Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 91
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bottoms in Bondage
Chapter One
Master boosted me off his lap and made me stand upright.
ÒWe must go,Ó he said. He replaced my panties on my bottom. I felt
his wetness there, held tight in my furrow, lingering, as I watched him zip
up. He had to struggle to get himself inside his trousers. I turned finally,
helped him. It was very difficult. Together we got him back inside, got
the zipper all the way up to where it was supposed to be.
In my panties, my t-shirt whipping in the wind, master took me
outside, out to a waiting limo. At his front door he had me slip into heels.
They fit perfectly. What other sizes did he know? I wondered, sitting in
the limo now, feeling my new shoes on my feet. My stockinged feet. The
limo squealed away and we travelled down empty streets. A light rain
began to fall, blurring the windows.
ÒYou must arrive without the shirt,Ó Master said. ÒIt is the custom.Ó
He lifted my tee off me, wrestling to get it over my young breasts, so firm
in their roundness. My nipples wiggled stiffly as the shirt cleared them.
He drew it over my tousled head, over my hesitant arms.
I had only my wet panties now. And my socks, inside his shoes that
heÕd bought for me. The limo stopped and let mistress out. She would not
come with us. I watched her hurry away. She was the arranger only. She
was too old to participate, master told me. The party was only for young
wives. To help introduce them to the labors of marriage.
The limo halted again. The rain had gone away. I had not noticed its
passing. Fifteen minutes I had sat by master, alone in the limo. Alone
with my thoughts. HeÕd let me gaze out my side window, watching the
street lights go by. Glimpsing other girls safe in their homes, installed at
kitchen tables, doing homework. Geometry and Latin and Science. I would
be assigned new lessons.
Bare except for my wet panties I got out of the limo. Master took me
by the arm, led me up to a brownstone house. In the distance I saw the
flash of police lights. They were searching for me. They would not find
me. Unless they heard me, perhaps. Yes. Unless they heard me, playing
inside the brownstone.
We were met at the door. A girl peeked out, let us both in. She had
no bra, her breasts were heavy yet stood up sweetly. Her nipples offered.
She drew me into her arms. I did not respond, but did not resist either.
ÒOh, let me kiss you!Ó she said gaily. She cupped my breasts and
opened her mouth, offered her tongue. It was a ritual, I guessed. My arms
dangling uncertainly at my sides I let her see the inside of my mouth. She
drew out my tongue. Together mine danced with hers, briefly, delighting
Master. Then she let me go, took me by the hand, brought me over to the
other girls. Trippingly I went, in my new heels.
Three girls sat around a tea table, dainty porcelain cups waiting, a
pitcher of hot tea brewing on a hot plate there.
ÒWe are almost ready,Ó my welcoming mistress said to me. ÒWe
shall have to dress soon.Ó She introduced me to my new companions. They
were young females, all newly married, save for one who like me had been
brought specially. A girl of 16 she was, myself 15, yet looking as
confounded in her innocence as I myself was. She wore a little openwork
bolero. It had buttons, though. So she could close it over her breasts if
they became chilly, I guessed.
I gazed at her and the other girls. They were all topless as I myself
was. We would be bosom buddies. I was offered a chair, sat down. I
glanced over my shoulder and saw that master had disappeared. Mistress,
my new mistress, took my hand, directed my gaze back to my new friends.
ÒYou are Lisa?Ó she asked. I nodded.
ÒGood.Ó My other mistress had phoned ahead, told her I was coming.
ÒIÕm Pamela,Ó my new mistress told me. ÒNever mind that dowdy Ms.
Johnson. You will have a wonderful time.Ó Her eyes caressed my breasts,
dipped down to the level of my panties. ÒYouÕll love every agonizing
minute of it,Ó Pamela added, smiling.
ÒAgonizing?Ó I asked. My 16-year-old sister in innocence flinched
at the word as I did.
ÒYou are here to learn the wifely duties,Ó Pamela said. ÒAnd it is my
job to make sure you learn them all properly.Ó She offered me a cup of
tea, I accepted with reluctance, sipped. It tasted hot, sweet. Pamela
turned to the others. They were less giggly now.
ÒIÕve been married for six months, so that makes me ringmistress,Ó
Pamela said. ÒThis is my third party, in fact, and I can tell you that the
other two were...ah...difficult, but delightfully so.Ó
ÒWhat did they do to you?Ó a girl asked, wide eyed. Like myself she
wore panties, pulled as high as they would go. Stockings ran up her legs,
patterned like lace doilies, but tightly clipped at the tops of her thighs
with a garter belt.
