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THE FUCK DECENCY XXX-MAS PARTY!
http://members.aol.com/nnd6/fuckdecency.html is the Web address. If you
go there, hereÕs some songs you can sing:
Jingle Balls,
Jingle Balls,
Jingle all the way!
Oh what fun
It is to ride
Buck naked in a sleigh!
or
Deck the balls with boughs of holly!
or (if youÕre in a girlsÕ dormitory)
Silent night,
Holy night
(unless all the girls are virgins)
Anyway thereÕs a picture of our Christmas party from last year in The
Economist, December 7, 1996, on pg. 67. (Roller on the left, me on the
right). There werenÕt enough girls there but otherwise it was an ok party.
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 153
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Amsterdam Damsels
Chapter One
ÒNow we shall conduct the job interview,Ó Laurie said matter-of-
factly. ÒWhat is your name?Ó
ÒMelody,Ó I answered.
WHICK! The cane sliced into my bottom, catching me just below the
tender inward curving of my cheeks. ÒOW!Ó I cried. My hinds wobbled, my
tits bounced.
ÒThatÕs just your first name,Ó Laurie told me. ÒI need your full
name, please.Ó She flexed her cane, as if in readiness for the omission of
my middle name.
ÒMelody Emily Carr,Ó I said. I felt a tear in the corner of my right
eye.
ÒAnd your age, Melody?Ó
Ò15,Ó I answered.
WHICK! Another wicked cut. ÒYeow!Ó I cried. My nipples danced, my
bottom bucked and reared. I had trouble holding on to my ankles.
Ò15, maÕam, is how you should answer, Melody,Ó Laurie told me. I
sniffled.
Ò15, maÕam,Ó I choked out.
ÒDonÕt worry, youÕll learn it all. YouÕve quite an incentive, donÕt you
think?Ó she asked.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I answered.
ÒSee? YouÕre learning already. Did I have to remind you that time?Ó
ÒNo, maÕam,Ó I answered.
ÒWould you like to pull your panties up, Melody?Ó she asked.
ÒYes!Ó I cried.
SNICKCK! A double-salute! I almost bounded right up then, losing my
grip entirely on my ankles. ÒOh, Boo! Hoo!Ó I sobbed out. I did not like this
whipping, not at all, though the thought of being a GQ model girl had me
tingling in inappropriate places.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó Laurie reminded me.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I said, and reached for my panties.
WHACK! ÒNot yet!Ó she told me. ÒI merely asked.Ó
ÒOh! I canÕt stand this!Ó I cried.
ÒYou are the chosen,Ó she said. ÒLook how sparkling clean this room
is! Do you think youÕd ever be made to scrub it down, except for the
pleasure of some gentleman? Of course not! Only for erotic reasons
would I ever give you a scrub brush and bucket, or anyone else, for that
matter. Look how slim and lovely you are! Surely a few disciplinary
strokes of the cane are not too much to ask. Afterward we shall dine
together, you and I, at a fine restaurant somewhere. And I will introduce
you to my male models. But first I must establish who is boss. IÕll have
no Beckys here. You are too old to act like that, though youÕd try to get
away with it if you could.
ÒOh, please hurry!Ó I said. Whatever she needed to do, I wanted her
to get it over with.
ÒAh, sweet dear, wait for it,Ó she said. ÒThere is no rush. You are
young, I am young. Show me how you can take it, be patient. Ask for the
next stroke.Ó
ÒPlease, then -- but not too hard!Ó I still wanted her to hurry up.
WHACK! ÒOoooch!Ó I danced about. I weaved, waved my hips. I
lurched. I almost fell on the bed. My boobies bounced like they were
spring-loaded, under the blow.
ÒSee? You keep your posture well. You are more well-behaved than
you think, precious. I like that in a girl. Tell me what kind of modeling
youÕd like to do.Ó Laurie whisked her cane through the air, testing it,
keeping me on edge.
ÒUh,Ó I gulped. ÒNot bare-bottomed modeling, thatÕs for sure,Ó I
answered.
WHACK! Again the awful cane. I jumped up this time, I could not
bear it. My hands flew to my ass and I rubbed it.
ÒMy, my, if youÕve had enough, why didnÕt you just say so?Ó Laurie
asked me.
ÒI-I Oh, you wicked woman!Ó I cried. My bottom was seared. It was
not its flawless white anymore.
ÒGet your panties up, we shall go to lunch,Ó she said then.
ÒWhat about you?Ó I asked.
ÒAh, I am not dressed. I had forgotten,Ó she smiled. ÒDo you have to
pee? I have to,Ó she said. She walked to the toilet, sat down gracefully. I
watched her bosoms jostle one another as she settled onto the ceramic
seat.
ÒI have to go too,Ó I said, walking towards her, pulling my panties
up.
ÒThen youÕll just have to take these down again,Ó she smiled, putting
a hand out, catching my half-raised panties by the crotch. My bottom
wiggled excessively from my caning. I heard her piss into the toilet.
