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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 61
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Desire Isle
Chapter Six
Melanie's other ankle was drawn apart, leaving her legs in a wide, vulnerable vee. It too was latched down, this time to the other forward leg of the desk. Melanie shivered visibly. Her legs were practically straight, knees just allowed the slightest buckling. Half her bottom, the cushion underneath, was jutting out beyond the end of the desk. Her pussy was fully displayed to all who might wish to partake of its beauty, the tight, furred little lips still slumbering in virginal quietude, dry and untouched.
One by one Gwen unbent Melanie's arms, taking them from where she had lain them protectively over her breasts. They in turn were each adorned with a restraining leather strap, affixing them to each of the rear corners of the desk. Finally a collar was looped around Melanie's throat and buckled. A leash was attached and run back over the rim of the desk to be tied off to a knob protruding from the desk's center drawer.
"She is ready," Gwen said softly, easily to Dick.
"This will hurt a bit," Dick said. Melanie twisted her eyes downward as best she could and caught a glimpse of the cane being uplifted. It was a sliver of green bamboo fitted into an ivory handle. So insubstantial, yet wicked looking. Could such a slender implement really cause her pain?
Melanie winced as the first blow fell. Right on the inside of her creamy thigh, leaving a burning stripe in its wake. Again. Melanie bucked soundlessly upon the desk, hips uplifting, small of her back bowing. Why were they whipping her front? Why not her bottom? A seizure of fear possessed Melanie as she thought of her sweet little quim open to the fall of the cane. Would they dare to whip her there? Melanie felt just the slightest tinge of moisture come to her pussy. She couldn't believe it! Her pussy was being aroused by the thought of being given pain. The next blow fell and Melanie let out a little cry. Pain, mixed with an undeniable sense of passion.
Some time later Melanie was sobbing loudly. Her big breasts wobbled upon her straight, firm chest, above the delineation of her ribs, the concavity of her stomach. The juncture of her thighs was a welter of painful stripes. They had hit her pussy, Gwen even taking part in the punishment. Melanie couldn't believe she was even still alive, the pain was so intense. She longed to see her loins, to nurse them, to pet the once pretty lips and kiss them until they were better. Suddenly she felt a wet kiss and the tang of lipstick upon her quim. Gwen was kissing her there. Then the woman unlaced the leather bands which held her ankles fast.
Dick came around behind Melanie and undid her wrist straps and collar. With trepidation in her eyes Melanie struggled to sit up. Dick's hand at her back helped her. She had to scoot her bottom inward to get all of it back upon the desk. The cushion travelled with the spheres of her flesh. Legs parted for she feared to close them, Melanie looked down. A mass of red striped covered her inner thighs. A few had even been laid on her tummy. With Gwen holding her shoulders from the front to steady her, Melanie put her hands very tenderly to her pussy lips and looked down at them. Surprisingly, they were as pretty as ever, evincing almost no signs of the whacks they had sustained. Obviously Melanie had been mistaken about the punishment they had received. The few strokes which had hit her quim had become confused with those many more which had landed on her inner thighs.
Looking down at her quim, Melanie felt a need to pee. She voiced her desire and the cushion was withdrawn from underneath her bottom. Gwen and Dick had Melanie scoot forward on the desk until the aperture of her peehole was over the floor. Melanie was half standing, half sitting, her booted toes resting on the floor, heels uptilted. "Pee into this demitasse," Gwen cooed. Melanie looked up, surprised. The woman had placed an empty wine glass below the juncture of Melanie's thighs. Seeing that the woman was dead serious, Melanie glanced at Dick, standing off to one side. He just smiled back, waiting for her to begin.
Melanie looked down at her pussy once more. Her long hair, mussed from the writhing of her head during the caning, spilled unkempt locks over her slim shoulders. Melanie drew in her breath and bit her lower lip. She put a pair of fingers to her pussy lips and parted them. She began to pee.
Melanie walked with a distinctly awkward gait as she left Earl's executive suite. Her thighs burned at the slightest contact. Her hair was mussed. Her lipstick was prettily smeared. She wore her expensive fur coat pulled tight, head bowed.
Melanie felt ashamed, yet at the same time she knew that if she did not leave Earl's office with a bearing similar to that with which she had entered, his co-workers would know something was up. Melanie stole a furtive glance at Earl's private secretary as she swished by the woman, Gwen at her side. Earl's secretary sat at her desk, a tongue on her lip as, open mouthed, she seemed to busy herself with the task of scrolling a sheet of paper into a typewriter. Did Melanie catch a knowing look on the woman's face? For the first time she noticed the blonde woman's full bosom, seemingly braless. Had she too tasted the forbidden fruits of Earl's office? Earl had not come--he had not even taken out his penis! Had Melanie been a mere prelude to Earl's excitement, to be followed by a more romantic encounter with his secretary? All these thoughts did nothing to help Melanie keep her head up.
In the limo Gwen caught sight of a tear pearling down Melanie's cheek. With a whisper of compassion Gwen wiped it away with her nail. "Is something troubling you, darling?" Gwen asked when the tear had been removed. Melanie snuffled.
"I thought he loved me," Melanie whimpered.
