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Issue No. 129
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
PassionÕs Playpen
Chapter Thirteen
... Kate had on low-slung, hip-hugger jeans, tight jeans that sheÕd had to
fight to get into, and as he spoke to her she played with the laces of her
front-laced jeans. ÒDo you wish to caress yourself?Ó he asked her. ÒAre
you a little masturbator who wants to play with her pussy and make it
wet?Ó He pinched her nipples again and made her cry out more deeply.
ÒSit up!Ó he ordered. He yanked on her breasts, surprising even her as he
used her plump mounds to lift her up. Quickly she put her hands to the
seat and pushed on it. Between the two of them, she was up in a moment,
and forced to sit beside him. He fluffed her hair, ignoring her glare, and
made her sit next to him like a proper young lady would, not sprawled
across his lap like a naughty child or a woman who was a slut.
They arrived at a row of townhouses and stopped in front of the one
where the Americans lived. The driver helped Kate out of the car. Faisal
got out and took her arm and led her up to the door of the townhouse. Her
crop top was zipped up again, her pants remained laced. They knocked and
were greeted by a young woman in a micro mini. She had long brown hair
that sheÕd spun into loose curls. She was a few inches taller than Kate.
She wore a white blouse with a short leather vest over it. From the waist
up she looked respectably, if casually dressed. But her skirt was a
scandal. Althea had told Kate that the party would be an enema party and,
perhaps as a warning of what was planned, the woman who greeted them
had on a dress that was little more than a decoration. When she turned
around after saying ÔhelloÕ to them and giving them both a smile, Kate saw
that her skirt was high enough in back to show the underside of her
bottom. The woman wore white panties, perhaps as a claim to purity,
above long legs that were utterly bare. As she walked away from them,
back to the guests inside whoÕd already arrived, she gave her bottom an
exaggerated wiggle, as if to ensure that attention would be paid to it. On
her feet were little granny boots, each with a big buckle. They
accentuated the nakedness of her legs and the visibility of her bottom.
Kate felt her bottomcheeks clench together. SheÕd never been to an
enema party. Althea had explained to her the importance of flushing her
colon, but she had not expected to do it in front of strangers. As Kate
walked into the townhouse, holding FaisalÕs hand and following their
hostess, she felt an odd awareness of her bottom. Her every step made it
wiggle and as she felt her own bottom wiggling she watched the sashaying
ass of the hostess. Taking up their places amidst the guests Kate and
Faisal were introduced and they exchanged names with the others and
drinks were offered them. Kate took her drink gratefully. It would help
ease her apprehension at being Òhot flushed,Ó as Althea described it, in
front of complete strangers.
The other guests were dressed casually, many of the women wearing
short skirts, although the hostess was dressed most provocatively.
Seeing Kate in pants the hostess, when the conversation permitted, made
clear to her that everyone was to participate in the shared enemas. ÒYou
have lovely pants on but they will have to come off, IÕm afraid,Ó the
hostess said to Kate, then looked at Faisal to make sure he understood
also.
ÒWeÕre prepared to enjoy ourselves,Ó Faisal replied. Kate squeezed
his hand tightly. She sipped her drink and tried to look nonplussed.
ÒLetÕs begin then,Ó the hostess, who was named Amber, replied.
ÒSome of us have to be at work tomorrow.Ó
Kate glanced around the room and then let herself be drawn away
from Faisal. She gave him a quick kiss and then followed Amber and the
other females into another room. The men stayed behind. Amber explained
to Kate that the girls dressed up for their enemas, they didnÕt simply take
off their clothes. She sized Kate up as the other women began to strip
naked. She handed Kate a small string of fabric.
ÒHere, put this on,Ó Amber said to Kate. Looking down at the small
handful of material, Kate couldnÕt even tell what it might be. ÒGet
undressed and put it on,Ó Amber said more firmly. Then she pulled down
her miniskirt and her panties and began unlacing KateÕs jeans for her,
while leaving her miniskirt and panties coiled around her feet on the floor.
