Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 122
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Holland Hunnies
Chapter One
Thinking of home, of the regularity of the rituals; school, softball,
work, I twisted open the faucet with my mouth. A gushing of water. A
splattering within the steel bucket. Then the cool flowing, filling the
bucket. Mistress dumped in some soap suds as I watched the bucket fill.
She turned the tap off for me. Into the bucket she tossed a sponge.
ÒTake it!Ó she commanded. ÒTake the sponge and wash the floor.Ó I
gazed up at her, shocked. I would get soap in my mouth, in my loose-
hanging hair! It would run down my chin and over my breasts, my tummy.
ÒHave you not bobbed for apples? Get the sponge, girl, or IÕll ruin your
bottom with this whip!Ó She brandished it for me. Helpfully she lashed it
over my hiney, once, reminding me of its sting. I yelped, needed no further
encouragement.
Hair hanging, most unladylike even for a girl of 19, I leaned over the
bucket and put my face into it. My teeth gabbled for the sponge. It darted
away, I caught it at last. Bubbles tickled my nose as I rose up, decorated
my forehead. Elegina took the bucket by its handle, lifted it.
ÒFollow me,Ó she ordered. Gracefully as she could, for the bucket
was heavy, she walked out into the center of the room. Her bottom cheeks
jostled with one another as she walked, jiggling. In front her boobies
bounced. With a small groan of relief she set down the bucket. Soapy
water sloshed over its rim. Out to the center of our playpen I followed
her, machines looming all around us, waiting quietly. Knowing that we
would scream upon them soon, silent trees in a still forest, forest
creatures scampering nude beneath their ominous ancient boughs.
I wanted to go, to unbolt the door and run away, but could not, my
hands tied, my knees shuffling in their booted pads across the floor. In my
mouth I held my sponge, my eyes gaping, soap on my face. Tom watched
me approvingly. His cock, forever hard, twitched. I glanced at his apple-
plum head and wished I could stick it in my mouth in lieu of the sponge.
ÒWell, get on with it! Scrub this floor!Ó Mistress ordered me when
IÕd reached the bucket, staring up at her, looking for reprieve. Dutifully I
bent over, sloshed the sponge into the bucket, came up. My bosoms fought
against the bucketÕs rim, half in, half out, rose with soapy traces on them.
Soap clinging to my hair, I bent and put the sponge to the floor. How
awful I felt! IÕd never cleaned anything in my life! WeÕd had servants at
home, in L.A., Mexican people, wetbacks who dirtied their hands for us in
the soap and bubbles, washing away our spent pleasures. I flinched, gave a
muffled cry within my sponge-filled mouth. The whip urged me to my
labors.
With vigorous strokes I began washing the floor. It was immaculate,
as I guessed all the rooms were. They could not have rooms where bodily
fluids were spilt unless they cleaned them regularly. Probably Africans
cleaned the rooms here, Tunisians or Ethiopians. European wetbacks from
down south. With my flawless white body I bent low, pampered, spoilt all
my life, and scrubbed. Alas! My nipples bounced across the floor
unprotected. There was no need for this, no need. They did it only to glory
in my humiliation. My bottom upturned, rearing, my legs wide displaying
my sex as I worked. I was a pack-horse now, they loved my white rearing
body and its supple movements, sponge in my mouth, wrists tied uselessly
behind me. My hair flew in all directions as I scrubbed. My poor nipples
felt the hardness of the floor, remorselessly hard, but worn smooth by the
passage of time. I prayed there were no chinks in the floor, sharp edged,
into which my nipples might fall. They were stiff, hopelessly stiff, I was
so hungry down within my sweet tight cleft. Somewhere behind me Tom,
with his ponderous sack, overwhelmed by sperm, shifted his stance,
moved. I knew he wanted me badly, I could not deny I wanted him, would
do whatever he asked, even mount the awful machines if he desired it, if
he would promise to keep me safe upon them, save for what he wished to
torment.
I was lost, lost in my lust. Like an animal I scrubbed the floor.
Rising I dipped my sponge again, wettened it, returned to polish up the
stone once more. The whip licked across my bottom, remindingly, I
shivered at its awful touch, kept working.
