ÒDear Mrs. Andrew Roller,
ÒWe havenÕt a clue as to why you wouldnÕt send for your free
sample pair of Silkies pantyhose, Mrs. Andrew Roller,Ó writes the
Hosiery Corporation of America, P.O. Box 8000, Philly, PA 19101.
(I guess I am a fag now...)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 231
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter One
She urged us both forward. Then she had me step on the stool first,
minding me to be ladylike, and she watched as, with her fingers touching
my handcuffs, keeping me balanced, I stepped with a well-lifted knee up
onto the dresser. The maid stood nearby, her eyes prying into me like a
lesbianÕs. Involuntarily I showed off my sex with my movements. Raising
up each of my legs, I felt nervous under her gaze, like a showhorse about
to be put to stud. My males sat nearby, gazing wishfully at my cunt. It
felt incredibly open, swollen with yearning. Finally standing where all
could see me as intimately as they wished, my pussy above their heads,
my feet firmly planted on the dresser, I blushed anew. I felt like a model
hired out to med students to teach them the female reproductive system.
ThereÕd be no cold cadavers today. WeÕd make a clinical assessment of an
actual girl, watching her, probing her, making her cum for us so we could
learn all aspects of her most completely. In our coats, with our
spectacles on and our headlamps lit, shining into her privates. I turned
and faced the toilet. There it was, just like I remembered sitting on as a
child, except I was 14 now! Gracefully as I could I turned my fanny to it
and sat down on the seat. I tried not to think of having a bowel movement.
ÒLift your legs, draw up your knees to your chin,Ó Rose told me. I
saw that there were footrests running out like wings from the sides of my
toilet. Sticking out just far enough, they were adorned at each end by a
little hole through which I might, if I was utterly foolish, stick the spikes
on my pumps. Under RoseÕs watchful gaze I drew up my heels until they
were level with my bottom. Then, carefully, I fitted each of my heeled
spikes into the hole provided for it. I felt the spikes slip down like long
nipples into the clamplike holes. I realized that, with my arms cuffed
behind me, I stood little chance of extricating my legs without RoseÕs
permission. Gazing down, I saw my cunt was widely displayed, my thighs
not blocking it at all. I turned redfaced once more and could do nothing as
the maid glared at me with ravenous eyes.
Polly was seated in turn upon her toilet. We sat shivering, our
honeypots lewdly displayed, our tits quivering, their roundness brazenly
offered by our contorted postures. Our nipples stuck up like pins atop our
balloon-like tits, perhaps hoping to stab the maidÕs fingers should she
choose to touch us.
ÒPee when you like,Ó Rose told us, taking a chair for herself, not
needing a comforter. ÒWeÕll enjoy it when you do.Ó She asked the maid to
bring stiff drinks for us all. ÒTo ease the menÕs sore bottoms, and serve
as anesthesia for what the girls must endure,Ó Rose declared. ÒAnd for
myself too, to fortify me for the night ahead.Ó She laid her cane across
her knees. They still hid within her dress, the only modesty remaining
amongst us, the combatants for love.
ÒOh, what is to happen to us?Ó Polly asked when the maid loosened
her gag and tugged it bib-like beneath her chin. Before Rose could lift her
eyes from her own drink to answer, the maid was already forcing Polly to
swallow a glassful of liquor. ÒYuck! It tastes terrible!Ó Polly confessed.
At the restaurant sheÕd pretended to sip the drink Andre ordered for her.
Now she made no attempt to hide her displeasure.
ÒDrink it down!Ó the maid ordered. Polly gasped and received another
mouthful of gin. She spluttered. Some went down, the rest splattered
itself in droplets over her tits. The maid brought the cup to me and
insisted I drink some too. She plucked PollyÕs panties from my mouth and
held them while I leaned my head forward. I did my best to swallow down
the drink. In truth, I didnÕt like it much either. The maid swallowed the
rest herself. She did not stuff PollyÕs panties back into my mouth.
Instead, she lay them in a little saliva-wet ball next to me, on the surface
of the dresser. I did not mind, but it seemed strange. Was I to lecture,
from my perch here atop the potty seat? Were we to be fed dinner? Baby
food, perhaps, strained so we could feed on it with little fuss, while we
pooped and pissed into our potties?
