Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 200
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Four
ÒTake good care of those dresses, men,Ó hostess advised them. ÒThe
girls will need to put them back on when we leave. Set them aside on the
table when you get tired of wearing them.Ó The men grinned. They did not
mind having such sheer, inconsequential gowns draped over their heads.
All day they had to work at their business, sweating and toiling to make
money for us. Now they seemed delighted just to sit and savor their
status as rugged guests at a female-centered party, hosted by our
purebred, elegant hostess, whom later I was to learn was the wife of the
governor of a Brazilian province, a Mrs. Lalique by name, from one of
BrazilÕs top families.
The needles for tattooing were presented, which sobered all of us.
Hostess knew how to quickly settle down a bunch of giggly girls, I had to
credit her with that. Candi brought the needles out and laid them solemnly
on the table, laying them out on a red velvet cloth which sheÕd brought
with her, from the kitchen. The needles were long, almost sensuous.
Gwen whispered to me that they were used solely for erotic tattooing. No
little buzzy short-needled tattooing machines would be permitted here.
These long, finely honed needles would be used to gently poke and stab bit
by bit into the female flesh, prolonging the process for hours, perhaps, the
dye applied to the skin at last to complete the design, and make it
permanent.
ÒI see some of you blanching at these long needles,Ó hostess
smilingly said to us. We sat huddled on our velvet-cushioned chairs, all
naked now, trembling in the cool air of the room, our nipples tipped with
coral, each as hard as our clitty that tingled within us. ÒHow silly most
girls are, to visit some Ôtattoo guruÕ with their boyfriend in a seedy part
of town, where Candi grew up, and get herself tattooed in a few minutes.
Here, we can take our time. GwenÕs husband, a licensed surgeon, will
apply the needles to your bodies. And we shall ink the design after itÕs
finished, so until that fateful moment you can feel just the needle, poking
away, and debate how you feel about it all.Ó Gwen looked down at her
nipples. They were so wonderfully pink, I thought, and delicate. How cruel
it would be to tattoo them! Yet her husband sat across from her, grim-
faced, as if he would not be deterred. But I hoped his grimness was due
less to his determination and more to his hard-on, which must have
afflicted him quite painfully by now, being ringed with luscious female
panties, all wet with cream and her dew. All the men, I observed, seemed
slightly haggard. Yet their newly healed buns prevented them from
attacking us, raping us, which I knew they longed to do, or from fisting
themselves, as the little boy part of their minds must have been urgently
urging.
Suddenly a young man leapt to his feet. ÒAh, I cannot stand it!Ó he
bellowed, and he began to rub and squeeze his hard cock as we all watched,
open-mouthed, amazed that he would disobey mistress. He had a
wonderfully long and thick penis and I wished to God he would sit back
down and behave. That such a fine tool should be wasted, him jerking it
off as if he were but ten years old, home alone with Playboy.
Silently hostess watched him, sitting primly, still fully dressed, the
only one of us who yet preserved her dignity. She looked a bit school-
marmish, I thought, her hair neatly pinned up and her dress not the least
revealing; a little daring, perhaps, showing off the bosom just slightly,
but not enough to get her into trouble with the PTA. Yet our studly hero,
perhaps enflamed even by hostess, a love icon of old from his schoolboy
days, stood and saluted us by fisting himself until he came. He discharged
right onto the tablecloth, not taking the least care to shoot onto his plate
or a napkin. When he was done, ejaculating to our silent eyes, he glance
guiltily at hostess.
ÒJames, you are dismissed,Ó hostess said simply.
Candi, as if escorting some despicable child molester or rapist from
our presence, marched up to him and took his arm and led him from the
room. She ushered him out, him frantically trying to close himself up
before she pushed him out into the ÔnormalÕ crowd, the diners in the room
beyond. She herself kept back just enough from the door that she would
not be seen. James was pushed out, and Candi closed and re-locked the
door behind him.
ÒCome and clean up this mess, Candi,Ó hostess said.
ÒOh, not me! Let her do it!Ó Candi begged. She pointed to the second
maid, who stood demurely by mistress, her panties on, her bodice
unsullied, her bottom tomato-free.