Kate was undressed. Amber complimented her on her body. Then she
pulled off her vest and blouse and told Kate to get into her lingerie. Kate
opened her hand and looked at the frilled little string again. As Amber
left her, to get something from the closet, kicking her panties and
miniskirt off her feet as she went, Kate untangled the string in her hand.
She still wore her heels. Amber kicked off her granny boots, favoring a
pair of stiletto heels instead, taking them from her clothes closet, she
reminded the women that they must all keep something on their feet.
ÒJust because youÕre getting an enema doesnÕt mean you can look less than
your best,Ó she told them. ÒBe sure to wear your heels.Ó She put heels on
her own feet, sitting down on a chair to do it, and then she slipped on a
baby doll nightie. It floated down to her midriff. Otherwise she remained
completely naked, except for her heels. But like the miniskirt sheÕd worn,
the babydoll had a special depraved allure to it. It was cupless, leaving
AmberÕs breasts completely bare. Worse, beneath her breasts, where the
babydoll ran beneath them, there was a strip of fur, showing off her tits
above the fur as if they were exotic objects. Indeed they looked so, big
and plump and deliciously framed by the babydoll, yet left completely
uncovered, at anyoneÕs mercy. Below, where the babydoll proved too short
to cover AmberÕs bellybutton, it made her look like an elf, prancing about
without need of clothes, showing her pussy to everyone. When Amber
turned around, her bare bottom jiggling fetchingly, the babydoll wafted
high above, uselessly. It reminded Kate of being a little girl and
outgrowing a favorite skirt.
Despite being bare bottomed, Amber issued orders to the other
females with prim confidence. She told the girls to hurry and get into
their lingerie so they could all have their bottoms filled. She reminded
them that they would all be strapped, and that she herself would be
adjusting the flow and temperature of the enemas, and deciding when a
girl was full. And she told them that they shouldnÕt mistake her cute
babydoll for a sign of weakness. She herself would spank at least some of
them, and the strap would be harsher for those who made her wait.
As quickly as she could, Kate got into her lingerie. The string proved
to be twin loops that opened and fitted around her breasts. It had
spaghetti straps that ran up behind her neck. From the crevice between
her breasts the string, having framed her breasts prettily, ran down her
belly and between her legs. Despite being frilled as it passed over her
belly, when it slipped between her legs it became a simple G-string, like a
shoelace in appearance, and it immediately got caught between her pussy
lips, not covering them at all but teasing her spot whenever she moved.
The G-string continued up between the cheeks of her ass and then met a
slim thread that ran around her hips, allowing it to be tied off. On the
thread running around her waist there was a ribbon attached at the back,
and Kate, with the help of another girl, tied the ribbon to the end of the G-
string so that the two, tied together, made a pretty bow. They had the
added advantage of keeping her costume on.
ÒThere, now youÕre properly dressed,Ó Amber said to Kate. She
sidled up to her and tugged on the frilled string that ran down KateÕs belly.
It was as if she were testing the costume, seeing how much tension it
could take before it ripped off.
ÒCareful,Ó Kate gasped. The thing was fragile and despite being an
inconsiderable item of clothing she still didnÕt want to lose it. Except for
her earrings and nail polish, it was all she had.
ÒThe string in your bottom can be easily moved aside for the
introduction of the tip of the nozzle,Ó Amber assured Kate, as if being
clothed in even such an insubstantial garment worried Kate that she might
not get her colon filled up. Kate nodded, tried to smile. She was worried
about letting this babydolled creature have at her. She seemed naughty
and bold, eager to see Kate made submissive in ways Kate had never
imagined.
ÒCome, girls,Ó Amber said impishly. She gave them a broad smile
and then led them from the undressing room. She moved her bottom most
salaciously as she walked. She tossed back her lovely mane of brown hair,
confident, despite the misgivings Amber herself felt and that she knew
some of the other females felt too.
