Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 214
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Five
We sat on SamÕs lap wearing just our stockings and spiked heels. I
knew Sam loved the feel of our soft, bare bottoms on his thighs, up close
to his groin, his huge pecker sticking up between us. We vyed with each
other a little, Jill and I, touching his pee hole and wiping icing and crumbs
from our fingers onto his cock.
ÒWhat a nice napkin-pole,Ó Jill exclaimed. ÒI think IÕll call that
ÔInventorÕs HotlineÕ and tell them all about it!Ó
I laughed. IÕd seen the commercial too. ÒYouÕd have the man on the
other end using his own pole for a napkin, a making an even bigger mess
before you were through,Ó I said. I could see even now the man in his neat
sweater, everything so perfect in his little workshop, his nails trimmed,
his moustache combed, his bald head gleaming with his thoughts of glory
at inventing the electric screwdriver, or some such nonsense. And then
Jill would call, and heÕd have to sneak past his wife in the living room a
few minutes later to go upstairs and clean out his underpants and change
his trousers. ÔDid you hurt yourself, dear?Õ his wife would call out. ÔUh,
no dear!Õ heÕd hastily reply, too hastily for her tastes, and heÕd turn on the
tap upstairs to keep her from hearing toilet paper being quickly run out
from the roll. MusnÕt let the wife know heÕd shot off in his pants, must
he? Sure, when they were first married, he might get so excited from
just the thought of doing her that he might have a little accident. But
now, in the fulness of their marriage, such indecent arousals were
unthinkable. If she discovered his accident sheÕd go looking for his
Playboys in the morning, out in his workshop, and throw them away.
Careful, so careful he must be in his later years of life. What had
happened to turn his lovely bride into an old maid, and himself, the groom,
into a too-neatly tailored husband? And then there was the girl next door,
in her tight jeans, worn in back from too much sitting on the sidewalk,
growing taller every year, and more bosomy. Such frustrations in tranquil
suburbia! Sometimes, IÕm sure, he longed to play Unibomber and bomb
everyone back to the stone age, where fertility rituals were held every
spring, and winters were spent in a cave passing the long nights in group
sex. Yes, heÕd be strong and muscled then, even at this advanced age, not
plump. HeÕd hunt mastodons all day with the men, and at night theyÕd have
some sport with the women and girls, whoÕd collected berries for their
pleasure while they were gone. No Oprah, that would be the best part of it.
The men would rule, the females would obey, and theyÕd eat fresh meat
every night, and ripe fruits, and watch the stars come out.
But for Sam, at least, he was enjoying the benefits of nylon. I lifted
my feet and placed my spiked heels on his opposite thigh, careful not to
poke Jill. Bending forward, letting him enjoy the pendency of my dangling
breasts, I undid the elaborate straps that kept my heels bound to my
ankles. When my feet were free I churlishly rubbed my stockinged toes all
over SamÕs dick. ÒYouÕre so drippy, sir!Ó I said cheerfully to him. ÒCanÕt
you keep all that pre-cum properly bottled up in your balls?Ó
ÒNo,Ó he groaned. Ah, to see such a huge, muscular man put into
agony by my little feet! He was desperate to cum, but we were just as
eager to see him hold back so we could tease him even more.
ÒPlease, Flurry,Ó Jill said at last. ÒDonÕt torture my husband! HeÕs
only human, you know. LetÕs allow him to rest a little, and regain control
of himself.Ó
I put my feet down. I kicked them aimlessly back and forth between
SamÕs open legs as we ate our cake, feeding each other, Jill and me
mostly, Sam just happily watching, trembling as he strove to lay claim
again to his trembling member, lest its seed burst forth and spoil our fun.
