Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 23
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Love Child
Chapter Ten
Except for Danielle I said no goodbyes to anyone else. I knew they
could take care of themselves. TheyÕd think of me sometimes, I was sure,
and I hoped theyÕd think warm thoughts about me, as I did of most of them.
But I knew if I went back to say goodbye IÕd wind up staying, one way or
another. And that I did not wish to have happen, especially as I always
wound up naked, without a stitch to my name, let alone the means to get
myself home. And they might not want me to leave, either. Gretchen,
sweet as she was, wanted to see me enslaved, and I think she meant for it
to be permanent. Perhaps she herself secretly yearned to be a lifelong
love slave, and wished to see me Òbreak the iceÓ for her fantasy. IÕd be a
kind of guinea pig for her to find out what it was really like. No, I did not
wish that. I choose slavery on my own, if I did, not have Gretchen choose
it for me.
With a light step I boarded the Concorde for South America. I had
money enough to sit in first class, and did so. Pressing my nose to the
window, strapped in, I watched as the plane took off and London fell away
below me.
Chapter Eleven
Foolishly, IÕd let Danielle make the airline arrangements for me
while I was out shopping for clothes. When I was done I called her from
the store. She told me there was no need to return to the dungeon, unless I
wanted to. She said sheÕd paid for the ticket herself, there was no need
for me to return the extra money. (That alone should have clued me in.
She was a generous woman, but a shrewd businessperson also.) So I went
to the plane and blissfully boarded.
The first thing that caught my eye when I got on board was how
incredibly beautiful the stewardesses were. Of course, being beautiful
myself, I just fell in with them and thought nothing more of it. (Not, for
instance, like a man would have reacted, taking down the girlÕs names and
measurements in his mind and wondering how they looked undressed.)
Since I was in first class, it never entered my mind to go back and
look in coach class. There seemed to be mostly men with me in first
class, but that didnÕt clue me in either. After all, werenÕt a
disproportionate number of wealthy people in the world men? This was a
Monday, so wouldnÕt they all be out flying, going to their appointments?
Just before the flight took off, an elegant older woman sat down
beside me. I greeted her politely and went back to my crossword puzzle. I
was trying to remember the name of the man who drew Calvin and Hobbes,
in order to put it into my puzzle, when she asked me about it. I was
probably a little too enthusiastic explaining it. It was a cartoon-type
puzzle and IÕd watched plenty of cartoons when I was little, so it looked
like one I could fill out. So I talked away about all my favorite cartoons,
and we got onto other subjects from there.
It turned out I was on Dungeon Airlines, though it of course went by
the name Elizabeth Air. IÕd wondered about the name a little when I got
on, but since there are so many airlines these days coming into and going
out of business, I thought little more of it. As it happened, Danielle had
arranged for me to be on this airline so that I might get introduced to
Elizabeth herself. And she, of course, just happened to be sitting right
next to me.
After the flight had been in the air awhile a stew announced that the
ÒentertainmentÓ was now available. Everyone in first class got up and
went back. IÕd just gotten wind of what sort of plane I was on, and so of
course I stayed right where I was. And Elizabeth kept sitting right beside
me, conversing quietly with me.
I was, in point of fact, a prisoner. I was 35,000 feet in the air with
no parachute. And Elizabeth was no ordinary mortal. SheÕd been born in
the slums of Rio and worked and gambled and loved her way to the top. IÕm
sure she could have done whatever she wished with me. But instead she
just talked, asked questions, and paid a lot of attention to me. She
actually seemed interested in what I had to say (though she complimented
my beauty also.)
By the time the plane landed IÕd agreed to visit her estate. It was to
be just for the afternoon, but of course once I got there, having nowhere
else to stay, I accepted her invitation to spend the night. For the next
several days I lingered about the mansion, enjoying the view of the
Atlantic that stretched out before her clifftop villa. She had parties at
night, but I declined to attend. I needed to relax, gather my thoughts. Her
villa was located in Columbia, too, famous for its mobsters and drug
kingpins, and although some of the men who visited her looked gorgeous, I
dreaded what they might really be like when they let their hair down.
I had a bedroom of my own upstairs and I quickly made it a habit to
turn in early. Lying up there, watching the moon, IÕd sometimes hear
shrieks (of pleasure or pain I couldnÕt tell). And IÕd hear male laughter,
and the sound, distant, of cracking leather. Elizabeth started to call me
her Ònun,Ó after a few days, or her Òlittle virgin.Ó But otherwise she let
me be. I was grateful to her for that. WeÕd sit sometimes in her parlor in
the afternoon, sharing tea and crumpets and chit-chatting. And sometimes
weÕd talk about flying, and IÕd admit that IÕd always wanted to be a
stewardess.
