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From: Andrew Roller <roller66@inreach.com>
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Subject: FUCK DECENCY 268 Bush League (nnd) g2
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 268
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Three
We spent the day sunning ourselves. We were careful to keep
our bottoms and tits covered to keep Rose happy. She watched over us,
me especially. We played dominoes, twister, monopoly, all in the nude.
We swam in the pools, wearing our bikinis for that to preserve the
distinction between our covered and uncovered places. We ended the day
sucking popsicles and eating an early meal. Then we turned in, each to
our own beds to keep us from being mischievous.
“Get up!” Rose urged me the following morning. I was not
permitted to bathe, but there was no real need for it. I’d taken a bath
the night before, was still feeling fresh. She did up my hair with pins
so that I wore it in a loose coiffure. Then she brought me downstairs.
Out back in the sunroom Polly and Cheyenne were busy tugging on
thick socks and leather hiking shoes. I was made to sit down on a step
with them and do the same. When we each stood, we were made to put on
backpacks. We wore nothing else.
“I feel like a pack horse,” I said, struggling into my
backpack.
“Andre and Louis are taking us hiking!” Polly said gleefully.
“Louis? Is he back?” Rose nodded. I smiled.
“What’s in this thing?” Cheyenne asked. Her backpack was
especially bulky. Her bosoms were squished a little by its padded
straps.
“Yours is an insulated cooler, carrying three bottles of wine,
plus glasses, two of them, for Louis and Andre,” Rose told her.
“What will I drink out of, then?” Cheyenne asked, squeezing her
bottom cheeks as she contemplated an opening in herself that she did not
want to use for drinking.
“Why, you’ll just have to share with the men, if they let you,”
Rose replied. If they let us? I wondered at that. I looked down at my
shoes and felt I might, indeed, be just a pack horse.
“What’s in mine?” I asked. I gripped the straps and squared
the weight against myself to carry it better.
“Pillows for the men to sit on, a tablecloth, two sandwiches I
packed for them, plus some fruit,” Rose told me.
“How about mine?” Polly chirped. She looked like she expected
to be told hers carried toys. It did, of a sort, but not the kind she
was thinking of. No colored chalk, or bathtub boast.
“Whips,” Rose answered. She turned her head. Louis and Andre,
clad in hunter’s gear, but carrying nothing, came into the sunroom.
“Alright, I see the girls are ready,” Andre grinned.
“Let’s go, girls, I’m hungry!” Louis said, and walked past us,
as if we were indeed horses, albeit pretty ones. Shouldering our
backpacks, we followed them. We stepped out into the open air and felt
the breeze upon our faces. And our tushies. We were totally nude, we
three girls, except for our hiking shoes.
“Have fun, and don’t worry about screaming, girls,” Rose called
after us from the sunroom. “They’ll take you where no one can hear!”
With that send-off we walked most apprehensively behind Louis
and Andre. They led us out into the fields, past the worker’s huts, on
toward a distant mountain. I saw a jeep waiting at the end of the
field. Louis and Andre put us into it. We were allowed to take off our
backpacks and throw them in back. Then we got into the backseat and
strapped ourselves in. The seat was leather. We were offered nothing
to sit on except the bare seat itself. The men strapped us in with
seatbelts so that we wouldn’t fall out. Then, getting in front, they
drove off with us jostling in the back.
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We drove up the mountain. It was a jaunty, butt-thumping ride
that took little cognizance of the fact that Cheyenne and Polly and I
were girls. We drove through indian villages, our breasts showing,
bouncing helplessly, as natives came outdoors and grinned at our
passing. Did they practise the same ritual, taking their girls into the
mountains?
When Louis finally stopped the jeep we got out. He and Andre
made us reshoulder our backpacks. Then, forcing us to lead the way up a
small dirt path, they followed. They admired our bottoms as we walked.
We were feeling a bit more like pack horses with every step, clad only
in our shoes, as if shoed like horses, carrying loads not intended for
our amusement but only for that of our masters. Cheyenne and Polly and
I huffed and puffed under our loads, climbing steadily, while the men
behind us carried nothing. My breasts swung beneath me. I wished for a
bra but had none. I wished for panties to keep the men’s leering eyes
off my bottom but, out here, the nearest pair of panties must have been
50 miles away.
The mountain was bare. There were only rocks and crags, plus
fields of daisies, all bright and glowing under the warm summer sun. I
felt bereft, though, carrying so much weight. Was this, I wondered,
what it felt like to be pregnant? Obviously the weight would be in my
tummy when I was with child but, nonetheless, I’d be carrying my
husband’s future child, bearing up under the strain, while he,
naturally, carried nothing heavier than his own erection.
We walked higher into the rocky waste. The wind was mercifully
quiet. It was as if God had set aside this special day for us and,
knowing what Polly was forced to carry in her pack, he had calmed the
winds to give us respite from them at least. I thought of horses out
West, in America, with the men walking behind them, wondering at their
asses, wondering if they might, just might...
I could feel Louis’s eyes burning into my bottom. It hung like
a white cloven marshmallow above my bare tanned legs. How close we’d
come, yesterday, to consummating our love for each other with another
punishment. And now, with my bottom quite naked, and Polly loaded down
with whips, there was no chance of me being spared again. None of us, I
thought, would escape down the mountain with our bottoms still white.
