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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 97
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter One
ÒThe only thing you lack now is a butt plug, my dear,Ó Mistress B
announced grandly to Sandra. Our hostess had, unwisely, remained by
Mistress B, fretting over her ruined party dress. With glee Mistress B
swiftly upended her, forcing her head down to greet her new shoes. They
alone, with their pretty pink ankle ties, remained the only unsoiled item
on her. And her stockings, which had magically survived so far without
runs or staining.
ÒOh!Ó would have popped most assuredly from SandraÕs mouth, but
the ball gag blocked it as Mistress B prised her hiney open. In went a plug,
small but effective, and Sandra jerked her back as it shoved home, lifting
her head in alarm but leaving her shoulders at the height of her knees. She
was a most marvelous victim, resistant yet somehow compliant, a far cry
from Linda who struggled and strove at every turn. It was the difference
between a young girl and a young married wife. Linda was still skittish
and unsure. Sandra was delicate, yet strong, well formed and full grown,
ready for marital jousting. Like any young woman, her main role in this
stage of her life was to be fucked...nothing more, nothing less. Childish
things had been put away, a mate had been selected. She was, one hoped,
still a few years away from child rearing and the duties of being a mom.
She was in the honeymoon years of her life, giving pleasure to her new
husband and receiving him within her in return. She accepted her fate and
did her best to perform her duties to the highest, most admirable
standards.
ÒRise! You remind me of a bitch in heat, bent over like that,Ó
Mistress B ordered. ÒServe your husband and his friends whatever drinks
they wish. And cut them with plenty of cola. They will need all the
energy they can get when I turn to policing their genitals.
Wobbling atop her stilted heels, their points sounding sharply
against the floor, Sandra left Mistress B on her newly appointed rounds. I
pitied Sandra, with her awkward gait, made so by the butt plug, with her
earnest eyes and her popped-open mouth. Her hair was a wreck, her dress
torn and stained, her bush showed signs of erotic wetness and games
played hours ago. Yet she struggled valiantly on, somehow graceful
despite her degradation, a mistress turned victim par excellence. I think I
have never seen a braver, more devoted slave before or since.
Sandra took a little scratch pad and pencil from the bar. Her knees
trembling, she stepped with clicking, unsteady heels over to the four men
arranged round her husband. She was a 50Õs hamburger stand girl, come to
life in some wildly postmodern male fantasy.
The men ordered, gruffly, and Sandra dutifully wrote down all they
said. Then she stumbled back to the bar and began mixing drinks. Even
now she tried to maintain a sense of decorum, mixing each drink carefully
and slicing up little lemons and limes to decorate them.
Traipsing back to the men, her boobies jangling the little decorative
bells that swung between them, she bent low and offered the drinks on a
silver tray. Her bottom jutted out behind her, still red from its
smackings, as she dipped properly before each man.
ÒTurn around,Ó her husband commanded at last, when all the drinks
had been delivered. Sandra obeyed, showing her husband her bottom.
ÒDoes it still hurt from being spanked?Ó he asked her. She nodded
silently, vigorously.
ÒGood. Alcohol always gives a little extra sting,Ó he replied. He
splashed the contents of his drink directly on her ass. Sandra lurched, for
as I watched her mix the drinks IÕd noted that sheÕd made them of straight
vodka, or gin, with no soda at all. Perhaps sheÕd hoped to put the men to
sleep so Mistress B couldnÕt have them.
While she was still recovering from the first assault, a second man
rose and threw his drink in her face. A third splashed her bosoms, as did a
forth. A fifth, sadistically perhaps, cast his on her belly, drenching her
dress.
ÒThe rule is that the party is over when the hostess is totally
trashed,Ó a man laughed, and indeed there was nothing left of ours.
SandraÕs hair was disheveled beyond repair. Her face and bosoms dripped
alcohol, her dress was ripped and what little remained clung wetly to her
ribs. Sadistically, a man took the little plastic sword that had come with
his drink and began cutting runs in SandraÕs silk stockings as she stood
bare-assed and bare-faced before them, her head hung so low her hair
shrouded her countenance. She had been made, I realized, to be broken.
