Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 136
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bordello Girls
Chapter One
I walked past the diners. From the waist up, most of them looked as
respectable as ever. Some continued to eat, though they had quietly
dropped a hand from the table. Others masturbated more openly. Their
chairs were pushed back, the womanÕs dress hiked up to show her thighs,
the manÕs pants at his ankles, or just his fly open, revealing a fine cock
within a protective sheath. The women could spill their honey freely, I
saw, but the men had to spurt into a condom. I realized then the name of
the club, Club Dare. Our table was the Dare Table, where the couple
sitting at it would perform sexually for all the other diners. A kind of
private sex show, featuring girl/girl sex while men watched and jacked.
Glancing over my shoulder I saw that Steve and Lord Algonquin still held
their seed, waiting, watching, but unable to participate in the shuddering
climaxes of my girlfriends. Melissa, upon the table now instead of under
it, was faring no better than before. The waitress was clasping her
wrists as Alison playfully took Lord AlgonquinÕs belt from him. He gave
her ass a slap, then let her pull his belt off. All the while he pleasantly
rubbed his big cock with his hand. Steve too, no longer shy, was fisting
his cock with a greedy hand. His face looked haggard. He was desperate to
cum, yet still held out the hope that he might be invited to fuck a female.
I wished he would just grab one. But he could not. Though he was young
and strong, he was no match for Lord Algonquin. Steve was a sex slave,
just as we were, with a penis instead of a pussy. He would cum when
master permitted it, and in the manner master ordered. Would master
punish him if he shot off too soon? I guessed so, but Steve couldnÕt help
himself, watching Melissa. Alison gave the girl a stinging salute on her
bottom with masterÕs belt and she mewled like a kicked kitten.
I felt the rolling of my hips, my bottom cheeks, thrusting girlishly,
invitingly behind me. My derriere. My heinie. Sweet whip marks were
fading there now, almost gone. Would someone want to kiss me there
again, a new man with a new belt?
A redhead watched me pass. Her hair was dark, cinnamon colored.
Perhaps she was a daughter of Conan, I guessed, from some far off land
with a similar name. She would capture me and take me away with her. I
watched her rise, her hand at her puss, rubbing herself gently. She
remembered herself and desisted. She followed me as I crossed the room.
I passed a telephone on a small table, slipped into the ladies room, a door
in a shadowed alcove. All was discreet here, save for what the patrons
did.
I opened a lavender door, stepped into my choice of stalls. I turned,
considered a moment, chose not to latch the door. I was wicked. I knew I
was being incredibly naughty and I could not help myself. All my life IÕd
been an innocent schoolgirl, a child, and suddenly IÕd been transformed
into a temptress overnight. I sat down on the potty and put my elbows on
my long thighs, let my chin fall onto clasped, upraised hands.
ÒI pee, therefore I am,Ó I murmured, suddenly disconsolate.
The redhead slipped into my stall. Silently, like a cat. IÕd heard her
pumps on the tiled floor but hadnÕt guessed sheÕd be so...so daring?
ÒI cum, therefore I am, or so a man once told me,Ó the redhead
replied. I looked up. Pouting, I met her eyes. The sound of my peeing
continued.
ÒIÕm a slut,Ó I said to her, frankly.
ÒWe all are, darling, every woman in the world, except old maids,Ó
she replied. She reached out her hands. There was understanding in her
eyes. ÒSit up,Ó she said. A command. I liked commands, orders. They
relieved me of any responsibility. She cupped the undersides of my
breasts and weighed them. I felt like a cow, having its udders appraised
at a farm show. ÒYou are so young. Have you any money?Ó
I shook my head. Her breasts were beautiful, like ripe fruit in an
orchard, her lissome form the swaying tree that bore them, grew them.
Each year they grew fuller as she grew from sapling to full-fledged
woman. I leaned forward and lightly kissed a nipple, then the other. I was
impulsive. I wanted someone to care for me, to coax me, to spoil me. I did
not want to go home to my parents and a life of enforced teenage chastity.
ÒYou were very enjoyable to watch tonight,Ó she smiled at me.
