Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 112
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter Three
A questing. Somewhere within me there must be a holy grail. A
cherry, perhaps, waiting to be popped. A finger pressing hard against my
rose hole. I hear squirting. ÒMore oil,Ó is said, in a male voice. A female
voice laughs and squirts again. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trembling.
Optional: I remember my past injection. He does not know of my
past injection, deep-seeking.
Suddenly he is within. Bolt-hard, burrowing in, his finger delves up
my channel. Vainly I squeeze my cheeks together in an effort to keep him
out. ÒGod-Damn! YOU are the one who should have had the muscle
relaxant,Ó he swears at me. ÒItÕs just a finger. MY finger. DonÕt try to cut
it off!Ó I do my best to do just that but he plunges deeper, manages to get
halfway up. ÒIÕll have to whip her,Ó he replies, and his finger withdraws,
sleeking down my channel, popping out.
Lori handed Alex the riding crop. With his penis boldly displayed, me
watching fearfully in a mirror, he drew back the crop and whacked it hard
against my heinie. ÒYou must relax!Ó Alex roared. Tears sprang to my
eyes. How could I relax if he was going to flay me with his crop? He gave
me another butt-thudding whack, making me sob out my first tearful sob.
The next strikes were lighter, skimming my cheeks instead of driving
directly into them. It was as if heÕd intended the first two to be a kind of
wake-up call, to let me know he meant business. The rest, skimming
though they might be, still hurt most unpleasantly, each swift stroke
leaving a distinct burning spot somewhere on my heinie, usually across
both my cheeks, where the crop had made the best contact. A long slim
line, soon joined by another, then another still, each brushing across my
seat but striking somewhere deepest, leaving its mark there, evidence of
my misbehavior.
Bunching one of my knees inside other, my panties still ringed
around them, I bit my lips and tried to endure. Whack after butt-stinging
whack assailed my bottom. Alex had me crying openly by the end, a mound
of young female flesh, blubbering away. In his finger went again. I did not
resist this time. The will to resist had been literally beaten out of me.
When he was satisfied that my butthole met his requirements, he pledged
to me that he would fuck it one day and then proceeded to ream my pussy.
I gasped upon the table. He took me hard, discharging three times within
me. I was astonished by his strength. It was as if an oil well gusher had
got up me. Then he draped Lori over me, her butt above mine, and went a
fourth and final round in her ass.
When all was done I was released. Lori gave me back my clothes, and
I put them on as best I could, trying to look at neat in them as I might, as
if nothing had happened. She put her nurseÕs uniform back on, zipping it all
the way up. Doctor Alexander put his own clothes back on, even zipping
his fly this time. Lori patted my pantied bottom.
ÒDonÕt leave without finding a skirt or something to cover you in
behind,Ó she told me.
ÒDonÕt worry, I wonÕt,Ó I replied. We kissed. I still had the passion
in me, as did she. But I was sleepy, too. I wanted to find a bed of my own
and go to sleep in it all by myself, with no visitors.
Lori let us out of the exam room. We walked to the front of the
office, past the nurseÕs check-in window, at last to the front door of the
waiting room.
ÒBye, have a fun life,Ó Lori said, pecking me on my cheek.
ÒYouÕre leaving?Ó I asked. I considered them friends, now. I
regretted seeing them going.
ÒBye,Ó Lori said, turning to our mutual doctor. He kissed her back,
and I saw they would perhaps not meet again either. All was temporary,
for fun only, with no commitments. Dr. Alexander kissed me on my lips,
told us both we were pretty, and opened the front door for us. The
mansion waited beyond.
ÒMy carÕs out back,Ó Dr. Alexander told us. I did not know yet
whether I wanted to leave the house or not.
ÒMineÕs out front,Ó Lori replied, and briskly they separated from me,
one of them going down one hall, the other down another. Soon I was
standing alone, clad in my pinafore and panties, my ass still stinging and
traces of semen laddered on my long stockings.
