Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 124      
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 Seventeen
by Andrew Roller

Chapter Three

	We sat on the dungeon's soft carpeting to eat.  Cross-legged, pussies open and displayed, we sat round Arthur like Indian maidens, worshipping the Pilgrim Father whoÕd come to teach us to mend our primitive ways.  Arthur, his cock large and looming, sat with his own legs apart.  His dong stuck up, fixing our eyes, a Pilgrim spear, a Spanish lance.  He was a Conquistador, I thought, come to conquer us, not save us.  We were enslaved by his lance.  Hotly we desired to give our honey-golden cunnies to it.  Shivering, we ate with our fingers.  Syrup dribbled down my wrist, lacing my arm with sweetness and dripping off my elbow.  I cared not.  Others would clean the rug when we were gone.  Our job was only to play, carefree in our bondage, naked and unfettered by any responsibilities.  Yet, in our nudity, our freedom, we were bound by our own desire.  I did not feel comfortable.  I felt agitated.  I popped a sausage in my mouth.  I bit off the end of it, vengefully.  I should be sitting primly in my seat at school, my loins quiet, not restive, not hungrier than my belly, which gnawed at me.  IÕd skipped dinner to feed my pussy, yet it hungered still.  I pushed more of the sausage into my mouth.  Mandy played with her food, too full of Lucky Charms.  She took her longed-for sausage and prodded her cuntlips with it.
	ÒDonÕt play with your food, dear,Ó mistress cautioned her.  ÒItÕs not polite.Ó  I giggled, put my hand over my face, laughed harder.  My food in my mouth wound up in my palm.  We were wicked, decadent.  
	ÒOooh, I canÕt help it, I need it more here than in my tummy!Ó Mandy said frankly.  She nosed the big sausage into her tightly proffered lips.  Mistress thought to slap her, then relented.  We were too far gone.  Modesty had fled, never to return.  ÒOooh!  Oooh!  Oooh!Ó Mandy cried.  Her face tilted up in a swoon as she stuffed the sausage into herself and then brought it out again, wet with her need, only to ram it back up.  I tried to ignore her.  I wanted to do the same, but I was eating mine.  Arthur watched bemused, knowing his cock was pledged to mistressÕ plans, not to the unseemly display of a little girl who could not control herself.
	ÒShe needs tutoring,Ó I said to mistress, trying to distance myself from Mandy and her antics.  I brushed my hair back from my face with my sticky fingers.  I lifted my own sausage to my lips and bit delicately into it, chewed properly, swallowed discreetly.
	ÒYes, she needs to be pussy-trained,Ó mistress replied.  Mandy screamed, bucking upon the sausage as if it were a live male penis filling her.  ÒBut you are my favorite,Ó mistress continued, turning her face toward mine.  ÒYou are not just some little beaver, like Mandy, all untrained desires and appetites.  You at least try to be lady-like, and often succeed, I might add, which is more than I can say for myself, when I was your age.  You intrigue me, dear.  With Mandy it is all just untrained passion.  She needs a belt, nothing more.  You, though, have a newlywedÕs charm about you.Ó
	ÒAnd you,Ó I answered.
	ÒYes, but I am Ôof ageÕ for it, darling.  It is nothing in my case.  In yours, though, you could still be brattish, yet you are not.  And your reservations are now just for show, as they should be.  You enter into the sport as eagerly as any woman.  It is good that you do not fight it, but come to it with lowered lashes, moistened lips, and sweetly opened legs.  I watched you upon Arthur last night, and it was a marriage-fuck, I tell you, a bride with her groom, both of you earnest.  I wish to see more trysts like that, and we are well equipped for it.  Your pussy is well-opened now, yet still tight as a virginÕs; Arthur is huge and seems to renew himself as often as we require.  And this room, ah...Ó  She surveyed it with sparkling eyes as Mandy, kneeling now, bounced on her sausage, ignored by us even as she keened into the the highest reaches of orgasm.     
