KIDNAPPED!
Taken from her home, family, and community, a 12-year-old girl is
spirited away to a cabin deep in the woods by a former soldier. What will
he do to her? How will he violate her? Will she survive? These and other
exciting questions are dealt with in...
LABORS OF LOVE
Chapter Seven
Now available for downloading from ftp site: members.aol.com/nnd66
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 175
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
...Our ankles were tied to the bed to prevent our getting up. We were
warned not to wet the bed.
�How can we help it, if we can�t get up to pee?� Rachel moaned.
�You will not be crashing any parties tonight, young ladies,� Anna
answered, master chuckling beside her. �You�ll just have to make the best
of it, I suppose. It�s your own fault for not obeying last night.� She and
master left then, and turned out the light.
�My bottom�s chilly,� Rachel whined. We were on the bed, with no
sheet over us, and it seemed strange to me that my hiney, so hot for the
past few hours, felt the need of a sheet.
�Well, my butt�s cold too, but I guess we�re stuck with it,� I
answered. �Better than being too hot, don�t you think?�
�I don�t know, I catch cold sometimes if I don�t have something over
me,� Rachel answered.
�Well, don�t wet the bed, whatever you do,� I shot back. �Then it
would be really chilly, with a big pee stain under us.�
By morning we�d both peed, not able to hold it in. Anna came and
scolded us, put us both straight into the bath, like children, not getting in
with us this time. She made us wash ourselves, sat watching us with
stern eyes from the commode, where she made a little poop while we
bathed.
�You�re stinking up the whole bathroom,� Rachel complained to Anna.
�Serves you right for getting me fucked both ways the other night,�
Anna answered.
Rachel was dismissed to the custody of master when we were done
with our bath. I was made to wait while Anna took a quick shower. I sat
on the toilet, the lid down, feeling the furry seat beneath my bare bottom.
When Anna was done she returned me to the bedroom I�d shared with
Rachel. The sheets, mysteriously, were clean and fresh again, changed by
unknown hands. Perhaps master had made Rachel do it.
�We must dress and go outside to pick some birch branches for your
first whipping here,� Anna told me frankly. She parted the curtains of my
bedroom and glanced out the window. �It�s raining a little, we�ll wear
bikinis. The birch trees are out front. We can�t go nude, passersby would
see us. Master�s reputation would be damaged if nude girls were seen on
his lawn. He�s most respectable in these parts, despite his private
parties.� She opened the dresser and rummaged about. Bikinis were found
for both her and myself. We picked out our favorite colors. I tied mine on
carefully, so as not to cause embarrassment to master, worrying a little
at the reason for our trip. The bikinis were small, though not terribly so,
not bedroom-small, but still a little teenier than I think master would
have approved of, if he�d seen them. Perhaps it was Anna�s way of piquing
him even as she obeyed him.
We stepped outside in little black waterproof booties to protect our
feet from grass stains. We wore clear latex gloves to keep our fingers
from being bruised from the birch branches. Anna brought a pair of garden
clippers to cut off the branches we selected. The rain felt cool upon my
skin. Mist coiled amongst the trees. Beyond, on the street, traffic flashed
by. I was grateful for the mist, it concealed us a little, though not enough
for us to pass unnoticed. Quickly we chose several branches amidst the
drizzling boughs and sliced them off. I tried to pick ones with as few buds
as possible. Anna chose well-budded ones, but let me include a few of my
own.
�They sting most when they�re wet, you know,� she smiled at me.
�So I�ve heard,� I answered. I felt my bottomcheeks clench within
my little swimsuit. She patted my ass.
�You�ll think of nothing but your hiney soon,� she said. �All night
long you�ll think about it, agonize over it.�
�I don�t want to go through with this,� I gulped.
A car stopped on the street. Men got out, stood near their car,
wondering if they might meet us. Once, then again, they whistled to us.
Anna ignored them.
