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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 314 Nudie Nursery (nnd) g2
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 314
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Three
“Drink from the toilet, bitch!” he yelled. I gasped. My hands
clutched at my throat. I crept to the door to see into bathroom.
They’d passed by my door, both of them, not seeing me, and were now out
of sight.
I snuck up to the door, frightened as a deer, but curious about
its hunter. I looked in and, to my shocked surprise, I saw the poor
sobbing girl bent down, dog-like, on her hands and knees with her lovely
auburn hair tumbling all over the open bowl of the commode. Her face
was somewhere down inside, and I heard a lapping sound.
The big monster-like man was behind her. He was hugely
muscular but in an obnoxious way, like those weightlifters you see in
the Olympics, not sculpted brawn but just raw, almost unformed brawn.
He was hairy and he wore a big belt with rivets in it, as if the belt
had been bolted to his stomach. He was not fat, though. He was hard
and lean in his bulging, unsculpted hugeness. He was not overly tall
and he had big huge legs and wore boots, as if he were some medieval
fetishist. Gloves of leather contained his enormous hands and,
thankfully perhaps, he wore a hood of black leather over his head. In
his hand was a cat o’ nine tails. It looked as if it was made of soft
leather strips, but he made up for that by striking it hard against the
weeping girl’s bottom.
“Drink more, bitch!” the ogre-man commanded. I saw that the
girl had indeed been getting spanked, for her bottom was bright red,
like a tomato, even though her skin on her limbs and her back and her
breasts, squished against the rim of the toilet bowl, was creamy white.
“Why are you making her drink from the toilet?” I blurted. It
was a mistake, but I was so shocked I couldn’t help myself and my words
escaped before I could stop them. The Hunchback of Caracas turned and
noticed me for the first time.
“INTO your bedroom, slave!” he roared. I retreated, scared out
of my wits. I heard a voice behind me.
“The toilet is clean,” Jasmine said. I whirled about.
Jasmine! “We wouldn’t harm a girl by making her drink from a dirty
bowl,” she said to me. She didn’t smile but I sensed there was a smile
lurking behind her lips. “Get on the bed for your first whipping,” she
said. She gestured at my bed.
“I-I don’t want one,” I said.
“I can tie you down or Olaf can,” she said, actually smiling
now. With her hand, which held a long, thin riding crop, she gestured
at the bathroom door. “You will, of course, be whipped much more
sternly if I have to put you down forcibly,” she added. “Either way is
acceptable to me. Olaf can have you chained down in no time. I only
handle the whip.”
“I-I’ll go with you,” I said meekly. I put my hand to my
breasts. I was completely nude and defenseless. What could I do?
Jasmine simply gestured at my bed.
With greatly hesitant steps I inched toward my bed, all the
while the whipped girl in the toilet sobbing in my ears. Reaching the
bed, I pressed my knees against it.
“Get in, get on your knees,” Jasmine said. “Don’t make me get
mean about it, dear. Your bottom will be sore enough as it is.” I
dropped down onto the bed and crawled forward. I plunked my head down
on my pillow, but let my bottom stay up in the air.
“Where’s Brent?” I asked.
“Brent’s busy,” Jasmine answered. And I knew doing what, too.
Getting his penis sucked by all the other girls, as if he were King Tut
or something.
Jasmine kneed onto the bed behind me. She placed a hand on the
small of my back and brushed me lightly with her fingers. “You have a
fine darling ass,” she complimented. “A bottom like this is always a
delight to whip. Scream and cry if you like. Crying is preferred. It
lets me know I’m doing my job. Try not to wiggle around too much. And
whatever you do, don’t put your hands over your seat. That will earn
you extra strokes.” She patted my long golden hair. “Bite your pillow,
dear. This is going to hurt, I won’t kid you.” I obeyed, wordlessly,
and put my teeth into my pillow. It felt so soft. Was I really to be
whipped?
Jasmine raised her hand, her whip hand, lofting her whip high.
It was stiff and whippy, springy, a cross between a crop and a whip.
