Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 140
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bordello Girls
Chapter Two
ÒThis, dear, is a battery operated dildo,Ó Rose said to me. SheÕd
taken a dildo from the nightstand. It was within reach of where she sat
upon the bed. She examined it briefly, then handed it to me. ÒSee if you
can stuff it up your twat.Ó She pointed to a little switch. I flicked it on.
The dildo buzzed. I flinched, smiled, blushed. I had never held such an
item before, though IÕd heard much about them. Rose lifted the bottle of
baby oil and gently squirted the fake penis, oiling it up for me. ÒNow put
it in,Ó she commanded. Helpfully she leaned over me, still keeping her own
legs open, and spread my pussy lips with her fingers.
ÒOh, God!Ó I exclaimed, touching the buzzing tip of the cock to my
cunt.
ÒRight in,Ó Rose said. She took the end of the dildo in hand and
shoved upon it, sticking the other end right into me. I trembled as the
buzzing nose burrowed up me. I opened for it. I did not want it in my mind
but my body felt otherwise. Rose put both my hands on the dildoÕs shaft.
ÒThere, do yourself with it,Ó Rose told me. She left me with the dildo and
set to work untying the drawstrings of her tiny panties. When they loosed
she simply left them as they were, untied, the pouch flap dropped open in
front. She picked up a dildo from the nightstand and oiled it with squirts
of baby oil. Then she turned it on and inserted it into herself.
Rose eyed me with a sly, shivering look. ÒLetÕs do ourselves
together,Ó she said. Raptly I watched her shaft herself with the big dildo,
imitating her strokes with strokes of my own.
We trilled like songbirds. Rose tilted back her head, her lovely red
locks tumbling down around her face and over her slim shoulders. Her hair
had been pinned up only loosely, it was undone now. She was free, a
woman no more, just a girl in her bedroom. Her red lips parted, she
enjoyed every shuddering stroke of her self-imposed punishment. I hoped I
looked as lovely as she did as I drove the unyielding rubber cock deeper
and deeper within me. Each hand-guided stroke went buzzing up me like
some prudish vaginal inspector come to stick his nose into my business.
Into my womb. I was up that high now, screaming out my pleasure. The
men watched raptly, occasionally calling Melissa over for more liquor,
perhaps just to break the too-delicious pleasure that was thrumming in
their cocks, threatening to make them lose all they had gained so far. I
glanced at their big, heavy balls, squashed between their hairy legs on the
expensive cushioned seats that their raw naked hairy buttcracks spread
upon. I wondered if their butts were sweating as much as their brows.
Their cocks, long since beyond the point of no return but not quite spilt,
drooled endless gobs of pre-cum into the upholstery of their seats.
Melissa scrambled to keep up with the men as they peed, all of them quite
drunk now. I thanked God weÕd handcuffed them.
Up, up went my dildo, in and out, my lovely store-bought cock. I
twisted my head toward Rose, competing with her now, going over the
brink as she strove to catch me. We went together. Then we went a
second round, still jamming the store cocks up our twats. She passed me
to the second climax, then we strove for a third. My feet lost in my
booties, my body otherwise bare.
Rose replaced her dildo on the nightstand. It looked wet. SheÕd
turned it off, as easily as sheÕd turned it on. It waited for more fun,
perhaps another day, perhaps never. It would remain rock-hard regardless.
I turned off my dildo and placed it in RoseÕs offered hand. She glanced at
it a moment. You could smell my honeyed wetness on it. She smiled at
me, a little smirk, nothing more. Then she put my cock beside hers. Our
fake penises, for just us girls, when the men were away, to keep us happy.
Rose stood up. She took my hand and I stood with her. Our pussies
were wet, honeyed. She made no move to clean us up. Instead she walked
over to the men. Very simply, directly. A toss of her head perhaps,
nothing else. She put her hands on her hips, surveyed them.
ÒYou boys have earned a special treat,Ó Rose told them. Her voice
was high. She did not sound like your typical mistress. Instead she was
more like a little schoolgirl, come to give orders to DaddyÕs big men
friends. Cease your card playing! I could almost hear her say, in my
sudden fantasy of her schoolgirl days. I am sick of playing Jacks by
myself! You big men will play with me, and do just as I say too, for I will
be mistress.
