Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 13     

Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in 
Love Child

Chapter Eight
 
         As we pooped out the last of our shit Melissa and I kissed 
suddenly, her small hands resting on my narrow shoulders.  I let my own 
hands steal around her waist.  
         "There will be more, much more, you know," I warned when our 
lips broke apart finally.
         "I know," she breathed.
         "We are wanted for our bodies," I pointed out.
         "Yes," she said.  We kissed again, as abruptly and passionately as 
before.  Excited at what lay before us, yet fearful, we took a moment of 
comfort in the sweetness, the familiarity, of each other.  We would 
face together whatever challenges the adult world confronted us with.
         
         The evening was spent pleasantly enough, with Gretchen and 
Melissa and I playing dominoes.  Robert took Mark to a meeting of the 
Woodsman's Club.  It was a men's hunting club, Gretchen said.  She 
insisted we turn in early.
         The next morning Gretchen let us sleep in late.  When she finally 
woke us, she said we were wanted for a picnic.  A bit later I heard a 
crunching of tires on the gravel drive.  Peering out the window, trying 
to hide my bare titties behind a length of the windowcurtain, I saw a 
large black limousine.  A gorgeous young golden-haired woman stepped 
out of it.  Her tresses were breathtaking, flowing all the way down to 
her waist, even beyond it.  She wore elegant clothes, almost formal.  
Melissa, bare breasted like myself, came up behind me and gazed down 
at her.
         "Maybe she is here for our picnic," Melissa said.
         "I hope so.  She's very beautiful," I replied.
         A little later I heard the woman speaking downstairs, to 
Gretchen.
         "The girls, they are not entirely virgin, I hope?  They have been 
broken in?" she asked.
         "Yes, they proved themselves to be quite hardy little rabbits in 
the mat room the other night," Gretchen replied.  To my amazement I 
realized they were speaking of me and Melissa.  "Of course, they are 
just delicate little schoolgirls really, one must be careful not to push 
them too hard.  But we gave them a good workout all the same."
         "That is good," the blonde woman said.  "I shall enjoy taking them 
on a picnic, I think.  The sunshine and fresh air will be good for them 
after being cooped up in the house for a few days."
         "I'm sure they'll appreciate it," Gretchen replied.  There was a 
kind of cat's meow in her voice and I shivered at the thought that our 
"picnic" might not be entirely just some innocent outing.
         About an hour later the blonde woman, whom I'd since learned to 
call Gwendolyn, was riding in the back of her limo with us, through a 
deep forest.  Her husband, or lover (I was never sure which), was there 
also.  With him was a young girl, barely older than myself.  She was 
totally nude.  Gwen's husband had been disporting with her in the limo 
while Gwen herself was inside talking to Gretchen.
         When I'd first gotten into the limo I'd been made almost 
breathless by the sight of the girl.  Her hair was tied up by a pretty 
blue bow.  But there were bruises on her face.  They were light ones, to 
be sure, but visible all the same.  She looked at me sheepishly, her fine 
upstanding tits still wet at the points with saliva.  She had been 
rubbing the crotch of Gwen's husband, who was clothed, but when I 
scooted in she stilled her hand.  The man himself told me his name was 
Nick, but said nothing of the girl, as if she were just an ornament.  Nick 
was ruggedly, roughly handsome, like a burly longshoreman, but he wore 
the finest tailored clothes you might ever hope to see on a man.  
         Hesitantly I took my place in the limo.  Melissa soon joined me, 
and was as surprised as I at the sight of the unclad girl.  The two of us 
had dressed in panties, cutoffs, and sleeveless tank tops which left our 
bellies bare.  We also wore ankle socks and sneakers.  Melissa had been 
fussy about dressing.  We'd been running around naked for several days 
and I think she just wanted to go on being a little Indian, scampering 
about in the all-together.  But when she saw the nude, bruised girl I 
think she thanked herself for putting on some clothes.  But we'd both 
insisted on going without bras.  Now, as we sat across from Nick, we 
were both acutely aware of our puffed, cherry red nipples indenting our 
tight little tops.  If you looked you could see the redness of our nipples 
through our shirts.  Nick glanced at both of us, registering our titties 
with his eyes.  Gwen slipped in then and her chauffeur shut the car 
door, closing us all in together.  
         "This is Candy, she's a friend of Nick and myself," Gwen said.  
Melissa and I nodded our hellos at the girl and she smiled shyly back at 
