Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 194
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Three
Sometime in the night, still sobbing softly to myself, utterly unable
to get the penis out of my butt, I was picked up and carried to bed. Gently,
slowly, as I lay suffering upon the clean, soft sheets, a maid with tender
fingers removed the penis from my heinie. The party was still going on,
she had been called in specially to take care of me. I was bathed right
there on the bed, sponge-bathed, so to keep at least part of my big bed dry.
She squirted water from the sponge into my hole. I felt comforted. She
told me I was okay, there was no damage. I had experienced nothing more
than one does when one has a really, really big turd in oneÕs butt, or
constipation. I had not, in fact, been Òbled,Ó and I whispered a prayer of
thanks to mistress, silently, for she might have done whatever she
pleased with me, but instead she showed consideration for my newness,
for my (now lost) virginity.
In the morning mistress came to my bedside. She turned down my
sheets, finding me lying on my back, with my hands placed under my
bottom, protectively. Smiling, she woke me up and rolled me over. She
inspected my asshole.
ÒGood, good, I did not hurt you,Ó she said. ÒPerhaps you are a little
wider now, perhaps not. But there is no harm, and that is important, for I
want you to relish this form of entry. The rear hole is as important as the
front hole, in my opinion. But you will make your own choices as to that
as time goes by. My only job was to make it POSSIBLE, by introducing you
fully and completely to that option, or a fully as I could, given that IÕm a
girl, just like you.Ó She stroked my shuddering heinie cheeks. I lay with
my hands under my pussy, hoping she would go away, yet loving all the
attention she was giving me. Pity that it was given because IÕd been
forced to surrender my ass the night before. Yet, in truth, nobody gives
you as much attention as when theyÕre involved with you sexually, I think.
Not teachers, or parents, or even priests. (Well, sometimes maybe, if
youÕre a choir boy.) Sexually, though, you must open yourself up to be part
of it. Feelings of inhibition must be overcome, and clothes must come off.
At last there must be The Entry, if the experience is to be truly fulfilling.
One must enter, and the other, me being a girl, must submit to the entry.
So I had done as I must, as nature intended. It was not my fault, though I
dearly wanted to feel guilty, I donÕt know why. Mistress rolled me onto
my back again and gazed at me with loving, motherly eyes.
ÒYour master is giving you your own apartment,Ó she said. ÒFor you
to live in by yourself. He says you deserve it. He must be away for
awhile, and wishes for you to experience life on your own.Ó
ÒI-Ó I began. She placed a finger to my lips.
ÒDo not protest,Ó she said. She fiddled with the rawhide collar
around my neck. ÒMerely accept. You are still his slave. You might run
away, of course, abandon the apartment, but I know you wonÕt. YouÕll be a
good girl and wait for him to come back to you.Ó She bent low, kissed my
cheeks. ÒAnd have fun in the meantime, I hope! ItÕs up to you.Ó She tugged
at my bit of rawhide that ringed my neck, seemed to contemplate cutting
it off me. ÒYouÕve earned a leather collar,Ó she said at last. ÒBut you look
so darling in this! So new, so fresh. Just a little piece of rawhide, like a
puppy would wear, before her master has gotten to the store to buy her a
proper leash and collar. Keep it on for me. Where it wherever you go. I
like you in it, and IÕd like to think you wore it just for me.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I smiled. I felt loved. Not by my mother, or even in the way
my dad loved me, by making me behave and do my homework and
complimenting my dress sometimes. I felt loved on my own terms, as a
young woman, by a woman who understood where I was in life, and what I
was feeling. She bent down and we kissed, right on the lips. She offered
me her tongue and I accepted it. Her fingers stole to my pussy. I opened
my thighs, not minding. She tickled me there. I giggled into her mouth. I
slipped my hand over the sheets until IÕd come to her thighs. I crept my
fingertips up to their juncture, I repaid her with a tickling of my own.
Together, after many long, loving minutes, the sun warming my bedroom,
we came at last.
ÒI shall call the maid to change the sheets,Ó mistress said when at
last our kissing and touching was done. She fixed her hair in the mirror
and I lay upon the bed, quite nude, watching her, letting the sun bathe my
body as it shone through the white curtains of my bedroom. At last I got
up too, for this room was but borrowed by me, for my enjoyment, and I
wished to go now. I wanted to be on my own. By noon I was walking
briskly out the front door, a bright new dress on, a parasol propped on my
shoulder to keep the hot South American sun off me. In fresh booties made
specially for walking, I travelled out to the roadside and waited for a cab.
