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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 314
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Three
�Drink from the toilet, bitch!� he yelled. I gasped. My hands
clutched at my throat. I crept to the door to see into bathroom. They�d
passed by my door, both of them, not seeing me, and were now out of sight.
I snuck up to the door, frightened as a deer, but curious about its
hunter. I looked in and, to my shocked surprise, I saw the poor sobbing girl
bent down, dog-like, on her hands and knees with her lovely auburn hair
tumbling all over the open bowl of the commode. Her face was somewhere
down inside, and I heard a lapping sound.
The big monster-like man was behind her. He was hugely muscular
but in an obnoxious way, like those weightlifters you see in the Olympics,
not sculpted brawn but just raw, almost unformed brawn. He was hairy
and he wore a big belt with rivets in it, as if the belt had been bolted to
his stomach. He was not fat, though. He was hard and lean in his bulging,
unsculpted hugeness. He was not overly tall and he had big huge legs and
wore boots, as if he were some medieval fetishist. Gloves of leather
contained his enormous hands and, thankfully perhaps, he wore a hood of
black leather over his head. In his hand was a cat o� nine tails. It looked
as if it was made of soft leather strips, but he made up for that by
striking it hard against the weeping girl�s bottom.
�Drink more, bitch!� the ogre-man commanded. I saw that the girl
had indeed been getting spanked, for her bottom was bright red, like a
tomato, even though her skin on her limbs and her back and her breasts,
squished against the rim of the toilet bowl, was creamy white.
�Why are you making her drink from the toilet?� I blurted. It was a
mistake, but I was so shocked I couldn�t help myself and my words
escaped before I could stop them. The Hunchback of Caracas turned and
noticed me for the first time.
�INTO your bedroom, slave!� he roared. I retreated, scared out of my
wits. I heard a voice behind me.
�The toilet is clean,� Jasmine said. I whirled about. Jasmine! �We
wouldn�t harm a girl by making her drink from a dirty bowl,� she said to
me. She didn�t smile but I sensed there was a smile lurking behind her
lips. �Get on the bed for your first whipping,� she said. She gestured at
my bed.
�I-I don�t want one,� I said.
�I can tie you down or Olaf can,� she said, actually smiling now.
With her hand, which held a long, thin riding crop, she gestured at the
bathroom door. �You will, of course, be whipped much more sternly if I
have to put you down forcibly,� she added. �Either way is acceptable to
me. Olaf can have you chained down in no time. I only handle the whip.�
�I-I�ll go with you,� I said meekly. I put my hand to my breasts. I
was completely nude and defenseless. What could I do? Jasmine simply
gestured at my bed.
With greatly hesitant steps I inched toward my bed, all the while the
whipped girl in the toilet sobbing in my ears. Reaching the bed, I pressed
my knees against it.
�Get in, get on your knees,� Jasmine said. �Don�t make me get mean
about it, dear. Your bottom will be sore enough as it is.� I dropped down
onto the bed and crawled forward. I plunked my head down on my pillow,
but let my bottom stay up in the air.
�Where�s Brent?� I asked.
�Brent�s busy,� Jasmine answered. And I knew doing what, too.
Getting his penis sucked by all the other girls, as if he were King Tut or
something.
Jasmine kneed onto the bed behind me. She placed a hand on the
small of my back and brushed me lightly with her fingers. �You have a fine
darling ass,� she complimented. �A bottom like this is always a delight to
whip. Scream and cry if you like. Crying is preferred. It lets me know I�m
doing my job. Try not to wiggle around too much. And whatever you do,
don�t put your hands over your seat. That will earn you extra strokes.�
She patted my long golden hair. �Bite your pillow, dear. This is going to
hurt, I won�t kid you.� I obeyed, wordlessly, and put my teeth into my
pillow. It felt so soft. Was I really to be whipped?
Jasmine raised her hand, her whip hand, lofting her whip high. It
was stiff and whippy, springy, a cross between a crop and a whip. She let
me look over my shoulder at it, fearfully, mouthing my pillow, my eyes
wide.
