JONBENET RAMSEY CLONED !
Columbust, GEORGIA - The John Jones genetic research center
reported today that it had cloned a copy of Miss Colorado, JonBenet
Ramsey.
ÒIt was difficult to do, but we figured it will be more useful to
have than a female sheep,Ó John Jones, Head of Genetic Research,
reported. ÒThere are lots of lonely men in the world who could use a
little JonBenet Ramsey in their life. We figure they wonÕt treat her any
worse than her parents apparently did.Ó Jones added that any men
adopting a JonBenet Ramsey clone would have to sign a Ôno smutÕ
pledge.
ÒSome of these guys currently buy girlie magazines, porno videos,
inflatable dolls, stuff like that. But little JonBenet Ramsey is going to
need lots of diapers and baby bottles and teddy bears, and childrenÕs
panties and, sooner than they think, training bras and a bicycle and a
bright red convertible and college tuition. We donÕt want to see her
denied in any way. Some of those bondage videos can be really
expensive. So we make all our men sign a Ôno smutÕ pledge, promising
that theyÕll spend all their money on little JonBenet Ramsey.Ó
Men were already lining up outside the Jones Research center to
obtain their new, cloned JonBenet Ramsey.
ÒThis beats Promise Keepers,Ó one man said. ÒI told my wife to
take a hike and take the damn ugly kids she bore too. IÕm getting
myself THREE JonBenet Ramseys!Ó
One man, apparently with less than pure intentions, asked if the
Jones research center was planning to clone Marilyn Monroe.
ÒNot at this time,Ó Jones replied. ÒHowever, we do plan to clone
Bill Clinton. IÕve been concerned about his womanizing. I figure if
thereÕs a Bill Clinton clone, one of him will be able to stay at home
with Hillary and Chelsea while the other copy goes out and Ôsows his
seeds.Õ Hopefully no one will know which copy is which, and everyone
will just have to assume that the one staying home on any given night
is the real President Clinton.
ÒThis should keep the tabloids happy too,Ó Jones added. ÒWith
hundreds of JonBenet Ramseys, one of her should be winning a beauty
pageant someplace every week. Every week the Star, the Globe, and the
Enquirer will be able to feature little JonBenet Ramsey winning a
pageant. This, I think, will be much more positive than stories about
autopsies and death.Ó
When contacted, the editor of a major tabloid replied, ÒAmericaÕs
only interested in corpses. If sheÕs a dead 6-year-old blonde, blue-eyed
girl, weÕll put her on the cover. Otherwise our readers arenÕt
interested.Ó
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 202
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Four
I raised my hand. Timidly, just up to my ear, as Gwen had done. But
I figured if I was to ask permission to leave it must be now.
ÒI-IÕm not hungry anymore. IÕm quite full,Ó I said directly to
hostess, bypassing Jill, whom I knew would forbid me to leave if I asked
her. She was scared of being tattooed, had brought me along for company.
ÒWhy dear, the dessert isnÕt for eating,Ó hostess said. ÒIÕll have you
tattooed first for speaking up, though. Thank you for volunteering,Ó she
taunted me. I withdrew my hand. I felt overcome with dismay. I looked at
Sam. His eyes seemed slightly glazed. A male dog in heat, thinking of
nothing but his cock. Would I truly be tattooed? I could not bear the
thought of it! I felt Jill and Gwen suddenly grab me by my arms. They
yanked them behind me, throwing my breasts out into stark relief from the
rest of my body. Sam, his eyes still glazed, looked admiringly at my
obscenely offered boobies, ignoring my face completely, my anxiousness,
my fear. Candi was behind me a moment later and she tied a strip of
rawhide around my close-pressed wrists, Jill and Gwen holding me, their
own arms straining as they held mine. Thin, frail arms they had, but
within that frailness there was just enough strength to hold my younger
arms tightly together. A moment later I was tied, my bosoms bobbing in
front of me, my hands useless now.
ÒDonÕt get up,Ó Jill warned me. She fingered her twig of birch,
beside her plate, and gave me a meaningful glance.
ÒYou have such lovely nipples,Ó Gwen consoled me. She touched a
fingertip to the underside of my nipples, stroking each one, making it
sizzle with pleasure.
ÒPlease, donÕt,Ó I begged. They only smiled.