THE END
AUTHORÕS Comments - Chapter Three actually began at the top of
issue number 109. (Sorry, I changed my master copy but forgot to make
the change in the issues themselves.) This is, obviously, a ÔLady and the
TigerÕ ending. I always hated that story in school, but now IÕve written
one myself. (ThatÕs better than the non-ending I sometimes provide!)
You will have to decide for yourself whether the heroine of this
story continues her sexual escapades or returns to her conventional life in
suburbia. (As a ÔchangedÕ girl, no doubt, eager to tell her friends not to
stray like she did.) (I always get a kick out of the ex-alcohol users, drug
users, etc. that a high school trots out. They are always the coolest
looking teenagers. ÔDonÕt stray like I did,Õ they say, Ôunless you want to be
cool, of course...Õ) (The Newshour with Jim Lehrer reported this week that
Drug ÔAwarenessÕ programs actually have the net effect of promoting drug
use!)
We here at Fuck Decency donÕt want to promote any promiscuous
behavior, of course. Stephen Hawking says, ÒDonÕt have sex as a teenager.
I didnÕt, and look what it did for me!Ó
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Field of Desire
Chapter One
Annie strolled across the field of hay with Monique. A path of sorts
had been trampled through the hay by prior travelers. But the product of
the field was no longer harvested. It grew wild now, interspersed with
patches of bare ground where clover and daisies had claimed footholds
amidst the hay.
An onlooker would have simply seen two young women, dressed in
off the shoulder frocks and tantalizingly abbreviated skirts. Both the
skirts and the blouses were of flouncy white cotton, and an occasional
snippet of wind raised the dresses to reveal semi-sheer white undies. The
hem of each girl's midriff fluttered across her naval. The girls wore
spiked silver heels with no stockings. Their beauty concealed the tension
between them.
The girls were similar in age, with the one to the left appearing a
bit more mature. Neither girl, however, seemed to have learned her
lessons with regard to wearing a bra. Both had breasts unrestrained by
any such undergarment, their only covering being their thin blouses. But it
was a hot summer day. Their nipples, which poked at their frocks, could
not have risen from any chill.
"We should take off our clothes before we reach the cabin," Monique
said to Annie. The blonde gave her a puzzled look. Monique unbuttoned her
own blouse. "You will be reimbursed for them, so their loss need not
concern you." Monique pulled open her frock to reveal an exquisite pair of
tits. They bounced as she walked. She let the corsage flutter from her
hand and fall behind her in the field. Annie put a hand to the drawstring of
her own midriff and twirled the end. She tugged lightly.
When Annie was a young girl Monique had been an exchange student
from France. She had lived next door, but had seemed to spend the
majority of her time at Annie's. She and Annie's parents had been close.
Annie had also shared time with the teen, but as Monique blossomed her
interludes with Annie grew less and less.
Now Annie was 17, and at her Daddy's suggestion she had flown to
France to spend the summer at Monique's. The former exchange student
was married now, to an older man who seemed to have little time for her.
This, however, seemed to bother Monique not in the least. Her many
friends made so many demands on her that she had little time to think
about her marriage.
Monique's husband had been born into wealth, the inheritor of
vineyards and rural estates. Annie had been picked up at the airport and
taken to a rustic old mansion. In back was a swimming pool. Annie had
spent the last two days since her arrival lying out by the pool, going
inside only when Monique admonished her that she was making her tan too
dark. In the evening Monique's friends would appear and the pool would
play host to a party.
Annie's presence had drawn a host of overtures from the male
friends of Monique, but the blonde had found herself captivated by
Monique's live-in boyfriend, Pierre. Yesterday afternoon Pierre had come
out and played with Annie in the pool. Annie's bikini bra had come undone.
Gallantly, Pierre had fit the fabric back to her breasts and retied her bra.
Just then Monique had called Pierre inside.
