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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 320
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Four
Missy reached for her own can of whipped cream. It was, like mine,
a miniature can, offered by Redi-Whip to restaurants to promote its brand
name. It was housed in a little bucket of ice and MissyÕs eyes glowed as
she grabbed for it. Fortunately, Brent found his wits and grabbed her
wrist just as she picked up the can.
ÒNo, Missy,Ó he said. He drew the can from her fingertips.
ÒI need it for my strawberries!Ó Missy whined.
ÒIÕll squirt it,Ó Brent replied. He put the whipped cream on her
strawberries liberally, hoping to empty the can. Missy watched, pouting,
frowning, and crossed her arms. When Brent was done he replaced the
whipped cream in the bucket. Missy grabbed it and put it down between
her legs.
The waiter appeared. ÒMay I take any of your plates?Ó he asked.
Missy did not see him.
SPLURT!
Missy gasped. ÒOoooh! ThatÕs cold!Ó she squeaked. Then, realizing
we had company, she looked up at the waiter, guiltily. Stray locks from
her chestnut coiffure fell into her eyes. ÒI was just playing,Ó she
whispered contritely.
ÒOh! May I get you a napkin?Ó the waiter asked helpfully. He did not
understand.
ÒNoooo,Ó Missy murmured. She replaced the can in the bucket. ÒI
could use some more whipped cream, though. This oneÕs almost out.Ó
ÒSheÕd like a bib,Ó Brent scowled. The waiter, at last, caught on a
little (hopefully no more) and nodded politely.
Several of our plates were removed. Missy picked up her glass of
orange juice and gurgled it down noisily. Besides our champagne we had
hot chocolate and the juice, or anything else we wished. Brent nursed a
cup of coffee. The establishment, I guessed, charged an extravagant price
for brunch, and could afford to shower us with food.
When the waiter left Brent dipped a hand into his tux and drew out a
handkerchief. I could see it was concealing something. ÒYou girls have
been very naughty,Ó he said quietly. He handed me the handkerchief and I
accepted it.
ÒI want one too!Ó Missy piped up. Her eyes were wide. She was like
a younger sibling, always afraid of being left out. I opened my
handkerchief. Handcuffs! I felt my throat constrict.
ÒPut them on,Ó Brent said somberly.
ÒBrent! You wouldnÕt--Ó I was having such a nice meal, albeit a
messy one. He looked at me with his hard, demanding eyes, the ones that
made my heart skip beats. IÕd never had a father. Not to speak of, anyway.
I couldnÕt refuse. If heÕd been a woman IÕd have said Ôno,Õ but I couldnÕt
refuse that scowling, unshaved jaw, stubbled like a pirateÕs or a
prisonerÕs. He had prisonerÕs eyes, too. Were we not illegal? Yet he
owned us. He owned us and our furs and the food in our bellies and the
risque bikinis weÕd worn into the restaurant.
I drew the handcuffs into the sleeve of my coat. Brent passed a
handkerchief parcel to Missy so she could be just like me. She accepted it,
poor child. She was desperate not to be outdone by me, even if it meant
her doom.
IÕd noticed that the handcuffs Brent had given me were connected by
a long chain. I guessed why, now, reaching behind myself and snapping on
the first cuff. The chain allowed enough room for my cuffed hand to
secure my uncuffed hand. Looking at Brent, feeling my hunger for him rise
within my creamed, slitted womb, I snapped the second handcuff into
place.
ÒVery good,Ó Brent said to me. His eyes smoldered. Mine showed
fear, resignation, and a tinge of love. Did I wish it any other way? HeÕd
promised a spanking for me. Jasmine had promised it, and she was fierce.
I felt a new sensation in my bottom, a memory of last nightÕs whipping,
gone now, except in my mind, mixed with the tension and fear of a new
assault. The seat, warm and soft, was meant to offer me the ultimate
comfort. Yet I would abandon it and follow Brent home, where I would be
displayed and forced to suffer. I yanked on my handcuffs. The chain
snapped taut, offered me no escape. I yanked again. My wrists banged
within the grasping steel of the handcuffs. Yes, I was his prisoner now.
Fully, completely. Unless, that is, I chose to be a tattletale. I could tell
all to the maitre dÕ and be flying home on the next plane, back to my real
home, back to L.A.
I set my teeth. Brent watched me do it. He saw my determination,
he smiled wanly at my cupid face. I was an angel. I was a lover. I was a
prisoner.
A raw metal click announced MissyÕs own imprisonment.
ÒIÕm trapped!Ó she realized. She had locked herself in without
understanding the consequences. ÒHow do I unlock this?Ó
ÒYou donÕt,Ó Brent said.
ÒThe bib, sir,Ó our waiter announced, returning suddenly.