Rose smiled, thanked the maid, told her to remain in the room,
standing over by the corner closest to the door. The men, amazed at the
sight of Polly and myself, fondled their hard-ons. Rose warned them not
to cum. All three, plus the maid, waited for Polly and I to pee.
ÒIt is hot here now in the summertime,Ó Rose said, making small
talk, though all three kept their eyes on me, on Polly. ÒI let my guests
swim naked, during the day, in the pool. Before I felt they should wear
swimsuits. Many of the girls are from the best families. I did not wish
them to expose themselves in front of the field hands. After all, this is a
working farm. The help has work they must do each day, planting the
crops and tending them, harvesting them in the fall. It seemed
inappropriate to me to have the girls baring their all in front of peasants.
But they bugged me about leaving their panties and bras off, so I finally
allowed it. The bras, of course, were just my little rule. Those silly
decency laws! IÕm glad they were repealed. South American girls should
be able to go topless on their beaches if they want to. But here, at the
pool, I wanted to make the girls more conscious of themselves.
Sometimes a breast halter is necessary to teach a girl that sheÕs
sensitive and can sag someday if she doesnÕt take care of herself.Ó
ÒWell, you donÕt sag,Ó Louis grinned. He gazed at her breasts with
open admiration.
ÒI had a strict mother who always made me wear a bra,Ó Rose
replied. ÒBut the girls today, they want so much to be free. They want to
feel a part of nature. So last summer I let them take their bras off, and
this summer its the bottoms that have come off too. Now they look like
little Indians out by the pool, splashing around all day. We built a baby
pool this year and they simply love it. You can see them paddling around in
it with their waterwings on, as if they were children in preschool, or
lying on a towel sucking their thumb and hoping someone will notice them.
I think they enjoy showing themselves off to the field hands, with nothing
hidden, knowing the field hands can never have them. I do not allow
mixing or fraternization between the two groups.Ó She laughed. ÒGod
knows, thereÕs enough swapping and mixing just between the paying
guests, without letting the field hands in on it too!Ó
Louis looked at me. ÒKeep her in a bra and panties if you let her use
the pool,Ó he said. ÒI want her breasts and bottom white so I can paint on
them with a whip. I like to see the contrast, the red and the white. Make
sure she always is covered if she goes outside.Ó
Rose smiled. ÒLouis, you have such a wicked eye for detail. Of
course thatÕs the real reason I wished to keep my girls covered up, so you
could see the swats on their bottoms when they were spanked. Perhaps I
should be more strict, then, hmmm? Not let them play nude in the pool?Ó
ÒBe more strict,Ó Louis answered, still gazing at me. He sipped his
drink. His fingers ran up and down his cock, lightly, toying with himself
to ease his penile tension, yet not too much, lest he spurt right onto the
carpet.
ÒIÕll make sure Fleury is always modest outdoors, then,Ó Rose
agreed. ÒAnd how about you, Andre? Do you wish to keep PollyÕs privates
nice and white so you can see your handiwork more clearly when you flog
her?Ó
ÒYes,Ó Andre nodded. Polly squirmed on her potty seat. I saw she
was about to blurt out words of disapproval. I turned my head to her. I
caught her eye. Despite my fright I tried to ease her own. Silently, for we
were being watched. She looked at me, I at her. We shared sympathies
with our eyes. Surely they would not mistreat us. Louis had merely
fucked me, a boyfriend and girlfriend exploring the newness of each
othersÕ bodies. And Andre had not abused her. I hoped we were just being
treated a little here, teased. Something different, something new. Yes,
the paddling had hurt. Being bent over by Rose, whacked on my fanny. Yet
IÕd felt a kind of delirium as it was done. I was so mortified, with the
maid watching, so shocked, and yet so free, so female. My breasts had felt
like love balloons, bouncing their fulsomeness beneath me. My bottom had
seemed to blossom under the punishment, my cheeks reddening like roses,
dewy springtime in my nest. And the men watching. Their eyes fixed on
me. ChristÕs Second Coming would not have torn their gaze away. For a
moment, I was the absolute center of their universe. Just me, the mother
goddess-girl, in total command of them despite my suffering.