The whole game had revolved around her state of dress and undress and
finally her utter defilement. Her husband removed her butt plug and
shoved his face up into her ass, rending the cheeks of her hiney with his
gripping palms. Sandra, forced to bend forward by the sheer enormity of
the pressure invading her rear, unwillingly offered her breast-fruit to her
husbandÕs cronies. Two men eagerly grabbed at her and began licking her
boobs, finally releasing the tips from the cups and gorging themselves on
the highly sensitized flesh that popped out. A fourth man, drawn by the
lure of her pussy, knelt between her stiff, parted legs and shoved his
tongue up her twat. Sandra cried within her gag, her eyes popping wide as
her mouth. Lastly, a fifth miscreant, just to make sure that the party was
indeed over, uncorked a bottle of champagne and liberally doused her over
the head with it.
We girls at the tea table sat stunned and hot, like chaste angels at
an orgy, contemplating sin. I myself longed to rub my clit, and had to keep
pinching my thighs to keep myself from doing it. Beside me Rose simply
stared, lost still in her innocence, while little Linda, so Puritanical
earlier in the evening, rubbed herself without shame. Behind me I heard
kissing. A quick look confirmed that Kitty was devoting her tongue most
religiously to the nipples of own uplifted breasts.
ÒGirls! Come and suck off my two patrolmen,Ó Mistress B ordered.
ÒThey are inspected regularly by police physicians, so I can assure you
that they are free of disease. Drink their sperm so they can receive the
precious cockrings over their deflated members.Ó
It was like a cattle call. All five of us girls rushed over to the two
available men. Each of us was eager to claim an Adonis all to herself. But
it could not be. Two of us had to share one, and two others the second. I
found myself sharing mine with Rose, who seemed utterly guileless in the
art of licking.
ÒDo it like itÕs a popsicle,Ó I told her. She found this of help and
began doing the shaft, while I coveted the sperm-loaded head. I wanted to
be hit in the face with the stuff, so impressed had I been by the femininity
in SandraÕs complete submission.
She, meanwhile, was shuddering helplessly from peak to peak of
orgasmic bliss as a veritable mountain of male flesh rose up beneath her.
They ate her ass, her pussy, they clawed at her breasts and suckled her
nipples like ravenous babes. Someone mercifully removed her ball gag and
soon she could be heard moaning and crying like some damned soul in Hell,
perched atop an orgy of male desire.
At last I got my wished-for faceful, just in time to see Sandra being
hauled off to the marital bedroom. I rose up. I let my artless friend worry
about the cockring, which already she was handling with uncertain
fingers, as the policeman in her care sat dazedly waiting.
ÒYoung lady?Ó Mistress B snapped at me.
ÒI must follow my master, maÕam,Ó I replied with a quick turn of my
head toward her. Then I hurried off, lest I be her next victim. Stumbling
in my silly cowboy gear, I ran after Sandra. I could not help myself. I had
to see her fate.
ÒMaster, what are they doing to her?Ó I asked, finding my own just
inside the bedroom door.
ÒLisa!Ó he said, admiration in his voice, turning to me. ÒYou are
quite a brave little trooper, seeing all this,Ó he replied.
ÒNo more so than Rose,Ó I said, turning my pert nose up at him. I did
not want to be turned out at the crucial moment.
ÒNo more so than Rose,Ó he agreed. He patted my bottom. As if to
prepare me for something, he eased me around in front of him, my back to
him, and began unbuckling my bra. His dong caught in my ass. I did not
insist he remove it. Silently I pretended to stand on tip toe a few times,
as if to spy something over on the nightstand, sliding his swollen dick up
and down my furrow. Temptingly I pushed my hole directly against it. His
head seemed huge.
We watched as Sandra was thrown into the marital bed. SheÕd
increased her struggles once she saw what they had prepared for her.
Above the bed swung I.V. tubing. I wondered at it, realized a friend must
have somehow snuck into the home and installed it after we girls had
dressed-up in here. Amidst the clutter on the nightstand, displaying every
conceivable aid for conception, a blood pressure cuff had been placed. I
saw a thermometer too, and my naked bottom tensed as I realized, by its
red tip, that it was a rectal thermometer. Master sensed my ass cheeks
tightening round his head and took my instinctive response to be one of
planned invitation.
ÒLet me get your boobs free first,Ó he murmured. My elaborate bra
still contained them, though my pussy had spent the entire night bare.