�Come,� she said, taking my hand. �We have enough for the job.� She
led me inside, my finger in my mouth, my footsteps trailing. I knew I
could not stay outside with the men. I had nothing, nothing save my little
bikini, and that belonged to master. In the bedroom she toweled me off.
She took off my panties and made me get up on the bed and kneel with my
face pressed into the pillows. She loosed my bra, so that it hung from my
neck like a bib, letting my titties wiggle freely, unhidden, the bra cups
useless in their dangling untied state.
�Isn�t master coming?� I asked.
�No,� she answered. �Master is busy with Rachel, or gone perhaps,
taking her with him for the day. Tara and Jasmine are out shopping. This
is just between you and me, as part of your training. I�m your teacher, you
know.� She gave a practice stroke with the branches, through the air. I
listened to them whistle. A bow held them together at one end, letting the
other end splay freely, menacingly. Anna�s bikini was still intact, wet but
properly tied. It was as if we�d stepped from the beach into a bathhouse,
for some lesbian tryst. �Bite the pillow if you need to,� Anna said to me.
Then she whipped me, harshly, each stroke like a swarm of bees upon me.
It was worse because no one was there, no male to watch me screaming
and crying and screeching into my hastily-bitten pillow. When she was
done she matter-of-factly got cream from the dresser and palpated it all
over my injured tush.
�I�ll tell master you�re properly behaved now,� she said at last. She
turned and left, giving me a bucket to pee in. She locked the door. Much
later someone slipped a sandwich, wrapped in cellophane, under the door,
along with a pan with water in it. Feeling sorry for myself, hoping that
master might somehow be watching me, I ate the sandwich kneeling on the
floor, with my blazing birch-streaked bottom uplifted into the cool air. I
lapped up the water like a doggie might. More water was brought later,
and I drank it upright the next time, moving about my room more
confidently, growing restless. I stood in front of the mirror, with my back
to it, and examined my damaged bottom with a sense of pride. I�d survived
master�s punishment. I�d been a good girl and gotten what I�d deserved,
even picked out the branches myself. Some of them, anyway. I parted the
cheeks and wondered what it would be like to have master pick out a
tattoo and put it on me. It would make me mine forever, wouldn�t it? He
couldn�t deny me then. I gulped, wondering if that was really what I
wanted. Or perhaps a brand, a hot brand placed right on my bare bottom, by
my hole, perhaps, where no one could see it without being very intimate
with me. I could go to the beach, even wear a thong bikini maybe, and no
one would know I belonged to master, unless they stripped me and opened
my asscrack and looked inside. Then they would see it. That I was
master�s. I bit my lip and wondered how much it would hurt to get a brand.
There was to be a party. Master would not be present. He wished to
test our loyalty to him by giving us to other men, men we�d never met
before, men we might not even like once we did meet them. Tara would
play hostess. We had the house to ourselves, she and I and Anna and
Jasmine and Rachel. We were five, but the men would be at least 15,
outnumbering us by far. We did not know what sort of permission he had
given to them. All we knew was that, before he left, master had all the
various guns he kept in the house removed, and the knives locked up in a
kitchen drawer.
�You will do whatever the men ask,� master told us, as we stood
lined up before him one morning, the sun in the trees, the sky bright, the
house indoors pleasantly dark and confining, protecting. �And you will
never see them again. They are from Russia, they will not be back this
way again.�
He turned and left us then, all trembling and shivery and unsure.
Two vicious dogs were let loose in the yard, new dogs, dogs we�d never fed
and petted before. He took the limo with him, and had our phone
disconnected.
�Oh, God!� Tara said, when he�d gone. �We only have a little time to
prepare. The men will be here any minute!�
�Can�t we, like, escape?� Rachel asked. I stood with her, holding
hands. Master had wakened us, made us all bathe and perfume ourselves,
telling us nothing until just now. He�d had hors d'oeuvres brought in by a
catering company while we were bathing. We were nude now, fresh and
dry and clean, our skin tingling, with clothing laid out for us in the parlor
that we might quickly put on to prepare for the men. There wasn�t much.
