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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 64
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Desire Isle
Chapter Eight
"Well, I like it," Kimberly replied, pulling off her taffeta top for a shower. Her breasts jiggled in their bra cups.
"Suit yourself," Melanie sniffed, and turned and left. She felt queer. She wanted to go out, but it all seemed so childish to her after her trip to Aspen. Kimberly had obviously been too young to be affected by their experiences. And Gwen had not used her as a whore. To Kimberly the whole thing had just been a lark. A chance to play her electronic space game without some parent or teacher interrupting.
A letter from Candy arrived a few days later. Unfortunately, Kimberly was the one to bring in the mail. Kimberly was not always one to pry into her sister's affairs, but some intuition told her that this time a little snooping might be in order. She set a pot of water on the stove and, as it boiled, she steamed open the envelope. Inside was a butterscotch scented letter from Candy. After pedestrian preliminaries, the letter recounted in somewhat vague terms the account Melanie had given Candy about her first job as a whore, with Earl paying her $2,000. Candy ended the letter by saying, "If you'd like to be a tart again, I think I may have a client."
Kimberly's father walked into the kitchen while she was busy with the letter. She had thought he was out, but in fact he had just been in the laundry room taking measurements for some shelves Kimberly's mother wanted installed. Kimberly heard her father's footfalls about two seconds before he stepped into the kitchen. She stuffed Candy's letter underneath a pile of papers. Her father stopped right in front of the pile and picked up the phone, which was hung on the wall right next to the papers. Kimberly poured the hot water in the teakettle into a bowl of Top Raimen, and glided around the kitchen bar to sit down at the family's dining table. No sooner had Kimberly taken two mouthfuls of soup than she heard her father rummaging in the pile of papers for a note he had made on the price of shelving.
"That's ridiculous!" Kimberly's father said testily into the phone. "Somebody at your store quoted me a price on shelves there just last weekend. I have it written down write here--" (A sound of papers shuffling.) "No, I don't know the name of the clerk who told me the price, but it was $20.00 a unit, not $40--" The man's last words were eclipsed as he came across Candy's letter. A moment later the telephone conversation ended on an abrupt, awkward note. With shaking hands, Kimberly's father brought the letter over to her. "Kimberly...do you know anything about this?" he asked.
Melanie was met by her father when she arrived home from school. His face was grim. "Hi daddy," Melanie said fearfully, guiltily. He only looked as he did now when she had done something very wrong. Like when she had drunk his wine at 10. Or made out with a boyfriend at 12 on her parents bed, accidentally leaving his size 28 underpants under the sheets. Or when she had borrowed his Audi last summer without his permission and then returned it with a dent she hoped he wouldn't notice, but had.
"Please come into my study," Melanie's step dad said as she tried to whisk past him and up the stairs to her room. She set down her books and he took her hand. That he never did anymore, unless she'd been very bad.
"What's wrong, Daddy?" Melanie asked, but her father said nothing.
The study seemed dark and foreboding to Melanie. There was nothing here but books, and she didn't like reading much, except for her school textbooks, which she studied assiduously. Melanie hardly ever came in her father's study, though she had smooched with a few boys in here. But except for the occasional foray with a boyfriend the study held little attraction for her. And it was where her father always took her when he was angry with her.
Melanie's father ushered her into his study and closed the door behind them. He told her to sit down in one of the big leather chairs that fronted his desk. Then, standing over her, he handed her Candy's letter. "What's this?" John (for that was his name) asked. Melanie looked at the letter. As she red it she blushed, then gulped. She was groping for some way to dismiss its credibility when her step father ordered her to stand.
"I've never searched your room, but today I did take a little tour," Melanie's step dad said. I saw a bank deposit slip sticking out from under the bottom of your stuffed Koala bear. I think you'll forgive me for being unable to restrain my curiosity." He presented her with the slip. It was from her trip to the bank last Friday. It contained only the date and two words, but they were enough: "Deposit: $2,000."