Rose walked away from the men. She went to the nightstand. Not to
douche, or wipe off her baby oil, but to draw from it two hair ribbons.
Lightly, carefree as the schoolgirl IÕd just imagined her to be, she tied off
her hair into two pigtails. She tossed me an elastic ruffle. I gathered my
hair into a ponytail and secured it. I felt a sense of great pride in
adorning myself in this way. There was no hurry, no rush. The men
watched, their minds altogether different from ours. Their big cocks
throbbed in desperation. They shifted their hips, stabbing at their air.
Melissa studiously caught their pee in her cup when they had to go. It was
their only release. They seemed to drink more and more, using their
peeing as a substitute for what they really wanted to do, but couldnÕt. I
thought of all that sperm roiling within their bulging balls, so eager, so
desperate. Rose gave Melissa some barrettes, plastic little girl ones, and
she took a break from her pee-duties to slip them into her hair. They had
teddy bears on them. The real bears sat just a few feet away.
ÒAs a little girl, I dreamed of having a special dungeon of
punishment for all you big nasty men,Ó Rose said, turning to them once
more. Her honeyed cunt belied her childish air. She was a woman, though
still 19, with big boobs and a cunt dripping from her own pleasure. But
she had the voice, the softness of a little girl. She brushed her hair back
and continued. The pigtails were loosely tied, they left strands of her hair
sweetly falling into her eyes.
ÒAll you big men in my life. Teachers, Principals, neighbor-men,
Uncles, and then the ones on T.V. every night: rapists, child molesters,
murders, and those awful men who burned the American flag. Yes, as I
little girl I wanted to put all of you into my bedroom and make you
behave.Ó I sensed there was more to her words than just simple teasing.
Rose turned. She walked past the daybed to the far wall. A door, I thought
it just a small clothes closet, opened with a twist of her hand upon the
knob. Rose reached within, flicked on lights. I craned my neck to see, my
ponytail swishing behind me. Melissa looked, her eyes wide. She reminded
me of her look in the cage, her eyes flash-bulb bright as she saw Lord
Algonquin enter.
Rose caught my stare with her eyes, bade me silently to bring forth
the men. I walked to them. Melissa was given the same duty. We stood
before them, policegirls on our first call.
ÒGet up,Ó I said to the men. Melissa repeated my command. They
gazed up at us. Then they stood, one after another. They towered over us.
Melissa and I gulped, looking up at them. Their erections pulsed mightily
before us. ÒCome along,Ó I said. I crooked my finger at them, at their
cocks in particular. Melissa walked beside them, I led the way. Into the
room we went, the little closet-room that proved to be bigger inside than
IÕd thought.
Rose stood facing us. All around us were the toys and playthings of
little girls. A small bed, frilly, with Little Mermaid sheets and pillows. A
girlÕs hairbrush, heart-patterned curtains, a big white teddy bear. But
there was more. Upon the childishly patterned wallpaper were set iron
chains. Along one wall, paddles and whips and a long whippy cane. There
was a trestle, over which many a body had been bent, I guessed, given the
deep impression in the leather padding where the tummy met the
cushioning. And the little girlÕs bed had cuffs attached to the headboard
and footboard.
I drew in my breath as I surveyed the scene. This was obviously
from the original whorehouse. Had 19th-century Pretty Babies been
tucked into this bed? Little girls, back in the days of child labor and child
brides? Or were big girls, girls like ourselves, or women installed in
here? Women who were wives by day, but turned into children at night, in
here, amongst all the dollies and picturebooks?
ÒThis little piggie went to market,Ó I said to myself, under my
breath. I gazed at the nude men, their bare butts staring at me as I stood
behind them, Melissa beside me. WeÕd presented them to Rose. She was
mistress. She was in charge now.
ÒHereÕs a little treasure my aunt taught me about,Ó Rose said. She
lifted something from the wall. I could not tell what it was, at first. ÒI
never got to use it before, didnÕt even know they still existed. Until last
night, when I found this room. IÕve tidied it up for you. The room, I mean.
For all I know, this block is just as it was when it was last used. Perhaps
it last clasped some PrinceÕs member, or some Nazi soldierÕs.
