Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 104
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter Two
The carriage stopped. Such a short ride! I did not want to see the
men, wanted to die right there on my worn carriage seat. How horrible
that I, a mere slip of a schoolgirl, should be made to play such awful
games! And then she came aboard. Of all the decadence, this was the
worst! I could see at once that she was a beautician. We must look our
best for the men, Alexis explained, entering behind the woman. The
beautician set about doing our makeup and nails. The carriage sat still as
she did her work. We were in a safer place now than behind the club, with
all its commotion, Alexis explained. How strange it was, getting my nails
done! My wrists remained buckled into the restraints above my head.
Carefully, studiously, the beautician performed her art on my nails in this
awkward position. Yet when she was done they looked more beautiful than
IÕd ever seen them before. And the other girlsÕ nails flashed with a
similar opulence. Clear, white varnish, yet with a touch of pink, making
them look like seashells washed up onto an early-morning beach.
ÒTheir hair, maÕam?Ó the beautician asked. Alexis fluffed mine,
looked at the others.
ÒLeave them,Ó Alexis replied, to my immediate embarrassment! ÒI
like the messy, tangled look. They have already been partying this
evening, perhaps orgasming on the dancefloor.Ó She cast us knowing looks.
ÒLet the men see how lusty these nervous young fillies are. Wash their
breasts, though, and their pussies. Here, let me do it,Ó she said, as Tammy
brought aboard a bucket and sponge. Alexis took the sponge and plunged it
into the bucket. She lifted it, water streaming from it, and wrung out
much of the water. Then she bathed my stiff-nippled breasts with it. She
smiled, enjoying the pillowy feel of my soft young breasts. She made my
nipples quiver, snapping them back and forth as if they were bell pushes
and she some juvenile delinquent. Lastly she wet the sponge again and
passed it back and forth over my pussy. Then she dried me, quickly and
abrasively, with a rough towel. She did each girl in turn, then stopped,
gazed at the four of us closely. Behind her the beautician and Tammy
stepped from the carriage and shut the door.
I glanced at Alexis, still wearing her rumpled party dress, evidence
of her own nightÕs partying. Her hair had been combed, though, brushed and
glossed. I half-imagined sheÕd slipped off and taken a quick shower
somewhere, then replaced the dress to look as if she had not. She looked
stunningly beautiful, a goddess of pleasure. From her I looked at the
carriage. Oh, to ride in a carriage such as this! It was a century old, yet
spiffy and new inside, save for the savored wear of girlsÕ bottoms upon its
benches. Little glass lamps illuminated its interior, complemented (at the
moment, at least) by bolder electric lights secreted within the decorated
walls. The floor was hardwood, unpolished, showing the wear of many
girlsÕ heels upon it over the years. And the benches upon which we sat
were, again, clean but pleasantly hard and unvarnished. A real wood seat
upon which a girlsÕ soft one was forced to come to terms. Forced to sit
upon as her young breasts jiggled freely, unprotected, the nipples stiff
with excitement that even her strict upbringing could not contain. Amidst
all my jitters, scared and yet longing, some small primal part of me
somewhere, deep within my womb, perhaps, admired the harsh beauty of it
all. The impossibly ornate interior, with its satin, paisley-flowered
walls, perhaps put in last century or last week. The lamps, faithfully
flickering. And the certainty of the hardwood beneath my fatted rump,
promising uncompromising games at the party. Games of sport where
bottoms were made to jump and girls to howl, to beg and to receive.
Alexis surveyed us. We seemed to be at a crossing point, standing
thigh deep in a river whose swollen flow threatened to soon engulf our
pussies. ÒGirls, you agreed to the party at SandraÕs but it got cut short,Ó
Alexis intoned with quiet, uncompromising words. ÒNow we will rectify
that. From here on you must expect to be admired for your bodies only.
And they will inspire the men to do naughty things to you. Just as they
did, perhaps, when they were little boys, catching you in the bath and
peeing on you, or pulling your hair at recess, or surprising you with a frog
when you agreed to kiss them. As they say, the only difference between
men and boys is their toys.