In front my snowy tits jangled in their fullness beneath me. I
panted and hefted my backpack higher on my back.
“Here,” Louis said. He pointed to a small grassy clearing
amidst the daisies. There was a sturdy log in the middle of the
clearing. I wondered at it, bit my lip.
We were led to the clearing and allowed to put down our packs.
Their packs, for their contents were picked by Louis and Andre, and
brought for their own pleasure. The men made us squat and undo the
packs and lay out their contents. Cheyenne and I unfurled a tablecloth
for the men to sit on. Three pillows were drawn from my pack, and
placed, at the men’s orders, atop the log, in a neat row that boded ill
for our bottoms. The men sat down on the blanket and had us girls sit
amongst them. Polly with fear in her eyes, was made to arrange all the
whips from her pack in a neat row on the blanket. They were awful,
absolutely the worst. Rattans braised in a fire to make their tips hard
and tough. A cat with jewels worked into the ends of each of its tails,
glittering, beautiful, but promising to flay a girl alive if its beauty
was used on her. A pony whip, used to drive horses, brought out and
laid with care amongst the other whips despite our obedience.
“Oh, I don’t wish to be whipped!” Polly moaned.
“Then drink. It’s why we brought the wine,” Louis told her.
He made her take a sip from his glass. Cheyenne, who had never been
touched by a whip, sat with frightened eyes looking at the implements,
with her palms firmly beneath her seat, afraid to let it touch even the
blanket, lest she somehow be harmed by it.
I tried to be brave. Yes, we were alone. Yes, no one could
possibly come to our aid. But Louis and Andre were our favorite guys.
Surely they would not harm us. What, though, had Louis been called away
for, yesterday? Did he still love me? Did he--my breath caught in my
throat--did he need to dispose of me? High on this mountaintop no one
would know if he did. Only the natives, and they did not share the
mountain’s secrets with outsiders. Only with Rose perhaps, but she
never asked, merely paid them to use the mountain sometimes, for her own
purposes. As today, paying to let Louis and Andre drive myself and
Polly and Cheyenne up here. Did the natives use this same clearing for
their girls? I thought the grass was especially lush here. Surely
daisies might have grown here, yet they did not. Someone had kept them
back, to allow the grass to grow. And that log. Had it not seemed a
little worn, where we’d placed our pillows. Three little depressions,
worn, perhaps, into the wood by struggling Indian girls who had only
woven blankets underneath their tummies? We were special. We had
pillows, gleaming whitely in their pillow cases. Yet our fate, I
guessed, would be no different from that of the Indian girls.
Clutching our bottoms, we each took sips from Louis’s or
Andre’s wine goblets. Little was said, save for the occasional
simperings of Polly. But even she seemed to accept her fate, finally.
The sun shown down as the men ate their sandwiches, offering us none,
admiring our bare brown-limbed bodies. Polly asked to pee and they led
her to the edge of the clearing and squatted down and relieved herself
in the lush grass. I took the same opportunity. There was no fighting
it. Once put over the logs, we might be kept there for hours. Cheyenne
went after me.
“It is time,” Louis said, after we were done and we’d wiped
ourselves as best we could with handkerchiefs and moist towelettes. We
were taken to the log. Our hands were cuffed in front of us, to keep
them away from our bottoms, though we might frig ourselves, if we
wished. Louis and Andre told us we could if we needed to. It would
make it easier for us, they said. Then Cheyenne, and Polly and I, their
faithful pack horses, were made to kneel in front of the log, as if to
receive communion before it. They did not serve us wafers and wine,
though, but instead bent us over it. I felt the softness of the pillow
receive my tummy. I felt my head pressed down on the far side of the
log until my cheek met the lush grass.
“Oh, please don’t, Louis,” I begged.
“Spread your legs,” was all he said in reply. His hands came
between my thighs and opened them. I felt the sun on my hiney. How
carefully I’d protected it from the sun’s rays, yet now here I was,
white-bottomed, with nothing covering me. And Rose would not disapprove
now, would she? No. Nothing must come between a girl’s bottom and the
whip.
Polly whimpered.
“I’m not going to give you a gag,” Louis told her. I want to
hear you scream. Scream as much as you like.
“I have to... I have to go to the bathroom again,” Polly
claimed. The men fixed leather straps into the wood and bound them over
the small of our backs. We were truly imprisoned now.
“You don’t have to go to the bathroom, Polly, you’re just
saying that,” Cheyenne scolded. Perhaps she was trying to distract
herself from the inevitable. Her voice was shaky, unsure, but she
scolded Polly anyway.
“I do too! Very badly,” Polly said, but immediately began
crying in soft sobs of fear.
“Then just hold it,” Cheyenne snapped, almost on the verge of
tears herself. We had been so good, and now the men were fixing to
treat us horribly!
OUR MAILBAG...
by holy joe
Subj: atheist?
From: [address withheld] (Courtney)
I was just reading a posting of yours on usenet, and I had a
couple questions.