I realized then what I was looking at. It was a small block of wood.
It was composed of two halves, and hinged at one end, so that the two
halves could open and close upon each other, like jaws. The block looked
like a rectangle, and had a hole cut right through its center. When the
halves of the block opened, the hole became a half-moon in either half. I
thought perhaps the block was to be closed over somebodyÕs finger, but the
hole looked too big for that. Yet, surprisingly, the hole was too small for
a wrist. I certainly had nothing to fear from the block. There was nothing
on me that could be stuck through the hole.
And then I guessed. I squeezed MelissaÕs hand as I guessed. She still
watched, wonderingly.
ÒItÕs for their cocks!Ó I whispered. Melissa clapped her hand to her
mouth and could barely contain her surprise, her delight. Five of the
blocks remained hanging on the wall, their jaws open. Rose smiled at the
Black Knight. With obvious love for his big, throbbing cock, she fitted the
halves of the block over it. And then she closed them. The wooden block
closed around his shaft, imprisoning part of it, leaving the head sticking
out through the hole. Much of his cock remained on either side of the
closed block, but the middle part was as securely held as if it were inside
a womanÕs cunt. Rose locked the end of the block with a little silver
padlock. Hinged on one side, locked on the other, it would not open again
without a key. I saw no key. Leads trailed from either end of the block.
Rose drew these within the Black KnightÕs legs and wrapped them tightly
around his balls. Then she looped them several times around the base of
his penis and tied them off in a neat bow. He was still strong, his back
powerful, rippling, his buttocks clenching, but his lovely organ was now
completely subject to the dictates of RoseÕs awful miniature-pillory.
I let go of MelissaÕs hand. I pressed my hands to the buttocks of
Lancelot. Let him be next, my knight in shining armor. Or, rather, without
his shining armor on, I realized, lost in my heroic speculations as I urged
him forward, my fingers pressing into his ass flesh. He obeyed. Like a
horse stepping forward to be shoed, a proud stallion, he presented his cock
to be fitted by Rose.
My Lancelot grunted as his cock was enclosed by the little wooden
stock. Then Rose made him wince as she drew the leads back and tied the
soft white lead ropes securely around his heavy balls. Finally she made a
little bow with the ropes atop the root of his penis, just like a little girl
might. Lancelot gazed down at himself, amazed, his hands cuffed behind
his back, pressed into the small of his back, his broad shoulders hunched
over as he looked down at his flower of manhood, his pronging prong,
embedded within the clasping wood.
Each man in turn was served with his own piece of wood. It closed,
it separated, it made his pee slit a separate part of his body, out beyond
the jaws of the wood, out where his cockhead was, all purple and hard,
begging, yet separated by the wood from the life-giving balls which hung
waiting between his legs.
There was a potty. It was made of plastic. It was not connected to
any pipes. It was a training-potty. Perhaps a little girl had used it once.
ÒCome, you must pee for me, to ensure that everything is still working
right,Ó Rose said. She led the men with their organs sticking out in front
of themselves, their wooden bars tied on tightly, over to the potty.
Melissa picked it up and moved it out away from the wall, so that all the
men could stand around it at once.
ÒPee into it,Ó Rose commanded. ÒAnd donÕt wet the seat.Ó The men
laughed. They were too drunk to care. They peed all over the potty, hitting
the seat, trying to hit Melissa in the final moments. ÒWell, I can see your
things work just fine,Ó Rose said, dismayed at the mess. The little girlÕs
room was not quite a little girlÕs room anymore. Men had entered. Male
beasts. Their urine, puddled on the floor and wetting the potty seat, was
evidence of the all that the feminists said was wrong with men.
There were only three of us, young females, and six of them. Yet we
had managed to cuff them with our beauty, our guile, and now we had them
by the balls too, and their precious cocks. We would teach them feminist
lessons now, the lessons men learned when they explored Brazil and came
upon Amazons.
