ÒPlease fuck us!Ó Kate said. ÒRiding that horse made me so hot,
yet it didnÕt give me what I really want!Ó
Sex Starved Young Maidens Await You In...
P A S S I O N S Õ P L A Y P E N
Now Available for Downloading At...
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 137
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bordello Girls
Chapter Two
With as stately a tread as I could manage I walked past them,
arrayed like soldiers on either side of me, lounging in chairs. I couldnÕt
help but admire their tools with my eyes as I passed. I knew it would
come back to haunt me, somehow, admiring them that way. It would let
them know I sympathized. They would be less obedient if they knew I
liked them. But my eyes wandered over their members all the same, stiff
penises. I felt like I was in some boyÕs urinal. Except there wasnÕt any
toilet. Just the cocks.
Pictures of regal ancestors gazed down upon us. Silent, watching.
There was a china cabinet, kept by RoseÕs aunt. Rich paneling lined the
walls, centuries old. I walked to the sideboard. A punch bowl sat atop it,
a tray of canapes, half eaten now. My mouth felt dry. I felt sensuous. I
bent forward, ignoring the punch bowlÕs ladle. The men would not mind if I
helped myself with my mouth. I dipped my tongue into the punch bowl,
feeling my dress rise up in back, showing my bottom to the cocky men.
I lapped at the punch. Like a kitten I lapped, my soft silky hair
spilling down over my shoulders. I had to lift my hand to keep it from
falling into the punch.
ÒGod, what an ass!Ó the men behind me exclaimed. My panties, sheer
and delicate, did little to hide my cheeky white bottom.
ÒJust because a girlÕs panties are showing doesnÕt mean you should
look at them,Ó I scolded, turning my head, holding my hair up to keep it out
of my eyes. I was elegant, and wicked too, tempting men who could barely
hold themselves in. The carpet would be stained if they lost control.
I stood. I did not bother to fix my dress in back. It rode across the
highest part of my cheeks, leaving all below bare, right down to my booted
ankles, save for my teensy white panties.
Turning, I re-crossed the room. The candles were not lit. I wanted
to light them, to kill time if nothing else. I found matches on a small
round table just inside the door. I walked over to the first man. I would
have to stand close to him to light the ceiling-high candle projecting from
the wall above his head. We did not need such an ancient form of lighting
anymore, but it would be more romantic with the candles lit. I could turn
the electric lights down then, to keep them from staring so openly at me.
I rose up on tiptoe. I struck a match and reached for the tall candle.
My dress lifted, showing my pussy. It was covered in fine-spun panties
that did nothing to hide it. There were cobwebs upon the candleÕs tip,
hanging down from the ceiling. Just a strand or two, missed by the maid.
I brushed them away. Below I felt hot breath upon my cunny.
ÒSir, please, have some respect for a lady in her parlor,Ó I said,
glancing down at him, my hair falling about my face, my eyes bright, my
lashes fluttering. Perhaps because there were so many of them, and just
one of me, he drew back. They were gentlemen, after all, at least for the
moment. I opened my lips and let a drop of spittle fall from them. It hit
his cock square on its tip, mingled with pre-cum there. He shafted his
cock. He squeezed it. Cum welled up, liquid only, not the sperm. Not yet.
He squished his eyes shut as he fought with himself to maintain control.
I moved to the next man. I treated him to a candle-lighting
ceremony, letting him stare at my most private place, barely concealed.
In back the men on the other side gawked at my round bottom.
The third man begged me to let him pull down my panties.
ÒIÕd let you,Ó I replied. ÒBut you could never do it with just your
teeth, could you?Ó
ÒMy teeth?Ó he asked.
ÒHere, put these on,Ó I replied. IÕd spotted handcuffs lying on a shelf
above his head, forgotten, used years ago and never since. There was a
little key beside the cuffs. I left the key where it was. I had no bra
underneath my dress to hide it in.
I handed the man the handcuffs. ÒPut your hands behind you and lock
yourself into them,Ó I said. He was very cute. He stared at me a moment,
as if weighing my beauty. I could see he would only do something stupid
like locking himself in handcuffs for a girl he considered extraordinarily
beautiful. For a moment I waited, my breath caught expectantly in my
throat. He leaned forward at last. He placed his arms behind himself. He
had big, bulging arms, weight lifterÕs arms. They seemed like they would
tear the sleeves of his tux open. He locked a cuff around one of his wrists.
I leaned forward over his strong back and helped him lock his second wrist
into the cuff.
ÒThere you are, sir,Ó I said to him sweetly. ÒNow youÕre safe.Ó No
sooner had I stood straight again than he was at my cunny, tearing at my
undies with his teeth. I teetered on the high heels of my booties, unsure,
surprised. He gnawed right at my crotch, an animal in heat. ÒCareful!Ó I
cried. ÒDonÕt tear my panties! TheyÕre from France!Ó He did not care.