She let me look over my shoulder at it, fearfully, mouthing my pillow,
my eyes wide.
“You should see how you’re tensing your bottom cheeks,” Jasmine
laughed. “Such a little kitten. Lisa will come and make you all better
when it’s done.”
And then her hand swung down. I felt a biting, scorching line
of heat dig into my bottom. I bounced forward. My mouth sprung from
its hold on the corner of my pillow. My bosoms smooshed onto the silky
surface of the sheet beneath me and my hands flew back and clapped
themselves to my tush.
“WAAAAAH!” I shouted. And in my shouting, to my utter
humiliation, I realized that the ugly ogre, Olaf, in the bathroom could
hear me.
“Take your hands away,” Jasmine said sternly.
“No, please,” I blubbered.
She caressed my hair. “I have trained so many girls,” she
murmured. “Some submit willingly, others refuse. Still others try to
submit and then find they can’t. It’s up to you, my dear. You are not
the first to kneel upon this bed, and you are far from the last.”
“Oh please,” I sobbed. I buried my head in my pillow. Quietly
she lifted my hands from my bottom and placed them beside my face. She
was naked as I, and lovely in her nakedness, wearing just a frill round
her neck to show her own submission to... whom? And her stockings,
pulled tight, plus her pumps, and glistening earrings which dangled down
from her ears, making her look delicate even as she was uncompromising.
“This is just a taste,” she said. “There is much more to come, poor
baby. What did you think being a love slave involved?”
“I don’t know,” I sobbed.
“Well, neither did I, when I started,” she said. “Now lift up
your bottom high. This is not gym class, and I am not your gym
instructor. There you’re given demerits if your shorts are too short.
Here you must bare all, yes, your precious fanny. And you must let me
whip it so I can see your cheeks clench and release. It will help me
judge your tightness so I can open you more effectively.” She slapped
my fanny, making me clutch at my pillow. “Bottom up, girl! Open your
thighs. Very good. Dip your back. Now you’re showing as you should.”
My reward was another stinging sweep of the whippy cane across
my fanny. I howled, lifting my head, but somehow I managed to clutch
onto my pillow.
“OooooWhooo!” I shouted. Jasmine stroked my back, as if
pitying me. I heard small footsteps. I turned my teary face and saw
the spanked girl from the next room enter. Her tears were drying now.
Sniffling, she held a lollipop and was softly licking it. It was a huge
lollipop, swirled, colorful. She held it above her nakedly swinging
breasts. Her tummy sighed. Her bush was chestnut colored and fleecy.
A heavy tread followed and Olaf stood behind her. She did not notice
him now. Her punishment was done and she watched me, bug-eyed, as I
received mine. She looked no older than me, younger, perhaps. Olaf
crossed his arms behind her. I could not see his face because of his
hood and I was glad.
WAHCK! Came the cane again. It whirr-whipped down onto my
tushy and I rolled it urgently about, burying my face in my pillow
again, somehow holding on to it.
“She’s been bad,” our nude visitor said over her lollipop.
“No, Missy, she’s being very good,” Jasmine corrected. “She is
not like you, brought here by your parents because you’re unruly and
insist on playing with boys when they tell you not to. She didn’t pee
on my flowers outside like you did. She’s being trained for love, to
serve her loving master in whatever way he pleases.”
Jasmine smacked my bottom hard again, with the whip, sending me
into a new ululation of urgent appeal. She ignored my pleadings. She
didn’t even bother to answer my ‘no’s’ anymore, because I kept my hands
on my pillow, and my ass, somehow, up high. Another blow fell, searing
itself into my soft ass flesh, and I howled and spilled new tears on my
pillow.
“Well, good or bad, she’s being punished just the same,” Missy
piped up again, showing remarkable spunk given the state of her bottom
and Jasmine’s unremitting discipline on mine.
Jasmine whacked me again, very hard, as if angry with Missy but
taking it out on the most immediately convenient target, me! I hissed
and hooted with pain and lurched forward, bumping my head against the
brass rails of the bed. My hands flew back to my fanny and I collapsed
onto my tummy. I held my bottom tight and shouted, “NO MORE! NO MORE!