I find it strange that you call yourself an "atheist" and yet
you believe in the "theory" of evolution. Am I missing something?
Also, do you believe that the Bible is fiction or history? Or
both? If the Bible is history, does that mean the religion is true? If
the Bible is fiction, how is it that it's proven to be completely
historically acurate? If it's both, which parts are true and which
aren't? I'd like to hear what you think.
Sincerely,
Courtney
Seattle, WA
holy joe replies: The FACT of Evolution, then. (At least
until science comes up with a better idea.)
I place my belief in science. The beauty of science is that it
is willing to adapt itself as it learns more. For instance, as a child,
you might have run out into the street. Then, learning about cars, and
the danger of getting run over, you adapted to the fact that there are
cars in the world that might roll over your little body. This is why
you’re still alive today.
Yet when it comes to things far more important, such as the
beginning of the universe, or how it will end, or whether the sun will
blow up, you (apparently) refuse to adapt your mind to science.
Instead, you believe in religion.
There is a simple reason for this. A car is immediate and
present. The beginning of the cosmos, or the danger that the sun might
blow up, seems distant; so far removed from everyday experience that it
is bound never to happen. (Certainly not in your lifetime.)
Yet just because something might not happen in your lifetime
doesn’t mean that it will never happen at all.
Sure, it’s easy to believe in science, when it comes to getting
hit by a car, but to believe in God, when discussing things measured by
an “eternal” timescale. Yet the fact that the sun will one day blow up
is, according to science, as certain as the fact that you’ll get hit by
a car if you keep running out into the street.
The beauty of science is that when scientists come up with a
better idea, they adopt it. And I, as a layman, and a worshipper of
science, adopt it too. I’m quite willing to believe that the sun will
never blow up if dispassionate scientists, examining the question, find
this to be so. If on Monday science says, “The sun will blow up,” I’ll
believe that. If on Tuesday they say, “The sun will never blow up,”
I’ll believe that. And if on Wednesday they say, “Sorry, I guess the
sun will blow up after all,” I’ll believe that. I am proud to believe
whatever scientists, examining Nature without self-interest, tell me.
Religionists, on the other hand, are stuck with something
somebody thought up 3,000 years ago. A bunch of primitive Jews sitting
in the middle of a desert, 3,000 years ago, did not have access to
modern technology. The concept of Science itself had not even been
invented yet. Nonetheless, being human, they wrote literature. And
it’s quite good literature. I call it “Yahweh literature.”
Apparently, there were various sorts of Jewish religions. They
all wrote literature. But the other variants of the Jewish faith were
all wiped out by the “Yahweh” faction. So was their literature. Only
the “Yahweh” faction’s literature remains. But it’s quite good
literature, nonetheless, because it deals with basic human issues and
the human condition. I consider the Bible to be even better reading
than the Greek myths, because it seems more ‘human centered.’ In the
Greek myths there are always various gods walking into the story. In
the Bible, God is present at the beginning, but then he recedes. Only
in the New Testament does he reappear, and then only by way of a man
claiming to be “The Son of God.” God himself does not show up in the
New Testament.
So, sure, I like reading the Bible. I find it a valuable tool
for understanding human nature. But to claim it is infallible is
ridiculous. The Bible is literature. Part history, part myth. I can’t
begin to untangle what’s real history and what’s not. I prefer to read
it “as is.” It makes excellent reading as an (admittedly slanted)
history of the Jewish people. Who needs to claim more than that, or
less? It’s Jewish history, as set down by the “Yahweh” faction.
Does this mean there is no God? How should I know? After all,
science deals with quantification. If something can’t be quantified,
mathematically, science claims it doesn’t exist. Yet God may well not
be quantifiable.
So, to answer you, I believe in Science. But I understand that
there are limitations, at the present time, to what questions Science
and the Scientists can answer. So one might say that I believe in
Science, and yet also reserve a portion of my brain for belief in God.
William Buckley says the mind cannot hold two opposing views at the same
time, but I find myself simultaneously trapped both in a medieval belief
in God and in a modern belief in Atheism, and in Science.
Perhaps you are content to shut your mind and believe what
Ralph Reed tells you (claiming, of course, to be interpreting the
Bible.) I take one look at Ralph Reed’s wife and decide I’d best make
my own decisions. Not only about females but also, and especially,
about “eternal” things, like the universe and the presence (or absence)
of God. And to do that I look first to Science because, when properly
practised, Science is without self interest. An unbiased scientist is
always, in my mind, far preferable to a self-obsessed religionist, bent
on imposing his distorted, Bible based views on my mind and my life.
AND IN THE END...
Nonetheless, there are good preachers...
1-504-768-7000 gets you Jimmy Swaggart’s free magazine, “The
Evangelist.” You can also ask for two free pins. I was just watching
him today, on T.V. I find him to be an excellent preacher. He has a
great deal of knowledge, excellent delivery, and can even sing and play
the piano!
It’s too bad many Christians have (apparently) turned away from
Jimmy Swaggart. When they all believed in him, he was basically just
some bozo who jumped up and down and shouted a lot. Now he is actually
interesting to listen to, even for an atheist like me!
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copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 268 EMISSION
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