I studied his balls, all full and bulgingly spread upon the satin seat of the
chair. How strange he must have felt, with his bare buttocks on rich, pure,
womanly satin. Boys were always trained to Ôtough it out,Õ sitting on
rocks, or wooden benches, or those awful bicycle seats that smashed their
balls. Yet now Sam could feel the luxury of satin beneath his fundament,
his balls resting gently, if desperately, upon the silky material. Yes, his
testicles still would have preferred some sort of depression in the seat to
fit themselves into, instead of having their fullness scrunched up, but it
was SamÕs own fault, mostly. He simply was carrying around too much
sperm at the moment. His balls would rest much more easily on the seat
once they were empty. He was literally Ôfull of himself,Õ and I so wished
to see him shoot, as I know he did too, yet we both hoped to see him delay
it as long as possible too. How strange sex is! Wanting both to cum and
not to cum, lingering on the treacherous precipice. As for myself, my
clitty buzzed with excitement, yet I discreetly avoided rubbing it. Jill
too, I could see, with her nipples as stiff as mine, wished to cum, yet we
all waited, trying hard not to breach the protocols and decorum of EmilyÕs
wedding party. Even though we were, in fact, the guests of honor!
Jill and I had shed our bras walking into the room. The bridesmaids,
I guessed, had picked them up as mementos of our ceremony, to be kept and
displayed, perhaps, at home. ÔThese are from a mock wedding I attended,
where a man married TWO females!Õ theyÕd boast. What a pleasant way to
introduce a group of guests to the topic of sex. Show them your little
souvenirs of life, snapshots of the grand canyon, a vase from Paris, and a
frilly wedding bra from a naughty ceremony youÕd been persuaded to
attend. Perhaps the bridesmaids hoped to be married next. I glanced
about. Everyone was seated now, enjoying their cake. No doubt someone
else would be happily married next week. Would we be back, to observe
it? I didnÕt know. Sam was in charge. Right now he could barely control
his own penis, but he was master of Jill and I. She was still opposed to
the whole thing, though obviously enjoying herself at the moment. But
when sheÕd married Sam for real sheÕd promised to obey him in all things,
and those tables had not yet been turned. Perhaps in a few more years, but
not yet. She was still the obedient young bride, and he her demanding (yes,
demanding!) husband.
I felt the hair of SamÕs thigh pricking me in my bottomhole. Jill
squirmed on her husbandÕs leg, loving the rough feel of his raw flesh. No
satin seats for us, alas! I wouldnÕt have minded a chair of my own, rather
than being perched awkwardly atop SamÕs thigh. I guessed it was better
than sitting in the center of his lap, though, with that cock of his making
Ôsit on itÕ rise to a whole new level of discomfort. I longed to simply lie
back on the table, perhaps, in front of him, and let him take me. With both
Jill and I competing for him, though, and Emily arranging all to her tastes,
it was unlikely IÕd get my wish soon. I looked at the twin rows of bare
bosoms lining the table. With most, you could see the whiteness where
their bikinis usually protected their mammaries from the sun. A few girls
preferred an all-over tan. And then there were the handsome men, with
their deeply tanned, hairy chests, where a girl might rest her head all
evening, spilling out her sins and stories, while having her bottom
caressed and toying with his member.
Emily came up to our chair. SheÕd shed her clothes and I looked in
awe at her. She was tall and slim and her breasts seemed as imposing as
ever. A juggler would have longed to handle such sumptuous boobs,
perhaps cut them off and toss them before a cheering audience. A friend
of mine worked for a day in a hospital, where all the removed body parts
were sent. SheÕd said she saw a womanÕs breast, just that, not the woman
herself. It was brought in from surgery, laid down amongst the other
items. It had horrified her to look at it, all wobbly and free of its owner.
Yet sheÕd stared, and felt her own growing breasts with her hands as she
stared at this mature one. Just one, too, where was the other? The
hospital had been horrified to find her in the body parts lab. TheyÕd
intended to send her to pediatrics, to read stories to the sick children.
But, I think, despite the shock of it, she did better going to the body parts
lab, seeing what might happen to her when she was older, with breast
cancer and all. I gazed at Emily. I picked up a knife from the table, one
with a rounded end, and aimlessly traced it round my own nipple as I
stared at hers, long and large, hard and coral-like. My eyes fell to her
waist where her swimsuit usually was. There was nothing there now, just
her bush, freely displayed, its curls neatly trimmed, her cuntlips just
showing, and the band of white flesh where her panties ought to be, but
werenÕt. Emily stood opposite me. Jill, sensing her presence, turned and
looked over her shoulder at her.