NO MORE!”
Jasmine bent and gave a lick between the lowest part of my
hinds, right along my crack. Then she leapt up from the bed, tossed her
hair, and walked with the gait of an Olympic victor to the outer door.
She opened it, turned, and spoke to Olaf.
“See that they behave, Olaf,” she ordered. “Missy, you are
insufferably naughty and I’ll have a crack at your hiney just as soon as
I’m done partying in the West Wing. Until then, you can worry and wait
for it. Kelly, you’ll be whipped again in the morning. And we’ll start
your dildo training then, after you’ve been turned to toast to make you
more receptive. For now, enjoy the last hours of your tight little
ass. Olaf, make sure Missy drinks from the toilet all night!”
“Aye, Miss!” Olaf responded to Jasmine.
“...And Missy, to show your contrition, put some lotion on poor
Kelly’s bottom. Lisa’s probably too busy having fun at our orgy.
Tootle-loo, kids. You’ll play with us as soon as you both grow up!”
Oh, I felt horrible, lying there on the bed, clutching my
burning bottom, knowing Brent was having the time of his life without me
in the West Wing, with the women, leaving me here bereft, with a bratty
insouciant child and some big molester dude in a hood. I coughed, I
wept, I held my hinds, rubbing my bush against the sheets, squeezing my
thighs and my cheeks.
Small knees dented the sheet beside my hips and I felt sticky
hands lift my palms from my ass. A cold squirt hit my shuddering
hinds.
“This will help,” Missy said to me. She began rubbing lotion
into my wounded bottom with her lollipop fingers. It lay on my vanity,
staining the wood. I imagined by the time she was finished Missy would
find to her dismay that it was stuck there. And I’d have a big sticky
swirled lollipop to keep me company in my bedroom for the rest of my
stay.
“You’ll have to pee in the chamberpot under your bed if I’m to
drink from the toilet,” Missy said to me. I was beginning to see why
her parents didn’t like her. Despite her impish size, smaller than me,
she seemed to have no qualms about assuming command. She was blessed
with large tempting breasts that I had no doubt had gotten her in
trouble. Perhaps she bared them, I thought, in Sunday School, or on the
Playground. Her legs were breathtaking. Their slimness made up for her
undeveloped height. She was grow, I was sure, but she was, at least, a
year or two younger than me, perhaps more. I looked at her over my
shoulder, still clutching the sides of my bottom as she spread oil in
between.
“Missy, how old are you?” I inquired. My voice was trembly
with my subsiding sobs.
“13 and a half this month,” Missy replied proudly. She lifted
her breasts as she spoke, arching her back, and let out a big contented
sigh. Olaf stood in the background, silent, mute, his arms crossed.
“Why were you sent here?” she asked before I could ask her the same.
“I-I don’t know,” I answered.
“Of course you do,” she said. “All girls do. Don’t pretend
you don’t when you do. You can’t fool me!” She grinned and moved my
hands off my fanny onto the sheet beside my hips. She squirted more
lotion on my bottom. It warmed as she spread it on my seat. I was
beginning to feel a slowly increasing glow there, and the lines of the
crop were fading into sharp striations of burn amidst a deeper more
fulfilling warmth.
“I met a man and...” I began. My voice caught in my throat.
“I wanted to submit?” The last word trilled high, making a question,
though perhaps I’d not intended it to be.
Missy patted my bottom. “You’ll learn to submit here, that’s
for sure,” she said.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Exotic Magazine, Volume 5, Number 4, $1.95. 8 1/2” x 11” magazine, 48
pages with a slick cover. X Publishing, Inc., 625 SW 10th Avenue, Suite
324B, Portland, OR 97205. E-mail: xmag@teleport.com Web:
http://www.xmag.com
Review: Some people get no respect. Some people deserve none.
Take the case of Frank Faillace. He publishes a magazine
called Exotic. It features beautiful young females with no clothes on.