Elegina reached down, took me by my hair. She lifted my head and
withdrew the sponge from my mouth. ÒYou are a good slave,Ó she said. I
glanced at her, saw her fear that Tom might override her plans and fuck
me right there upon the floor. She wished to play yet, to torment me. She
tossed aside the sponge. Its use was done. I had proven my worth, my
ability to work and perform labors, even degrading labors. She took me by
my tight neck-leash. She drew me across the floor, I following her soft
rolling hips on my knees as she walked before me.
Soft towels lay waiting on a wooden bench. They were neatly folded,
by the help, for our private use. We were at a most exclusive hotel.
Elegina picked up a towel, wiped my face with it. The bubbles were gone.
She did the same for my breasts, my belly. Briefly she dipped within my
dell, wiping away the bubbles collected there from my scrubbing. I wished
for her to stay. She did not, lifting the towel and setting it back on the
bench. My cunt was hungry for whatever might soothe it, even the corner
of a towel.
ÒUp!Ó Mistress commanded, lifting me by my neck-rope. Tight it was
and I stood promptly, obediently. My boots had tall heels and I regained my
feet with an unsteady wobble. Samantha, coming up behind, took the
liberty of steadying me with a hand on my bottom. She squeezed me there,
felt within my cheeks, making me jerk. I turned round, regarded her with
accusing eyes. Mistress took my chin and turned me to face her once more.
ÒLook only where you are told to,Ó she warned. She kissed me, full upon
the lips. Her tongue drove into my mouth as SamanthaÕs schoolgirl finger
dug into me from behind. I twisted, yelped. I could not free myself from
the twin indriving prongs. I cared not for fingers, tongues. I wanted cock
and they knew I wanted it, took pleasure in denying me.
Elegina released my mouth from hers, held my chin still. My eyes
darted to Tom, standing nearby. Cock erect, he stroked himself, not
wanting to miss a minute of pleasure watching us. Yet his touch was
light. He knew well he could be inspired to spill at any moment. He was
torn between our spectacle, the pleasure of it, and the desire to free
himself of the heavy burden between his legs.
ÒYou must last all night Tom,Ó Mistress warned him. ÒDo not lose
your load now, we have hours ahead of us. You must fuck us all. Do not
spill yourself needlessly upon the floor.Ó
ÒI wonÕt,Ó Tom replied, but his voice was uncertain. Mistress went
to him, batted away his hand.
ÒI will tie them behind you if you donÕt quit playing with yourself.
You have three females here, with three holes each. Multiply that if you
can and see how many times you must shoot before youÕre given
permission to leave.Ó
ÒI want to go now,Ó I said. ÒThere are plenty of cocks outside, at the
pool, if I canÕt have that one. And cunts too, for Tom.Ó I smiled at him.
We would swim naked together. He would spear me and take me home with
him. When we got home he would eat me.
ÒEveryone is safely locked back into their dungeon by now,Ó Mistress
grinned at me. ÒTucked in for a night of pleasure. You would find yourself
alone in the hallway, unloved. You would have to run next door, naked, to
get clothes.Ó
I gulped. I looked at Tom. ÒAlright. If it will get me away from
you,Ó I blurted to Elegina. She was mean. She did not let me have what I
wanted.
ÒAh! You American girls are absolutely spoiled,Ó Elegina snapped.
There was a wicked twinkle in her eyes. I sensed that I had just
unwittingly given her what she wanted. What sheÕd been waiting for.
Disobedience. Mouthing off. She slapped me, relishing the way my face,
hair flew sideways. She slapped me again. My ears rung.
ÒTom, take her to the whipping salon!Ó Elegina ordered. Tom came up
behind me, grabbed me by my arm. He did not use my leash. He pulled me
back into the rear of the dungeon. Samantha trotted ahead, still in her
jelly heels, her bottom wiggling, breasts bouncing. She looked like some
nude jogger, out for an eye-popping jaunt in the park. Elegina trailed
behind, a whip dangling down her thigh, swishing as she moved her arms,
walking.
To my amazement, there was a curtain at the very back of the
dungeon. I heard voices. Samantha drew back the curtain. She walked it
back, using her hand to draw it open. There was no cord to pull it open.
She seemed to me like a nurse, opening the curtain on a patientÕs bed.
There would be no privacy here.
I gasped. A collection of well-dressed men and women waited on the
other side of the curtain. They sat chatting, sipping tea. They were older,
some as old as 70, grey haired, distinguished. We were young, naked. They
looked up, gazed at us politely. We had been expected.
