would be useless. Haplessly
Melanie rolled over in the warm, sudsy water. "Lift up your bottom," the
man instructed. "Let me see it."
Let him see it? Melanie knew very well he wanted to do more than
just look at her bottom! But what could she do? How could she escape?
She bit her lip and, looking up at the man, raised her bottom toward him
until the cheeks broke fully from the froth laden waters. The man reached
down with a gloved hand. It was of leather. Gently, almost tenderly, he
touched her heinie. He stroked it. "Yes, you are ready for more," the man
said. "Although," he bent closer. "I see two little lines still from your
discipline last night." Her bottom must have whitened more as she lay in
the tub. How long had she been here? Melanie felt a desire to pee again.
The room seemed brighter, as if it were mid-morning now.
"Finish your bath and come downstairs," the man said. "Breakfast
will have to be made again for you. Your meal grew cold and had to be
thrown out." He turned and walked from the room. Melanie shuddered and
flipped back onto her back. She wrapped her arms over her breasts.
Somehow, some way, she had been spared the whipping! All because of
two little pink lines that had not faded yet. Melanie wondered if she could
whip herself, give herself just enough lines to prevent anyone else from
whipping her again. She was still thinking on this when Gwendolyn walked
into the bathroom.
"I've had a complaint," Gwendolyn said simply. "About your bottom.
Roll over and let me inspect it." Melanie did as she was told. Gwendolyn
reached down and traced her bare hands over her posterior. "Hmm, yes,
those lines should fade by noon though," Gwendolyn said aloud to herself.
"Ma'am?" Melanie piped up. She wanted to call the woman a bitch but
dared not. "Why are you keeping me here? I'm frightened...I want to go
home." Gwendolyn smiled. It was a loving, tender smile. Her face seemed
to radiate goodness from underneath her cascading halo of golden hair.
"My dear," Gwendolyn said. "That man was Martin. Do you remember
him?" Melanie didn't want to think of anything but going home, but she
nonetheless must have used some part of her mind to attempt to answer
Gwendolyn's question, for she suddenly realized the man who nearly
whipped her had bumped into her on the ski slope just days before.
"Oh!" Melanie said, her bottom still thrusting from the water.
"That's Martin! Maria's lover!"
"Yes, well, Maria only told you she was his lover. No doubt they do
have fun in bed, but she is really just his whore. He employs her to find
young girls for him to fuck. Girls like you. Or, rather, he used to employ
her. He's fired her for being so foolish at Lady Burgess' party. She should
have gotten you and your little stepsister safely away from there after a
bit instead of staying and playing along with Lady Burgess'. Apparently
Maria was a double-whore, working for Martin but also taking money from
Lady Burgess. The two detest each other."
"Lady Burgess and Martin?" Melanie asked, not really knowing why.
Perhaps it was just to postpone any whippings Gwendolyn might have in
store for her. Melanie let her bottom sink beneath the waters of the tub.
The bubbles swirled over it, like ice covered waters closing over a lost
ship.
"Yes," Gwendolyn replied. "Now I have been hired by Martin to take
his place. As of this morning. Normally I wouldn't have allowed you to be
cropped so soon again after your lesson last night, but he insisted.
Perhaps Kimberly's inexperience saved you. She did hit you more harshly
than I would have liked. She has yet to develop finesse."
"Ma'am, I still want to go home," Melanie said.
"All girls who stay with me long enough learn to love the crop,"
Gwendolyn protested. "And many other fine implements as well."
"I don't want to love the crop, or the whip," Melanie said.
"Tell me," Gwendolyn said. She sat her lovely bottom down on the
rim of the tub. She was dressed in a charcoal garter belt and black fishnet
stockings. She wore shiny, inky pumps. Over-the-elbow fingerless
mittens encased her arms. She gave her blonde mane a toss. "Do you love
your stepsister?" Melanie scrunched up her face at this question.
"I guess so," Melanie said tentatively.