	I squirmed as I thought of what lay ahead.  Mistress ceased talking, but hinted that much was still in store for me, for all of us, but me especially, and much of it decadently inventive, as if the sex act alone would not satisfy her, but must be embroidered with the most outrageous perversions.  I gazed around me, examining the possibilities.  They were scary.  Yet, like a rabbit caught before headlights, they burned into me with their awful intentions.  There was a pillory, where the hands and head of a wayward Puritan might be imprisoned.  I would play the part, I guessed, drafted out of my Indian-maiden status and into that of a Puritan girl, her dress and petticoat torn away, her bare bottom on view to all who might see, her bosoms sweetly offered, though her neck and hands were clamped securely within the wood.  There was a rape rack, where I might be left for days, to be fucked again and again at ArthurÕs leisure, or even at the leisure of other men who might be invited downstairs.  There was a whipping post, silent and ready for my discipline, where I could be bound for the slightest infraction of made-up rules that, in fact, were impossible to obey.  And there was a wooden ladder, standing upright against the wall.  It led nowhere, but left the ass of any ÒclimberÓ wonderfully exposed.  I felt a kind of lightheadedness.  Clouds flitted before my eyes.  I looked down at my flapjacks.  It was too much for me, this room, yet I could not escape it.  My own burning between my legs told me I could not escape it.  
	Mandy, her passion spent at last, quietened and replaced the sausage on her plate, guilty-eyed.  
	ÒIÕm full,Ó she announced.
	ÒI guess you are,Ó mistress answered.  Mistress ate her flapjacks with refined grace, as if at a formal dinner, though still with her fingers.  They were long, delicate.  Her nails were glossy and perfectly polished.  She opened her lips and popped in small pieces of dough as she tore them from her flapjacks.  Her earrings glittered.  She looked up at Arthur.  ÒDo you ever read, dear?Ó she asked politely.  She wished he had a Ph.D. now, that he might entertain her with his mind.  All women wanted that, I guessed, a truck driver...with a Ph.D.  
	ÒSure,Ó Arthur answered.  ÒI read about sports, when IÕm not, you know, busy...Ó
	ÒOh,Ó mistress replied.  She wanted more.  I giggled.  I did not say anything, but the word ÔwatersportsÕ glided through my mind.  I did not wish to spoil mistressÕ discreet conversation.  I put my cup of hot cocoa to my lips and sipped upon it.
	ÒI like Jane Austen, myself,Ó mistress offered.  ÒAnd the Bronte sisters.Ó
	ÒI didnÕt ever see them writing about sports,Ó Arthur mused.  Mistress waved her hand dismissively.  Arthur had many assets, but they were all before us now.  There was nothing else, nothing more.  I thought of talking about my impression of Hamlet.  IÕd been forced to read it in high school, but had skipped a lot of it.  I guessed mistress wouldnÕt find my observations to be quite on the level she was looking for.  Too bad.  I wanted to help her, but could not.  Perhaps weÕd read together, she and I, sometime.  WeÕd lie on our tummies in bed and read aloud from Wuthering Heights.  WeÕd take college classes together.  WeÕd go to university dinners, dressed in ravishing gowns, and chat with Al Gore about the information superhighway.  Afterwards weÕd pop by Bill GatesÕ house, and marvel at his technicolor walls, each different, while he gazed at us, prettier still than anything his money could buy.  Living flesh, in shimmering evening wear, with long, glossy hair.  HeÕd court us with jewels and precious gifts, hoping to buy the electronic rights to us.  WeÕd succumb at last.  A hundred years later, dead in our graves, weÕd stalk across his walls still, lovely and fresh.  He would even create new images using our video selves, and place us in films with Clint Eastwood and J.F.K., men weÕd never met.  WeÕd have sex together, mistress with Elvis, me with Luke Skywalker.  C-3PO would bring us drinks to refresh us.  Spock would observe us, fascinated.  Senator Exon would vow to ban us.

