ALAS, MORE SPAM
stu@pit.com writes: ÒYou Goddam Fucking Pervert! Why arenÕt you a
born-again CHRISTAIN, like I am? How DARE you exist on this earth???!
DidnÕt you know only Southern Baptits were created by our Holy Father to
exist on this earth?! (Though not negro ones.)
And it was said by Jehovah: DEATH to everybody who doesnÕt agree with
me! (Revelation 65:19). HavenÕt you heard of the Eleventh commandment:
Nuke ÔEm Till They Glow!!! I am writing a sequel to the book of Mormon,
which I will not send to your WORTHLESS ass, but which contains many
teachings of GREAT improtance!! Such as, the Net was made by Satan, and
is controlled by a UFO!
You will here from me again soon--and God too!!!Ó
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 244
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter One
We rode in silence back to the castle. There was just Rose, myself,
Polly. The driver was in front, separated from us by smoked glass. The
moon gleamed overhead, a miniature spotlight. In a normal car, passing
vehicles might have looked in, their occupants seeing our dishevelment.
But behind the tempered privacy glass nothing could be seen. I felt
squishy between my legs. I know Polly did too. The leather stuck to our
bare bottoms. We were damp. We had nothing now, save our scarves and
our shoes. And our little mittens, hiding nothing, letting even our fingers
show. Polly sat uncomfortably. I knew the sting of DaveÕs belt still
blazed deep into her flesh. He had hit her hard. Had she wanted him to? I
wished to ask, could not find the courage to do so. We were three females,
adventuring in the world. We met men, on their terms, daring them, paying
for it a little, perhaps. I wondered what else Rose had planned for us. Did
I wish to stay with her? Should I disobey my lover and find a way to leave
her? I looked at Polly. She sat twiddling her thumbs. She seemed
entertained by it. I do not think the night affected her the least, now that
it was past. She was like a toddler, crying one moment, content the next,
sleeping in the cradle of her motherÕs arms. Her blonde hair hung down
round her face, over her shoulders. SheÕd been allowed to undo her pigtails
in the car. She seemed shrouded in innocence now, her hair forming a kind
of veil, keeping her modest. I wanted to reach out and pinch her bare
bottom but I did not. She was sweet. I wished I was still like her,
unknowing, even as I experienced love, kept innocent somehow by the
imperviousness of my youth. A year ago IÕd been like her. But IÕd grown.
My experiences had eventually taken hold and changed me. Lying that first
night on the beach, pulling down my panties, IÕd been a babe still, hoping to
be splashed by an unexpected wave. A wave rising above the tide-mark,
wetting me, bathing me in its overpowering love. And then IÕd met Barbi,
and Lord Shaftsbury. How he had loved me! And lastly I remembered Max,
brutal and direct, prying apart my ass and making his love felt within me.
And so many experiences in between. Yet I was only 14. I had still so
much to see. IÕd stay a little longer with Rose, I decided, at her spooky
castle.
ÒWhat are you thinking about?Ó I asked Polly at last, nudging her.
ÒDonÕt bother me,Ó she replied, not looking up from her twiddling
fingers. ÒIÕm making up a new song.Ó She hummed a few bars, her head
still down, her hair still blocking her eyes from my view.
ÒWhat sort of song?Ó I asked.
ÒPink Panther,Ó Polly replied. She looked up. ÒRose, do you have T.V.
at your castle?Ó she asked. Her hair fell back and I saw her face, her nose
upturned, her lips puckered as if inviting a kiss.
ÒYes,Ó Rose answered. ÒWhy do you ask?Ó
ÒI like the Care Bears, and Pound Puppies,Ó Polly declared. ÒThey
come on every day, during the week, when thereÕs school. And then on
Saturday there is Pink Panther, and on Sundays I sometimes like to watch
Captain Doom.Ó
ÒWeÕll see,Ó Rose answered. ÒIf youÕre good I suppose you both can
be permitted certain liberties.Ó She had glanced at us but now she turned
and looked out the window, as if lost in her thoughts. Was she thinking of
past lovers, or making plans for us?