ÒYou survived those experiences, despite the fact that they were
thrust on you by unlearned boys groping in ignorance. Here, there will be
no such worries. You will love and be loved, and play, and toil, and
certainly the men will want to be nasty to you sometimes. But all will be
watched by me, to see that you are not truly harmed. Oh, you might wish
some days that you were enjoying the comforts of home, in your bathrobe
and with your cup of morning coffee, but such are the sacrifices that must
be made for love. The men will determine what special privileges you
receive, based on your performance as a love object. If you do as they
wish, they may reward you with an idle morning and some coffee. If not,
your morning may begin where it left off the night before, with a sound
spanking. A hickory switch upon your bottom in the softness of your bed.
It will be for them to decide, with my guiding hand staying only the worst
abuses. I have a liberal temperament. I feel a young womanÕs body needs a
good workout now and then, sexually, with everything a man can throw at
her. Let the man explore his wildest fantasies. Let him forget sexual
harassment, child molestation, and all the other Ôno noÕs.Õ Let him be told,
by me, a woman, Òyes you may take out your penis. Enjoy its length, its
girth, donÕt feel you need to hide it in your pants in front of these girls.
They are being trained to exclude ÔnoÕ from their vocabularies. Hit them,
if you wish, spank them and spit in their pretty faces for all the times
they turned you down in the real world, made you wait, or blew you off
like some kind of refuse, playing wicked mind games with you. Give them
what they need, make them take their medicine dutifully like the cunts
they really are.Ó
ÒYes, girls, I know how awful you can be to men, because I am awful
to them too. Look how I have made them wait, and see how much I have
made them pay me.Ó She tossed her hair. Diamond earrings sparkled at
me, at us, shivering with fright in our bonds. The woman was crazy! A
hedonist gone mad. Yet, deep down, in my uterus, did I know her words
made sense? How many times had I teased the boys, teased them because
they played sports badly, or played sports well but didnÕt have a car? And
how many times had I teased them with my body? Answering the door in
just my t-shirt, then denying them a date, sending them off to guilt-
ridden masturbating? Or dropping things, then picking them up, perhaps
while writing on the blackboard? Wearing my shortest skirt just so I
could drop the eraser in third period? Yet when they wanted to fuck,
needed to fuck, my answer had always been Ôno.Õ Mercilessly I would bait
them, reeling them in, only to turn away and leave them gaping at the last
moment, furious, frustrated, like fish on a dock left by the fisherman.
TheyÕd stew, unwanted, broiling away until they had to turn to the porno
shop to relieve themselves. Shamefacedly buying, furtively spiriting the
stuff out the door, then cursing themselves for being empty an hour later,
when IÕd call and offer them something they could no longer give. Or
maybe, if I timed it just right, IÕd catch them in the moment, when it was
too late to stop, when even a beckoning girl on the phone could not budge
them out of their bedroom. All these memories flooded back to me now,
half-forgotten, washing in like detritus from fallen Atlantis. Watching
me, Alexis saw my face and remembered her own memories. She felt a
kinship with me, perhaps more than with the other girls. Impulsively she
bent and kissed my upturned nose. ÒIt is a new adventure, darling! Harsh
but true. How can you know what you will like as an adult if you do not try
it? Be glad that you have mistresses that care for you, that look out for
you, that know a young girlÕs body intimately and how it must be handled,
what it can take and what it cannot take. Certainly you must go forward,
sexually. You cannot remain chaste forever. You must be a girlfriend,
lover, mom, all those things await you, and your body is ready to
experience each of them in turn. All that blocks you is your mind, and the
uncertainty you feel over the newness, the tightness, the bulging
voluptuousness of your figure. All these can be taught the ways of love.
Be glad you are learning from men under my guidance, instead of someone
foolish, unlearned, or truly brutal. Kiss me, dear, and tell me you love me
for all the things I am going to do for you!Ó Her words were liquor,
intoxicating. Knowing not what to do, I bent forward as best I could and
planted a kiss on the swell of her bosoms where they emerged from the
top of her dress.
ÒAh, how nicely you kiss, even with the gag,Ó Alexis complimented
me. She kissed me again, atop my tousled head. Then she moved to Rose in
turn, who compliantly kissed her bosoms, then to Linda, who refused to
kiss her until she received (in my opinion) a much-wanted slap across her
face. And finally Sandra, the two of them looking at each other with
battling eyes before Sandra finally accepted her special fate and kissed
each of AlexisÕ nipples, brought forth for Sandra only. Alexis lifted them
from her dress and offered them. Sandra planted a gagged kiss on each
one, then tossed her head indifferently and resumed her pose as a proud-
but-shackled love slave. She seemed less a frightened mare now, more a
willing wife ready to endure the labors of love. After all, she had
arranged for us to be brought, all unknowing save herself, yet herself
unsure of exactly what would befall the four of us.
