Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 126
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Lady Fontaine
Chapter One
ÒYou are an admirable young lady,Ó Lady Fontaine complimented
Debbie. She lifted the whip, relented, let it fall unsung. ÒEven if you are
silly enough to bother with panties when coming to visit me.Ó Lady
Fontaine cast down her whip. She picked up two lovely little gold rings.
Debbie stood, turned to her. ÒTo your chair, young man. I will see to you
in a minute,Ó Lady Fontaine told Jeff. She looked at me. ÒYou are the
friend, are you not? Rise, leave your jeans in place. I do not want you
running off. Remove JeffÕs clothes. They are to be thrown into the fire.
He was wilful, disobedient. He valued his own cockÕs pleasure over that of
our pussies. He will be naked from now on. Even when I send him out to
cut firewood he will be naked, though perhaps I shall allow him boots, to
protect his toes from frostbite, or the cut of the axe. But your penis,
young man...Ó She regarded him, a playful look in her eyes. Were these but
games? ÒYour penis will stand out stiffly at all times, including when you
cut cordwood. I hope you know how to handle an axe. There are no Leona
Bobbitts here. We know how to value a manÕs penis. I intend to pump
yours very hard. You will feel like a gas station attendant with me. But
sit for now. After Lisa undresses you.Ó With trembling hands I obeyed
her. I stripped off JeffÕs jeans first, his underwear. I let him have his
boots back after IÕd taken his pants from him. Then I stripped off his
sweater, with his athletic letter on it. She would let me save that, I
guessed. I folded it carefully, put it aside from his other clothes, under
his chair. The rest I tossed toward the brazier.
How I yearned to have my legs free of my knee-binding jeans as I
stood and admired Jeff! His chest was as massive as his cock, broad-
sculpted, topped by bold shoulders that could have hefted my wiggling
form right over him. Quietly I pulled his chair out for him, seated him.
His cushion was satin also. Immediately when he sat down his cock
dripped semen, or pre-cum, I knew not which, onto the silken covering. I
reached down with an inquiring digit, scooped up the dollop of precious
seed, popped it into my mouth. Smiling at Jeff I sucked upon my finger.
Lady Fontaine would not let me suck him, I knew, fearing it would excite
him too much. Yet, glancing around, seeing her busy, I bent over, my
bottom rearing up in back. Mindful of her whip I gave Jeff just a quick
kiss, right on his oily shaft. When I rose my lips were extra-glossy, I
saw, glancing in a mirror.
ÒLisa?Ó Lady Fontaine called out. I turned. White-bottomed I
glanced out the picture window as I turned. There were fresh footprints
in the snow. Was someone in the trees, beyond, watching? Trembling
with the uncertainty of it all I shuffled back over to my chair. I plunked
my naked fanny onto the satin cushion, safe from view now behind my
chair back. Debbie, sitting across from me, might offer a view of her cunt
to our secret observer, I guessed. There was no tablecloth.
I looked over my shoulder. Behind me Debbie stood, fitting Lady
Fontaine into her nipple rings. They glowed preciously, she thrust them
through the tiny holes in Lady FontaineÕs erect tits. ÒYes, snap them
shut,Ó Lady Fontaine urged. She seemed to take pleasure in DebbieÕs soft
padded, stiff nailed fingers upon her teats. In the rings went, clicked
shut. A wolf bounded suddenly up, sniffed at the window. His wet nose
pressed upon it, seemed to seek out the clenching cheeks of Debbie, just
beyond, her fanny as bare as that of the Coppertone baby. The wolf darted
off. A moment later I heard a shot ring out, through the trees.
ÒHunters,Ó Lady Fontaine said. ÒOuch.Ó A ring for her pussy lips. A
bit of flesh caught. Debbie, bent low now, unsnapped the ring. Lady
Fontaine held her miniskirt aloft to accommodate the body jewelry, forged
for her own pussy, her ÒFÓ gleaming somewhere upon it, I guessed. Or
perhaps the initials of a man, a lover, or the smith who forged the ring. It
was small, a bit larger than her nipple rings. It held fast upon her at last,
painlessly, though I knew to create the hole for it she had suffered. Lady
Fontaine dropped her dress. She led Debbie to her chair, her own steps
unhindered, long, DebbieÕs constrained, confined by her looping jeans. Lady
Fontaine seated Debbie and scooted her in with the strength of an Amazon.
Debbie looked lost a moment, her tits bobbing, shoved into place like a
child at an expensive restaurant. I needed the bathroom, feared to ask.
