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Deep in the bowels of the earth, young girls endure unspeakable acts...
ÒI donÕt want to be eaten!Ó Amber screamed.
...Like gazelles we walked, gazelles sought by men, captured now,
being taken off for slaughter. The innocence of such animals showed in
our eyes. We were large-eyed, observing all, yet driven forward, hoping
for reprieve from our captors as they gazed at the succulence of our
bodies. We were a good catch. Well fatted where the meat was tenderest,
long and lean on our limbs. I could feel the weight of my breasts bouncing
heavily on my chest. My nipples stood hard. My bush sprouted invitingly
between my young legs. My snatch was a wet promise. Panties, some joke
of civilization, ringed my hips, hiding nothing with a wisp of expensive
cloth.
PUNISHED FOR PLEASURE
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 311
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Three
ÒCan you type?Ó he asked. He was big and strong and looked like he
worked out a lot. I judged he was about 30. He suit seemed barely able to
contain him. He sat behind a big desk but he had me pull a chair close so
we could sit facing each other without the desk between us. His assistant
helped me move the chair.
ÒHow good is your spelling?Ó Brent asked. I admitted it was pretty
poor.
ÒHow are your grades at school?Ó Brent inquired. I gulped and,
figuring all hope was lost and I may as well be truthful, admitted they
were bad.
Brent straightened up. He shuffled some papers. I braced myself for
the Ôthank you, weÕll call if we need youÕ dismissal. The thing they always
say on T.V. when the showÕs about a woman who nobody wants to hire.
Because sheÕs black, or poor, or got fired from her last job for union
organizing. I wondered why IÕd even bothered to come.
ÒIÕll be honest with you,Ó Brent said. He looked at me and his eyes
were unexpectedly gentle. Was he going to talk down to me? ÔStay in
school, girl, study hard and learn to spell your name,Õ I could hear rising up
from his chest. So when the words broke from his lips I was stunned.
ÒIÕm not really looking to hire a secretary. IÕm looking to hire a love
slave. Would you like to accept the position?Ó
I didnÕt say anything for a moment. My throat was constricted.
Somewhere on my lap my hands began to shake. ÒIÕll have to ask my mom,Ó
was all I finally managed to say.
Brent looked at me more closely. Despite my nervousness I actually
found myself worrying that his bulging arms and shoulders would rip his
nice suit. CouldnÕt he at least take his jacket off? The poor thing seemed
about to burst at the seams. I felt a sudden urge to drop my eyes to his
crotch to see if his pants were equally challenged.
ÒIÕm only at this location for today,Ó Brent said. ÒObviously, hiring a
teenage girl to be my love slave isnÕt the most popular thing to do, even in
L.A. So youÕll have to decide right now.Ó
I gazed at him. Our eyes seemed to merge. I felt myself breathing.
My breasts were held within a gossamer bra. It offered no support, but at
16 I didnÕt need any. And thatÕs why he wanted me, wasnÕt it? I let
myself drink in his frame and his powerful arms and shoulders. His face
was polite, discreet, but underneath it was like hardened steel.
I tugged on my skirt, pulling it down as far on my thighs as I could.
ÒOkay,Ó I said.
ÒOur plane leaves in an hour. WeÕll have to go to the airport now,Ó
Brent told me. He stood up. He offered me his arm.
ÒSo soon?Ó I asked meekly. I was a mouse.
ÒI wouldnÕt want you to change your mind,Ó he smiled. He towered
over me, grinning down. I lifted an arm, to ward him off? I caught his
sleeve with my hand. He drew me up.
When I was standing he lifted my chin with his finger and looked at
me. My eyes raised to his. I felt bold as I let my eyes clash with his and
then, quite suddenly, he kissed me. I felt his hand clasp my back and then
sink lower. My skirt was in the way. He lifted it. He palmed my bottom
with his hand. I wore cashmere panties, thin as rice paper.
ÒDONÕT!Ó I squeaked as his finger probed into the stretchy seat of my
undies, prying into the crack of my ass.
ÒYou mustnÕt say ÔdonÕt,ÕÓ he replied. I felt my throat constrict. He
kissed me hard.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door and we were apart; just
standing, it seemed, though I was blushing a little and my hair, so
perfectly coiffed and piled atop my head, had become a little mussed. He
was breathing hard. I dropped my eyes and inadvertently looked at his
crotch. I saw a tent there, trying to break open his zipper.
ÒMr. Carson?Ó the female whoÕd let me in asked. She opened the door
to his office, looked in. ÒA modeling agency wants to send several
applicants over. Would you like me to make appointments for them?Ó
Brent cleared his throat. ÒNo,Ó he said. ÒThat wonÕt be necessary.Ó
ÒAlright,Ó his secretary replied. She closed the door. I looked at
Brent with renewed admiration.