Now we knew much better. Games, sex games, where the genitals
would be on center-stage. All else would be secondary. Food, drink, it
would be given only as the ongoing pleasure of the genitals allowed it.
And the clothing would not be optional, I guessed, it would be non-
existent. Perhaps a glove there, or a condom, a garter or a necklace.
Little more, I suspected, would be allowed to block the menÕs view of our
figures. We would be captive goddesses, and the men would prove our
mortality by breeding their young in us.
Alexis stood by the door once more, looked us over. Nude we looked
back, our titties hanging uplifted from our chests, our ribs sticking out,
our legs splayed and our pussies offered. ÒIÕm glad I received your
consent, girls,Ó she said, nodding at each of us. ÒEven you, Linda, for it
took only one slap to gain your compliance. You would make a very pretty
prisoner of war, but not a very effective one. TheyÕd know all your secrets
with a single slap.Ó She grew more serious. ÒWe have played amongst
ourselves, girls. But this time is passing away, like childhood. Where we
are going you will not refuse, or question, or bicker with the men. Or the
women, for that matter, assigned to care for you. Unless, that is, you
wish to pay the price. The game will begin now, girls,Ó Alexis said, with a
note of finality in her voice. ÒAny further protestations will be regarded
as disobedience and punished accordingly.Ó She shot a glance at Linda,
already punished a little, as if to advise her that more significant
methods of inducing compliance awaited any further outbursts from her.
Then she turned, and with a swish of her dress she stepped down from the
carriage and was gone. With a slip of a bolt she locked us inside. The next
to unlock the carriage, I knew, would be a man.
The horses were lashed into motion and I think all four of us jerked
in response. We exchanged fretful glances. Our titties bobbed as the
carriage jogged, pulled by animals. Someone up front turned out the
electric lights and we went for a time down streets in only the gas-light,
so romantic yet so terrifying, having no idea of our fate. Streetlights
glanced within now and then, through the half-hiding curtains, then
disappeared. With an abruptness as sudden as a rape we stopped suddenly.
The electric lights flicked on.
The carriage door clicked, then swung back. A man entered. He was
ruddy, 40ish, smoking a bad-smelling cigar. He sat down amidst us, made
no effort to disguise that he was admiring the view we gave him. He was
free of the office, with its strictures, at last. Here he could gaze openly
at the women and they opened themselves for him. The carriage door
closed, the coach lurched forward. Our chins, titties bounced with the
suddenness of it. The man smiled, liked our vulnerability. The lights
stayed on. From his pocket he drew forth a swiss army knife, opened it. I
think all four of us went absolutely pale when we saw that! He glanced
longingly at our breasts. Then, finally, as if to quiet our fears he drew
forth a wooden object. But the sight of it only frightened us more. It was
a huge dildo, half-carved, the head done but the shaft still too big and
round to accommodate its smaller proportion.
ÒWhat do you think, girls?Ó he asked wryly. ÒShould I cut down the
size of the shaft, to match the head, or should I leave it this way?Ó We
glanced at each other, panicky, uncertain. Finally Sandra nodded at him
that he should carve it down more, make it smaller. ÒThank you for your
input,Ó he told her. ÒIÕll give you first crack at it since youÕve been so
kind to help me design it.Ó Sandra only stared, unblinking. She watched
with us as the man cut away at the shaft, whittling like some boy scout on
a campout. Silently we prayed that he would cut it way down, for it was
still too big for a girl even if the shaft were sized right, the head was so
huge. God forbid I should have to take that! Did Alexis know of it? I could
not tell her! Perhaps he had sneaked it aboard illegally. Our pussies
waited, our cunts offered. There was no denying him if he wanted to take
us. Fatty Arbuckle he might be, reincarnated, and we could not stop him!
Soon the carriage sighed again. I heard myself and the other girls
give an audible sigh of relief. We WANTED a man now, any man, so long as
we werenÕt left alone in the carriage with this whittler from Hell. Tammy
opened the carriage door early, intentionally? I saw a gallant man, no
more than mid-20Õs, standing outside with his zipper down and Alexis
feeling his balls.
ÒMmmm, nice and full,Ó she said. She seemed to give him a squeeze.