ÒYou know, dear, youÕd be such a smash on Elizabeth Airlines!Ó she
would say sometimes. One day she went on about how the FAA had one of
their scheduled inspections of her planes in America. ÒOf course, when
they visit, we take out all the toys and things,Ó she laughed. ÒAll they see
is a sauna, wet bar, hot tubs. We tell them itÕs for the health of our
customers, and they dutifully write that down on their forms. Being
chartered, of course, we can (I suppose) be anything we want, but I always
err on the side of appearing conservative. Like you do, perhaps, hmmm?Ó
A week later I was a new stewardess on Elizabeth Air. Upon
boarding I met Tiffany. Introducing herself, she told me she was the Òlead
stewÓ on this flight, which meant she had overall responsibility for
ensuring the happiness of the customers. She had long blonde hair that
tumbled over her shoulders. It was flaxen, thin, light strands, that looked
like they could all be blown off her head by the slightest breeze. It was as
if God had made her that way so that her shimmering mane couldnÕt block
the view of her spectacular body. In fact, she seemed to have assisted the
Lord a little, for I noticed that her hair was cut just short enough to
prevent it from covering her nipples. Of course, I couldnÕt see her nipples
just then, she was wearing her flight uniform, but the thought struck me
all the same. ÒOur uniforms are a little racier than the last time you flew
with us,Ó Tiffany smiled. Except for the fact that sheÕd switched from a
blue cloth jacket to a black leather one, though, I didnÕt notice any
difference. Well, the new jacket did seem tighter, showing off her
proportions more thoroughly, but she had the same white blouse
underneath and black trousers. It seemed the same to me.
Tiffany introduced me to the other girls. They each greeted me
warmly. She showed me around up front but did not give me a tour of the
Òentertainment centerÓ in back. Then Tiffany escorted me to a little
bathroom in first class and gave me a flight uniform of my own. ÒDonÕt
take too long,Ó she advised. ÒThe passengers will be boarding soon and it
will be your job to hand them their drinks. Take everything off, including
your underwear. Just put on what IÕve given you. ThereÕs a clothes closet
in the bathroom where you can hang your things. We lock it at takeoff, so
you wonÕt have to worry about any of the passengers taking anything that
belongs to you.Ó
I was naked in the bathroom, just about to dress in my flight gear,
when I realized Tiff (as they called her, at least when no passengers were
there) hadnÕt given me any panties. I opened the bathroom door and stuck
my head out.
ÒTiff! Tiff!Ó I called, in a sort of meek little voice because I was,
after all, new and didnÕt yet feel at home with my companions, though of
course theyÕd all been terrifically nice to me. Suddenly, around the corner
came Tiffany, and I was nearly struck dumb! Her blouse was gone. Her
black flight jacket, which had hugged her so nicely, was zipped wide open.
Out stuck her glorious breasts. They jiggled with her every leggy step.
She was just applying a touch of rouge to one nipple, while licking some
newly applied lipstick on her upper lip.
ÒWhat is it, honey? ArenÕt you dressed yet?Ó
ÒI-You didnÕt give me any panties to wear,Ó I stammered.
ÒDarling, please,Ó she answered, rolling her eyes just a little.
ÒWhat do you think we are all here for? Get into your things and help me
get these drinks poured.Ó A girl came out behind her, holding a liquor
bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She was deftly filling
them while walking out of the flight kitchen to see what I needed.
I was taken aback somewhat by the thought that I wasnÕt pulling my
share of the load. Apologizing, I closed the bathroom door and quickly got
dressed. There were ankle-high black leather booties for my feet, and
black lace mitten gloves for my hands. And then there was the dress. I
snuggled into it (it was so tight there was really no other way to describe
it.) It zipped, curiously, from the top of my back downward. Since the
back was cut below the level of my shoulders I decided to zip it myself.
But when I got the zipper down to my ass, the bulging of my cheeks
prevented it from going any lower. The dress was simply not big enough to
accommodate the outswelling of my bottom. And I had a small derriere,
too, a teenÕs butt. Of course from the front you couldnÕt tell that I was
unzipped in back, but surely Tiff didnÕt intend for me to walk around the
plane with a bare ass!
I looked at myself in a full-length mirror. It wasnÕt wide, but it was
long enough so that you could see yourself from head to toe. The dress
was sleeveless. It left my shoulders bare. In front it held my bosoms in
tight, forcing them up until the nipples almost showed above the dressÕs
low-cut front. Down below the hem of the dress barely covered my pussy.
