Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 6     

Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in 
Love Child

Chapter Six

         My bottom was nicely healed by evening.  Master said that as his 
new slave I must have my teeth inspected.  Elena dressed me in a short 
skirt and pullover sweater.  It had long sleeves.  She made me put on 
schoolgirl stockings, up over the knees, but said I wouldn't need 
panties.  I slipped on shiny black ankle boots with immoderately high 
heels.
         A servant drove me to the dental office.  It was to be an evening 
appointment.  "They're staying open late, just to accommodate you," 
Elena had said to me as she kissed me goodbye.  She promised to keep 
the bed warm for me until I got back.
         "Will you two make love while I'm gone?" I asked plaintively.  
Master kissed my forehead, father-like.  It was a simple benediction.
         "You carry my seed with you," he said.  It might be true, I thought, 
though Elena and I had douched ourselves for him in the bathroom.  He'd 
enjoyed watching us.  We'd hidden nothing from his eyes.  Elena had 
insisted that everything, even a woman's most private moments, must 
be bared to master.  We could keep no secrets from him for we were his 
property.  Even our poop belonged to him, if he wanted it.  And if he 
wished for us to poop for others, we would most surely be required to.  
Even mounting silver trays to do it, if he wished, in a ballroom full of 
people.  I could not imagine myself doing such a humiliating thing, but 
thought it best to keep my mouth shut.  If I argued the point he'd have 
me pooping within the hour.
         It was cold and windy when the servant let me out of the limo in 
front of the dentist's.  There was a light rain.  He did not accompany me 
up to the door.  
         I stepped over and into puddles and silently thanked Elena for 
making me wear boots.  My skirt, though, was another matter, for I had 
to keep it pulled tightly down with my hands lest it flip up and show 
my bottom.
         Across the street a bar was open.  I heard a whistle.  I glanced 
back over my shoulder.  Quickly I knocked to be let in.  The door opened 
and a woman received me.  
         Startled, I saw that she was plump and had a child in tow.  
         "Bye, bye," a youthful voice called from a counter at the opposite 
end of the room.
         "Good evening," the woman said, and went out.  The door clicked 
shut and locked itself behind her.
         "Hi!  You're our last patient for the evening," A cheery female said 
from behind the check-in counter.  "Could I just get you to fill this 
out?"  She lifted a clipboard with a form attached.  I walked up to the 
counter to take it.
         "Hi, my name's Gretchen.  I'm the dental assistant," a girl, barely 
older than myself, smiled at me.  Her hair was done up in a loose bun.  It 
was golden blonde, as radiant as her personality.  She wore a white 
nurse's jacket, surprisingly decollete, within which loomed a very 
round, very high set pair of bosoms.  The upper curves of their satiny 
surfaces casually exposed themselves.  She seemed to have no bra on 
underneath.  A blouse was, obviously, out of the question.
         Around her neck Gretchen wore a neatly tied white chiffon scarf.  
She must have tugged at it, though, while doing figures or something, 
for I saw that the scarf was intended to hide a collar underneath.  It 
was slim and black, like a dog's collar.  I wondered if she had a master 
like I did.
         Taking the clipboard, I turned to a chair.  I brushed my skirt under 
my fanny and held it there until I'd sat down.  I crossed my legs.  Then I 
looked at the form.  I gasped.  It had nothing to do about teeth.  Its first 
question asked me the last time I'd had an orgasm, and whether I'd 
enjoyed it.  I was asked to rate the orgasm on a scale of 1 to 10.  The 
questions got worse from there.
         "Just fill out what you can," Gretchen advised me sweetly.  "If you 
haven't had some of the procedures yet, just skip them."  I gazed at the 
form.  Enemas, piercing, branding...
         "Have you had all of these?" I asked, looking up.
         "Of course not, I'm only 16," Gretchen replied happily.  It was as if 
I'd asked her whether she'd graduated high school, the way she replied.  
She was earnestly upbeat, air-headed.  I poked my way through the form 
and then got up and handed it back to her.
         "Fine, thank you, I'll leave it for the dentist's inspection," she 
said, not looking at it.  "Would you like to come back into the office now 
and get ready?"  She rose.  Her eyes beckoned.  I let her lead me back, 
through a door.  We entered a room equipped with a dentist's chair, a 
sink, instruments.  
         "Please take off all your clothes," Gretchen said dispassionately, 
sweetly.  
         "My?" I couldn't help but stammer.
         "You ARE the last appointment," Gretchen replied.  "Didn't 
your...boyfriend...request the last appointment for you?"
         "Um, yes," I said.  There was no arguing it.  Master had set this up 
for me.  It was his will.
         "Do you need any help?" Gretchen asked, a puzzled look on her 
face.
         "Um, no," I said, and crossed my arms over my waist.  I grasped 
my sweater and pulled it up.  My boobies wobbled deliciously as my 
