RUST
DOLE
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 129
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bordello Girls
Chapter One
ÒYou must not look at me, Jennifer,Ó he replied. ÒYou are property
only tonight, though we might play as equals someday. Lower your eyes.
You have offended the bride by gazing so at my cock.Ó
ÒAm I --Ó I looked down, at the belt in his hand. I wondered what
games they had in store for me. I liked my icing. I liked this less, though
the groomÕs cock was an inducement I could hardly resist. I wanted Marla.
Wanted to tell her I was going home now.
The groom said nothing. He sensed my only answer would be Ôno.Õ He
stared at me, at my charms. He should lower his eyes, I thought. I was
the lady without clothes. Is the the gentleman to defer, not the other way
round?
The bride returned. I did not sense her coming. She grabbed my arm,
startling me. She wore mittens. White lace, with little bows at the
wrists. They protected her hands. I could not remember if sheÕd worn
them before.
ÒLetÕs wipe off your bottom,Ó the bride said to me, my captor, a girl
barely older than myself. She was a brunette with classic looks. She had
dragged me up here as a prize for her groom, but I saw she was jealous
now. He liked me too well. She should have chosen a less pretty girl.
With a hot moist towel, fresh from the bathroom, wet under the faucet and
wrung out, she wiped across my bottom. I jerked. The towel was hot,
steaming. She drove it into my bottom crack. I gasped, tried to pull away.
Her nails dug into my arm, nearly cutting me.
Across my bottom the towel swathed, wiping away my protecting
icing. My whiteness, my chastity. She wiped it off my bottom only,
revealing the whiteness of my skin underneath. The belt in the groomÕs
hand stirred. He shifted his feet.
The bride tossed the towel aside. There was a knock at the door.
The groom opened it. A maid entered, fully dressed, though her costume
would not have passed muster at a hotel. Her dress was abbreviated to
show her upper thighs. Her blouse was unbuttoned, tightly drawn into her
belt, efficiently, but showing the inner curves of her breasts all the same.
She showed flesh not from indolence but from design. IÕd seen one of
MarlaÕs ads in the paper once: ÒMaids wanted. Full-figured, pretty. No
experience required.Ó She hired only the best girls, those who could wear
her revealing-by-design costumes. This girl was a teen still, like me,
hesitant in her movements, shocked perhaps at the goings on downstairs.
ÒYour pie, maÕam,Ó the girl offered, presenting a cream pie to the
bride at my rear.
ÒThank you. Begone,Ó the bride replied haughtily. The maid did not
wait for a tip. She looked like a faun caught in a forest full of hunters.
She turned, padded quick as she could back across the room, then lingered
momentarily. Her eyes fixed on the groom, his cock. She moved on,
sensing some brooding anger in the room. Suddenly as she reached the
doorway the groom swiftly turned, lit out at her with his belt. The tip
found her, sweeping up under her too-short skirt, struck her I guessed
right at the incurving juncture of her bottom cheeks, where they meet
with her thighs.
ÒYeeouuch!Ó the girl screamed. She had not expected, did not want.
Leaping up she ran through the door, stunned. We heard her retreating
footsteps running down the hall. The groom stroked his belt, recoiled it.
The bride lifted the pie. It was a pan, filled with cream.
ÒHe does not need to see your face,Ó she said to me, and hit me with
the pie. I stumbled backward. I nearly fell to the floor. I opened my eyes
through a visage of cream. In a mirror I saw myself, a stranger now, pie-
faced. The bride took my arm again. IÕd escaped her grip momentarily.
She slapped me hard on my newly gleaming bottom, bare, uncovered. ÒGet
on the bed,Ó she ordered.
With tiptoeing steps, still trying to be graceful in front of the
groom, I mounted the stairs. My nude bottom cheeks wobbled shamefully,
all exposed, the rest of me covered with icing, save where licking tongues
had lapped up some. Up I went, then hesitated at the top step. The
bedsheets were white, the covers already turned back. I would get icing
on them. I turned to my hosts.
ÒKneel,Ó the bride said. ÒCrawl to the headboard. Put your knees on
those two pillows.Ó I looked toward the front of the bed. There were two
pillows, one on top of the other, near the headboard, but back far enough so
that they obviously werenÕt meant for the head. I blinked. With my
cream-covered lashes I blinked. Then, carefully, not wanting to smear
icing all over their bedsheets, I got on all fours on the bed. Daintily I
crawled, like a baby, to the headboard. I placed my knees on the pillows,
saw how it made my bottom rear up. I did not like this posture. Not with
a belt behind me.