I tugged on it, and figured I could keep myself covered down there as long
as I didnÕt sit down. I tried once more to zip the dress closed over my
bottom, but it was futile. The zipper simply couldnÕt go any lower than
the small of my back. Biting my lower lip, I decided I couldnÕt back out,
despite the strange uniform. Elizabeth had been so nice to me, and the
other girls also. IÕd take one flight, just this once, to satisfy my
curiosity, I told myself. Before I could change my mind, I opened the
bathroom door and went out.
ÒVery good,Ó Tiffany said, admiring me as I stood before her. The
sexy flight jacket she wore, black leather like my dress, had been zipped
back up. Between the halves of her jacket you could see the inner spheres
of her breasts, hugging each other. The blouse sheÕd been wearing beneath
her jacket was still gone. Also gone were the sleek black trousers sheÕd
had on. Instead, there was only the jacket now, plus her booties and a new
pair of mittens, just like mine. And, I noticed, sheÕd buckled a small black
dog collar around her neck. In front it was adorned with a black bow-tie.
I looked about me. The other girls, just finishing their preparations,
were all dressed now like Tiffany. You could see the tops of their thighs
and their strikingly long legs, but (fortunately for them) each girlÕs jacket
did just manage to cover her private area. In back each girl was covered
too, though when I saw a girl bend over to get something her jacket inched
up just enough to reveal the lower part of her ass. She, however, wore
white panties, I saw. Ruefully I turned to Tiffany and she knew what I
was thinking. She told me that what I was wearing was to indicate that I
was a brand new stew.
ÒWe use a different sort of attire on the new girl each time,Ó she
explained. ÒSometimes we have her dress like sheÕs just an ordinary
passenger, and surprise the guests when it turns out sheÕs not. With you,
Elizabeth hopes to play a little game with them. The girls and I will take
care of the passengers after youÕve given them their drinks. YouÕre to
work up in the flight kitchen until I call you.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I agreed. That was fine with me. The flight kitchen was
right behind the cockpit, and then came the passenger lounge, Òfirst
class.Ó The men would enter at the front of first class and then walk
back, find their seat, and sit down. With luck I could slip into the flight
kitchen without turning around.
When the passengers entered I was standing just inside the door. I
was holding a silver tray, with drinks on it. I smiled sweetly at each man
as he entered and offered him a drink. Mischievously I wondered what his
reaction would be if he knew how I looked in back. None of them
suspected, however. Two women came on board. They were each with a
man and looked hopelessly spoiled and elegant. Yet they smiled nicely at
me, and each took the the drink that I offered her.
As soon as all the passengers had been served I slipped into the
flight kitchen. I made a point of not turning around. But I couldnÕt help
peeking out. I found I could see Tiffany and almost all the passengers if I
stuck my head out of the kitchen and gazed into a mirror mounted in the
passenger cabin. It was one of two that Elizabeth had installed to keep a
better watch on the passengers. Of course the stewardesses told the
passengers that the mirrors were there for their enjoyment, and certainly
you could see more of the lovely female flesh wandering about the cabin if
you kept one eye cocked toward the mirrors. A girl might bend toward you
but moon the mirror, giving you a view into her decollete jacket while,
with your other eye, you inspected the soft contours of her bottom. By
sticking my head out just beyond the kitchen door, where a helpful
magazine rack still blocked it from passenger view, I was able to observe
everything that went on in the cabin.
I watched as Tiffany began the safety presentation. First she
pointed out the location of the emergency exists. Then she went on about
not smoking, and how the instructions of the pilot and the flight
attendants must be obeyed in the event of an emergency. What she said
next, though, shocked me:
ÒIn the event of smoke entering the aircraft, you may need to cover
your mouths,Ó Tiffany said. ÒWith that in mind we offer you our panties in
advance.Ó All eyes were upon her. Deftly she slipped her hands up
underneath the rim of her jacket and slid down her panties. She sleeked
them down her long thighs and plucked them off her gently raised high
heels. She held them aloft a moment, as if contemplating them, then
offered them to the nearest passenger. ÒSir, please see if these will work
for you,Ó she said. The man held them to his nose and delighted in their
feminine aroma, her aroma, and she smiled with just a touch of
deprecation at him. A goddess belittling her worshipful disciple. But he
minded not.
Simultaneously the other flight attendants were removing their
panties now, and each offered her underpants to a passenger. I watched as
a woman passenger sniffed a stewÕs panties, then nodded her approval at
the girl. I shivered at the subtle games of dominance and submission that
were being played out. Some girls seemed to be cast, willingly or
unwillingly, as victims or Òbottoms,Ó while others, like Tiffany, clearly
retained the reins of power even after she surrendered her panties.
