ÒThis is not a book about a call girl but the governance of America
and the White House and other important subjects.Ó - Harold Evans,
president and publisher of Random House. (On the book by Dick Morris.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 103
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter Two
Suddenly she was upon me. A bat from Hell. A cat upon prey. Her
arms enfolded me, pressed me in against herself. My breasts mashed
against hers. Behind she grabbed my shorts and shoved them down,
presenting my ass to the waiting traffic. A car turned. Suddenly my bare
bottom was caught in its twin headlights! Silky, firm globes, offering
themselves to public view. Cruelly, Sandra pulled open the halves of my
pumpkin and showed off my hole.
Then, suddenly, we were running across grass, through tall trees
that cast long, deep shadows. My shorts hugged my thighs, making me
want to trip. Mistress drew me by the hand, quickly, running with her in
our high heels.
Out back there was a carriage. Mistress led me up steps that hung
from its side, thrust me into it. A shocking sight greeted my eyes. There
were Rose, Linda, and Sandra. Compliantly, Sandra was having her arms
lifted over her head so that they could be buckled into handcuffs that
dangled from the carriageÕs ceiling. Her breasts, like twin gourds of
utmost roundness and fullness, lay nakedly and unprotected upon her chest.
SandraÕs mouth was open, her tongue offered. As a man dressed in
the gear of a footman buckled her wrists, a woman clad in an evening gown
fed her a pill. My eyes caught the label on the bottle the woman held.
RU486!
ÒYou will be inseminated anew upon your arrival,Ó the woman said.
ÒWe do not allow pregnant women to come, but of course you may be made
pregnant there,Ó the woman explained. Sandra obediently swallowed the
pill.
ÒThank you,Ó she said softly. She kissed the womanÕs hand, kissed
the palm that had held the pill.
My eyes darted to Rose and Linda. They were naked, wearing only
their hoop earrings and heels. Their pretty scarfs had been replaced with
dog collars. Rose looked innocent as ever, a faithful companion, like a dog
that would not leave its master. Linda looked frustrated, glancing up at
her shackles, pulling on them. Yet she said nothing. Her spanking had
trained her to behave.
ÒI found the fourth one,Ó Alexis reported to the woman.
ÒGood,Ó the woman replied. ÒMaster will be pleased.Ó
Reeling in shock, not knowing what to do, I found yet another horror.
A plastic cup of yellow fluid was placed between each girlsÕ legs, on the
carriage floor. It had the scent of urine.
ÒGet out of your things,Ó Alexis ordered me. ÒI must give you a
pregnancy test.Ó
ÒBut I donÕt want --Ó
ÒThat is why you must come,Ó Alexis said. ÒNow undress, or IÕll
have my footman do it, and give him the pleasure of spanking you over his
knee!Ó
I turned to Sandra to ask for her help, but she merely stared at me.
The woman, whose name I would later learn was Tammy, was forcing her
lips apart. Sandra resisted only a little, enough to show modesty.
Between her lips Tammy inserted a gag. She tied it behind SandraÕs hair,
where in its mussing it formed a kind of tangled nest for the knot, as if
receiving a precious egg there. I looked again at Linda, Rose. My
disoriented eyes had missed it at first: they were gagged too! Linda
seemed to wear hers almost as a kind of talisman, as if it spoke volumes
about her forced participation in this game, showed she was not here
voluntarily. No indeed, not Miss Prudence, Linda Holston. Her maiden
name. SheÕd escaped her husband on her first night at SandraÕs, left him to
find other women. A good bargain, sheÕd thought at the time, though no
doubt now she was having second thoughts. Pretty Rose was gagged most
sweetly, as if wearing a gag was the most natural thing for her, if her
master wished it. Of course, she too had played the naughty nymphet on
her first night at SandraÕs, escaping her master. Yet she accepted all with
a kind of innocent aplomb.
Remembering AlexisÕ vow, I quickly stripped off my lowered shorts,
then pulled off my tee. It was tight. In yanking it up I caused my boobies
to bounce. The footman, Tammy noticed. Alexis stood behind, waiting.
ÒVery good,Ó Alexis said to me. She bent over and picked up my
things. IÕd dropped them on the floor, carelessly. Did a part of me want
this? Alexis put her hand to my back and urged me to the bench. It was
hard, made of wood, with slight depressions worn into it from other
passengerÕs bottoms. Other girls, perhaps as long as 100 years ago, had
ridden in this carriage, I guessed. The shackles too looked worn, well-
used. Made of Steel from Bethlehem when the fires still burned there.
