Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 14     

Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in 
Love Child

Chapter Eight

         Rose then showed me the contents of the book.  I gasped, 
clutching my garter straps with my hands, as picture after picture 
revealed women in poses of the most degrading bondage.  Beautiful 
women were being hit with bats, bruised, their lovely bodies 
threatened to be broken in two by incredible machines designed to rend 
human flesh.  Amidst scenes of crying and weeping men peed boldly into 
the faces of the females, paying no attention to their imprecations.  
One girl was even shown with her mouth forced open by a special gag, a 
man crouching above her releasing a fresh turd into it.  I shivered as I 
looked at these pictures, my earrings, bracelets, shimmering.  Except 
for my bared pussy I was the picture of female elegance.
         Gradually the shock of the pictures gave way to arousal.  I found I 
couldn't tear my eyes from them!  What really got to me was how many 
of the women in the photos were ones in this very room, that I'd just 
spent long minutes conversing with.  Despite the horrors portrayed in 
the book they had not been killed, or injured, just demeaned, bruised a 
little, welted here and there.  Trained.  
         My sex pulsed between my thighs.  I let a finger slip from its hold 
on one of my garter straps.  Lightly I stroked the lips of my pussy, 
hardly realizing I was doing it.  My sex moistened.  Rose kept turning 
the pages, slowly, showing me new wonders.  I rubbed myself more, 
gasped, sought my clitty with a naughty fingertip.  
         "Ooosh!" I breathed suddenly, my eyes alighting upon an especially 
devilish scene.  A girl was installed on a kind of upright seat and had 
been drawn open like some bird about to be stuffed.  Her twat stared 
out at me, still coy and pretty, but there was no hope for it.  Legs 
impossibly wide, secured with iron clamps, something already up her 
butt, it pulsed silently, waiting to be burrowed into by a long line of 
men with huge erections.
         I gazed about the room.  Some of those men were here!  "Ooofsh!" I 
grunted, a female animal in heat, as suddenly a wave of passion washed 
over me.  I pressed my fingertips hard against my cunny.  I rubbed it 
furiously.  
         "No!  Please!" I cried, as men took hold of my upper arms and lifted 
me bodily.  Yet I could not take my hand off my puss as they carried me, 
upright, heels kicking in the air.
         They took me into an adjoining room.  It was equipped like a 
dungeon.  They set me down before a woman who stared at me 
unblinking, her eyes cold.  Yet she was luscious in her coldness.  Her 
hair was loose about her face, shoulder length, brown and slightly 
curled.  She wore a loose black neckerchief about her throat, tied in 
front in a simple knot, the ends flaring out to rest upon her chest.  
Below the ends of the neckerchief rose the hillocks of her breasts.  
They came to fine uptilted points, nipples hard, areolaes large as silver 
dollars and lightly rouged.  Her bosoms were snow white, surrounded by 
exquisitely tanned flesh.  Not a mark was upon it anywhere, though I 
knew she hadn't risen to the position of domme without suffering many 
torments indeed.
         Jill, as I was soon to know her, or Mistress Jill, wore the most 
amazing tank top.  ÔFlashdanceÕ must have gone crazy inspiring this one, 
for it had been utterly cut away so that only the midriff remained, 
suspended uselessly beneath her naked breasts.  Slim strands, no more, 
traversed upward from the halter's remaining bit of fabric, crossing 
over Jill's shoulders to keep the flimsy non-garment from falling off.  
The strands didn't even attempt to pass over the tips of Jill's breasts, 
ÔVampirillaÕ-style, but avoided them completely, one snaking up 
between her boobs and the other meekly going around the outside of one.
         Jill's boobs shook freely as she took a step toward me.  Her eyes 
seemed implacable.  I trembled uncontrollably.  Fixed by her stare, I 
hardly noticed as the men in the party began tearing off my clothes.
         Beneath Jill's nothing halter she wore not a stich.  She was bare-
hipped, her bush wilfully displayed.  Her smooth tanned thighs 
stretched down nakedly to her knees, where slick black boots met them, 
enclosing her calves.  The boots had long, stiletto heels.
         Jill held a whip in her hand, long, still partly curled up in her fist.  
She smacked it aimlessly against her thigh.  I lurched to the side as the 
men tore off my pretty yellow dress, nearly taking me to the floor with 
it.  My stockings were ripped from my garters, leaving the straps 
dangling uselessly as the hosiery was ruinously shorn from my legs.  My 
wrists were drawn behind me and handcuffed.  Then, wearing only my 
