Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 122      
alt.zines    alt.sex.stories

D R E A M G I R L S  S T O R I E S
Love Child
Part Fifteen
by Andrew Roller

Chapter Three

	His muscles straining, Arthur hefted the big chamber pot.  He emptied it in the bathroomÕs toilet and flushed our pee away.  It took several pourings and several flushes before the pot was totally empty.  Girlishly, we cheered him when it was done.  He walked the pot back out to the dungeonÕs entryway.  He parked it just inside the front door.  We were finished with it.  He dumped some Lysol into it and tossed a towel over it to kill any rude smells.  Then we regrouped in the bathroom. 
	ÒLetÕs wash,Ó mistress said.  She turned on the tap in the bathroom.  There was no tub, no shower.  Just a sink, and the four of us.  We all needed a bath, and we girls needed to douche too, except for mistress, who had abstained so far from ArthurÕs cock, preferring instead to let me and Mandy have him.  It was sweet of her, I realized.  Here I had hated her for belting me, and caning Mandy, but in fact sheÕd deprived herself of Arthur to do it.  I looked at her with renewed appreciation.
	ÒYouÕre special, you know that?Ó I asked her.
	ÒSpecially perverted,Ó she laughed.
	ÒNo, I like you!Ó I said.  I leaned forward, let my nipples perk to hers.  I kissed her mouth.  
	ÒYou will go far, darling,Ó she replied.  She returned my kiss.  Then she and I parted and I waited with tingling skin for her next move.  Arthur ran his finger down my spine.  I turned, my hair falling into my eyes.  It was beautiful in its unkemptness.
	ÒBe good, Arthur,Ó I said.  He dropped his hand.  I patted the rock hard protuberance of his organ, like one might pet a dog.  But there was nothing more yet, not yet.  He must wait.  We must all wait.  Even orgies have their moments of modesty.
	Mistress considered plugging and filling the bowl, sharing the water, but there were simply too many of us.  Our communal bath would have to be with the tap on, continually supplying fresh water into the sink.  She took a washcloth (there appeared to be only one) and wet it.  She reached out and ran it over my belly.
	ÒOooh, you feel pregnant,Ó she teased.
	ÒStop it!Ó I cried.  I knew I hadnÕt any protection that first night.  I prayed she was just joking.  I didnÕt feel pregnant.  But then some girls never knew, especially fat ones, until they were many months along.  But then, I wasnÕt fat.
	ÒIf she is IÕll beat it out of her,Ó Arthur warned.
	ÒQuiet, Arthur,Ó mistress replied.  ÒIÕll wash your cock in a minute.Ó
	ÒJust trying to be helpful,Ó Arthur grumbled.
	Slowly, luxuriously, we laved the washcloth over each other.  It was a kind of dreamlike existence, the water hot, the air a tad chilly.  We explored the roundness of each otherÕs breasts, were careful of wounded bottoms, bathed cunts with delighted pokes and douching squirts of a handy syringe.  Lastly we did Arthur, savoring every inch of his massive frame, rubbing him until he was sparkling like a freshly-licked cub.
	ÒOh, my!  IÕm afraid I have to poop!Ó mistress said when weÕd finished bathing.
	ÒYou donÕt expect privacy for that?Ó I laughed.
	ÒLetÕs see you do it!Ó Mandy, bug-eyed with the decadence of it all, insisted.  
	ÒAlright, but hold your noses, I think itÕs going to be a stinky one,Ó mistress said.  At ArthurÕs suggestion she sat down backwards on the flush toilet.  We quickly found we had to pinch our nostrils and we watched, sinfully, as long turds oozed out of her back hole and plopped into the water beneath.
	ÒYou can wipe in private,Ó I said when she was done, disgusted with myself.
	ÒYes, please!Ó Mandy added, making every effort to embarrass her by holding her nose theatrically.  Together we trooped from the room, out into the kitchen area.  Arthur turned on the bathroom fan for her.