"But you are angry at her for whacking your bottom last night with
the crop, are you not?" Gwendolyn asked.
"Yes, and you too, ma'am," Melanie said. Gwendolyn laughed a laugh
like golden bells tinkling.
"So you want to get revenge on her, don't you?" Gwendolyn asked. "I
know I would have, when I was still burdened with a little sister."
"Yes," Melanie said. "With the riding crop, if truth be told."
"Then you must love the crop, at least a little," Gwendolyn replied.
"Only for punishing wrongdoers," Melanie said. "But I've never
actually used one."
"Well!" Gwendolyn said. "That can be remedied. Would you like to
practice a little on David's rump? He might actually enjoy it."
"Ma'am, I don't want any part of any of your plans," Melanie said
boldly. "I know if I join with you in your wicked pursuits I'll soon be the
victim again." Gwendolyn tittered.
"We are all victims," Gwendolyn said. "Slaves and masters, each in
our turn." She rose and walked from the room. A moment later she
returned with a small throw pillow. She placed it on the rim of the tub.
Melanie wondered at her intentions. Suddenly, surprisingly, Gwendolyn
stepped into the tub, without even removing her heels, which looked brand
new and surely deserved more thoughtful care. Gwendolyn turned her back
to Melanie and sank down on her knees. She bent forward, positioning the
cushion underneath her tummy. Her fingertips touched the tiled floor
outside the tub.
Melanie gazed in wonder at Gwendolyn's sumptuous bottom. Full,
round, arching out to whatever might befall it. Melanie could hardly
believe her eyes. Here was this woman, presenting her bottom, knowing
full well that Melanie had just said she wanted very much to punish it.
Martin walked into the bathroom, his voice preceding him. "Dammit!
That little bitch named Kimberly is hiding from me, Gwen, and she even
threw a Poptart at me--" Martin stopped in sudden awe. The schooling
whip was still in his hand, twitching idly.
"There is no need to exert yourself, darling," Gwendolyn cooed. "I
very meanly had Melanie cropped last night and she is going to pay me
back." There was laughter in Gwendolyn's voice, but Melanie needed no
further permission. Kneeling up in the tub, just behind Gwendolyn, she
brought her wet palm loudly down upon Gwendolyn's ass.
SPLAP! Gwendolyn's cheeks quivered as Melanie's little hand
delivered a blow. SLAP! SPLAP! Two more blows followed, Gwendolyn
giggling, Martin staring openmouthed. SPLAP! SLAP! SPLAP! Melanie hit
Gwendolyn's exposed bottom again and again, wetting the shimmying flesh
with her hand as she hit it, drying her hand with the heat of her blows.
Martin unzippered himself. He drew forth an impressive penis,
Melanie saw out of the corner of her eye as she continued the spanking.
Martin strode forward and, bending slightly, pressed the knob of his tool
into Gwendolyn's oral orifice. Between her slaps Melanie could hear
Gwendolyn begin to slurp upon Martin's dick. Suddenly Melanie felt evil,
like she was participating in the very wicked scheme she had forsworn.
Yet, here was this devilish woman's bottom, right here for her to smack as
hard as she could. Melanie did her best to put out of her mind what was
taking place in front of her between Martin and Gwendolyn. Sticking her
tongue out of the corner of her mouth, she spanked on.
EXON EXPLAINED
ÒÔTwo Christmases ago, Senator James Exon (D-Neb.) was home for
the holidays, visiting with his children and their families. He watched in
amazement as two of his young granddaughters played with their new PC.
ÒI realized they know more about computers than I do,Õ he recalled for
reporter Graeme Browning of National Journal.Ó - Playboy, June 1996, pg.
72.
My interpretation of this is as follows: ExonÕs ego was offended
that his granddaughters knew more about computers than he did. He
therefore decided to create an environment where, no matter how much
his granddaughters learned and no matter how much they could do, they
always did it in an environment subject to his domination and control. The
essence of the ego-driven, power hungry individual is to maintain control.