heels and my jewelry, with my poor garter belt straps still wiggling in 
the air aimlessly, the men pushed me forward to meet my new 
mistress.  I stared at her, my own breasts now as naked as hers, forced 
out in front of me by my hands cuffed behind my back.
         "Kiss my foot!" Jill demanded, in true dominatrix fashion.  Her 
eyes, though, twinkled almost smilingly, and for a moment I glimpsed 
what she really was.  I saw a giggly, barebreasted housewife, playing a 
role.  This sudden, unexpected glimpse of humaneness kept me from 
bolting.  I knelt, slavelike, as she put a foot forward for me to pay 
homage to.  Acutely aware of the desire coursing through my own body, 
I bent forward, relishing the sight my bare white behind presented to 
the men at my rear.  My pumpkin rose as my head bowed submissively, 
and I found myself shiver as my stiff nipples grazed the rough stone 
floor.  There was no escaping the stones, my breasts were too big to 
keep them off it.  Quickly I kissed Jill's boot and lifted my face.
         "You call that a kiss?!" Jill growled.  Shivering with fright I bent 
low again.  Open-mouthed I gave her boot a kind of blow job, tonguing it 
and kissing it wetly.  My breasts dragged across the floor, scraping my 
nipples.  
         Jill bent over and grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my 
feet.  Fortunately I was able to rise as she pulled.  She looked at me, 
hard, then lifted a hand and cupped one of my breasts.  She examined my 
nipples.
         "Good, no harm done," she said.  "I did not realize you would show 
such passion."  Neither did I.  My whole body seemed to ache for some 
kind of release, but not from my handcuffs.  I prized those for they 
showed off my breasts to Jill.  I was utterly in thrall to her.  I have no 
idea why.  She produced a black neckerchief, just like the one she wore, 
and tied it snugly around my throat.
         She turned, a kind of  pirouette, upon her spiked heels.  With two 
fingers remaining on my kerchief she beckoningly drew me after her.  I 
was aware of the swing of her lovely bottom, right in front of me.  It 
was smooth and white and unblemished.  I followed, trippingly, scared 
as a bunny rabbit on huntsman's day.  Jill's whip uncoiled in her hand.  
The tasseled end touched the floor, dragged along it.
         We stopped before a padded trestle.  Jill turned to me.  Her eyes 
glowed softly.  
         "I'm told you hold up quite well under the strap, though you were 
quite a crybaby," Jill said.
         "Y-Yes," I said bravely.  She touched my cheek compassionately 
with a finger.  "The men want to see you wiggle your enchanting ass all 
around.  Like you'd never be able to do it, if left simply on your own.  Do 
you understand?" she asked.  I bit my lip, nodded.  I was acutely aware 
of the men, their eyes drilling into me from behind.
         Jill walked behind me, unlocked my handcuffs.  Happily I 
recovered my wrists, bringing them in front of me and rubbing them.  
Jill walked to a shelf.  I watched, my hands playing fearfully over my 
bottom cheeks, as she scanned the shelf, above which was a wide array 
of flagellation equipment.  But when Jill returned she was holding 
something more ominous.  A large black dildo.  She screwed it into the 
end of the trestle.  Then she handed me a jar of gel and told me to 
grease the thing up.  I obeyed, praying the idiot device wasn't meant for 
me.
         The trestle was mounted entirely on a wooden platform.  
However, standing at one end of the trestle, I managed to remain on the 
stone floor.  It was ice cold against my bare feet but I preferred it to 
getting up on that platform!  The dildo was at about chest height, 
stretching right up to the level of my face.  When I was done lubricating 
the dildo Jill advised me that the gel was organic, not industrial, safe 
for human consumption.  She ordered me to kiss the cock.  
         Shyly, I obeyed.  It was a quick kiss, nothing more, but Jill 
seemed to find it acceptable.  Or she was impatient.  She ordered me to 
mount the platform.  She held my hand as I stepped up, for I was so 
nervous I felt like collapsing.  Then she told me to put both my hands on 
the trestle and swing my leg over the end, right where the cock was!  
         Shivering, I lifted one of my legs and straddled the monstrous 
penis.  "It's to keep your bottom up nice and high, dear, that's all," Jill 
told me.  "Unless, of course, you want to impale yourself on it."  I was 
very sure that I didn't.  All the same, as my foot touched the platform 
on the other side the penis nosed up between my lovelips.  With a little 
shriek I stood on tiptoe, my hands still flat on the trestle.  Breasts 
wobbling, my hair hanging down around my face, my pretty bottom 
poised above the thing, I stared down at it.  Jill laughed, the men 