	ÒWould you like me to clean you up?Ó I heard him ask her.
	ÒNo thanks, Arthur.  See that the girls donÕt make a mess out there, would you?  Fifteen-year-old girls are not generally prized for their cooking,Ó she replied.
	ÒNo indeed!  I shall have to chaperone,Ó Arthur replied.  ÒTo protect the food!Ó    
	With stinging bottoms Mandy and I inspected the pantry.  We did not know what time it was, morning perhaps?  There was no window down in this dungeon which lay beneath the snow-laden earth.  Perhaps the world had been destroyed in a nuclear war and we were its last survivors, I thought again.  From the promising erection standing up stiffly between us I had no doubt we would repopulate the planet quickly.  Never mind one son each, we would be more likely to rival the wives of Abraham with our progeny.  Arthur caressed our legs, the backs of our thighs.  He placed his warm palms on our bottoms.  
	ÒArthur!  Keep your hands to yourself!Ó Mandy chirped.  
	ÒYes!Ó I said, wincing.  ÒKeep your hands off our fannies, sir.  We are not just dolls for you to fondle whenever you please.  Whenever you are...inflated.Ó  I cast a glance down at his cock.  It was gorgeous in its hugeness, stiff as wood for him in his first moments of wakefulness.  And still stiff now, as yet unsatisfied.  He jabbed it between our close-standing bodies, to MandyÕs renewed annoyance.  	
	ÒArthur, we girls are not endlessly interested in men,Ó she reproved him.  She continued rummaging about in the pantry.  
	ÒWe like eating, too,Ó I smiled at him.  
	ÒYes!  Especially skinny girls like me and Barbi.  We have a fast metab--  metab--  metabotulism!Ó Mandy declared.
	Mistress soon appeared.  She found flour in the fridge, the big refrigerator that stood before us now in the storeroom, with its makeshift kitchen and shelves, and offered to cook us strawberry flapjacks.  We agreed that would be a delicious way to start our new day in the dungeon. 
	ÒBut I cannot have flapjacks without a sausage to go with it,Ó Mandy insisted.  I nudged her.  She did not catch my meaning.  ÒMommie always browns me a sausage with my flapjacks,Ó she continued.  She was feeling protected and infantile this morning, I think, being the littlest amongst us.  ÒOtherwise they are too gooey and syrupy, plus meat is good for you.Ó
	ÒAlright,Ó mistress said, with a wink at me.  ÒLet me see if I can find some sausages in the fridge, dear.  Did you see any in here?Ó
	ÒI just looked in the pantry,Ó Mandy answered.  ÒI canÕt cook flapjacks.  I was looking for Lucky Charms.Ó  She had them now, the box pressed to her belly.  She was sticking her hand into the box and drawing out handfuls of cereal and munching on them.  Wetly her tongue drew in more cereal from her sprinkling hand.  Her bosoms rolled atop the box, big and juicy, with red tips like the little marshmallow hearts in the cereal.
	ÒDonÕt eat too much of that junk,Ó mistress said.  ÒOr you wonÕt be able to eat the breakfast I fix you.Ó
	ÒI always have room for a nice big sausage,Ó Mandy answered, her eyes uplifted, watching as she dumped another handful of the LeprechaunÕs cereal into her mouth.
	ÒOh!  HereÕs some,Ó mistress announced, looking again in the fridge.  ÒNice big long ones, straight from Bavaria.Ó  She examined the plastic packaging.  ÒMade in Munich!Ó    
	ÒThe capital of dicks,Ó I laughed.
	ÒAre these good enough for you, little one?Ó mistress asked Mandy.
	ÒGood!Ó Mandy chirped in reply.  She munched loudly on her Lucky Charms, her cheeks stuffed with them.
	ÒThen give me that!Ó mistress answered.  She took the box from Mandy and set it on a shelf above the fridge, where the girl could not reach it.
	ÒOooh!  Give me back my Lucky Charms!Ó Mandy whined.