Mistress had called one. I wished to greet it away from the house. I knew
if I waited indoors I would want my master back, or to stay with
mistress, or perhaps to take up lodging somewhere with the other girls,
especially my new friend Barbi. I had a phone number for her if I needed to
reach her, at least. Of that IÕd made sure. And I had mistressÕ number too.
Yet I knew IÕd want to stay with SOMEBODY if I didnÕt leave the house on
my own. When the cab arrived I did not turn back, or wave, though I knew
they were watching me. I slipped into the back of the cab, not making the
driver get out and open the door for me.
ÒWhere to?Ó he asked.
ÒWherever I please,Ó I answered. I felt very adult-like. At last I
gave him an address. It was my own apartment! I felt very special as the
cab whisked me away, although my bottom was still a little sore from
last night and I leaned my weight a little to the side to give it relief. We
passed into the trees, roadside apple trees, their fruit not perhaps quite
as pretty as mistressÕ but still edible, succulent, just coming into full
ripeness. I told the cabbie to stop and I opened my window and reached
out and, stretching, just barely managed to catch hold of a big, balls-ripe
apple and pluck it from the tree. It had rained a little this morning, just
as the sun came up, liquid sunshine that had specially washed this apple,
just for me. I bit into it. There was a tangy freshness. I felt suddenly as
if God himself had given me this apple.
ÒIs it good?Ó the cabbie asked.
I nodded, silent, took another bite. ÒWould you like me to get you
one? I think I see one more,Ó I offered. I always tried to be generous.
ÒIf I let you, and took it, I would not stop just there,Ó he replied.
His eyes were modest. He spoke truthfully, not sportingly. He was a
humble man, unshaved, fortyish, with a ParisianÕs cap on his head and a
slowly burning cigarette in his mouth.
ÒThen I shall have to deny you, mon sewer,Ó I said, garbling my
French as I tried to reply to him as elegantly as heÕd addressed me.
ÒSo let it be,Ó he said. He smiled. He enjoyed having me as his fare.
We drove back to Montevideo, and not once did I think of my master, or how
he might die at the hands of my father. I felt released from him, as if heÕd
used me fully and IÕd pleased him, and now heÕd rewarded me with a yearÕs
lease on an apartment, and my very own bank account, while he
straightened out his affairs. Yes, let him get his business back together
while I explored life on my own. I could not help him with that. It was a
manÕs job. He must do his work sometime, and I would let him. Goodbye,
master. I turned, blew a kiss at the place where mistressÕ mansion must
lay, somewhere behind us in the apple trees. Then I turned and regarded
the view before me, a new girl, a woman, a freed love slave. Yes! How
strange and wonderful it sounded. A freed love slave. Not a runaway
slave, but a slave whoÕd accepted her servitude, and earned her freedom
with her body, like a love slave should. My eyes took in the lovely hills
and valleys as we travelled, the sheep in the pastures, the cows with their
big heavy udders and bells. Horses, geese. All this I admired as we passed
through the countryside on my way to my new home.
Chapter Four
My new apartment was located in downtown Rio, far from the
Ômadding crowdÕ of Buenos Aires, or even Montevideo. After sleeping for a
whole day to refresh myself, I called the bank and checked on the status of
my account. There was not a lot, but there was enough. Somebody loved
me. I think mistress might have contributed a little, just to get me
started on the right foot. I called an interior decorator and had my
apartment decorated to suit my tastes. It had been furnished, but I
changed a few things, just to make it mine.
I met a woman and her husband, who lived in the building. One day
she and I lounged by the pool at our complex while her husband swam laps.
Gradually I found the courage to tell her of my experiences at Abandon
Gardens. We lay tied into our teensy bikinis, her husband doing powerful
strokes in the pool, us teasingly afraid to get our bikinis wet. My new
friend listened attentively as I told her how mistress had whipped me, and
stuffed me with a hot dog up my hole, and finally taken me herself.
ÒWell, you donÕt seem any the worse for it,Ó Jill said at last, gazing
at me with soothing eyes as I concluded my story in a breathless voice,
very shy about telling her all of it, but feeling I had to. She seemed
interested, and I could not deny her. No, I had to tell somebody, and once
IÕd hinted at my tale I felt to not tell her would somehow be a violation of
our new friendship.