ÒVery entertaining.Ó There was a smirk on her lips, a hint of irony. ÒHow
much did your males pay you to perform for them?Ó
ÒM-My?Ó There was unknowing in my eyes. ÒYou mean Lord
Algonquin?Ó
ÒAh--Ó her breath caught in her throat. ÒThat old bastard. I must
get you away from him. Has he pierced you yet, anywhere?Ó Her eyes
seemed to plead. I shook my head Ôno.Õ
ÒI just met him tonight,Ó I replied. ÒHe gave me a lovely fur coat.Ó
ÒHe always wraps his little girls in fur coats,Ó the redhead replied
dismissively. ÒThen he has them unwrap their furry little mounts in
public, for all to see. YouÕll be lucky to get the coat back, I assure you.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó I asked. In the distance I could hear Melissa paying for her
new fur coat with stinging stripes of leather across her bottom. ÒWe had
thought they were ours to keep. To take home with us,Ó I said aloud. My
voice pleaded as MelissaÕs did, under the belt, begging to be let up, her
bottom hurting, totally ignored by everyone, yet all eyes watching her
wriggling ass with great satisfaction.
ÒStand,Ó the redhead command me. I still did not know her name. I
raised myself up off the potty, stood as one might for a teacher. She slid
her hand over my bottom, explored my crack, squeezed my cheeks. In front
her other hand checked the tightness of my pouch. ÒYes, you will do,Ó she
told herself. I was but an object. There were no talent competitions in
this pageant, just the weight of my boobs, the firmness of my buns, the
tightness of my lower lips.
ÒYou are adventurous, but he fed you,Ó she whispered. A confession
from somebody that IÕd been drugged, induced, solicited without my
knowledge. ÒStill, you have spirit. Would you like to work for me?Ó
I confess I had no knowledge of what she was asking. I gazed at her,
enjoying her exploring fingers in my bush, wishing I could press mine to
hers. ÒDoing what?Ó I asked. She laughed. She kissed me then, her hand
still between my thighs. ÒLet me train you darling, you will do well. And
be well paid, too. You will not have to hang around with a freeloader like
Lord Algonquin. He had not been in these parts for many years, but I
remember his name. He cheated my mother, when he was young. Now she
is dead by her own hand and I have inherited her whorehouse. I need girls,
though, young girls.Ó She looked down at her own beautiful form. ÒWell, I
am young too, just nineteen, but you are the forbidden fruit. Men will like
that. Momma always said to underpromise, and overdeliver. Hmmm? What
would they think if I invited them in and then introduced them to you?
They would not expect that. No, they would not.Ó She answered herself.
As we stood there, belly button to belly button, she seemed introspective.
I am naked in a toilet stall, therefore I am...who?
ÒRose,Ó she said at last, raising her chin. She was slightly taller
than me. Her demeanor was regal, though, commanding. ÒWe shall need
your friend too. The men will trip out when I show them two underage
girls. They will cum twice as hard, asking no questions. Then we can all
sip liquor with them, hummm? All of us underaged.Ó
ÒSuch men are perverts,Ó I replied. I was moody again. In the
distance Melissa was crying. Her sobs were loud but nobody heard them.
They were mesmerized by her bottom.
ÒDo you think I can steal two prize females out from under the nose
of Lord Algonquin?Ó Rose asked me. Her eyes were bright.
ÒI am naked,Ó I replied. ÒYou were--Ó
ÒClothed?Ó she smiled. ÒMy clothing, I stripped it off just inside the
bathroom door. I planned to make love to you, both of us peeing, but you
started before I arrived.Ó
ÒIÕm sorry,Ó I replied. I did not know why I apologized, save that she
seemed so nice, so caring. She understood me in ways I could not even
imagine.
ÒBut we can outwit Lord Algonquin. Let me pee first,Ó Rose said.
How silly it was, the two of us trading places. I held her hands aloft as
she sat on the potty. She released her pee then, smiling up at me as she
did so. ÒThrust your bush at me,Ó she said. ÒIt has not been wiped.Ó She
was right. I thought perhaps she would take toilet paper, but how could
she? I still held both her hands. I stuck my most private place out at her,
my bush uncombed, sweetly naive. She extended her tongue and wiped me
with it. I felt the wetness of her saliva replacing my last clinging drops
of urine.
