Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
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Issue No. 10     

Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in 
Love Child

Chapter Seven

         Smooth, cool satin sheets awaited us, but our butts stung like 
fire when the men tried to sit us on them.  We finally plopped directly 
onto the beds on our bellies, and hastily made to rub ourselves to 
orgasm with our hands.  At once master commanded that our hands be 
handcuffed behind us.  
         "The poor babies," mistress said sympathetically, as Melissa and I 
broke into frustrated sobs.  "Their skin must be protected, though.  It 
must have salve applied to it immediately."
         "Well, you take care of that," master said.  He left, along with the 
men, leaving us in mistress' hands.  I hated her, for it was she who had 
suggested giving us a thorough whipping so we could accept bigger 
dildoes.   
         Lovingly mistress settled between us on the bed and smoothed 
perfumed unguents and oils on our skin.  At first I yowled at her touch, 
my skin was so sensitive.  But gradually her soft caresses felt better.  
I begged her to put salve on my clitty (for naughty reasons), but she 
refused.  
         She slipped away for awhile, then returned, and told us quietly 
that she was going to remove the giant (or so it seemed!) dildoes up our 
asses.  We thanked her profusely.  She eased them out very gingerly, for 
we had tightened up considerably around the things since they'd been 
inserted, when we were dead tired in the woodshed.
         "You shouldn't thank me quite so soon," she said, when the dildoes 
had at last popped out.  "You'll get to sleep all day, but I'm having you 
over to my place this evening, where you'll serve ladies tea and be 
whipped again."
         "B-But why?" I asked, when Melissa and I recovered our voices.
         "Ooooh, I don't ever want to be touched again!" Melissa whined.  
"It's child sexual abuse, you know!"
         "Well girls, be that as it may, you are love slaves now, and master 
promised not to harm you in any way.  Now, a whipping merely reddens 
your bottom.  Welts might be given, and they fade away.  If the skin is 
broken, of course, and bleeds, it eventually heals and leaves a little 
white scar.  Now, that would be harm.  But as long as your skin isn't 
broken, I see no reason for you to complain."
         "You mean," I said, shocked at what being a love slave could 
entail.  "You mean, we might be whipped every night, so long as we 
aren't made to bleed?"
         "Exactly!" mistress said.  And with that she got up from the bed.  
"Oh, by the way, by sure to wash off your dildoes.  They're on that silver 
platter over there."  She pointed to a nightstand.  Melissa and I both 
broke into loud sobs.  Love slavery was no fun at all!
         That evening mistress got us up.  Melissa and I, waking, found we 
had to pee very badly.  Mistress hurried us into the toilet, without even 
removing our handcuffs, and we just made it, though I had to wait for 
Melissa, dancing around in my handcuffs while she sat on the pot.
         We were to bathe next.  Mistress decided to put us in the shower 
with our handcuffs on.
         "I don't trust you two," she said.  "You're liable to masturbate each 
other if I let you wash yourselves."  And she was right, we would have.  
So she stood us in the shower and carefully washed us, giving just the 
lightest of touches to our desperate parts.  Then she dried us off.
         Dinner was served in our bedroom.  We sat handcuffed at a little 
wooden table and mistress sat between us and fed us.  And she told us 
erotic stories, just to keep us on edge.
         "When I was your age I went hiking once, with a boyfriend," 
mistress related.  "I put on my new tennies, my best panties, a nice 
frilly bra, and the rest of my hiking gear.  We went hiking out to an old 
stable.  And do you know why we went there?  Because we knew there 
was an ancient whipping post there and we wanted to try it...on me!
         "When we finally arrived, there it was!  And, even though I was a 
little bit afraid, I felt so sexy taking off my clothes for my boyfriend, 
standing there in front of the whipping post.  At last, in only my 
panties, I felt very shy.  But he cracked the whip he'd brought on the 
dusty floor and told me to get out of my panties.  So I eased them off, 
really scared now but feeling oh so very sexy.  I'd slid them down to my 
ankles and was about to step out of them and hang them up somewhere, 
neatly, when he grabbed me and pushed me against the post and quickly 
tied me up.  Then he gave me one hellacious whipping!  I cried and cried, 
but there was no one to help me, for the stable was far out in the 
country, where no one went anymore.  And that's why we'd chosen it, of 
course, to be alone, just the two of us, and do whatever we wanted in 
the name of love.
         "He kissed my bottom all over afterward, and told me he was 
sorry, with me still tied to the post and trembling.  At last he freed me 
and I collapsed into his arms and kissed him again and again.  I had 
trouble sitting down in school the next day, but other than that I was 
fine.  So you see, I know all about whipping, how reluctant a girl is to 
go through with it, and how it raises her self-esteem afterward, and 
makes her feel like a woman.  After all, none of my other girlfriends 