ÒNo, I want you to do it, Candi,Ó hostess replied. ÒCome and lick up
his sperm. He is a studmuffin, no doubt about it, and his sperm shouldnÕt
be wasted. He will see me in the weeks ahead, in my office downtown,
next to the governorÕs, and IÕll whip his heinie into shape so that he does
not embarrass me at my next party. In the meantime, we must not let his
sperm go to waste. Lick it right up, Candi! You are but a girl from the
slums, and he is the son of an aristocrat. We do not allow aristocratic
semen to go to waste at my parties! As for the rest of you men, keep your
sperm properly in your balls, please. The time will come soon enough for
you to serve the women present, and I want you all nice and full for the
task.Ó She surveyed them with demeaning eyes. ÒCanÕt you boys sit in
front of nice, well-behaved girls without jacking yourselves off? Really!
LetÕs have no more of this penis nonsense. Girls should be able to enjoy
your organs freely once in a while, making you wait until theyÕre good and
ready.Ó Indeed, though, I thought, most of us girls would have gladly given
up the rest of the party to sit on those stallions across from us. But that
could be done anywhere, without such an expensive meal. Here things
must be a little different, and anyways this was a most special party, at
which weÕd commit to the men in our lives irretrievably.
Bending over awkwardly, clearly disgusted at the task, Candi lapped
up the sperm from the tablecloth.
ÒEwww, yuck!Ó the second maid declared, watching. Hostess gave
her bottom a slap and she said no more.
ÒNow we must have a cream shooting contest,Ó hostess said happily,
when Candi returned with lip-smacking displeasure to her side, waiting
for her new orders. ÒCandi, please fetch the cannisters of icing from the
kitchen. I want the girls here to get a chance to shoot white stuff at their
boyfriends and hubbies, instead of just having it shot up their cunts.Ó
Candi flounced off to the kitchen, all of us admiring her bottom,
which rolled impishly, still showing her disgust at having to lick up
semen. She returned, a dollop of cum still on her nose, unnoticed by her,
with two big handfuls of cannisters. They were slim, and had nozzle-
shaped tips. I saw they each had a pump handle at the rear. I felt excited
at the prospect of holding one of the slim tubes in my hands and Ôjacking
offÕ at Sam with it! Candi distributed the tubes, one to each of us girls.
Then, to my surprise, hostess ordered her to fetch more, for the men.
ÒShoot now, girls! The men will have their revenge sooner than you
care to wish!Ó We fired at once, a volley of white icing descending on the
men as they sat helplessly across from us. I bent briefly under the table
to see where one shot in particular of mine had gone, aimed at Sam. It had
fallen short of his face, but, bending down, I saw that it had made a direct
hit on his peehole! I laughed, fired more shots at him, sitting up again, and
deliberately made them fall short of his handsome face and into his lap.
A moment later and the men were armed too. The combat proceeded
with both sides splattering the other in what looked, for all the world,
like flying sperm. I was hit on my nose, on my breasts (a well-aimed for
target, being the youngest there), and some fell down and decorated my
pussy. At last hostess called a halt to the affair.
ÒThat should have relieved some tension, I hope,Ó the governorÕs
wife said. ÒThe girls, about being tattooed, and you men, by having to
sport such stiff erections in such enticing company. At least now your
icing has fallen where your penises would LIKE to be,Ó she added merrily.
Most of us, I think, had wound up with our pussies getting decorated, or at
least our tummies, where our wombs lay. Our bosoms were streaked with
the stuff. We might have each had a pair of edible creampuffs, so well
shot-at were our mammaries. YouÕd think they were being iced to be
eaten! I looked down at my own. One nipple was covered, the other
wiggled bare and pinkly, still wishing to be attacked. Alas, our icing-
shooters were empty now. Leaning forward I surveyed all the other girls,
up and down the line. Most of them had wound up with both nipples
covered. I toyed with my exposed nipple and considered wiping icing on it.
Gwen took my hand, silently, placed it in my lap. She leaned into me and
slowly licked my other nipple until it was as clean as my other one.
ÒThere,Ó she said smilingly.
ÒCandi, did you bring out that makeup kit as I asked you to?Ó hostess
queried.
ÒYesÕm,Ó Candi answered. She had lain it on the tea service. It was
small, covered with a pearl shell on its outside, looking like a glossy
oyster.
