Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 122
alt.zines alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Love Child
Part Fifteen
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Three
His muscles straining, Arthur hefted the big chamber pot. He
emptied it in the bathroomÕs toilet and flushed our pee away. It took
several pourings and several flushes before the pot was totally empty.
Girlishly, we cheered him when it was done. He walked the pot back out
to the dungeonÕs entryway. He parked it just inside the front door. We
were finished with it. He dumped some Lysol into it and tossed a towel
over it to kill any rude smells. Then we regrouped in the bathroom.
ÒLetÕs wash,Ó mistress said. She turned on the tap in the
bathroom. There was no tub, no shower. Just a sink, and the four of us.
We all needed a bath, and we girls needed to douche too, except for
mistress, who had abstained so far from ArthurÕs cock, preferring
instead to let me and Mandy have him. It was sweet of her, I realized.
Here I had hated her for belting me, and caning Mandy, but in fact sheÕd
deprived herself of Arthur to do it. I looked at her with renewed
appreciation.
ÒYouÕre special, you know that?Ó I asked her.
ÒSpecially perverted,Ó she laughed.
ÒNo, I like you!Ó I said. I leaned forward, let my nipples perk to
hers. I kissed her mouth.
ÒYou will go far, darling,Ó she replied. She returned my kiss.
Then she and I parted and I waited with tingling skin for her next move.
Arthur ran his finger down my spine. I turned, my hair falling into my
eyes. It was beautiful in its unkemptness.
ÒBe good, Arthur,Ó I said. He dropped his hand. I patted the rock
hard protuberance of his organ, like one might pet a dog. But there was
nothing more yet, not yet. He must wait. We must all wait. Even
orgies have their moments of modesty.
Mistress considered plugging and filling the bowl, sharing the
water, but there were simply too many of us. Our communal bath would
have to be with the tap on, continually supplying fresh water into the
sink. She took a washcloth (there appeared to be only one) and wet it.
She reached out and ran it over my belly.
ÒOooh, you feel pregnant,Ó she teased.
ÒStop it!Ó I cried. I knew I hadnÕt any protection that first night.
I prayed she was just joking. I didnÕt feel pregnant. But then some
girls never knew, especially fat ones, until they were many months
along. But then, I wasnÕt fat.
ÒIf she is IÕll beat it out of her,Ó Arthur warned.
ÒQuiet, Arthur,Ó mistress replied. ÒIÕll wash your cock in a
minute.Ó
ÒJust trying to be helpful,Ó Arthur grumbled.
Slowly, luxuriously, we laved the washcloth over each other. It
was a kind of dreamlike existence, the water hot, the air a tad chilly.
We explored the roundness of each otherÕs breasts, were careful of
wounded bottoms, bathed cunts with delighted pokes and douching
squirts of a handy syringe. Lastly we did Arthur, savoring every inch of
his massive frame, rubbing him until he was sparkling like a freshly-
licked cub.
ÒOh, my! IÕm afraid I have to poop!Ó mistress said when weÕd
finished bathing.
ÒYou donÕt expect privacy for that?Ó I laughed.
ÒLetÕs see you do it!Ó Mandy, bug-eyed with the decadence of it
all, insisted.
ÒAlright, but hold your noses, I think itÕs going to be a stinky
one,Ó mistress said. At ArthurÕs suggestion she sat down backwards on
the flush toilet. We quickly found we had to pinch our nostrils and we
watched, sinfully, as long turds oozed out of her back hole and plopped
into the water beneath.
ÒYou can wipe in private,Ó I said when she was done, disgusted
with myself.
ÒYes, please!Ó Mandy added, making every effort to embarrass her
by holding her nose theatrically. Together we trooped from the room,
out into the kitchen area. Arthur turned on the bathroom fan for her.
ÒWould you like me to clean you up?Ó I heard him ask her.
ÒNo thanks, Arthur. See that the girls donÕt make a mess out
there, would you? Fifteen-year-old girls are not generally prized for
their cooking,Ó she replied.