Tara slipped into a sleeveless shift, cut low in front and lower in back,
that was bare along both sides. It was held in place only by a network of
stringy little chains that ran between its two halves, keeping them
together, the front half covering her torso, the back half covering her
back. The shift itself was a finely woven net, easily torn, through which,
peering closely, you could see her large pink nipples. The multi-colored
hues of the net itself were the only thing that kept her nipples from being
readily apparent. It was variously colored purple, blue and yellow. The
colors whorled across the surface of the shift and seemed to make it glow
with a life of its own. Strands of fabric, narrow as pencils, hung below
the base of the shift, which was cut off just above Tara�s pussy, but near
her waist, along the side of her body. The shift hung lower along her
opposite leg, almost halfway down her thigh. The strands were no more
than two or three, offering her what little protection she could get from
what I guessed would be the leering gaze of the men. She was nervous,
clad in her too-short shift, her handful of dangling tassels catching her
eye as she looked down at herself. The shift, with its slit-open sides,
showing her breasts where they joined her body, gave her the look of a
truly alluring dinner guest, though it was but mid-morning. I imagined her
at some midnight party, her artfully slashed hem just hiding her pussy,
her shift in front molded to her breasts, while in back it was cut low
enough to show off the sensuous shape of her back. Her hips, swaying as
she walked, made the shift�s tassels jangle over the smooth flanks of her
thighs. In back the shift�s hem crossed over her right bottomcheek, boldly
exposing it, then dipped just low enough to cover the place where her legs
joined, and descended further after that to cover part of her left thigh, a
foolish but tempting use of what little fabric the shift-maker had been
given to work with. Here and there, artfully, inexplicably, bits of
decoration adorned the shift, a vee-shaped collection of ribbons, a trio of
little chains that hung for no purpose or reason along one section of her
ribs, and lastly, a piece of extra fabric, cut from the same fabric as the
shift, attached so that it flapped down over one of her nipples, covering it
so that it was more difficult to see. It was wide as a belt, no more than a
few inches long, and seemed there only to frustrate the viewer. One
nipple could be seen, if the shift was admired at close range, yet the
other, covered by this second bit of pointless fabric, remained hidden. I
supposed the effect would be to make the men yearn even more to tear off
the frustrating shift and make Tara utterly, completely nude, instead of
almost nude in her teasing, taunting shift.
As for myself, I wore white cotton panties, but they�d been pre-torn,
made ragged by the tearing of nails. Master had ordered the girls some
time ago to �tear up a pair of panties for me,� and, seeing that they were
panties for a young girl, Tara and Jasmine had set to them with a
vengeance. All I was left with, now that I was fated to wear them, was a
small patch of fabric where my pussy hair grew, and a slender tendril of
cotton running up the back of my ass, just barely hiding my ass crack. I
felt mortified to wear them, especially with company coming, but I was
offered no other choice. Like Tara, I wore truly elegant shoes, all shiny
and gold, with fine long spiked heels that made me wobble a little when I
first put them on and tried to walk in them. I covered my breasts with my
long hair, glad that I had not cut it. Master gave me diamond bracelets for
my wrists that looked real, but weren�t, and a diamond anklet. I had
earrings to match, hidden in my hair.
Jasmine looked perfect in a neat little bikini, as if fresh from the
pool, except she was as laden with diamond jewelry as I was. If you
looked closely, you could see that the pouch for her pussy had been
inexplicably cut away, leaving a gap in her panties. Above, her bra cups
were too small for her boobs, pressing against them rather than cupping
them as they should. Underneath and on either side of each cup her
breast-flesh bulged out, trying to break free of the senseless bra. She
fidgeted with the cups, hoping to keep them in place.
�I�ll bet they make me do jumping jacks,� she said to me ruefully.
�And leg lifts,� I replied. We shared a smile. Master was so wicked!
How dare he leave us here with unknown men coming, complete strangers?
