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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 61
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Desire Isle
Chapter Six
Melanie's other ankle was drawn apart, leaving her legs in a wide,
vulnerable vee. It too was latched down, this time to the other forward
leg of the desk. Melanie shivered visibly. Her legs were practically
straight, knees just allowed the slightest buckling. Half her bottom, the
cushion underneath, was jutting out beyond the end of the desk. Her pussy
was fully displayed to all who might wish to partake of its beauty, the
tight, furred little lips still slumbering in virginal quietude, dry and
untouched.
One by one Gwen unbent Melanie's arms, taking them from where she
had lain them protectively over her breasts. They in turn were each
adorned with a restraining leather strap, affixing them to each of the rear
corners of the desk. Finally a collar was looped around Melanie's throat
and buckled. A leash was attached and run back over the rim of the desk to
be tied off to a knob protruding from the desk's center drawer.
"She is ready," Gwen said softly, easily to Dick.
"This will hurt a bit," Dick said. Melanie twisted her eyes downward
as best she could and caught a glimpse of the cane being uplifted. It was a
sliver of green bamboo fitted into an ivory handle. So insubstantial, yet
wicked looking. Could such a slender implement really cause her pain?
Melanie winced as the first blow fell. Right on the inside of her
creamy thigh, leaving a burning stripe in its wake. Again. Melanie bucked
soundlessly upon the desk, hips uplifting, small of her back bowing. Why
were they whipping her front? Why not her bottom? A seizure of fear
possessed Melanie as she thought of her sweet little quim open to the fall
of the cane. Would they dare to whip her there? Melanie felt just the
slightest tinge of moisture come to her pussy. She couldn't believe it! Her
pussy was being aroused by the thought of being given pain. The next blow
fell and Melanie let out a little cry. Pain, mixed with an undeniable sense
of passion.
Some time later Melanie was sobbing loudly. Her big breasts
wobbled upon her straight, firm chest, above the delineation of her ribs,
the concavity of her stomach. The juncture of her thighs was a welter of
painful stripes. They had hit her pussy, Gwen even taking part in the
punishment. Melanie couldn't believe she was even still alive, the pain
was so intense. She longed to see her loins, to nurse them, to pet the once
pretty lips and kiss them until they were better. Suddenly she felt a wet
kiss and the tang of lipstick upon her quim. Gwen was kissing her there.
Then the woman unlaced the leather bands which held her ankles fast.
Dick came around behind Melanie and undid her wrist straps and
collar. With trepidation in her eyes Melanie struggled to sit up. Dick's
hand at her back helped her. She had to scoot her bottom inward to get all
of it back upon the desk. The cushion travelled with the spheres of her
flesh. Legs parted for she feared to close them, Melanie looked down. A
mass of red striped covered her inner thighs. A few had even been laid on
her tummy. With Gwen holding her shoulders from the front to steady her,
Melanie put her hands very tenderly to her pussy lips and looked down at
them. Surprisingly, they were as pretty as ever, evincing almost no signs
of the whacks they had sustained. Obviously Melanie had been mistaken
about the punishment they had received. The few strokes which had hit
her quim had become confused with those many more which had landed on
her inner thighs.
Looking down at her quim, Melanie felt a need to pee. She voiced her
desire and the cushion was withdrawn from underneath her bottom. Gwen
and Dick had Melanie scoot forward on the desk until the aperture of her
peehole was over the floor. Melanie was half standing, half sitting, her
booted toes resting on the floor, heels uptilted. "Pee into this demitasse,"
Gwen cooed. Melanie looked up, surprised. The woman had placed an empty
wine glass below the juncture of Melanie's thighs. Seeing that the woman
was dead serious, Melanie glanced at Dick, standing off to one side. He
just smiled back, waiting for her to begin.
Melanie looked down at her pussy once more. Her long hair, mussed
from the writhing of her head during the caning, spilled unkempt locks
over her slim shoulders. Melanie drew in her breath and bit her lower lip.
She put a pair of fingers to her pussy lips and parted them. She began to
pee.