He jerked, enjoying the pleasure but afraid it might waste him. I longed to
see his cock but only could make out a telltale bulge, traveling up his
pants to finish somewhere in his shirt, covered by his coat. Obviously he
could not let himself out in public, before getting into the privacy of the
carriage. I pitied his dick just a little bit, so hard, yet left to wait inside
his clothes where it was all gorged and restricted, a snake at full-growth,
trapped in reeds.
Mistress withdrew her hand reluctantly, zipped him up. I called her
mistress now, in my mind, for she was nothing else but that, and I could
not lie to myself that she was otherwise. I was the horse, she was the
driver. The men were the riders. The man stepped up, within. His name
was Jeff, he told us gallantly. Mistress introduced the four of us to him
as if we were guests at some formal party, not nude, gagged girls about to
be beaten and raped. He nodded to each of us, did not let his eyes wander
down our bodies though I could see he wished to. Mistress made us nod
back, bade us be polite at all times, even unclothed and with cunts
displayed.
2 PLUS 2 EQUALS?
by holy joe
Now, lemmee see here. A child molester is often called Òa monster.Ó
And the man who knew Bill Clinton best called him ÒThe Monster.Ó Also,
Bill Clinton is known to be addicted to sex. And, most recently, the
woman who knew Dick Morris best (who knew Clinton best), that is, Sherry
Rowlands, said of Clinton, ÒHe needs somebody to help him.Ó (Rowlands
said this to the T.V. program Hard Copy in an interview aired on September
4th and 5th.)
So if youÕre Òa monster,Ó and addicted to sex, and even a prostitute
says you need help, and Joe Klein writes a book in which he says you raped
(statutorily) your best friendÕs 15-year-old daughter, what do we have?
Hmmmmmmmm. (And you murdered 86 people in Waco, Texas Òto protect
the children,Ó (the ones you didnÕt kill, that is...) Hmmmmmmmm.
Why, yes! We have a President of the United States who is
trumpeting virtue and a Òfamily friendlyÓ agenda!
(Now we know why Bill Bennett argues for Òconstructive hypocrisy.Ó
America certainly needs plenty of that!)
(Oh, yes. Just so I donÕt ruffle any feathers here, CHILD MOLESTERS!
THEYÕRE THE WORST!) (Thanks. Between lap dancing, prostitutes, draft
dodging, pot smoking, and adultery, I figure if I just keep shouting that,
IÕll be very, very moral indeed!)
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
CassiopeiaÕs Coven Special, $2.00. Digest, many pages. Grey cover, white
interior. Perry Lake, Miracle Comics, 6167-B, Alamo Way, Paradise, CA
95969.
Review: This comic contains several stories. In the first,
ÒEsmerelda,Ó Hillary Clinton is having sex. But she is not having sex with
a lesbian, or with Vince Foster. She is actually having sex with her
husband, Bill, and he is actually having sex with her. (Dick Morris, it can
be assumed, is not pursuing a similar fidelity.)
In ÒVisitors from Afar,Ó a woman is probed (in her vagina) by little
green men on a flying saucer. Then a superhero with an owlÕs head
appears. He looks terrible. Unless, that is, he is meant to look like some
jolly bearded guy who is blessed with the anatomy of Arnold
Schwarzenegger instead of the traditional pot belly. In that case he looks
okay, I guess, but donÕt look for a live action movie of this superhero any
time soon.
The third story ÒAdriana,Ó features a man who fucks a woman who,
later, fucks him. (Rather explosively, but I wonÕt give away the ending.)
And in the last story, ÒMarie,Ó Hillary reappears, this time in her
real guise, as a bat-winged, snake-headed, alligator-toothed villain with a
gaping cunt.
Now, Perry himself might not have known he was drawing Hillary in
this comic, but thatÕs what we reviewers are for: to discern what even
the author himself failed to realize when he made his story.
This comic features many well-known artists in the small press:
Steve Shipley (got the spelling right that time!), David Shipley, J. Kevin
Carrier, Randy H. Crawford, Larry Johnson, and others. The art varies in
quality but it is all rendered with as much dignity and grace as the artists
can muster. The last story, ÒMarie,Ó is almost mainstream in quality.
A nice product for those who enjoy investing in the small press.
AND IN THE END...
AMERICAÕS DESTINY: DUMB, OLD, AND IN CHAINS
ÒGovernors have taken to raiding education budgets in order to
finance the ballooning costs of Medicaid and prisons.Ó - The Economist,
July 13, 1996, pg. 27
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1996 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 104 EMISSION