ÒI did not mean --Ó I began. He had pushed me forward in response,
as if to bend my head down to my knees. He let me up, but did not stop
undoing my bra. I was, apparently, going to lose that no matter what. It
was my MasterÕs will.
ÒWhy does she fight so?Ó I asked. I watched as Sandra threshed in
the bed, twisting and turning as the men ruthlessly bound her wrists
cross-wise over her head, tying them in felt-lined leather restraints to a
bar that hung at a fixed height from the ceiling. This too was new. Sandra
flinched when, looking up at her newly bound wrists, she saw that they
were utterly immobile. Yet I wondered at her, despite my own incredible
nervousness. Had she not played my Mistress? DidnÕt she boast of past
parties with us? Surely the restraints could not actually be hurting her,
though they did hold her arms very securely.
ÒShe fights because she is going to have an abortion,Ó Master
whispered to me.
ÒBut she is not pregnant!Ó I chirped, loud enough for Sandra to hear
me. She looked at me with pleading eyes, yet said nothing, though she
wore no gag.
Master laughed. His engorged cock shafted up my tender heinie with
relish, bumping me nearly off my feet. He caught me, hit me again deep in
my crack. Oh, my poor virgin anus! He was hitting so close to my tightly-
closed hole, whacking me in my furrow just a centimeter above it. His
cock juices, pre-cum, dribbled down my furrow and collected in my
indipping hole.
ÒWhy do you think weÕve been wearing these rings?Ó Master asked
me. His voice was amused, with a tinge of annoyance. As if Einstein was
being forced to explain elementary physics.
Before I could answer master continued, ÒIt is so we can retain our
seed until it is time to pump it into your Mistress.Ó
ÒTo make her pregnant?Ó I asked. What is an atom?
ÒTo make her pregnant,Ó he replied, and freed my breasts. They
bounced into his hands and at once he squeezed and cupped them, as if his
own palms had become my new bra.
ÒBut she can --Ó I began.
ÒShe has been denied birth control by her husband,Ó Master replied.
ÒFor tonight. Specially for tonight. And IUDÕs, and all other forms. And
RU-486 is still illegal here.Ó
ÒSo with five --Ó I actually counted the penises arrayed around me,
then added the one jammed in my butt. ÒWith five cocks she is sure to get
laid,Ó I concluded. My high school viewpoint was showing.
Master laid. ÒShe will certainly get laid, my sweet child, but she
will get quite pregnant too. Since we wonÕt know know who fathered the
child, though, her husband insists that she must have an abortion
performed.Ó
ÒWhen?Ó I shivered.
ÒAhh, that is the question, isnÕt it? He swears heÕll let her swell up
to the size of a giant watermelon, wrecking her figure. She wants it done
as quickly as possible.Ó We watched as SandraÕs figure was upended.
Grasping her ankles, a man and her husband unceremoniously yanked up her
ass until it was above her head. Three plump pillow were put under her
hips, to elevate them. Then her feet were let down, spread wide on the
bed, and finally bent at the knees to give her a classic ÒbirthingÓ look, as
if she were in a hospital delivery room.
ÒWill she deliver?Ó I asked.
ÒNo way, her husband wouldnÕt know whoÕs child he was saddled
with.Ó We were repeating ourselves, but we seemed to enjoy it. Master
began undoing the buckle of my leg-sheathing chaps. He palmed my tummy,
checking perhaps if any baby were growing inside me. He pressed deeply,
found nothing. I could wear corsets. There would be no damage.
ÒShe could always slip away and get one,Ó I said.
ÒShe will be a complete slave of her husband until the day he takes
her to the abortionist,Ó Master replied. ÒOr perhaps the doctor will be
brought here.Ó
ÒIt would be so tragic to kill the baby,Ó I said, feeling my master
peel my freshly unbuckled chaps down my thighs. I parted them a bit
wider, helping him get me out of my clothes. I wished heÕd place his hand
between them.
ÒIt will be a pleasure baby only,Ó Master replied. SandraÕs legs were
completely bound now at the ankles, with felt-lined cuffs. The men looped
restraints round her knees and pried them wide. When theyÕd tied her off
she was unable to close her legs at all, though she could with a little
effort spread them yet wider apart. My eyes flitted to the menÕs cocks,
the dildoes arrayed on the table. This was not a place for a good little
schoolgirl like me to be, that was for sure.