	ÒIÕm going to cook you a nice big breakfast, and I expect you to eat every bite,Ó mistress replied.  She picked up an apron on the counter and, unfolding it, tied it around her waist.  Her breasts jiggled their heaviness, ripe as summer gourds, as she leaned forward a little to tie the apron upon herself.  Then she took a chefÕs hat and plopped it atop her head, first pinning up her hair a little more, for it was falling in many loose strands around her eyes.  Mandy stood watching her, rubbing her soft belly like some little teddy bear watching its mother.
	ÒOkay,Ó Mandy said at last.  She was content.  She walked over to Arthur, her saucy bottom cheeks rolling like firm mounds of jiggly jello, with the crack between them tight as a girlÕs legs on her first date.  Mandy struck ArthurÕs cock with the flat of her hand.  ÒPlay with me!Ó she commanded.  She looked up at him expectantly.  Arthur gazed down at her, like some old dog roused by a puppy.  I think he was growing weary of Mandy and her childish ways.  One minute she berated his lust, the next she seemed to demand it, piquant, moody, expecting the entire universe to revolve around and respond to her ever-changing whims.
	ÒI could play with you in such a way that you would never get up again,Ó Arthur said with casual menace.
	ÒDo it!Ó Mandy replied, smugly.  He was the bull, but in her mind at least, she was the bullfighter.
	ÒYou are a silly little bitch,Ó Arthur replied.  He seemed glad suddenly to have Mandy asking him for attention, and decided to lure her on a bit, not give her what she wished.  I saw that I was forgotten and eased up next to the girl.
	ÒIÕm a silly little bitch too,Ó I smiled at him.  I ran my finger up the length of his cock and toyed with its tip with my fingernail.  I stuck it into his peehole.  ÒDoes this provoke you, sir?Ó I asked.  Manfully he just stood and watched.  Mistress giggled.  On a stove next to the fridge she began preparing our meal, decked out in her little waist apron and chef's hat, still wearing her elegant riding boots, as if she might mount a horse at any moment and decide to ride through the city bare.  She would bring eggs and a muffin to all the men, to rouse them for their dayÕs labor.  Arthur, entranced by her graceful maturity, watched her with renewed passion, while Mandy and I teased his cock.  We batted it about with our hands, watching it wiggle to and fro.  He ignored us.  He let us play with him as an adult dog entertains puppies, its eyes fixed on its master, waiting for dinner.  Our chef smiled at her flapjacks, aware of ArthurÕs eyes.  Her teeth were white, her lips lustrous.  She had a newlywed wife look to her, classy yet vulnerable.  Her divine breasts wiggled their rubicund tips over the steaming food.  Her bottom swayed easily, naked beneath the big bow of her apron.  The sleekness of the backs of her thighs was enchanting, stretching down to her improbable boots.  They had spiked heels, as stiff and implacable as the cock Arthur absently presented us with as he watched our winsome cook.  Someday she would be old, flabby, irate at her husband, her hair pinned up in curlers, perhaps wearing the remnants of a mudpack, a flannel robe girding her ever-expanding middle.  She would be a feminist pin-up then, wrinkled, demanding, aware of her husbandÕs every fault and certain to enumerate them at every morning meal.  But now she was still fetching and young, nonchalant in her nudity yet aware of its effect on her hubbyÕs eyes.  He turned away finally, unable to bear the dreamy sight.  He would cum too soon if he didnÕt watch himself.  
	ÒHey, come back with that penis!Ó Mandy admonished.
	ÒI, uh, need to do some chin-ups,Ó Arthur croaked.  He walked as one might who had just barely averted an accident, trembling a bit, his hugely swollen cock quavering deliciously.  To clear his mind of mistress he bent and touched his toes a few times.  Mandy and I watched his balls as they slowly descended from a height of excitement to swing again in relative calm under his ass.