ÒSure you girls donÕt want to get wet?Ó JillÕs husband asked, rising
from the pool. He strode over to us, large and powerful, with a chest like
ConanÕs, and flicked water on us by shaking his hairy arms at us.
ÒEeek!Ó Jill and I both screamed. ÒNo, please,Ó she added. ÒHere,
take a towel, dear, and dry off. Flurrie here is telling me all about a little
trip she took out to the country, down south, where she got her first
introduction to sex.Ó Jill insisted on calling me Flurrie. She said Fury
was too masculine. She preferred the more feminine version of my name.
IÕd protested a little, but sheÕd not given in, so I was Flurrie to her, and
that was, I guess, okay with me. Jill stirred her cocktail with a swizzle
stick. I sipped mine. We gazed up at her husband, nude except for his
Speedos, as he toweled off. I saw that the bulge in the front of his suit
increased as Jill mentioned the topic of our conversation to him.
ÒWell, thatÕs something I wouldnÕt know anything about,Ó Sam
laughed.
ÒYeah, sure,Ó Jill said. ÒTurn around, honey. Face away from the
building,Ó she urged. She drew him between our chairs, where we lay
stretched out in the summer sun. I found myself staring up at his flexing
buttocks, encased in his swimsuit, as Jill positioned him so that he stood
with his front looking out over the trees of a park. We were elevated six
stories off the ground, on a kind of veranda, overlooking the canopy of the
trees. Here and there, if I sat up, I could see tiny people walking their
dogs, or sitting on park benches amongst the shady leaves.
ÒWhy?Ó JillÕs husband was just asking, when the answer became
obvious. If someone had been watching us from a window of our building,
they did not see what happened next. Jill pulled open the front of her
husbandÕs trunks and poured her drink right into them. SamÕs buns flexed,
hard, squeezing tight. He arched his back toward me. He shouted,
surprised, then happily accepted the drink on his cock, lemon rind and all.
Jill let go of his suit. It snapped shut.
ÒWeÕre going out tonight, arenÕt we?Ó she asked. There was an
innocent look on her face, as if nothing at all had happened.
ÒI guess we are, now,Ó he replied. He regained his composure as I
watched, with fascination, his butt cheeks aimlessly flex and his cock
grow huge inside his oh-so brief trunks. ÒBut you know what happens
then, when the dinnerÕs concluded. You know the price of it.Ó
ÒOh, I donÕt want a tattoo!Ó Jill whined. ÒI just like all the great
food theyÕre having! RioÕs most expensive restaurant! IÕve been starving
myself all day, dear, canÕt you see?Ó Jill caressed her luxuriating form
with her hand, showing off her model-slim body. Her husband bent
forward, casually, leaned over her and picked up a champagne glass. It
held jello, brought out by a waiter, compliments of the house. We were
well cared for here.
The jello was untouched. Jill had not eaten it, despite how good it
looked, for she didnÕt want to spoil her appetite for dinner, as sheÕd told
me. Sam opened the front of JillÕs paper-thin bikini briefs. He tipped the
champagne glass and emptied the jello straight onto JillÕs mons. She
almost cried out, sticking her finger at the last moment between her lips
and biting it hard. Sam closed her briefs. There was a bulge where the
jello lay, making her look manly, as if she might have equipment of her
own there, within the briefs, though in fact she was utterly feminine, a
modelsÕ model, who could make thousands of dollars a day when she
bothered to work. Jill stared at the unsightly bulge, and I leaned round the
hairy leg of her husband to look too, and laughed.
ÒJill, youÕre a man now!Ó I giggled with glee.
ÒYes, and sheÕd better keep it in right up to our apartment,Ó Sam
advised. ÒYouÕre lucky youÕve eaten yours, Flurrie, or IÕd do the same to
you!Ó
ÒYou wouldnÕt!Ó Jill replied. ÒSheÕs only a 13-year-old girl, dear.Ó
ÒAlmost 14,Ó I advised them.