Hesitantly I sat down on the bench. I spread my fingers upon it
before lowering my ass. I felt uncomfortable upon the hard, unyielding
surface.
ÒHave you no cushions?Ó I asked, looking up at Alexis. In answer she
introduced a gag to my lips, made me take it. She knotted it at the back of
my head. It made my mane of hair sweep inward where it knotted itself
tightly across the back of my head.
ÒLift your arms,Ó Alexis told me. Looking up, I watched as she took
my raised wrists and buckled them firmly into the overhead cuffs.
ÒMen will come, to ride with you,Ó Alexis said. ÒWe will stop and
pick them up along the way. They have paid much to come to my party, a
party you will be attending for free. Remember that you are their equal,
though their ego, of course, must be satisfied. You and they will party
together, enjoying everything and working hard at your pleasure. They
have already suffered, holding themselves in for a two full weeks in order
to earn the privilege of coming. They will be forced to give of themselves
as selflessly as any girl. Keeping their egos always in mind, of course.
Men and women are different, even in a state of equality.Ó
She forced my knees apart. IÕd kept them close-pressed but she
spread them wide, glanced at my peeping cunt to make sure it met her
requirements. Tight, free of disease. ÒIf you are too tight we may have to
widen you there,Ó she said absently, as if merely reading from a list of
rules on how to swim. ÒNo running, no horseplaying.Ó Except this was a
list of ÒYesÓ rules. Yes for widening, and many other things besides.
ÒYour bottom also,Ó she added. She put her hands to my rump and drew me
forward on the bench until my pussy was quite prominently in mid-air,
only my rearmost bottomcheeks still perched on the wooden seat. ÒPiss,Ó
she commanded, presenting a plastic cup to my cunt. In the distance
Tammy slipped a strip of paper into LindaÕs pee, making sure she was not
with child.
I pissed vigorously, my pee hole spouting with all the champagne and
cherry drinks IÕd consumed. So quick and healthy was the stream that
some hit the cup and splashed out, falling in drops on AlexisÕ hand, on the
bosoms within her gown.
ÒAh, how naughty you are, and well-made,Ó was her only reply. She
was handed a strip of litmus paper by Tammy and dipped it in the cup.
ÒNot pregnant,Ó she told me happily. ÒBut thanks to RU486, we can play
pregnancy games now. You are just to think of yourself as a womb from
now on.Ó Her eyes, glazed perhaps with a sudden impulse of lust, regarded
the soft swell of my virgin belly, my sweet flaring hips. ÒYou are to think
of yourself as nothing but a womb now,Ó she said. ÒThe men are just
walking sperm-pumps, but you are just a womb, nothing more. A womb
and mammaries, growing large to give forth milk to hungry men and
babes.Ó She kissed my thigh. Wanted, I think, to kiss my tummy, but
would have had to bend like a dog to do it. She stood, fluffed her hair with
her hand. ÒYou are lucky to have a mistress like Sandra,Ó she said to me,
looking down at me. I sat still on the edge of my seat, flustered,
frightened, my eyes wide and my lips parted with the gag. ÒShe finds
parties and games for you to play, and you need only come along. So lucky.
Nod and tell me that you like it. Do not be like Linda.Ó
I stared at her. Whole formations of butterflies took off in my
stomach. I glanced at Linda. Sullen, moody, enjoying the forcefulness of
it all for it made her chaste even as she orgasmed. Had she not married?
Had she not chosen the role of wife? Did she think it came with only
taxes and checkbooks to balance, without a marital bed? She wanted it
yet wanted to fight it. Perhaps she wanted to be punished, not even
knowing her wishes, perhaps, I speculated. Wanted to be forced and raped
and fucked against her will, and punished for not submitting.
I gazed up at Alexis. ÒTell me!Ó she urged. With the gag on I could
not explain myself. There was only yes or no. In the end, for every
woman, there is only yes or no. And no sometimes means yes.
Lightly I nodded my head. My curling, half-tangled locks fell about
my face. My hair was dry now, soft. The wetness of the bubbles was gone.