had been tied to a whipping post.  So when I heard them talking about 
who French-kissed whom, and how awful it must be, I just smiled to 
myself, and thought about how mature I was, compared to them.
         "I like being immature!" Melissa piped up.
         "Well, you'll have plenty of time to be immature after master is 
through with you.  In the meantime, you're going to be a fine young lady.  
I'll see to that," Mistress assured her.
         After dinner a servant brought us the clothes we would be 
wearing for the evening.  
         "All I see is underwear!" Melissa said, eyeing the "attire."  Two 
ridiculously small pairs of panties were laid out on the bed for us, and 
two miniscule bras.
         "Put them on, and I'll have something else for you afterward," 
Mistress said confidently.  With that assurance we agreed.  After all, 
we were naked, and anything was better than being buck naked.  
Especially in a house full of whips!  Mistress removed our handcuffs so 
we could get dressed.  She seemed amused as she watched us struggle 
into the pathetic little garments.
         At last, just barely getting my bra snapped shut, with a valiant 
assist from Melissa, we stood looking at ourselves in a mirror.  
Improbably small panties struggled to contain our butts.  In front, our 
venus deltas were no more than two-thirds covered.  Our breasts were 
almost a lost cause, the teensy bras threatening to snap at any moment.  
Our boobs, our bottoms ballooned out from the tautly stretched 
material, and I hoped no one would ask us to dance.
         "You do, I presume, have nothing less than an Iranian chador to go 
with these?" I asked mistress pluckily.
         "You are so sweet," Mistress smiled.  "Lie down on the bed, girls, 
and I'll show you what else I have."  I was about to obey when Melissa 
said:  "Waitaminnit!  This is something we get to wear, right?"
         "Oh, no!" I said.  "I get it!  We get our asses spanked and get to 
'wear' whip marks, right?"
         "Girls, you must have better attitudes," Mistress said.  "Lie down 
now, and I may give you a little taste of what you've been wanting."
         Reluctantly, Melissa and I stretched out on the soft sheets of our 
bed.  The sheets had been changed since we slept on them.  They smelled 
fresh and new.  Languidly we stretched our limbs, enjoying our freedom 
from the cuffs, and especially those awful dildoes!  
         "I want your nipples erect," Mistress said.  "Please pull down the 
cups of your bras and twiddle them until they're nice and hard."  With 
some difficulty, careful not to break the cups, we managed to free our 
nipples.  Then we fingered them up.  
         "Very good, girls.  Now I want you first, Barbi, to pull down the 
front of your panties for me," Mistress said.  I hooked my thumb into 
the front of my panties and pulled them open.  Mistress came over to 
the side of the bed, and she was holding a can of Cool-Whip.  She shook 
it.
         With bright, unbelieving eyes I watched as Mistress aimed the can 
of pressurized cream at my pussy.  Then, smiling, she squirted it right 
onto me.  I squealed like a little girl.  When the pouch of my panties 
was full of cream mistress told me to pull them back up.  Then she 
anointed each of my titties, and I carefully replaced my bra.  Only then 
did I realize that the cream was that extra item Melissa and I would be 
wearing to the evening's party.
         Half an hour later a horse drawn coach pulled up in front of 
mistress' mansion.  Melissa and I stumbled out, assisted by footmen, 
wearing frightfully high six-inch heels, and nothing else save our 
notorious underwear.  Our makeup was impeccable.  Our long tresses 
were brushed to a vibrant sheen.  All dolled up but with nothing to 
wear, we entered the house.
         Six ladies were present, seated at a table playing cards, and they 
were knockouts.  I felt like melting into the floor as I saw these prim, 
aristocratic women, with their elegant clothes, fine busts, and glorious 
faces.  If Agamemnon and the Greeks had passed these ladies on their 
way to Troy the city would never have been sacked.  Helen would have 
died a lonely, forgotten death.
         With mincing, humiliated steps Melissa and I served the ladies 
tea.  They seemed to delight in pinching our bottoms just as we were 
about to fill their cups, promising us extra lashes later for every drop 
of tea we spilled.
         The cream in our panties only made our situation worse.  We 
endured endless taunts about how the cream must be semen, and finally 
I was made to kneel and lick Melissa's cream out of her panties.  When 
the two of us scampered gratefully back to the kitchen, to get more 
biscuits, I decided we had to escape.
         Women as ravishing as our hosts couldn't have been lesbians if 
they wanted to.  There were just too many men in the world determined 
to get into their pants.  And so, in the kitchen, the women kept a male 
slave, a buff poster boy who was to keep his penis at the ready and keep 
Melissa and me in line.  But I found out that he was as sick of the 
women as we were.  And he found the costumes Melissa and I were 
wearing to be too enticing to pass up.  I think it was that semen-like 
cream in our panties that finally got to him.
         "Okay, girls, I've been here for three months, serving those 
bitches, and they've kept me well drained, I can assure you.  If you'd 