They came down with a sudden yank, leaving me bare, bereft. I felt cool
air pass over my cunt as I stood with splayed thighs before him, my ankles
wobbly.
ÒEnough,Ó I said. I patted his head, hoping to tame him. I still had to
light the candle above him. I reached up, lit a match. Below I was aware
of his face, unshaven, just inches from my bare, creamy thighs, with my
muff between. He had a ponytail. I liked it. I lit the candle, my hands
unsteady. Behind me I heard a man taking off his belt.
SWAK! The belt lashed the air. I jerked. Visibly I jerked, obviously
afraid. Yet I was supposed to be the mistress, the domme. The men were
to be my sex slaves, not I theirs. They were paying customers, but I was
the shopkeeper. I lowered my hands from the candle, blew out my match.
My bottom felt deliciously vulnerable, my cheeks squeezing reflexively,
my back trembling. My dress rode high on my ass, leaving all beneath
perfectly available to errant belt tips that might demand better service.
SWAK! Again. He was quite handy with that belt, I had to admit. I
could feel it uncoiling directly behind me, falling short by just a few
inches. Perhaps he thought we girls paid the Italian mafia for protection.
But we didnÕt. It was just us three girls, secluded in the mountains of
Switzerland, with a snowstorm raging outside. In here, the fireplace
softly crackling in a corner of the room, all could be naked and free. Our
own sexual parts were evidence of that. But just beyond the wall even
legs would freeze and fall off, even if well wrapped.
The belt slashed the air again. I turned. I made to pull up my
panties.
ÒDonÕt,Ó the man with the belt commanded me. ÒI like them that
way, because they restrict your ability to walk. Come here, my candle is
not yet lit.Ó
How could I refuse? It was I who had chosen to light the candles.
Would I leave him without, show disfavor to him? With trembling steps I
walked toward him, my panties banded around my knees, my feet shuffling.
I glanced at his cock. I could not help myself. It was larger than the rest,
a bullÕs cock. He was the bull, I the bullfighter. I guessed I would lose
this battle, somehow. He would slash by my red handkerchief and stab me
with his horn.
I arrived before him. Some impulse made me want to bend down.
Perhaps his horn needed polishing. All bulls needed their horns polished
now and then, didnÕt they? Saliva was best, I knew, lightly applied with
flicks of the tongue. Instead I stood on tiptoe in my booties and reached
for the candle above his head. I could feel his hot breath just inches from
my bared pussy. The hem of my dress, not quite low enough in front
because it was pulled up in back, left my muff bare. He reached out and
boldly caught hold of a curling hair of my pussy.
ÒSir, please,Ó I begged, trying to keep my voice stern. I looked down
at him. He looked up at me. Both his hands reached for my breasts as I
reached up, lighting the candle.
RRRRIP! He tore open my dress. He yanked it down off my cleavage.
My boobies fell out. They quavered nakedly, my nipples unbearably stiff.
He left my like that, my tits exposed, my bush utterly available, my ass
wriggling with fright. He did not completely undress me, just enough to
get all my important parts into view.
ÒLight the other candles,Ó he told me. Hastily I obeyed, eager to get
away from him. My steps were awkward as I tottered over to the next man
on my high-perched boots, my panties ringing my knees and making it
impossible for me to walk gracefully. I was like a child just taking her
first steps.
The next man seemed softer, kinder. He was young, handsome. He
merely watched me as I straightened my back, lifted my arms, rose up on
tiptoe, and lit the candle above his head. I wanted to name him my Sir
Lancelot. I would service his lance for him if he would keep me away from
the awful man with the belt. I knew none of their names. Only the name
on the credit card, Johannes Jones. That was all I knew. It could have
been a stolen credit card for all I knew. Yet, as a result of that card, they
were here with me, all six of them, their organs hard, throbbing, out and
ready for action, me the only female in the room. And I was hardly able to
turn them away, shaking visibly as I lit the candle, my pussy and ass as
poke-able as any Christmas turkey about to be speared on a spit.
ÒHowÕs it coming?Ó Melissa asked, appearing at the door.
I turned my head, swiftly, like a teen discovered with her boyfriend,
her panties down and his cock out. ÔMelissa!Õ I wanted to say. ÔCome and
light the other candle.Õ It would serve her right for telling all the men to
get their penises out. Instead I asked, ÒMay we go upstairs yet?Ó I
wanted Rose to command the men. I could not do it. She was the domme,
not me. They would have me up on the sideboard soon, my ass burning,
waggling, as they flailed away with their belts.
Melissa seemed to sense the situation, my helplessness. Perhaps it
was my tingling white ass that gave me away, shivering in the
candlelight, the electric light. She turned a knob on the wall and the
electric light diminished. It was more romantic now.