Lady Fontaine sat down. Elegantly, mommie come to dinner. Her big
bosoms swung freely, despite their ringed captivity. Debbie had strung a
chain between her bosoms and it shimmered. Small-linked, delicate, it
joined her womanly bosoms with the utmost grace. Pure gold, I guessed,
matching her rings. Very high class. I wanted one, feared the sting of the
needle needed to make it happen.
ÒJeff, there is food in the kitchen, through that little door,Ó Lady
Fontaine instructed DebbieÕs boyfriend. ÒRise and bring it out. It should
be ready now. And bring bibs. You will see them. The girls may find they
are messy eaters tonight, when dessert comes.Ó She looked at our
wondering eyes, laughed, shaking her pearly bosoms, their nipples so
ruthlessly split, ringed, joined by the fine chain. We shivered, hunching
our shoulders, bunching our own breasts together protectively.
It was bizarre. Crazy. And as I realized that there was a space in
my chair back, allowing my bottom to show, revealing my wiggles, I
wanted to jump up and run. I had to pee more certainly now. My bladder
was full. Not quite desperate, but definitely full. I had to go and it made
me jiggle about a little, making a show of my hiney to those in the woods,
shaking my tits.
ÒSit still, Lisa, or I will take the whip to you. You have not felt it
yet, have you?Ó Lady Fontaine asked me.
ÒN-No, maÕam.Ó I feared to say more. Jeff walked out, his big penis
stiff as ever, holding a steaming turkey. He laid it on the table. There
was a carving knife lying beside it. He sliced it open, cutting through the
golden, crusted skin. He served Lady Fontaine first. She licked his prick
in appreciation, laving her tongue over the swollen organ, relishing the
glans. Jeff served Debbie next. Her receptive mouth found his cock and
sucked upon it, briefly, her cheeks bulging from its size. Lastly Jeff
served me and timidly I paid tribute to his manhood, pecking a kiss upon
its tip.
ÒLisa, you can do better than that,Ó Lady Fontaine scolded me.
Obediently I took his swollen head into my mouth. I had to open my lips
very wide to do it. I sucked. ÒDo not let him spurt into your mouth!Ó Lady
Fontaine warned me. Reluctantly I let go of him. He seemed to disapprove,
wanted me back. But I turned my head away. He was not master now.
Later, perhaps. But now he must serve us ladies, I realized. He went back
to the kitchen.
Gravy was spilt over our turkey for us. Jeff the servant. Lady
Fontaine, served last this time, made him spill some gravy on his cock.
She licked it off for him before too much of it dripped off the shaft to the
floor. Wine came. We were served. I sipped mine, wanting no more fluid
in me than I already had.
ÒYou will need the wine, darling, drink!Ó Lady Fontaine said.
ÒI-I cannot,Ó I replied.
ÒYou have to go potty?Ó she asked, softly, a mother whispering
across the table to her child. I nodded. ÒToo bad. Do your best to hold
yourself in. I do not want my nice satin cushions peed upon.Ó I gulped.
She was not my mommie. She was my Dominatrix. I glanced at her whip,
hung once more in coiled loops upon the wall. I feared for my hiney.
Debbie wriggled. She felt the same need, I realized. We were children in
school, waiting for recess. Except it would be a recess with needles,
stinging us in the tips of our precious bosoms. Our tits jostled as we took
forkfuls of food, began eating. Jeff was allowed to sit. He ate lustily.
The worst of the passion was off him and he could enjoy himself now; his
hardness, our nakedness. He had peed in the kitchen, I guessed, perhaps
into a bucket. Lady Fontaine seemed unworried. Her bladder was bigger
than ours, like her breasts.
Dessert was brought. Strawberry cream pie. A piece for each of us.
Jeff brushed back our hair and tied bibs on us. We were given no forks.
The bibs were short, left our breasts bare. The pies were put some
distance out from us, partway across the table. We waited for Jeff to
bring us forks. Instead he brought us handcuffs. They were steel, no-
nonsense, not gold like the nipple rings.
ÒGirls, I know you would use your fingers if I didnÕt give you forks,
and youÕre not getting forks,Ó Lady Fontaine told us. Her voice was polite,
formal. ÒJeff, handcuff the girlÕs wrists behind them. They will need it
later anyway for the piercing.Ó I wanted to leap up, to protest, but JeffÕs
big hands took my arms. He drew them back, leaving my breasts thrusting
lewdly before me, jutting out as never before. He crossed my arms high on
my back and cuffed them together, his grip rough. He used two sets of
cuffs, cuffing each of my wrists to the opposite arm. Way up on my upper
arms he locked the second of each of the cuffs. My arms were thin and he
had no trouble getting the big police cuffs around them. He pressed down
hard, locking each cuff down until it indented my skin.
