Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 151
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Amsterdam Damsels
Chapter One
�Well, my ass is sore,� I said, cutting her off. I felt quite in need of
a bath.
�Yes, it�s your bedtime too, isn�t it?� she smiled. She took my hand.
Wriggling still with my soreness, I proceeded up the stairs with her. We
bathed together, tenderly, and then shared her bed.
***
�Wake up, silly!� Cybil said to me the next morning. I opened my
eyes. At first I did not know who she was. �I licked you to sleep last
night, don�t you remember?� Cybil asked. I blushed. I flexed my thighs.
�Ouch!� I said. I remembered my bottom. The rest flooded back.
�It�s almost noon,� Cybil chided. �Betsy can�t keep breakfast warm
forever.�
�Um, no thanks,� I replied. Breakfast at Tiffany�s that wasn�t, I was
sure. I rolled back over on my side to go to sleep.
�I�d swat your bottom, but-� Cybil said to me.
�Don�t you dare!� I shrieked.
�It will be all better soon,� she said, lifting the sheet. �You licked
it enough last night,� I replied.
�I was trying to heal it,� Cybil said primly. She laughed. �Sleep if
you want to. For all I know you�ll wind up in the dungeon by nightfall, and
be kept awake in there for days.�
�No way!� I replied. I stuck my thumb in my mouth. I had seen the
outer levels of Hell. I did not need to meet Satan himself. For all I knew
the place did go down, down all the way, concentric walled circles
spiraling in and down. It had been muggy in there, hadn�t it? Stephen King
would be at the bottom. �And the scariest thing is, my childhood was
perfectly normal!� he would grin at me. Anne Rice would be his bride.
Hades and Persephone. Ray Bradbury would be their chronicler. I Sing the
Body, never mind the Electric. �We have fire down here, sir, hotter than
rockets. We are well lit, I can assure you.�
�You have the cutest dimpled bottom,� Cybil remarked.
�No thanks to you,� I replied.
�Get up, I insist,� she said. She threw the sheets off me, leaving me
a naked babe, huddling, fetal-like.
�Oh, you are the winner again,� I replied, testily. I had to go to the
bathroom. She watched me walk into the toilet, my ass waggling. I had to
go worse than I�d let myself believe. I shut the door behind me, to give me
a little privacy. It had no lock. Oh, great. Locks on Hell, but no lock here,
where you needed it. I vowed if she opened the door I would spit in her
face. She did not. She let me have my little moment.
When I came back into the bedroom she was there. She sat at a
mirror, a summer dress on. She was brushing her hair.
�Do you have any panties?� I asked. I opened a chest of drawers. It
seemed a ridiculous question, but I was literally without clothes.
Whatever I�d come in was long gone, I was sure, made into rag dolls by
Betsy if nothing else.
�You won�t be wearing any,� Cybil replied. Her voice was casual,
self-assured.
�What?!� I asked. I lifted a hand to my bosoms, realized I needed
more than panties. �Excuse me?�
�You are not going to hide that lovely whipping you got,� Cybil
replied. �A good girl always shows off a good whipping. It won�t last
long. Enjoy the admiration of your fellow guests while you can.� She
turned to me. Her eyes met mine. �It certainly hurt enough getting it,
didn�t it?�
�I should say so!� I replied. My hands flew to my ass on a sudden
impulse and I rubbed it. My titties wiggled.
�Think of all those silly girls who get their bottoms tattooed,� Cybil
said. �And then they�re stuck with the thing for life. �Debbie loves
Robert.� You enjoyed more pain, yet in a little while your fanny will be as
white and smooth as it ever was. I wish all girls were as bright as you
about such things.
�I didn�t exactly choose it,� I replied, hopefully.
�Were you ever naughty, just so your daddy would spank you?� she
asked. Her knees were apart. Indecently, I thought. Spread for someone to
enjoy himself between them. I saw she wore panties, though.
�Once or twice I might have been,� I answered. Why not tell the
truth for once, even to myself? �It was fun getting Daddy all steamed up.
Knowing he�d soon tear his attention completely away from my mom, if I
kept up my antics. And sure enough...�
�Sure enough, you�d go to bed red-bottomed, and be proud of yourself,
wouldn�t you?� she asked.
�So it�s all my father�s fault?� I asked. My eyes were wide. My
hands massaged my still-aching tushy.
�Everything is men�s fault, nowadays,� Cybil grinned at me. �Get a
clue.�
�Dinner!!!!!� I heard beyond the door. There was a clanging of a bell,
childlike.
�You wouldn�t,� I said. I gripped my cheeks, despite the pain. I did
not want that little rugrat to see my condition again.
�A little humiliation is good for the soul,� Cybil answered. �Come,
it�s warm out. You haven�t need of clothes. Besides, you�ll look sweet at
breakfast, eating your cereal with your tits swinging above your bowl.�
�I don�t want to,� I said, but it was no use. Cybil was at my arm,
escorting me. I came down the stairs less dress than I�d ascended them
the night before.
