Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 92
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter One
Lastly mistress gave Linda a parasol, to shade her frail frame from
the sun, or perhaps to ward off a little rain. It was made of the same
white silk as her camisole, more decorative than serviceable. No
Englishwoman would have even considered taking it outdoors, so flimsy
was the parasolÕs covering. But Linda seemed quite impressed with it, and
twirled it around, over her head. She practised standing under it and then
cocking it back over her shoulder.
ÒI shall have to walk with this down in front of me,Ó Linda
announced, lowering the parasol to shield her pussy from our gaze.
ÒAnd what about your nude bottom, hmmm?Ó Mistress asked. Linda
considered this a moment, reached back behind her heinie with her free
hand. We burst out laughing. She looked like a boy with a smarting
bottom, holding his hinds as he rushed from some punishment, the parasol
in front looking for all the world like some ersatz penis. Linda blushed,
put the parasol back over her head, and let go of her behind. Nervously she
arranged the ends of her blonde mane, found it too short to cover her
titties.
ÒOh, my,Ó Linda lamented. Even her breasts would have to show,
absent a tied-up camisole. ÒNow I know why my husband made me cut my
hair!Ó Mistress laughed. We giggled, our own apprehension showing in our
amusement at LindaÕs predicament. Yes, it would be with bared bottoms
and pussies that we would meet our masters, I realized. This was not a
tiddly-winks sort of sex party, like IÕd read about in Seventeen, where
girls arrive clothed and eventually get undressed by their boyfriends. We
would be unclothed despite our elaborate costumes. Naked where we
should be covered, would be covered, even by something as simple as a
bikini; and covered where we hadnÕt even thought it necessary, as with
gloves and the shielding of pointless parasols.
Mistress herself was allowed more leeway in her attire. She put on
a lovely pastel pink cocktail dress that covered her from her shoulders to
her thighs. It had an abundance of pink ruffles around her upper arms, huge
billowing close-piled ruffles. Below them her arms were bare. But the
dress came with mittenless gloves that mistress slid up her arms,
covering them. The glove-sleeves merged into the ruffles, leaving, at
last, only her hands bare. The pink of mistressÕ fingernails matched the
color of her dress exactly.
Mistress asked me to button her dress up in back, and I did so. The
pink dress had a white sash around its middle, prettily embroidered, above
that were many buttons, too many, each made of pearl. The pearls were
cultured ones, and still round. A little pink loop of thread had to be put
over each pearl. I worked with a delicate touch, not wanting to miss any
of the pearls, yet at the same time grumbling to myself that the dress
was so unbelievably dainty. Finally I got all 9,000 buttons (or so it
seemed!) closed. Then mistress surprised me.
ÒTuck up my dress in back, dear,Ó she told me. Shove it up under my
sash until my bottom shows. You can let it hang down over either cheek,
but make sure the crack shows completely, o.k.? The full length of it,
hiding nothing. I did as she commanded, with a sinking feeling, knowing
we were all going to look like very high-priced whores. And men just love
to fuck whores. They are made for fucking, and nothing else. Not
conversation (though there may be a little of that, as a preliminary), and
not kissing either (though it may happen). They are made for a man to rut
in, despite their glamourous clothes, their killer hair, their nails and
stockings. To rut in again and again until he has spent himself completely.
Emptied himself. Then they are dismissed as so much out-of-date chattel,
and must find another man for themselves if they wish to have one.
Desperately I hoped my master wouldnÕt treat me that way. To fuck me,
and dump me? Surely not. But the other men, they would fuck me, and I
would not see them again, I guessed. They would use me like a pretty doll,
then discard me.