V I D E O  R E V I E W S
By Deep Thought

	These VHS videos are available from your local store or directly from Playboy.  These reviews are not intended as exhaustive analyses, with exact Playmate names and other minutia.  They are primarily intended to keep you from getting ripped off.

	Playboy Video Centerfold Tawnni Cable, $14.95.  This is a fantastic video...if you like masturbating over the box it came in!  No doubt many a young man, reading the excellent copy on the back of the box, will think he's in for a great evening.  Unfortunately, Cable's video is the biggest rip-off Playboy has ever managed to put out.  
	The first 60 seconds or so of this video (when Cable is still clothed) are excellent.  After that, however, Cable spends the rest of her 40 minutes doing stupid, un-erotic things like twirling around while waving a silk banner.  Some of this material is even repeated in Playboy's Wet and Wild II, as if we hadn't gotten soft enough from it already.  (Re-using footage in other "for sale" VHS tapes is a major crime which Playboy has committed on any number of occasions.)
	Cable herself has only an average face and below-average boobs, with a bottom that looks so much like a man's I thought perhaps Playboy was using her to jump-start a line of gay videos.  Her legs are at best average as well.  The only saving moment (and it's only a moment) in this video is when Cable and two other girls strip naked on a sailboat and then jump in the water.  One of the girls accompanying Cable isn't even a Playmate, and is totally ugly.  Naturally, the camera manages to focus mainly on her.
	After you've lost your erection watching Cable's video centerfold, Playboy tries to make things up to you by offering a profile of its photographer Arny Freytag.  The only seconds of interest in this worthless piece of trash are when Arny clicks pictures of Playmate Lynda Wiesmeier.  I might have been able to get off on this, but it only lasts a brief second or two and is ruthlessly cut in half and put in two different places in the Freytag profile.  The Tawnni Cable video is definitely one to avoid.

	Playboy's Wet and Wild II, $19.95.  This is the usual sort of thing you can expect to get from Playboy, a video consisting largely of garbage vignettes with one or two pieces that are done well enough to (barely) justify the price.  I'll skip the crap and concentrate on what's worth jacking off over.
	The entire Wet and Wild II video is carried largely by Deborah Driggs, with Karen Foster as her sidekick.  In a nutshell, Driggs has a shitty body with an excellent face, Foster a shitty face with an excellent body.  Other playmates come and go as the tape progresses.  The best part is when Driggs, Foster, and a third (fantastic) Playmate step out of a stagecoach dressed as sexy 19th century whores.  They proceed to hurry over to an old iron pump in the middle of the desert and use its water to wet one another down.  Off camera, Playboy employees stand ready to douse the girls with buckets of water.  When each Playmate is hit with water by an offscreen employee, it is her cue to begin stripping.  Soon the Playmates are reduced to stockings and panties as they continue to pour water on each other and themselves.  
	Following this the girls, totally nude, begin washing down several horses.  Inevitably, they become as interested in dumping water on each other as on the steeds.  One of them slips in the mud and lands right on her bottom!  This entire "Wet and Wild West" segment must, unfortunately, be watched in slow motion.  Otherwise it slips by too quickly.  The segment is marred by the interposition of the girls playing together (which is delightful) with pictures of the girls posing individually (which is totally boring).  I would also have liked to have seen more footage of the girls in their "whore" clothing, perhaps walking around an Old West town, with plenty of sitting down, standing up, and bending over (their dresses are marvelously short).  Of course, much more footage of them throwing water on each other and washing their horses would also have been greatly appreciated.
	"Navel Adventures" is an intriguing piece featuring Driggs as the captain of a submarine, with assistants Ava Fabian and Rebekka Armstrong.  A word about Armstrong:  she is a total slut from way back in 1986 and I am thoroughly sick of seeing her!  There were any number of other fantastic Playmates in Wet and Wild II who could have received much more air time, but instead we are given slutty old Armstrong again.  Is this girl giving Hugh Hefner some special favors?  Does she cost Playboy less money than their other girls?  "Navel Adventures," despite Armstrong, is a reasonably sexy dance number.
	"Navel Adventures II" is much less interesting, with its only redeeming feature being the bondage poses the girls assume in the final seconds of the piece.
	"Beach Party" features a mercilessly short segment that could have sent me shooting across the room, Driggs and Foster spraying each other with bottles of seltzer water!  It is really tantalizing to see seltzer water striking Foster's bare, bouncing breasts.  There is a breathtaking blonde in "Beach Party" that I've never seen before.  We only get one or two seconds of this ingenue, but she is literally the most beautiful female I've ever seen!  Sadly, "Beach Party" has enormous potential but delivers such short snippets of its best material that it leaves the viewer unsatisfied. 
	In the (very) old days Playboy managed to put out reasonably decent videos that took the time to linger over their Playmates.  Ever since the ascension of Hefner's daughter to CEO, however, Playboy's videos are a blur of frames with little context.  Playboy needs to learn two words:  slow down.  If you've got a tape player (or, even better, a laser disc player) with decent slow motion capability Wet and Wild II will prove worth your investment.