ÒPut your head down,Ó the bride told me. Roughly she took me by my
hair, my coiffed and curled locks, the only part of me not covered with
icing in the kitchen. She shoved my face down onto the bed and pressed on
my head until my cheek was flat against the bed. In back my bottom
presented itself as never before; high, the cheeks sweetly split and
offered. The bride pulled at my legs, spread them.
ÒCall the maid. I want her open in back,Ó the bride said. I guessed
she meant me, hoped not. I did not understand her command.
The groom knew. The maid came soon, avoiding him, giving him and
his belt a wide birth, like a wary little squirrel whoÕs met the backyard
dog. The maid carried two more pillows.
ÒTwo under each knee,Ó the bride told the maid. ÒI cannot spread her
properly with her knees on the same pillows. When I open her, her knees
come off the ends.Ó The bride had shifted to my head. She drew my wrists
out, beyond my head, made me take hold of a single post of the headboard.
She took off her bridal veil. With it she bound my wrists to the post. She
tossed her chestnut hair as she worked. She struck me as free, proud.
Glad to be out of her bridal veil. She was a young wife now, laboring for
her husbandÕs pleasure. Her body was lean, tawny, her breasts full and
bouncy. I glanced at her flat tummy and wondered if it would be so eight
months from now. I guessed she wanted children, wanted them young, so
she could play with them in her youth.
Behind me the maid struggled to get two pillows under each of my
knees. She had to get up on the bed with me, as the bride did. The maid
wore no panties, was not permitted to. Her skirt hiked up as she worked,
showing, offering her bottom to the lewd groom with his cruel belt. I
could feel the maidÕs breath on my bottom, quick and frightened. I guessed
she was a year or two younger than me. She was not ready for such
bedroom games, wanted only to depart. Yet she had taken the job, stayed.
She liked the parties, the gaiety, the hint of naughtiness. But then like a
child she wanted to run off, go home and only dream of what transpired in
the later hours. I felt her open me in back. She placed each of my knees
atop the mounded pillows, a separate pile for each knee, specially built.
Each was a special pedestal built just for me to kneel on. Between my
knees the bed only, a flat sheet, far below, chasm-like between the
mountain-pillows. My bottom lofted high, a trophy for the groom, my
thighs scarily wide, leaving my cunt utterly exposed between, a tight
purse where he would put all his spermy treasures.
I shivered. My breasts, hanging down like gourds on display at a
market, wiggled. The bride made sure my face was flat against the
bedsheets. She offered me a rubber bit. I gaped at it. Saliva pooled in the
corner of my mouth closest to the sheets. She wrenched open my jaw and
stuffed the bit between. My lips closed over it. The ends protruded into
my cheeks. Gently, smiling slightly, she readjusted the bit, made the ends
exposed. She took a little strip of leather and attached it to each end of
the bit. Then she looped the strip over the back of my head, let it press
tight to my hair. ÒI do not want you to swallow it,Ó she said of the bit.
ÒYou looked like you might take it in like a cock, right down your throat,
with a little encouragement. Bite on it, hard. You will need it to protect
your teeth if he gets carried away.Ó
Fearfully I turned my head. The groom was still there. Beyond him,
the bedroom door remained open. I had not minded earlier, standing all
gooey in my icing as I had downstairs. But now I was much more fully
exposed; my cunt and ass were like wares in a shop, on display for all to
see, to judge. I knew, unwhipped at least, unmarked, I could match any
woman curve for curve. But I did not really need the contest. I wanted
very much to go home now. I sensed the playtime was ending, the teasing
would be no more. Things would get serious now.
The bride shooed the maid from the bed. She had lingered, adjusting
my knees. She had actually been humming in the last moments, content
and happy somehow. Perhaps because of the groom. He had not struck her,
yet she knew his power. He was like a policeman, standing at the door.
Protecting her, most certainly, from everyone but himself. No one would
touch her without his permission. She was safe from the partiers in here,
provided she could stand the belt. And he had not used it on her this time.