"Who? Earl?" Gwen asked as the limo whisked them home. Melanie nodded silently, to a titter of laughter from Gwen. "My dear, there is love and lust in this world, and men seem to have a monopoly on the latter," Gwen smiled. This remark sent Melanie's face into her hands, and a loud snuffle followed. Gwen stroked Melanie's hair, her fingers perhaps returning a semblance of order to the girl's lemon locks as they slipped between the strands. "Earl loves you for what you are; a sprightly young maiden who can buck and rear beneath his crop as well as any filly he has trained. I know you pleased him because he insured that you get the full $2,000 fee, by giving us a generous tip." Melanie only cried more, the sobs coming regularly now. The limo's driver, separated by glass, heard nothing.
"I'm glad you're crying, do you know why?" Gwen asked after a bit. Melanie, head still in her hands, shook her head no. "Because it means you weren't really submitting to Earl for the money. You were doing it because you believed in it, and him. I like that. It means you have class. That's how I am. I didn't tell you earlier, because I didn't think you'd understand. I don't whore for the money, though every girl likes money, and what it can buy. I whore because I respect and trust the men who pay me. The money is only a bonus."
"I think Kimberly would do it just for the money," Melanie said, lifting her tear streaked face, suddenly regaining her composure, becoming her old self again.
"Now, we don't know that," Gwen replied, still running her fingertips through Melanie's hair. "In any event she's too young to get into the business, at least in my opinion. Some men would disagree with me, of course. It will be up to you to look after her once we part. She's more inclined to get into mischief than you are, I think."
"She loves to have strings of boys wallowing in her beauty and play them off against one another," Melanie said. "She feels no commitment to them at all." Gwen touched the tip of her nail to Melanie's chin. She lifted it. She looked the girl in the eyes; her deep, blue, widely spaced innocent eyes.
"You must learn to check your sense of commitment, and Kimberly must develop hers more. I don't think I have to tell you that you will never see Earl again. Oh, you might--there's always a chance. But he's moving on too, sick of the cold, down to South America to find new adventures for himself amongst the Latin women. You were used by him and he enjoyed you. Now put him out of your mind, even as you relish the last traces of him in the burning in your thighs." Melanie looked at Gwen for a moment like a frozen rabbit just before it bolts. Then she crushed herself to Gwen and held the woman tightly, beginning to sob once more.
"Oh, Gwen! I hate you and love you at the same time!" Melanie cried. "My life before I met you seems so trite and boring now, in fact I longed to change it. Yet now, now I'm frightened of the possibilities you've opened up to me!" Gwen patted the girl on the back of her head.
"We must part too, my dear, but the world is full of friends, if you know how to find them. I shall introduce you to another before you go," Gwen said softly.
Chapter Seven
The day of departure arrived and Melanie found herself standing on Gwen's front porch, waiting for her ancient chauffeur to pull around the limo. Before her the crisp white hills of Aspen stood in all their natural glory, stiff pines and evergreens marching up their sides to pierce the low hanging clouds above. Behind her Kimberly could be heard making a clatter as Gwen shooed her from the chateau, the girl finding every excuse to delay in childish dalliances. When Kimberly finally did step out onto the front stoop, she clutched a moderately-sized teddy bear in her arms.
"You're taking that on the plane?" Melanie asked Kimberly of the stuffed bear.
"Yes," Kimberly purred, gazing down at the bear as if it were a newborn babe. "One of Gwen's men friends gave it to me. To remember him by." Melanie felt a tinge of surprise.
"And what did you do to earn it, hmmm?" Melanie asked wryly.
"Nothing," Kimberly said. "He gave it to me because he likes me. And I like him. We're going to write each other."
Gwen appeared next to Melanie and looked over both the girls, as if she were a mother hen and they her only chicks. She smiled, and bid them farewell. Spontaneously, each girl kissed Gwen in turn. The kisses were on the lips, and Gwen and Melanie's seemed to linger. Melanie wondered if it were she or Gwen who had prolonged their oral contact? The limo pulled up in a rush and thudded to a halt amidst a flurry of disturbed snow. Gwen bundled the girls down to it and packed them inside. Kimberly insisted on sitting in the front and, not wanting to be left alone beyond the partition of the glass, Melanie slid in front too. Both girls turned and waved goodbye to Gwen as the limo sped away.
The conversation on the way to the airport consisted primarily of Kimberly naughtily querying Melville on the state of his sexual prowess at such an advanced age. She looked the perfect precocious brat, Melanie thought, sitting there cradling her teddy as she inquired of Melville when he had last experienced ejaculation, and how long it took him to recover afterward. When the brunette began patting Melville's crotch with her hand Melanie slapped it.
"Oww!" Kimberly whined, yanking back her hand from Melville's groin.
"Try to behave yourself just once, would you?" Melanie scolded her stepsister. "Mommie and dad should never have let you come on this trip alone."
"I'm not alone, I'm with you," Kimberly said smartly. Her eyes brightened mirthfully as once more her digits stole back toward Melville's pants.
