hi senator exon! IÕm jacking off!
(oops! how do I erase something on the net? oh well...)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 77
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Desire Isle
Chapter Fourteen
"IÑI can't go on with this any longer," Melanie said pleadingly to
Cheryl, speaking for what she knew were the feelings of all four initiates.
"It is only for a little while longer," Cheryl replied in a comforting
voice, though it gave no comfort to Melanie. She felt the hardness of the
rubber bit between her teeth once more.
"Mmmff!" Melanie cried. Already it had begun again. Around her she
heard discussion of new weapons of choice, and then the now familiar
cracking against flesh as they met their first tests. Kimberly was taken
to with a birch rod once more, though the rod was now a new one, despite
the fact that she still had the same old red-laced bottom. Kimberly
squirmed her skinny hips.
"YFCHCHCH!" Kimberly screamed beneath her gag as the new birch bit
into her. She began to cry freely.
Candy had heard of a woman in Egypt once who had been flayed alive.
Truly, she thought that was what must be happening to her bottom. Only
half an hour ago it had been white and flawless. Now she knew it must be
all red, for it seemed as if someone had taken a match to it. She squished
her eyelids shut as another blow from a small whip made its presence felt
on her bottom in a big way. How long could she endure? She felt as if she
must cough out her bit at any moment.
Veronica nearly spit out her own bit as the broad leather of a
spanking strap was applied to her bottom. It was being delivered by a
man, who apparently took delight in the idea of a mature mother of two
like herself being disciplined with an implement made primarily for
children. The force of the man's blows kept the spanking strap from being
too easy a torture for Veronica. Each strike sent her reeling with pain.
Melanie was being done with a pony whip, courtesy of a man who
billed himself as a cop. If so, he must be a corrupt one to go about in the
company of Fred. Each admonitory swing of the whip sent Melanie wanting
to gallop straight off the couch and through the wall. Did he think she was
a girl, or a horse? Did he even care?
Finally ice was brought and the four initiates were given a soothing
wash down, one ice cube on their bottoms at a time. The ice itself was so
cold that it managed to apply a sting of its own. By now Melanie and the
rest were nearly beyond consciousness. They seemed to float in a
neverland of euphoria usually reserved only for the imbibers of illegal
drugs. Yet the girls had both feet, and bottoms, firmly planted in reality.
Every twitch of their heinies brought new spasms of pain, yet in a sense
even as they felt the pain they now felt cut off from it. Certainly this
was not a party any of them would soon forget! Melanie thought back to
her first prom, of dancing with a boy she thought she must live with for
every second of the rest of her life. She sort of felt that way about Fred
now, despite the torture which he had orchestrated for her and her friends.
A click of handcuffs caused Melanie to realize that she was about to
be released. Her bottom was a sheen of wetness now, thanks to the ice.
When Melanie's hands had been freed she didn't move, nor did any of the
other girls. They had been secured to the couch so long that they didn't
have the will any longer to pull themselves from it. Aimlessly Melanie
kicked back a high-heeled foot. Only then did she realize that her ankles
were no longer bound to those of Candy or Veronica.
"Help them, dears," a female's voice said. Male hands came to each
of the initiates and lifted them up. The girls nearly sank right into the
stiff pestles of their manly assistants when they rose. How odd, Melanie
thought, as she was helped up and sank immediately backward, right onto
the prong of her helper. The hair of his loins seemed to burn new patterns
into the sensitized flesh of her bottom. She nearly impaled herself by
accident on him, her bottom wet from the ice, even in its crevice, his wet
from the new application of some feminine tongue.
"Shall we go to bed?" A woman asked casually, addressing everyone,
no one. There was a rustle of bodies moving closer. Hands clasped,
assignations were agreed upon. Before Melanie knew what was at her she
was in the arms of a man and woman whom she didn't even recognize. Or,
rather, she was between them, being 'helped' along by them across the
room. A darkened hallway waited, beckoning with rooms ready for love.