Melanie walked with a distinctly awkward gait as she left Earl's
executive suite. Her thighs burned at the slightest contact. Her hair was
mussed. Her lipstick was prettily smeared. She wore her expensive fur
coat pulled tight, head bowed.
Melanie felt ashamed, yet at the same time she knew that if she did
not leave Earl's office with a bearing similar to that with which she had
entered, his co-workers would know something was up. Melanie stole a
furtive glance at Earl's private secretary as she swished by the woman,
Gwen at her side. Earl's secretary sat at her desk, a tongue on her lip as,
open mouthed, she seemed to busy herself with the task of scrolling a
sheet of paper into a typewriter. Did Melanie catch a knowing look on the
woman's face? For the first time she noticed the blonde woman's full
bosom, seemingly braless. Had she too tasted the forbidden fruits of
Earl's office? Earl had not come--he had not even taken out his penis! Had
Melanie been a mere prelude to Earl's excitement, to be followed by a more
romantic encounter with his secretary? All these thoughts did nothing to
help Melanie keep her head up.
In the limo Gwen caught sight of a tear pearling down Melanie's
cheek. With a whisper of compassion Gwen wiped it away with her nail.
"Is something troubling you, darling?" Gwen asked when the tear had been
removed. Melanie snuffled.
"I thought he loved me," Melanie whimpered.
"Who? Earl?" Gwen asked as the limo whisked them home. Melanie
nodded silently, to a titter of laughter from Gwen. "My dear, there is love
and lust in this world, and men seem to have a monopoly on the latter,"
Gwen smiled. This remark sent Melanie's face into her hands, and a loud
snuffle followed. Gwen stroked Melanie's hair, her fingers perhaps
returning a semblance of order to the girl's lemon locks as they slipped
between the strands. "Earl loves you for what you are; a sprightly young
maiden who can buck and rear beneath his crop as well as any filly he has
trained. I know you pleased him because he insured that you get the full
$2,000 fee, by giving us a generous tip." Melanie only cried more, the sobs
coming regularly now. The limo's driver, separated by glass, heard
nothing.
"I'm glad you're crying, do you know why?" Gwen asked after a bit.
Melanie, head still in her hands, shook her head no. "Because it means you
weren't really submitting to Earl for the money. You were doing it because
you believed in it, and him. I like that. It means you have class. That's
how I am. I didn't tell you earlier, because I didn't think you'd understand.
I don't whore for the money, though every girl likes money, and what it can
buy. I whore because I respect and trust the men who pay me. The money
is only a bonus."
"I think Kimberly would do it just for the money," Melanie said,
lifting her tear streaked face, suddenly regaining her composure, becoming
her old self again.
"Now, we don't know that," Gwen replied, still running her fingertips
through Melanie's hair. "In any event she's too young to get into the
business, at least in my opinion. Some men would disagree with me, of
course. It will be up to you to look after her once we part. She's more
inclined to get into mischief than you are, I think."
"She loves to have strings of boys wallowing in her beauty and play
them off against one another," Melanie said. "She feels no commitment to
them at all." Gwen touched the tip of her nail to Melanie's chin. She lifted
it. She looked the girl in the eyes; her deep, blue, widely spaced innocent
eyes.
"You must learn to check your sense of commitment, and Kimberly
must develop hers more. I don't think I have to tell you that you will never
see Earl again. Oh, you might--there's always a chance. But he's moving
on too, sick of the cold, down to South America to find new adventures for
himself amongst the Latin women. You were used by him and he enjoyed
you. Now put him out of your mind, even as you relish the last traces of
him in the burning in your thighs." Melanie looked at Gwen for a moment
like a frozen rabbit just before it bolts. Then she crushed herself to Gwen
and held the woman tightly, beginning to sob once more.
"Oh, Gwen! I hate you and love you at the same time!" Melanie cried.
"My life before I met you seems so trite and boring now, in fact I longed to
change it. Yet now, now I'm frightened of the possibilities you've opened
up to me!" Gwen patted the girl on the back of her head.