That night Annie had awakened and slipped downstairs for a bite of
milk and cookies. She had heard what sounded like muffled screams
coming from the den. She had gone and peeped inside the door. Monique's
naked bottom hove into view, lightly striped by the lash. Pierre was
standing behind her, his trim buttocks naked. A girl had been kneeling
behind him, tongueing the crack of his bottom and apparently fisting his
stiff penis. Both Pierre and Monique had turned around simultaneously.
Monique had been gagged. Her eyes were wide with fear, but Pierre's
burned with lust.
The girl had stopped tongueing Pierre's bottom when she felt him
twist around. She looked behind her and her eyes fell upon Annie. One of
Annie's tits had slipped from behind her negligee.
"Are you after me?" the kneeling girl had asked Annie with accepting
eyes. Annie had lurched from the half-opened door and run upstairs to her
bedroom.
The next morning no one had been in the house. Annie walked around,
calling, but there was no response. She had played by the pool by herself
and in the evening she hosted her own make-believe party.
The following morning Monique had come into Annie's bedroom. The
blonde had awakened just as Monique sat down by her head. The woman
had caressed Annie's hair. She said she had been shopping, and had bought
herself clothes just like those Annie had been wearing when she was
picked up at the airport.
"Now we can look just alike," Monique had said. "And share the same
experiences."
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
PlayboyÕs Wet and Wild, $6.95.
Review: I have coined a new phrase. (I go to the trouble of pointing
this out so I can be given due credit in Time, Newsweek, and People.)
(Photo ops available.)
My phrase is ÒThe Post-Feminist Man.Ó In olden times, men were
men. Then, in the 1960Õs, women started burning their bras and begging
for sex. To Ômake love,Õ men needed only to nod their heads indulgently
when asked if they supported feminism. They got laid and, in the process,
they became Feminist Men.
Naturally, the easy days didnÕt last too long. Soon it was not enough
merely to pay lip service to feminism, if you were a man. You had to
actually let the ÔgirlÕ do something other than serve you coffee and, by the
1980Õs, you had to let her be your Boss! (As if there were ever a time
when women werenÕt the boss anyway.)
It is time for us males to stop simpering around and taking orders
from women. I found Alan Alda and the Ôsensitive 90Õs maleÕ personally
revolting, but apparently other men didnÕt. They aspired to be ÒfathersÓ
who breast fed their children and changed their diapers. (Sounds like a
mom to me, but what do I know?)
Lately we are even having chemical castration imposed upon us, for
various perceived misdeeds (defined as such by, of course, feminist
women.) The castrating chemical, which is composed of female hormones,
basically turns the man into a woman. Apparently this improves him.
(Susan Smith, as youÕll recall, only murdered her children because of
nefarious male influences in her life, not because she was a woman.)
Things are, however, beginning to change, despite various
government mandates and the feminization of the Republican party. At one
time, in our recent feminized history, there were no male role models.
Then, in the mid-1980Õs, Fox gave us Bart Simpson and, less noticed, Al
Bundy. The 1990Õs brought Beavis and Butthead. Now we have a show
which, I admit, I havenÕt watched, but which appears to follow in the same
vein: Men Behaving Badly. (i.e. not like women.)
There was a false start in the 1980Õs. It was a so-called MenÕs
Movement that was inspired by a book titled ÒIron John.Ó In this book
Robert Bly claimed to be a proponent of male values. In fact, with its
concentration on all-male retreats, I regarded it as little more than a
thinly-disguised Gay cattle call. (Who wants to sit around with buck
naked men smelling their underarms?)
The problem with feminism is its tendency to deny men legitimacy
or to only accord them legitimacy if they behave like women. (The women,
of course, are expected to behave like men.) In retaliation, the ÔmenÕs
movementÕ denies women, secluding men with each other. It seems to me
that both movements strive for an infantilist view of human beings. Only
in the very earliest years of life is either sex preoccupied with itself.
(As a way of sorting out what it means to be a Ôgirl,Õ or a Ôboy.Õ) After the
earliest years of life, all the rest of oneÕs life is preoccupied with the
opposite sex. For women to band together and hate men, or for men to hate
women, is to desire to go back essentially to the womb, or at best to the
days when you felt scared to sit on the potty.