Melanie darted a look over her shoulder, searching for her little
stepsister. Amidst the rapidly disrobing throng she saw two men at
Veronica, one feasting on her titties, the other bending her forward to get
his pole up her butt. But of her other fellow sufferers she saw nothing.
"Wait!" Melanie cried to her new captors, meaning to break from the
couple and go search out her sister.
"The time for waiting is over," the woman who held her replied, and
her husband gripped Melanie more firmly still.
Chapter Fifteen
In a bedroom Melanie was lain upon a bed with utmost tenderness,
but with an unflinching firmness of purpose as well. Melanie's long,
pretty legs dangled over the side of the bed, bowing slightly at the knees
and touching the floor by their toes. The woman knelt between her legs.
She slipped the spaghetti straps of her nightie from her shoulders, baring
a magnificent set of bosoms. She slipped her hands beneath Melanie's long
milky thighs, right where they joined her torso. Her fingers curled around
and clasped the insides of Melanie's thighs, drawing them even farther
apart than they already were. With whispering tongue she delved into
Melanie's most private sanctuary.
"Wait," Melanie said, or perhaps "What." "What's your name?"
Through bleary eyes Melanie lifted her pretty head from the bed and
regarded the woman. The cool, silken sheets burned into her hot derriere.
Surely this woman would not, please not, lick her and make her tender
bottom rub against the sheets!
The woman's husband was at Melanie's side, slumped on the bed right
next to her. His penis throbbed with naked abandon near her hip. He would
be next, and however much the woman's tongue made Melanie's sore bottom
hurt by rubbing against the sheets, his fucking of her would do it tenfold.
"Winona," the woman smiled at Melanie, then proceeded with her
licking. Melanie squirmed, flames engulfing her derriere.
"Winona," Melanie gasped, and dropped her head in exhaustion back
upon the bed. "Winona." Even as she shaped the name with her mouth she
knew it must probably be a made-up one.
"She can't take it," the man said to Winona. The woman lifted her
head from Melanie's snatch.
"Oh! You're right! Her bottom. How thoughtless of me," Winona said.
Melanie was rolled over by the couple. "I should like to lick her, to soothe
her with my tongue, but that will no doubt hurt too," Winona said aloud to
herself. Her husband nodded. "Push her back some, dear, get her a bit more
off the bed," Winona instructed her husband. He obliged. Melanie felt as if
she were being put off the bed. She was moved back upon it until her hips
were completely off it. The husband put a firm hand to her back to keep
her from falling off. Then Winona went to work again, kneeling way down
on the floor and getting up under Melanie's airborne hips. Melanie felt the
woman's fingers come to her thighs to part them more fully. Then her
tongue began its happy labor once more, parting Melanie's pretty lips with
an ease only a whipping could have induced. Melanie's bottom wriggled
madly as Winona's invasive tongue worked deep within her. The air
seemed to provide cooling draughts to her heinie as it wiggled about in it.
Melanie found herself relishing the tongue. It caused her bottom to squirm
madly in a way it never would have in her otherwise utterly exhausted
state. And each wriggle passed it about in the cool air, soothing it.
The husband stroked Melanie's hair lovingly. She lifted her face
slightly. He pressed it back down, beseeching her to relax and speak
however she wished without incurring the extra effort. Melanie turned her
head on its side and let it sink fully into the smooth, soft sheets. "I-I
have to go to the bathroom," Melanie said in a small voice.
"Just go," Winona's husband replied. "She loves it when girls pee on
her." Melanie felt shocked! Pee on Winona? Yet it had a mischievous ring
to it to, of well deserved retribution, something Kimberly might do. "Do
you need to go poop too?" Winona's husband asked. Melanie shook her head
no, moving it just enough to communicate her answer. The man leaned
over her, drew something from the nightstand. A pouring sound was heard,
and then a spoonful of medicine came to Melanie's mouth. No longer
resistant to anything that might be done to her, Melanie simply opened her
mouth and accepted the fluid. It was bitter. After making a face, though,
she dutifully swallowed it. Perhaps it would help with the burning in her
bottom.