ÒIÕve got to call my mom!Ó I blurted suddenly. SandraÕs husband
looked at me. He switched his eyes to my MasterÕs.
ÒGet her completely out of her things,Ó he said. ÒI had thought to do
this in total privacy, with just us men, letting Kitty entertain the girls.
But since she is here, she can help. And get her own due in turn.Ó
ÒReally, I must --Ó I began, but master would hear none of it.
Perhaps he was the slave of SandraÕs husband. As I put up a struggle of my
own now, he yanked down my pants-that-were-not-pants and pulled them
over my boots. A man grabbed my flailing arms, held them firmly behind
me. My boobs lifted, spread. His cock shafted purposefully through the
mane of my blonde hair where it tumbled down behind my head.
ÒQuite a little Indian,Ó my newest Master remarked. Holding me, he
watched my struggles as one watches a fish flopping uselessly on a dock.
ÒThatÕs why I chose her,Ó Master said, relieving me of my boots, then
stealing my hat. I watched as Master frisbeed it over to the seat of a
chair, where it landed perfectly. ÒWe may need that later,Ó he said,
stooping and bundling the rest of my things into his hands. He walked
toward a chest made of cedar wood and tossed them in. He locked it.
I felt myself released from behind. Seeing my hat as the only article
of clothing left to me, I ran to the chair. I grabbed my hat and yanked it
down onto my head. Then I dashed for the door.
MUSIC REVIEWS
by holy joe
The Butthole Surfers, ElectricLarryLand, $7.99
Review: YouÕve probably already bought this album, but I couldnÕt
think of anything else to talk about, so I figured IÕd review it. I must
admit, though, that I havenÕt listened to the entire album. But I figured
you were probably sitting there thinking, ÒWell, I know what I think of
this album, but what does a pervert who lives in a dumpster think?Ó
Hence, I have come to your aid! (IsnÕt it great getting free e-mail?)
I remember back in the 1980Õs when Clay Geerdes of the San
Francisco newsletter Comix Wave discovered the Butthole Surfers, but
said that, because of their name, theyÕd never succeed. So it gives me
great pleasure to see their name prominently displayed. There is a local
DJ on the local radio station here in town who manages to say ÔButtholeÕ
without actually saying the word (he says: ÔBuhole,Õ as in ÔButtholeÕ
without the T), but otherwise you do see their name on MTV and they even
hosted several MTV programs.
Now to the album. ItÕs sort of good but itÕs also sort of boring. To
really enjoy this album youÕd need to put it on a nice stereo system (not
my shitty tape player) and sit back and smoke dope and feel happy. Then
you can get ÔintoÕ the album. ItÕs sort of cute, kind of silly, and
experimental in an artistic sense. In fact, itÕs very much like Fine Art.
You have to take time to study it, to learn about it, and you have to work
at appreciating it before you will Ôget it.Õ I donÕt like albums like that. I
like albums that are straight and direct and to the point. Let me tell you,
when I put Courtney Love on, even my neighbors are Ôgetting itÕ three bars
into the song. When Courtney Love screams ÒFuck You!Ó (which I always
play at maximum volume, of course) there is nobody left within a three
mile radius who doesnÕt get it. I figure, since I canÕt afford nuclear
weapons, Courtney Love is the next best thing.
But the Butthole Surfers arenÕt. If you buy this album, prepare
yourself for a traditional Ôlistening experience.Õ Pick up some Beethoven
while youÕre in the store. Stop by the Hallmark shop and buy a card for
your Aunt Matilda. (Well, IÕm getting mean now...) Yes, the Butthole
SurferÕs video on MTV is great, and ÔPepperÕ is a great song. But the rest
of the album is something different from what I, at least, had hoped for.
(Incidentally, thereÕs lots of good porno magazines that just came
out. (Just thought IÕd mention something important...)
AND IN THE END...
ANATOMY OF A HYPOCRITE
ÒNow former flower children are reading their children bedtime
stories edited by conservative activist Bill Bennett.Ó - Newsweek,
January 29, 1996, pg. 61
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-END OF 97 EMISSION