ÒYou shouldn't be fucking 5-year-olds,Ó the 15-year-old brunette
snapped at Perry.
ÒShe's not 5, she's 8,Ó Perry retorted.
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 127
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Lady Fontaine
Chapter One
ÒCome, rise,Ó Lady Fontaine ordered. With difficulty we got up, our
knees bound, our hands cuffed high on our backs. In our jean sheathed legs,
our boots, we shuffled over to the wall, Jeff and Lady Fontaine guiding us.
She lifted a piece of the wall up. There were twin holes there, just big
enough for heads. I felt the icy outside air upon me, blowing in through
the hole. Lady Fontaine grabbed me by the hair, shoved my head outside.
Hunters! Two of them. A dead wolf beyond, his blood tainting the snow
with bright red. The men had their cocks out, otherwise they were fully
clothed against the cold. The first man saw me, directed his organ right
at me. DebbieÕs head popped out beside mine. With a look of terror on her
face she saw the hunters. The second man pointed his thing at her.
ÒGod, I have to go!Ó the first hunter said. Not to me, but to his friend,
as if I were but a disk of soap in the base of a urinal. With a sigh of
abandon he began peeing on me! I screamed. His urine hit the inside of my
mouth. I spit it out. More came, splashing all over my face. Debbie
received her tribute from the second hunter. They peed and peed, finally
exchanging targets, the second hunter aiming crosswise at me as the first
aimed at Debbie. At last, shaking themselves, they were done. They
zipped up and walked away. Captive to our own need we stood there, hips
bumping together, desperate to pee ourselves. I could not get my head
back inside.
Suddenly a hot blaze across my bottom! The brand I thought at first but
no, it was too wide, too extensive. The whip! A cracking sound came
dimly to my ears. I screamed aloud to the trees. The hunters turned,
laughed, admiring my open-mouthed terror. Debbie yelled out next, wide-
eyed, horrified, awe-struck at our predicament. Twice more the lash
came, making us jump, increasing by multiple-degrees our need to pee.
Then we stood silently a little, bottoms sore, hearing nothing, feeling
nothing. The hunters got a bucket, filled it at a faucet. Several times
they splashed each of us. They sloshed the water directly into our faces,
uncaringly, heedless of our beauty, our lovely hair. They drenched us above
the neck, the wall protecting the rest of us. We were grateful for the
fresh, icy water, though we thanked them not. It cleaned us of their
disgusting filth, of our perverse desserts. Cream and all was washed
away, leaving us with gleaming cheeks, ready for jobs at Disneyland. I
would be Snow White, Debbie would be Beauty. The hunters could compete
for the role of Beast.
I heard a sliding sound behind me. Whatever held our necks in place
was lifted. We were drawn by our hair back inside. Rising, we saw a new
horror. The needles were out, sharpened, ready for piercing. Bare
breasted we stood, our hair wet about our cheeks, our bottoms wincing
still from the whipÕs sting. Trembling with everything, including our
overfilled bladders, we looked like lost children before a wolf. Lady
Fontaine, the real wolf dead outside. Grandma was the villain. The wolf
would have saved us, asking only to sniff our heinies.
ÒYes, girls, the time has come. All is not fun and games here, you
know. We have a special mission we must accomplish. For girls only.Ó
Her eyes were bright, wickedly passionate. I guessed sheÕd rubbed herself
while we were stuck with our heads outside, thinking of what must come.
Jeff was useless, his cock to overpowering to make him think of anything
else. Lady Fontaine had brought him right to the brink again. SheÕd played
with him, no doubt, as we were lost in the outside world, rubbing him
until he could barely stand it. His mighty thing throbbed behind us. We
glanced over our shoulders at it, Debbie and I. He made us face forward
again and removed our bibs.
Mistress wore a special bra. It fitted snugly round her breasts, making
them protrude obscenely. SheÕd tightened the cupless straps round her
bosoms until they bit hard into her flesh, right at the base of each of her
tits. It did not hurt, I guessed, for the straps were of soft, glossy leather.
But her bosoms might be sore if she wore it too long that way. Her stiff
nipples offered up their rings like royal jewelry. The chain danced
between them, hanging down in a bowed crescent. Impulsively I bent,
caught the chain with my tongue. Lady Fontaine laughed, lifted my face.
ÒYou are the most obedient,Ó she complimented me. ÒStraighten your back,
let your breasts offer themselves.Ó I complied. She handled my twin
mounds gently, polishing them with the tips of her fingers, as if touching
precious hothouse fruit at midwinter. She rubbed my nipples until they
stood like stiff soldiers, though theyÕd been breathtakingly erect all
evening. Yet in her hands they felt more alive than ever. Perhaps because
I knew what her loving fingertips would soon do to them.
