NND.cc 129 Naughty Naked Dreamgirls
Andrew Roller
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
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Issue No. 129
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Passion’s Playpen
Chapter Thirteen
... Kate had on low-slung, hip-hugger jeans, tight jeans that she’d had
to fight to get into, and as he spoke to her she played with the laces
of her front-laced jeans. “Do you wish to caress yourself?” he asked
her. “Are you a little masturbator who wants to play with her pussy and
make it wet?” He pinched her nipples again and made her cry out more
deeply. “Sit up!” he ordered. He yanked on her breasts, surprising
even her as he used her plump mounds to lift her up. Quickly she put
her hands to the seat and pushed on it. Between the two of them, she
was up in a moment, and forced to sit beside him. He fluffed her hair,
ignoring her glare, and made her sit next to him like a proper young
lady would, not sprawled across his lap like a naughty child or a woman
who was a slut.
They arrived at a row of townhouses and stopped in front of the
one where the Americans lived. The driver helped Kate out of the car.
Faisal got out and took her arm and led her up to the door of the
townhouse. Her crop top was zipped up again, her pants remained laced.
They knocked and were greeted by a young woman in a micro mini. She had
long brown hair that she’d spun into loose curls. She was a few inches
taller than Kate. She wore a white blouse with a short leather vest
over it. From the waist up she looked respectably, if casually
dressed. But her skirt was a scandal. Althea had told Kate that the
party would be an enema party and, perhaps as a warning of what was
planned, the woman who greeted them had on a dress that was little more
than a decoration. When she turned around after saying ‘hello’ to them
and giving them both a smile, Kate saw that her skirt was high enough in
back to show the underside of her bottom. The woman wore white panties,
perhaps as a claim to purity, above long legs that were utterly bare.
As she walked away from them, back to the guests inside who’d already
arrived, she gave her bottom an exaggerated wiggle, as if to ensure that
attention would be paid to it. On her feet were little granny boots,
each with a big buckle. They accentuated the nakedness of her legs and
the visibility of her bottom.
Kate felt her bottomcheeks clench together. She’d never been
to an enema party. Althea had explained to her the importance of
flushing her colon, but she had not expected to do it in front of
strangers. As Kate walked into the townhouse, holding Faisal’s hand and
following their hostess, she felt an odd awareness of her bottom. Her
every step made it wiggle and as she felt her own bottom wiggling she
watched the sashaying ass of the hostess. Taking up their places amidst
the guests Kate and Faisal were introduced and they exchanged names with
the others and drinks were offered them. Kate took her drink
gratefully. It would help ease her apprehension at being “hot flushed,”
as Althea described it, in front of complete strangers.
The other guests were dressed casually, many of the women
wearing short skirts, although the hostess was dressed most
provocatively. Seeing Kate in pants the hostess, when the conversation
permitted, made clear to her that everyone was to participate in the
shared enemas. “You have lovely pants on but they will have to come
off, I’m afraid,” the hostess said to Kate, then looked at Faisal to
make sure he understood also.
“We’re prepared to enjoy ourselves,” Faisal replied. Kate
squeezed his hand tightly. She sipped her drink and tried to look
nonplussed.
“Let’s begin then,” the hostess, who was named Amber, replied.
“Some of us have to be at work tomorrow.”
Kate glanced around the room and then let herself be drawn away
from Faisal. She gave him a quick kiss and then followed Amber and the
other females into another room. The men stayed behind. Amber
explained to Kate that the girls dressed up for their enemas, they
didn’t simply take off their clothes. She sized Kate up as the other
women began to strip naked. She handed Kate a small string of fabric.
“Here, put this on,” Amber said to Kate. Looking down at the
small handful of material, Kate couldn’t even tell what it might be.
“Get undressed and put it on,” Amber said more firmly. Then she pulled
down her miniskirt and her panties and began unlacing Kate’s jeans for
her, while leaving her miniskirt and panties coiled around her feet on
the floor.
Kate was undressed. Amber complimented her on her body. Then
she pulled off her vest and blouse and told Kate to get into her
lingerie. Kate opened her hand and looked at the frilled little string
again. As Amber left her, to get something from the closet, kicking her
panties and miniskirt off her feet as she went, Kate untangled the
string in her hand.
She still wore her heels. Amber kicked off her granny boots, favoring a
pair of stiletto heels instead, taking them from her clothes closet, she
reminded the women that they must all keep something on their feet.
“Just because you’re getting an enema doesn’t mean you can look less
than your best,” she told them. “Be sure to wear your heels.” She put
heels on her own feet, sitting down on a chair to do it, and then she
slipped on a baby doll nightie. It floated down to her midriff.
Otherwise she remained completely naked, except for her heels. But like
the miniskirt she’d worn, the babydoll had a special depraved allure to
it. It was cupless, leaving Amber’s breasts completely bare. Worse,
beneath her breasts, where the babydoll ran beneath them, there was a
strip of fur, showing off her tits above the fur as if they were exotic
objects. Indeed they looked so, big and plump and deliciously framed by
the babydoll, yet left completely uncovered, at anyone’s mercy. Below,
where the babydoll proved too short to cover Amber’s bellybutton, it
made her look like an elf, prancing about without need of clothes,
showing her pussy to everyone. When Amber turned around, her bare
bottom jiggling fetchingly, the babydoll wafted high above, uselessly.