When she took away her tongue I was sad. I had not spent yet. I
wanted to do it right on her squirming, squelchy tongue. She would dip and
find honey within me.
ÒNot now,Ó Rose smiled. ÒWe will get to know each other very well,
very intimately, I assure you.Ó She said. ÒMen like that.Ó She rose up
from the potty and neglected to wipe herself. Time was of the essence.
She bustled me out of the stall ahead of herself. Like Amazons we crossed
the tiled floor, exited, I unknowing, she firm, resolved. I saw her hand go
to a switch on the wall. A fire alarm switch. ÒHit the lights!Ó Rose
hissed to me. I gazed back at her, wonderingly. She nodded, I followed her
gaze. A light switch was near me, too far for her to reach.
Rose yanked on the fire alarm. At the same time I turned out the
lights.
We ran, bare bottomed, our legs flashing in the night. We wore little
vests to protect us from the cold. The air was unseasonably chilly. I
clutched my vest tightly, as much from fear as from the cold. IÕd grabbed
the vests as we ran through the kitchen, fleeing from the restaurant. They
were small waitress vests, difficult to button if you had big boobs. They
made your breasts stick up revealingly if you got the thing buttoned up as
it should be. None of us had time for that. We clutched our vests against
the cold, holding them. Otherwise we were quite naked.
Rose ran ahead, leading the way. I followed, my hand clasped firmly
in MelissaÕs. She was crying loudly, her bottom red and sore.
ÒQuiet!Ó I hissed. ÒWeÕre trying to escape!Ó
ÒOoooh! It hurts so much!Ó Melissa cried out about her tushy.
ÒForget your bottom for a moment, please?!Ó I begged her. We must
not be heard as we dashed away, lest Lord Algonquin follow us too easily.
We reached the end of the parking lot. Our redheaded leader had not
her purse, nor keys to any car. Boldly she stepped onto the roadway and
stuck her thumb out.
Cars screeched. There was a sound of crashing metal. Two vehicles
stopped, then three more. Striding quickly, Rose picked the best car. A
Jaguar. She tried the side passenger door. For a moment I stood gulping
as it stayed closed. Then, suddenly, the driver unlocked it and Rose popped
it open. She looked inside, her boobs hanging down, swinging nakedly there
alongside the freeway, like traffic lights in a storm. Her bare heinie
stuck up behind her. It mooned Melissa and I as we stumbled up behind her.
ÒOkay,Ó I heard Rose say to the driver. She turned her head to us. ÒI
made a deal. Get in,Ó she said. Simple, clear, direct. I liked her way with
the world. She told it what she wanted and it provided.
Chapter Two
Rose stood before a mirror, hastily fixing her hair. She was naked.
Her skin was fresh and white and clean. There was a small frilly collar
around her neck. It looked like a garter. I had showered before her. I was
already dressed, in a slinky tube dress. It barely covered my muff, but
Rose said that was okay. This was, after all, a whorehouse. It was our
opening night. The first customers were already waiting downstairs.
Melissa had checked them in. At least we hoped she had. A freshman in
high school wasnÕt exactly the best choice for a madam. But she was all
we had, so she would have to do.
I stood admiring RoseÕs sleek, narrow back. She piled her gorgeous
hair atop her head so it could be seen in its entirety. The men had asked if
she had a whipping post on site.
I still remembered the call. WeÕd placed an ad in the paper, and the
next day a call had come in. Melissa, whoÕd refused to be a hooker but
wanted to live in the whorehouse, was put in charge of the phone. The men
had been polite, circumspect. They hadnÕt blanched when we told them our
price. It was very high. Rose had Melissa take half the money up front,
over the phone, by credit card. WeÕd used it since to buy toys. Things the
men had requested. Things, presumably, that all men wanted.
RoseÕs aunt hadnÕt left her as much money as weÕd hoped. But she
had left the bordello. It had been closed in the last few years, but the
tales told about it were legendary. The house was large, with several
bedrooms. WeÕd since converted each into a special ÒthemeÓ room: a
master bedroom, suitable for a new bride and her groom, a dungeon, for
punishing the bride when she proved wilful, a childrenÕs playroom, for
when the baby came. A mattress room, for partiers who wanted to get
down to business. There was a curious ÒplaygroundÓ out back, for big girls
who wanted to take a recess from it all, complete with dildo-equipped
infant swings. The swings had been specially made by a local craftsman
to accommodate ÒinfantÓ girls with big bottoms.