ÒNo indeed! I shall have to chaperone,Ó Arthur replied. ÒTo
protect the food!Ó
With stinging bottoms Mandy and I inspected the pantry. We did
not know what time it was, morning perhaps? There was no window
down in this dungeon which lay beneath the snow-laden earth. Perhaps
the world had been destroyed in a nuclear war and we were its last
survivors, I thought again. From the promising erection standing up
stiffly between us I had no doubt we would repopulate the planet
quickly. Never mind one son each, we would be more likely to rival the
wives of Abraham with our progeny. Arthur caressed our legs, the
backs of our thighs. He placed his warm palms on our bottoms.
ÒArthur! Keep your hands to yourself!Ó Mandy chirped.
ÒYes!Ó I said, wincing. ÒKeep your hands off our fannies, sir. We
are not just dolls for you to fondle whenever you please. Whenever you
are...inflated.Ó I cast a glance down at his cock. It was gorgeous in its
hugeness, stiff as wood for him in his first moments of wakefulness.
And still stiff now, as yet unsatisfied. He jabbed it between our close-
standing bodies, to MandyÕs renewed annoyance.
ÒArthur, we girls are not endlessly interested in men,Ó she
reproved him. She continued rummaging about in the pantry.
ÒWe like eating, too,Ó I smiled at him.
ÒYes! Especially skinny girls like me and Barbi. We have a fast
metab-- metab-- metabotulism!Ó Mandy declared.
Mistress soon appeared. She found flour in the fridge, the big
refrigerator that stood before us now in the storeroom, with its
makeshift kitchen and shelves, and offered to cook us strawberry
flapjacks. We agreed that would be a delicious way to start our new
day in the dungeon.
ÒBut I cannot have flapjacks without a sausage to go with it,Ó
Mandy insisted. I nudged her. She did not catch my meaning. ÒMommie
always browns me a sausage with my flapjacks,Ó she continued. She
was feeling protected and infantile this morning, I think, being the
littlest amongst us. ÒOtherwise they are too gooey and syrupy, plus
meat is good for you.Ó
ÒAlright,Ó mistress said, with a wink at me. ÒLet me see if I can
find some sausages in the fridge, dear. Did you see any in here?Ó
ÒI just looked in the pantry,Ó Mandy answered. ÒI canÕt cook
flapjacks. I was looking for Lucky Charms.Ó She had them now, the box
pressed to her belly. She was sticking her hand into the box and
drawing out handfuls of cereal and munching on them. Wetly her tongue
drew in more cereal from her sprinkling hand. Her bosoms rolled atop
the box, big and juicy, with red tips like the little marshmallow hearts
in the cereal.
ÒDonÕt eat too much of that junk,Ó mistress said. ÒOr you wonÕt
be able to eat the breakfast I fix you.Ó
ÒI always have room for a nice big sausage,Ó Mandy answered, her
eyes uplifted, watching as she dumped another handful of the
LeprechaunÕs cereal into her mouth.
ÒOh! HereÕs some,Ó mistress announced, looking again in the
fridge. ÒNice big long ones, straight from Bavaria.Ó She examined the
plastic packaging. ÒMade in Munich!Ó
ÒThe capital of dicks,Ó I laughed.
ÒAre these good enough for you, little one?Ó mistress asked
Mandy.
ÒGood!Ó Mandy chirped in reply. She munched loudly on her Lucky
Charms, her cheeks stuffed with them.
ÒThen give me that!Ó mistress answered. She took the box from
Mandy and set it on a shelf above the fridge, where the girl could not
reach it.
ÒOooh! Give me back my Lucky Charms!Ó Mandy whined.
ÒIÕm going to cook you a nice big breakfast, and I expect you to
eat every bite,Ó mistress replied. She picked up an apron on the counter
and, unfolding it, tied it around her waist. Her breasts jiggled their
heaviness, ripe as summer gourds, as she leaned forward a little to tie
the apron upon herself. Then she took a chefÕs hat and plopped it atop
her head, first pinning up her hair a little more, for it was falling in
many loose strands around her eyes. Mandy stood watching her, rubbing
her soft belly like some little teddy bear watching its mother.