ÒI donÕt want to wear a bib!Ó Missy proclaimed. Diners looked up
from their meals. Like explorers in a cave they gazed uncertainly, into the
darkness of ignorance but finding small gleams of knowledge. Was the girl
not too big for a bib? Yet perhaps sheÕd been difficult. The bib was meant
as a threat to control her.
ÒThe bib will not be needed. SheÕs agreed to behave,Ó Brent told our
waiter.
ÒNo I havenÕt!Ó Missy contradicted. The waiter withdrew, letting us
settle the matter ourself. He left the bib on the table, beside MissyÕs
undies. Did he know they were undies? I could not tell.
Brent finished his breakfast. It was odd sitting there, watching him
eat, unable to eat myself. My arms were pinned behind me now, inside the
confines of my coat. Nobody knew, nobody guessed. My nipples were
sticky. They felt like they were adhering themselves to the inside of my
coat as the honey on them dried. Would my nipples be ripped from my
chest when I stood up? I was wet all down my tummy, with honey
drippings and chocolate syrup. From the neck up I was a picture of
politeness, with dazzling earrings, perfect hair, and sensational makeup.
Yet between my thighs I was wet with oozing whipped cream. I felt
decadent. Brent finished his meal and rose. He drew out MissyÕs chair.
She was quiet. She was a brat, not a tattletale. She would not betray our
captivity. Brent came to my place and helped me up.
I walked with expansively swaying hips through the restaurant. I
could not help myself. I was being taken home to be spanked. I was going
to get it. My bottom rubbed against the soft inside of my coat, unknowing,
comfortable. Yet my mind was a whirl of confusion. I should tell! I
should run! But how humiliating to be discovered naked under my fur coat,
and handcuffed, and messy with cream and chocolate and honey. And all
put there by me, little guiltless me, except nobody would believe I was
guiltless. TheyÕd say I was, of course. TheyÕd be politically correct in
speaking to me. But behind my back theyÕd say, ÒSuch little tramps those
two were! Imagine! Messing themselves like that!Ó
Missy wriggled exceedingly as she walked. She was frightened,
frisky, a girl compassing between the known and the unknown. How hard
would Jasmine hit us? Would we really be made to stand before ladies, at
tea? I almost opted to blurt out my fate just then, passing the maitre dÕ.
Yet it would be a private humiliation, between lovers. Only a few would
know. It would not be on the evening news, with my name blocked out but
all my friends knowing. My mom knowing. ÒHereÕs your daughter, maÕam,Ó
the F.B.I. man would say. ÒWe found her in Caracas. She was staying with
a man who kept her as a pet and...Ó
I curled my fingers around the underside of my coat, in back. To get
a grip. To reassure myself. Did the maitre dÕ see my fingers? Did he
wonder why I had my hands inside my coat, and behind me, with my
fingertips sticking out and curled round the fur trim of my coat? I did not
know whether our coats were real or artificial, but they were fur on fur,
blonde fur surrounded by a lighter fur trim. Probably they were ersatz, I
concluded. Missy and I were still a bit too irresponsible for real fur.
Perhaps Brent would buy us real fur coats when we parted, when weÕd
proven ourselves to him, that we were real women and not just little
brats.
Would there be a parting? I speculated on that, passing out of the
restaurant. I wanted to glance back over my shoulder. Had I left a trail of
drips behind me? It felt like the cream on my pussy was dripping. I hoped
not. Brent made me so ecstatic, but he was fierce, under his smooth
demeanor. His control-oriented nature appealed to me, yet would it
always? Surely I must be free sometime. But now, just now, I was his.
Myself, and Missy too, probably, unless I could rid myself of her. He liked
having two of us. It made him King. Had he seen her and requested her?
Had he heard her sobbing screams somehow, and asked for her?
ÒI have to go to the bathroom,Ó Missy confided to Brent as he halted
us. We were out of the restaurant now, thankfully, and under the end of a
tented entryway. A valet saw us and hurried off for our limo.
ÒWhen we get home,Ó Brent said.
ÒI have to go NOW,Ó Missy whined. ÒUnlock me.Ó
ÒNo,Ó Brent answered.
ÒIÕll pee in the car,Ó Missy warned.
ÒWeÕll see about that,Ó Brent replied.
I rode sitting on the way back. I was cuffed, sitting barebottomed
on the carÕs leather seat. I could feel the leather adhering itself to my
ass. It would sting a little when I stood up, like my nipples stung when,
on rising, I forcibly detached their honeyed tips from the inside of my
coat. But I was better off than Missy. She rode lying over BrentÕs lap.
Barelegged, bare-bottomed, she was forced to present him with her naked
wriggling ass all the way home. She begged to pee but he refused.
ÒYouÕre putting on quite a show,Ó Brent smirked at Missy.