ÒWell, I was an anal virgin when I arrived,Ó Pamela said. ÒAnd when
I left I...wasnÕt. My husband and his friends made sure of that. Then my
husband and I decided to host a party a month ago, and now again. HeÕs
made sure we have all the equipment to train wives properly, I can assure
you.Ó She seemed to remember some past agony, flinched, then regained
control of herself. We watched wide eyed, wonderingly, yet afraid of the
answer. Yet not absolutely afraid, I realized, for I could feel myself
tingling in secret places.
With risen nipples we listened as Pamela outlined how we must
behave. We should do as we were told, she said, at all times. Though if
we misbehaved that was not entirely unwelcome, for it would merit
punishment. ÒBut you will be handled like sex slaves in any event, so do
not incur anything extra that you can avoid,Ó mistress advised. ÒPay
attention to your masterÕs requests, and remember that every man is your
master; though you belong, in the end, of course, to he who brought you.
ÒIn a minute I shall have us dress,Ó mistress concluded. ÒIn special
costumes. We must be very dainty and elegant for the men.Ó
ÒBut my husband said we would be treated roughly,Ó the girl with
tight-pulled panties piped up. ÒI think we should all wear boots, and thick
pants, like Levis or something --Ó
Mistress laughed. ÒFor a tea party? How long have you been
married, dear?Ó
ÒJust two days ago,Ó she said.
ÒAh! Then this is your honeymoon?Ó Mistress asked.
ÒYes, my husband took my virginity the night we married, breaking
my hymen, but he did nothing else. He insisted he must not cum until the
party. Yesterday he let me rest all day, MADE me rest. He treated me with
breakfast in bed, and lunch and dinner too, spoon feeding it to me. But he
didnÕt touch me, and insisted I must not touch myself either.Ó She
squirmed in her chair as she spoke this, her hands, under the table, no
doubt flirting with the thought of diving into her panties.
ÒThen you are ready to be spermed?Ó Mistress asked.
ÒI guess so,Ó the new wife replied, her voice trailing off. ÒI mean,
itÕs part of marriage and everything --Ó She seemed to want to say more,
but mistress cut her off.
ÒNow girls, for everyoneÕs protection we are going to make up names
for ourselves. After all, youÕll all be dignified ladies of society, given the
wealth your husbands have. So think up a name, then tell us where youÕre
from, and your new, pretend name.Ó
Flustered, we looked at each other. One girl whispered to another. I
myself couldnÕt think what to call myself except ÒLisa.Ó IÕd always been
Lisa. Any other name would be somehow out of place.
ÒWell, IÕm Kitty, and IÕm from California,Ó a girl with voluptuous
bosoms announced boldly. She had beautiful big breasts, the kind you see
in sex magazines devoted just to that subject. She seemed ready to go
with whatever tonightÕs game would require. As she spoke her tongue
darted across the upper lip of her mouth.
ÒVery good, since youÕll be wearing a pet collar soon,Ó mistress
complimented Kitty. ÒAnd you?Ó
ÒIÕm Linda,Ó The newlywed wife with the pulled-up panties, safe but
yearning inside them, replied.
ÒRose,Ó my innocent companion replied. ÒBecause IÕm an anal virgin
and my master promised me heÕd have all the men take turns popping my
cherry. I donÕt really want it popped, but I did like the idea of having a
party...Ó
ÒAnd where are you from?Ó mistress interrupted.
ÒIdaho,Ó Rose replied. Somehow weÕd forgotten LindaÕs to obtain
LindaÕs origins, I realized. But it didnÕt seem to really matter. Mistress
turned brightly to me.
ÒAnd you, Lisa?Ó She flinched. ÒOh, my! IÕve given your name away!Ó
I sensed I was somehow special to her, perhaps because I was the
youngest. She was already planning to take special pains with me. So she
had been thinking of me, and my name just popped out.
ÒItÕs okay,Ó I replied. ÒIÕm Lisa, but donÕt tell anyone. ÔCause IÕve
run away from home.Ó
ÒWell, IÕm Sandra,Ó mistress said. ÒYou must call me ÔmistressÕ
though, when we are playing. ItÕs all a game, you know, and IÕm in charge
of making sure that pretenses are properly kept up.Ó
ÒWill the, uh, fucking and stuff be just pretend, too?Ó Linda asked
hopefully.