She moved to Debbie next, felt the weight of her impressive bosoms,
cupping them, savoring them, it seemed. She had Jeff bring bras for us.
We were fitted into them, the shoulder straps snapping closed, so we
would not have to be uncuffed. The bras were cupless, twins of Lady
FontaineÕs. My own bra squeezed my bosom terribly, not hurting it but
making it feel as if it were caught in a kind of pump at the base. Each of
my swollen gourds offered its nipple more absolutely than ever now,
proffering my teats up for whatever horrors might befall them. I shook
with my fright, my need to pee.
Lady Fontaine fetched a cup, with a tube at the bottom of it, running
into a bag. She wedged the cup between my close-pressed thighs. She
grabbed me by my pubic hair as she pushed the cup up to my puss. ÒPee,
girl, I cannot have you wiggling like that while IÕm trying to get a needle
through your nipple!Ó Gratefully, but with fear pulsing in my tummy, I let
loose my stream. It ran into the funnel-shaped cup and went speeding
down the tube. There were no splashes. At last I felt myself emptying. I
felt a sense of enormous relief. Lifting my head up from my task I saw
the needles though, shining grimly near the brazier. My bottom felt round,
too round, as if it to were offering itself up for something.
A great sigh of joy escaped DebbieÕs lips as Lady Fontaine had her pee
in turn into the cup. WeÕd saved ourselves, escaped the indignity of peeing
into our half-lowered panties. How awful it would have been to see our
pee running down the insides of our thighs! Pooling in the crotches of our
knee-gripping panties! Yet I suspected Jeff would have enjoyed it, and
Lady Fontaine too.
ÒCome over to my table, girls,Ó Lady Fontaine told us when sheÕd put
away the cup and pee-filled bag. With Jeff at our back, guiding us, we
shuffled over to her awful piercing table. The heat from the brazier
warmed our bottoms. Lady Fontaine picked up a bottle of alcohol. She
took a q-tip and dipped it into the fluid. I gasped at the light sting as she
swabbed each of my nipples. The entire length of each little teat was
swabbed, including the areola. ÒGood pre-operative practises are always
followed here,Ó Lady Fontaine told me. Debbie watched with terrified
eyes. Her own nipples waited, rigid and sensitive. ÒThis is going to hurt,
girls, but as you can see the result can be dazzling.Ó She shook her own
tits, making the chain connecting them sparkle. She did Debbie next. The
girl gasped at the alcohol, as I had.
ÒSuch lovely teeth,Ó Mistress said. She pried open my lips. She gave
me a rubber bit to bite on. I clamped down, wanting it. She gave Debbie
one next. A dentist with tender hands, her instruments waiting. Modestly,
she still wore her miniskirt. The sexiest dentist alive, I thought,
watching her hips sway as she bent to pick up her needles from her little
wooden operating table. They lay on a clean white cloth. Like the snow
outside, it would be stained with blood soon. I wished to give milk from
my breasts, not blood. I made to spit out my bit, to protest, but felt a gag
loop itself round my head. Jeff, anticipating me, knotted it in the nest of
my hair. I wanted more anesthesia, wanted to open my lips and gorge
myself on wine, pour it down my throat. I had limited myself at dinner,
not wanting to pee.
Debbie was gagged next. She seemed resigned to it. We were both
resigned, I guessed. Mistress pinched my nipple. She drew a close fitting
metal barb over it. She held the device in place. A stinging needle waited,
I knew, just within. It would dart out like a fish and bite me. More of my
tit flesh was pressed up within the device. It clamped down. Mouth-like
it cupped my teat, possessive as a hungry, greedy infant.
ÒMmmfff!Ó It bit me! It was over, done, I realized. The pain sharp,
needle like, a shot administered by a doctor to my bottom in elementary
school. The mouth released me. Lady Fontaine quickly put a soft,
steaming cloth to my tit before I could look. She held me, pinching my
nipple hard. When she took away her fingers there was a little steel
ÒtrainingÓ ring there, plated with silver.
My other breast next. Trembling, I received the mouth again. I longed
for any mouth but that, the mouth with the needle tongue. Jeff held me by
my shoulders. Firmly, comfortingly. Again the sting. Again I cried within
my gag. Debbie watched all, terrified, awed.
Lady Fontaine did her next. ÒHold still,Ó she told her. Debbie did not
want the biting mouth, knew she must have it. Lady Fontaine fitted her
and she cried out within her gag a moment later. A repeat performance on
the other breast.
Our boots were removed. Our pants were shucked off. We were taken
into another room, a whipping room, reserved exclusively for recalcitrant
bottoms. We were loved, appreciated. But our new rings must be put to
use. We were put over a trestle, Debbie and I. Mistress Fontaine bent us
over. She tied us down by our nipples. She used thread, easily broken. It
was for training only. Chains would be used later, when our nipples were
ready for them, she said. Jeff would use them himself, in our own home.