I stepped round in front of mistress, having bared her bottom in
back. Her bosoms shifted beneath the opaque fabric of her dress. Like the
rest of us, she wore no bra and no panties, usually the most essential
elements for any girl getting dressed. I could just make out the red hue of
her nipples beneath the dress. Where the stems rose they made inviting
little tents in the fabric. I almost thought they might rip it, so delicate
was the material. The dress itself seemed to have been specially cut for a
party such as ours, for it swooped down low, baring the upper curves of
mistressÕ bosoms. Perhaps, I guessed, it was made to have a bra or other
garment underneath (though the bra cups would have risen well above the
dressÕ scalloped neckline.) Mistress seemed pleased, though, primping in
the mirror. She had long sheer stockings on, made of beige nylon. Bands in
the stockings, sheer as the stockings they were a part of, held them aloft
round the tops of her thighs. Mistress pulled one down a little, showing a
little more thigh, left the other tightly drawn, concealing all but the last
sweet inch of her leg, where it merged with her pussy. The lowered
stocking gave her a slightly disheveled look, as if sheÕd been caught not
quite dressed. (Which the men would certainly see, the moment she turned
round and showed them her bottom.) But her hair was impeccable, every
strand combed neatly now as she stood before the mirror, admiring
herself, being admired by all of us. She wore pumps with little loops
round the ankles, loops that sheÕd carefully tied, ribbon-loops whose ends
dangled down in long strands toward the floor. The slightest walk down
the street and they would surely be soiled. Yet they were perfect now, and
I doubted they would ever touch a public sidewalk. They might be seen Òin
public,Ó surely, as her bottom no doubt would be, but it would be a
selected public, strangers sheÕd agreed to meet sight-unseen and show
herself off to, whoÕd made prior arrangements.
I myself was half-dressed. I was assigned leather chaps, which IÕd
put my legs into, just fitting the leg-sleeves. Each was draped in front
with a second layer of leather, fringed, so that if I put my feet together it
looked like I might be wearing a dress, one so long it covered me right
down to my toes. Of course, a quick glance at my crotch showed I had,
indeed, chaps, which offered my pussy no covering whatsoever. My fleecy
pubic mound stared back at me from a mirror, my most private part
utterly revealed. Yet the chaps had not only fringe but indian feathers,
hanging down the outside of my trousered legs, with white cotton-
puffballs, and large steel sequins, in the shape of oval sheriffÕs badges.
Elaborate decoration, painstakingly done, yet my pubic mound remained
bare. In back, of course, my bottom showed, bulging out without any
covering at all. Above it my back arched high, finally meeting the soft
curls of my blonde mane where it tumbled down over my shoulders.
I wore boots also, white patent leather ones, with much elegant
tooling worked into the leather. Useless decoration again, for most of
each boot was covered by my chaps! A cowboy hat complemented my
attire, a broad-brimmed sombrero-like hat, with an elegant leather band
round its crown. Yet, there was a final item waiting for me on the bed --
a bra! I had to be buckled into it, and mistress helped me. The cups proved
too small, despite my youth, leaving my areolas peeking temptingly out
over its top, my nipples threatening to pop from the cups any moment. The
bra itself was sewn shut in back. I had to put it on as one does a vest. In
front, the twin straps that mounted my shoulders ended without reaching
the cups. But buckles, saving me, rose up from the cups, waiting to
receive the strap-tongues hanging down. Mistress buckled each belt-like
strap into its buckle, and at last I was done. I turned, regarded myself in
the mirror. The tops of my twin areolas still showed. My bosoms, too big
for the cups, bulged within them. I looked like I might burst forth any
time, which no doubt would greatly amuse the men. I vowed to move
gracefully and avoid breathing deeply. I was the only girl with a bra, and I
wanted to keep mine on as long as I could.
Rose got to keep her pretty bolero. Mistress pressed it for her on an
ironing board that stood helpfully in the corner. No doubt someone would
put it away once the party began. Clothes were intended to be wrinkled
then, not preserved. But for now it must be very crisp and neat, and
mistress made sure it was. Rose put it back on. It fit her like a vest, yet
had a high collar that enclosed her neck. Sleeves ran down to just below
her elbows, leaving her forearms bare, as well as her hands. The bolero
had buttons, but mistress scissored these off before giving the garment
back to Rose. Now it was for decoration only, and hung prettily alongside
her breasts, wanting to hug them but unable to.
Rose looked down at herself. Her cleavage jutted out youthfully, her
firm, high breasts each topped by an obviously excited nipple. Rose was
ready for fucking, in her nipplesÕ estimation, whether she wanted it or not.
Boots were given to her, knee-high boots of blue leather, to match the blue
colors in her bolero. And she was given fingerless white mitten-gloves,
to match the white colors in her bolero. She went hatless, though, unlike
myself and Linda.
ÒMistress, may I please have a hat?Ó Rose asked Sandy. I smiled to
myself. She was so innocent! Even more than me. Bereft of panties,
without any bra, she asked for a hat. As if she did not know yet the effect
her lovely, naked figure would have on the rough men that would greet us.
