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FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 83
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Las Vegas Lust
Chapter One
We got into the hotel elevator and fortunately the desire for
annonymity that people generally feel in such a space took hold. The other
men and women in the lift stared at the buttons above the door as they lit
in turn, though I got the feeling that several of the men would rather have
been contemplating the brevity of my skirt.
Joe and I were the last to exit. We stepped out, hand in hand, on the
18th floor. The most lavish suites were on this floor, as one could tell by
the considerable distance between doors in the hall.
"You'll like this," Joe said, glancing at me as we walked. "I always
have a lot of fun at the meetings."
"I'm sure you do," I said.
"You will too," Joe said. "Especially after you've been initiated and
are a regular member."
We reached our destined door and Joe knocked. After a brief interval
it was opened by a woman. She stood alone in a sort of anteroom. We
entered. As I learned later, the club was networked with others across
the country. So anyone who was a member anywhere in the country could
attend any meeting he or she pleased. As a result, one was always
meeting new people. The clubs each exercised the same restraint in
admitting new members, however, and in fact an inspection team
circulated yearly to make sure everyone stayed up to snuff.
The consequence of all this was that neither of us knew the woman
who answered the door. Introductions were exchanged, and only then did
she lead us into the main room. As I followed her, watching the wiggle of
her hips, I let my illusions slip away as to what I was in for. My throat
felt tight. Joe had been kidding all morning about how my unwillingness
to exercise would be more than made up for by what the members had
planned for me.
Joe had hinted that my denoument would take place upon a coffee
table. When I entered the room, I noticed a polished hardwood coffee table
set in front of a couch. The men in the room all stood up upon my
appearance. They warmly took my hand and greeted me. The women also
received me at the same time. My figure drew a number of appreciative
glances.
In all there were about fifteen of us in the room, ranging in age from
late teens to early thirties. I seemed to be the youngest of them all. The
men were strong and athletic, with broad shoulders and bulging chests.
Considering the substantial muscles many of them sported on their arms
and legs, I wondered what marvels lay between their thighs. The women
were beautiful. Their busts jutted out gracefully, daring the buttons of
their blouses not to pop. Some of the women wore gowns. These were cut
low, exposing wide expanses of sumptuous cleavage.
I was offered a place in the middle of the couch. A man took my hand
and I sat down gracefully. A glass of wine was placed in my hand. I
sipped it. At the same time I attempted to smooth my skirt over the front
of my thighs, while keeping my legs pressed tightly together. One wrong
move on my part and my miniskirt would be above my pussy, baring the
black lace crotch of my panties. The sofa gratefully accepted my bottom,
letting it sink deep into the upholstery.
A decorous conversation ensued. State politics was discussed, along
with stocks, bonds, and a variety of leisure activities in which one or
more of the group had recently engaged. Expensive wines were imbibed
with apparently little thought to their cost. Cheese was passed about and
nibbled upon. Soft music enveloped the room, emanating from hidden
speakers. Inevitably my thighs began to part.
At first the men sitting nearest me confined themselves to stealing
furtive glances down the front of my decollette blouse, with occasional
hopeful glances at my lap. As our conversation bubbled on, however, their
eyes began to linger more and more on my mammaries, and their glances at
my crotch became more predatory. Several of the women also seemed to
find my breasts and lap of interest.
Whether by chance or design, the man nearest me began telling jokes.
And I began laughing. A little at first, my hand uselessly rising out of
habit to cover the skin above my breasts. Then more, my hand still poised
above my joggling tits. The bra I had chosen had been of sheer silk, little
more than decoration. It left my breasts nearly free reign to wobble as
they liked. That, however, had no doubt been taken note of when I first
entered, my tits jiggling freely as I walked. It was my pussy that the man
was really after. And not only him; other men and women took up the joke
telling too. Finally a really hilarious joke provoked a wild bout of
laughter from me. My legs accidentally flew open and suddenly, there I
was, my micromini above the tops of my thighs and the narrow crotch of
my panties fully displayed. My laughter died in a series of stifled gasps
and I looked down at myself.
One of the older women spoke up. "Well, Alexis, I'm sure you didn't
come here just to talk, but also to show us what you might accomplish
with that figure of yours." Her name was Melinda.
I nodded my head politely in agreement. Clearly, thanks to my
skimpy attire, a threshold had been crossed. I had selected the clothes I
wore to show off, prove I looked the best, and keep Joe's eyes firmly
planted on me, as much as that was possible in a roomful of beautiful
women. But now, like anyone who attempts to deny the consequences of
their actions, I had led myself into territory I wasn't sure I wanted to
inhabit. But I was there. An air of expectancy pervaded the room, and I
knew I was its focal point. What could I do?