ÒI donÕt need to get my bottom cleaned out,Ó a young girl, perhaps
the daughter of an executive, whispered to Kate. Glancing over at her, for
a moment Kate thought she was with Debbi. The girl had a childish gaze on
her face and her bottom jiggled nervously as she walked. Like Amber, she
had on a babydoll nightie, but it was in the form of a sheer crop top that
covered her bosoms and hung down almost to her bellybutton. It was slit
maliciously up the middle in front so that it would fall completely open,
unless a pink bow was tied between the breasts to keep it together. The
girl had tried to add a G-string panty but Amber had refused to allow her
to put it on.
ÒShhhh, Daisy. Enemas can be fun,Ó an older woman behind the girl
said.
THEATRE REVIEW
by The Phantom of the Opera
Waiting for Godot
A Play by Samuel Beckett
Waiting for Godot is a play currently being featured at Consumer
CollegeÕs Rivet Stage Theatre. The play Òdid so well this summer that
weÕve brought it back for four more performances,Ó according to the
theatreÕs Artistic Director, Frank Condom.
Indeed, the performance for September 9, 1999 was full. One
wonders why. This play has no plot, no suspense. ThereÕs no good guy and
no bad guy. The guy doesnÕt get the girl, because, except for the
appearance of a nine-year-old girl, thereÕs no girl. And all the guys are, or
appear to be, too old to do much pursuing of girls anyway.
Why did a play about nothing attract such a large audience? After so
many performances had already been given? This is, at best, a highly
intellectual play. ItÕs nihilistic. ItÕs not anything Hollywood would ever
put out, and itÕs not, except for some minor buffoonery, Ringling Brothers.
ItÕs none of the things one would expect to draw a crowd. This reviewer,
at least, cannot answer the question of why anyone came. A play about
nothing should attract about that many eyeballs: none.
As for the technical aspects of this play, they were fine. The set, a
Òthrust stage,Ó was perfect. The tree was a little flimsy and it wasnÕt, as
the dialogue claimed, ÒcoveredÓ in leaves. But one could argue that it is
an ÒoutlineÓ tree, on an ÒoutlineÓ set. In that case the tree was perfect
for the purpose intended, suggesting a tree rather than being an actual
representation of a real tree.
The audience consisted entirely of adults. There were no children in
the audience. The play is, indeed, entirely inappropriate for children. Not
due to sex or violence, but due to its pointlessness. I canÕt imagine anyone
under the age of 18 sitting through this play. ItÕs very boring. This
reviewer was not wooed by the buffoonery of the two clowns, Gogo and
Didi. Indeed, I eventually began to predict what would happen next: ÒheÕs
sitting silently, so next someone will yell.Ó And thatÕs exactly what
happened.
Waiting for Godot is espousing the theme that life is pointless. A
person is born. (Or he thinks he is born.) He lives, he procreates, and then
(ah, that last bit) he dies. But there is the procreation, which leaves
behind another, who has been born. He in turn lives, and procreates, and
then (ah, that last bit) dies. But there is the procreation, which leaves yet
another! And on and on, until one begins to question the significance of
being born, and living, and procreating, and dying.
So, given that life is pointless, why are we here? Are we waiting
for something? Can we really just be here? ThatÕs it? Not waiting for
anything? Well, maybe weÕre not here, then. Maybe itÕs just my
imagination. But oh, I feel pain! And IÕm hungry! So that must mean IÕm
here...
And on and on. Unless one finds an intellectual hook by which to
enjoy this play (and that takes a while) one could fall asleep watching
Waiting for Godot.
And now let us have a conclusion for this review of an inconclusive
play. My review is that Waiting for Godot is a fine play, finely performed.