ÒWhat should I do?Ó I asked Rose, twirling my a strand of my hair
aimlessly with my finger.
ÒJust go down, say hello, keep them happy. IÕll call you when
everythingÕs ready,Ó Rose replied. She took a brush and lightly passed it
over her pubis. I remembered her antics in the Jaguar, ÒblowingÓ the
driver all the way to Switzerland, where her auntÕs bordello awaited us.
Melissa and I had sat in back, huddled together on his hand-tooled leather
seats. HeÕd let us out in a snowstorm, naked as weÕd been when we got
into his car. He drooled after our waggling bottoms as we hurried up the
steps into the house. Melissa had turned and blown him a kiss. It was only
fair; heÕd find out later that sheÕd peed on his back seat. She hadnÕt gotten
to use the bathroom at Club Dare, so she made a Jaguar her potty instead.
I stepped to the window. I gazed outside. I bent close and frosted
the windowpane with my breath. ÒItÕs storming outside,Ó I said.
ÒI know,Ó Rose replied. The drifts in the yard were as high as the
swings on the swing set. They were old swings, though, wooden ones. The
new ÒinfantÓ playground, our special on-site preschool, was inside a
special hothouse. There were no plants grown there, just a few flowers,
some grass. A baby might grow there if a girl forgot her Pill, as she
swung on the swing with the two holes for her legs and a third hole in the
middle. A hole for her groom to shaft through, as she sat as best she could
on the stiff prong standing up from the seat, a prong that kept her well
open in behind. I touched my bottom, wondering what it would feel like to
swing on such a swing. IÕd never tried them. They were brand-new,
waiting for us, if we dared. To be plugged in behind, with my feet, my
ankles spread wide, my pussy open, vulnerable, unprotected, a helpful hole
cut through the infant swing to let my groom sperm me.
ÒGo downstairs,Ó Rose said. She turned, holding her hair up, a pin
between her lips. I could dally no longer. Customers were waiting. My
first.
I opened the door to the parlor. I stepped inside, sweet in my
booties. I half expected to see Melissa there, her skirt up, her bottom
bare, upon a table with a belt taken to her, to make her cry. But she had
simply ushered the men in and left. I was about to remark to myself how
well behaved they were when I saw they all had their cocks out.
ÒPut those things away, Boys!Ó I cried, surprised. My hand to my
throat I surveyed them all, still dressed impeccably in their tuxedoes,
casually munching on canapes.
ÒWe were waiting to get blow jobs,Ó one of the men replied. He
strummed his thing, all big and veiny, with a huge purplish knob at the end.
ÒMelissa!Ó I breathed. She had promised them blow jobs, then left,
as a prank to surprise me. I did not know what to do. They obviously
couldnÕt put themselves away, they were too engorged and excited for
that. I would have to do as best I could to keep them happy until the time
for their pleasure upstairs arrived.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
SPUTTER
No wind,
the water glass:
in imitation,
Golliwogg
steps off the bow of the boat
to tread in JesusÕ steps--
splashes
inhales ocean;
bobs up
sputtering sea.
WAGGLES
Golliwogg lumbers atop Mount Zarathustra,
spies Nietzsche stroking Mongrel.
Queries,
ÒGreat Prophet, can you help me,
I have trouble with religion--Ó
Mongrel barks, bears fangs,
Nietzsche waggles a finger at Golliwogg:
ÒAhhhh, youÕre the one
running cursed from God.
DonÕt worry about Him,
follow me now:
Mister,
God--HeÕs dead;
I killed Him.Ó
AND IN THE END...
CHILDREN ARE SO PRECIOUS
ÒPoliticians have found a convenient scapegoat for modern
malaise: children, who, unlike any other slice of society, can be
attacked with impunity without the risk of losing votes.Ó
- The Economist, November 2, 1996, pg. 57.
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-END OF 136 EMISSION
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