Two of the men rose and each took the coffee table by one of its
ends. They lifted it and carried it to the center of the room. They set it
down on the plush carpet. I looked at it. Joe had alluded to my having to
offer up my orifices on a coffee table. I swallowed hard. I had always
said I would try anything once, but this?
Another man, meanwhile, went into an adjacent room and returned
with a large shopping bag. It was black with a pink pussycat printed on
its sides. He gave the bag to a cluster of women.
Melinda rose from the overstuffed chair in which she had been
sitting. She walked over to me and took my hand. She bade me to rise.
When I had done so she regarded my eyes warmly for a moment, then let
her gaze slip to my breasts. I felt uncomfortable.
Delicately Melinda lifted a finger and flicked open the top button on
my blouse. I shivered with apprehension and excitement. I couldn't
believe I was actually going to permit myself to fall into the hands of
these strangers. At the same time I wondered if they would actually
allow me to leave if I asked. Immobile, like a frightened rabbit, I raised
no protest at Melinda's intrusion. The jaws of fate closed more tightly.
Button after button on my blouse was popped open by Melinda. When
they had all been released the two halves of my blouse fell apart. Beneath
the open halves of my blouse the inner curves of the cups of my bra were
now visible.
Melinda's eyes seemed to grade my form as she reached up and
brushed my blouse from my shoulders. The judgemental look in her eyes
made me bolder. If she was going to evaluate me, by God, I would show
her! With a blank look in my face but defiance welling up in my heart, I
thrust out my breasts. Unlike other women, I had nothing to be ashamed of
when it came to looks.
A woman had sidled in behind me, to stand just off to my right, and
she caught my blouse as it fluttered down my back. She folded it and
passed it on to another woman who was still seated on the couch.
Melinda touched her fingers to the straps of my bra and slipped them
from their places. The straps fell down my arms. The cups of my bra
loosened and drooped to reveal my nipples. Several men drew in their
breasts.
I looked down at the cones of my bared breasts. They stuck straight
out, perfectly formed from base to tip. The nipples had risen in response
to my apprehension and excitement. Melinda was also eyeing my tits. She
touched a finger to my lips. It pressed against them, demanding entry. I
parted my lips prettily and let my tongue touch her fingertip. The men
squirmed, dreaming of placing their cocks where Melinda's finger was.
After a moment Melinda drew her digit back and touched it to the tip of my
nipple. It felt wet.
Melinda lifted her finger from my teat. She raised her other hand to
my remaining nipple and inserted the end of her chisled fingernail into the
indentation at the tip of my nipple. Several times she lightly dug into the
sensitive pore with her fingernail. I bit my lower lip.
The woman behind me, who I later learned was named Belinda, lifted
the back of my leather miniskirt. Then she sat down on the couch, still
holding it up. A woman leaned in close on either side of her. Sipping wine,
they commented on the beauty and usefulness of my bottom. Several of
the men shifted their stances as they stood watching the display.
Melinda's finger left my nipple. It grazed down my tummy and
inserted itself in my belly button. I unsucessfully attempted to stifle a
giggle. Melinda smiled. I felt like a little baby being inspected by her
mother.
The tail of my skirt was dropped. This hardly precluded the view of
my pantied bottom, however, for a moment later the women behind me
unzipped my skirt. It slipped from around my waist into their hands and
was folded up.
Melinda let her finger fall from my belly to the waistband of my
panties. It lingered a moment, then slipped inside to the first knuckle.
The woman ran the pad of her finger all along the inside of the front of my
waistband.
Behind me I felt a fingernail touch the crack of my bottom where it
broke free of my panties. It slipped inside the panties as the person,
Belinda, I assumed, hooked her finger in the waistband of my panties.
Slowly, relishing the consequences such a move portended, Belinda pulled
down the rear of my undies.
I stood bare bottomed before a roomfull of strangers. The panties
were left to bunch at the back of my thighs, while in front they still clung
to my pubic triangle, desperately trying to conceal my last vestige of
modesty.
Melinda's finger still loitered inside the front of my waistband, but
she seemed in no rush. Belinda, however, reached up and unhooked my bra.
It was stolen away, leaving my breasts without any hope of protection.
"I see you cut your hair, as you were instructed. That is good,"
Melinda said. I looked down at my golden locks. When I first met Joe they
had flowed all the way down my back. Now, shorn, they just reached the
upper curve of my breasts. I had considered their request an odd one, but
had complied. As Melinda stood before me now, however, the full import
of their requirement came home. Of course! Now my hair wasn't long
enough to cover my breasts.
"I would like you to walk over to the shopping bag and take out the
things we have bought for you," Melinda said. Happy to relieve myself of
her finger, I headed for the bag. I sensed that it was desired that my
panties be left around my legs, so I made no attempt to pull them back up
over my bottom. I could feel the guests relishing my rear as I walked.