Alexis smiled, swept my hair back, kissed my forehead. ÒAh, you have the
form for it,Ó she said. ÒSo slim, with such fine big bosoms, and a bottom
to match. I may want to keep you all to myself, forever, just to watch
your belly swell with some manÕs seed. Ah, to see you in the delivery
room! We have one there, for girls who choose to stay. Or abortions can
be performed in it. You may have whichever you wish, or the pill. But
enough of that! We donÕt even have the men yet, do we? Perhaps they
misbehaved and will be found to be empty. Then what should we girls do,
hmmm? Start a nunnery?Ó
She swept away then, stepped down from the carriage and closed the
door upon us, locking it. Tammy had already gone, perhaps to sit with the
footman up front. Perhaps on his lap, milking him. He might not be
allowed to keep seed in his loins, lest he fuck the female guests. Yes they
would milk him regularly, to keep him dry, I thought. He had access to
very pretty girls in very compromised positions. Yet men had paid for us
and expected us to be theirs. Wealthy men. Executives, corporate heads.
Men who had trained years in professional schools to earn the salary that
could buy them...what? Innocent young virgins, or young wives, escaped
from their husbands. And Alexis, perhaps, telling them when they could
wear their pants and when they must remove them.
Alexis returned. She carried four light but sturdy poles in her hand,
each round like a wooden dowel and about three feet in length. At either
end each dowel had a leather cuff attached. Gently she spread our legs,
having to fight only with Linda, who she gave a slap across the face. Our
small feet were buckled into the dowels. They were spreader bars.
Designed to keep us open for whatever might befall us. I glanced about,
saw the offered pussies of my three companions. Blushingly we exchanged
glances as Alexis departed again. Only Linda feigned disconsolance. Yet I
myself felt a wave of fright wash over me as, almost immediately, the
carriage lurched forward. This was no make-belive game, like our
partying on the porch with the hose. Men were coming. They would be
aboard soon.
Down back streets we clattered, I myself feeling like one of the
carriage horses as I listened to their hoofbeats. I was a womb, going to an
insemination party, nothing more. My stellar grade point average, my
talents on the girlsÕ softball field, my appreciation for my mother (even
when I knew I must disobey her), none of that mattered now. Yet the men,
intriguingly, were coming aboard as nothing but cocks. Of the walk,
perhaps, but they had to meet certain requirements also. Alexis had
dictated terms to them. More difficult terms, perhaps, depending on their
age. The young ones would have had great difficulty holding themselves in
for two whole weeks. Their balls must be on the verge of exploding! I
didnÕt know much about men, but from the boys IÕd overheard at the high
school they had to masturbate frequently. Or get laid a lot, if they were
lucky. And the young men would spurt quickly, perhaps, unable to
constrain their eager lust. Their torment, though, was almost over now,
for they could cum and cum again, quickly refilling after every
ejaculation.
The older men, I speculated, had enjoyed a relatively easy two
weeks. Their torture, though, was about to begin. Once they came, they
would have trouble getting their cocks up again. They would have to be
certain to hold themselves back until they were sure they could have no
more fun with their toys. Once they came, the party would be over for
them. They would be more likely to whip us, I realized queasily, whether
to prolong the party before they came or to further their pleasure after
they did. The young men would be all lust and labor, the old would be
langorous satisfaction from slower, more sophisticated pleasures. The
young would want to party in bed. The old would want to play rude games
with us, whipping us slowly, or just watching us play amongst ourselves,
entering only at the end to spend themselves in our honeyed nests.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Nebula #1, 50¢. Minicomic. Jeff Patterson, 34 Winter Ct., East Windsor,
CT 06082. mootcomics@aol.com
Review: Sitting up here on the Internet, itÕs easy to forget that
some things in life arenÕt free. Hence, in honor of capitalism, I have (for
free) created Holy JoeÕs Guide to Commerce:
1. Terrible service, at sky-high prices: This is the sort of business
you always dread running into out on an open highway, far from home.
Some unlearned yokel runs it and he knows that when you need service heÕs
got you by the balls. But you can have problems with this sort of business
quite close to home as well. Sears got in trouble with the State of
California not too many years ago for charging customers for work on
their cars which Sears didnÕt perform and which the car, in any event,
didnÕt need. And I knew a person who had his car worked on at a
ÔreputableÕ place where the mechanic actually fucked up his car, putting
dirt into his oil. And then there are places that charge you Ôby the book
rate,Õ doing one minuteÕs worth of work on your car and then charging you
for an hour. In my experience, there are far too many businesses that
perform terrible service at sky-high prices.