She pushed my panties down my calves again. I did not know what to
say. I felt we might not make lunch, after all. I heard her pee stop. ÒSit
it my lap and weÕll do it together,Ó she husked.
I straddled her. Still wriggling from the searing strokes across my
ass, I got down on her open thighs, rested my bottom between them, facing
her. She took my hair, drew me forward. We kissed. ÒPiss now!Ó she
breathed. Together we released our streams into the bowl.
We wiped each other. It was a moment of sharing, helpfulness. It
felt unique. She eased me off her legs and we both stood up.
The door opened again. It was the washerwoman. She had a little
rack of clothes. Just filmy panties, sheer nothing nighties, an
insubstantial bra or two. ÒIÕm sorry, maÕam. I forgot to return the
clothing,Ó she said. ÒIÕm lucky wasnÕt a man with her in here. He might
have wanted her to dress up for him.Ó
ÒJust put the clothes against the wall,Ó Laurie said dismissively.
She had me by the arm. My panties ringed my ankles, impeding me. We
drifted even now toward the roomÕs far end, toward the bed. ÒAh, now she
has a nice dell, doesnÕt she?Ó the washer-woman said. Her eyes admired
my pussy greedily. ÒWill you be needing a hand-towel, maÕam? I see there
isnÕt any in here.Ó
ÒNo, not right now,Ó Laurie answered. ÒJust privacy, please.Ó
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó the washer-woman replied. Giving me a knowing wink
she turned, trundled out, shut the door.
ÒGet out of those panties and kneel up on the bed,Ó Laurie instructed
me.
ÒOh, not another spanking!Ó I pleaded. I knew there were still quite a
few implements hanging on the wall, all of them as yet untried.
ÒJust do as I say, or I will spank you indeed,Ó Laurie answered. I
bent, sniffled, untangled my panties from the spikes of my heels and
tossed them towards the door.
ÒDo you want someone to trip over them when they come in again?Ó
Laurie asked me, seeing where IÕd thrown my undies.
ÒI wouldnÕt mind,Ó I replied. I hated that washer-woman. So
ridiculous. Big and fat and admiring me like I was some thoughtless
object.
ÒGet on the bed,Ó Laurie told me. ÒFace on your pillow, bottom high,
kneeling.Ó I dropped my knees onto the cot and kneed my way forward on
it. I bent my head, my back down, pressed my cheek to my pillow. It
smelled fresh.
Laurie admired my rearing ass. Clean, neat strokes of the cane made
searing red lines across it, keeping me perpetually jiggling it even as I
waited for her next move. ÒDo you know what drew me to come see you
this morning, to meet you?Ó Laurie asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed into my pillow.
ÒBecause I hear youÕre an anal virgin,Ó she answered. Her words
were frank, scary.
ÒI-I-Ó I wanted to deny it. She took a vial of oil from one of her coat
pockets. She uncorked it. She sprinkled some on her finger.
ÒNoooo,Ó I gasped. Yet I did not flinch, save for the gentle weaving
undulations of my ass.
ÒYesssss,Ó she replied. She drew close to me, bent, her bosoms full,
nipples stiff. She parted my cheeks with a thumb and forefinger, found
them tight, springy, clenching. She put a finger to my rosette. ÒDo not
tighten yourself, Melody,Ó she urged. I tried to relax. I knew I had come
for this. I knew, yet I did not know. She pushed her finger within my
sphincter. I stiffened, jerked. She prodded me. I blubbered into my
pillow. She burrowed deeper still. ÒHave you ever had anyone up this
far?Ó she asked. Her voice was casual, polite. We were at a garden party.
ÒNot-not,Ó I gasped.
ÒWell, now you have,Ó she replied. She thrust in more, I felt my
cheeks flex reflexively wide, then tighten again. ÒTry to relax,Ó she said.
I felt my breath huff and puff up from my throat, past my teeth. She drew
back a little. ÒIn and out, in and out now, just like a penis,Ó she said. I
felt her surge back and forth, croaked. It was an utterly new sensation. I
was sure I didnÕt like it. ÒYou will have a penis in here soon, I can assure
you,Ó she said.
ÒYesssss,Ó I breathed, gasped. Did I want that? I did not know what
I wanted. My panties were on the floor on the other side of the room.
ÒIn and out, in and out,Ó she said. I felt slimness. I wanted
something bigger, fuller, deep down inside me there. ÒNow, letÕs take this
little finger of mine out and see what else we can teach you with,Ó Laurie
said. I heard a pop. Her finger was withdrawn. She went to the sink and
washed it. She drew and linen handkerchief from her coat pocket and
wiped her fingers. I remained quivering on the bed. I was afraid to move,
like a patient after surgery.
Laurie reached into her coat. It looked to me like she was reaching
for a gun, except she pulled out something worse. A dildo. Fine and big
and looking like it had been carved from ivory. She walked over to me
again.