ÒThese girls have all been so ACTIVE,Ó hostess told her. ÒPlease fix
their hair and makeup for them. I want them looking their very best for
our next little treat.Ó Candi nodded silently. She took the makeup kit and
proceeded to the first of us, sitting straight in our chairs with our nipples
standing to attention, eyeing the long needles which promised to stick us
in most unpleasant places before the night was through, marking us
forever as our mastersÕ property. JillÕs husband had promised that IÕd
escape a tattooing but, glancing around, I saw that many of the females
were little older than myself (or maybe I just looked as grown-up as
them, I thought with an excited shiver). If they could be tattooed, couldnÕt
I? Who would spare me at the final moment, when all the other girls were
weeping at their sacrifice, their masterÕs gloating over such a lovely
treasure now marked as theirs.
Hostess plucked open the front of the second maidÕs panties, the one
who still had suffered nothing but a single slap upon her bottom, which did
not even bear the mark of it. Nervously the maid watched as hostess
gazed with deprecatory eyes at her fleecy bush. It was, I could imagine,
so pure and virginal, untouched, warm and perhaps a little moist. And her
lovely lips below must snuggle together reassuringly inside those
protective little undies, so safe from menÕs eyes, I thought. Wickedly
hostess placed a delicate finger underneath the maidÕs cunny and stroked
it, while still glancing within her panties, holding them open with her
other hand. The maid shivered.
ÒKaren, you are so jittery!Ó hostess said to her. ÒDonÕt you like
having your pussy played upon?Ó
ÒN-Nooo,Ó Karen answered. Her young bottom cheeks jostled
together in behind, tight and straining, their bulging hemispheres showing
her stress. Her legs wiggled upon her nervous knees.
ÒWell, your panties are a kind of pouch, arenÕt they?Ó hostess
inquired. ÒAnd you have no penis. DonÕt you think it would be useful to
carry around stuff in your panties, since thereÕs nothing in there now
except your little hole?Ó
Karen gulped audibly, her childlike throat tense at what she guessed
hostess must be about to do. Hostess reached for a can of Redi-Whip that
had stood stolidly on the tea service, unused, in a bucket of slowly
melting ice. It was for coffee, I guessed, or hot chocolate. Someone had
placed it there accidentally, thinking we might be drinking that, or
perhaps intentionally, knowing hostess would surely have a use for it.
Hostess ceased her sly questings underneath KarenÕs pantied cunny. Still
holding open the front of her undies, she picked up the Redi-Whip and
aimed it squarely into KarenÕs little gusset pouch.
ÒYou seem so heated, you skin so hot inside your undies, Karen,Ó
Hostess said with predatory eyes. ÒYour mommie would not approve, I
think. Would you like me to cool you down a little with some ice-cold
cream?Ó
ÒNo, I mean, yes, please,Ó Karen stumbled in her reply, her words so
uncertain. She did not want to displease hostess. SheÕd already gotten her
fanny slapped once and knew, with a glance at the birch rod beside
hostessÕ plate, that her governess could do much worse. Ah, I pitied her!
Why must this wife of the governor, a woman of such strength of purpose
and will, pick on such a little girl as Karen? How cute and naughty she
looked in her little maidÕs outfit. I did not wish to see her purity
tampered with. I found myself drawing up my courage to protest as I
watched the can of Redi-Whip hovering menacingly over CandiÕs opened
pouch.
ÒNo,Ó I began to say, but a hand grabbed my face just then, seizing
both my cheeks. It was Candi, of all people, businesslike, quick, knowing
hostess would be displeased if she dallied. Candi yanked my face to one
side and instantly began applying lipstick to my lips. Jill watched
approvingly, her own face newly decorated. We were all slaves here, I
guessed, slaves in a harem run by a governess. We were each otherÕs own
worst enemies, in a way, all of us wanting to make sure that the other
participated just as much as we did, lest she claim afterward that she had
not lowered herself to the decadent level of the rest of us.
ÒReady?Ó I heard hostess say in the distance. There was no audible
answer from Karen. Then, as blush was applied to my cheeks, I heard a
squirting sound, lusty, full-throated, shooting from a nozzle. Karen
shrieked as whipped cream, cold as ice, shot into her winsome panties.
SheÕd been so safe and protected inside them. Now they were being used
to apply and hold icy cream against her sex.
WORRIED ABOUT YOUR MASCULINITY?
Life is getting pretty good for me. When I got kicked out of the
dumpster behind Woodbridge Elementary I was worried about where IÕd
find a new home. Then I happened upon a porta-potty at a construction
site. (The new Federal Building theyÕre erecting.)