appeared a week ago I wouldn't have helped you even if you'd paid me, I 
was so sick of having pussies shoved at me.  I think my dick's grown 
three inches from all the overtime its had to put in.
         "But, for the last week, those bitches haven't let me have 
anything.  I've been sleeping handcuffed just like you."  I could see his 
point.  He was wearing a pair of Speedo swim briefs, and his cockhead 
was sticking out the top.  The man simply could not contain himself.
         We stole out a back door, and slipped stealthily over the dewy 
grass to the stables where the horses were kept.  Melissa and I had only 
ever ridden master's ponies, with the servants leading them around for 
us in a circle.  Here, at mistress's, she kept only the finest Arabian 
stallions.  They were large and temperamental.
         "Isn't there, isn't there a car or something we could escape in?" 
Melissa asked warily, eyeing one of the big steeds.  It took all Mark's 
skills as a horseman to keep them quiet.
         "No, there are watchmen, night watchmen," Mark hissed, 
reminding Melissa to keep her voice down.  "They'd hear a car start!  If 
you can't ride well, one of you get in front of me, and one behind.  
Melissa, you sit in front, since you're the littlest.  Barbi..." he eyed me, 
my boobies showing whitely in the moonlight that shafted into the 
stable.  "Barbi, you look like a big brave girl.  You get behind me and 
hang on!"  
         Mark selected a horse and draped a velour blanket over it.  He 
bitted it but left off the saddle, to allow the three of us to ride.  With a 
helping hand on our tushies Melissa and I managed to mount.  Then up 
came our hero, balls bulging within his swim trunks, seemingly about 
to rip the damn swimwear to pieces.  "God!  This fucking shit is too 
tight!" Mark whined, falling back from the horse.  
         "Take them off, then!" I scolded.  Quick as Tarzan he tore down the 
insidious briefs, down the marble columns of his legs.  Melissa and I 
caught our breaths as we saw his fully erect member leap into view.  
Then, quite businesslike, he jumped up onto our horse and drove it 
forward with a flick of the reins.  On the way out of the barn he 
snatched a riding crop, and handed it back to me.
         "When we get clear of the mansion use the crop on the horse's 
flank now and then to keep it motivated," he said over his shoulder.  
         Under a canopy of trees we passed, silently, our hushed breath 
living whitish plumes in the air in our wake.  Even though the night had 
turned chilly we hardly felt it.  We were eagerly anticipating our 
freedom.  I vowed I would never again be a love slave, even as I hugged 
Mark's massive body and wondered what it would be like to obey him.
         Mistress' mansion receded behind us.  At last, seemingly one by 
one, the lighted windows of the house disappeared in the foggy gloom of 
the night.
         "Accommodations are going to be a bitch," Mark whispered aloud 
some time later.
         "Hmmm?" I asked, coming out of a rhythm induced reverie.
         "I said..." Mark glanced back at me.  "Picture me walking up to a 
motel clerk, butthole naked, and saying, "Excuse me, sir, may two 
underaged girls and I spend the night at your fine establishment?  We 
don't have any money, but I'd be happy to contribute to your sperm bank 
if you have one!"
         I burst out laughing.  It was the first time I'd felt total joy in 
days.  Melissa laughed so hard, in a girlish high-pitched voice, that I 
was sure mistress would hear it.
         "Keep it down up there!" I advised her.  Then, jealously, "Does Mark 
have his dick up your butt or something?"
         "Nooo, he's just funny," Melissa said.  
         We rode more slowly through the woods.  As Mark eased the 
stallion's pace I let my hands slip from his hard stomach to his thighs.  
He let me stroke them.  Then, soundlessly, I let my hands steal between 
his legs.  His shaft, utterly rigid, bounced freely.  I determined to catch 
it.  I kissed his shoulder first, letting my hair brush against it, asking 
permission.  He did not say anything.  Then, like talons, my fingers 
reached out and clasped about his big organ.  I thought I'd caught the 
horse's organ for a minute, it felt so big in my hands.  Still Mark said 
nothing, just uttering a little groan.  His back straitened slightly.  
         Not wanting to make him come, I stroked him carefully, touching 
the engorged flesh, reaching down and finding the full sac of his 
testicles, pressing my fingers into it, marvelling at its tightness.
         And then I felt more hands, slim, soft, Melissa!  The fiend had 
reached back behind her ass and was trying to pull the head of Mark's 
cock up her butt.  Her sweet, cherry ass that she had so recently 
lamented having to take a dildo.  Now she wanted Mark's huge thing up 
her!
         "Girls!  Please!  I'm going to have to decline," Mark said.  He batted 
away our hands, shifted his legs.  He shivered once, got control of 
himself.  I pouted, kissed his shoulder again, but he brushed my hand 
away when I made to stroke his thigh.  "I'm going to get us out of the 
woods and into safe lodgings, someplace..." Mark said.  Mistress and 
your master know these woods well.  If we don't find civilization by 
morning, FRIENDLY civilization, they'll be looking for us and they'll find 
us."  With that warning in mind Melissa and I kept our hands to 
ourselves.

