Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 264
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Two
I was presented by Joanne and Sylvia. I had a big pink bow in my
hair. I looked utterly precious. My long blonde locks were drawn back in a
ponytail that bobbed when I walked. I wore long white stockings, the frail
kind that get runs in them almost from being touched. They were white,
and held aloft by frilly garter straps hooked to a garter belt. Pink little
bows decorated the fasteners. I wore new white patent leather pumps.
Long white gloves hugged my arms. They were tied off in little bows
above my elbows, but remained fingerless upon my hands, letting my
fingers stick through as if I wore no gloves at all. Otherwise, I was
completely naked, save for my de rigueur collar and cuffs.
I bowed my head. Perhaps in my submissiveness they would spare
me. My hands played over my bottom, apprehensive. I felt my cheeks
tighten and relax. They felt much better now. My weal was subsiding.
Soon it would be as if IÕd never been hit on my behind. And yet, and yet,
they wanted more. More! I was just a schoolgirl. I felt a sudden yearning
for home. It was safe, if sexless.
I let my eyes lift up just a little. I looked at Louis to convince
myself I must stay here. Ah! He had not shaved all day. The stubble on his
face looked so manly. He was robust and tanned, wearing a suit and
slacks. I saw, tucked into his coat like a manÕs handkerchief, my panties.
HeÕd retrieved them again and had put them away for safekeeping. Rose
and I would not be frivolous with them anymore.
I let my gaze pass to Andre. He was as well-built as Louis, a tad
shorter, but with a cock that was wider, though not as long, like a sausage
made to order by a girl who stared at too many fireplugs. I used to like
watching male dogs pee against fire plugs. It was so bold, somehow,
seeing a dog simply lift his leg and pee while all the female dogs had to
squat. When youÕre eight, such things are interesting, I assure you.
Polly was not present, but Cheyenne was. She sat between Louis and
Andre. She regarded me with curious eyes, a little haughty (or was I just
jealous?), as if saying, Ôyou must perform today, my dear, my time is not
yet come for this.Õ Her breasts were bare. They hung ripely from her
chest. Her every movement made them jiggle a little. She tossed her head
to get her lovely brown hair back from her face. It fell in clouds round her
head and down over her shoulders. It seemed to always be sneaking back
into her eyes, making her toss her head again which, of course, made her
breasts jiggle anew. She wore her glistening long jade-like penis earrings
that IÕd first seen on her at the cabana. She had fingerless gloves like me
and long stockings with a matching garter belt. But there the comparison
ended, for she was permitted panties. IÕd asked for a new pair upstairs
but been denied by Joanne and Sylvia, though there were plenty lying in my
dresser. I gazed at CheyenneÕs panties, with her cunny snug inside them,
her bottom cupped by them. They were simple drawstring panties, tied at
the sides with white bows, but for me they looked divine, for I had nothing
at all to protect me. Cheyenne had a small white purse in her hands, as if
she were sitting in church, waiting for the service to begin, or a wedding.
Her lipstick was moist and red. Her shoes were patent leather, like mine.
She had her slim ankles crossed demurely. But her thighs were sweetly
parted. Simply by glancing down, Louis or Andre could amuse himself with
the sight of her cunny offering itself softly within her panties. She had
her hips shifted forward on the sofa a little, despite the erectness of her
back, to display her little female pouch more distinctly.
We were in the sunroom. There would be little privacy here for
whatever they had planned for me. My punishment would be in the nature
of a public entertainment. The sun was sinking toward the horizon but it
was still plenty bright to illuminate my suffering. I wished it was night,
pitch black, as it had been before, when Branson visited Polly and Bambi
punished me.
There was a raised dias in the center of the room. I glanced at it
suspiciously. The furniture had been pushed aside to accommodate it.
Twin poles, looking like mayfair poles, with white bunting winding up
them, stood side by side on the dias. They were about six feet apart.
Hanging down from the top of each pole was a slim silver chain. It looked
too thin and delicate to hold anything. At the end was a clip. I looked
down at my toes and saw that the clip would fit quite neatly into my ankle
cuffs, or my wrist cuffs, if they were preferred.