****
We sat at dinner. We were elegant. It was the next evening. The
previous night, as promised, we had eaten at a restaurant. Then today she
introduced me to her GQ men. I was shy, blushing. Afterward, when they
were gone, she made me choose amongst them, telling her which I
preferred.
It was a private reception, a private dinner. There were about a
dozen people present. The hostess had received me warmly, taken my
coat, admired me. All present knew why I was here. The GQ men IÕd
favored were here too, deferential, letting the women lead. Letting Laurie
make all the decisions for them. They were loyal to her. I admired her
management skills. Some of the men were massive, power lifters, though
not too heavy, they had to still look tall and fine in a business suit for her
fashion magazine.
I ate quietly. I was urged to eat. All eyes flitted to me, away, then
back again. Dessert was served. Cherry pie. I knew the significance. And
so did all the guests. I blushed as my piece was served to me. I nibbled at
it, popped a cherry in my mouth, could not eat the rest.
ÒAnd in regards to your orientation,Ó Laurie said at last, clearing her
throat a little before she began. She looked directly at me. I gazed back,
then had to lower my eyes. I could not hold her. They blazed like the sun.
Gypsie eyes, with dark fire, as if from some deep shadowland fueled by
volcanoes. ÒPermit me to be explicit, if you will,Ó Laurie said to the host,
who smiled back at her. Explicitness was permitted. ÒYou, Laurie, do look
at me when IÕm speaking to you, darling.Ó I tried to raise my eyes, did a
little. ÒYou must be whipped first. It is necessary. Nothing too severe.
Your bottom must be warmed for it. It will make it easier for you when it
comes. It will make you more receptive. And the male (she cleared her
throat softly again) the males will stem all the more eagerly to you,
feeling your hot bottom grinding up against them.Ó
I sipped a sip of milk. I said nothing. ÒLet us have her clothes off
then,Ó Laurie said. Two females rose, two who had sat on either side of
me. They urged me up from my chair. I flinched a little as they pulled my
clothes off me. There was not much ceremony about it. Just pull up the
blouse, unzip the skirt, unsnap the bra, and (alas!) down with my panties.
They took everything right off, cooing a little, perhaps to make me feel
better, perhaps because they liked my beauty, but they were mostly
workmanlike, quick, women with a job to do and doing it.
At last I stood like Venus, unclothed, my hair pretty. My new
girlfriends unpinned it so that it hung free. My tits wobbled on my chest.
My nipples were harder than I could ever remember them being. I felt
moist between my legs.
Laurie stood. She cast her eyes approvingly over my figure. ÒYou
look like youÕre about to have a bath,Ó she laughed. The men rose. I saw
their trousers, bulging, eager to spurt out their treasures. The hostess
rose. Laurie turned me. The rest of the female guests got up. All were
young, though not as young as myself. Laurie pointed ahead of me and told
me I must lead the way. ÒGo through that door, dear, and walk gracefully,
or I will switch you before we even arrive. Be on your best behavior now,
go!Ó I turned. I walked on my spiked heels, my hips swaying. My glorious
nude bottom cheeks rolled with my every step.
Beyond the door was a stone passage. We were in an old part of
town, an old house with mysteries. I tread down the passageway with
fearful footsteps. Behind me the others followed.
My bottom felt huge. I felt intense embarrassment at mooning
everyone with it. But then, thatÕs what I was here for, wasnÕt it? My
bottom. My virgin anus. Now was the night I was truly to receive. A man
up me. All my life IÕd wondered, waited. Now, within the hour, it was to
be done. All that remained now was for the preliminary whipping. I did
not like the thought of that. I reached back, unconsciously caressed my
bottom cheeks as I thought of it. ÔNecessary,Õ she had called it. Was it
really? She said it would make the men even bigger. Did I want that? I
realized I had already chosen the GQ guys I thought would be biggest where
it counted. I felt chilly, even though I knew the stone hallway was not
cold.
There were steps at the end. I mounted them, carefully, unsteady in
my heels. Beyond the passage turned. And then curtains, a curtain of
beads that hung down. I passed within them. They tinkled. Ah, no!
A huge round dais waited. And atop it, almost as an afterthought, a
trestle...
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
PATCHWORK
ÒRemember that I am thy creatureÓ
--Frankenstein
In FaustÕs laboratory
Wagner and Mephistopheles
birthed homonculus--
Golliwogg watched All.
With god-like ignorance
Golliwogg attempts Creation:
measures
pours
stirs
mashes flesh to bone
as play-dough to sticks;
steals human features
like silly-putty lifted from Sunday Comics.
Begets Patchwork
who grubs in hunger.
AND IN THE END...
IS HUSTLER A COFFEE-TABLE BOOK?
ÒThe best coffee-table books are not the ones you leave out for display
but those you take to bed to browse through.Ó
- The Economist, December 7, 1996, pg. 15 (review).
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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-END OF 153 EMISSION
- Alan FreerÕs e-mail: FAFREER@wpo.hass.usu.edu