Though her bottom was bared to him, her too-short skirt revealing it
whenever she moved or bent, he had restrained himself. She was his little
pet. At least in her mind she was. The groom was inscrutable. Tall,
muscular, his cock bared to us, yet not taking us. Waiting for something.
Permission, perhaps. He stroked his belt as if it were his organ. Before
he had simply held it, but now he ran it across his fingers, lovingly. The
maid huddled beside him and glanced up at him. She had more freedom
than I.
Two people stopped at the door. They looked in. A man and a woman.
Half dressed, half undressed. As if theyÕd stripped and fucked, dressed
partially again; or perhaps were just on their way to a bedroom now. On
their way but stopping here, for inspiration.
ÒMay we watch?Ó the woman inquired of the bride.
ÒYes, please do,Ó the bride replied. She was at the door with them,
talking casually, as if about a new flower in the backyard, a new recipe.
ÒSheÕs being introduced to polite society,Ó the bride added, a smirk on her
lips, pointing to me.
ÒNot too polite, I hope,Ó the man grinned.
ÒNo, not too polite,Ó the bride agreed. She turned to her new
husband. She looked him over, her eyes catching on his cock. ÒWhenever
youÕre ready, dear,Ó the bride said to him, almost ruefully, challenging
him.
ÒGive her a really harsh one, make that little ass of hers show
everything its got!Ó the man encouraged the groom.
ÒOh, darling! It is her first time!Ó the woman protested. I was
shaking visibly now, my tummy swirling with fear. I wanted to get up but
did not know how. I could drop onto my side, maybe, but what would they
do to me then?
ÒI will not hit her too hard,Ó the groom said in my defense.
ÒShe must cry, though, dear,Ó the bride corrected him. ÒI want her
to wash that cream off her face with her tears. Now get to belting her, or
IÕll take someone else for my husband.Ó Her words were passionate. I
could sense the lie in them. She loved him too much to ever leave him.
The groom advanced to the end of the bed. His balls bounced between
his legs as he walked. He stopped, took hold of the bedÕs footboard. It was
low, made of wood. His cock protruded over it, a stiff shaft, a totem pole
cut in the horizontal. He opened his legs, spread his stance, let his
testicles hang down freely. Behind his buttocks tautened. All this I
guessed, or saw in a mirror, watching like a trapped little animal as he
advanced to within striking distance of me.
And then it happened. The belt. It uncoiled. He struck me on my
right cheek, wrenching a scream from me.
ÒAaaaaa!Ó my scream was cut off by a second blow. The other cheek,
both of them red now, humming with sensations of pain.
More blows. Against my bonds I fight, wanting to rise up, to flee.
Behind me the man comments on my bottomÕs charms, how I wiggle and
open myself reflexively when I am hit. The groom nods, slaps me again,
relishing my every obscene wriggle.
The woman takes the bride in her arms, she responds. Together they
watch me, kissing. The blows continue. I buck and wreathe and squeeze
my cheeks, trying to rid myself of the spreading, mind-numbing pain. The
man takes the maid and kisses her, slaps her bottom when she resists. He
makes her fondle his cock, then both cocks, his and the groomÕs. She looks
like a milk maid with twin udders in hand, seeking milk, finding glistening
pre-cum.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Exotic Magazine, Volume 4, Number 4, $1.95. 8 1/2Ó x 11Ó magazine, 44
pages plus a slick cover. X Publishing, Inc., 625 SW 10th Avenue, Suite
324B, Portland, OR 97205. email: xmag@teleport.com www:
http://www.xmag.com
Review: I was sitting in my dumpster all comfy and happy when I
heard the mail truck coming. Naturally, I got my pants off right away. (I
was hoping it was a new issue of Penthouse Comix!) Instead, I got this
magazine.
I know you ladies think I just sit around all day drinking beer and
thinking about my penis. But actually IÕm a very compassionate, concerned
man. I possess a great deal of empathy. Ever since I received this new
issue of Exotic, for instance, IÕve been deathly worried.
You see, on the cover of this issue thereÕs a girl. SheÕs quite
attractive. Her bosoms are even more attractive. TheyÕre big and round
and luscious, and theyÕre totally bare. But thereÕs also something else on
the cover of this magazine. ItÕs a riding crop. And itÕs swinging right at
her bosoms!!!
All I can think about now are her bosoms. Are they okay? Is there
any damage? Do they need to be nursed back to health? I would be
delighted to do anything to help her. If sheÕs reading this, please, donÕt
suffer alone. Let ME take care of your bosoms for you!