ÒShare and share alike,Ó Jill said at last, as Candi rolled out a big
cake. It was made in the obvious shape of a vulva. Cherries studded it, it
was cherry cheesecake, Gwen whispered to me, still tantalizing my
nipples with her devilish finger.
ÒGirls, tonight you will, each of you,Ó she glanced at me, Òbe
tattooed on the inside of your vulva. Such a private place. It will ruin
your looks not the least as, in my opinion, most tattoos do. Only your
lover will ever see it, and then only when he spreads apart your labial lips
and looks inside to the womb that is his, and his alone. There, inside your
privates, will be a little heart-shaped tattoo. Not too big, but a clear
symbol of your servitude and commitment to your husband. No other man,
eating you, will be able to do so without knowing that you once belonged
to another, and that he was your first real love, the first man that you
were willing to sacrifice for, to bleed for. Yes, there will be little
droplets of blood where the needle pricks you. I suppose we shall have to
paint the design on first, now that I think of it. I am new to this tattooing
business, but GwenÕs husband will guide my hand. I will tattoo you
myself, though I have never done it before. There will be no anesthesia, of
course. We will discuss this some more in a few minutes, after our
dessert. Let us now enjoy a last moment of carefree abandon though, shall
we? Cut the cake, please, Candi.Ó
Candi lifted a sharp knife and proceeded to slice up the cake into
equal portions. Hostess, meanwhile, took hold of Karen by her waist and
drew her close.
ÒKaren, you must be tattooed too,Ó hostess told her. ÒAnd will
everyone elseÕs vulva now visible yours must be too.Ó As Karen gulpingly
watched, hostess drew down her panties from her privates. They snapped
a little as the gusset finally broke free of her clenching lovelips. Hostess
pulled them all the way down KarenÕs legs and made her step out of them.
Hostess tossed them neatly over her boyfriendÕs cock.
ÒA ringer!Ó hostess laughed. Then she took her linen napkin and
neatly wiped away the coolwhip that hung upon the curls of KarenÕs pubis.
After each wipe hostess put the napkin to her lips and licked off the
cream herself. ÒYou taste very good, Karen,Ó hostess complimented her.
ÒThankyou, maÕam,Ó Karen answered shyly.
Her pussy newly freed from her confining undies, Karen was ordered
to help Candi distribute the slices of cheesecake. Mine arrived, all
blubbery and wobbling. I sat looking at it, my hands tied behind my back.
Would somebody feed it to me?
Gwen picked up the entire plate of cheesecake. ÒYou are too pretty,Ó
she told me laughingly. And then, to my heartbeating surprise, she
smooshed the cake right into my face! I screamed with shock. She ground
the plate into my face. When she withdrew it my once-lovely visage was a
frothy mess. Everybody laughed at me. I felt myself blushing right down
to my toes. My boobies jiggled helplessly. I yanked at the bonds which
held my wrists behind me but it only made the rawhide cut into my arms.
All around me then I heard girls getting pied in the face. Each one
did the other, laughing at the mess she made, only to be quickly repaid.
Oh, our makeup session under CandiÕs expert young hands was all wasted
now! Why, oh why? I wondered. I managed to shake some frosting from my
eyes and opened them. Hostess strode down the line of males across from
me, her breasts proud and free, a little icing on them, and deliberately
picked up and smashed each manÕs serving of pie right into his own face.
Some of the detritus splashed onto her lovely dress and bosom, but she
was not deterred. Each man received his due.
When all of us had been thoroughly humiliated, hostess re-took her
place at the head of the table.
ÒWell, that should dispel any notion that any of you are above me or
can refuse what is next to follow,Ó hostess said. ÒI know you husbands
will have second thoughts as you see your young wives and girlfriends put
under the tattooing needle, but remember my hand in your face, and keep
your protests to yourself. Candi!Ó The girl appeared at her side quick as
lightning, her breasts jiggling within their bodice with the utmost
alacrity. She was willing to serve in whatever way was needed, hoping to
avoid both a pie face and the tattoo needles.