ÒNo, dear,Ó mistress assured her. She seemed to savor LindaÕs
reluctance. Her eyes lingered on the anxious girl, sizing her up. She had a
body made for sex; perfect bosoms, a small bottom (she was so thin I
knew it must be so, though IÕd seen it not). And I guessed her pussy must
be tight as a vise. Untried, save once on her bridal night for the sake of
formality. And there were at least two others of us who were equally
tight; myself and Rose. I trembled. Just opening us would be rough sex
enough; I prayed Master would spare me any further events. Let Miss
Bosoms enjoy them. She seemed tailor made for naughty sex. There was a
wild, wanton look in her eyes. As if she would not hesitate to devour us
all if ordered to.
ÒLetÕs get dressed next,Ó mistress said, rising from her chair. Our
bosoms bounced as we stood with her. Already we were obedient. We
were too willing, I thought. We should resist more. Yet I did not want to
defy my newfound master. So I trailed along with the other girls as
mistress led us into a bedroom.
Ah! My heart missed a beat as I saw a bridal bed mistress had
prepared in her husbandÕs room. In his masterÕs chamber. Where he slept
with his young wife, and fucked her as he pleased, she willingly receiving
him, even encouraging him.
The bed was white, with a canopy. But the bed-drapes had been
pulled back, showing fluffy pillows and smooth, crisp sheets. The end of a
rope trailed from beneath one of the pillows. I guessed more was coiled
underneath, waiting for a sadist. Above the bed a whip hung, a Òtraining
whip,Ó mistress called it. It was small yet seemed quite menacing
hanging there, its tail curled up neatly, looped over a peg by some well-
whipped wife.
Beside the bed mistress had prepared a flower vase. It held an array
of colored condoms. It was not, I noted to myself, something one could get
by calling 1-800-FLOWERS. Mistress had done it herself, making the
condoms resemble daisies and roses, arranging them carefully. The men, I
imagined, would just grab the nearest one and yank it on, oblivious to all
but the pussy before him. Yet we girls glided over to it and inspected it,
complimented mistress on her handiwork.
On the same convenient bedside nightstand, arranged around the
vase, were vials of lubricant. Different flavors, and some with unusual
properties. Some to make the genitals burn with warmth, others to cool
and soothe them. And there were dildos too, looking like big rockets on
the nightstand, for when the men at last flagged in their strength, yet
wanted to continue fucking.
Like the room weÕd just left, I noticed (for the first time, really, in
regards to both rooms) that all was reflected by mirrors. There were
mirrors on the walls, and above the bed, on the ceiling. Everything that
transpired would be easily seen by all who cared to watch, no matter the
angle of view. I looked at myself and admired my reflection. My eyes
inspected the other girls, they me. Somehow it was easier to stare at one
another through the reflection on a mirror, rather than looking directly.
We gazed a long time at each other, then mugged for each other, making
faces, and mooned each other with our bottoms. Even Linda felt inspired
to yank down her undies and show us her pumpkin. It was as little as I
thought it would be, yet well shaped, with high, thrusting cheeks, still
girlish in their demeanor, teasing. KittyÕs by contrast, was full and
womanly, the cheeks well-fatted, ready for child bearing. MistressÕ
seemed in-between, a trace of slim girlishness still shaping her hinds,
though another year or two might give her fuller hips.
Rose and myself presented ours together, our hips bumping
awkwardly. We giggled, our asses twin monuments to girl puppyflesh. We
had the sort of bottoms you see at WaterWorld, sliding gaily down the
SluiceSlide. Nicely developed hips with childish bottoms, luringly jiggly,
sweet and firm and round. First bikini bottoms, the kind that make young
girls put away their one-piece forever and don two instead.
ÒEnough, girls!Ó Mistress interrupted. I think we would have happily
mooned each other all day. Carefree, naked, girls at a slumber party.
Mistress stopped us when we began cutting pretend farts at each other.
ÒWe must dress,Ó Mistress said. By now we were without even our
panties, having flung them at each other as we grew wilder in our play.
Nude, shivering a little with apprehension, we watched as mistress got
our clothes from an armoire and laid them out on the bed.
Like Linda, I thought we would put on clothes that covered our
privates, to be undressed later by our masters. Alas, it was not to be.