ZINE REVIEW
by holy joe
X Magazine, Number 6, $5.95. 8 1/2Ó x 11Ó magazine, 54 slick pages plus a
slick cover. X Publishing, Inc., 625 SW 10th Avenue, Suite 324B, Portland,
OR 97205. email: xmag@teleport.com www: http://www.xmag.com
Review: I had wondered where this magazine had gone to, and it
turns out that itÕs been on a 2-year hiatus. But now itÕs back. ItÕs
actually a combination of two magazines by the same publisher, X
Magazine and X Online Magazine. It contains both Internet and non-Internet
material. But, since everything in this magazine is probably a very hot
topic of interest to regular Net users, one might as well declare the whole
magazine to be, in a way, Internet-related. (Assuming thatÕs a positive
good.) (It is to me, anyway.)
The lead article relates gossip regarding Courtney Love which,
apparently, is entirely true. I found the information to be new and
interesting. Did she sexually conquer a dozen women? Was she sleeping
with the lead singer of Smashing Pumpkins before she started going with
Kurt Cobain? Did Cobain use CourtneyÕs drugs when he made his first
suicide attempt in Europe? All of these issues are raised and answered
(affirmatively) in this article.
The zine ÔAnswer Me!Õ was prosecuted in Washington State recently.
Apparently the zineÕs publisher committed the unpardonable sin of
mocking feminists, among others, in an issue devoted to rape. A local
Òcrisis centerÓ catering to Òabused womenÓ was offended by the contents
of the zine and called the police. Thence proceeded a $200,000 trial in
which a newsstand owner, who had sold the zine, was threatened with
becoming a convicted felon, spending five years in prison, and paying a
$10,000 fine. In this case the publisher mouthed all the conventional
tripe about how he was really supporting the feminist cause with his
publication and so he, or rather the newsstand owner, was left molested
but unconvicted at trialÕs end.
For all I know, the publisher of ÔAnswer Me!Õ does publish it to
promote feminism. Mike Diana, however, offered the same argument and
was convicted. It would be nice to see someone in this situation who
simply said, ÒIÕm not publishing this to promote feminism. FUCK
feminism.Ó Of course this would instantly be termed Ôhate speech,Õ
Ômisogyny,Õ Ôobscenity,Õ Ôchild pornography,Õ Ôpatently offensive,Õ etc.
Which, of course, then raises the question. Is the other side neutral? Do
they keep quiet? Why, no! They get to use all manner of media every day
to promote their male-bashing viewpoint. The contra side is reduced,
apparently, when push comes to shove, to arguing that they are pursuing
the SAME agenda, but merely doing it in a different manner. This is like
saying, ÒOh, donÕt worry, Hitler! I fully support the genocide of the Jews.
I simply prefer to see them drowned instead of gassed.Ó
ÒAnyone who refuses to take part in this universal system will have
no right to exist,Ó states Dr. Kurk E. Koch in the next article. It concerns
the life of a beleaguered police officer. He was forced into retirement as
a result of a publication he published. It concerned the constitutional
rights of police officers.
Another article in this zine concerns attacks not by the
Ôauthorities,Õ but rather attacks by the authoritarian Church of
Scientology [CoS]. It blames them for stealing local zines and newspapers
that contained negative articles about CoS. In addition to this, according
to the article, ÒMembers of CoS, with church approval, also managed to
steal every anti-Scientology book to be found in the Portland main library
building.Ó
Also in this zine is an article about the owner of a Ladies Escort
Service (since imprisoned, on Orwellian charges). ThereÕs an article about
Larry Flint (convicted, but later acquitted, again on Orwellian charges).
You could almost say the whole magazine is about the Brave New World we
live in, but there are other articles too. They dig into the Internet and
reprint some stuff found there. Also, most importantly, thereÕs some
pictures of girls (one of them cute) riding around on a motorcycle in
miniskirts with NO panties! (Hmmm, on closer inspection I see that only
the cute one is in a miniskirt. Figures.)
All in all this is a high-quality zine. Not a magazine, like Time or
Newsweek, but a high-quality, bona fide zine.
AND IN THE END...
The REAL ÒTrilateral CommissionÓ
(ItÕs not just a kooky fantasy)
ÒThe leaders of American government, business, and professional
organizations work in an interlocking world. Former Cabinet members
become corporate CEOs. Lawyers become Cabinet members. Federal
officials move to the media or judiciary. Former governors head trade
and professional associations. Together these individuals form a large,
loosely-knit community.Ó
- Leadership Directories, 1997 Catalog, pg. 13.
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