ÒIt is the sperm that is the problem,Ó Rose said. SheÕd picked up a
pair of spectacles and placed them on her nose. She looked bookish. She
had ideas, great thoughts. ÒAll you men are sex offenders, being nude in
front of Melissa here, only 14, and Jennifer, a mere 15-year-old. How
naughty of you to display your rude cocks in front of such innocent young
girls! Fortunately, I believe in treating the problem itself, instead of the
offender. He is just a prisoner of his own balls. Which is why they must
be milked.Ó Rose beckoned to Melissa. They stepped behind the little
girlÕs bed and hefted something big and silver onto it. It was heavy. It
landed on the bed with a hard metallic thud. There were six holes
arranged along it, within the gleaming steel. ÒI got this from the barn out
back,Ó Rose told the men. ÒI ought to make you traipse bare naked through
the snow to the barn, to be milked amidst the hay, with cows mooing
while you give up your seed.Ó She smiled. She loved their cocks as I did.
ÒBut I am not a mean feminist. No, no. If you want to spurt out your seed
in a little girlÕs room, so be it, just as long as you are milked dry.Ó The
men gazed in awe, in wonder, at the large steel object set atop the bed. It
was every manÕs deepest nightmare, and his deepest fantasy; to get his
cock caught in a relentless, unyielding, unending milking machine of
pleasure. Rose stepped out from behind the bed. She ran her fingertips
along the heads of the menÕs imprisoned penises, caught in the wood,
facing the deeper, longer punishment of the milk machine. ÒDonÕt think for
a minute that once youÕre fitted inside the machine, fully erect, and cum,
that your cock will be allowed to shrink down to its normal size,Ó Rose
taunted the men. ÒThe machine will not let go. It will tighten its grip on
your cock if it tries to withdraw. You will be milked remorselessly, and
then some, until you have absolutely nothing left in your big bad balls!
DonÕt even try to fight it. I know, I know, you will try to be manly. The
machine will not care. You can try to hold out, to keep from cuming, but it
will not care. It will simply fuck you until you give up your seed, and then
it will keep on fucking you. This is what you men really want, isnÕt it?
You just want to be hooked up for life to one of these!Ó There was a
savageness in her voice now. The men looked a bit more sober than they
had in a while. ÒYouÕre going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow,Ó Rose
teased them. ÒAnd not just in your heads!Ó
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Playboy ÔHoliday 1996Õ Catalog, free. 1-800-423-9494.
Review: Recently I wrote to Hugh Hefner and asked him if I could
spend Thanksgiving at the Playboy Mansion, but he said no. Or, rather, the
lady who opens the mail on the fourth floor of the Playboy building in
Chicago said no. So I am going to celebrate Thanksgiving right here in my
very own Fuck Decency Mansion. IÕve got a can of CampbellÕs Vegetable
Beef soup, a can of Chicken with Egg Noodles soup, and a can of Chef
Boyardee Mini Ravioli. I figure if I mix them all together I can have a
pretty good Thanksgiving dinner. (Unless I eat something between now and
then.)
And IÕm thinking ahead to Christmas. Yesterday in the mail I got my
brand new Playboy Holiday 1996 catalog! My favorite Playmate of all time
is on the cover, Shae Marks! Inside she is wearing everything from a
ÔPlayboy Crop TopÕ to a ÔBarely There Open-Cup Lace TeddyÕ. ThereÕs even a
Playmate Puzzle, where you have to figure out which part of her is her
face and which part of her is her bosom. I was planning to buy the latest
book by Andrea Dworkin for Christmas, but at the last minute I decided to
buy myself a Playmate Puzzle instead. I know IÕll miss not having Ms.
Dorkin with me on Christmas day, but in life you do need to make
sacrifices. We canÕt expect to have everything.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
L---
Golliwogg looks at Nietzsche
tender eyed;
opens his mouth:
Òi L---
Crow swoops down
tears out GolliwoggÕs tongue;
wings away
cackling
NIETZSCHE-CHOW
Seeking guidance,
Golliwogg hikes the Mount
searches for the Prophet.
Golliwogg aghast,
spies Mongrel
chowing NietzscheÕs corpse,
picking his brain.
AND IN THE END...
EXONÕS HOPES FOR THE NET
ÒStatic, dead, cold, govt. approved buncha crap.Ó
- Roseanne Barr (on television).
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-END OF 140 EMISSION
- Roseanne (Charlie Rose, November 21, 1996).
- Alan FreerÕs e-mail: FAFREER@wpo.hass.usu.edu