sweater crossed over them.  I felt shy, yet excited.  The woolen 
pullover had tickled my titties to coral-tipped hardness.
         Gretchen took my sweater from me and hung it in a closet.  I 
reached behind myself and unzipped my skirt.  It dropped to my ankles, I 
stepped out of it, bent over, picked it up and gave it to gretchen.  "You 
have pretty legs," she said admiringly.  "But leave your stockings on."  
She folded my dress over a hanger in the closet.  "And your shoes, too."
         Apprehensively I settled into the dentist's chair.  Its vinyl 
surface was chilly against my skin.
         "Sit up," Gretchen advised.  She opened a drawer in a counter next 
to the chair.  She took out a pair of handcuffs.  "Some patients like to 
squirm," she explained.
         "I'm very well behaved," I protested.
         "Up!" she said, in a cheerful yet no-nonsense tone.  I sat up in the 
dentist's chair and she twisted my back toward her, holding me by my 
shoulders.  Then she drew my arms behind me and handcuffed my wrists 
together.  "You may sit back now," she said happily.  I sat back, aware of 
my bosoms, how they seemed to bloom up from my chest.  They were 
lily-white, with stiff, cherry nipple tips.  I pressed my legs together.  I 
would be modest there, at least.  Gretchen sensed my insecurity.
         "Don't be afraid," she said.  "Girls come here all the time to be 
inspected.  I've seen three already and its only my first week."  She 
turned to a mirror, let down her hair, shook it out.  Businesslike she 
opened her jacket to expose her breasts.  Her nipples were risen, 
springy, pink candy.  She touched them to make sure they were properly 
hard.  I felt she did it simply because she'd been told to, not because 
she needed to.  She was already brimming with youthful energy.  Her 
teats looks as vibrant as any 16-year-old's could.
         "Have you been...inspected?" I asked.  My nipples, already hard, 
seemed to grow more rigid at the sound of my question.
         Gretchen untied her chiffon scarf.  The dog collar gleamed 
beneath.  A lock kept it securely closed.  "Oh yes," Gretchen replied.  
"The dentist expects me to be in tip-top shape to work here.  It 
wouldn't be fair to the patients if I wasn't."  She reached back, unzipped 
her skirt.  It fell to the floor, leaving her only in her little nurses' 
jacket.  She wore a pair of miniscule white panties which struggled to 
contain her pert bottom.  She bent over, straining the semi-sheer 
undies to the breaking point, it seemed.  They were already torn in 
several places, gaping rents running right across the seat.
         "Why are your panties torn?" I asked.
         "Ohh, master whipped me," she said.  "I was bad.  I deserved it.  He 
let me keep my panties on, but they didn't help much.  Now he insists I 
wear these panties every day to remind me I'm a bad girl."  Her bottom 
was white, whatever she'd suffered.  I wondered if she was due for 
another whipping tonight.  She hung up her dress in the closet next to 
mine.
         Turning around, Gretchen put a hand down the front of her panties.  
"Excuse me.  I'm required to "heat up," as master says, before I call him.  
He says I'm way too tight for a 16-year-old girl, a "big girl," as he likes 
to say.  He thinks if I rub myself a lot it will loosen me.  Totally 
ridiculous, of course," she rolled her eyes.
         "What's that?" a male voice called out.  Gretchen gulped, pulled 
her hand out of her panties.  She tugged on her jacket, as if to 
straighten it, as if it mattered, with her tits hanging out.  Perhaps it 
did, though.  It was a nicely starched jacket.
         "The patient is ready, doctor," Gretchen called nervously.
         "Very good.  I hope you are too," the male voice answered.
         "Yes, doctor."  She gave a compliant wiggle as he strode 
commandingly into the room.  
         Looking up, I suddenly saw the office itself was out-of-the-
ordinary, not just the workers.  There were twin leather foot cuffs 
hanging from the ceiling!  My legs, if lifted, would strap easily into 
them.  All someone needed to do was lower the cuffs a little, and I had 
no doubt they could be lowered.  I trembled.  The dentist sat down 
beside me.  He was large, broad-shouldered.
         "And how are we doing today?" he asked absently.  Without 
donning gloves he pried open my mouth, introduced a dental pick into it.  
I shivered as he set about testing my fillings.  "Fine, fine," he said.  
"You take very good care of your teeth.  Your master will be pleased."  
Then he put down his dental pick.  He poured some fluid into my mouth, 
had me swish it around, then raise myself up and spit it out into a sink.  
It tasted of lemons.  When I'd laid back again he surprised me.  
         "There are other parts of you that I'm qualified to examine," he 
said.  "And I'm equipped with a special instrument to examine those 
parts," he added.  He unzipped himself. 
         "Not--not today, please," I said.
         "Oh, but this is not something a young lady who is a love slave can 
refuse," he said.  Freeing his cock, he proceeded to carefully examine 
my nipples.  He used a blunted dental pick, and his fingers.  "Nice, very 
nice," he observed.  Then he looked at me directly.
         "Your master says you are too tight.  However, I can assist.  
Gretchen?"  The dental assistant took one of my ankles and lifted it up.  