DIARY OF A PERVERT
By Deep Thought
Reviews of Playmate Video Centerfold Julie Clarke and Playboy's Girls of
Spring Break - Part Four
1996 Commentary: I have the dubious honor of owning most all the
Playboy videos, in the original packaging, bought by me at the original
price. (Boy, IÕm stupid, huh?) As you can probably tell, I wrote the above
several years ago, when the above-named videos first came out.
Everything I said in the above essay is still true, however. Tower Books is
still run by snobby, customer-hating clerks...who make $5.00 an hour. The
difference in 1996 is that they are ÒprotectedÓ by an armed guard during
business hours, who roams the premises looking for people to kick out.
(Usually at the clerkÕs request.) Tower Books is the only store I know of
that abuses its customers. (And IÕm talking about customers who actually
buy stuff, not ÔcustomersÕ who only look.)
As for Playboy, Girls of Spring Break is still the best video theyÕve
ever put out, because the girls in it actually seem like real females. Most
Playboy videos feature females who, however real they may be in their
actual lives, are totally stilted and ÔformalizedÕ on tape. This is the
problem with modern pornography. (For lack of a better term.) You arenÕt
getting anything. The girls are about as interesting as marble statues
frozen in ice. I know these girls are real, and have real lives, real
boyfriends, real girlfriends, etc. But apparently Hugh Hefner (and Bob
Guccione) think theyÕre in the business of marketing dead, lifeless bodies.
(Perfectly preserved, of course.) The Julie Clarke video also turns out to
be one of the better videos IÕve bought from Playboy. Again, because she
seems fairly realistic in a few of the vignettes. So as much as I trashed
her video in my original essay, it turns out to have been one of the better
videos IÕve bought. (Which is like saying, ÒWhat a great bowl of soup,
waiter! Only one fly in this one!)
Playboy videos have gone through an evolution. In the beginning,
which is to say, the early 1980Õs, the girl would tell a little about herself
and undress in a romantic setting. (Outdoors, indoors, whatever.) These
were the best videos Playboy ever made. (Such as they were.) Around the
mid-1980Õs, Playboy started putting out ÔdanceÕ videos. The Playmate
would literally dance to music, just like you see on MTV, except she
wouldnÕt be wearing very much clothing. These are probably the most
boring videos ever created by humankind. Today, PlayboyÕs videos are
more lavish than ever, with hugely expensive sets and production values,
but they are as lifeless as ever. In addition, the camera ÒcutsÓ from scene
to scene at a rate that would put a machine-gun to shame. As one
reviewer for Joe Bob Briggs wrote, ÒYou shouldnÕt have to watch a Playboy
video in slow motion.Ó (Which, incidentally, makes the tape (as viewed)
all grainy.) In the modern era, the ÒcutsÓ on a Playboy tape are so fast
that even watching it in slow motion is useless. The tape simply shoots
by too fast, even in slow motion.
It amazes me that anybody buys Playboy tapes. The girls are fine,
but they are filmed (and edited) in such a way that, like Oakland, thereÕs
Ònothing thereÓ in a Playboy tape. You might buy one for the sake of (very
poor) amusement during an all-male card game, but I can think of no other
use for these Playboy videos. Obviously, there are just enough
ÒcollectorsÓ out there who buy the damn things just because they exist.
Note that I have not said the tapes are not any good because they arenÕt
Òexplicit enough.Ó (A common charge you often hear among males.) I say,
Òfuck explicitness.Ó If I want explicit, IÕll apply to medical school and
become a gynecologist. Every damn porno magazine on the market (except
Playboy) is explicit. Who cares if you can look up the girlÕs cunt? What
male in America hasnÕt seen 50,000 cunts in his lifetime? From about age
eight (or whenever you first can get hold of somebodyÕs dadÕs girlie
magazines), the average male must see hundreds if not thousands of
female cunts. ItÕs almost like a religion or something--and itÕs as barren
of meaning as most religions are. Today I just got the April 1996
Penthouse and, guess what? More fossilized girls displaying their cunts.
The whole idea of porno is that it can give you the Ôinside baseballÕ story
of what girls are really like. But these girls are not giving anything. They
are just statues, lifeless, unemotional. It is time for a new era of
pornography. For my part, I would like to see the 1996 presidential
candidates offer their views on how to improve pornography and make it
more realistic and exciting. Instead, of course, they will probably try to
simply increase its price, by banning it.
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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