ÒDo you really want to hire me?Ó I asked him. I lifted a hand and
tried to fix my hair.
ÒYes, I want to... hire you,Ó Brent answered. His voice was
commanding. He seemed to shiver for a moment with passion and then he
looked abruptly away, picked up some papers on his desk. ÒWe must go at
once,Ó he said.
ÒIÕll have to call my mom,Ó I replied.
ÒOn the plane,Ó Brent replied. ÒItÕs noisy and the connection wonÕt
be the best. ItÕs expensive, too, so she wonÕt, in the end, expect you to
talk for long.Ó He looked at me again. ÒIs there anyone else you need to
placate?Ó
I glanced down at my shoes. ÒNo,Ó I said. ÒI just live with my mom.
She said I should get a job because I party too much.Ó
Brent laughed. He pulled an expensive greeting card from amidst his
papers and handed it to me. ÒHere, fill this out,Ó he said. ÒWeÕll mail it to
your mom at the airport. Tell her youÕre taking a five day trip for
Genovese Diamond Co. and youÕre to be interviewed in Bolivia.Ó
ÒInterviewed?Ó I asked. He gave me a business card with the face of
a kindly old woman on it. It said ÔproprietorÕ under her photograph.
ÒYes, interviewed,Ó Brent said. ÒYour mom would never approve if
you were simply hired and spirited away, but sheÕll probably accept the
fact that we flew you down to our headquarters to interview you. After
all, she told you to get interviewed, didnÕt she?Ó
ÒYes,Ó I admitted. I sat down with the card and filled it out. Brent
gave me a check for $2,000 to put into the envelope with the card. It was
a very proper-looking check, from the Genovese Diamond Co. ÒIs there
really a Genovese Diamond Co.Ó I asked him.
ÒOf course not. But the check will cash,Ó Brent said.
ÒWhat line of business are you in?Ó I asked him. I licked the
envelope as I spoke. He gazed at my tongue.
ÒIÕm just a rich playboy,Ó he smiled. Neatly I pasted the back of the
envelope down with my hands.
ÒYou should be put in jail for hiring someone like me to be your love
slave,Ó I said. I felt a sense of pride and power as I spoke. I was a play
policewoman again at KateÕs.
ÒI should be shot, IÕm sure,Ó Brent said. He made me stand and he
took my arm. We walked out of his office. ÒCancel all my other
appointments,Ó Brent told his secretary. And then it was just the two of
us, alone, in the hall. We walked to the elevator and he pushed the button
for us. When the car arrived the bellboy looked disappointed. Yes, IÕd
found someone cuter than him, and much wealthier, and more powerfully
built, and... more demanding? Yes, I guessed that was true too. More
demanding.
We made a quick stop at a photographerÕs and Brent got me fake I.D.
and a fake Visa and Passport. I looked cute in my photo, with my Hello
Kitty pencil sticking up, my hair repaired but just a little askew, as if I
were going someplace in a hurry, and my eyes wide, with extra makeup on
them, to make me look older. Brent kept my passport for me. He said I
wouldnÕt need anything myself; heÕd provide everything I required.
We were soon settled into First Class on a 747. The stewardesses
were nice; they didnÕt pry like I feared they might. I think they mistook
Brent for my father. Either that or he was just too handsome for them to
pepper with questions. We were treated just like any other couple. I felt
unusually mature. Just think: if my mom hadnÕt made me get a job IÕd be
on the beach trying to make some boy have wet dreams. Instead I was
accompanying a very wealthy playboy, a man of the world, and he was
taking complete care of me. The stewardess offered me champagne and I
happily accepted.
Mom wasnÕt home when I called. Breathing a sigh of relief, I left a
message on her answering machine. Fortunately I didnÕt have a father.
IÕve known some girls whoÕve met really nice guys only to have Dad decide
he didnÕt like them. Well, I didnÕt have that problem. IÕd always wished
for a father who lived with me and mom but, really, at age 16 it was just
too late. So a quick message to mom solved all my problems, with a card
in her mailbox soon after. As I hung up the phone on the plane I felt giddy
and queasy at the same time. I was free! But my new love was not just
another boy whoÕd happily settle for a quick blow. He was possessive.
And he had my I.D.s. All I had was my Hello Kitty pencil and my purse with
my makeup and bubblegum in it. I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and
then walked back to my seat. He sat on the outside, I sat by the window.
He let me pick my way past him and when I sat down again he looked at
me.
ÒDid you call your mom?Ó he asked.
ÒShe wasnÕt home,Ó I answered.