ÒI donÕt need to see cartoons,Ó I said aloud. I straightened my back,
feeling mature by my declaration.
ÒWell, who cares about you?Ó Polly said. She went back to her
finger-fiddling.
ÒLouis,Ó I said to myself. ÒLouis cares about me.Ó And my parents,
sort of, but they didnÕt matter. Your parents always love you. In their own
way, of course, trying to keep you a child. So it was Louis, I guess, who
loved me most of all. And I decided to keep him happy by staying with
Rose, just a bit longer, at the Castle whose name I dared not say. Even to
myself.
The castle seemed different when we returned. A man in a black
robe waited and watched us as the limo pulled up the drive. I did not see
him until the last minute, then realized that he must have been there all
along, vulture-like, watching our car approach. He opened the door for us,
from PollyÕs side, and we spilled out. Our eyes widened as we saw him.
His hood was thrown back. His head was bald. It gleamed in the
moonlight. He did not smile. He showed no emotion.
Rose scooted herself out behind us, using our door. ÒBranson,Ó she
breathed, seeing our new visitor. He perhaps smiled a little at her. I
could not tell.
ÒIÕm finished with Miss Pettance,Ó Branson said to Rose. His voice
breathed with intelligence, yet was low, growling, brooding.
ÒHer two weeks are up already?Ó Rose asked.
ÒThey are,Ó Branson answered. ÒShe will serve her husband better
from now on.Ó
ÒIt is good that you are finished, then,Ó Rose said. ÒI have two new
guests. WeÕve played a little, but their training hasnÕt really begun in
earnest yet. Show each of them to a room of their own. Have them bathed.
They are not to do anything by themselves. Assign a female attendant, for
privacy. Make it two. They are young, and might prove wilful.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Branson said. He turned to Polly and I. We shrank back,
looked with wondering eyes at Rose. She tossed her hair back. She
seemed not to see us, yet she was thinking of nothing else. ÒThe potty,
wiping, all is to be done by their attendants. Have them fed. Then see that
they are put to bed properly.Ó
ÒYes, mistress,Ó Branson breathed. His breath seemed to flow out
like a dragonÕs at rest. Hot, tense, waiting.
ÒPolly, Fleury, stand up straight!Ó Rose told us. ÒBe proud of
yourselves. Arch your backs, lift your bosoms.Ó We obeyed, knowing not
what else to do. I wished for a bikini at least, standing nude before
Branson. ÒAll is being done according to your loverÕs wishes, so donÕt
fight it, please. You will be well cared for by Branson. I have other
responsibilities right now. WeÕll meet again in the morning. Until then,
behave, act your age, and remember that trouble can be easily repaid. I
intend to make you both grown-up girls, and you can both be grown-up
girls, I can tell, because you already have the right demeanor and
attitude.Ó We stood quite alertly, our backs rigid, gazing at her in the
moonlight. I felt the moonlight caress my bosom and bottom, my flesh
jutting out to intercept it. ÒThere! Such perfect bodies,Ó Rose
complimented us. ÒTruly, it is like curating delicious new works of art,
working with both you girls. You are living museum pieces, the best of the
new, the avant-garde, fresh from Andy WarholÕs studio, or some new
artist, perhaps, unknown yet to the larger world. When you are finished
here your lovers must hold coming out parties for you, in my opinion. You
will be perfectly formed then, not just in body but in mind too. How youÕll
delight men, and twist them round your fingers. YouÕll have Louis, Andre,
or any others you choose. But first you must learn to be submissive. To
submit, yet control, that is the trick of it, for a female. To control by
submitting. DonÕt worry, IÕll show you how. Take them, Branson, and make
them do just as you say. Bye, girls. WeÕll meet again soon!Ó She turned,
and her bottom gleamed in the moonlight. As she walked away from us,
she tugged down her too-short skirt to try to hide it. We were left
watching a slim leather bib flap haplessly over her tush, hiding nothing,
really, given how her hips wobbled. She had a bold derriere and such a
small skirt could not compete with its fullness. Her bottom was
womanly, complete and round and yet firm and trim. It swayed and jiggled
with a life of its own, though, tossing her bib-like skirt to and fro,
catching even BransonÕs eye, though I guessed heÕd seen it many times
before. She retreated into the darkness, leaving us, going someplace in
nothing but her skirt and boots, perhaps to fuck out back on the haystack
with the help. As for myself and Polly, we were hastened up the castle
steps and within its doors.