ÒOkay,Ó Mandy said at last. She was content. She walked over to
Arthur, her saucy bottom cheeks rolling like firm mounds of jiggly
jello, with the crack between them tight as a girlÕs legs on her first
date. Mandy struck ArthurÕs cock with the flat of her hand. ÒPlay with
me!Ó she commanded. She looked up at him expectantly. Arthur gazed
down at her, like some old dog roused by a puppy. I think he was
growing weary of Mandy and her childish ways. One minute she berated
his lust, the next she seemed to demand it, piquant, moody, expecting
the entire universe to revolve around and respond to her ever-changing
whims.
ÒI could play with you in such a way that you would never get up
again,Ó Arthur said with casual menace.
ÒDo it!Ó Mandy replied, smugly. He was the bull, but in her mind at
least, she was the bullfighter.
ÒYou are a silly little bitch,Ó Arthur replied. He seemed glad
suddenly to have Mandy asking him for attention, and decided to lure her
on a bit, not give her what she wished. I saw that I was forgotten and
eased up next to the girl.
ÒIÕm a silly little bitch too,Ó I smiled at him. I ran my finger up
the length of his cock and toyed with its tip with my fingernail. I stuck
it into his peehole. ÒDoes this provoke you, sir?Ó I asked. Manfully he
just stood and watched. Mistress giggled. On a stove next to the fridge
she began preparing our meal, decked out in her little waist apron and
chef's hat, still wearing her elegant riding boots, as if she might mount
a horse at any moment and decide to ride through the city bare. She
would bring eggs and a muffin to all the men, to rouse them for their
dayÕs labor. Arthur, entranced by her graceful maturity, watched her
with renewed passion, while Mandy and I teased his cock. We batted it
about with our hands, watching it wiggle to and fro. He ignored us. He
let us play with him as an adult dog entertains puppies, its eyes fixed
on its master, waiting for dinner. Our chef smiled at her flapjacks,
aware of ArthurÕs eyes. Her teeth were white, her lips lustrous. She
had a newlywed wife look to her, classy yet vulnerable. Her divine
breasts wiggled their rubicund tips over the steaming food. Her bottom
swayed easily, naked beneath the big bow of her apron. The sleekness
of the backs of her thighs was enchanting, stretching down to her
improbable boots. They had spiked heels, as stiff and implacable as the
cock Arthur absently presented us with as he watched our winsome
cook. Someday she would be old, flabby, irate at her husband, her hair
pinned up in curlers, perhaps wearing the remnants of a mudpack, a
flannel robe girding her ever-expanding middle. She would be a
feminist pin-up then, wrinkled, demanding, aware of her husbandÕs
every fault and certain to enumerate them at every morning meal. But
now she was still fetching and young, nonchalant in her nudity yet
aware of its effect on her hubbyÕs eyes. He turned away finally, unable
to bear the dreamy sight. He would cum too soon if he didnÕt watch
himself.
ÒHey, come back with that penis!Ó Mandy admonished.
ÒI, uh, need to do some chin-ups,Ó Arthur croaked. He walked as
one might who had just barely averted an accident, trembling a bit, his
hugely swollen cock quavering deliciously. To clear his mind of
mistress he bent and touched his toes a few times. Mandy and I
watched his balls as they slowly descended from a height of
excitement to swing again in relative calm under his ass.
TEXT CORRECTION:
Insert this paragraph in place of the existing one (in NND121):
The culprit of my harm, mistress, walked with the slothful stroll
of a Parisian model over to the armorie. She had a perfectly white
hiney, and seemed to swing it with sweet abandon, as if taunting us.
Perhaps thatÕs what determined the pecking order in a dungeon. Who
had a white ass and who didnÕt. Stepping lightly, easily in her spike-
heeled boots, she paused before the armorie and bent down. She mooned
us with her fanny. It was bold, creamy, chic, her cuntlips peeping
between the smooth, incurving whiteness of her ass. She held her legs
apart, easily, utterly unconcerned that her most intimate parts were
now on full display. Her breasts hung beyond the graceful vee of her
legs, tremulous, with risen nipples, ripe and ready for love. Arthur
groaned and put his hand to his cock and fisted it.