My head turned to Rose. She had something planned, I could tell, no
matter how good I tried to appear. She was dressed in a very tight corset
that was laced up her front and back, in the center, which meant it had
taken at least a half hour to put it on, and needed the help of others to fit
it, for it was just two unattached shells until it was all tied together.
Despite the exactness and prolonged effort required to fit Rose into her
corset, nothing had been done to cover her breasts. The corset forced
them up a little, hefting them, making them more prominent than they
usually were, which meant they looked now like two overfilled blimps
quivering at their ports waiting for takeoff.
Dangling over her breasts, held in her hand like my panties had been,
was a small cat oÕ nine tails with knotted tips at the end. I gasped when I
saw them. Rose let them swing about a little, taunting me with them.
Moving closer to her, mesmerized, I saw that they were made of the
softest silk, tied at the tips of silk cords. Yet, applied with sufficient
force, they promised to make themselves felt most viciously, or so I
imagined, for IÕd never felt such and didnÕt want to.
ÒWhereÕs Polly?Ó I asked.
ÒSheÕs been engaged in a game of hopscotch out on the front walk,Ó
Rose said. ÒI do have some consideration for her age. SheÕs probably
drawing up all the squares and numbers right now, wearing nothing at all,
since she likes to swim that way, with the limo driver keeping watch over
her.Ó
ÒLurch?Ó I said. IÕd named him myself, in my imagination, and Rose
simply nodded. No name seemed needed for him. One was as good as
another. He simply guided, served, always on call, always ready for duty.
ÒHe said he wanted to see how girls play hopscotch, at least thatÕs
what I told him to tell her. Polly, sweet dear, was happy to oblige, and
happier still when I gave her a set of colored chalk to draw on the
sidewalk with. She had always used chalk rocks before, I guess, having to
find them first before she could play.Ó
ÒStep up on the dias,Ó Sylvia urged me. There would be no more
conversation. All was in readiness. Polly could not be kept occupied
forever. As if to hurry things along Sylvia pushed me up onto the first
step of the dias. There were four more. Each was lined with felt, in case
a barefoot girl might have to mount the dias, I supposed, to give her as
much comfort as they could. Louis stood and walked over to me. He drew
my twice discarded panties from his pocket. They were slightly damp, as
if someone had washed them for me while I was taking my bath.
ÒPolly washed them, at the sink, in the kitchen,Ó Louis said. ÒSheÕs
the one who found them the second time. She was racing around the castle
trying to see how fast she could run while Lurch? is that his name? timed
her. I watched her while she washed them for you. She was quite jolly
doing it, wearing long yellow gloves to protect her hands and arms but
with nothing else on, of course. She delighted in seeing the small stains
from your bowels on your panties. I must say, watching her crow over
your stains and sing and wriggle her nude bottom about, I was pleasantly
entertained. Another good mark in your column that will mitigate your
punishment.Ó
ÒThank you,Ó I said. He responded by parting my lips with his finger
and stuffing my panties into my mouth. I resisted him at first. I stuck my
tongue against his protruding finger. We battled, much as if our two
tongues were jabbing at each other. His finger beat my tongue, of course.
I was forced to retreat. I accepted my panties with as much equanimity
as I could muster. They were mine, after all. I shouldnÕt have thrown
them out the window. Sylvia brought a soft canvas gag to my mouth and
fitted it between my teeth. To give the gag extra bulk, after it was tied
behind my head she drew both ends of my panties out around my gag and
tied them to the gag itself. This forced my tongue back very far, and I
choked, shaking my breasts. She stroked my slim throat and I at last
accepted my new condition. With a kind of sardonic glee Sylvia then
offered me her hand and encouraged me to mount the remaining steps of
the dias. I put my hands protectively to my hind cheeks and let her guide
me up. She palmed my bare belly, her other hand pressed to the small of
my back, while I concentrated on protecting my bottom.
The top of the dias was sheathed with a covering of white fur. It
was short, very soft. Sylvia guided me to the center of it, between the
poles. There I saw, on the floor of the dias, a bolster taken from one of
the couches. It was made of white vinyl, businesslike, but it had a silk
cloth draped over it, as if to catch spillings.
