Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 110
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter Two
ÒIÕm Lori,Ó the nurse tells me.
ÒWhat is your first name?Ó I ask the doctor. He smiles. The nurse
smiles. My voice is muffled by my gag. Lori reaches down, her breasts
hanging, plump, gently pulls down my gag so I can talk.
ÒSilly girl,Ó she says. ÒHow can you ask the doctor questions if you
are playing with our equipment?Ó
I blush more deeply. Then I do my best to compose myself. I fix my
eyes again on the doctor. He is the pervert, not me. Surely not me. My
eyes wander to his cock. It is long, bold. ItÕs girth is wide. ÒWhat is your
first name?Ó I ask again. In my mind somewhere a first-grade version of
myself wants to ask him the name of his friend in his pants.
ÒAlexander, that is his first name, at least here,Ó Lori smiles. ÒWe
call him Alexander, as in ÔAlexander the Great.ÕÓ She pauses, laughs. ÒDo I
need to tell you why?Ó I blush. I gaze at his cock.
ÒNo,Ó I reply sheepishly. He is quite large. He lengthens as I look at
him. I wonder how big he gets when he is fully hard.
ÒQuite big,Ó the nurse replies, reading my mind. With delicate
fingers she bends again and restores my gag to my mouth. She fixes it
show my lips show, prettily. I must always be pretty. Especially for
Alexander, here, with his long dong that swings along. Still bent, the
nurse unties my pinafore dress. She removes it, folds it neatly, lays it
upon the counter. I gaze up at the doctor with my boobs freely displayed
to him, my nipples at crisp attention. His schlong gets longer, begins to
rise.
ÒHave her stand, would you?Ó the doctor orders my nurse. Lori
bends.
ÒWhere is the key, darling?Ó she asks me. She pulls my gag down
again. I sense it will be as much of a bib tonight as a gag. It will keep
semen from spilling on my breasts.
Lori looks at me inquiringly. She wants the key. I do not want to
tell her. I twist my hips, I feel a sense of abandon. I love resisting. Lori
senses, slaps my face. I feel the blow, sweet yet painful upon my cheek.
My ears ring. ÒThe key, little girl. Do not play games with doctor. His
time is very valuable.Ó I thrust my cunny at her, my legs spread, shifting
my hips forward on the chair. She spies the tell-tale outline of the key
bulging within the pouch of my panties. Gently she opens the front of my
undies, dips her finger within. She fetches the key and tickles my clitty
before departing.
ÒHere, doctor. She was being naughty,Ó Lori tells Dr. Alexander. He
nods.
ÒA common problem with patients at this clinic,Ó he observes.
ÒDonÕt worry, I can help you with your problem,Ó he assures me. He puts
the clipboard down and retains the riding crop. Lori bends over me,
breathes down my neck as she unfastens me from the cuffs. Behind her,
the doctor lifts her dress inquiringly. With a sudden flick, he gives her a
sharp crack across her bottom with his crop. Lori shouts from behind my
head. She finishes undoing my cuffs. She stands. She makes to straighten
her dress.
ÒI donÕt have time for that, get the drugs,Ó the doctor orders her.
Bashfully Lori turns. She walks to the cabinets across the room. In
behind, her bottom naked, rearing, rolls beneath the bunched-up back of
her dress. I see a single, bright red line across her heinie. I know she
feels it. I bring my hands in front of me. I stretch out my arms, I turn my
wrists. It feels good to be free after the long silence, the long waiting.
Lori rummages in the cabinets. I wonder if she knows what sheÕs
looking for. Finally she returns, her bosoms rolling between the tight-
squeezing halves of her open-front dress. Her nipples stand rigid, twin
soldiers in the service of their queen. I see a syringe. I sit bolt upright.
ÒDonÕt worry, itÕs nothing that will hurt you,Ó Lori assures me.
ÒThis is a sex exam,Ó the doctor says roughly, impatiently.
ÒYou need to be as sexed as possible,Ó Lori adds, softly, brooking no
disobedience, yet understanding my fear. She unfolds a little white cloth
and lays it on the counter-top beside me. There she puts down the syringe,
a length of rubber tubing. She also places a metal container there, and a
small urine cup.
ÒThe needle will hurt me,Ó I say, gazing at the syringe. Lori looks at
me. She laughs.