ÒItÕs time for bed,Ó Emily said simply. She rested a hand on JillÕs
shoulder. Jill made to rise. ÒNo, the bed will be brought out, and
something else also,Ó Emily said.
ÒWhat, you mean here?Ó Jill asked. Her bare breasts trembled
visibly, as if from surprise, and I guessed she was taken aback a little, at
the implication of EmilyÕs remark.
ÒYes, you will enjoy your bridal night right here in the reception
room,Ó Emily continued. She played her fingers through JillÕs hair. Jill
was blonde, did Emily envy her? Blondes have more fun, or so itÕs said.
Emily turned, called to one of the maids. ÒBring out the bed!Ó she ordered.
A hush descended over the guests. They ceased playing with one
anotherÕs privates and feeding each other cake. A moment later a
sumptuous four-poster bed, high so everyone might see what happened
upon it, was rolled out by the maids. They retained their bikini panties,
the drawstrings with their pretty bows dangling like fringe as they pushed
the bed. They were the most modest amongst us, though theyÕd have been
arrested in public. Their youthful bosoms hung like ripe fruit on swaying
branches, caught in a storm. The bed was big and heavy and they had to
exert themselves to get it out into the middle of the room, pushing it from
some storeroom where it had been sheeted up and prepared. The coverlet
was turned back already. It was quilted, with little embroidered tufts, as
if a great aunt had sewn it herself just for our wedding night. The pillows
were plumped and fluffed, ready to receive our heads, or whatever part of
ourselves might be placed over them. The sheets were clean and crisp and
new. Carefully laid upon the bed were several condoms for SamÕs penis,
and lubricant for me and Jill. It promised to be a long night, and I guessed
Sam would find the energy to work Jill and I until the dawn upon that big,
dauntingly high bed, where everyone could watch and judge our
performance.
ÒReally! I cannot!Ó Jill protested, seeing the bed. She seemed
shocked that we should not be able to enjoy our night together in private.
Being mounted at the alter seemed okay to her, a simple ritual, she not
even facing her husband when it happened, being taken as an animal might
be. But to be seen all night long, sharing intimacies with her husband,
made her blanch. I confess I too did not want to be watched, if I could
help it. IÕd longed to make love to Sam, and been frustrated in my desires.
Now I wanted to share myself with him, with just Jill there to guide us. I
did not need two dozen merrimakers looking on! Not to mention the maids,
who still kept their panties, as if specially holy, above us all, forbidden
even to consort with us, unless they themselves approved! Yet they would
watch too, I imagined. I could not see Emily dismissing them. They
provided too much delight for the men, prancing about, and were eminently
helpful too, getting whatever the guests asked, taking it away when
finished. They wiped their brows from pushing the bed out and began
clearing the table.
Emily stopped them. ÒBring out the bench also,Ó she told them. They
left the room again, and the next item they pushed out in front of us was a
low bench, made of wood, with a hump in the middle of it. The maids
locked the wheels of the bench when theyÕd put it before us. I felt
uncomfortable. Like the bed, the bench was only a few feet from Sam and
Jill and I.
ÒStand up, Jill!Ó Emily told my best friend. The blonde rose
reluctantly. She kissed Sam goodbye and walked over to the display of
bench and bed. I think she thought she was to be installed upon the bed,
but instead Emily guided her to the bench.
ÒYou must be whipped first, my dear,Ó Emily said. She put a hand to
JillÕs bottom and traced the lone welt across it with her finger. Emily
seemed docile. Was she too aroused to protest? Had there been something
in our cake, or in the bubble champagne weÕd sipped with it? I felt myself
a little heady, as if I might be put over the bench too and not whimper
about it too much. It was covered with velvet, but the fabric was worn
down, as if many females had been placed over this bench, and had done to
them what Emily now proposed doing to Jill. My blonde bridesmate
touched a finger to the velvet.
ÒItÕs so old,Ó she said. Her voice was soft and reverent.