Rose talked about last winter. The men listened, enjoying her voice,
looking at her sometimes, or just sitting with her and admiring Polly and
I, perched on our potty seats. I studied the wallpaper. So expensive, and
all devoted to me, at the moment, and Polly. There were rich shades of red
interwoven with paler yellows, and pinks. A chandelier above our heads
sparkled crystalline light upon our bodies. The maid stood mute. She
watched Polly, myself, like a schoolmarm after school supervising study
hall delinquents. PollyÕs soft young breasts, rising so nicely to impudent
points, their tips hard with excitement, rose and fell on her slim chest.
My own cones offered the same spectacle, my teats thrust forward by my
manacles, lifting with my inward breaths, dropping slightly when I
exhaled, jiggling their fleshiness with girlish allure. The soft,
imperceptible swell of my belly wished for babies. The maid studied my
navel. How many young had she birthed? She might have been pretty once,
but the exertions of bearing young had worn her down finally, stretching
her, filling her, increasing her size and her girth. I doubted sheÕd known
birth control. Each new year brought its season of spring, her belly
blooming full just as the new flowers opened. SummerÕs heat saw her in
the maternity shed, out back, grunting as she gave yet one more baby to
the world. I wished to know how RoseÕs farm hands lived. I knew a little,
from my travels. But I wanted to live amongst them, rise in the morning
with the dawning sun and toil all day under the masterÕs lash, bedding
down finally to the demands of my husbandÕs penis. Such dreamy thoughts
I had, sitting bound upon the childÕs potty. I think, at that moment, for
Louis, I would gladly have worked under his guidance for the rest of my
life. He would be the man of the plantation, I would be his willing slave.
He would train me to work in the fields and watch as I stooped over to
pick each little flowering cotton bud, the breeze lifting my short, thin
dress and exposing my bottom. Would he let me have panties? I doubted
it. He would watch me and use me and grow strong from my labor. He
would be the richest man in Georgia, and I, for a little while, in my
budding youth, I would be his peach. And when he left me for another girl
IÕd sneak into his room at night and stab him with a dagger, just as heÕd
stabbed me so many fruitful times with himself.
----------------------------------------------------------------
A R E A D I N G F U N D has been established for Stephen Knox, imprisoned
in a federal penitentiary for ordering a swimsuit video featuring teenage
girls. To help provide books to Knox (formerly a Phd. candidate at Penn
State), send any amount to: Uncommon Desires Newsletter, P.O. Box 2377,
New York, NY 10185. Make checks payable to: Ophelia Editions.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The men finished their drinks and the maid refilled their glasses.
Rose watched their carefree abandon, sitting with their punishment
forgotten on their frilled comforters. They had a better seat than I,
sitting on a hard plastic potty. I envied them. My arms were starting to
ache. I wanted to flex them, to move about. My thighs felt okay. Between
them I trembled, though, wishing for touches the law didnÕt allow. Here I
hoped the law wouldnÕt prevail. Rose made her own rules. I watched her
with obedience showing in my eyes. I would do her bidding. She would
test me, would satisfy me. Surely it would not be more than I could stand.
She herself looked fine, her hair neatly curled, her bosom impressive, her
toes peeking out from beneath her long flowing dress.
ÒMen, I really donÕt approve of you playing with yourselves,Ó Rose
said finally. The men looked up. They were both in mid-gulp with their
newly poured drinks, their hands on their penises, lightly stroking
themselves. The maid slipped into the bedroom a moment, then returned
with two extra large Penis Pumpers. Rose took them from her. ÒIf you
men insist on having stimulation, then IÕm really going to have to insist
you use these,Ó Rose said brightly.
Louis and Andre looked at the glass cylinders. They were long and
hollow and open at one end. Within each was a detachable rubber condom.
I realized a man could insert himself, ejaculate into the condom, and then
simply dispose of it when done. But what was the rubber tubing running
down from the tip of each glass? At its closed, snouted end, this tube ran
out, leash-like, until it ended in a rubber inflation ball. It reminded me of
a blood pressure cuff, except it wouldnÕt be putting pressure on your arm.