As he poured a second spoonful the man said, "Castor oil. To make
you poop on my wife." It was then that Melanie knew that her world had
changed immeasurably since that first ski vacation a year ago. She prayed
that it would continue to change, bit by bit, experience by experience.
And, somehow, she knew that it would. In her mind's eye she saw herself,
bizzarely, at an altar in a wedding dress with no bottom to it, leaving her
free to moon the entire congregation throughout the ceremony. And, to top
things off, she had been fed castor oil before the service started, just so
the congregation could see her bottom squirm throughout the wedding,
trying desperately to stave off a flood of diarrhea. Beside her stood Fred,
his buttocks twitching with just as much desperation. Before them a
minister spoke solemn words. Their marriage, and, unusual as it seemed,
Melanie had a feeling it would one day come true.
As she speculated on what Kimberly must wear as her flower girl
she began to move her hips more. Holding her shoulders, Winona's husband
presented his penis to her. Melanie sucked upon it as she felt the first
rumblings in her bowels. In a few days she'd be back in college, in boring
classes, but for now, she was actually going to enjoy herself. And she
was going to do it for the next 20 seconds by emptying her bladder!
THE END
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Office Slave
Chapter One
"Your name is Veronica Van Paachen?" the man behind the desk asked.
"You pronounced it right the first time!" the female complimented
him brightly.
"I had hoped it would rhyme with 'passion,'" the man replied in a flat,
monotone voice. "This position requires that you know two foreign
languages," the man proceeded.
"Oh, I do, French and Russian," Veronica replied, her eyes fixed
studiously on her interviewer. He was impeccably groomed, dressed in a
Brooks Brothers suit, and as formal in his bearing as his attire. Despite
this, or perhaps because of it, Veronica found herself deeply affected by
him. The word "stiff" came to mind, and it was not defined solely by his
demeanor.
"Have you ever had supervisory experience?" the man, who had
introduced himself only as Robert, asked.
"Yes," Veronica replied. "Before I got married I supervised over fifty
people. I was head of a construction firm."
"A construction firm?" Robert asked, breaking his first sign of
emotion as a look of surprise spread across his face.
"Yes," Veronica replied. "Fifty workers, almost all men, except for a
few school girls who came in after their college classes to lay tiles. I
was responsible for completion of a small luxury housing community. I
brought the project in on time and under budget."
"How excellent," Robert said, touching his pen to his lips before
making a notation on his form.
"The children in the hall, the toddler and the baby, how will they
affect your ability to perform in a job? The one I am offering is strictly
full time, you know," Robert said.
"Oh! They'll be no problem! No problem at all!" Veronica blurted, but
the apprehension that that question had brought to her eyes belied her
response.
"Veronica," Robert said. There was a reproving disposition to his
voice. "I say this in the gentlest of tones--you must be completely honest
with me." Veronica's eyes slipped from his face to look at her lap. "Lift
your eyes," Robert said. "Look into mine." Veronica obeyed. "The children,
they are a burden to you, are they not? Even now."
"Yes, sir," Veronica replied quietly.
"You are a very talented, professional woman, Veronica," Robert said.
Her face took on a very sad countenance. He smiled. "And now you think
my next sentence is going to begin with the word 'but,' don't you?"
Veronica's face showed that she did. "And," Robert continued, his voice
lending a special, almost relished emphasis to the conjunction, "And
despite all your years of college, even getting an advanced degree, despite
your work experience as a highly efficient manager, you find yourself
today married and with two children. Children who take all of your time
with their many demands." Veronica nodded.
"I ask this only in a philosophical sense," Robert said, leaning back in
his chair, lifting his pen airily. "Why does a woman like yourself, and you
are not the only one, why does such a woman have children? If I may
compliment you without being sexist, at 23 you are still a bit young to be
burdened with motherhood."