It reminded Kate of being a little girl and outgrowing a favorite skirt.
Despite being bare bottomed, Amber issued orders to the other
females with prim confidence. She told the girls to hurry and get into
their lingerie so they could all have their bottoms filled. She
reminded them that they would all be strapped, and that she herself
would be adjusting the flow and temperature of the enemas, and deciding
when a girl was full. And she told them that they shouldn’t mistake her
cute babydoll for a sign of weakness. She herself would spank at least
some of them, and the strap would be harsher for those who made her
wait.
As quickly as she could, Kate got into her lingerie. The
string proved to be twin loops that opened and fitted around her
breasts. It had spaghetti straps that ran up behind her neck. From the
crevice between her breasts the string, having framed her breasts
prettily, ran down her belly and between her legs. Despite being
frilled as it passed over her belly, when it slipped between her legs it
became a simple G-string, like a shoelace in appearance, and it
immediately got caught between her pussy lips, not covering them at all
but teasing her spot whenever she moved. The G-string continued up
between the cheeks of her ass and then met a slim thread that ran around
her hips, allowing it to be tied off. On the thread running around her
waist there was a ribbon attached at the back, and Kate, with the help
of another girl, tied the ribbon to the end of the G-string so that the
two, tied together, made a pretty bow. They had the added advantage of
keeping her costume on.
“There, now you’re properly dressed,” Amber said to Kate. She
sidled up to her and tugged on the frilled string that ran down Kate’s
belly. It was as if she were testing the costume, seeing how much
tension it could take before it ripped off.
“Careful,” Kate gasped. The thing was fragile and despite
being an inconsiderable item of clothing she still didn’t want to lose
it. Except for her earrings and nail polish, it was all she had.
“The string in your bottom can be easily moved aside for the
introduction of the tip of the nozzle,” Amber assured Kate, as if being
clothed in even such an insubstantial garment worried Kate that she
might not get her colon filled up. Kate nodded, tried to smile. She
was worried about letting this babydolled creature have at her. She
seemed naughty and bold, eager to see Kate made submissive in ways Kate
had never imagined.
“Come, girls,” Amber said impishly. She gave them a broad
smile and then led them from the undressing room. She moved her bottom
most salaciously as she walked. She tossed back her lovely mane of
brown hair, confident, despite the misgivings Amber herself felt and
that she knew some of the other females felt too.
“I don’t need to get my bottom cleaned out,” a young girl,
perhaps the daughter of an executive, whispered to Kate. Glancing over
at her, for a moment Kate thought she was with Debbi. The girl had a
childish gaze on her face and her bottom jiggled nervously as she
walked. Like Amber, she had on a babydoll nightie, but it was in the
form of a sheer crop top that covered her bosoms and hung down almost to
her bellybutton. It was slit maliciously up the middle in front so that
it would fall completely open, unless a pink bow was tied between the
breasts to keep it together. The girl had tried to add a G-string panty
but Amber had refused to allow her to put it on.
“Shhhh, Daisy. Enemas can be fun,” an older woman behind the
girl said.
THEATRE REVIEW
by The Phantom of the Opera
Waiting for Godot
A Play by Samuel Beckett
Waiting for Godot is a play currently being featured at
Cosumnes River College’s River Stage Theatre. The play “did so well
this summer that we’ve brought it back for four more performances,”
according to the theatre’s Artistic Director, Frank Condom.
Indeed, the performance for September 9, 1999 was full. One
wonders why. This play has no plot, no suspense. There’s no good guy
and no bad guy. The guy doesn’t get the girl, because, except for the
appearance of a nine-year-old girl, there’s no girl. And all the guys
are, or appear to be, too old to do much pursuing of girls anyway.
Why did a play about nothing attract such a large audience?
After so many performances had already been given? This is, at best, a
highly intellectual play. It’s nihilistic. It’s not anything Hollywood
would ever put out, and it’s not, except for some minor buffoonery,
Ringling Brothers. It’s none of the things one would expect to draw a
crowd. This reviewer, at least, cannot answer the question of why
anyone came. A play about nothing should attract about that many
eyeballs: none.
As for the technical aspects of this play, they were fine. The
set, a “thrust stage,” was perfect. The tree was a little flimsy and it
wasn’t, as the dialogue claimed, “covered” in leaves. But one could
argue that it is an “outline” tree, on an “outline” set. In that case
the tree was perfect for the purpose intended, suggesting a tree rather
than being an actual representation of a real tree.