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Playboy�s Pocket Playmates Vol. 1, No. 5, $4.95. (1970-1965)
Review: When I saw this on the newsstand, I wasn�t even going to
pick it up. But then a little voice said in my head: �Joe, there are naked
girls in that magazine!!!�
So I picked it up.
I didn�t care for the previous issue of this series, but the others
have been quite good and this issue pleasantly surprised me. Yes, there
are a lot of junk photos in here, but there are also some very nice photos!
On a �photo for photo� basis, there are as many quality photos in this issue
as there are in any other item you might spend your money on.
My only wish is that I could �click� on the girls I like in this issue
and see more of them! Obviously that�s something for Web publishing,
�click� on the girl you like and get to see all the photos ever published of
her. Such a method would represent a big time-savings to some Playboy
collectors. I well remember the days when I would laboriously cut apart a
Playboy magazine to save the centerfold and the accompanying pictures.
Then, when a photo of the girl appeared in the Letters section of Playboy
I�d cut that page out too and add it to the centerfold photos I�d already
saved of her. Then, later, if she appeared in an advertisement for Playboy,
I�d carefully cut out that too and add it to the original collection.
(Yes, it sounds quite perverted, but I had a problem: I wasn�t
supposed to have ANY Playboys, and my little brother had a habit of
scouring my bedroom looking for anything he could get his pesky little
hands on. So I had to reduce each Playboy I bought to only the ESSENTIAL
photos, and throw out the rest of the magazine before anybody knew I had
it.)
So anyway, with the Web, the collector should be able to �click� on a
girl and get all of her published photos. Additionally, in my opinion, he
should be able to see all of her UNpublished photos. The Mexican Playboy�s
Christmas 1996 issue amply demonstrates how important those are. ONLY
the Mexican Playboy has ever published a photo of Jenny McCarthy sitting
naked on Santa�s lap being fed Christmas cookies. (Yes, there�s a �cookie�
photo Playboy published a few years back, in an (American) Newsstand
Special, but Jenny was standing, not sitting, and it was a Gingerbread man
cookie she was ABOUT to eat, not a bell-shaped cookie that she was
actually taking a bite out of.)
(I�m an expert when it comes to Jenny McCarthy!) (Plus about 1,249
other girls who have appeared in Playboy.) (Plus a few Penthouse pets.)
(Plus some Hustler girls...)
MTV should also work on the same principle. I like �Kennedy� but,
really, how many intros, outtros, (etc.) by her do I really need to see. All I
want is the videos I want, full, complete, and uncut. I shouldn�t have to
tape 5,000 hours of MTV just to get a handful of videos that I like. (On
4,550 different tapes.) Some people buy two VHS machines so they can
dub out a �special� tape, but of course first you have to watch and record
5,000 hours of MTV, then you have to �dub� everything, and everyone knows
a dubbed tape isn�t as good as the original. (Which isn�t as good as the
�master copy� MTV broadcast.) So anyway I�m probably off on a tangent
here, but we can see the problem with both Playboy and MTV: a consumer
wasting half his life just to compile, in one convenient place, what HE
likes. Hopefully the Web and digital publishing will solve all this.
Now, on to more Playboy:
Playboy catalog, Winter 1997, free. 1-800-423-9494.
Review: Another excellent issue. A new Playboy Playmate has
replaced former Playmate and catalog star Shae Marks. (Sorry, I don�t
know the new girl�s name, but she is fun to masturbate over!)
If you haven�t yet ordered a free copy of the Playboy catalog, now is
the time! Soon all those luscious photos of Shae Marks will be replaced by
other females. All sorts of things can be ordered from this catalog.
Puzzles, tapes, and (especially) back issues of Playboy�s Newsstand
Specials and back issues of Playboy itself! All you need is your own
counterfeit money machine to churn out lots of $50 and $100 bills! (Plus a
giant mansion to store all that stuff in when it arrives...)
AND IN THE END...
holy joe�s THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
�Why is it that I only get to see a cute little girl on the cover of an
American magazine when she�s dead?�
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-END OF 175 EMISSION