�You should see how you�re tensing your bottom cheeks,� Jasmine
laughed. �Such a little kitten. Lisa will come and make you all better
when it�s done.�
And then her hand swung down. I felt a biting, scorching line of heat
dig into my bottom. I bounced forward. My mouth sprung from its hold on
the corner of my pillow. My bosoms smooshed onto the silky surface of
the sheet beneath me and my hands flew back and clapped themselves to
my tush.
�WAAAAAH!� I shouted. And in my shouting, to my utter humiliation,
I realized that the ugly ogre, Olaf, in the bathroom could hear me.
�Take your hands away,� Jasmine said sternly.
�No, please,� I blubbered.
She caressed my hair. �I have trained so many girls,� she murmured.
�Some submit willingly, others refuse. Still others try to submit and then
find they can�t. It�s up to you, my dear. You are not the first to kneel upon
this bed, and you are far from the last.�
�Oh please,� I sobbed. I buried my head in my pillow. Quietly she
lifted my hands from my bottom and placed them beside my face. She was
naked as I, and lovely in her nakedness, wearing just a frill round her neck
to show her own submission to... whom? And her stockings, pulled tight,
plus her pumps, and glistening earrings which dangled down from her ears,
making her look delicate even as she was uncompromising. �This is just a
taste,� she said. �There is much more to come, poor baby. What did you
think being a love slave involved?�
�I don�t know,� I sobbed.
�Well, neither did I, when I started,� she said. �Now lift up your
bottom high. This is not gym class, and I am not your gym instructor.
There you�re given demerits if your shorts are too short. Here you must
bare all, yes, your precious fanny. And you must let me whip it so I can
see your cheeks clench and release. It will help me judge your tightness
so I can open you more effectively.� She slapped my fanny, making me
clutch at my pillow. �Bottom up, girl! Open your thighs. Very good. Dip
your back. Now you�re showing as you should.�
My reward was another stinging sweep of the whippy cane across my
fanny. I howled, lifting my head, but somehow I managed to clutch onto
my pillow.
�OooooWhooo!� I shouted. Jasmine stroked my back, as if pitying me.
I heard small footsteps. I turned my teary face and saw the spanked girl
from the next room enter. Her tears were drying now. Sniffling, she held
a lollipop and was softly licking it. It was a huge lollipop, swirled,
colorful. She held it above her nakedly swinging breasts. Her tummy
sighed. Her bush was chestnut colored and fleecy. A heavy tread followed
and Olaf stood behind her. She did not notice him now. Her punishment
was done and she watched me, bug-eyed, as I received mine. She looked no
older than me, younger, perhaps. Olaf crossed his arms behind her. I could
not see his face because of his hood and I was glad.
WAHCK! Came the cane again. It whirr-whipped down onto my tushy
and I rolled it urgently about, burying my face in my pillow again,
somehow holding on to it.
�She�s been bad,� our nude visitor said over her lollipop.
�No, Missy, she�s being very good,� Jasmine corrected. �She is not
like you, brought here by your parents because you�re unruly and insist on
playing with boys when they tell you not to. She didn�t pee on my flowers
outside like you did. She�s being trained for love, to serve her loving
master in whatever way he pleases.�
Jasmine smacked my bottom hard again, with the whip, sending me
into a new ululation of urgent appeal. She ignored my pleadings. She
didn�t even bother to answer my �no�s� anymore, because I kept my hands
on my pillow, and my ass, somehow, up high. Another blow fell, searing
itself into my soft ass flesh, and I howled and spilled new tears on my
pillow.
�Well, good or bad, she�s being punished just the same,� Missy piped
up again, showing remarkable spunk given the state of her bottom and
Jasmine�s unremitting discipline on mine.