"We must part too, my dear, but the world is full of friends, if you
know how to find them. I shall introduce you to another before you go,"
Gwen said softly.
Chapter Seven
The day of departure arrived and Melanie found herself standing on
Gwen's front porch, waiting for her ancient chauffeur to pull around the
limo. Before her the crisp white hills of Aspen stood in all their natural
glory, stiff pines and evergreens marching up their sides to pierce the low
hanging clouds above. Behind her Kimberly could be heard making a clatter
as Gwen shooed her from the chateau, the girl finding every excuse to
delay in childish dalliances. When Kimberly finally did step out onto the
front stoop, she clutched a moderately-sized teddy bear in her arms.
"You're taking that on the plane?" Melanie asked Kimberly of the
stuffed bear.
"Yes," Kimberly purred, gazing down at the bear as if it were a
newborn babe. "One of Gwen's men friends gave it to me. To remember
him by." Melanie felt a tinge of surprise.
"And what did you do to earn it, hmmm?" Melanie asked wryly.
"Nothing," Kimberly said. "He gave it to me because he likes me. And
I like him. We're going to write each other."
Gwen appeared next to Melanie and looked over both the girls, as if
she were a mother hen and they her only chicks. She smiled, and bid them
farewell. Spontaneously, each girl kissed Gwen in turn. The kisses were
on the lips, and Gwen and Melanie's seemed to linger. Melanie wondered if
it were she or Gwen who had prolonged their oral contact? The limo
pulled up in a rush and thudded to a halt amidst a flurry of disturbed snow.
Gwen bundled the girls down to it and packed them inside. Kimberly
insisted on sitting in the front and, not wanting to be left alone beyond
the partition of the glass, Melanie slid in front too. Both girls turned and
waved goodbye to Gwen as the limo sped away.
The conversation on the way to the airport consisted primarily of
Kimberly naughtily querying Melville on the state of his sexual prowess at
such an advanced age. She looked the perfect precocious brat, Melanie
thought, sitting there cradling her teddy as she inquired of Melville when
he had last experienced ejaculation, and how long it took him to recover
afterward. When the brunette began patting Melville's crotch with her
hand Melanie slapped it.
"Oww!" Kimberly whined, yanking back her hand from Melville's groin.
"Try to behave yourself just once, would you?" Melanie scolded her
stepsister. "Mommie and dad should never have let you come on this trip
alone."
"I'm not alone, I'm with you," Kimberly said smartly. Her eyes
brightened mirthfully as once more her digits stole back toward Melville's
pants.
"I know that," Melanie said, grappling for her sister's hand. "But I
can't control you. This is the last trip we'll ever take together, I can
assure you!" Kimberly's little hand flitted out from beneath the grasp of
her older sister and seized on Melville's crotch. The man gave a groan and
his back stiffened.
"Easy girl, I still can feel pain down there, if not too much pleasure,"
Melville cautioned Kimberly.
"I'll bet I could make you spurt right here, right in this limo!"
Kimberly chortled.
"If you did I'd have a heart attack!" Melville said. "I'd die happy, I
assure you, but you girls and the limo might wind up stuck by the side of
the road!"
"I don't care!" Kimberly roared. Gleefully the girl tore at the man's
fly, prying for his limpid rod.
"Kimberly!" Melanie shouted. She grabbed at her sister and yanked on
her hair.
The airport was reached without involving the limo in an accident,
but poor Melville, at just the thought of having a succulent 16-year-old
girl in his pants, had squirted his cum into them before Melanie could even
prise him out. With some embarrassment Melville stood by the side of the
limo, watching as a porter unloaded the girl's bags. With a hand
strategically stationed over the stain on his dark trousers he slipped the
porter a twenty and waved him off, bidding the girls goodbye as well with
an awkward smile and a nod of his head.
"Bye Melville, I love you!" Kimberly cried, blowing him a kiss,
shocking not a few of the younger men standing about, all of whom she
promptly snubbed by strutting past their entreating stares with her nose
in the air. Melanie felt herself blushing. Leave it to Kimberly to make a
scene.