ÒI shall have to find the key later,Ó Lady Fontaine said absently,
admiring my new breast-popping posture, my bib lying uselessly, I
thought, above my breasts, protecting little save the small expanse of
skin between my neck and bosoms.
ÒOhhh, I cannot go through with this!Ó Debbie squeaked. She was
trembling openly. Her breasts jiggled sweetly, jello-flesh, cream colored.
The nipples seemed especially hard. Jeff came to her, twisted her back
into place as she attempted to turn, to rise from her chair. He cuffed her
as he had me. He left her sitting bare bosomed at her place, her eyes wide.
ÒEnjoy your dessert, girls. And please do eat all of it. Lick your
plates clean,Ó Lady Fontaine ordered us. With shock in our eyes we
realized she wanted us to eat as dogs do, putting our faces down to our
plates. ÒOr do you prefer the whip?Ó She asked. ÒI do so enjoy using it!Ó
Naked and trembling, I bent forward. Debbie did likewise. I stuck
out my tongue, licked up a little bit of the pieÕs whipped cream surface.
ÒDig right in, girls,Ó Lady Fontaine told us. She spoke with a directness I
feared to disregard. Jeff, meanwhile, had been given a special task. He
stood beside her. She had him thrust his manhood into her slice of
strawberry pie. He drew it out, cream covered, a slice of strawberry upon
it. She licked his shaft clean. Jeff groaned as she cleaned him. ÒDo not
enjoy yourself too much,Ó Lady Fontaine told him. ÒI do not like having
sperm with my pie.Ó Poor Jeff! He gasped aloud at her statement,
trembled. She ordered him to reinsert himself in her dessert. He did so,
brought forth new wonders. Strawberries, cream, a bit of cake. She
licked it off him. ÒGirls! I will not tell you again,Ó Lady Fontaine warned
us between licks. I shivered, glanced at Debbie. Then, delicately as I
could, I pressed my face into my dessert. I bit into it, felt cream tickling
my nose. When I lifted my face again I saw it, in a mirror, looking for all
the world like IÕd found a fount of semen. Debbie too got her lips into her
dessert, pressed her face as far as necessary into it, came up wearing a
white mask on her lips and cheeks, the tip of her nose. We ate our
mouthfuls in silence. The bib protected my skin. My bosoms, swinging
forward, tried to get into the pie. I managed to keep them out, mostly,
getting just a little cream on them. With much loss of face we finished
our desserts completely. We licked our plates like cats. The china
sparkled when we were through. ÒGood work, girls, but such wriggling!
IÕve never seen girls have to pee so badly. Is that what it is, or are you
too just cold?Ó
ÒThatÕs what it is,Ó we replied, jointly, Debbie and I, our faces
smooshed all over with cream and cake.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
[Spectacles will be published quarterly. The first issue ships in
February, 1997. It will be a standard sized, 24 page, black and white
comic book. Ed.]
Spectacles #1, unpriced. (Special tabloid-sized newsprint preview.) By
Jon Lewis. Publisher: Jeff Mason, Alternative Press, Inc., 611 NW 34th
Drive, Gainesville, FL 32607-2429. Phone: 1-(352)-373-6336.
Review: Recently I was standing in line at the supermarket, waiting
to check out. I moved out from behind my grocery cart for a moment.
When I tried to return to it, I found that the woman behind me had nudged
her cart forward so that I had noplace to stand. I suppose this was a hint
that I was supposed to get out of her life. But I came up with a dandy
solution to insure that she moved her cart back. I share it with you in
case youÕd like to try it yourself. It worked really good for me!
I had a copy of Parents magazine in my hand. (The magazine that
always features darling 2-year-olds on its cover). (I mention this just so
you know the complete details.) The lady had a gorgeous daughter, so I
said to her, ÒWow! ThatÕs a really cute daughter youÕve got there, lady. Is
she potty trained yet?Ó Then I told her about Parents magazine and how
all the little girls in it were busy being potty trained, and how her
daughter (if she wasnÕt trained yet) could learn from this magazine. I was
about to offer my services in helping her daughter to learn (since I read
every issue) when the lady not only moved her cart back, she went to
another line! WAY on the other side of the store.
I was feeling a fart coming at the time but I hadnÕt actually let it
out yet. (I didnÕt want to embarrass myself while I was talking to her.)
So I know it wasnÕt the fart. Usually if I let a big fart the person behind
me will courteously move their cart back to let me back into the line. But
this time, no fart.