Jasmine whacked me again, very hard, as if angry with Missy but
taking it out on the most immediately convenient target, me! I hissed and
hooted with pain and lurched forward, bumping my head against the brass
rails of the bed. My hands flew back to my fanny and I collapsed onto my
tummy. I held my bottom tight and shouted, �NO MORE! NO MORE! NO
MORE!�
Jasmine bent and gave a lick between the lowest part of my hinds,
right along my crack. Then she leapt up from the bed, tossed her hair, and
walked with the gait of an Olympic victor to the outer door. She opened it,
turned, and spoke to Olaf.
�See that they behave, Olaf,� she ordered. �Missy, you are
insufferably naughty and I�ll have a crack at your hiney just as soon as I�m
done partying in the West Wing. Until then, you can worry and wait for it.
Kelly, you�ll be whipped again in the morning. And we�ll start your dildo
training then, after you�ve been turned to toast to make you more
receptive. For now, enjoy the last hours of your tight little ass. Olaf,
make sure Missy drinks from the toilet all night!�
�Aye, Miss!� Olaf responded to Jasmine.
�...And Missy, to show your contrition, put some lotion on poor
Kelly�s bottom. Lisa�s probably too busy having fun at our orgy. Tootle-
loo, kids. You�ll play with us as soon as you both grow up!�
Oh, I felt horrible, lying there on the bed, clutching my burning
bottom, knowing Brent was having the time of his life without me in the
West Wing, with the women, leaving me here bereft, with a bratty
insouciant child and some big molester dude in a hood. I coughed, I wept, I
held my hinds, rubbing my bush against the sheets, squeezing my thighs
and my cheeks.
Small knees dented the sheet beside my hips and I felt sticky hands
lift my palms from my ass. A cold squirt hit my shuddering hinds.
�This will help,� Missy said to me. She began rubbing lotion into my
wounded bottom with her lollipop fingers. It lay on my vanity, staining
the wood. I imagined by the time she was finished Missy would find to her
dismay that it was stuck there. And I�d have a big sticky swirled lollipop
to keep me company in my bedroom for the rest of my stay.
�You�ll have to pee in the chamberpot under your bed if I�m to drink
from the toilet,� Missy said to me. I was beginning to see why her parents
didn�t like her. Despite her impish size, smaller than me, she seemed to
have no qualms about assuming command. She was blessed with large
tempting breasts that I had no doubt had gotten her in trouble. Perhaps
she bared them, I thought, in Sunday School, or on the Playground. Her legs
were breathtaking. Their slimness made up for her undeveloped height.
She was grow, I was sure, but she was, at least, a year or two younger
than me, perhaps more. I looked at her over my shoulder, still clutching
the sides of my bottom as she spread oil in between.
�Missy, how old are you?� I inquired. My voice was trembly with my
subsiding sobs.
�13 and a half this month,� Missy replied proudly. She lifted her
breasts as she spoke, arching her back, and let out a big contented sigh.
Olaf stood in the background, silent, mute, his arms crossed. �Why were
you sent here?� she asked before I could ask her the same.
�I-I don�t know,� I answered.
�Of course you do,� she said. �All girls do. Don�t pretend you don�t
when you do. You can�t fool me!� She grinned and moved my hands off my
fanny onto the sheet beside my hips. She squirted more lotion on my
bottom. It warmed as she spread it on my seat. I was beginning to feel a
slowly increasing glow there, and the lines of the crop were fading into
sharp striations of burn amidst a deeper more fulfilling warmth.
�I met a man and...� I began. My voice caught in my throat. �I wanted
to submit?� The last word trilled high, making a question, though perhaps
I�d not intended it to be.
Missy patted my bottom. �You�ll learn to submit here, that�s for
sure,� she said.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Exotic Magazine, Volume 5, Number 4, $1.95. 8 1/2� x 11� magazine, 48
pages with a slick cover. X Publishing, Inc., 625 SW 10th Avenue, Suite
324B, Portland, OR 97205. E-mail: xmag@teleport.com Web:
http://www.xmag.com
Review: Some people get no respect. Some people deserve none.