ÒYou look as scared as a little rabbit,Ó Lori replies. ÒYour ass is
going to hurt like the dickens when your exam is over. Why are you
worried about a little shot in the arm?Ó
ÒMy ass wonÕt hurt like the dickens,Ó I reply, pouting, sullen. I reach
back, smooth my hands over my protecting undies.
ÒWell, thatÕs up to the doctor,Ó Lori says. I glance at him. To my
surprised delight I see that he has become hard.
ÒPlease donÕt hurt me,Ó I say to him. I am meek. I am a little mouse.
ÒWell, that might depend,Ó he replies. ÒHow well can you suck?Ó
ÒVery well!Ó I volunteer. He presents himself to me and I eagerly
lean forward. I do not want his crop whacking me. I am compliant,
submissive. I get my mouth around his huge knob and awkwardly begin
sucking it between my full, pursed lips.
ÒHavenÕt you ever done this before?Ó he asks. He looks down at me,
amused. I shake my head Ôno,Õ looking up at him in reply, hoping he does
not mind my inexperience.
Lori presses a hand to my shoulder, my chest. ÒSit back, darling,Ó
she advises. She pulls me from the doctorÕs big cock. My lips seem to
emit a popping sound as I am loosed from his prong. I sit back in my chair,
lick my lips. She takes the doctorÕs stethoscope off his chest. Turning,
she puts it to her ears and applies the cold metal disk at the end of it to
my left nipple.
Òmmmm,Ó she smiles at me. ÒGood blood flow in this one. You could
still deliver lots of milk even if you had it pierced.Ó I tremble. I should
get up, grab the door handle, try to fight my way past my big football-
player doctor. But because of the aphrodisiac in me I say nothing. Instead
a feel a desire to remove my panties. I hook my thumbs in the waistband
on either side of my hips, lift, let go. The waistband snaps back against
my skin, stinging me. The doctor watches. He misses nothing in my
movements.
My other nipple is tested, listened to attentively by Lori. When she
is done she tweaks it once with her fingers, checking its resiliency, then
the other one. She slides the stethoscope down my belly. Over the gentle
curve of my belly it travels. She stops at the waistband of my panties.
Then, with a womanÕs delicate touch, she opens me in front and slips the
metal disk down to my cunny. I wet it with my excitement. I am moist,
hungry. Lori smiles, listens, strokes my tumbling locks where they tumble
down the side of my head. She withdraws the stethoscope and gives it
back to the doctor.
ÒLisaÕs vital signs sound good,Ó Lori reports to him. The doctor nods.
ÒProceed,Ó he says offhandedly, as if bored. But from the stiffness
of his cock I can see he is anything but bored. His free hand, the one
without the crop, brushes his thighs, as if wishing his pants werenÕt
there. I sleek my fingertips along the insides of my thighs. We have the
same feelings, desires, wants. But the nurse must complete her exam
first.
ÒAre you a real nurse?Ó I blurt suddenly. She looks down at me,
always smiling, delicate in her movements, admiring me with her every
touch.
ÒOf course not, dear,Ó she replies. ÒNor is Alexander the Great there
a doctor. But I am a first-year nursing student, and he has plenty of
experience examining young girls. So donÕt worry, youÕre in good hands.Ó
Lori lifts my wrist. She is wearing a watch with a white wrist
band. No bra, but a watch. No panties either, I remind myself. At least I
have my panties on. I am ahead of even the doctor, with his underwear
open, his cock out. I am the most modest, the most moral. I feel a sense
of pride in that.
Lori times my pulse. Next she rummages in a drawer near me and
pulls out a blood pressure cuff. She has me hold out my arm, attaches it,
inflates the cuff and gets my pressure.
ÒA little on the high side,Ó she says. ÒBut thatÕs to be expected.Ó
She writes on her clipboard. On the doctorÕs clipboard, actually, given to
her for her necessary work. She turns to the doctor. ÒOral or rectal?Ó she
asks, her hair flowing down her back, her mouth poised, her fingers
alighting softly in mid-air.
My temperature. ThatÕs next, I can guess.
ÒOral will be fine for now,Ó the doctor replies, smiling. Lori turns,
bends, a little wary of the rustle she hears behind her as the doctor
brushes his riding crop against his leg, slaps it once. She pops a
thermometer in my mouth and waits, watching it, until it is ready to come
out. I sit perched on my chair like a pre-schooler, ready for lessons.