There is one other technique IÕve learned to help people remember
their manners. One day an old lady (with no daughter) moved her cart
forward and took up my space. So, standing next to my cart (since I
couldnÕt fit behind it) I bent way over, pretending to have dropped my copy
of Parents magazine. Now, as you may guess, IÕm one of those old-time
dudes who wears blue jeans. And, since I have a fat belly but a tight ass,
they sort of sag in back. So when I bent over (since I donÕt have any
underpants) the cheeks of my ass mooned the old lady.
IÕll admit, I was worried about this strategy. There were some Girl
Scouts in the store selling cookies and I was afraid they would all run up
behind me and compliment me on my ass. (How embarrassing!) Plus there
were some Ladies in the store, you know, Babe-type Ladies, and I was sure
they would all crowd around me and maybe even pinch my butt. That didnÕt
happen, though. (Maybe Tom Cruise was shopping and had bent over at the
same time.) But the old lady DID go away! So I share that experience with
you just in case the Parents magazine trick doesnÕt work.
One time I yelled, ÒThis is a hold up!Ó real loud in the store. The
person behind me did move back, but I got in trouble. So I donÕt advise
doing that.
I also donÕt advise buying a copy of Spectacles. I wasnÕt really
impressed by it. I have been reviewing comic books (in Fuck Decency and
elsewhere) for many years. Usually I review small press comics. There
are three types of small press comics. There are really amateurish,
ÔcrappyÕ small press comics. Then there are ÔaverageÕ small press comics.
And, finally, there are Ôtop of the lineÕ small press comics.
Guess which of the three I like? Odds are, IÕll like the really
amateurish, ÔcrappyÕ small press comics best. And the comics which will
get the worst reviews from me are the Ôtop of the lineÕ small press
comics. (This isnÕt true in every case. The oft-reviewed Moot Comics are
Ôtop of the line.Õ)
I have found that over the years I am a champion of the ÔcrappyÕ
small press comics. Usually the art will suck and the story will be
disjointed and the manufacturing of the comic itself will be half-assed.
But there is something about those ÔcrappyÕ comics that endears
themselves to me. I still remember Tony RuzicÕs Fatman. It was a blatant
attempt to cash in on the Batman craze that was then prevalent. The art
was childish and the stories were simplistic. But I found much more
enjoyment reading that comic than, say, Larry BlakeÕs highly respected
Nightshade. (Later changed, at the behest of Marvel Comics, to Nightstar.)
So you can imagine the hurdle youÕre going to have as an alternative
comic book creator, of real comic books. My standards are going to be
quite high. Spectacles didnÕt really deliver. Given the expensively-printed
advance copy I was sent, IÕd almost call it a waste of paper. Certainly a
xeroxed minicomic or digest, run off at the local copy shop, would have
done complete justice to the story Jon Lewis is trying to present here.
Let me summarize the contents of this advance copy so you can
decide for yourself. The first story is titled, ÒLand of the Early Bird!Ó IÕm
not an early bird (IÕm a bum), so this story immediately endeared itself to
me. A man who usually wakes up late is forced to wake up early. It shows
him as he goes to the coffee shop and sits and listens to other men talk.
Then he goes to the bank, deposits his check, and goes home to sleep.
ThatÕs it. ThatÕs the story. And, since IÕm reading James Joyce in my
spare time, I must say, from the Joycean perspective, there wasnÕt a hell
of a lot else going on in this story. The man is impressed by how clean the
city looks when it is wet with dew. ThatÕs about the only insight I took
away from this story.
The second story is ÒEye of Potential Harm.Ó A man is sitting and
reading late at night. He has a cat and his front door has a Ôcat doorÕ built
into it, so his cat can come and go through the door. On this particular
night, a possum comes through the Ôcat doorÕ into the house. The possum
looks at the man, and the man looks at the possum. Then the possum
leaves.
That little vignette was actually pretty interesting. But the story
doesnÕt stop there, as it would in a cost-conscious booklet like a
minicomic or a digest. No, this story goes on and on. I got really bored
reading it. Nothing else of substance happens.
I read this whole issue. I even read the blurbs by other people
telling me how great Jon LewisÕs comics are. And I read the interview
with Jon Lewis on the inside back cover. It was all pretty boring.
If you are an average working dude and you want to read about
another average working dude just like yourself, who has no life and a
shitty job (that heÕs apparently content with), this book is for you.
Otherwise, I canÕt recommend it.
(Oh well, no more free comics for me from that publisher!)
FREE PLUG
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-END OF 126 EMISSION