laughed.  She put a hand on my back and eased me down until my face 
lay flat upon the trestle.  My ass, still upreared, stayed just clear of 
the cock because I remained staunchly on my tiptoes.  
         Jill took my hands and drew them down on either side of the 
trestle.  She secured them to the floor with short lengths of chain.  My 
wrists were bound once more, this time to show off my bottom.
         I'd noticed an I.V. pole off to one side, with a bottle hanging from 
it, but paid little attention.  It was just one of many awful things 
looming at me from the semi-darkness of the dungeon.  Suddenly, 
though, I felt Jill's fingers at my ass cheeks, dividing them, and 
realized to my horror the full extent of what was in store for me.  
         "Please!  I want to get up!" I cried.  With a ruthless little push Jill 
inserted the end of a greased enema tube into my fanny.  She pushed it 
up a good ways so it wouldn't fall out.  
         "Now we're going to fill you up!" Jill said brightly.  She twisted a 
release valve on the base of the bag hanging from the I.V. pole.  Fluid 
flooded into my rectum.  My protests and imprecations were ignored.  
When she thought I'd had enough, Jill pulled the tube out.  My exposed, 
violated anus winked at the men, threatening at any moment to squirt 
out shit-laced fluid.  What an awful fate for a proper young lady!
         "Try not to complain or scream too much or I'll be ordered to lay 
it on harder," Jill whispered in my ear, letting the whip brush 
meaningfully against the side of my breast.  I stiffened.  There was no 
way I could endure this.  I had to get up.  But I was trapped, tied down, 
hog tied!
         "God, what an ass!" a man said.  They'd gathered closer.  A woman 
consolingly caressed my brow.  Her fingers trailed in my hair.  They 
were all naked now.  I could smell her perfume.  And, yes, there was the 
scent of lust in the air, of pre-cum and moistened cunnies.  My own 
quim pouted prettily just above the dildo.  It felt dewy, as if someone 
had squirted a bit of honey into it.  I lifted my head slightly and saw 
that the men all sported fine erections, ramrod stiff, a parade of well-
hung hunks from the pages of Playgirl.  I let my face settle once more 
on the trestle.  At least, I thought, I'm to be admired by the very best of 
men.
         "Let us begin, I'm too horny to wait," a woman announced.  I heard 
a swishing then, as of a whip being drawn back, the tail slithering 
across the floor.  Then there was a quick whirring and a point of fire 
exploded on the left cheek of my tush!  I screeched, I lurched forward.  
For a moment I thought some bee had flown into the dungeon and stung 
my brazen bottom.  
         Expertly Jill drew the whip back and let it fly again, striking my 
other cheek.  Amidst gritted teeth I waggled my bottom all about, 
trying desperately to throw off the stinging pain.  Droplets of enema 
fluid flew out of my ass.  Several partiers stepped back from me, not 
wanting to be given an anal shower.
         WHIIRRR-SNICK!  Another bee sting, as awful as the first!  Jill 
was no slouch when it came to whipping a girl.  "Please," I breathed to 
the woman tousling my hair.  "May I have some liquor?  To ease theÑ"  
Another sting intervened, sending me into obscene gyrations.  Enema 
fluid sprayed about.
         "You would not wiggle your tushy around if you were anesthetized, 
darling," the woman said truthfully.  "Remember, this is not 
punishment.  It is for pleasure only, so the men can see your adorable 
ass at its very finest; all the little contractions, the flinches, the 
squeezings.  They are very devoted to female asses and you have one of 
the best."
         "I wish it was ugly!" I sobbed, choking on my own tears as another 
wretched sting bit into my fanny.
         "Well, you will be rather splotchy back there when we're through, 
and quite red, but it will heal nicely and then we can do it again!"
         "Nooo!  Nooo!  Nooo!" I cried out, to absolutely no avail, as the 
relentless whip showered me with yet more fiery sparks.
         I felt my toes weakening and suddenly they gave way.  As my 
heels hit the floor the dildo thrust up me, splitting my cunt wider than 
anything I'd ever felt.  "Oh God, no!" I yelled, but it was too late.  I felt 
its firmness in me and suddenly, only to relieve the inferno assailing 
my bottom, I began trying to hump the awful thing.
         The partiers laughed as my nether-cheeked antics above the dildo 
gave way to bitch-in-heat gyrations, up and down, pressing myself ever 
harder down upon the wide-girthed penis.  It flexed like a real penis, 
accommodating the curve of my cervix, encouraging me to go deeper.  
My bottom bobbed, up and down, my thighs bending and unbending 
frantically.  All the while the whip kept up its pace, spurring my tush 
to new obscenities of movement.  