I knew where it was going, knew I could not refuse.
         "I-I don't want," I protested.  He stroked my tummy.
         "Hmmm, you could use a little obedience training, just like 
Gretchen here," he said.  I gazed solemnly at my legs as Gretchen lifted 
them up, buckled them into the straps.  Even as I watched the 
imprisoning of my legs, the preparations for my impending doom, I 
couldn't help but admire Gretchen.  Her hands lofted overhead as she 
drew the cuffs lower, small, dainty, the youthful jut of her pretty 
breasts, her panties barely covering her pubic hair.  She was an angel in 
white, in ripped panties.  Carefully she buckled me into the cuffs.  My 
legs were spread wide, my pussy fully exposed, my ass exposed too as 
my legs were drawn forward next, until my heels were directly over my 
head.
         "Sir!" I gaped.  I felt like some upended sack of potatoes.
         "A perfect picture!" the dentist replied.  "Gretchen, fetch the 
camera.  Another splendid photo for our wall of shame."
         To my horror Gretchen got out a camera and took several pictures 
of me.  The dentist assured me that his female customers, particularly 
the wealthy older ones, would take great pleasure in seeing a young girl 
thus displayed.  "They're jealous, of course, of your beauty and youth, 
but its one of the perks I provide them with.  For an extra fee, of 
course.  All the best women in town come to see me."
         "You're a beast!" I said.
         "An animal, as you'll see," he chuckled.
         "That's not funny," I replied.
         "But you'll laugh or I'll gag you."  I didn't laugh, but just glared at 
him, my makeup still impeccable, my stare hot and defiant.
         "So delightfully naughty," was his only reply.
         "There!  Now you're all ready!" Gretchen said happily, checking my 
ankle cuffs one last time.  She slid off her panties and, to my shock, 
stuffed them in her mouth.  She presented herself to the dentist, her 
behind towards him, and he took a strip of black cloth and gagged her 
with it. 
         Gretchen opened a drawer and took out a flexible lifelike dildo, 
complete with hanging testicles.  They were bulging already with some 
nefarious substance that had been pumped into them.  Gretchen slipped 
on the cock and, with her master's help, cinched it up tightly into her 
loins.  It doubled as a crack belt.  Gretchen's mouth gaped in a rictus of 
startled alarm as the belt was drawn firmly into place.  It ran down 
between her ass cheeks, giving them an extra outward thrust as it 
separated them.  The lips of her pussy were divided by the rope, which 
pressed between them, isolating her clitty and
ruthlessly stimulating it.
         Recovering herself, Gretchen waddled over to me, her big sausage 
of a cock bobbing between her legs.  She reached down and squeezed the 
sac beneath the cock.  A shot of warm white cream fired from the 
ersatz penis and landed on my nose.  Gretchen and the dentist laughed.  
         "See?" Gretchen said gaily.  "He gave me my very own penis!"  She 
mounted me, awkwardly, the dentist giving her bottom a helpful push.  
She settled on my chest and thrust the cock at me.  "Suck," she 
commanded.  Reluctantly I accepted the rubber dick between my lips as 
the dentist presented his own organ to my cunt.
         With a grimace I received them both.  Gretchen at my mouth, the 
dentist ramming himself into my womb.  I hated my master for turning 
me over to these two.  Gretchen was a silly air-head, the dentist a 
brooding, uncaring lout.  Fucking me, he took up a birch rod and began 
beating Gretchen's bulging bottom.  She deserved it, I thought, gagging 
on her fake cock as she broke into tears above me.
         Suddenly I heard sirens in the distance.  My lovers seemed to 
start.  For a moment the dentist ceased his flagellation.  Then, quick as 
startled foxes, they fucked me ever more feverishly.  Streams of sweet 
cream leapt into my mouth as Gretchen reached between herself and 
gave her rubber testicles quick squeezes.  The dentist, doing his best 
within the confines of my youthful cunt, moved back and forth rapidly 
until he came, flooding me with his hot sperm.  They both jumped up as 
soon as they were done, indeed, before they were quite done, for the 
dentist shot the last of his load against my thigh.  He grabbed his red-
bottomed assistant by her arm and yanked her through a door.
         "Don't leave without your cunt," I thought to myself.  The dentist 
was unlikely to find such a compliant girl again if he lost this one.  She 
seemed oblivious to his selfish nature.  I determined then and there not 
to return to my master.  He should not have given me over to a bum like 
this.
         The door through which my two tormentors had just escaped now 
opened to jack-booted policemen.  The first through, in fact, was a 
woman in uniform.  I cringed as she looked upon me, dispassionately, 
my cunt splayed wide and dripping semen, my mouth smeared with 
cream.
         After first photographing me in my bound state, as "evidence," the 
police untied me.  With difficulty I stood up, asking for my clothes.  
When I'd dressed they took me down to the police station.  I was locked 
in a room for "protection" and left there for hours.  It was the beginning 
of a new life for me.