Like some little nymph, captured, she yearned yet for the flowers sheÕd
picked, or her little pet squirrels, even as a God stole her away from her
forest playground for remorseless fucking. With big doe eyes she pleaded
for a hat until mistress, finally relenting, pleased her with an
unauthorized one taken from her closet. It was big and round, and shaded
her face, and made of black straw.
ÒYour master will punish you for wearing something he didnÕt
prescribe,Ó Mistress said. Even as she issued her warning she adorned the
girlÕs new hat with fresh-cut flowers. SheÕd taken them from a vase on
the dresser, depriving the vase but making Rose all the more adorable. She
poked them into the girlÕs hat band. They were roses, with thorns still on
the stems.
ÒI want a hat. I like my hat,Ó was RoseÕs only reply. She pirouetted
in the mirror, admiring the roses, the blackness of the silk, worrying
aloud a little about the thorns.
ÒA few thorns wonÕt hurt you,Ó Mistress replied. ÒSo long as you
donÕt sit on your hat. You werenÕt planning to do that, were you?Ó
ÒOh, no!Ó Rose replied. ÒItÕs very pretty. IÕd hate to see it ruined.Ó
Kitty was last to dress. She seemed not to want clothes. Mistress
had to order her into them. In the event, they amounted to very little.
There was a vest, made of leather, raw leather like a car shammy. It hung
from her shoulders by spaghetti-thin cords of leather. She pushed the
straps as far as she could to the end of her shoulders, not wanting them.
Beaded straps, intended to hold up her vest along with the leather ones,
fell away on either side, looping nothing more than her upper arms. In
front, ties made of leather were intended to be used to close the vest over
her bosoms. But the vest proved to hang so low that it would have not
covered her nipples, only the lower curves of her jutting breasts. Kitty,
disdainfully, knotted the ties in such a loose manner that they didnÕt even
draw the halves of the vest nearer each other. And she only did the lower
two ties, leaving the upper two completely undone. The poor vest, half-
abandoned, fell away on either side of her boobs, actually folding down
over itself, where the untied ties dangled uselessly down to her hips. Her
gently-swelling belly, framed by the abandoned ties, looked all the more
inviting, begging to be impregnated. Her mound was bare, her thighs all
bare, but round her calves mistress now carefully wrapped homemade-
boots. They were unique; moccasins with elevated heels that had to be
wrapped round the legs in order to fit securely. Kitty fretted, not wanting
them, watched as mistress put her into them all the same. When mistress
was finally done Kitty looked rather like a twin-legged mummy below the
knees. She strode back and forth in front of the bed, trying out her new
boots. Her master knew her well. She was encased in them, would not be
able to remove them even if she wanted to. For, behind each bare knee,
where the boot ended, mistress had fastened the wrapped leggings with a
tiny lock. Only KittyÕs master would be able to remove the boots.
ÒOh, please! CanÕt you unlock these silly things?Ó Kitty complained.
She stomped in her boots, impatient with them, as if they blocked her
pussy or her pee-hole.
ÒMy dear, this is not an ordinary party, as I keep reminding you
girls,Ó Mistress tutted at Kitty. ÒI do not have the key. Only your master
has the key. I could not unlace you from your boots even if I wanted to.Ó
ÒOh, my!Ó Kitty exclaimed. ÒI cannot even take a bath, being stuck in
these things! They would shrink horribly, and bind my legs like the Devil
himself.Ó
ÒIÕm sure thatÕs why your master chose them,Ó mistress replied. A
shiver ran through us all then, for the boots were the first real evidence
that we were prisoners here; of our own device, surely, but prisoners all
the same. And more imprisoned every minute, it seemed.
Mistress seated herself at a little table. She made out a dance card
for each of us. Each one was made of black satin, trimmed with black
lace. Mistress wrote on each one with indelible silver ink, from a special
marking pen. She put down our made-up names, stopping to ask us again
what they were to make sure she got them right. Then she put down an
ÒA,Ó after our name, if we were still an anal virgin. Otherwise the card
contained only a name. Then she handed our cards to us. Each of us was
made to tie our dance card to our wrist, with dainty black thread that was
attached to the card. Mine, of course, had a big ÒAÓ on it, as did RoseÕs and
LindaÕs. Sandy and Kitty, experienced with men, had only their names,
though SandyÕs was written as Miss Sandy. She was our chaperone, though
she was charged with seeing that we did NOT stay safe. Her duty was to
make sure we were fucked.