ÒBring forth the chair,Ó hostess said. Candi disappeared quick as
sheÕd come, but returned soon, bearing a small v-shaped lawn chair that
she placed in front of hostess, facing her. ÒDrape a silk cloth over it, to
protect it and provide a little comfort,Ó hostess told Candi. The girl
complied, going to the kitchen as we all sat apprehensively and returning
moments later, unfolding a brocade, one without a design sewn in yet,
perhaps never to bear one, and laid it upon the chair. Would our dropletted
blood decorate it, from our pussies? I shuddered to think of such things,
yet they flashed in my mind, making me feel guilty and forcing me to wish
I was home, with my mom, even wearing an infernal one-piece for her, if
it would spare me the needles and the tattoo!
Gwen lifted her napkin and wiped my face for me, pouring a little
bourbon into the napkin to wet it first. Candi came for me, took my arm. I
rose, not knowing what else to do. Jill gave my bare fanny a little slap as
I passed behind her chair. I was walked, still in my heels but with nothing
else on, up to the silk-covered chair. It was just one of those simple
chairs you see at the beach, with no legs, a small vee into which one might
sit oneÕs bottom for a quick rest. Hostess rose, had me step up into her
chair and then onto the table. She sat back down in her chair again. She
did not seem to mind that my shoes had been out in the street. They were
new heels, though, barely worn, given to me by Jill for this nightÕs
festivities. I guessed all the girls wore new heels in deference to
hostess.
I sat down in the chair. Hostess drew herself close and frankly
pulled my knees apart. Nothing was to be hidden from her. Absolutely
nothing. Before sitting down again she had shed her dress, and I gazed
down at her belly, her hips. She was boldly shaped, with a prominent bust
and hips that flared out like men like them, showing her to be a mature
woman, ready to receive however much of their seed they might strive to
pump into her. She looked at me with cold eyes. They were remorseless.
ÒHave you started using tampons yet?Ó she asked me. As she spoke
her fingers worked themselves into my frightened cunt and pulled my lips
open.
ÒYes,Ó I breathed. My heart was beating frantically in my chest and I
saw my boobies were twitching nervously, my nipples painfully hard. Yet
my clitty buzzed excitedly, not knowing the difference between sex and
impending pain. Hostess glided her fingers mercifully over my spot,
soothing me, but I was apprehensive still, knowing my fate, and only being
soothed in that small way that makes your passion bloom even more, as
yet unfulfilled.
ÒAnd you have regular periods?Ó she inquired. She looked at my
newly deflowered twat, peering closely, rimming her fingers along my
lovelips.
ÒMmm,hmmm,Ó I answered, my mouth lips tight-pressed even as my
lovelips were drawn wide apart.
ÒGood. And you have known the fucking of a cock, I see,Ó she said.
ÒWell, we will make it just a little tattoo for you. You will bear my
initials, young lady, or rather just that of my surname. A nice cursive-
style L.Ó She looked up at me, holding me forcibly apart. ÒDo not tremble
so. It will be your passport to anywhere, here in Brazil. Simply show it,
and you will be admitted, however grand the party or function. It will hurt
just a little, for a little while, and then forever after you will be
admitted to a very high class of aristocrats, chosen by me, and all of my
girlfriends will be happy to see you. I myself bear the initial E, given me
by Evita Peron, who preferred to use the initial of her first name since, I
think youÕll agree, a P would be rather undignified. She put it upon me
when I was a child, just your age, so all your squirming is not going to
spare you. I have worn it proudly ever since, as you will wear mine.Ó
I did my best to hold back my tears, I donÕt know why, as Candi was
made to sit on hostessÕ lap.
ÒCandi, are you good at drawing and painting,Ó hostess asked her.
ÒOh, yesÕm,Ó Candi nodded quickly.
ÒI know you are. ThatÕs why I selected you for this evening, in
addition to your loveliness. Now Candi, do you feel kinda twitchy and
nervous?Ó hostess asked her.
Candi whispered something in her ear, sitting there on her lap,
hostess naked but Candi still clad in her bosom-gripping bodice.
ÒYes, I have to cum, and you do too,Ó hostess said to her. ÒLetÕs both
bring each other off, shall we? We can do it sitting right here, while
Flurrie wants to receive her tattoo. Then youÕll be calm to paint it on her,
and IÕll be calm enough to poke it into her so she can wear it for the rest
of her life.Ó
Beyond women rose, went to the chamberpot, and relieved
themselves. They wiped each othersÕ faces to make themselves pretty
again, shared the makeup kit. The men sat spellbound, thinking only of
their cocks now, desperate to cum, desperate not to.