         Bawdily I ground myself down upon the dildo.  With shameless 
squeezings and clenchings I rotated my bottom all about, desperate to 
escape the whip, even as it drew new obscene movements from my 
fanny, ones I'd never even known possible.  Behind me and around me the 
men and ladies began taking leave of me, ignoring my spectacle as they 
found more intimate pleasures among themselves.
         Yet Jill kept up the beat, striking me all over my tushy until I was 
sure the entire thing must be red as a beet.   Wickedly I worked my ass 
up and down now, getting as much of the dildo into me as I could, trying 
frenziedly to somehow forget the pain in my bottom by fucking myself 
into bliss on the cock.
         Later, lying face down in a bed, with Jill applying salve to my 
wounded peach, I gathered enough of my senses together to tell her off.
         "You were mean!" I said, through teeth biting into the end of my 
pillow.  Every touch of her fingertips made me flinch.
         "Mean?  Nonsense, dear!  Would you have ever fucked that big black 
dildo if you hadn't been whipped?"
         "Certainly not," I replied.
         "There, you see?  Like with wiggling your ass, the whip was 
necessary.  You fucked it marvelously, and I spurred you on with the 
whip until you orgasmed.  Three times, I believe, one right after the 
other."
         "I only remember the first," I breathed.  "I passed out after that."  
A shudder ran down my spine as I remembered that giant cock driving 
into me.
         "You probably wouldn't have even taken a real penis that big," Jill 
smiled.  
         "I hope not," I said.
         "Yet now here you are, triumphant, having done things you never 
dreamed possible."
         "Thanks a lot," I said, miserably, as yet another light touch of her 
fingers sent spasms of pain rippling across my butt cheeks.
         Later I stood up and looked at my bottom in the mirror.  There 
were little welts, pin-sized, all over it, but it hurt less now.  A kind of 
warm glow had taken over in my cheeks.  Silently I admired myself.  I'd 
done quite well for a little schoolgirl, thank you.  No woman could deny 
me this.  But I wondered, fearfully, what else waited for me in the 
dungeon.
         For the first time I noticed a window in my bedroom.  I padded 
over to it, my bare feet impressing themselves on the deep-pile rug 
that carpeted the room.  Here, in the bedroom, all was comfort.  The 
sheets were silk.  Chocolate morsels, wrapped in gold foil, waited on a 
nightstand by the bed, on a small china plate.  A vase of roses bloomed 
over the chocolates, standing straight-stemmed and thorny in a crystal 
vase.  I felt they must be rewarding me for my efforts in the dungeon.  
Then again, I knew instinctively that other girls had preceded me here.  
Other Barbis.  Perhaps Melissa would herself be here one day, placed 
lovingly in the bed after facing her own erotic challenges in the 
dungeon.
         I put my finger to the glass of the window.  It was cool.  Rain fell 
outside, spattering the window so thoroughly that I could not see out.  
Even the rain conspired to imprison me.  I felt again the stinging in my 
bottom.  It seemed to palpate with a kind of raw energy, still quite red 
and burning, framed above and below by the lovely whiteness of my 
skin.
         A door opened.  I turned, my mouth open like the door.  A woman I 
did not know.  Older, perhaps 40, with a mature beauty.  She wore a 
towel around her mid-section, crossing just below her pussy and just 
below her tits.  I stared curiously for a moment.  Always, as I girl, I 
had been taught to cover my boobies with towels wrapped in that way.  
But here the rules were different, apparently.  The woman's bosoms, 
firm and erect, were left bare.  Her hair, moist, was piled loosely atop 
her head.  She looked as if she had just stepped from the shower.
         "Come, you must bathe," the woman said matter-of-factly to me.  
"Then a bite to eat.  You will be wanted again soon."

AND IN THE END...

         Miss Lady Asstor333@titwhittle(elementary) writes:  ÒI think I 
found a picture of holy joe.  ItÕs in The Economist, January 20, 1996, on 
page 85.  ItÕs totally disgusting, so I figured it must be him.  WhatÕs he 
doing, taking a crap?Ó

         hm:  Yes, thatÕs him.  HeÕs wearing drop-seat pants, which let him 
take a crap without dropping his pants.  HeÕs shitting through a hole cut in 
the bottom of the railroad car, a Òhandy convenienceÓ that the railroad 
company provides for its employees Òin the interests of your fitness and 
heath and in not having to stop our train every time somebody needs to go 
to the bathroom.Ó  Holy Joe, of course, is a mere hobo, so he is using the 
facilities illegally.

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Andrew Roller.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 14 EMISSION