"I know that," Melanie said, grappling for her sister's hand. "But I can't control you. This is the last trip we'll ever take together, I can assure you!" Kimberly's little hand flitted out from beneath the grasp of her older sister and seized on Melville's crotch. The man gave a groan and his back stiffened.
"Easy girl, I still can feel pain down there, if not too much pleasure," Melville cautioned Kimberly.
"I'll bet I could make you spurt right here, right in this limo!" Kimberly chortled.
"If you did I'd have a heart attack!" Melville said. "I'd die happy, I assure you, but you girls and the limo might wind up stuck by the side of the road!"
"I don't care!" Kimberly roared. Gleefully the girl tore at the man's fly, prying for his limpid rod.
"Kimberly!" Melanie shouted. She grabbed at her sister and yanked on her hair.
The airport was reached without involving the limo in an accident, but poor Melville, at just the thought of having a succulent 16-year-old girl in his pants, had squirted his cum into them before Melanie could even prise him out. With some embarrassment Melville stood by the side of the limo, watching as a porter unloaded the girl's bags. With a hand strategically stationed over the stain on his dark trousers he slipped the porter a twenty and waved him off, bidding the girls goodbye as well with an awkward smile and a nod of his head.
"Bye Melville, I love you!" Kimberly cried, blowing him a kiss, shocking not a few of the younger men standing about, all of whom she promptly snubbed by strutting past their entreating stares with her nose in the air. Melanie felt herself blushing. Leave it to Kimberly to make a scene.
The flight back to New York was half an hour late getting off the ground. But Melanie and Kimberly didn't mind, unbeknownst to their parents Gwen had exchanged their coach class seats for ones in first class. Both girls used the extra time to consume extra free drinks, Melanie with at least some moderation, Kimberly with none at all. The handsome steward assigned to their portion of the cabin took Kimberly at her word that she was of age. Perhaps the wriggling of the girl's ample breasts helped to persuade him.
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
marie claire, June 1996. $2.50.
Review: I was standing in line at the grocery looking at little girls when I got distracted. You see, on this monthÕs cover of marie claire, there is a picture of Claudia Schiffer taking off her panties. Òlookbest undressedÓ it says on the cover. And Claudia is taking off a really nice pair of panties. They are pastel blue and look sort of cottony, as if they arenÕt really so much for swimming in as for wearing as undies.
Now, I have been thinking. (Seeing females undress sometimes produces this reaction.) America is always saying, ÒWhat to do about the pedophile?Ó Well, as this incident shows us, to protect our children we need only put women in the grocery who are taking off their panties. I mean, we already hire women to hand out cheese dip and little sausages. Why not have them take off their panties while theyÕre handing out their sausages? Better yet, why not just have the checkout gals check people out in their panties? They could pull their panties halfway down before they begin work, so that their hands can be busy with the groceries while all us perverts keep our eyes on their pubic hair instead of the little girls in line.
I realize that 30-year-old checkout gals arenÕt as cute as Claudia Schiffer. But, you know, this is mainly a problem of age. IÕll bet a lot of those checkout gals looked lots better when they were younger. So we simply replace all the 30-year-old checkout gals with 15-year-old checkout gals. Some ladies would complain, of course. As you know, the better-looking 15-year-old girls of this nation are usually somewhat deficient in math. (Particularly when it comes time to Ôadd upÕ all the money their date has spent on them and decide whether itÕs worth a goodnight-fuck or not.) (IÕd say ÔkissÕ but, hey, this is the 90Õs. They donÕt hand out condoms in the 5th grade for nothing.)
Imagine a grocery store where some of the checkout gals are 15-years-old and wearing just their panties. (Pulled halfway down.) (I hope this isnÕt indecent. IÕm merely suggesting it for the public good.) Anyway, all the men and the perverts would get into line in the lanes where the 15-year-old checkout girls are. All the ladies with little children would get into the lanes where the dowdy 30-year-old checkout WOMEN are. And we men would be so mesmerized by the pantied checkout girls that we would have no time to allow our eyes to wander to inappropriate objects of sexual desire (little girls), or to think up sexist jokes about their mothers. No, our eyes would be trained entirely on the teenage girls in their underpants. (Checking us out). I realize this proposal isnÕt as fun to read as ÒKill them All, Cut off Their Nuts, etc.Ó but it does have the advantage of being practical. In my case, IÕd like to see the checkout girls pee in their panties while theyÕre checking me out, but I realize thatÕs going too far. So, you know, just a little mons, a little ass, that will be enough. Hopefully my proposal will be given serious consideration. Either that, or the guy in line with you can check out your daughter and think up jokes about you. Back to you, ladies!
(Oh yeah. I have no idea whatÕs in this fucking magazine. I just bought it, tore off the cover, jerked off to it, and tossed the rest. Men will be men, you know.)
AND IN THE END...
Mike Diana is the first Artist in United States history to be jailed for his artwork. He is currently awaiting his appeal date for three counts of obscenity for his zine, BOILED ANGEL. To assist Mike with upcoming court costs, you can buy a $6.00 raffle ticket from Mike Hunt Raffle, Box 226, Bensenville IL 60106.
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-END OF 61 EMISSION
-ZAPTHEM source: The Newshour with Jim Lehrer, May 14, 1996.