ÒYes, gentlemen, itÕs fun to watch women pee, isnÕt it?Ó hostess
said, looking up. ÒDonÕt cum, though. A tattoo can be placed on a cock as
easily as inside a vulva. IÕll do it, too, if you cum now, this late in the
evening. Be good boys and keep your sperm quietly within your balls for
now. You can shoot it all out later, I assure you. But for now, behave
yourselves and just watch. You may gather round my chair in a minute,
after Candi and I have rubbed each other a bit.Ó She smiled at the girl in
her lap, so cute and so terribly innocent. Yet I looked younger still, and my
slit was about to be pillaged!
ÒLetÕs rub each other, Candi, hmmm?Ó hostess said. ÒYou do me, and
IÕll do you. Do you think you can cum if I rub you?Ó
ÒOh, yes maÕam!Ó Candi answered. ÒIÕm dying for it!Ó She squirmed
in hostessÕ lap. Her legs were parted, her bottom churned eagerly, hoping
to feel her cunny pleasured.
I sat there, my legs apart, but held no longer by anyoneÕs hands.
Behind me, I pulled at my wriststraps. I must get up. Surely I must. I
was lying back, pressed against the chair back, which was fairly long and
high, high enough for me to rest the back of my head upon. The chair came
with an attachment, which the handsome boy closest to hostess had
helpfully yanked upward once I was seated in the chair. The weight of my
bottom on the opposite V of the chair kept it from toppling backward.
Just to be sure, though, he rammed two tall candlesticks up into the back
of the chair, on either side, right where the metal supporting edges of the
chair ran upward toward my head, toward the ceiling. HeÕd removed the
wax candles first, leaving just the sturdy gold base. I could feel the
slight bulge of them against the outer edges of my back. I pressed myself
backward, they held fast.
I turned my head, leaned, glanced over my shoulder. What was he
doing back behind me now? He was standing, leaning forward. My eyes
could not help but glance at his cock. It was huge, sportingly erect. He
had a small drill in his hands. Where had he gotten that?! To my surprise I
saw the candlesticks, perhaps brought along by hostess herself, each had
two small holes in the base. Through these some enterprising young man,
should he just happen to bring a small portable drill and four screws,
might drill the candlesticks into the table. As I watched, amazed that
such preparations would be taken on my behalf, he resolutely zipped each
of the screws directly into the hardwood table. Before heÕd started he
was done. It took only a moment. I think he did construction work for a
living. And why not? He was hostessÕ special guest. She didnÕt need a
doctor or a lawyer for a boyfriend. She had a governor of an entire
province for a husband. She did, however, need a handy young man who
knew how to screw a girl into place before she could say Ôno.Õ
But that was just the chair. I myself was still free. I wriggled my
bottom. The base of the chair was so short! My hind cheeks hung mostly
free, my knees drawn up to my chin. My feet remained apart, properly
fitted in my new, expensive heels. Otherwise I was naked. My sex pulsed
hungrily. Before me hostess and Candi shared intimate touchings. Candi
swooned against hostess, screamed into her ear, announcing her pleasure
under hostessÕ probing finger. With her own hand Candi returned the
pleasure. Hostess was more reserved, though, biting her lip discreetly.
She did not shout out like the undisciplined Candi. Hostess had cum many
times. This was just one more party, I was just one more girl, as was
Candi. Yet, somehow, I admired her reserve. Here were all these young
men amongst us, each vibrantly erect, and little Candi did know how to
twiddle her pointing finger most pleasantly into hostessÕ cunny. Yet
hostess just Ôrode out the storm,Õ so to speak, smiling wanly to herself.
Finally both of them came in a jabbing, poking frenzy, working each
othersÕ clittys with quick, impressive strokes, sometimes not so much
directly upon the clitty as circling just around it, tantalizing as much as
attacking it.
As I watched, mesmerized, each of the men sitting along the table
behind me kicked off his pants and got up. They gathered around hostess
and Candi. They were stark naked now, ready for sex...
AND IN THE END...
STRANGER DANGER?
Percent of raped girls who were under age 12 who were raped by a
family member: 46 percent
Percent of raped girls who were under age 12 who were raped by a
stranger: 4 percent
Source: Department of Justice
- The Economist, February 15, 1997, pg. 28.
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-END OF 202 EMISSION