DonÕt go and wait with Gogo and Didi unless, however, you want a purely
intellectual experience. And donÕt bring the kids. God knows, theyÕll get
so bored waiting for the play to end they just might go out and look for
Godot themselves, if only to get the God(ot)-damned thing over with.
THEATRE REVIEW
by Our Man in Havana
Waiting for Godot
A Play by Samuel Beckett
The question I will address is: ÒWere the charactersÕ psychological
attributes and motivations clear?Ó This is, indeed, the only question that
can be addressed with regard to this production, which received four stars
from The Sanramento Pee. The acting, the costumes, the lighting, the
sets, the stage itself, were all, admittedly, flawless. Hence, there is only
one question a hack reviewer like me is left with, writing as I am for a
measly Internet publication. And that is with regard to the script itself.
Waiting for Godot is considered one of the best plays of this century.
Oops. Once again a reviewer like me is left in a quandary. How does one
say anything about a flawless production of a flawless play?
Perhaps I should say nothing. Then, for a play about nothing, there
would be a review that says nothing. Perfect.
But on to the question of the charactersÕ psychological attributes,
which I will answer as best I can. (If nothing else, it will pass the time,
something the characters in this play do quite well.) Were these
characters sane, or insane? I see Waiting for Godot as a commentary on
existence. Perhaps it is, specifically, a commentary on human existence.
Humans are a life form that grew sufficiently aware to question their
existence in the universe. Why are we here? For what purpose? And,
indeed, a question that Waiting for Godot also poses, are we in fact
existing, or is it just our imagination?
Existential stuff, eh? Hence we have a comedy, featuring two
clowns, who ask us to question whether or not we in fact are alive, and, if
we are alive, why?
Perhaps weÕre waiting for God. Or Godot.
My personal theory is that the characters are no more or less sane
than we ourselves. The two clowns, Gogo and Didi, as well as Pozzo and
Lucky. This leaves the question of the girl, who brings messages from
Godot. Is she human? My theory is that sheÕs several beings rolled into
one: angel, prophet, or the muse of religious/humanist inspiration.
Perhaps she is the child who asks, ÒWhy, Daddy?Ó
Hence, in a somewhat roundabout way, which did pass the time if
nothing else, I have addressed the charactersÕ psychological attributes.
They are just as sane as ourselves. LetÕs hope that means weÕre sane.
Now on to the second question in our two-part question: the
charactersÕ motivations. Again, the answer is as clear as our own
existence. The characters in Waiting for Godot have motivations as clear
as our own.
We do not see the acts of birth, marriage, and death, which loom so
large in our own lives (or at least some of our lives), and which serve to
define our existence. We do not see sex. (Again, something which may or
may not be in oneÕs life.) We do see eating, going to the bathroom, and
(especially) going, and coming, and going again, and preparing to go, and,
as in the words of a popular modern song, ÒClosing Time,Ó going out in
order to come home, in order to go out again. Be that as it may, what we
do not see directly in this play, we can infer. We infer birth. We infer
marriage, or the act of procreation. We infer death. And from this play
we begin to see that despite births, and deaths, life is pointless.
Inherently pointless, apparently. Or if it isnÕt pointless, then there must
be a point. Perhaps the point is that weÕre waiting for God. Or Godot.
Someday in the future Waiting for Godot may simply be seen as
another example of 20th century nihilism. However, being a product of the
20th century, I find myself in agreement with the playÕs theme. Life is,
apparently, pointless, and except for pain (whether of wounds or hunger or
an inability to relive oneself) one has no proof that one is here! Even the
things one leaves behind can be questioned: Are GogoÕs shoes the same
ones he left behind yesterday, or are they someone elseÕs? Did the
Egyptians build the pyramids, or did Ancient Astronauts build them? Did
man evolve, over millions of years, or did God create him 6,000 years ago?
Nothing is certain. In life, or in Waiting for Godot.
AND IN THE END...
ÒThose who canÕt do, review.Ó
- Anonymous.
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