2. Lousy service, cheap price: Old folks who remember the
depression gravitate to these sorts of places. The service is generally
awful, but the price is very cheap! At least at a place like this you do, in
fact, get what you pay for.
3. Quality service, low price: This is, of course, the best sort of
place to find. There are some businesses out there that actually provide
fine service at a low, competitive price. Usually you have to live in a
town for awhile before you can actually figure out where a business like
this is.
4. Quality service, ÒlowÓ price: Often you are much more likely to
find a business like this. It does provide quality service, but the price
charged, though appearing to be low, is actually a medium price. I have no
objection to businesses like these. It is always a bit of a crap shoot to
figure out whether a business is really charging a low price, or merely
claiming to and actually charging a medium price. I figure, if you can get
quality service at a medium price, youÕre doing okay.
5. Quality service, high price: This is a business that might say
they charge a ÒlowÓ price, but when you do even the most cursory
investigation you find youÕre hardly paying anything that could be
construed as ÒlowÓ in price. About the only consolation you can have at a
place like this is that you arenÕt getting terrible service at a sky-high
price. ItÕs the sort of business you frequent out of habit or because you
canÕt find a better deal someplace else, even though the price youÕre being
charged is, in fact, not reasonable. And there are, of course, some people
in this world who donÕt care what they pay.
6. Exceptional service, exceptional price: This is the sort of
storybook place where you expect to rub shoulders with Donald Trump.
Now, as a hobo, I donÕt have a lot of direct experience with these sorts of
places. (The dress code generally prevents me from even getting past the
doorman. Although, once I claimed to be a Ònew God of Rock and Roll, as
seen on MTV,Ó and the doorman actually let me in!) I have found in my
experience hoboing around town that often you are only getting quality
service at an exceptional price. Sure, the service is fine, but it isnÕt
exceptional. It is simply quality service. The added price youÕre paying is
for marketing.
As for this issue from Moot Comics, I found the layout to be, at
times, quite interesting. There were some fun concepts bandied about,
like JeffÕs mention of the ÒTechno-RabbisÓ and their ÒPrayer Generator.Ó
Also, the ÒChronorchestraÓ was interesting. On the whole, though, this
issue was a turgid Marvelesque excursion that started and ended noplace.
A squid-like enemy serves as an Ôaction backdropÕ while our hero, Captain
Nebula, tells us how he left the heroic group, The Dangernauts. No sooner
has this information been conveyed, than a new version of the Dangernauts
shows up, and the comic ends.
This is less a first issue than a transition issue between some
previous title, apparently named ÔThe Dangernauts,Õ and whatever Jeff has
planned next. Hopefully the next issue will lead us into an actual
adventure, with characters doing real things instead of only giving us a
history lesson in fictional events. But if youÕre interested in home made
comics, this is not a bad bargain. Each page is fairly clever, artistically.
The only problem is there is essentially no story, only a compilation of
past events.
However, let me not be a reviewer who only reviews because he
cannot do. HereÕs a story idea: On the Planet Venus there is a Holy Penis.
It has been captured by renegade Amazon Women who are intent on using
this holy African relic to gain power over all men. Captain Nebula must
travel to this feminist-infested planet and recapture the holy penis before
all men turn into Òsensitive fathers.Ó Will he succeed? It will be
difficult, because on Planet Venus, even as he struggles to survive, he
finds himself growing breasts and taking an interest in flowers.
And, not to give the story away but: just as Captain Nebula has the
Holy Penis within reach, the Gay Men from Mars invade and snatch it away!
They intend to make every man a fag, and now Captain Nebula must sojourn
to their planet and endure repeated butt-fucks as he heroically struggles
to recapture the penis and return it to its home in Africa.
(Okay, so it is slightly racist, sexist, and homophobic, but at least it
would make for an exciting story!)
AND IN THE END...
WHY FUCK ÒDECENCYÓ?
ÒDick Morris, the disgraced mastermind of President Clinton's
family-friendly agenda, was hit with a second sex scandal...Ó - The
Associated Press, September 7, 1996.
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
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-END OF 103 EMISSION