Today we will learn about popsicles, class, and the big men who shove
them down little girlÕs mouths. ÒOf course it is very, very bad, but we
will tell you all about it just the same, so you can think of nothing else,Ó I
add in my mind, smirking. Every day I used to walk home from school,
wondering, worrying, certain a man would leap from his car and grab me.
When I got home the afternoon passed slowly, boringly, the cartoons less
and less exciting with each passing year. When I was in the middle years
in elementary school I learned to walk with a wiggle. After that my walks
home from school were quite wiggly. Still no-one came, just policemen
passing, protecting me from my would-be assignations with strangers.
ÒYes, a perfect temp,Ó Lori announced, drawing the thermometer
from me, a trail of saliva following it out of my mouth. She wiped off the
thermometer on the front of her dress, placed it on the soft cloth on the
counter, beside the syringe.
Lori picked up the rubber tubing. Thin, dangling, she knotted it
around my neatly presented arm. I was feeling randy, out-of-control. I
did not care anymore what they did to me. ÒThis will hurt just a little
bit,Ó Lori told me.
ÒWhat is it?Ó I asked.
ÒMore sex juice,Ó she replied. ÒMainlined this time, to get you really
sexed. DonÕt worry, IÕll take some too, and the doctor. We wouldnÕt give
you what we wouldnÕt take ourselves.Ó With a cotton swab and alcohol
Lori anointed the crook of my arm. Then she brought the needle down,
carefully, uncertainly. A stab. I winced. A squeeze on the end of the
syringe, LoriÕs thumb pressing down. I feel a sudden warmth rush up my
arm, then spread almost at once within my belly.
ÒGood girl,Ó Lori is saying to me, and it is over before I know it, the
needle out, Lori wiping my arm lightly with a second alcohol pad. ÒHere
they are,Ó I hear her announce, rummaging in the helpful drawer from
which sheÕd just drawn the alcohol pads, before that the thermometer, and
the blood pressure cuff. Whoever played in here last didnÕt quite
straighten everything up when they were done, I guess. Or Lori is new
here, doesnÕt know where things are kept.
Lori swaps out the needle on the syringe tube. She turns, goes to the
doctor. For a moment she takes hold of his cock, fingers it, holding her
syringe aloft, admiring the big vein running down the shaft of his penis.
ÒThe arm, girl,Ó the doctor replies, rolling up his sleeve. He breaks
open an alcohol pad and swabs his own arm. Lori lets go of his member
and he presents his arm to her. She has no trouble finding his vein. No
band of rubber is needed for him. Nonetheless, he grips his bulging bicep
with his free hand to constrict the blood flow and make his vein bulge out
more. Lori pricks him, a delighted look in her eyes as she stares down at
his big arm. Then she removes the needle, offers him a fresh cotton pack,
and he swabs the injection spot himself.
ÒUnh,Ó the doctor suddenly says. A grunt, primal. I glance at him.
His butt has reared forward, his cock sticks out with unusual hardness,
waving in the air like some line officer calling his men from their
trenches. ÒInto the enemy foxholes, boys!Ó I hear the officer call in my
mind. Doctor Alexander eyes me with renewed interest, his vigorous cock
pulsing and throbbing with a kind of desperation. ÒGod, my balls feel
heavy!Ó he admits to me, frankly, one lover to another, no barriers between
us.
ÒYou are full, I am empty,Ó I want to reply, but I just look at him
instead, my eyes flicking between his face and his huge organ.
Lori switches needles again, the fluid in her syringe down by two-
thirds now, the rest remaining for her. She goes to the doctor, presents
him with the injection materials. In his cupped palms he takes them. He
ties her off, injects her. She returns to me rubbing her belly, her womb. I
imitate her. I want to rub lower, fear to. Not without doctorÕs
permission.