"Daddy, I-" Melanie began.
"Your mother and I adopted you," Melanie's father said. "Your natural mother may have been poor, but she was a God-fearing, hard working woman. I didn't take her from you only to tell her that I raised you to be a whore!" the last few words came from Ivan's mouth at a very high decibel level. John was trembling now. Beads of sweat had appeared almost instantly on his forehead. "Is this what a good upbringing has taught you?"
"No, daddy," Melanie quivered.
"Is this what your mother and I, working hard every day at our jobs to provide a home for you, have accomplished?"
"No, daddy," Melanie said, tears brimming in her eyes. She looked down at her lap.
"Good schools, expensive clothes, a fine neighborhood, your mother an engineer and myself a doctor, and you wind up a whore?!" Again Ivan's voice threatened to knock down the walls of the study. All at once, like a lull in a thunderstorm, his voice became very quiet. "You're too old to spank." He paused. Melanie breathed a sigh of relief. "By me." The blonde looked up.
The study consisted of a main room, where her father's desk was, and a smaller room, separated by a sliding door, which held his prized books. He stepped over to the smaller door and slid it back. Melanie gazed beyond the doorway and saw a woman dressed in black rise from the room's only chair. She put down a leather-bound book on a deal table beside the chair. She was dressed in a tight black gown that hugged her hips.
"I think you'll be needed now," Melanie's father said to the woman. Looking very demure, the woman swished into the study's main room.
"Is this the errant child?" the woman asked of Melanie, speaking to her father. Melanie felt like a puppy being spoken of by its owners.
"I was too lenient with her in my upbringing," John muttered, more to himself than anyone in the room.
"A common mistake among the better classes of society," the woman breathed. Melanie thought she could almost see flames ushering from the woman's mouth. Scented steam seemed to rise from her gown.
"Your father tells me you've been naughty," the woman said, turning to Melanie. The blonde only looked at her. "Please stand," the woman said to the teen. She obeyed. "My name's Ivana. I used to be a whore, but I've mended my ways now. I look forward to the opportunity to help a girl like yourself stay on the straight and narrow." Melanie was shivering now. Her step-dad was a big man. Ivana, too, loomed large, tall and lean, with a prominent bust. Ivana opened her purse. She drew forth a little switch. It had a collapsible handle, which she pulled to its full length with a click that sounded with a note of finality in the otherwise silent room. "Bend over the desk and lift your skirt," Ivana said simply. Melanie could barely control her fear. Her father gazed at her dispassionately.
Melanie walked with light, mincing steps to her father's desk. Perhaps this was the best way. She had felt ashamed about her assignment with Earl. Perhaps this would exorcise her humiliation and drive any further thoughts of prostitution from her mind. Perhaps then she could get back to school and studies, and friends, with a clear, unfettered mind. Melanie bit her lip and leaned forward. She upped her plaited skirt. Her girlish white undies were displayed for all to see. "She will need to be held," Ivana said to Melanie's father. He strode around to the rear of his desk. Reaching past Melanie's head, he took both her wrists in his hands. Then he lifted them up into the air. Melanie winced at her father's roughness, intended or not. Her arms were straight, her wrists in the air above the small of her back. Her father raised her wrists into the air swiftly, nearly yanking Melanie's arms off her shoulders. Her father was so big that he only needed to lean forward a little as he held her.
"Bend over more," Ivana instructed from behind. Melanie knew the words were intended for her. She leaned forward, her father's hand coming to her back to help press her down. She was made to bend until her face bumped against his desk. Melanie turned her head on its side and pressed her cheek against the coolness of the desk's laminated surface.