Take the case of Frank Faillace. He publishes a magazine called
Exotic. It features beautiful young females with no clothes on. Their sole
objective in life is to be nude. With you. For a fee, of course, but since
most of these girls are fresh out of high school, they don�t ask a lot. (One
girl, for instance, asks �$39.95 for 30 minutes of private pleasure�. You
probably paid that much to see Mike Tyson lose his last fight.)
But Frank, despite being surrounded by beautiful young girls, can�t
think of anything to say about them. So, last month, he left the space
blank where he usually writes his column. On page 2 of the September
1997 issue of Exotic, where his column usually is, the space is blank. I
assumed it was a printer�s error. This month, on page 2 of the October
issue of Exotic (which I received in mid-November), Frank says this:
�Sorry if you missed me last month... but I was on vacation and
having way too much fun to write a column.�
The space where Frank�s column appears measures four inches long
and 3 3/4 inches wide. I called Frank up and asked why he couldn�t fill
such a small space. �It�s four inches long!� Frank replied. �Four inches.
That�s longer than my penis!�
Now, I ask you reader, is that a decent excuse? In addition, Frank
pointed out to me that the first four letters of his last name are �Fail�.
�Fail,� Frank told me. �Fail. Get it? As in, �Failure to write a
column, failure to ejaculate, etc. I am fulfilling a long (well, not that
long) and proud family tradition.�
Frank expected me to let him off the hook, due to the letters of his
name, and the length of his penis. But here at Fuck Decency we are not so
forgiving. I mean, take a look at the space next to the blank space in the
September, 1997 issue of Exotic. To the left of Frank�s (non-existent)
column, there is a photograph. It is of a young woman. She�s nude, and
lying on a white bearskin rug, like a baby. Behind her, next to her bare,
upturned bottom, is a big, stuffed teddy bear.
Has Mr. Faillace not heard of the Hatch Act? What does such a
photograph conjure in the mind of the viewer, if not sex with infants?
Does Mr. Faillace intend to make a profit flaunting the law, or did he
merely �fail� to take note of it?
To the right of Mr. Faillace�s (non-existent) column, there is another
photograph. It is of a young woman. She is not wearing a shirt. One would
think she might at least wear a brassiere, if she�s not going to wear a
shirt. Instead, she�s topless. She has big juicy bosoms that hang off her
chest, as if she were Venus, newly arisen from the ocean. Worse, the tips
of her nipples are hard. Looking at them, one is inspired to think of cows,
and milk, and suckling.
Good God! Women posed as children to the left, and as animals to the
right, of Faillace�s (non-existent) column, and he is unable to write
anything! Mr. Faillace, Andrea Dorkin could write something. Naomi Wolf
could write something. Even I, holy joe, can write something.
Such is life, as a reviewer. Wealthy dudes surrounded by young girls
send me their magazine, with blank space, and say, �Here, joe. Review
me.�
If you�re wondering what was on the cover of last issue, it was a
wonderfully bosomy babe, with a face to kill for. This month�s cover of
Exotic features a bad-assed bitch. She�s getting a boob job. It�s from
Wolverine, of all people. He doesn�t look to be doing a very good job of
enlarging her bosoms. I think she might wind up with less, not more, when
he�s through. Perhaps he couldn�t get any breasts at Kentucky Fried and
decided to have hers for dinner instead.
Well, I could say more, but I don�t want to go on real long. People
would get upset if I went on as long as my dick is.
AND IN THE END...
CHILD ABUSE !
Moms Get Their Due
�In late October The New York Times reported on an upswing in
arrests of mothers for child neglect, including one woman who left her
10-year-old and 4-year-old home alone for an hour and a half while she
went to the supermarket.�
- The Nation, November 24, 1997, pg. 9.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues: type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser�s �Location� window. Press your �return� key.
Under �Quick Search�, type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your �return� key.
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
- JOIN NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 314 EMISSION
- ANOTHER CRIMINAL DISCOVERED: �My daughter, Sophie, is 10 years
old. I leave her at home alone when I go out for groceries.� (Mom Katha
Pollitt, Ibid.)