Upstairs I found myself placed in a small but hospitable bedroom. It
had no windows. None had seen Polly and I as we entered the castle, and I
was thankful for it. We both had had quite a night.
I felt someone enter the room behind me. I turned quickly on my
heels. It was scary, being alone suddenly, without Polly beside me. She
had been taken elsewhere, by Branson. I did not know where.
ÒHi!Ó two female voices chimed at me. They looked like college
girls. Their hair was piled atop their heads, one blonde, the other
brunette. The brunette introduced herself as Joanne. The other said her
name was Sylvia.
Both girls wore long, flowing dresses. But seeing them, I was
immediately struck by how their dresses had been forcibly altered. In
front, the dress of each girl, despite binding her closely about the waist,
had been pulled back to show off her bosom. Their breasts were young and
bare and they had obviously been chosen because they had lovely bosoms,
high and finely tipped by rouged nipples.
Their dresses were pulled apart below the waist. Their legs showed,
right up to their muffs. Their skirts were rolled up in back, letting their
bottoms bulb out. Uncovered, their derrieres shone with youthful dignity,
white and soft and cleft in the middle.
ÒWhy- why are you dressed that way?Ó I asked, gulping as I spoke.
They giggled. For a moment I thought of Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-
Dee. ÒYou are dressed more conservatively?Ó they asked me. I flushed
crimson.
They walked up to me and took up a position on either side of me and
gently guided me with light-touching hands on my shoulders and back
toward a room next door. ÒItÕs for convenienceÕs sake,Ó they said, their
voices soft and melodious. ÒWe donÕt have to lift our skirts when we pee,
or when we poop, and, of course, men have ready access to us, which is the
main point of it. Branson ordered it. Otherwise we would not dress this
way. But our lovers enjoy it and Branson offers us to them, and other men
too, dressed like this to kill, you might say, or, rather, to fuck and show
off our all bodily functions, which some men enjoy seeing.Ó Each of them
spoke a line or two, contributing to the otherÕs thoughts. It was eerie.
They seemed like twins. They were mentally bound into BransonÕs world,
and that of their lovers, as fully as any two girls could be.
The adjoining room proved to be a private bath. Like my bedroom, it
had no windows. I found there was a tub already waiting for me, a big
claw-footed tub, old-fashioned, with hot water and bubbles filling it to
the rim. Gratefully I let the maids undress me and I sank into its warmth.
The two girls, older sisters it seemed, with me as their darling baby sis,
knelt down on either side of my tub. Carefully, trying not to get their
boobs wet with bubbles or spray from my splashing, they washed me
completely. I tried to push them away at first. But they insisted on doing
me.
ÒRelax,Ó they said. ÒYou will have plenty of chances to do things
later.Ó Their eyes twinkled. ÒJust let us do this. It is mundane. You are
to be spared such silly things. WeÕll bathe you, and wipe you when you go
to the bathroom, and weÕll even spoon-feed you, howÕs that? Relax and
enjoy it. We ourselves were once like you...Ó They spoke on, easing my
fears, though never entirely. Joanne had been studying Law. SheÕd been in
her first year, toiling away, buried under seven classes worth of work.
Then, one day, sheÕd met a new lover (after abstaining to get all her
studies done). He brought her to Castle Cunt, and sheÕd never left. She
was a ÔveteranÕ now, here for a whole month, perhaps staying forever, she
didnÕt know. Law school was forgotten. Life was forgotten. She was just
Joanne now, the brunette sex pet in the lovely but too-revealing robe. She
did as she was told, she explained, and thought of nothing else. She began
like me and, when her initial training was done, she decided to stay on to
help out with the new girls, while undergoing more advanced training
herself.