D R E A M G I R L S N E W S
NND #121 REVIEWED
In alt.zines
by: roy@zine.net
roller666@aol.com wrote: "No, I just have to pee. And I have to do it very
badly!" I blurted. I hated being so frank, but my bladder would not allow
any dancing around on the issue. I guessed that in my excitement last
night I'd forgotten about my peehole. Now it was reminding me quite
distinctly.Ó
"Damn, I think I've forgotten something but I can't quite put my
finger on it. "
"Could it be your 'pee hole' dear?"
"Ah, yes, that was it. I would hate to ignore it since it has always
been such a good friend to me. Say, that gives me an idea for a zine
that captures bodily functions in a whole new light. And when I am
done with it, I will post it to alt.zines where a good urination story
is always welcomed."
"That's great dear...and say 'hello' to your bladder for me while
you're in the men's room, won't you?"
ROLLER 666 replies: I have, at times, been so busy typing that I forgot to
pee. Until it was too late. It is very embarrassing to call up your
insurance company and file a claim for peeing on your computer. Finally I
decided to move my worldwide publishing headquarters from my den to my
outhouse. (I live in a trailer park, you see, and the plumbing inside my
trailer failed years ago.)
In my outhouse I can pee whenever I need to, without any
interruption of my computer activities. This is very helpful, especially
when you are churning out chapters as fast as I am. The pizza man now
delivers straight to my outhouse, which means I donÕt need to get up to go
eat anymore. And, after eating, I can entertain as many bowel movements
as my body desires, with no Ôdowntime.Õ When somebody recently mailed
me photos of Marsha Clark in the nude, I didnÕt have to run to the bathroom
to vomit. I simply raised my ass, belched out my dinner, and sat right
back down at my computer. For exercise, I donÕt even need to unzip. The
only thing I care about exercising is already Ôat hand,Õ ready to go
whenever I want it to. I donÕt even need kleenex anymore, which results in
many dollars being saved from my budget. Maybe the government could
take a lesson from me.
I am wondering if I can get the post office to assign a separate
address to my outhouse. I would like to get Penthouse and Cunts Monthly
without having to trek all the way back to my trailer. Hey man, if you
work at the post office, and youÕre reading this, give me a separate
address, would you? I donÕt want to have to fill out any forms to do it. I
figure, if I post this on a.s.s., that should be enough. Also, would you guys
at the pizza place send over another pizza? IÕm hungry.
IÕm thinking that IÕll probably get rid of my trailer altogether. Or
maybe IÕll turn it into a preschool or something so I can make money off of
it, instead of having it just sit there, doing nothing. Now that I am a net-
addict I donÕt really need it any more. Perhaps this is the Ônew future,Õ
everyone living in outhouses, which means your house can be as small as
an outhouse, which means the earth can support lots more people than it
currently does. Perhaps this is what Newt Gingrich had in mind when he
said he wanted to give away free computers to everybody. Once you get
ÔhookedÕ on the net, you donÕt really need anything else anymore in life.
They had this political candidate in the 30Õs who promised ÒA chicken in
every pot.Ó Maybe Newt will promise, ÒA computer in every outhouse...plus
free pizza.Ó I could even do without Penthouse, provided I can access
their Web site. So, yeah, I realize a story about peeing isnÕt so important
in our Age of the Internet. If your computer is next to your toilet, you
donÕt really need to think about your pee hole anymore. It just sort of
takes care of itself. Sometimes I do still think of it, though, when I need
exercise. So maybe I will write a story about thinking about my pee hole
when I need to exercise it. IÕll let you know all about it if I do.
D R E A M G I R L S L E T T E R S
Miss Lady Astor333@titwhittle(elementary) writes: ÒDear holy joe,
recently you wrote that you canÕt even get to your front door, youÕve got so
much porn in your house. And your phone doesnÕt work. How is it, then,
that you are able to continue to receive porno magazines in the mail? Do
you transmit your subscription money by telepathy?Ó
hj: No indeed. Even the great Holy Joe does not have that capability.
Some years ago, I took out Lifetime Subscriptions to all my favorite
magazines. I guess I knew even then IÕd never meet a girl. (Except you of
course, my dear.)
Free Naughty Naked Dreamgirls e-mail subscriptions: send (18 or up)
age statement to: roller666@aol.com Free back issues: send e-mail to
nnd.inf@backdrop.com Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-
addressed envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663,
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 122 EMISSION