         Within a week I was working for the Argentine government as a 
secretary in the "Department of Classified Information."  It was their 
local version of the Central Intelligence Agency.  A kindly old 
gentleman had found me in the bowels of the police department, asked 
few questions, and set me up in my own apartment.  He seemed to be 
very high up in the Argentine government, and said he needed a 
secretary.  So, I instantly became a secretary.  I was sure he wanted me 
for sex, but he only ever took me to dinner, then dropped me back at my 
apartment.  We went out together often in the evening, sometimes went 
dancing afterward, though he only sat on the sidelines watching me 
dance with other men.
         I loved my new life.  I was free, independent, save for the 
solicitude of my "savior," as I called him.  Dancing in Buenos Aires' 
hottest clubs thrilled me.  I got to be as provocative with the men in 
the clubs as I wished.  It seemed to delight my savior to watch me 
strut my stuff and turn on all the men in the club.  Yet, none of the men 
could have me, nor would I let them, for my savior was always only a 
few yards away, watching.  Apparently he came to the clubs often, and I 
was his latest girl.  They knew not to mess with his "merchandise," he 
explained to me once.  
         Apparently the dentist had been running drugs, which is why the 
police closed in.  I had been the unexpected prize of their raids.  
Someone in the police department had called my savior, knowing he was 
in need of a new girlfriend.  He never told me he was married, but I 
figured he must be, for why else would he not have me put up at his 
house, where he could admire me all day long?
         Our relationship continued for several months.  One day, sitting in 
my apartment sipping drinks after a lusty night on the town, he told me 
I was needed for "a mission of national importance."

FEMINIST ALERT!
by Holy Cow

         If you are a subscriber to Newsweek, you can find out very quickly 
whether or not there is a pervert in your life.  Go get your February 19, 
1996 issue of Newsweek.  There is a little girl on the cover.  Is there a 
semen stain on your issue?  There should not be any Òwhite splotchÓ on 
your copy of Newsweek.  If there is, it means somebody masturbated over 
your issue, specifically, over the little girl on the cover.  Lock up your 
daughter, go get your shotgun (hopefully youÕre a member of the NRA), and 
go confront all the men in your life.  DonÕt forget about the boys in your 
life either.  The reason there arenÕt pictures of little girls on milk cartons 
any more is because too many men and boys were masturbating over them.  
Hopefully, there is no semen stain on your issue of Newsweek.  But if 
there is, take action now!  DonÕt hesitate to shoot.  (Your gun, that is.)  
Whoever masturbated over your copy of Newsweek could be talking to, 
looking at, or touching your daughter right now!  

Free Fuck Decency e-mail subscriptions:  send (18 or up) age statement 
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Phenix City, AL 36868 U.S.A.  Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of 
Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1996 and a trademark of 
Andrew Roller.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 6 EMISSION