Nature did not make men in order to see them act like women. Or
vice versa. It is time for men, at least, to become ÒPost-Feminist Men.Ó
This is the man who does not ÔDepo-ProveraÕ himself, mentally or
otherwise. As a humble hobo, I canÕt define the Post Feminist Man too
completely. (Sitting in a dumpster all day does have its drawbacks.) But
the next time you see yourself giving in to the feminist dictates, think of
yourself in eternity. You will be sitting there with Alexander the Great,
Napoleon, and George Patton. Alexander will talk of conquering Persia.
Napoleon will talk of conquering Europe. George Patton will talk of
conquering Africa. And what will you say?
ÒMy female boss promoted me to be her assistant because I turned
off the coffee pot every evening.Ó
Religious people will tell you that there is an afterlife. And that if
you donÕt follow their way, youÕre going to Hell. Well, I donÕt know if
thereÕs a Hell or not, but an awful lot of religions agree that thereÕs an
afterlife. It lasts for eternity. Can you imagine sitting around for the
rest of eternity being laughed at by all the men whoÕve lived (and died)
prior to our time? There they are, talking about fighting mastodons, and
hunting for dinosaurs, and being pirates, and there you are talking up the
fact that your wife liked you because you were willing to change the kidsÕ
diapers and drive them to little league.
I realize you wonÕt accept my advice. (After all, a paycheckÕs a
paycheck and better to Depo-Provera yourself rather than have the state
do it for you.) But donÕt say I didnÕt warn you. As for myself, I have
chosen to live a life of Male Purity, sitting in my dumpster with my
Playboys and Penthouses and my tape of the 1995 Beavis and Butthead
Christmas Special. At least in the next life I wonÕt be branded a co-
conspirator with the feminists. A loser, maybe, but not a traitor to men.
On a lighter note, I recently bought the new issue of PlayboyÕs Wet
and Wild. Do you remember last winterÕs issue of PlayboyÕs Sexy
Swimsuits? Well, the photos Playboy omitted from that issue theyÕve now
stuck into the new issue of Wet and Wild. I thought the Sexy Swimsuits
issue was pretty sucky. Problem number one was too many photos of
beautiful Playmates with their panties ON! Now, I donÕt mind if a girl has
her panties on in Playboy, I just donÕt expect them to be covering her pubic
hair. They should be pulled down to her thighs, or tangled around her
ankles. They should not be covering up her private!
In addition to wearing their panties, the girls in Sexy Swimsuits
werenÕt posed very interestingly. They were just sort of looking into the
camera while kneeling on the beach, or standing next to a tree. YouÕd think
theyÕd at least be shown building a sand castle or something, but no dice.
ÔGlamourÕ shots of girls with their panties on are worthless, in my
opinion.
So we have more of those sorts of photos in this issue of Wet and
Wild. To be fair, the ÔSexy SwimsuitÕ-type photos are, to some extent,
more creative than the ones in the original issue of Sexy Swimsuits. In
addition to the Sexy Swimsuit photos we have some new photos. Some of
these are excellent. I especially liked the one of the girl sticking her
bottom up from a suds-filled bathtub. (Thank God she took off her panties
first!)
The first page of my issue had severe manufacturerÕs damage. The
page looked like it got stuck to the inside of the cardboard cover, then got
ripped off, leaving half of its image behind. Fortunately, the first page
featured a fairly boring photo, so no loss there. The rest of my issue,
from a manufacturing standpoint, was perfect. (Whatever happened to the
days when you could buy Playboy with confidence?)
All in all, this is a good issue. As the winter months set in, you can
remember your summer with this special issue. (Or, rather, the summer
you WISH you had, eh?)
AND IN THE END...
LITTLE GIRLS: OFF LIMITS!!!
Will it Work?
ÒMen are hunters who thrill to the chase.Ó - Time, September 30,
1996, pg. 58.
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-END OF 112 EMISSION