"Oh! They're not my children!" Veronica exclaimed. "You're right,
there are a number of 23-year-old mothers, even ones who are rapidly
ascending in their field, but these children belong to my husband. By a
prior marriage."
"I see," Robert replied, a trace of a grin twitching the corners of his
mouth. "Of course there is another class of young professional women like
yourself who meet a man and overlook the tots trailing in his wake...until
one morning you find yourself married to him and he walks out the door for
work. Leaving the children behind."
"Right," Veronica agreed. "I guess I never really thought about it
until after we were married. We came back from our honeymoon and the
next day he got up and kissed me goodbye and left. And I turned around and
found myself staring at an overturned bowl of frosty flakes and a crying
baby that needed changing."
"Forgive me, but my question does actually have an occupational
purpose; your marriage, does your husband devote to you the time a
husband should?" Veronica gulped.
"No," she said quietly, glancing back down at her lap. Robert sensed
that she felt a hidden gladness at being asked this question, as if finally
she had someone to share her feelings with. Someone other than the nosy
housewife next door.
"He does not," Robert summarized. He cleared his throat. "Veronica,
you will think I am letting this interview get completely out of bounds,
but I must tell you that I find you an exceedingly attractive woman."
Veronica looked up at him, surprised but clearly not offended. "It is not
only your physical appearance, which any 18-year-old would have, but your
demeanor, your thoroughly accomplished bearing."
"Thank you, sir," Veronica replied. An imperious air had returned to
her form. She cracked only the slightest of smiles, smiling more with her
eyes than her lips.
"The qualifications which I listed in the classified section of the
professional journal you read are met in every respect by your
background," Robert said. "I require a woman with all those attributes
because" and here he paused and looked her directly in the eyes, almost
piercing her with his stare "because this is the sort of woman I most
enjoy liberating."
Veronica sat speechless for a moment. "Liberating?" she asked
finally, struggling to keep her regal manner which Robert had said he
found so attractive.
"Yes," Robert replied. "There are some girls who are giggly
teenagers, and I certainly enjoy requiring labor of them, and there are
college girls, unsure yet in their role as a woman and their place in
society, and those girls also I find delight in. And then there are the
women like yourself, young wives caught up unexpectedly in the cares of
the world, women who find their lives and dreams crimped by the onrush
of reality. These I most enjoy putting to work."
"Because?" was all Veronica could say, her mind still racing to catch
up with the highly unsettling direction their discussion had suddenly
taken.
"Because I long to see you stripped of your executive manner, naked
and perspiring, forced to perform menial tasks and undergoing ordeals of
my choosing." Robert said in a hot, almost ferocious voice. Veronica
gasped.
EXONÕS (new) PRAYER
Dear God, I am an old fart.
Please taketh heart.
Removeth my body from the Senate.
IÕve stayed past my time limit.
Put me on a boat in a lake.
Then, Colby-like, my soul do take.
NEW ORLEANS, GODÕS COUNTRY
As you know, New Orleans recently passed a curfew in which anyone
16-years-old or younger must be in their parentÕs home by nightfall. I
have noticed a certain tendency: people pass laws enslaving their children
and then congratulate themselves on how moral they are. But what else
goes on in New Orleans? HereÕs I little item I found on the Net:
vidkidtimo@aol.com (who is offering to trade videos) writes: Òthen
there is a scene in which a drunken Mardi Gras tourist (25, blond) sucks a
bartender's cock (24, brunette, hairy) in order to use the bathroom at the
establishment... it happens all the time in New Orleans!Ó
No wonder parents donÕt want their children to be outside after
dark--theyÕre likely to find out what their holier-than-thou parents are
REALLY up to!
OUR MAIL BAG...
[Name withheld] writes: ÒThis is getting really boring dud, get
me off the list, and resubscribe me when you get some sex in the story,
gheesh!!Ó
roller666 replies: ÒI'm trying to keep my zine DECENT so as not to
offend Senator Exon!Ó
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-END OF 77 EMISSION
-Exon, about those judges: do you have a problem with authority?