Not here. This was a first whipping only, to instruct Jeff, to teach us our
new duties as nipple-slaves.
The wood of the thin trestle bit into the tops of my thighs. Nothing
held me in my bent over position except the threads. Lady Fontaine
brought a soft cloth, put it between my thighs and the wood. She did the
same for Debbie. We were not to be punished, only taught.
Our legs were spread. Our ankles kicked apart by Lady Fontaine, by her
booted foot. When our cunts offered themselves sweetly, our legs wide
apart, she shackled our ankles. I heard the whip uncoiling in her palm
behind me.
ÒDo not rise, girls. If you wore chains you might yank your nipples off.
Stay bent over properly and you will not injure them.Ó Lady Fontaine
spoke to us, her whip slithering in her hand. ÒYou will want them like this
when they are bad,Ó she told Jeff. My hip bumped DebbieÕs. We were not
far apart. Gagged, I looked at her. She stared back.
ÒFaces to the floor, girls!Ó Lady Fontaine barked. Her whip spoke then.
Upon my bottom first. Ass rearing, trying desperately to save my nipples,
I jumped at the whipÕs insidious caress. Debbie was next. Her heinie
danced in response to the kiss of the whip. Again I was struck. Again I
leapt, a fish looking for a refuge, finding only the hook-like sting. My legs
were moist between me. I yearned for Jeff, for his big prong. Debbie too
felt this new need, deeper than our need to pee, even at its height. Much
deeper and much more terrible. WeÕd wanted it all night but now, bent
over so lewdly, presenting ourselves, we wanted it more than ever. Yet
only the whip came, scourging us, making us dance like eels.
Dawn. The front door opened onto a snowscape of incredible beauty. My
bottom was sore inside my pulled-up jeans. I wore no panties. The lining
of the jeans was soft, downy soft, but chafed me in my tender condition. I
wanted them not, had to wear them for modestyÕs sake.
My bosoms, though, remained free. We would don our shirts later, in
the car. I stepped out. The cold was upon my breasts. The hunters stood
admiring me, newly pierced, fresh gold rings implanted in my perfect
bosoms. I was loved, adorned, committed. To Jeff. And Debbie also,
stepping out behind me, showed off her freshly pierced breasts. We would
serve Jeff jointly, his nipple slaves, doing his bidding whenever we wore
the rings. The hunters threw rice at us. We hurried through the snow to
the car, Jeff following. It was laden with pink and white streamers.
Lettering was on the windows, written in soap. Hearts, with arrows
pierced through them.
Lady Fontaine, dressed in ministerial black, waved goodbye from her
open doorway. We drove off, waving back. As we wound down the narrow
road through the trees, back to civilization, a car passed us, going uphill.
I glimpsed two girls inside, snuggled in the carÕs front seat, next to a man.
As we passed I saw they wore no shirts. The girls were topless, only the
man was shirted. We surprised them. They had not time to cover
themselves, nor we. They had no rings. Perhaps they saw ours, perhaps
not. The cars passed and then we were alone again, amongst the trees,
laden with snow.
THE END
COUNTING THE WAYS HE LOVES ME
(or, this petal, that petal)
Copyright 1996 by Paul Weinman
She counted the bruises
thought of aging peaches
banged about in careless packing.
Tracing each with fingertips
she carefully remembered the sequence
wanting to impress those smacks
swats into her memory. Additionally
she tried to fit his words
with each. And where possible
the grimaces or snarls, grunts
accompanied.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
Revelation
We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone find us really out.
ÔTis pity if the case require
(Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
The understanding of a friend.
But so with all, from babes that play
At hide-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
Must speak and tell us where they are.
-- Robert Frost
G O L L I W O G G
PROLOGUE
(PRO-LOGOS)
In the beginning was the Word
And the Word was with Golliwogg
And Golliwogg scribbled the Word.
The same was in the beginning
with God.
GOLLIWOGG
Flesh is merely a cocoon.
THE QUICKENING
ÒShall not our limbs then feel the quickening?Ó
-- Faust, Part I
Golliwogg stirs within
GodÕs bowels,
startles His sleep
with rubbing thighs
and restless feet.
THE BIRTH OF GOLLIWOGG
God fartS
and Golliwogg dropS
steaming--
like a pile of dung.
AND IN THE END...
FEMINISM MARCHES ON!
ÒFor some well-heeled men, a stay-at-home wife has become a
yuppie status symbol.Ó
- The Economist, August 10, 1996, pg. 51.
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-END OF 127 EMISSION
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