NAMBLA Activist Chuck Dodson Presents
The ORGASM LIBERATION FRONT Report
On the Minneapolis Gay Snide March

         What a tiny turnout on that rainy day.  Marching with a fellow 
nonsilent activist as the Orgasm Liberation Front, it turned out to be a fun 
venture in the crucial arts.  My friend ÒRussÓ was glad to mischievously 
hand out our strategic little flier, while I worked/played via orgasm cries 
on my zine-financed bullhorn--calling out very very loudly such sighs as 
well as words like:  ÒConsenting humans donÕt be shy, letÕs hear your 
orgasm battle cry!Ó
         The important results of this most markedly may have been that 
those onlookers who are usually totally armored when they view our kind 
were too busy smiling, giggling, and guffawing, and happily took our 
fliers--only to later be jounced by its contents.  What with my chosen 
attire of a funny face over my dreaded genitals, would-be armored doors 
flung open just long enough for our little crucial art info Òbomb.Ó  At one 
point we even engaged with a young dude (with bewilderedly smiling 
adults all around--who laughed when I asked if he wished to voice out his 
own orgasm cry), though I was too wimpy to give him (or other young 
dudes) my info...though seeing his smile did bring to new heights my 
Òirrational glory.Ó
         A fag marshall asked me early on to get on the sidewalk.  I did for 
awhile, but came back soon.  Later, near the end of the march, while I 
happened to be WALKING ON THE SIDEWALK, he returned and threatened me 
with arrest via Òhis friends,Ó (the famously violent Minnesota cops) if I 
didnÕt Òturn [my] goddamn bullhorn off right nowÓ and Òget the fuck out of 
here.Ó  I submitted to his threats Ôtil at the end, when I dared to speak 
quickly (via the horn) to the gathered guys.  -- Chuck Dodson, c/o The 
Guide, P.O. Box 593, Boston, MA 02199.

AND IN THE END...

         ABD stands for, ÒAnything Beats Dole.Ó

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Andrew Roller.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 10 EMISSION