Z I N E  R E V I E W S
by holy joe

	The Joe Boob Report, 5/15/95, Free.  8 1/2Ó x 11Ó.  Joe Boob Briggs, P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.
	Review:  That warrior against the P.C. thought police is at it again, with more devastating articles exposing their stupid policies.  First up, Joe Boob takes to task people who try to tell you what to eat.  Then thereÕs an article about the horror of having a low sperm count, info on how to join your local Andy Griffith Fan Club, plus much, much more.  YouÕve probably seen Joe Boob on The Movie Channel pitching the greatness of B-Movies, and thatÕs the heart of this zine:  a continual celebration of shoestring movie makers, stars, and plotlines (such as they are).  Must reading for any serious movie fan and a good resource for those battling the terrorists in the Congress, on campus, and in your state capitol.

	felt, 50¢ postpaid.  Minicomic, eight pages.  William Dockery, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868.
	On the back cover of this tome is written the words, "Second Printing."  I was going to joke that with Dockery, this means my copy is not only the second printing but the second copy.  However, this damn thing is actually very well written.  Maybe he did actually print more than one copy in the first printing, and sold out!  
	felt begins poorly, but picks up at the top of page four.  Then things really get going at the bottom of page four, and the lines roll on through thunderous poetic crescendoes right to the end.  There are amazing images here; Tatumville park, the memory of Tracy, the father who's "a grey cat," even a lake of disappearing paths.
	I highly recommend this chapbook on two counts, as a stunning book of poems and as a sample of the best the comics small press has to offer.
	
Other zines that are available from other publishers:

R.I.P. Speed Co. #7, free.  (There is no price listed.  Since this is the Internet, if I get something without a price on it, I am going to list it as being free.)  Digest.  R.I.P. Speed Co., Box 55, Harrisonboro, VA 22801.

The Nihilist Glee Club #12, $1.00.  Digest.  The Nihilist Glee Club, P.O. Box 57287, Jackson Station, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada L8P 4X1.

Cabaret #16, $2.00.  Digest.  Theresa Fleming, P.O. Box 1528, Ypsilanti, MI 48197.

Zine publisher Randy H. (for "Hugh") Crawford, 911 Park St. S.W., Grand Rapids, MI 49504-6241 writes:  ÒIf a 42-year-old guy happened to have a 26-year-old polaroid snapshot of HIS OWN erection (taken by himself when he was 16) Ñ would THAT count as child pornography?Ó 

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

PROTECT THE CHILDREN?

	To me, the real crime is not what Iraq did (or, rather, tried to do) to Kuwait.  It is what America is currently doing to Iraq.  It is starving to death millions of children, who are simply unfortunate enough to have been born in Iraq, with a stupid leader.  Saddam Hussein (who is probably mad) merely tried to do what many leaders have done, throughout history.  He tried to take over his neighbor.  Did not America engage in the Spanish-American war?  Did it not take over large swaths of Mexico?  (Now known as, (among other states) California?)  Here we have the spectacle of a self-righteous America crusading against Òchild pornography,Ó while simultaneously starving to death millions of children in Iraq.  This is an affirmative act, starving Iraqi children, not merely an act of negligence, as in the case of Bosnia, where America stood idly by for four years while Bosnian children were starved, raped, and murdered.  America, presumably, does not have the excuse that it is ruled by a despot who is insane.  Who would you judge the worse offender?  A single nut who tries to do what countless leaders have done?  Or a whole people, through their elected representatives, who do what America is doing?

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

EXON SPEAKS
transcribed from C-SPAN by 2squirty

	Ò...distinguished members of the 104th Congress, we have therefore decided upon all the new Laws, Rules, and Regulations to which obedience will be required.  We will ban free speech on the Internet.  Also, we will impose a tax on tea.  This concludes my remarks.Ó

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 124 EMISSION