Melanie heard rustling behind her. "Forgive me, the gown hinders my work," she heard Ivana say. Melanie found she had a direct view of her father's crotch. It was only inches from her face now. Even as she set eyes upon it a protuberance formed within it. Melanie heard Ivana's gown slither to the floor. Suddenly, in the glass of a family portrait, she caught sight of the disrobed Ivana. The woman wore a corset that lifted her ample breasts, leaving the nipples bare. Beneath the arch of the corset Ivana's navel twinkled, and some distance below that a skimpy pair of panties stretched across her hips. Taut garters stretched down to keep fishnet stockings tightly clasped around Ivana's upper thighs. Just when had this woman stopped whoring? Melanie wondered. Last week?
A rustling in Ivana's purse caused Melanie to turn her head. That was the place from which the pony-lash, now lying idle beside her on the desk, had come. Ivana drew forth an ivory hair brush with a flat back. Melanie felt sharp-nailed fingers come to her buttocks. Her panties were drawn down, left to bunch beneath the juncture of her thighs. Ivana let out her breath. "I always love the sight of a young girl's naked bottom," Ivana murmured. Then, more loudly, "Your money has not been wasted on your daughter's behind, at least. This is the finest bum I've seen in years." John cleared his throat.
"Please begin," John said. "The wife will be home shortly."
"Of course," Ivana said. Once more she fished in her purse, this time taking from it a crystal flask containing perfume. The little bottle had an attachment protruding elegantly from it which allowed the perfumed contents to be sprayed onto the body. Ivana aimed the tiny nozzle sticking sideways from the top of the bottle at Melanie's heinie. She squeezed gently, and Melanie felt a shower of perfume spray her bottom.
"I asked you to begin!" John said angrily, still holding his daughter down.
"A whipping on a wet bottom hurts more," Ivana said simply, and continued spraying here and there until Melanie's entire ass was coated with a light film of liquid perfume. Then Ivana set the bottle aside, saying that it would be needed again later when Melanie's heinie had dried from the initial series of blows.
Ivana lifted the ivory hairbrush. She studied Melanie's bottom for a moment, like a wolf apprising its prey. Then, suddenly, she struck the back of the brush hard against Melanie's bottom.
Melanie flinched. She bit her lower lip and left teeth marks there. Melanie's father, sensing the movement at her mouth, parted her lips with his free hand and inserted his index finger between her teeth. The full effect of this gallant move was somewhat lost on Melanie as she winced from the sharp pain at her bottom. Again the hairbrush came down. Melanie bit into her father's finger. Her hips flinched.
Surely she could take this, Melanie thought. Her father did not know of Kimberly's caning. A hairbrush, even one wielded by a dominatrix, was no match for a jealous sister with a cane! But the brush did hurt all the same, and Melanie was quivering with tension over the pony lash, still to come.
Blow after blow rained down courtesy of the hair brush. Melanie bumped her flanks against the edge of the table. She bucked. And she bit ever harder into her father's finger. Before her the crotch of her father loomed large now.
John urged Ivana to hurry and finish. Melanie wondered if this urgency on the part of her father was because he felt uncomfortable administering this punishment. Did he worry that the domme would take things to far? Melanie knew her mother was not due home for another hour, yet John acted as if she might walk into the study at any moment.
Ivana picked up the squirt bottle to apply more perfume prior to the application of the pony lash. "Never mind that," John growled.
"I'm going to do the job right or not at all," Ivana replied. John groaned. Once more Melanie felt the perfume spray her behind. The little jets stung as they hit her injured bottom. They also cooled her. Then Ivana picked the pony-lash up off the desk. She whipped it downward. Melanie cried out as it slashed across her bottom.
SKRAACK! went the little lash a second time, then a third. Melanie felt tears well in her eyes. A fourth slash brought them sliding down her face. Each stroke of the whip seemed ever more painful. Soon Melanie was wailing at every new searing strike of the leather. When her petulant lips did close they brought her teeth down hard upon her father's finger. As the last strokes fell Melanie tasted blood. Her father made no movement. If he felt the pain, he did not show it.
Finally Melanie's father released her wrists. Crying, Melanie stood straight up and her hands flew to her burning bottom. She rubbed the red hot cheeks vigorously. It seemed a toss-up as to whether her hands were soothing her or actually making the pain worse.