The audience consisted entirely of adults. There were no
children in the audience. The play is, indeed, entirely inappropriate
for children. Not due to sex or violence, but due to its
pointlessness. I can’t imagine anyone under the age of 18 sitting
through this play. It’s very boring. This reviewer was not wooed by
the buffoonery of the two clowns, Gogo and Didi. Indeed, I eventually
began to predict what would happen next: “he’s sitting silently, so
next someone will yell.” And that’s exactly what happened.
Waiting for Godot is espousing the theme that life is
pointless. A person is born. (Or he thinks he is born.) He lives, he
procreates, and then (ah, that last bit) he dies. But there is the
procreation, which leaves behind another, who has been born. He in turn
lives, and procreates, and then (ah, that last bit) dies. But there is
the procreation, which leaves yet another! And on and on, until one
begins to question the significance of being born, and living, and
procreating, and dying.
So, given that life is pointless, why are we here? Are we
waiting for something? Can we really just be here? That’s it? Not
waiting for anything? Well, maybe we’re not here, then. Maybe it’s
just my imagination. But oh, I feel pain! And I’m hungry! So that
must mean I’m here...
And on and on. Unless one finds an intellectual hook by which
to enjoy this play (and that takes a while) one could fall asleep
watching Waiting for Godot.
And now let us have a conclusion for this review of an
inconclusive play. My review is that Waiting for Godot is a fine play,
finely performed. Don’t go and wait with Gogo and Didi unless, however,
you want a purely intellectual experience. And don’t bring the kids.
God knows, they’ll get so bored waiting for the play to end they just
might go out and look for Godot themselves, if only to get the
God(ot)-damned thing over with.
THEATRE REVIEW
by Our Man in Havana
Waiting for Godot
A Play by Samuel Beckett
The question I will address is: “Were the characters’
psychological attributes and motivations clear?” This is, indeed, the
only question that can be addressed with regard to this production,
which received four stars from The Sacramento Pee. The acting, the
costumes, the lighting, the sets, the stage itself, were all,
admittedly, flawless. Hence, there is only one question a hack reviewer
like me is left with, writing as I am for a measly Internet
publication. And that is with regard to the script itself.
Waiting for Godot is considered one of the best plays of this
century. Oops. Once again a reviewer like me is left in a quandary.
How does one say anything about a flawless production of a flawless
play?
Perhaps I should say nothing. Then, for a play about nothing,
there would be a review that says nothing. Perfect.
But on to the question of the characters’ psychological
attributes, which I will answer as best I can. (If nothing else, it
will pass the time, something the characters in this play do quite
well.) Were these characters sane, or insane? I see Waiting for Godot
as a commentary on existence. Perhaps it is, specifically, a commentary
on human existence. Humans are a life form that grew sufficiently aware
to question their existence in the universe. Why are we here? For what
purpose? And, indeed, a question that Waiting for Godot also poses, are
we in fact existing, or is it just our imagination?
Existential stuff, eh? Hence we have a comedy, featuring two
clowns, who ask us to question whether or not we in fact are alive, and,
if we are alive, why?
Perhaps we’re waiting for God. Or Godot.
My personal theory is that the characters are no more or less
sane than we ourselves. The two clowns, Gogo and Didi, as well as Pozzo
and Lucky. This leaves the question of the girl, who brings messages
from Godot. Is she human? My theory is that she’s several beings
rolled into one: angel, prophet, or the muse of religious/humanist
inspiration. Perhaps she is the child who asks, “Why, Daddy?”
Hence, in a somewhat roundabout way, which did pass the time if
nothing else, I have addressed the characters’ psychological
attributes. They are just as sane as ourselves. Let’s hope that means
we’re sane.
Now on to the second question in our two-part question: the
characters’ motivations. Again, the answer is as clear as our own
existence. The characters in Waiting for Godot have motivations as
clear as our own.
We do not see the acts of birth, marriage, and death, which
loom so large in our own lives (or at least some of our lives), and
which serve to define our existence. We do not see sex. (Again,
something which may or may not be in one’s life.) We do see eating,
going to the bathroom, and (especially) going, and coming, and going
again, and preparing to go, and going out in order to come home, in
order to go out again. Nonetheless, what we do not see directly in this
play, we can infer. We infer birth. We infer marriage, or the act of
procreation. We infer death. And from this play we begin to see that
despite births, and deaths, life is pointless. Inherently pointless,
apparently. Or if it isn’t pointless, then there must be a point.
Perhaps the point is that we’re waiting for God. Or Godot.
Someday in the future Waiting for Godot may simply be seen as
another example of 20th century nihilism. However, being a product of
the 20th century, I find myself in agreement with the play’s theme.
Life is, apparently, pointless, and except for pain (whether of wounds
or hunger or an inability to relive oneself) one has no proof that one
is here! Even the things one leaves behind can be questioned: Are
Gogo’s shoes the same ones he left behind yesterday, or are they someone
else’s? Did the Egyptians build the pyramids, or did Ancient Astronauts
build them? Did man evolve, over millions of years, or did God create
him 6,000 years ago? Nothing is certain. In life, or in Waiting for
Godot.
AND IN THE END...
“Those who can’t do, review.”
- Anonymous.
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