We went to the kitchen. �Oh!� Becky turned, saw us. She was
standing on a chair, mixing something awful-looking in a bowl. �Are you
going swimming naked?� she asked. She wore a swimsuit herself, wet, no
top, just the panties. I saw that her nipples were fuller than ever, little
mounds. Had someone stolen into her room and sucked on them during the
night?
�Yes, she might swim naked later,� Cybil answered, all propriety.
�Here, dear, sit.� She went to the breakfast table and pulled out a chair.
�There is a cushion for you.� I looked down. A plump pillow lay upon the
chairseat. Under it the chair was woven fiber.
�Okay,� I said, relenting. In nothing but the heels I�d slipped to in
the bedroom, I sat down. I still had my shoes, at least. That�s all a girl
apparently needed around here. At least if she were a new girl, I mused.
Cybil sat down across the corner from me. Table-mates, we were,
with a little swimsuited, half-naked nine-year-old mermaid as our
waitress.
�I�d really prefer lunch,� I said.
�I thought you would,� Cybil smiled. �I think I got cancer from the
bacon this morning.�
�I didn�t burn it THAT badly, mommie,� Betsy answered. She seemed
crestfallen.
�Of course you didn�t dear. Get the sandwiches out of the fridge that
the deli man brought.�
�He was nice,� Betsy said. �He rubbed me to make me feel real good
inside.�
�Oh, God!� Cybil said. She dropped her face into her hands. �That�s
the third deli guy this week! Is she too pretty, or what?�
�She is pretty,� I answered, considering. Betsy came to us, her face
radiant, her long hair flowing out behind her. I realized suddenly that she
was a junior version of myself. Her belly bulged out at me as she
carefully laid a sandwich down for me upon the table. She had an innie. I
had an innie. I wondered if Cybil had an innie or an outie.
�There you go!� Betsy cried. She was happy. �I�ve got to get the
sharks out of the pool now, bye!�
�Wait!� Cybil called after her. �I should see whether the sharks are
real or not,� she said to me.
�Hmmm?� I asked. I picked up my sandwich, bit into it. A club, with
bacon (unburnt), lettuce, tomatoes... The deli man made good sandwiches,
even if he was a bit forward with the help.
�The other day, a man was swimming around just underneath the
surface,� Cybil sighed. �He had his cock sticking up. Told Betsy he was a
shark, and that was his fin.�
�Dum dum dum dum dum dum,� I smiled.
�A nice guy, great build,� Cybil sighed. �Should I just give up, or
what?�
�Did you ever even try?� I asked.
�I can�t help it,� she said. �I make great money doing this. Sure,
last night was just us, no charging anybody, but I thought you needed it.
Or I just got carried away. Sometimes its fun not to charge.�
�I think Betsy knows how to keep the men in line,� I mused. I
remembered my own childhood. Nine-years-old, dashing around the
neighborhood. Not always with the purest of intentions, either. Spin the
bottle was popular that year. And that pointing bottle neck, well, it made
a girl think of other things. Things that also pointed, but were made of
fleshier stuff.
�As long as she doesn�t try to ride the shark�s fin, right?� Cybil
asked me.
�Right,� I replied. I moved uncomfortably on my pillow. �Especially
with her bottom.�
�Well, dear, you�re older,� Cybil smiled wickedly. She had mischief
in her eyes. We heard a scream from the pool. I judged it, guessed it
playful. Cybil, inured already to such cries, ignored it. Nine-year-olds
were happiest when they were screaming, and they loved doing it, I
remembered. �Do you think you might like to ride a shark�s fin?�
�Ummm,� I answered. I honestly did not know what to say. I
munched quietly on my sandwich.�
�All girls must eventually, you know,� Cybil said. I knew she would
just love to see me bent over, grunting, goggle-eyed, a man thrusting
himself up me, breaking forever into my virginity. After all, she wasn�t
virgin anymore, was she? She had made the passage.
�Time enough for love,� I replied.
�Who�s talking about love?� she said in a low whisper.
�Oh, I can�t stand you!� I cried. I jumped up. My chair fell back. My
pillow fell off the upturned seat.
�It would be best to do it while your bottom�s still warm,� Cybil
cooed to me.
I turned. I stomped out of the room. My titties bounced on my chest
as I walked. I was aware of their lewdness. My bottom rolled, felt
wanton, brazen.
I went into the parlor. There was a big beanbag chair in the middle,
for Becky to play in. I flopped down into it. Inevitably my legs opened
wide. I did not bother to close them. My cunt, my thatch showed. My
breasts lolled heavily on my chest. Adipose tissue. Wobbling, quivering.
The nipples stiff. I felt a sense of abandon. My long hair streamed down
alongside my face. My lips were parted.