ÒFine,Ó he replied. He went back to reading his magazine. I looked
out the window and watched the clouds floating by beneath us. They
looked happy. I felt a happy tenseness inside myself and didnÕt know
whether I was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. But then, I like
that. It makes me hold my breath and contemplate and worry a little. And
when, well, when whatever happens happens, it blows my mind.
The flight cruised on. They had us draw the shades so we could
watch a movie. The film was boring, but in the darkness Brent and I
necked. I was really getting to like him now. At the airport, despite the
high prices, heÕd bought me a fur coat. It hung in the closet at the rear of
First Class at the moment, but I couldnÕt stop thinking about it. Imagine,
my very own fur! I let Brent grope my breasts and I found the tent in his
pants and caressed it. We were really getting hot and heavy as the film
wound on through some boring plot about space aliens. ÔWe have come to
conquer earth.Õ Yeah, right. Well, IÕd come to serve man. My man, Brent.
Whenever a stewardess passed we had to stop. After all, they might be
thinking he was my father. We didnÕt want to look improper!
Brent had me pretty high in all my erogenous zones when he drew a
pair of police handcuffs from his inner jacket pocket. They were metal;
suddenly I understood why I saw him passing money to the guard at the
metal detector. I bit my lip and watched as he took hold of my arms,
drawing them back behind me, the handcuffs lying for the moment on my
thigh; open, unlocked. When he had my wrists behind my back he locked his
handcuffs on them.
ÒSit back, donÕt let anyone see,Ó Brent told me. We kissed some
more. I was feeling really hot now. It was amazing to be sitting there,
wearing my prim business suit, in First Class, the stewardesses breezing
by now and then, but with my hands tightly locked behind me.
----------------------------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Brent had a new surprise in store for me a few minutes later. ÒLift
up your bottom,Ó he told me. I obeyed. He reached inside my skirt,
someplace heÕd not gone before. He did it quite frankly, without asking.
He grabbed the crotch of my panties. He drew them down my legs and,
when heÕd got them past my heels, he put them inside his coat pocket
where the handcuffs had been just a little earlier.
ÒYouÕre wicked,Ó I said to him. It was one thing for him to feel my
bottom in his office and grope my breasts on the plane, but to actually
take off my panties? I wanted to make him put them back on but I didnÕt
want to betray our love to the stews.
ÒYou havenÕt seen wicked yet,Ó Brent grinned. From someplace in his
jacket he drew out an ostrich feather. It was very delicate and fluffy at
the end. He lifted up the front of my dress. I let out a little gasp as he
introduced it between my legs and slid it up to touch my bare cunny.
ÒDonÕt cry out,Ó he warned me.
ÒI wonÕt,Ó I whimpered. I didnÕt want to get us in trouble. I bit my
lip and stifled a moan as he gently teased my clit with the feather. Up and
down, up and down it went, then round, and up and down and round again. I
was going wild!
A stewardess approached. He slid the feather out and dangled it in
the darkness below my knees. I gasped. She looked in on us.
ÒCan I get you anything?Ó she asked politely.
ÒNot now,Ó Brent replied, a little annoyed.
ÒSorry to bother you,Ó she answered, and drifted away.
Brent picked up the feather again. He slid it back inside my dress.
ÒDonÕt,Ó I begged, but I felt the feather touch me again as I spoke,
right where my legs met, where my cunny dwelled in all its girlish
ambivalence.
ÒYouÕre not permitted to say ÔDonÕt,ÕÓ Brent reminded me.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE 90Õs
by Steve De France
This blue-haired crone
runs her 97 urban assault
4x4 Jeep up my tail pipe.
IÕm trying to park.
But IÕm boxed in and
Medusa lays on the horn.
It trumpets away.
SheÕs too close, I canÕt back up.
ItÕs a new Yuppie parking space.
Engineered only large enough for German sub
compacts, if you donÕt want to open doors.
She wonÕt budge. I back up till
our bumpers kiss.
I park.
Get out of my car.
She tries to run over my foot,
rolls by jeering, leering
and leaning on the horn.
A good thing she left.
I mean dragging old ladies
screaming out of highly mortgaged vehicles
at 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning -- dragging them
out without unfastening
their seat belts
smarts a bit -- and then, stomping them into the
ground with my trendy new mountain boots is not a
very Zen way to begin a spiritual journey, even if its
only a trip to the market.
ATTENTION, FEMINISTS !
Looking for something to do? Something useful? Read ÒThe pill in
Japan,Ó on page 21 of The Economist, November 8, 1997. The issue just
came out, so you have all this week to buy a copy and read it.
AND IN THE END...
THE CRITICS ATTACK !
ÒHis characters, particularly his women, were cardboard, his
writing... clumsy.Ó
- The Economist, November 1, 1997, pg. 92. (spoken of James Michener,
not me! - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-END OF 311 EMISSION