us.
         At the end of an hour's ride the limo halted.  We'd stopped once 
before, at a gas station, where Gwen had invited Melissa and I into a 
little shop to pick up our favorite sodas, lunchmeats, and cheeses.  She 
said she thought we might like the picnic better if we got to eat some 
of our favorite foods for a change, instead of just what somebody 
served us.  Then we'd gotten back into the limo, only to find Candy on 
her knees giving Nick a blow job.  For the first time I saw her derriere.  
I gasped.  There were welts on it.  As I slid my own ass across the seat 
of the limo I watched wide-eyed as Candy lovingly applied her tongue 
and mouth to Nick's cock.  She seemed well trained in the art of the 
blow job and she did it with consummate skill.  I sat entranced, soon 
joined by Melissa, as Candy gave us both silent lessons in how to love a 
man's cock.  Gwen smiled as she slipped in, unruffled by the attention 
Candy was giving her husband.  The girl's head bobbed as she began 
taking him more deeply.  She forced his cock into her throat.  The limo 
pulled away from the service station.  Melissa and I glanced at each 
other, apprehensive.  We were leaving civilization behind.
         Now as we got out we found ourselves amongst tall, dark trees.  
Nick and Candy got out here also.  Only the limo driver remained inside 
the car. 
         No path was visible from the roadway, but Gwen seemed to know 
where to go.  She led us into the wood, the picnic basket hanging from 
her arm, Melissa following with a little cooler of sodas, myself 
carrying the blanket, which was actually made of smooth terrycloth.
         We soon found ourself in a shady glen.  Beyond a little brook 
babbled quietly to itself.  Amidst shafts of sunlight birds sang in the 
overhead canopy.  Gwen pointed to a splash of sunlight on the grass and 
I unfurled our terrycloth there.  Nick was the first to sit down on it, as 
Melissa and Gwen put down their basket and cooler.  I settled onto the 
blanket next, then watched as Candy, still standing, bent over at the 
waist and kissed Nick on the mouth.  He had not ejaculated from her 
ministrations and his tool, now inside his breeches once more, made a 
visible lump between his legs.  Candy whispered that she wished to go 
bathe in the brook and he gave her his permission.  Gaily she tripped off 
across the grass, my eyes following her, free as a bird and yet utterly 
captive to the will of Nick.
         "Girls, we must undress, for Nick wishes to admire our charms," 
Gwen said, breaking my momentary reverie.  Alone in the forest with 
only Melissa, I had little doubt that Nick could force me to undress if I 
refused.  I stood up.  Reluctantly I took hold of the hem of my tank top.  
When I pulled it up, over my titties, they wiggled alluringly, nakedly, 
their stiff peaks dancing in the sunlight.  At the same time Melissa's 
tits popped out too, as girlishly charming as my own, jiggling about 
freely as she took off her shirt.  
         With Nick's eyes pasted on my tits I reached down and offered him 
another view.  I unzipped the front of my denim cutoffs.  I slipped them 
down, his eyes now fixed on my white cotton panties.  I hoped Gwen 
would let me keep these, and made to kneel back down on the 
terrycloth.
         "No dear, the panties must come off also," Gwen told me.  Melissa 
seemed glad to be rid of her panties.  She stripped them right off, 
unabashedly, glad to be back in her birthday suit.  Perhaps she had some 
Indian blood in her veins.
         The two of us, both initiates at nude picnicking, sat down on the 
terry cloth and tucked our heels expectantly beneath our rumps.  The 
sun shone brightly on our white bottoms.  The air was cool, in perfect 
counterpoise to the sunshine.  We were neither too hot nor too cold.  
         Gwen stripped off all her clothing except for a very flimsy vest 
made of soft animal skin.  I had not noticed it under her businesslike 
jacket and vest, which now lay discarded on the forest lawn.  The vest 
had served as a kind of bra, but she untied it now, unhurriedly, except 
for two strands which she left in place across her midsection.  They 
were very loosely joined, doing nothing to protect her bosoms, which 
spilled out between the opened halves of the vest.  Her breasts were 
large and milk-white, with nipples already drawn into stiff points.
         Two little spaghetti strap-like cords allowed Gwen's vest to hang 
from her shoulders.  The whole affair looked like it might come off at 
any moment.  Hanging across her upper arms were two more cords, on 
either side, strung with tiny brown puka-shell beads.  They did nothing 
to keep her vest up but made it look all the prettier.  I saw for the first 
time that Gwen's throat was bound with a braided choker.  It was 