"Tch, tch, if she can still stand to touch there she has not had enough," Ivana remarked.
"She's just a schoolgirl," John said gruffly.
"I have a cat o' nine tails in my purse as well," Ivana offered.
"Enough!" John roared. "Now get out!" Then, realizing his impoliteness, he softened. As he issued his last sentences he had rounded the desk, coming up next to Ivana. Gently he asked her if she needed help getting back into her gown.
"Yes, if that is what you wish," Ivana purred. John put a hand across the front of Ivana's tummy and touched her far hip. He stroked it. Trembling slightly, he looked at his daughter.
"Go to your room!" John ordered Melanie.
JOE LOVES YOU
And Has a Plan for Your Life!
Well, IÕve decided to give up running for President. The campaign financing laws are too complicated. Instead, IÕm going to run for the position of Emperor of the Earth. Pretty nifty, eh? They always say, ÒIf you canÕt find the job you want, create it!Ó
Think of how much money you pay in taxes. This is money you canÕt spend on yourself or your family. With me as your emperor, there would be just one person in charge. Me. Bye-bye to all those expensive bureaucrats, with their yearly cost of living increases and their fancy retirement packages.
There would be no standing armies. Nobody would invade anybody because there would be no national boundaries. There would simply be Ôholy joeÕs empire,Õ with me as your emperor. There would be no tariffs, and no long wait at customs when you fly into an airport. You could live where you please. (This ensures my victory right away because, with everyone voting, all the people in the third world who want to move to the first world would vote for me!)
Are you worried about despotism? Fear not! I think people should be able to do whatever the fuck they want! So there wouldnÕt be any need for $450 billion dollar budgets for ÔlawÕ enforcement. With no laws, there would be no budget. Simple as that. And donÕt worry, I fully believe in the right to bear arms, including nuclear missiles. So youÕll have plenty of stuff to protect yourself with.
Right now I live in a cardboard box and use the bathroom at Burger King, so you wonÕt have to worry about me having 94 servants, like Bill Clinton does. I even have one of those Burger King crowns, onto which IÕve already taped a sign that reads, ÒEmperor Holy Joe.Ó So even my emblem of office is paid for.
Religion is probably your next concern. That will still divide people, right? Not at all. IÕll be like those Roman Emperors, saving you even more money by being both your Emperor and your God. You can pledge allegiance to me and worship me both at the same time, which means less time wasted sitting in church. Some hymns will have to be rewritten, obviously. ÔLift High the CrossÕ wonÕt work anymore because I donÕt plan to die for your sins, since, in a law-free world, it will be impossible for you to sin! So instead weÕll sing, ÔLift High the Porno,Õ or something. Or maybe ÔLift High the Crotch.Õ Then I could save you money by not wearing clothes. My pants are too tight for my gut, anyway.
Money! What to do about all those monopoly-money bills we are currently using? Well, actually, I plan to call my new empire the Fraternal Union. Our money will be called Ôthe FU.Õ That way, when somebody says, ÔFU!Õ he will actually be complimenting you. It will be like saying, ÔHere, take my money!Õ Commerce will be speeded up.
I have been trying to figure out how to handle the transition. As I see it, the best way is for you to turn on your headlights. DonÕt turn them on in the daytime, though. That will just run down your battery. Tonight, when it gets dark, and you have to drive someplace, turn on your headlights. Then, when I see everyone with their lights on, I will know that the world is now calling me. IÕll be sitting in the Burger King waiting and watching, and IÕll sit by the window so I can see out. (Unless I have to use the toilet, that is, but IÕll try to do it quickly!)
Expect my next pronouncement soon!
AND IN THE END...
The Civil War was the political turning point in American history. ...A distant administration that had little contact with its citizens had been transformed into an overbearing bureaucracy that intruded into daily life with conscription, taxation, regulations, and surveillance. - Liberty Link, April 1996, pg. 2.
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