ÒUndress,Ó she said to the men. ÒLeave your belts too. Then we will
go upstairs for some fun.Ó
Swiftly, perhaps excited by her beauty, the men disrobed. There was
nothing but the practical about it. They stood, stripped off their shoes,
socks, pants. I felt like I was in a menÕs locker room as I watched. There
was no romance, despite the candlelight. It reminded me of men preparing
for a game of basketball. Strip off the clothes, put on little shorts, play.
Simple and direct. Except at the end they did not put on little shorts, they
left themselves naked. Their cocks boldly uprearing, the heads pointing
directly at me, they stood now, stood around me, looking at me and
Melissa. I was the tart, naked in all the strategic places. She still wore
clothing, a little bra top with a long flowing skirt that began at her waist
and dropped to her toes. Her belly was sexily bare, as was all of her back
except for the bra. The bra matched her dress. There was a matching
collar around her neck. The material was white, spangled. Perfect for
nightclub dancing. She turned, her gorgeous hair swirling about her as she
turned.
ÒCome along, men,Ó she called over her shoulder, crooking her finger
at them. Six bare, hairy men approached, crowded about me. Like a little
creature in a Disney film, left behind by its fellows, I bolted ahead,
desperate to catch up with Melissa. The men, the wolves followed.
Melissa led us out into a living room and up a flight of carved,
curving hardwood stairs. They were the kind of stairs a girl of sixteen
would wish to come down to engage in her first debutante ball. Except I
was but 15, and going up them, naked, with a load of men behind me. I
wanted to pull my dress back down but didnÕt dare. The man with the belt
still had hands, big hands, even if heÕd left his belt behind. I glanced
behind me. With heavy tread the men followed, Vikings on patrol, scouring
the shoreline for young females. I had to reach down, pull up my panties.
It was too difficult for me to mount the stairs. A hand grabbed, caught at
the crotch of my panties as I tried to yank them up.
ÒTake them off,Ó a male voice growled. It was the Black Knight, the
man with the belt except he had no belt now, just his awful lance. It
poked at me, just inches away, the big nubbing head sweetly anointed with
his pre-cum. ÒYou will not be wanting them on upstairs anyway, will
you?Ó he smirked at me. ÒI did not come here to be a priest, nor you a nun.
Get them off.Ó I obeyed. There was only Melissa, she could not help. She
stood, waiting, a finger in her mouth, watching wide-eyed. I was on my
own, at least until we got upstairs. I stripped off my panties. I turned
and pulled back on one leghole, holding the other level at the Black Knight.
SPRANG! I shot my panties at the Black Knight. I hit him square in
the nose. He did not flinch, did not mind. ÒGet up,Ó he said, giving my
bottom a push with his hands. I did not move for a second, savoring the
awful feeling of his calloused palms against my soft white bottom. Then,
like an errant schoolgirl late for class, I darted ahead. Upstairs I went,
my feet mounting each step as quick as I could make them, the men
following.
ÒIn here,Ó Melissa said, pointing. She stood by the door to a
bedroom, chastely, as if she herself would not be going inside. I slipped
past her. The men filed in. The last, the Black Knight, grabbed Melissa and
pulled her into the room with him. She squealed, protested, he ignored her
and pulled down her skirt.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
TOTEM
Golliwogg gapes:
What *if* God is no more?
Who shall grant my vision--
what shall I worship?
The universe?
a cross?
a prophet?
a woman?
a demon?
a crow?
a raven?
a mongrel?
a tree?
a worm?
a rock?
myself.
BACKSEAT DARWINISM
Peering over NietzscheÕs shoulder
Golliwogg glimpses the *Book of Life:*
ÒAhhhhh, THIS IS KNOWLEDGE!Ó
thinking superior,
Golliwogg asks
ÒSo man really was begat from apes?!Ó
Nietzsche turns--
castigates
ÒShut up Golliwogg, you donÕt know shit.Ó
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by holy joe
I have three ftp sites containing stories. They are listed at the
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ftp site: members.aol.com/roller666
ftp site: members.aol.com/roller6666
ftp site: members.aol.com/nnd666
Each site is a separate site and contains different stories. The
files (stories) you download from these sites are guaranteed to be
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These files originated as Macintosh files so you will probably see
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each file to bare text as much as I could, but they are not as stripped as
I would like them to be. Also, the tabs may have been stripped out,
making the paragraphs start against the edge of the page.
If you run a spell-checker over these files you will find some
spelling errors. Eventually I will spell-check all of these files and
correct them in other ways. But you can read them today, and thatÕs
whatÕs most important, in my opinion.
This is a limited time offer! There are still people in America
who want to ban erotic literature from the Internet. Or they want to
severely restrict access to erotic literature on the Internet.
FlogmasterÕs ftp site is gone. The Louvre is shut down. Anonymous ftp
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AND IN THE END...
ÒOur politicians, in thrall to the presumed new ÔscienceÕ of
getting elected, will nowadays do or say or justify just about anything
to win office.Ó - Newsweek, November 18, 1996, pg. 128.
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-END OF 137 EMISSION
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