ÒYes, itÕs from the nineteenth century,Ó Emily whispered. ÒWe use it
here on wedding nights. To teach the bride she must submit to her
husband. Men of old used to put their wives first over this, in the bridal
chamber, to teach them obedience before giving them their reward in bed.
I know your own marriage would not be complete without this ceremony.
It requires only your husbandÕs approval for you to submit to it. You have
no choice, my dear. You are married.Ó Emily looked toward Sam. He had
scooted me from his leg, forgetting me almost, and turned his chair so
that he could face the whipping bench. I stood between SamÕs legs,
fingering my bottom as I watched JillÕs own heinie being stroked by
EmilyÕs soft hands.
Sam was beyond hope. I donÕt know if he would have allowed his
wife to be so distressingly presented and whipped in front of strangers if
he was in his right mind, but he wasnÕt. His cock stuck up all red and sore
like a post, longing to spurt out its seed. His balls churned, scrunched
under his huge dick, with the chair pressing up against them, and his
thighs squeezing his nuts tightly, despite the fact that his legs were open
enough for me to actually stand between them.
ÒYes,Ó Sam said, his voice strangely high-pitched, like a choir boy
about to be castrated by a wayward monk. His throat was constricted. His
adams apple worked in it as he tried to swallow, found the passageway to
dry for him to manage it. His throat was bone dry, but his penis was iced
with trickling precum.
ÒNo, Sam!Ó Jill cried. Her eyes seemed frightened as she realized
she would indeed be put over the bench, that it wasnÕt just a teasing game,
and Sam wouldnÕt save her.
ÒPlease, Sam!Ó I begged, turning to him, clutching my bottom, feeling
my boobies tremble nervously on my chest. I would be next. There was no
question of that.
ÒMark her,Ó Sam said simply. Jill shuddered, hearing the words. The
tips of her breasts quavered. Emily passed her hand over them, hoping to
still them. She patted JillÕs well-fatted bottom.
ÒYou heard your husband,Ó Emily said to Jill. ÒGet on the bench. Be
good and do it now or it will be worse for you. We have even lathered girls
with cream in the past, and let them run around the room and try not to
get caught. But they always do, you know. And then they find themselves
over the bench, their eyes wide and their bottom stuck up high, ready for
the whip. Fury we might chase, sheÕs so young. But you, my dear, are a
properly married woman, fully grown and mature. DonÕt demean yourself
by insisting on racing about the room like a wet child. Get down on the
bench, and be graceful about it. Show your husband you know how to obey
him, no matter how much it might hurt you. One day he will want you with
child, and you will have to endure morning sickness then, and the pain of
delivery. What will he think of your ability in doing that if you canÕt even
stand a little disciplinary spanking? Get right down on that bench! You
are a young whore, all wives are, and you need to be whipped to keep you in
line! Show the other women here that you can take it, that you know how
to obey. Set an example in obedience for them to follow.Ó
ÒWho-who will whip me?Ó Jill asked. Her voice was tremulous. Her
body shivered as she contemplated the bench, Emily caressing her seat all
the while, to comfort her a little, and explore the contours that she soon
would thrash.
Aria for the Anus
What a gas it is to be gay!
Get butt-fucked the live long day!
You pull on my dick,
And IÕll suck your prick!
What a gas it is to be gay!
LetÕs all go to the gay bar,
There I know youÕll go far.
Though girls donÕt like you,
You can still get a screw.
What a gas it is to be gay!
From HulaÕs to the Sturgeon,
ThereÕs a dick for every virgin.
All that you need,
Is to let men suck your seed.
What a gas it is to be gay!
Why sit home all alone?
Why get no calls on the phone?
Go meet some guys,
Let your butt be the prize.
What a gas it is to be gay!
So all you boys gather round,
And drop your pants to the ground.
No need to buy smut,
Just show your butt
And have a gas all night being gay!
Yes, what a gas it is to be gay!
Forget cunts -- think of the ÔaÕ
YouÕll party all night,
And enjoy all the sights.
What a gas it is to be gay!
AND IN THE END...
ÒPoetry is not a matter of washing oneÕs existential laundry in public.Ó
- Small Press Review, January 1997, page 17.
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-END OF 214 EMISSION