�Well, the very picture of ladyhood,� Cybil said. She sauntered up to
me, following me. �Shall I get you a cucumber, miss?�
�No,� I replied, sulky.
�Answer the door for me if it rings,� she said. �Can you do that, at
least? I have to go downtown.�
�Who watches for you when I�m not here?�
�Why, some other girl, of course. But today you�re around, so you can
do it, hmmm?�
�Oh, alright,� I answered.
�Try to look presentable if its somebody on business,� Cybil told me.
I laughed. �Don�t they want to see something like this?� I pressed
my knees farther apart. I arched my pussy at her.
�Don�t be crass, dear,� she answered. �Someone on regular business.
You know, like the deli man.�
�Oh, of course. I�d be too old for him,� I said.
�Not that, I mean, well, you KNOW what I mean, don�t you? Someone
who has to check the water meter, or whatever. Or deliver something.�
�Cucumbers?� I asked. I still lay with my legs indescribably wide.
�You are too naughty,� she replied. There was a smile on her lips.
She turned and left then. She�d had enough of me, for now.
I dozed. I heard her go out a little later. I did not hear much. An
occasional scream from the pool, giddy. Perhaps Becky had found another
shark to scare her. I guessed the dungeon was locked. Well, they would
have to wait for Cybil. I wasn�t going to check up on them, whoever was in
there, that was for sure. I listened and heard creaking sounds upstairs.
Somebody was doing it. Somebody was always doing it here. Did I want to
join them? No... I might quickly wind up with the creaking being made by
me, by somebody I didn�t fancy.
And where was Alex? I felt like leaping up then, but a lethargy had
possessed me. I was still sleepy from last night�s late night party. I
drew my arms around my ribs. I felt their smallness, the flesh drawn
smooth-tight over them. The undersides of my boobies rested with
weighty significance on my indrawn arms. My period was still two weeks
away. Lucky me. I still had plenty of time to play. I was like Becky. I
didn�t need anything. No clothes, just a snack now and then. I could dance
around out back by the pool, if I wished. And then I felt a quiet, gentle
yearning. I wasn�t quite like Becky, was I? No, not quite. I needed
cucumbers.
There was a ringing sound. The doorbell! I jumped up. I realized I
was naked. Quite naked, in fact, unless you counted shoes. I glanced
about. I ran into the hall. I spied folded laundry in the T.V. room. I rushed
in. The T.V. was off. It wasn�t time for Bugs Bonker yet. Atop the pile
there was a little undershirt. It was tiny, sleeveless. I struggled into it.
The neck was scooped out, with only frilly delicate straps going over my
shoulders. The tight shirt hugged my breasts. I looked down and saw the
shirt was too short to cover my navel. Oh well, it would have to do.
Cybil�s customers paid well. I didn�t want her to lose the account. She
might have to cut back on cucumbers.
Titties bulging, my flaring hips as bare as my twat and my bottom, I
strode with all the elegance I could manage to the front door. I must
admit I felt a certain wickedness doing it. Wait till I turned around! They
would find out what went on here, that was for sure, when they saw my
ass. With delicate fingertips I unbolted the door, edged it open. I peeked
out. A drop-dead hunk waited there, with two women. One looked wifely,
the other submissive.
�May I help you?� I asked. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes.
�We have come....�
�To...� I paused. �Cum?� I licked my lips. I wanted to tempt him.
�Yes,� he replied, smiling. I beckoned and eased back the door. They
stepped within. The girl looked startled at my nakedness. The man merely
smiled, as if he had guessed such a treat might await him here. The
woman seemed unmoved.
GOLLIWOGG
Copyright 1996 by Alan Freer
WOGG�S INVOCATION
�When you look long into an abyss,
the abyss also looks into you.�
--Nietzsche
The Poet has fled
and buried His soul.
And now, before which muse shall I kneel
and supplant my will
to beg revelation from the wreckage of a toppled cross
where the Prophet proclaimed,
�God is dead!�
How shall I delve the inner-self--
dredge the spirit-heart-mind-whatever
and breathe life into my creation,
arising from the rubbled ashes
of Good and Evil.
Implore the Ravenous Goddess,
Morrigan, the ebony bird:
Oracle of Death and War,
to instill apocalyptic visions
for the fate which awaits.
Or beseech the mangy wisdom
of a Mongrel Dog
to grant a metaphysical glimpse
into the future-past-present
Finding parentage and inspiration
in the spawn of Raven and Hound--
to beget a bastard child
destined to shuffle humped
through the static pages
of my imagination:
A Patchwork-Wogg
Godless here for evermore.
AND IN THE END...
�The feminist movement... has recently become bogged down in issues
that are sexual and are about the evil of men. And everywhere you look
there is another piece of �information� about the nastiness, the
brutality, the innate vileness of men.
- Anne Roiphe (C-SPAN, About Books, December 15, 1996)
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-END OF 151 EMISSION
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