I was made to kneel. Sylvia kneed her way onto the platform, not
using the steps. I hoped to just crouch in my new heels next to the bolster
but she made me lie down with my bottom perched atop it. Joanne joined
her and stood over me. Sylvia drew my hands over my head and behind my
neck and affixed them to the back of my dog collar. Joanne, standing,
lifted each of my long legs and fastened them to the end of the short chain
that dangled down from the festive poles. I found myself spread-legged,
my arms virtually immobile. My graceful, slim legs were in a wide vee,
showing off my bare pussy as if I might be posing for Penthouse. My ass
cheeks, partly unsupported by the narrow bolster, hung mostly free,
jiggling in their nakedness and making me feel like I must be the Great
Pumpkin, rising from the pumpkin patch for Linus to see.
Joanne and Sylvia got off the dias, using the steps. When they had
departed Rose very sexily came up the little stairs, swaying her bottom,
which was naked, letting me see her thatch from below, and her long legs
which were sheathed in black fishnet stockings. Except for them, her
corset, and matching gloves, plus a bondage collar tightly circling her
neck, and earrings, she was naked. Of course she wore high heels, but
nothing else, and she carried the small silk whip.
ÒThis is a special treat few girls receive, and never from a man, for
they donÕt know how to do it,Ó Rose told me. With jolly eyes she dangled
the knotted tips of her whip right over my cunt! I was helpless, like a
spread turkey waiting to be stuffed. I wondered if Cheyenne would loan
me her panties but I couldnÕt ask, with the gag in my mouth.
WHICKCK! I heard, and I felt myself lurch. My smooth belly rippled
and my clamlike cunt smarted under the blow, my lips hungering to close,
but wrenched wide with my legs all tied up straight and tall to the
mayfair poles. My bare fanny bounced atop the bolster.
WHICKCKCK! Again the silken whip rained down on my cunny. I felt
the silken tips land smartly all round my spot. She would find it soon.
WHICKCK! Oh! She hit me! Right on my tenderest, most vulnerable
spot! I screamed into my gag but there was no mercy for me. She struck
me again, and was lucky again. I squeezed my eyes shut and begged her to
stop. For answer, she lifted her whip and stung my wobbling titties.
Then, feeling perhaps a little pity for me, she summoned Joanne and
Sylvia.
ÒCome and lick her parts between my whippings,Ó she told them. ÒIt
will ease her pain a little. Nothing can be done to abate the strokes, but
perhaps immediate treatment will help her bear them.Ó
ÒYes, weÕll make them better,Ó Joanne offered. Her voice was
sincere. But I think Sylvia had more wicked intentions. She simply
wanted to tongue me and make me feel her lust. She truly enjoyed seeing
me suffer. Joanne, I think, would have stopped it at once if sheÕd been in
charge.
Rose halted a moment and let Joanne and Sylvia, clad in their
Ôoffering dresses,Õ as I thought of them, offering their bottoms and tits
and cunnies to all who cared to see, knelt down beside me. Greedily Sylvia
took possession of my wounded cunny with her mouth. Joanne tended to
my nipples. I felt my breasts roll around beneath the probing of JoanneÕs
tongue. Sylvia intruded her tongue penis-like into my slit.
ÒOh, how delicate these stockings are,Ó Rose said to me, stroking my
thighs. ÒYou shouldnÕt have worn these, dear. IÕll have to be extra careful
not to hit them with my whip. IÕd hate to put runs in them.Ó
ÒRuin them,Ó a male voice declared. Louis. My captor. ÒIÕm enjoying
this. DonÕt spare her.Ó
VIDEO REVIEWS
by holy joe
PlayboyÕs Voluptuous Vixens, $19.95. VHS, Color, 60 minutes. Playboy
Entertainment Group, Inc. Item No: PBV 0820. Phone: 1-800-423-9494.
Review: Apparently some people think IÕm a sick, perverted dweeb
who sits in his dumpster all day, yanking on his wiener.
Allow me to clear up this misunderstanding.
Every morning I get up at 6 a.m. I jog five miles. Then, itÕs off to
GoldÕs Gym. There, I compete with the other guys to see who can lift the
most weight. Usually I win.
As a power weightlifter, I have to take steroids. These keep me
stupid. If I werenÕt stupid IÕd get bored lifting dumbbells all day. So the
steroids are a necessity. They have the added advantage of adding muscle
to my chest and arms, plus my dick (which is a muscle) and my balls.