I have a plan all worked out to make sure theyÕre okay. First, they
must be kissed. Naturally I havenÕt shaved in three days but donÕt worry,
stubble is good for hurt bosoms. Also, they must be sucked, to make sure
theyÕre working properly. We must insure that your nipples can still stand
up all nice and perky.
If I sold my comic collection I could buy some whipped cream at the
grocery. We could use it to completely cover your bosoms so they have
some protection. Naturally, if theyÕve been hit with a whip you donÕt want
to put on a bra or a shirt. But some cool, soothing whipped cream would be
okay. I realize that parting with Superman #637 would be a great
sacrifice for me, but donÕt worry! It will help me show all the ladies on
the Internet that I donÕt just think of myself.
ThereÕs also another important thing we must do. You need
something hard between your tits. It needs to be moved back and forth,
slowly at first, then more quickly. I canÕt think offhand what would work,
but IÕm sure IÕll come up with something. Also, after this hard thing has
been thrust back and forth between your tits, we must immediately apply
some warm, white lotion to them. DonÕt trouble yourself worrying about
where IÕll get this special lotion. IÕll handle it.
In the future, we must be more careful about your tits. You need a
man to guard them for you. I realize a lot of men have jobs, and have to be
away part of the day. But IÕm just a bum. So I can keep my hands on your
bosoms all day and night. 24 hour protection! Even Bill Clinton canÕt
promise that. But I can, because I care about other people, like yourself,
and what happens to you and your tits.
Well, I just wanted to get that out of the way. First things first,
you know. Now I should probably deal with the rest of this magazine.
Well, the main thing that struck me about this issue was that thereÕs
some really cool ads in it. On the inside back cover there are girls in
bikinis and theyÕre squirting whipped cream all over each other. IÕd expect
to see something great like that in Penthouse, but of course they never
show anything great like that. With them itÕs just, Òshow the cunt, show
the cunt again, now show the butthole.Ó ThatÕs Penthouse. With Playboy
itÕs, Òalmost show the cunt, almost show the cunt, now almost show the
butthole.Ó Hopefully someday IÕll find a big pile of empty cans at the end
of a rainbow. Then IÕll cash them in at the recycling center and start up
my own magazine, ÒHoly JoeÕs Whipped (cream) Girls.Ó
In the middle of this magazine thereÕs a picture of two naked girls in
the shower. TheyÕre smeared with whipped cream and one girl is spraying
the other girlÕs tits with a shower nozzle. ItÕs for a place, ÒX-otic Tan,Ó
that has a Ò2 Girl Shower ShowÓ AND an ÒAll New, Fully Equipped
Dungeon.Ó IÕm not much for taking baths, but I donÕt mind watching two
girls take a bath! Maybe I could get a job in Portland as the City Water
Inspector. These girls might get burned if the waterÕs too hot--and that
would be terrible, especially after theyÕve already had their heinies
whipped in the dungeon! So I would make sure that theyÕre totally safe by
inspecting the water temperature.
ThereÕs also an ad in Exotic showing one girl who looks like sheÕs
about to pee in another girlÕs mouth! This ad deeply troubled me. Every
American girl deserves to have her own potty. She shouldnÕt have to ask
another girl to open her mouth just so she has someplace to pee! Both of
them are naked, too, so I guess they canÕt afford clothing either. Well,
this is another job for holy joe. I guess me and all my pervert buddies
will have to move up to Oregon so we can help all the young ladies in need.
I may have to drop my presidential campaign to do this. But donÕt
feel bad if IÕm not elected. IÕve always put service to my fellow (wo)man
above being a Washington Insider or a friend of the Lobbyists or the person
in charge of starting World War 3. If anybody asks about me, just tell
them, ÒHoly JoeÕs hard...
at work in Oregon.Ó IÕm sure it will be a difficult job and keep me up a
lot, but at least I wonÕt have to worry about these girls anymore. It will
ease my mind to know their bosoms are safe. And if this zine disappears,
youÕll know why. Just like modern moms, IÕve got my hands full!
(Note to Dole: My price is a case of beer. Pony up.)
AND IN THE END...
WAKE UP, AMERICA!
ITÕS MY TURN!
paid for by holy joe (for president)
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
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-END OF 129 EMISSION