The flight back to New York was half an hour late getting off the
ground. But Melanie and Kimberly didn't mind, unbeknownst to their
parents Gwen had exchanged their coach class seats for ones in first
class. Both girls used the extra time to consume extra free drinks,
Melanie with at least some moderation, Kimberly with none at all. The
handsome steward assigned to their portion of the cabin took Kimberly at
her word that she was of age. Perhaps the wriggling of the girl's ample
breasts helped to persuade him.
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
marie claire, June 1996. $2.50.
Review: I was standing in line at the grocery looking at little girls
when I got distracted. You see, on this monthÕs cover of marie claire,
there is a picture of Claudia Schiffer taking off her panties. Òlookbest
undressedÓ it says on the cover. And Claudia is taking off a really nice
pair of panties. They are pastel blue and look sort of cottony, as if they
arenÕt really so much for swimming in as for wearing as undies.
Now, I have been thinking. (Seeing females undress sometimes
produces this reaction.) America is always saying, ÒWhat to do about the
pedophile?Ó Well, as this incident shows us, to protect our children we
need only put women in the grocery who are taking off their panties. I
mean, we already hire women to hand out cheese dip and little sausages.
Why not have them take off their panties while theyÕre handing out their
sausages? Better yet, why not just have the checkout gals check people
out in their panties? They could pull their panties halfway down before
they begin work, so that their hands can be busy with the groceries while
all us perverts keep our eyes on their pubic hair instead of the little girls
in line.
I realize that 30-year-old checkout gals arenÕt as cute as Claudia
Schiffer. But, you know, this is mainly a problem of age. IÕll bet a lot of
those checkout gals looked lots better when they were younger. So we
simply replace all the 30-year-old checkout gals with 15-year-old
checkout gals. Some ladies would complain, of course. As you know, the
better-looking 15-year-old girls of this nation are usually somewhat
deficient in math. (Particularly when it comes time to Ôadd upÕ all the
money their date has spent on them and decide whether itÕs worth a
goodnight-fuck or not.) (IÕd say ÔkissÕ but, hey, this is the 90Õs. They donÕt
hand out condoms in the 5th grade for nothing.)
Imagine a grocery store where some of the checkout gals are 15-
years-old and wearing just their panties. (Pulled halfway down.) (I hope
this isnÕt indecent. IÕm merely suggesting it for the public good.) Anyway,
all the men and the perverts would get into line in the lanes where the
15-year-old checkout girls are. All the ladies with little children would
get into the lanes where the dowdy 30-year-old checkout WOMEN are. And
we men would be so mesmerized by the pantied checkout girls that we
would have no time to allow our eyes to wander to inappropriate objects
of sexual desire (little girls), or to think up sexist jokes about their
mothers. No, our eyes would be trained entirely on the teenage girls in
their underpants. (Checking us out). I realize this proposal isnÕt as fun to
read as ÒKill them All, Cut off Their Nuts, etc.Ó but it does have the
advantage of being practical. In my case, IÕd like to see the checkout girls
pee in their panties while theyÕre checking me out, but I realize thatÕs
going too far. So, you know, just a little mons, a little ass, that will be
enough. Hopefully my proposal will be given serious consideration. Either
that, or the guy in line with you can check out your daughter and think up
jokes about you. Back to you, ladies!
(Oh yeah. I have no idea whatÕs in this fucking magazine. I just
bought it, tore off the cover, jerked off to it, and tossed the rest. Men
will be men, you know.)
AND IN THE END...
Mike Diana is the first Artist in United States history to be jailed
for his artwork. He is currently awaiting his appeal date for three
counts of obscenity for his zine, BOILED ANGEL. To assist Mike with
upcoming court costs, you can buy a $6.00 raffle ticket from Mike Hunt
Raffle, Box 226, Bensenville IL 60106.
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-END OF 61 EMISSION
-ZAPTHEM source: The Newshour with Jim Lehrer, May 14, 1996.