You have probably heard that steroids make a guy sexually impotent.
This, like the perception that IÕm a dweeb, is incorrect. Let me explain.
Big guys who lift weights a lot, and are stupid, and take steroids,
make a lot of sperm. Sure, we have girlfriends, but usually theyÕre in
college, or elementary school, or at work, during the day. If we let our
sperm build up all day, as weÕre building our muscles, weÕd become a
threat to public safety. Before the sun went down or (in my case) before 2
p.m., weÕd be out raping and pillaging and causing trouble. So we have to
jack off, each and every day, to keep ourselves out of jail.
HereÕs what happens. About noon, when we are all hot and sweaty
from lifting weights, we go into the locker room. There we have a
portable T.V. Usually one of us has brought a video. This, in fact, is how I
get to watch so many videos, jacking off with the guys at GoldÕs Gym.
Sometimes the video is shitty. This is bad news since, in our cases,
weÕll probably get arrested if we donÕt get some relief. On these days the
guys ask me to think up a sex story. I do my best.
ThatÕs how I wind up with so many sex stories. And thatÕs why I put
them up on the Internet too, to help other WEIGHTLIFTERS. This zine has
nothing to do with dweebs, nerds, or other perverts like that. It is
strictly a zine for my fellow power weightlifters. Obviously I canÕt
control who reads it, but I just wanted you to know who the intended
audience is. Big guys, like me, who need help getting through the day so
they donÕt wind up in trouble with the Law.
Now, about this video. It is a total waste. There is nothing good in
it at all, except a very brief bathtub scene featuring Playmate Jami
Ferrell. (I hope I got her name right. As a weightlifter, IÕm swamped with
real girls. I donÕt have time to double check the names of pinup girls in
magazines.)
Also in this video is Shae Marks. She is a natural blonde but, for
some reason, she decided to dye her hair black for this video. Now, this
really explains the bimbo mentality. What video would be more about
blondes than this one? It has girls in it. They have big boobs. The video
itself is titled ÒVoluptuous Vixens.Ó There is a blonde on the front of the
video box. Nothing could say Òb-l-o-n-d-eÓ more than this video. So,
naturally, Shae Marks shows up with her hair dyed black.
They used her anyway. ThatÕs one of the reasons I bought this video,
in fact, to see Shae. Unfortunately, sheÕs done more than just dye her hair
black. SheÕs also gotten a boob job.
Shae is one of those lovely schoolgirl-type girls who has wonderful
big boobs. She did not need a boob job. Why she got one, I have no idea.
Now, instead of having lovely, large, natural bosoms, she has big cartoon-
like boobs. And thereÕs yet another problem with Shae.
She looks old. At one time, Shae looked so young you would have
sworn you were looking at an illegal video. I still remember, quite fondly,
her early videos, such as Wet & Wild VI, ÔThe Locker Room.Õ There she
starred in a wet, bondage type scene. You would have thought you were
looking at a 15-year-old, or a 13-year-old, as she strutted about in her
bondage gear and spilled water on herself. Now, however, Shae has lines
on her neck. She has lines on her face. She looks like an ordinary adult
woman. She still has sparkling eyes, and a good body, but the Ônaughty
schoolgirlÕ image is gone forever.
So, anyway, me and the guys at GoldÕs Gym didnÕt find any
satisfaction with this video. One guy, whoÕs new, did manage to shoot off
over Jami Ferrell in the bathtub, but the rest of us were left hard and
unfulfilled.
If youÕre a power weightlifter like me, donÕt buy this video. YouÕll
just be wasting the time of the other guys at GoldÕs Gym if you bring in
this video for them to see.
Oh, yeah. 2 p.m. is when my three girlfriends, who teach elementary
school, get off of work. Just thought IÕd clear that up.
AND IN THE END...
AMERICA: LAND OF LIBERTY
ÒA Remote Sensing Device emits a beam of infrared light across
the road at the same level as the tailpipe of a passing vehicle. A
detector picks up the beam on the other side of the road, analyzes the
exhaust emissions by computer, and a high-speed camera takes a
picture of the vehicleÕs license plate.Ó
- Motorland/CSAA, November/December 1996, pg. 26.
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-END OF 264 EMISSION