Perhaps the black shopping bag would provide a clue as to what they had
planned for it. Would I still be an anal virgin when the night was over?
Upon reaching the bag I bent forward and touched my finger to its
serrated edge. Inside was a pile of leather. I reached in and fished out the
first thing that came into my hand. It was a thick leather band that looked
like it could be wound around a person's limb. Thin little strings, like
shoelaces, dangled from it. Obviously they were meant to be tied to hold
the band together. Two heavy metal rings dangled from the band. I asked
what they were for and was told that ropes could be passed through them.
I handed the band on to a woman and reached into the bag again, once
more making a display of my bottom as I did so. Legs straight, tits
dangling, I pulled out a whip. I stood up. The cool air from the air
conditioner washed over my bottom.
"Do I get to use this, or do you?" I asked of the whip.
"Honey, everything in the bag is for you," a girl no older than myself,
named Gina, said. But she took the whip from me.
Several more leather restraints followed, and then I found a dildo.
"Oh! I guess this is a dildo," I said. "But it certainly is skinny."
"It's a butt popper," Gina said. I wasn't certain what she meant, but I
could guess. That too, like everything else, was taken from me.
Chapter Two
I fished out two more restraints and then Melinda touched her finger
to the middle of my ass crack.
"I think we have all we need for now," Melinda said. I had become
entranced with the bag. Every time I bent over some new and exotic item
appeared. It was with a tinge of regret that I let Melinda take my hand in
hers and lead me away from it.
I was led out into the center of the room, to the coffee table.
Everything had been cleared from it, and it lay bare before me, almost
begging for me to adorn it.
"I must remove your panties now," Melinda said. I turned my face to
hers. My eyes gave tacit approval. Melinda walked behind me. Over my
shoulder I could feel her eyes upon my jutting bottom. She reached out and
hooked a finger in the waistband on either side of my hips. Opposite me,
at the far end of the coffee table, stood several men. The crotches of
their pants bulged. With a sweep of her arms Melinda lowered my panties.
Gracefully, as Melinda held my panties about my ankles, I stepped
first out of one leg hole and then the other. My pussy lips peeked out from
between the front of my thighs as I did so. I felt rather funny seeing
Melinda, so regal and mature, stooping down to help me out of my panties.
It was as if performing such a task degraded her. But then that was the
sort of thing this party seemed designed to do.
Melinda rose and stood beside me. My last vestige of security now
lay crumpled in the palm of her hand.
HOLY JOE ACCEPTS RESPONSIBILITY
Some of you may think that because IÕm a pervert I have a problem
with responsibility. People nowadays seem to think that only someone
like our President, Bill Clinton, can tell the truth and accept
responsibility. But I am just as much able to tell the truth as he is!
For instance, I must confess that I have a problem with gas.
Recently I was flying on an airplane to Paris and they turned on this sign
that said, ÒNo Smoking.Ó But the sign didnÕt say ÒNo Beans.Ó So, since I
was hungry, I opened a can of beans and started chowing down. And then,
well, I felt a little fart coming. (This happens sometimes.) There were,
like, 270 people on that airplane, and I didnÕt want to get into any trouble.
So I tried real hard to hold my fart. It worked for a little while. But then
it seemed to expand inside my butt and, suddenly, I was swimming in the
ocean! Some guy named William F. Buckley was out on his yacht smoking
dope and he was kind enough to rescue me. (I donÕt know what happened to
the other people.)
This was not the only incident where I was afflicted with a gas
attack. Some time ago I decided to visit a porno store in Oklahomo and I
stopped outside our nationÕs Federal Building to salute the American flag.
As you can imagine, even though IÕm a pervert I donÕt want to be seen as
any less patriotic than my fellow citizens. So I figured the least I could
do was stop off and give Old Glory a salute.
Well, unfortunately, I gave our flag a salute and a fart. When I woke
up there was all this rubble around the place and the building was being
demolished! I have no idea why a perfectly good building was being
demolished. Maybe the the Republicans did it to save money.
I hope I donÕt have any further problems with gas. IÕve entered
Gasaholics Anonymous, a 12-step program. There are lots of yuppies who
drive Ford Aerostars in our group. IÕm hoping they can help me learn to
consume less and have less of an impact on the environment.
AND IN THE END...
PEDOPHILES, AWAKE!
(and women too!)
ÒCould it be that I am home alone with The Power of Beauty because
I am frightened of expressing the full range of my repressed sexuality?Ó -
Time, July 8, 1996, pg. (unnumbered!).
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-END OF 83 EMISSION
- the TIME quote is from the (unnumbered) BOOKS page.