At first, I had to sneak into the potty. IÕd go in when the men left at
night and scram by morning. But, wouldnÕt you know, I overslept the other
day. The guys turned out to be pretty nice and they said I could stay in the
porta potty all day, plus the night too. Of course when one of them has to
take a whiz or a shit he makes me get out of the potty. But then I can go
back in when heÕs through. But sometimes the men forget to flush and so I
have to flush the potty, and this has made me feel sorta like a fag or
something.
So I decided to test myself to see if IÕm a Man or not. I found a little
catalogue lying in the street. It said, ÒWorld Famous Catalogs, the Best
for Men.Ó I figured that would make a pretty good test. If I liked what
was in the catalogue, I must be a man. If not, IÕm probably a fag or a
pantywaist (well, I do collect panties) or a girl.
Well, guess what? I liked this catalogue better than any IÕve ever
seen. There is one caveat, however. It is a catalogue of other catalogues.
So I liked it best in terms of its being Ôa catalogue of other catalogues.Õ
(There are many different catalogues of other catalogues in the world,
believe it or not.)
WhatÕs in this catalogue? Well, the first catalogue featured is
called ÒActionÓ and has guns, knives, and stuff like that. But what caught
my eye was ÒMonstrosities.Ó It features dinosaurs and Godzilla items.
ThereÕs also a catalogue featuring equipment that knights used to wear, in
medieval times. There is a Trekker catalogue for Star Trek fans. ThereÕs
a girl in a sailor suit selling bikinis. ThereÕs a dark-haired, slim woman
in a stringy bikini. SheÕs selling bikinis too but if she told me she was
selling penis whips and nutcrackers IÕd believe her! ThereÕs yet more
girlie-type catalogues, including one from that high class Victorian-era
bondage company ÒDream Dresser.Ó
ThereÕs the ÒPerfect 10Ó catalogue, which sells ÒA huge selection of
photo-sets, trading cards, plus Playboy and pay-per-view TV videos, strip
tease, wet T-shirt, bikini and naturist.Ó ThereÕs a really cool-looking
herbalware catalogue. ItÕs called ÒLavender Lane.Ó It lets you make your
own Ònatural bath crystals, dusting powders... [and] perfumes... in minutes
for pennies.Ó (We could use some of those in the porta-potty, believe me.)
Look at this: ÒFind Your Favorite Science Fiction Films! This catalog
is bound to have the film your collection is missing.Ó (ThatÕs the ÒScience
Fiction Video CollectionÓ catalogue.) ThereÕs even a catalogue that sells
ÒNostalgic Gas Station Collectibles! Top source of gasoline company
memorabilia.Ó
ThereÕs a ÒDutch GardensÓ catalogue offering tulip bulbs from
Holland. (Trust me, we could use some of those around the porta-potty.
Right now all we have is menÕs spit, vomit, squashed cigarettes and
chewing tobacco.)
For the guy who always gasses up the porta-potty, even when heÕs
taking a leak, thereÕs the handy ÒCarnivorous Plants!Ó catalogue. Just
imagine when he sits down on a Venus (or is it Penis?) Fly Trap! The
catalogue offers a ÒbladderwortÓ too, whatever kind of man-eating plant
that is. (Both the Òaquatic and terrestrialÓ variety.) ThereÕs the ÒDesign
Toscano ClassicsÓ catalogue. TheyÕll sell you a Òfine replica sculptureÓ of
Venus or Julius Caesar, from what I gather looking at the picture of their
catalogue in this catalogue. ÒI came, I saw, I conquered!Ó (The porta-
potty, that is, since the guys let me live in it when theyÕre not using it.)
So anyway IÕm now satisfied that IÕm a man. I wasnÕt going to write
this catalogue up but then I saw this catalogue advertised on the back of
it: ÒCheck your coins! This Penny is worth $13,000.00.Ó I figured, you
know, some poor guy might only have a penny to his name, but with this
catalogue he could find out if heÕs lucky enough to have the $13,000.00
one. ThereÕs also a catalogue promising ÒFree Government Money!Ó but who
believes that anymore?
That ends my report. Some guy is banging on the door demanding to
be let in to take a poop. But donÕt worry, IÕll have more Important Public
Service Announcements in the next issue of Fuck Decency!
AND IN THE END...
ÒThe opinionated columnist, never at a loss for a view on both the vital
and the trivial issues of the day...Ó
- The Economist, February 15, 1997, pg. 14 (review section).
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