ÒBut the delightful thing about it,Ó Joanne assured me. ÒIs that you
donÕt have to plan. They tell you everything. ItÕs hard sometimes, but
never from the standpoint of responsibility. You have no responsibilities.
You get to sink completely within your body and let them love and admire
you.Ó
ÒDonÕt you have responsibilities now?Ó I asked her. She sponged
down my tummy and on into the cleft between my legs.
ÒNot really,Ó Joanne answered. ÒI mean, I donÕt have to obey. IÕd be
punished, sure, but they would do that. And they would care for me as they
punished me. ItÕs not like real life, where you have to worry about rent, or
eating, or getting here or there. My lover sees to everything. Even if IÕm
being punished, itÕs his responsibility to see that IÕm fed, and watered...Ó
She looked at Sylvia and they both giggled.
Sylvia had been a nurse. SheÕd been a new nurse in the Air Force,
just done with MIMSO and ROTC. No boot camp for her. To be an officer
and a nurse one had only to attend a two-week training, with doctors. But
working the night shift at the hospital, trying to keep up, and keep
everyone happy, had burned her out. SheÕd gotten a chance to leave the Air
Force, and jumped at it. Downsizing had saved her. Now she was just her
boyfriendÕs sex pet. He commanded, more thoroughly than any general, but
she could obey or not, as she wished, though sheÕd be punished most
indiscreetly and intimately if she chose to disobey.
ÒWeÕre planning to have me branded at the end of the month,Ó Sylvia
told me, sending a shiver down my spine. ÒIÕm trying to prepare myself
for it. It makes me very scared. But I want to wear his initials within the
cleft of my bottom, much as I wore rank in the Air Force, except these
indications of status would be much more intimately placed. Already IÕve
met two girls who have similar marks. Imagine going to a party where
everyone had such rank and comparing each otherÕs brands!Ó SylviaÕs face
glowed at the possibility.
ÒYes, its exciting, but I think IÕm too frightened of something like
that to ever do it,Ó Joanne replied, in a rare show of disagreement
between the two.
ÒMaybe IÕll convince you by my example,Ó Sylvia offered.
ÒDonÕt feel you have to,Ó Joanne answered.
ÒI would never do that,Ó I breathed. I touched my bottom cheeks. I
parted them a little, beneath the safety of the bathwater. I felt the water
flow against my anus.
ÒYouÕd be surprised at what youÕll do once youÕre properly trained,Ó
Sylvia assured me. I listened, said nothing in reply. My stomach had
butterflies flying within it.
Chapter Two
Feeling thoroughly refreshed, and quite sleepy, I lay within a big
canopied bed. It was the kind of bed little girls dream of. I know I had,
when I was little, dreaming of lying in such a bed awaiting my knight, who
would come and do to me whatever it is men do to women when they love
them.
Yet, despite such a sumptuous place of repose, with its light, airy
curtains pulled back, yet hiding me behind their pulled back folds, leaving
just a vee through which a visitor might see me, I felt anxious. I rolled on
my belly. With some difficulty I drew my head toward my knees, and
finally erected myself upon them. I gazed out through the window. There
was a window in the room, behind a thick curtain that IÕd mistaken, at
first, for part of the wall. It was a large Mayan tapestry. Embroidered
upon it were girls hiking upmountain to be sacrificed, their bodies so
young and slender, virginal. With them went their guide, hidden behind an
Indian mask with many ChieftainÕs feathers in it. Joanne and Sylvia had
pulled the curtain back to let me watch the sunrise. In the distance, the
sky reddened. Watching it, I let my bottom cheeks draw in. I wondered
how long I could avoid having a derriere the color of the sunrise.
Finishing my bath, the girls had drawn me out and toweled me with a
kind of introspective curiosity. They patted me down carefully with a big,
soft towel.
ÒYou have such fine skin,Ó Sylvia, the nurse, the one for whom a
branding was in store, told me. She seemed a little like a doctor
evaluating a patient...
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-END OF 244 EMISSION
- Lee: The Newshour with Jim Lehrer, April 10, 1997.