A dais, set between poles, waited, like a cross awaiting Jesus. Tom
made me mount the dais, showing my figure to all who watched. They
drew in their breath, nodded. Beauty like this was long gone from their
company.
My hands were freed. Only for a moment, though. Samantha on one
side, Elegina on the other, lifted my wrists up and fastened them to the
wide-spaced posts flanking the dais. They both had to stand on small
step-stools to reach the cuffs, the dais was so tall. My wrists felt
leather cuffs bind them. Soft, but absolutely unyielding. I was spread
between the posts, Samson without muscles, only my boobies large. They
wobbled, nipples stiff. My ribs stuck out below them. Softly my tummy
bulged ever so slightly, flat yet promising to swell if inseminated. Tom
would pump me full. I would bear his seed proudly, my stomach absolutely
swollen with his juice. I would name my baby after him.
Yet filling me up was not on the agenda yet. Elegina wished to
demean me still, to humble me. Proudly I lifted my head. I would not look
down at the guests, I would not. She took her whip, stroked it.
ÒJut out your bottom,Ó she told me. Samantha pressed my legs apart.
Steel clicked around my ankles. In my boots I was otherwise exposed,
bared in my beauty for all to see. I wore nothing save my neck-leash and
my boots. My earrings sparkled, nothing more.
ÒShe should wear nipple rings,Ó a woman suggested.
ÒPerhaps later,Ó Elegina replied.
ÒHow sweet it would be to see the chain swinging between her
pierced teats,Ó the woman continued, getting a nod from the others.
Fearfully I stuck out my boobs, displaying myself to them yet not wishing
to be hurt. Within my dell a fire burned. I could not quench it.
ÒI will whip you now, honey, take your punishment well and I shall
go easy on you afterward,Ó Elegina promised. ÒStick your bottom out
properly for me. I will whip only it if you obey, nothing more.Ó Biting my
lip I obeyed her. I tossed my head once, pretended not to care.
SWIIICK! The whip struck, biting into my right cheek. I screamed, in
fear as much as pain. My body thrust forward, my boobs went flying.
WHIIICK! The whip again, touching up my other cheek, leaving its mark
there.
ÒDo not make your lip bleed,Ó Elegina said, when my wiggling had
subsided. She eased my teeth off my lip and inserted a broad rubber bit
into my mouth. ÒBite down,Ó she said. ÒDo not cry out or you will lose it.
If it falls to the floor I will stick it up my bunghole before giving it back
to you.Ó With a stricken look I accepted it. Samantha bathed my face
briefly with a hot towel.
WHISKSK! A double salute, landing on both my springy cheeks. I
reared, leapt, my body spread-eagled, captive. Tears welled in my eyes.
More strokes! I sobbed, clung to my bit with my teeth. Yet more strokes,
lashing me, flaying me alive, Tom watching all with a hand on his cock,
Samantha helpfully bathing my face now and then with a towel.
ÒDrink,Ó Elegina said. Removing my bit, she put liquor to my lips. It
was contained in a precious lead crystal glass. Only the best for me. She
poured it for me, I drank, like a babe drinking from some crystal bottle.
The liquor burned my throat, made me dizzy. I could not keep up with her
pouring. The liquor ran down my chin. Samantha wiped away the dribbling
droplets.
Out beyond an open window, the moon rose. It was full, a loverÕs
moon. A woman rose, shut the window, left the blinds open.
ÒIÕm going to take you far,Ó Elegina said. She replaced my bit. ÒThis
next will be more difficult, harsher.Ó I gazed at her, my face was worried.
We were playing the most forbidden games of all now. I wished to speak,
to protest, knew I would lose my bit if I did. It would roll across the floor
and Elegina would pick it up and shove it up her ass somehow, then give it
back to me, all dirty. I was caught between a rock and a hard place, to say
the least; or, rather, between two posts, which was worse. ÒYour bottom
is young and tender.Ó She caressed me briefly in behind, making me jerk
at the soreness she could already find there. ÒThey have paid to see your
ass broken in, though not broken, I assure you. We would not want that.