Mistress gave us each special things, and as I got into mine I realized IÕd
be without panties.
Linda must have been struck by the same thought just then, for she
announced, ÒMaÕam! I must have panties!Ó She was wearing a camisole,
lacing it tightly over her bosoms, her belly button twinkling just below it.
A garter belt enclosed her waist, where they merged into her flared hips.
Her new stockings, white and tightly drawn, were secured by the slimmest
of garter straps. Booties encased her feet, shiny and white and made of
patent leather.
ÒDarling, darling, your husband has already seen your bosoms,Ó
mistress purred disapprovingly. She got her fingers in amongst LindaÕs
own and promptly untied what Linda had just concealed.
ÒBut the other men havenÕt seen my boobs,Ó Linda whined as her
charms spilled forth, white-fleshed and ruby-nippled.
ÒWell they are going to, dear. What sort of party do you think this
is? Do you think we shall all sit around and play Monopoly?Ó
ÒWell, I know my husband must sperm me, but --Ó Linda began, with
a sideways glance at mistressÕ lovely matrimonial bed. I realized then
that even here privacy would not be assured. We might be fucked by our
husbands in plain view of everyone, perhaps myself with Rose beside me,
our lovers taking turns between us. I felt butterflies in my stomach then.
This party was going to be about Sex, raw sex, and we would be sex
objects, nothing else. We would be in the altogether mostly, I suspected,
despite the pretty costumes we were putting on now. They were just that,
a put-on, without cumbersome bras or annoyingly concealing panties. They
were clothes that men liked. ÒEasy accessÓ clothes, though they might
find myself and Rose a bit less easy when it came to getting themselves
up us. And Linda too, poor Linda, so very church-going and proper in her
attitude, even now as she stood before us with opened camisole, the laces
undone, showing her titties. She was half-undone, actually, which was
worse, for the partly untied cami squeezed her breasts from below,
forcing the bared nipples to protrude most lewdly, like fat cowÕs udders.
Mistress slapped a broad-brimmed hat on the girl, made of straw, tightly
woven, with a pretty ribbon round it where it curved over the top of her
head. And, just for good measure, to make Linda quite formal indeed, she
had her don white gloves. They were made of woven lace, and you could
see her skin beneath, yet they looked quite right on her, as if she were off
to the Kentucky Derby. Each glove was bound at the wrist by a tight,
decorative band of white thread, cinching it there, then flared out another
half inch, ending in a frilly raggedness, as if hastily cut from longer
fabric.
ROLLER IS NOT DEAD!
by holy joe
There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that Andrew Roller is dead.
Apparently some irresponsible person, interested only in making a buck,
started a rumor on the Internet that ÒRoller is Dead.Ó This is not the case.
There is no need for various publishers to rush in and bid on his books,
fearing that their value will quickly escalate once everyone realizes that
nothing more will ever be written. Please, girls, do not start a Roller fan
club. The last thing we here at Fuck Decency need is lots of girls sending
us teary-eyed letters saying, ÒIs Roller Dead? And I never even got to
fuck him! How terrible!Ó None of this Kurt Cobain business, please. Also,
all you manufacturers, please do not request to license RollerÕs image so
you can sell all sorts of ÒRoller Paraphernalia.Ó You know, Roller t-shirts,
tribute albums by famous bands, condoms, etc. Me and Roller have no
capability to sign all kinds of licensing agreements, retain legal counsel,
and cash huge checks.
Another rumor: Somebody claimed in a newsgroup that Roller types
his stories with his (erect) penis. I realize some guy got on Howard Stern
by playing (a piano) with his penis, but Roller uses his fingers, not his
dick. Of course, he would be willing to try typing with his dick, if Howard
needed any extra guests for his next multi-million dollar, girl-laden
Christmas special. He could even sing Jingle Bells while he was typing, if
this would help. Of course, IÕll have to make sure he isnÕt dead. He could
die in the interim, you know, just thinking about all those juicy twats
Howard has on his show.
Thank you for being a responsible Internet reader and not spreading
any profit-motivated rumors.
Yours in Communism,
holy joe
AND IN THE END...
YES, CHILDREN! MORE LAWS MAKE US SAFE!
ÒSuicide trends are grim for young Americans. Since 1950, the rate
of suicide among those between 15 and 19 has risen almost fourfold.Ó -
The Economist, July 27th 1996, pg. 24.
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
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-END OF 91 EMISSION