TEXT CORRECTION:
Insert this paragraph in place of the existing one (in NND121):

	The culprit of my harm, mistress, walked with the slothful stroll of a Parisian model over to the armorie.  She had a perfectly white hiney, and seemed to swing it with sweet abandon, as if taunting us.  Perhaps thatÕs what determined the pecking order in a dungeon.  Who had a white ass and who didnÕt.  Stepping lightly, easily in her spike-heeled boots, she paused before the armorie and bent down.  She mooned us with her fanny.  It was bold, creamy, chic, her cuntlips peeping between the smooth, incurving whiteness of her ass.  She held her legs apart, easily, utterly unconcerned that her most intimate parts were now on full display.  Her breasts hung beyond the graceful vee of her legs, tremulous, with risen nipples, ripe and ready for love.  Arthur groaned and put his hand to his cock and fisted it.

D R E A M G I R L S  N E W S

NND #121 REVIEWED 
In alt.zines
by:  roy@zine.net

roller666@aol.com wrote:  "No, I just have to pee.  And I have to do it very badly!" I blurted.  I hated being so frank, but my bladder would not allow any dancing around on the issue.  I guessed that in my excitement last night I'd forgotten about my peehole.  Now it was reminding me quite distinctly.Ó

"Damn, I think I've forgotten something but I can't quite put my
finger on it. "

"Could it be your 'pee hole' dear?"

"Ah, yes,  that was it. I would hate to ignore it since it has always
been such a good friend to me. Say, that gives me an idea for a zine
that captures bodily functions in a whole new light.  And when I am
done with it, I will post it to alt.zines where a good urination story
is always welcomed."

"That's great dear...and say 'hello' to your bladder for me while
you're in the men's room, won't you?"

ROLLER 666 replies:  I have, at times, been so busy typing that I forgot to pee.  Until it was too late.  It is very embarrassing to call up your insurance company and file a claim for peeing on your computer.  Finally I decided to move my worldwide publishing headquarters from my den to my outhouse.  (I live in a trailer park, you see, and the plumbing inside my trailer failed years ago.)
	In my outhouse I can pee whenever I need to, without any interruption of my computer activities.  This is very helpful, especially when you are churning out chapters as fast as I am.  The pizza man now delivers straight to my outhouse, which means I donÕt need to get up to go eat anymore.  And, after eating, I can entertain as many bowel movements as my body desires, with no Ôdowntime.Õ  When somebody recently mailed me photos of Marsha Clark in the nude, I didnÕt have to run to the bathroom to vomit.  I simply raised my ass, belched out my dinner, and sat right back down at my computer.  For exercise, I donÕt even need to unzip.  The only thing I care about exercising is already Ôat hand,Õ ready to go whenever I want it to.  I donÕt even need kleenex anymore, which results in many dollars being saved from my budget.  Maybe the government could take a lesson from me.
	I am wondering if I can get the post office to assign a separate address to my outhouse.  I would like to get Penthouse and Cunts Monthly without having to trek all the way back to my trailer.  Hey man, if you work at the post office, and youÕre reading this, give me a separate address, would you?  I donÕt want to have to fill out any forms to do it.  I figure, if I post this on a.s.s., that should be enough.  Also, would you guys at the pizza place send over another pizza?  IÕm hungry.  
	IÕm thinking that IÕll probably get rid of my trailer altogether.  Or maybe IÕll turn it into a preschool or something so I can make money off of it, instead of having it just sit there, doing nothing.  Now that I am a net-addict I donÕt really need it any more.  Perhaps this is the Ônew future,Õ everyone living in outhouses, which means your house can be as small as an outhouse, which means the earth can support lots more people than it currently does.  Perhaps this is what Newt Gingrich had in mind when he said he wanted to give away free computers to everybody.  Once you get ÔhookedÕ on the net, you donÕt really need anything else anymore in life.  They had this political candidate in the 30Õs who promised ÒA chicken in every pot.Ó  Maybe Newt will promise, ÒA computer in every outhouse...plus free pizza.Ó  I could even do without Penthouse, provided I can access their Web site.  So, yeah, I realize a story about peeing isnÕt so important in our Age of the Internet.  If your computer is next to your toilet, you donÕt really need to think about your pee hole anymore.  It just sort of takes care of itself.  Sometimes I do still think of it, though, when I need exercise.  So maybe I will write a story about thinking about my pee hole when I need to exercise it.  IÕll let you know all about it if I do.

D R E A M G I R L S  L E T T E R S

	Miss Lady Astor333@titwhittle(elementary) writes:  ÒDear holy joe, recently you wrote that you canÕt even get to your front door, youÕve got so much porn in your house.  And your phone doesnÕt work.  How is it, then, that you are able to continue to receive porno magazines in the mail?  Do you transmit your subscription money by telepathy?Ó

	hj:  No indeed.  Even the great Holy Joe does not have that capability.  Some years ago, I took out Lifetime Subscriptions to all my favorite magazines.  I guess I knew even then IÕd never meet a girl.  (Except you of course, my dear.)

Free Naughty Naked Dreamgirls e-mail subscriptions:  send (18 or up) age statement to:  roller666@aol.com  Free back issues:  send e-mail to nnd.inf@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.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 122 EMISSION