Something must be saved for future games, even if they only take place in
your marital bedroom, with your boyfriend. I promise you I will try not to
break the flesh, merely to give it a good one, really thorough. Something
for you to remember us by.Ó She delved within my cleft, fucked me a
moment with her fingers to give me a momentÕs delight. Then she
withdrew, left me hanging by myself, all alone on the dais. I was model
perfect, bold in my nudity. I did not want to be harmed. Yet I glanced at
Tom, at his manhood. I wanted him beyond all common sense. Elegina
knew it, too.
ÒThe liquor should help a little,Ó she assured me. She was
somewhere behind now. Her hand would no longer provide comfort. It
would inflict pain, to expose my charms in all their bouncing glory to
those who watched.
A man removed his belt. He handed it to helpful Samantha, who took
it eagerly. He mumbled something, she nodded. She took the belt to
Elegina. ÒNo, I cannot use the buckle,Ó I heard Elegina say. ÒShe will
bounce well enough with just this end, I assure you.Ó
And then it was upon me! Splatting, hard, no mercy now. I cried out,
lost my bit. I swore as I saw it go flying.
ÒMost unladylike,Ó a grey-haired woman tutted. Her friend nodded,
sipping tea.
ÒExtra strokes for that,Ó Elegina assured me. Samantha ran and
fetched the bit. A man made her bend over, shoved it in her ass crack. She
wiggled, he did not try to get it up her hole. I hoped she didnÕt have any
shit in her furrow from her last poop.
Returning to me, Samantha presented me with the bit. I gazed at it,
wide eyed, looking for shit, finding none.
ÒTie it in. This is taking too long,Ó one of the grey-headed women
complained. Elegina strode forward, slapped my bottom with her hand.
She tied the bit on with a nylon stocking that one of the women gave her.
In behind the knotted ends of the stocking hung down my back, making me
look like some Indian maiden. They would fly when the belt struck again.
ÒThank you,Ó I mouthed within my gag as Elegina tied it on. I did not
want the bit, yet preferred that it be tied if I must have it. I did not want
to eat shit.
REVIEW
by holy joe
Dubliners, by James Joyce. Paperback, $3.95. Bantam Books, ISBN:
0553213806. http://www.amazon.com
Review: I was forced to read this book in school, some years ago.
And it bugged me, having to read it, because I only liked Science Fiction.
This was a collection of stories about ordinary people living in Ireland in
the late 1800Õs. While James JoyceÕs stories did remind me a little of
stories by Ray Bradbury, who I like, the complete absence of martians or
rocket ships in JoyceÕs stories really pissed me off.
Recently I was going through BartlettÕs Quotations and I came across
a quote from James JoyceÕs Dubliners. The quote greatly impressed me.
Since IÕm trying to write better porno, and the quote (though not
pornographic) was well written, I decided to buy Dubliners and read it
again.
What a difference a few years make! At the time I first read
Dubliners, I a was loser. But I THOUGHT my life would eventually turn out
okay. It didnÕt. So now, being a little older, and a total, bona-fide loser, I
found myself reading Dubliners with an entirely new perspective.
The absence of martians and rocket ships didnÕt bother me this time.
I found myself gripped by this book from the first story to the last. Each
story details the desolate lives of paltry people as they are ground down
into oblivion. The stories are very sad. But theyÕre not sad in the Walt
Disney, commercial tear-jerker sort of way. TheyÕre ironically sad. The
last story, The Dead, is quite long, and deals with the various events at a
party. As you read about ordinary people having a party you keep staring
at the title, and wondering what it means. ÒThe Dead, The Dead,Ó kept
resounding in my brain. And, sure enough, by the the end of the story Joyce
had delivered on his title, leaving even me in tears. (Perverts cry too.)
DonÕt read this book if youÕre contemplating suicide. Each story has
a deep current of hopelessness running through it. Yet, at the same time,
they are a depiction of Life. In all JoyceÕs stories Life seems intertwined
with death, with a mundane world that offers too few joys and passes
away all too quickly.
JoyceÕs style is subtly wicked and ironic. You find yourself reading
about one thing and yet, at the same time, thinking about another, as with
the title of ÒThe DeadÓ over a description of a Christmas party. This is
real horror fiction, in my opinion, much better than what Stephen King
grinds out. You wonÕt find any giant frogs or ghosts in these stories. Just
your own life, staring back at you.
AND IN THE END...
ÒThe man who wrote it, I suppose, was some wretched scribbler
that writes these things for a drink.Ó - James Joyce
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-END OF 122 EMISSION