Their sole objective in life is to be nude. With you. For a fee, of
course, but since most of these girls are fresh out of high school, they
don’t ask a lot. (One girl, for instance, asks “$39.95 for 30 minutes
of private pleasure”. You probably paid that much to see Mike Tyson
lose his last fight.)
But Frank, despite being surrounded by beautiful young girls,
can’t think of anything to say about them. So, last month, he left the
space blank where he usually writes his column. On page 2 of the
September 1997 issue of Exotic, where his column usually is, the space
is blank. I assumed it was a printer’s error. This month, on page 2 of
the October issue of Exotic (which I received in mid-November), Frank
says this:
“Sorry if you missed me last month... but I was on vacation and
having way too much fun to write a column.”
The space where Frank’s column appears measures four inches
long and 3 3/4 inches wide. I called Frank up and asked why he couldn’t
fill such a small space. “It’s four inches long!” Frank replied. “Four
inches. That’s longer than my penis!”
Now, I ask you reader, is that a decent excuse? In addition,
Frank pointed out to me that the first four letters of his last name are
“Fail”.
“Fail,” Frank told me. “Fail. Get it? As in, ‘Failure to
write a column, failure to ejaculate, etc. I am fulfilling a long
(well, not that long) and proud family tradition.”
Frank expected me to let him off the hook, due to the letters
of his name, and the length of his penis. But here at Fuck Decency we
are not so forgiving. I mean, take a look at the space next to the
blank space in the September, 1997 issue of Exotic. To the left of
Frank’s (non-existent) column, there is a photograph. It is of a young
woman. She’s nude, and lying on a white bearskin rug, like a baby.
Behind her, next to her bare, upturned bottom, is a big, stuffed teddy
bear.
Has Mr. Faillace not heard of the Hatch Act? What does such a
photograph conjure in the mind of the viewer, if not sex with infants?
Does Mr. Faillace intend to make a profit flaunting the law, or did he
merely “fail” to take note of it?
To the right of Mr. Faillace’s (non-existent) column, there is
another photograph. It is of a young woman. She is not wearing a
shirt. One would think she might at least wear a brassiere, if she’s
not going to wear a shirt. Instead, she’s topless. She has big juicy
bosoms that hang off her chest, as if she were Venus, newly arisen from
the ocean. Worse, the tips of her nipples are hard. Looking at them,
one is inspired to think of cows, and milk, and suckling.
Good God! Women posed as children to the left, and as animals
to the right, of Faillace’s (non-existent) column, and he is unable to
write anything! Mr. Faillace, Andrea Dorkin could write something.
Naomi Wolf could write something. Even I, holy joe, can write
something.
Such is life, as a reviewer. Wealthy dudes surrounded by young
girls send me their magazine, with blank space, and say, “Here, joe.
Review me.”
If you’re wondering what was on the cover of last issue, it was
a wonderfully bosomy babe, with a face to kill for. This month’s cover
of Exotic features a bad-assed bitch. She’s getting a boob job. It’s
from Wolverine, of all people. He doesn’t look to be doing a very good
job of enlarging her bosoms. I think she might wind up with less, not
more, when he’s through. Perhaps he couldn’t get any breasts at
Kentucky Fried and decided to have hers for dinner instead.
Well, I could say more, but I don’t want to go on real long.
People would get upset if I went on as long as my dick is.
AND IN THE END...
CHILD ABUSE !
Moms Get Their Due
“In late October The New York Times reported on an upswing in
arrests of mothers for child neglect, including one woman who left her
10-year-old and 4-year-old home alone for an hour and a half while she
went to the supermarket.”
- The Nation, November 24, 1997, pg. 9.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues: type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key.
Under “Quick Search”, type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your “return” key.
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
- JOIN NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 314 EMISSION
- ANOTHER CRIMINAL DISCOVERED: “My daughter, Sophie, is 10 years old.
I leave her at home alone when I go out for groceries.” (Mom Katha
Pollitt, Ibid.)
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