Having imposed his will through the CDA (including on his own
granddaughters), Exon can now sleep easily at night knowing that physical
violence will be used against anyone who crosses him. - a.r.
REVIEWS
by holy joe
Ubiquitous Funnies flier, free. Folded 8 1/2Ó x 11Ó sheet of paper. Brian
Kirk, 93 Sunapee St., Springfield, MA 01108. mootcomics@aol.com,
76365.273@compuserve.com
Review: Okay, so IÕm reviewing an ad sheet. But hey, itÕs free. We
hobos gotta get our entertainment where we can find it. Yesterday I
watched the Ôfly olympics.Õ Did you know flies in a shady spot will battle
each other all day? I have no idea why. I suspect it has something to do
with mating. Which brings me to the subject of the human male. DonÕt
most males spend their entire lives battling for dominance in a hierarchy?
So we see that the human male is, in terms of his passions and drives,
basically the same as a fly. (I better quit this line of inquiry before it
goes any deeper!)
Back to BrianÕs flier. If you are acquainted with Ian Shires, or many
of the other denizens of the comics small press, you will note that most
fliers from them are just that: an ad, with, in some cases, lots of
pointless hype and glowing promises of future performance. (Ian, IÕm still
waiting for the next issue of Self Publisher. Did you notice that February
1995 sort of passed us by, without it appearing? Not that IÕm in a rush or
anything. WhatÕs a year or two between friends?)
In BrianÕs case, his ad fliers donÕt just advertise his comics. They
contain a comic, and quite good ones too. Someplace I have one of his
previous fliers, and it was a true gem. I like his current flier too. It has a
nice two page comic in it, with fun artwork and a cute ending. The listing
of back issues available from Brian is also very enjoyable to read. As in,
Ò9 - A.H. Brushes his Teeth [16 pg. Special! 50¢]Ó Most of BrianÕs comics
are only a quarter each. ÔRealÕ comic books are very gorgeous these days,
much better than the ones published even a few short years ago, with
luscious covers and equally grand interior art, but, penny for penny, Brian
certainly matches them. His comics are slickly drawn, with great
character expressions. Everybody owns X-Men. Why not add a truly unique
line of comics to your collection? You can probably buy everything BrianÕs
ever published for less than one trip to your comics store. But, while you
can always get those ÔvaluableÕ Marvels and DCs, BrianÕs comics are not in
any back issue bin in a store. Which, then, are the more valuable comics?
Something you can buy anytime, or something that might disappear
tomorrow, and be found only in the deepest archives in the most obscure
University libraries? We all know that if we won the lottery or
something, we could suddenly own all those great Marvels and DCs we
always wanted but couldnÕt afford. But small press comics are another
matter. Passing unnoticed through the world, they soon are unattainable
at any price. Sometimes the original artists even lose their own work.
But I consider them gems of Americana, real art by real people. Heck,
with a big enough pile of them, you could probably write a Phd. thesis and
get a free doctorate in American Studies. Read some novels, watch some
movies, and write a paper on homemade comic books. Sounds like a great
idea to me! (Then you can join me at McDonaldÕs. We need someone smart
to handle the drive-thru.)
AND IN THE END...
Thanks for your many letters. E-mailing was not affected by AOLÕs
new page limitation. It was posting on Usenet that was affected by AOLÕs
new page limitation. There is currently no way to attach files (that I
know of) to Usenet postings using the AOL software. (Files are only
attachable to e-mail using the AOL software.)
Today, I was able to post my full newsletter on Usenet. I have no
idea what happened, or why there was a (temporary) page limitation (on
Usenet). Things are back to normal for now.
Best, Andrew
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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-My ftp site is: members.aol.com/roller666 NEW stories there now!
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-(Both sites contain different stories)
-Back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.poop?
-or send e-mail to: file.archives@backdrop.com
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age
statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 U.S.A.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1996 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-NNDÕs favorite ftp site: members.aol.com/fm99999
-END OF 56 EMISSION