knotted closed over her throat and two braided ends of the choker 
dangled partway down her chest.  She looked like a Pocahontas who 
someone had laid claim to by tying a makeshift collar around her neck.  
Maybe Nick had done it.  Without her dress on I saw for the first time 
her footwear.  She did not wear heels, as I had imagined, but moccasin 
boots.  They came up to the tops of her calves, leaving her knees bare, 
and were cuffed along the top.  They seemed deliciously tight, as if to 
accent her nudity by binding her legs in calfskin.  Her feet and calves 
were imprisoned, protected, above them her skinny legs stretched 
nakedly, merging at last with a plump bottom.  
         As Gwen settled on the terrycloth she drew a slim strap from the 
picnic basket.  It was long, cut from rawhide.  Melissa and I shifted 
uneasily as Gwen, kneeling but with her bottom still in the air, thighs 
apart, bush displayed, glanced from the strap to us.
         "Oooh, you girls look like you've never seen a strap before!" Gwen 
said compassionately, consolingly, yet with her lips pursed in a 
mocking half-smile.  Her long, golden hair shimmered in the sunlight.  
She brushed it back to keep her breasts fully revealed.  "Nick, would you 
like them spanked before or after our little picnic?" Gwen asked, 
turning to her husband.  I realized then that this would be a new sort of 
picnic from any I'd ever gone on before, quite unlike those of my 
childhood.  Did all adults go on picnics like this?
         "After, I suppose," Nick said absently, carelessly.  Obviously the 
strap wasn't meant for him!
         "Will it hurt?" Melissa blurted out foolishly.  She was staring at 
the thing with eyes as big as saucers, seeming suddenly a bit regretful 
that she'd disposed of her clothing so quickly.
         "Well of course it will, darling," Gwen assured her, smiling, 
turning her eyes upon the girl.  "Young ladies must be given a good 
spanking now and then, and of course it must hurt.  What would be the 
point otherwise?  It keeps you properly obedient.  Everyone knows the 
problem with girls these days is they have no discipline in their lives.  
Their parents let them get away with all sorts of things!"
         With that little lecture complete, Gwen asked Melissa and I to 
serve the food.  We did so with trembling hands, eyeing the whip with 
our peripheral vision.  A cool breeze washed over my hiney as I parceled 
out the food, kneeing my way over the blanket to give each person their 
share.  I knew my tush would soon be blazing, and I relished the feel of 
the chilly air upon it.
         Melissa and I were very conscious of our bottoms throughout the 
meal.  I suppose, in the end, that was the intent, to heighten our 
awareness of our vulnerability, our nudity.  This was, obviously, no 
ordinary picnic, but an erotic one.  The presence, the promise of the 
strap kept us thinking of how we were utterly naked, out in the 
wilderness, far from any help civilization might provide.  Occasionally 
Gwen stroked the strap, as if to remind us of it.  We ate daintily, 
though, for we were expected to be well-mannered, even though we 
were buck naked.  Nick expected his females to be proper young ladies 
at all times.  Gwen assured us we'd receive extra strokes if we let our 
manners slip.  In the distance Candy played in the river.  She had no 
wish to get any closer to the strap than she had to.
         In the evening we returned with smarting bottoms to Gretchen.  
Naked, clutching our hineys with both hands, we trooped into her cabin, 
our faces stained with tears, still sniffling and sobbing.  Nick had given 
us each a final, farewell "sendoff" in the back of the limo before letting 
us out.  Gwen came in after us, exchanged smiles with Gretchen.
         "I see they've kept you busy this afternoon," Gretchen said to 
Gwen.
         "They proved to be quite a little pair of temptresses," Gwen 
replied.  Nick couldn't resist their darling little bottoms.  He whacked 
them with great gusto.  
         "Don't worry, I'll see to them," Gretchen replied.  "Have a lovely 
time with Candy."
         "She's proving to be the perfect slave," Gwen said.  "I only hope 
Nick doesn't ever enslave me to one of his friends."
         "You never know," Gretchen replied, and indeed she was right.
         No sooner had my bottom assumed its perfect whiteness once 
more than Gretchen packed me off to a party, without Melissa.  She told 
me I was to be a slave, no bones about it.  I protested, but she said I 
was simply too young and beautiful to be left lying about the cabin.  The 
last few days had been languid ones and I did not wish to break the 
spell.  Summer had always been a special time to me and this summer 
seemed especially perfect, despite the overzealous men one met with 
straps.  The recent picnic, indeed, glowed in my memory with a kind of 