Tremblingly I tied on my dance card. It was very admirable, I liked
it but for the Òscarlet letter,Ó as it were. Rose seemed a bit bothered by
hers also.
ÒWhat, you girls have each been given an ÒA,Ó and you are unhappy?Ó
Mistress teased.
ÒI shanÕt ever have one again after tonight, with this one advertising
me so blatantly,Ó Rose whined.
ÒNo, dear, you shall not. It is my job to see that you shall not.Ó Now
letÕs go back to the tea room, girls. And remember, though this party is in
the manner of a little girlsÕ tea party, we are all big girls.Ó She smirked,
looking us over as she led us out. ÒWe had BETTER be, for the men all have
big things.Ó
We plopped back into our chairs round the tea table, more clothed
than weÕd been before yet feeling much more naked. IÕd only had teeny
panties before, and damp ones at that, hiding nothing. Now I was
encumbered with chaps, boots, a bra, and a hat, all in very elegant leather.
Yet I felt totally vulnerable, exposed, and I knew the other girls must feel
worse, having not even a bra! Rose in her bolero, Linda in her cami, Kitty
in her useless Indian vest. Even Kitty looked a little uneasy now. Dress-
up time was over. The men would be with us any minute.
ÒOne more thing,Ó Mistress said. She passed around behind each of
us, drawing from a small box she held a leather collar. Around each of our
necks she fastened, then locked, one of these beastly devices. I could not
remove mine, nor the girls theirs. Finally mistress closed one around her
own throat. Dangling down from each collar, in front, was a small gold
heart.
ÒWhat does mine read?Ó I asked, seeing the other girls had sayings
on theirs.
ÒYour heart reads the same as ours, dear,Ó mistress replied casually.
ÒIt says, ÒÔI Love You.ÕÓ
ÒYou mean IÕm going to walk up to men with THIS around my throat,
ÔI Love You.Ó??? Pristine Linda was most disturbed. ÒTo STRANGERS? I
LOVE you?Ó
ÒYes, dear, and thatÕs exactly what youÕll do, too, love them, unless
your master intervenes to stop it.Ó
ÒOh, I donÕt want this!Ó Linda boo-hooed, shedding a few little tears.
ÒDarling, think of how much you love your husband, and how you want
to please him in every way. You do, donÕt you?Ó Mistress asked. Gently
she wiped the pouting girlÕs tears from her cheeks with a lace napkin.
ÒYes,Ó Linda sobbingly agreed, her voice catching but no more tears
welling up. ÒYes I DO want to please him. I love him VERY much. ThatÕs
why I married him. But these things heÕs making me do. Well, I can hardly
guess what he has in store for me, and I donÕt like even thinking about it!Ó
ÒThen that must be why he brought you, dear,Ó Mistress consoled her.
ÒFor training.Ó
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Ubiquitous Funnies #20, 25¢ Minicomic. Brian Kirk, 93 Sunapee St.,
Springfield, MA 01108. mootcomics@aol.com
Review: Asinine Head goes to the store to buy a bottle of moot cola.
Unfortunately, he must have read the Holy Joe Guide to Bathing (which
contains some errors). His body odor is so bad that he causes the storeÕs
ceiling to collapse.
Returning home, Asinine Head attempts to bathe. But his smell
dissolves the soap before he can use it. What follows is a wacky
adventure as Asinine Head gets clean unconventionally, and then finds his
efforts make him worse off than he was before.
AND IN THE END...
FREEDOM OF SPEECH IN AMERICA
The Real Story
mhuntpubs@aol.com writes: ÒIn 1994, Florida officials arrested
Mike Diana (a young local artist) and charged him with obscenity for a
small zine he published. After spending three nights in jail, Mike was
sentenced to three years of probation during which time he was
FORBIDDEN to draw, paint or CREATE ANYTHING Òobscene.Ó He was given
$3000 in fines, 1300 hours of community service, forced to undergo a
$1200 psychological evaluation at his own expense, and he is prohibited
from going near anyone under the age of 18. Mike Diana is also subject to
random police searches without the necessity of a search warrant.
ÒA ruling issued on May 31, 1996 by Circuit Judge Douglas
Baird [upheld MikeÕs conviction].Ó
[This conviction is for a minicomic that contained abstract cartoon
drawings. Ed.]
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-END OF 92 EMISSION