ÒIÕve never even used one of those,Ó Louis scoffed. Andre had a
slightly guilty look on his face. He was shy compared to Louis, though
built just as well. Had he been left alone on a Saturday night or two? I
glanced at Polly. She was looking down into her potty bowl. ÔThereÕs
nothing in there unless you put it there,Õ I wanted to say to her, but I kept
quiet instead. I was intrigued by the newfound plight of the men.
ÒThis is a place for doing new things,Ó Rose said quietly. She stood
up and walked over to the men. Her dress swished with refined grace. If
her boobs hadnÕt been joggling nakedly on her chest you might have thought
you were in an office with her. She knelt and laid AndreÕs pumper aside
for a moment, on the floor. She took the pumper intended for Louis and
frankly stuck his cock into it, first capturing him at the head like a
botanist might bag a butterfly with a net, then sliding all of him into the
tube with effort, as if putting in a snake. Louis watched, holding his drink
up to his chin, wanting to drink it but too mesmerized to remember it.
AndreÕs cock stood up proudly. He seemed unhappy at being put into the
tube, but there was noplace he could hide his stemming organ. Rose did
him next, gripping his shaft and jamming him all the way into the pump.
Then she returned to her chair, trailing out the tubing behind her. She sat
down primly, holding an inflation ball in each of her charming hands. Her
eyelashes fluttered. She smiled at Louis and Andre.
ÒReady, boys?Ó she asked. With delicate fingers she squeezed the
balls.
TOILET READING
Sexpose, April 1997, $6.95. ($7.95 in Canada.) Glossy cover, many
glossy pages, plus many newsprint pages. TPS Publishing, Inc. 6700
Valjean Ave., Van Nuys, CA 91406. Include Òover 21Ó signature.
Review: This magazine claims to be an Ôinside lookÕ at the porn
industry. Maybe it is. What I saw, though, was: 1. At most, one decent
photograph. 2. Lots of very juvenile writing. 3. Filth, filth, and more
filth. 4. Tons of old ladies who were too indiscreet to keep their
clothes on.
This is a perfect magazine for those men whose interest in sex
vacillates between the toilet and the sewer.
OUR MAILBAG
EditorÕs note: Our mail arrived slightly garbled today. IÕve done my
best to piece it together. Please donÕt blame me if I got it wrong. As you
know, IÕm just a simple hobo, and the Internet is still in its infancy (heh).
turpittd@interalpha.co.uk (Dave Turditt) writes: Thanks for your
great zine. I have a problem, though. When I read it, I feel compelled to
stick my finger up my ass. Is there any way I can break this habit?
holy joe replies: Sure. Stick two fingers up your ass.
stefan.maffian@swipnet.se (Stefan Johandjobsson) writes: I really
enjoy your zine. Prior to seeing it, I must confess, I was interested in 5-
year-old girls. But now I like 12-year-olds better!
holy joe replies: Please understand that any age of minority you see
in this zine is erroneous. I receive these stories from a guy in a nursing
home, and his modem is slightly off. Any number he types comes out one
number less than itÕs supposed to be. For instance, if he types a Ô2Õ it
comes out as a Ô1Õ.
IÕm glad IÕm helping you. But if you realize that a girl listed as Ô12Õ
in this zine is really supposed to be Ô23Õ, you will (hopefully) get
interested in girls who are the right age for you.
FTP UPDATE!
I am now in the process of updating all five of my ftp sites
(listed at the bottom of this issue). When the update is complete, the
story ÒPartyPussies1Ó will have the file name of ÒpartyÓ. The story
ÒKiddieClitties1Ó will have the name of Òkiddie1Ó.
Viewing the ftp site with your web browser, you need only click
on a file to receive it. Then press the small ÒopenÓ button (in the box)
to open it.
AND IN THE END...
ÒGiven its price, digital television in Germany badly needs
compelling content of one sort or another. What customers would
really like, to judge by letters they send to DF1ÕS director of
programmes, Wolfram Winter, is hard-core pornography -- a category
of entertainment which, he says, accounts for some 60% of all video
rentals in Germany.Ó
- The Economist, March 15, 1997, pg. 68.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 231 EMISSION
- WhatÕs this newsgroup? alt.kids-talk