twisted sweetness.  Never before had I felt so alive, so free, even as I 
crouched under the trees and felt my bottom smacked by the strap, 
weeping.  The meal, eating nude, with our fingers, spilling morsels on 
our chests, yet keeping up an air of silly dignity through it all, as if 
dining with the King himself.  The punishment, richly undeserved, all 
the more erotic because it was.  The ride home, unable to sit, crouched 
on the patent leather couches of the limo, poor bottoms lofted high, 
burning, wiggling, to the endless delight of Nick.  And finally the utter 
humiliation of returning to Gretchen, the perfect woman, bawling like 
babies.  Yet despite the odd thrill of the picnic I did not want to embark 
on another one.  With Gretchen and Robert I could just laze about, 
sunning myself in the back yard, or loitering with Melissa in the bath.  
Now she was requiring me to venture forth once again, to be tested, 
trained.  It was, she said, the only way I would ever become truly 
versed in the art of love.  Lying about the house was merely the 
idleness of the the teenager, unfulfilled, unfulfilling.  Anyone could 
waste one's days doing that.  Robert, still off with Mark at the 
Woodsman's Retreat (it turned out not to be a mere meeting as we'd 
first been told), was unavailable.  Melissa and I would have to be 
trained by others.  And my time had come to be trained apart from 
Melissa.  I was older than she, a young woman.  I must go alone.
         Silently I approached the door of the home where the soiree was 
to be held.  It was dusk.  Behind me, the limo driver waited to see that I 
got inside.  I wished he hadn't.  I wouldn't have gone.  But I knocked, 
biting my lip, as he looked on.  No doubt he was eyeing the backs of my 
stockinged thighs where they stood out firmly beneath my short dress.  
It was yellow, decollete, my boobs packed within its tight confines, 
barely contained.  The sleeves of the dress were gathered, fluffy, came 
down to my elbows.  Underneath it I wore no panties, only a garter belt 
and hose, fastened up by garter straps.
         The door opened.  I was met by a woman with a prominent bust.  
Happily she wiggled her boobies as she greeted me.  She looked about 
30, and told me her name was Rose.
         "You must be Barbi," the woman smiled.  I nodded.  "Come in, we're 
delighted to have you!"
         I was brought into a room with ten or twelve people.  All, like 
Rose, were stylishly dressed.  They greeted me warmly.  I was given a 
glass of wine, offered canapes on a silver tray.  I passed over the ones 
topped with caviar and anchovies and chose one with swiss cheese.  It 
tasted delicious as I bit into it, delicately, trying not to make crumbs.  
         The conversation was light, airy, sophisticated.  Finally Rose 
drew me aside, to an ornate table.  There were no chairs nearby, I 
noticed, as she pointed out a heavy leatherbound book lying on the table.  
Absently I perched my bottom on the table as she opened the book.  
         "Photographs of Recent Meetings of the Club," I read, in tiffany 
lettering, on the book's title page.  Two men sidled up next to me.  
Three more stood not far away.  The closest man told me to hike up my 
dress.  He said the book must not be viewed by a woman unless her 
pussy was bared first, especially a newcomer.  
         "The pictures are...revealing, dear," Rose explained.  "There are 
even some of me in there.  It would not be polite for you to see us in the 
buff unless you were nude also, or at least were exposing your pussy to 
us."  Anxiously I hiked up my dress.  My hair was loose about me and I 
knew I looked absolutely ravishing.  A moment later the backs of my 
thighs were pressed into the edge of the table, skin against wood, and 
my pussy was revealed.  I plucked at the straps of my garters.  They 
framed my pussy nicely, the belt above, the tops of my stockings below.  
I did not close my legs completely.  I knew they must have their view.
         Rose then showed me the contents of the book.  I gasped, 
clutching my garter straps with my hands, as picture after picture 
revealed women in poses of the most degrading bondage.  Beautiful 
women were being hit with bats, bruised, their lovely bodies 
threatened to be broken in 

In the interest of not using any swear words we present...

ODE TO THE PENIS

O, my penis
Thou spear to Venus
Giver of life
Engender of strife
Rising boldly when in youth 
Vigorous, a dragonŐs tooth
Then in middle age it sags 
Old age finally; it lags and dies
But written about upon the Internet
It liveth forever, and begets
To thine eye a budding thought 
Though it be, at last, for nought.

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Andrew Roller.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 13 EMISSION
Ode by Missy (hope I didnŐt interrupt anything!) :)