ÒOooh! Let me up! I need to pee and I donÕt like lying on my tummy!
Quit sticking your finger in my hole!Ó Missy begged. Brent just laughed. I
laughed. She looked absolutely silly lying with her fanny all exposed, her
feet tossing in the air and her legs kicking. Yet her hands were fastened
within the cuffs, trapping her, and Brent, oiling his finger with his spit,
was entertaining himself by plunging his digit in MissyÕs anus. She dared
not misbehave too much or heÕd go deeper with his finger, or try
penetrating her with two, or three. She was forced to accept him in her
butthole and offer only pleading resistance. She might have kicked at his
chin with her heel but she would have instantly found her guts impaled.
Like a man drilling for oil, Brent eased his finger in and out of her,
enjoying his power over her, the fear he induced.
ÒDo you have to pee on my pants leg, minx? Hmmmm? Go ahead, pee!
Here, let me tickle your cunny!Ó
ÒOh no sir please, stop! DonÕt! I weally WILL pee! Ack!Ó
And so our ride proceeded. Missy was getting her comeuppance now,
for all her mischief at brunch. Yet, as we neared our destination, Brent
thought of a way to punish me too.
ÒOpen your legs,Ó he told me. I obeyed. Sitting there, on the seat
with my arms trapped behind me, I felt desperately vulnerable. Exposing
my slit to him only made it worse. Yet there was nothing I could do. ÒEat
her,Ó Brent told Missy. ÒLick up all that whipped cream on her pussy!Ó
ÒOh, no! PLEASE! I donÕt like eating girls! I--Ó Brent took MissyÕs
face and manhandled it into my dell. To keep her ever-compliant he
rammed his finger to its deepest point yet in her butthole.
I gasped and heaved my chest forward as little MissyÕs tongue delved
within me. I heard a soft lapping sound and looked down, wishing she
wasnÕt there, yet unable to escape her. She mooed and moaned and
pleaded, but Brent made her lick me clean. When at last he allowed her to
raise her face a little I saw her mouth was circled with cream. Missy
licked her lips. Perhaps she had a sweet tooth after all.
ÒAlright you two, time to get out!Ó Brent told us. Our limo entered
JasmineÕs property. We were safe again, free to play out our games
without anyone knowing. Yet we were at our most vulnerable, Missy and I,
for we were the game. We were the pieces and Brent was our
Chessmaster.
We trooped within the house. We were taken into a parlor. Brent
admitted us himself. He was happy, ushering us along, happy like a man
who owns property and enjoys doing with it what he pleases. He wiped his
finger with his handkerchief so it wouldnÕt betray traces of MissyÕs shit.
------
ÒThe U.S. Supreme Court refused to hear an appeal from Mike Diana,
who was convicted in Florida in 1994 for creating and distributing
obscene drawings (see ÒLoony Toons,Ó ÒThe Playboy Forum,Ó August 1994).
He must now serve out his original sentence, which includes 1248 hours of
community service. Diana is donating his time to the Comic Book Legal
Defense Fund.Ó - Playboy, January 1998, pg. 52.
Keep your mind clean and pure! Why read an obscene comic when you
can read:
Stories by Andrew Roller:
A Mansion for Masochists
Liquid Pleasures
Watermelon Moon
Bondage Bliss
A Party for Perversion
Desire Isle
Las Vegas Lust
Erotic Estate
Office Slave
Bottoms in Bondage
Field of Desire
Alice Amore
Jack and Jill
The Beach Western
Vegas Vixen
Sarajevo Sexfest
Lady Fontaine
Holland Hunnies
Amsterdam Damsels
Bordello Girls
Chambers of Love
Love Child
Puppy Love
Private Places
Cunt Castle
Bush League
Pussy Playland
Nudie Nursery
Dungeon of Desire
PassionÕs Playpen
The Fading Universe
Permanent Perigee
DisÕs Sojourn
There and Not Back Again
Purpose Shall be the Firmer (poem)
All Life Needs Life to Live (poem)
Candyland Cunny
Love Lessons
Pussy Pals
Pussy Valley
LustÕs Lair
Baby Pussy
Football Frolics
Dancing Diva
Captive Cock
The First Temptation of Christ
Party Pussies
Honey Haven
Amazonia
Summer of Sin
Punished for Pleasure
Gold Diggers
Enslaved to Eros
Bikini Brigade
Labors of Love
Sins of the Flesh
kiddie clitties
All of the stories listed above are now available for free on the
Internet. See below for where to find them.
AND IN THE END...
WHY FUCK DECENCY?
ÒSince governments everywhere are forever trying to expand their
reach and authority.Ó
- The Economist, December 6, 1997, pg. 96.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-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 320 EMISSION