Lori opens the metal box. She tells me to stick out my tongue. ÒTwo
aspirin, dear,Ó she explains to my wide, enquiring eyes. ÒTo relieve the
achey feeling youÕll probably have later, when weÕre through. Doctor will
be going several rounds with you, you know. ItÕs best to let this start
working now.Ó
I accept the pills on the tip of my tongue. Lori fills the spanking-
new urine cup with water and gives it to me to wash down the pills. As
she is bending to serve me the doctor comes up to her from behind. Aloft,
in his hand, he has a needle, fresh from the cabinet across the room.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Small Press Review, Vol. 28, No. 9, $25.00 per year. Newsprint
magazine, 24 pages. Dustbooks, P.O. Box 100, Paradise, CA 95967.
email: len@dustbooks.com web: http://www.dustbooks
Review: People donÕt understand me. They think I write like IÕm a
girl (thatÕs the other guy in this zine). Or they tell me theyÕre going to
improve me by killing me. So let me explain my desires and interests.
(Maybe it will cut down on the police stings.)
I donÕt want to be famous in life. Or wealthy. All I want to be in
life is a humble elementary school teacher. Obviously it would be at an
all-girls school. And obviously I want to be the P.E. teacher. But, you
know, thatÕs not asking much. I could teach all the little girls about their
health and how to properly wear their training bras and which sorts of
panties are best: the ones with the teddy bears or the ones with the
hearts. (IÕm partial to teddy bears myself, but donÕt worry. I belive every
little girl should be free to choose!)
I myself am free to decide which zines to review and which not to.
For a long time, IÕve been putting off reviewing this one. But my friend
Jim Corrigan keeps the latest issue of Small Press Review by his bedside.
He masturbates over it, he likes it so much. So I decided to finally give in
and review it. (Maybe youÕll want to masturbate over it too.)
This zine comes out about every two weeks. (Well, it says
ÒmonthlyÓ in the indicia, but I swear I get it more often than that!) IÕve
been getting it for years, even though IÕve never paid a cent for it. ItÕs
printed on newsprint. ThatÕs probably its best aspect. In my living
quarters, various odors tend to accumulate. Old pizzas IÕve lost make
themselves known through their smell, as do my various beer cans and
empty bottles of Johnnie Walker. And then there are the spermatic odors,
from my various emissions over the years. So the newsprint smell of
Small Press Review, in my opinion, sort of tidies up the air. And it helps
dilute the smell of all those old Hustler magazines. (IÕve always hated
that Ôporno magÕ smell. Do you remember how porno magazines used to
smell? They always used to have a gaudy, slick smell to them. Especially
the ones where women opened their cunts real wide and pretended to be a
train tunnel. Modern porno mags smell lots better, but thatÕs no help for
someone like me with an extensive (albeit stained) back issue collection.)
The best part of Small Press Review is the Guest Editorial, on page
three. For me, itÕs the only part of this zine worth reading. This issueÕs
editorial is titled, ÒWhy I CanÕt Publish Your Bestseller.Ó ItÕs written by a
small press book publisher. He asks to be paid (by you) to publish your
book. It gives good insights into the mind of the big commercial
publishers, and the little subsidy amateur publishers. My favorite line
was:
ÒYou are right. Your novel is as good as many published by Random
House. The bad news is (by my own dead reckoning) there are
approximately 2,000,000 unpublished manuscripts in the U.S.A. that are
good enough (or bad enough) to be published by Random House (pg. 3).Ó
Personally, I would stay away from all subsidy publishers. This guy
(the guest editorialist) sounds fine, but IÕm sure there are as many sharks
out there as there are honest, hard-working small subsidy publishers. And
with the advent of the Web, it seems pointless to be printing paper books
or zines anymore, at least at the level of the small subsidy publisher. If
you have something to say, just write ÒCUM WITH MEE!Ó on Usenet and
everyone on the planet, including me, will probably read it.
Small Press Review concentrates on poets a lot. If you like writing
poetry, youÕll probably love this zine. It has a ÔpoetÕs coffee houseÕ feel to
it. There are reviews of zines (often poetry zines) and columns by various
people, all of which are generally unintelligible to me. But the Guest
Editorial is readable, and fun. Since this zine probably wonÕt cost you
anything and will keep arriving in your mailbox even after youÕre dead, you
may as well get it. If nothing else, you can wrap fish in it. (Or, you know,
wrap something else in it when you visit the porno theatre with Pee Wee
Herman...)
AND IN THE END...
MORRIS and CLINTON, DOLE and STONE
ÒWoe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like
unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are
within full of dead menÕs bones, and of all uncleanness.
ÒEven so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within
ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.Ó
- Jesus Christ (Matthew 23: 27-28.)
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1996 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 110 EMISSION