Naughty Naked Dreamgirls 124 Love Child, Wet and Wild
ROLLER 666
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 124
alt.zines alt.sex.stories
D R E A M G I R L S S T O R I E S
Love Child
Part Seventeen
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Three
We sat on the dungeon's soft carpeting to eat. Cross-legged, pussies
open and displayed, we sat round Arthur like Indian maidens, worshipping
the Pilgrim Father who'd come to teach us to mend our primitive ways.
Arthur, his cock large and looming, sat with his own legs apart. His dong
stuck up, fixing our eyes, a Pilgrim spear, a Spanish lance. He was a
Conquistador, I thought, come to conquer us, not save us. We were
enslaved by his lance. Hotly we desired to give our honey-golden cunnies
to it. Shivering, we ate with our fingers. Syrup dribbled down my wrist,
lacing my arm with sweetness and dripping off my elbow. I cared not.
Others would clean the rug when we were gone. Our job was only to play,
carefree in our bondage, naked and unfettered by any responsibilities.
Yet, in our nudity, our freedom, we were bound by our own desire. I did
not feel comfortable. I felt agitated. I popped a sausage in my mouth.
I bit off the end of it, vengefully. I should be sitting primly in my
seat at school, my loins quiet, not restive, not hungrier than my belly,
which gnawed at me. I'd skipped dinner to feed my pussy, yet it hungered
still. I pushed more of the sausage into my mouth. Mandy played with her
food, too full of Lucky Charms. She took her longed-for sausage and
prodded her cuntlips with it.
"Don't play with your food, dear," mistress cautioned her. "It's not
polite." I giggled, put my hand over my face, laughed harder. My food in
my mouth wound up in my palm. We were wicked, decadent.
"Oooh, I can't help it, I need it more here than in my tummy!" Mandy said
frankly. She nosed the big sausage into her tightly proffered lips.
Mistress thought to slap her, then relented. We were too far gone.
Modesty had fled, never to return. "Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!" Mandy cried.
Her face tilted up in a swoon as she stuffed the sausage into herself and
then brought it out again, wet with her need, only to ram it back up. I
tried to ignore her. I wanted to do the same, but I was eating mine.
Arthur watched bemused, knowing his cock was pledged to mistress' plans,
not to the unseemly display of a little girl who could not control
herself.
"She needs tutoring," I said to mistress, trying to distance myself from
Mandy and her antics. I brushed my hair back from my face with my sticky
fingers. I lifted my own sausage to my lips and bit delicately into it,
chewed properly, swallowed discreetly.
"Yes, she needs to be pussy-trained," mistress replied. Mandy screamed,
bucking upon the sausage as if it were a live male penis filling her.
"But you are my favorite," mistress continued, turning her face toward
mine. "You are not just some little beaver, like Mandy, all untrained
desires and appetites. You at least try to be lady-like, and often
succeed, I might add, which is more than I can say for myself, when I was
your age. You intrigue me, dear. With Mandy it is all just untrained
passion. She needs a belt, nothing more. You, though, have a newlywed's
charm about you."
"And you," I answered.
"Yes, but I am 'of age' for it, darling. It is nothing in my case. In
yours, though, you could still be brattish, yet you are not. And your
reservations are now just for show, as they should be. You enter into the
sport as eagerly as any woman. It is good that you do not fight it, but
come to it with lowered lashes, moistened lips, and sweetly opened legs.
I watched you upon Arthur last night, and it was a marriage-fuck, I tell
you, a bride with her groom, both of you earnest. I wish to see more
trysts like that, and we are well equipped for it. Your pussy is
well-opened now, yet still tight as a virgin's; Arthur is huge and seems
to renew himself as often as we require. And this room, ah..." She
surveyed it with sparkling eyes as Mandy, kneeling now, bounced on her
sausage, ignored by us even as she keened into the the highest reaches of
orgasm.
I squirmed as I thought of what lay ahead. Mistress ceased talking, but
hinted that much was still in store for me, for all of us, but me
especially, and much of it decadently inventive, as if the sex act alone
would not satisfy her, but must be embroidered with the most outrageous
perversions. I gazed around me, examining the possibilities. They were
scary. Yet, like a rabbit caught before headlights, they burned into me
with their awful intentions. There was a pillory, where the hands and
head of a wayward Puritan might be imprisoned. I would play the part, I
guessed, drafted out of my Indian-maiden status and into that of a Puritan
girl, her dress and petticoat torn away, her bare bottom on view to all
who might see, her bosoms sweetly offered, though her neck and hands were
clamped securely within the wood. There was a rape rack, where I might be
left for days, to be fucked again and again at Arthur's leisure, or even
at the leisure of other men who might be invited downstairs. There was a
whipping post, silent and ready for my discipline, where I could be bound
for the slightest infraction of made-up rules that, in fact, were
impossible to obey. And there was a wooden ladder, standing upright
against the wall. It led nowhere, but left the ass of any "climber"
wonderfully exposed. I felt a kind of lightheadedness. Clouds flitted
before my eyes. I looked down at my flapjacks. It was too much for me,
this room, yet I could not escape it. My own burning between my legs told
me I could not escape it.
Mandy, her passion spent at last, quietened and replaced the sausage on
her plate, guilty-eyed.
"I'm full," she announced.
"I guess you are," mistress answered. Mistress ate her flapjacks with
refined grace, as if at a formal dinner, though still with her fingers.
They were long, delicate. Her nails were glossy and perfectly polished.
She opened her lips and popped in small pieces of dough as she tore them
from her flapjacks. Her earrings glittered. She looked up at Arthur.
"Do you ever read, dear?" she asked politely. She wished he had a Ph.D.
now, that he might entertain her with his mind. All women wanted that, I
guessed, a truck driver...with a Ph.D.
"Sure," Arthur answered. "I read about sports, when I'm not, you know,
busy..."
"Oh," mistress replied. She wanted more. I giggled. I did not say
anything, but the word 'watersports' glided through my mind. I did not
wish to spoil mistress' discreet conversation. I put my cup of hot cocoa
to my lips and sipped upon it.
"I like Jane Austen, myself," mistress offered. "And the Bronte
sisters."
"I didn't ever see them writing about sports," Arthur mused. Mistress
waved her hand dismissively. Arthur had many assets, but they were all
before us now. There was nothing else, nothing more. I thought of
talking about my impression of Hamlet. I'd been forced to read it in high
school, but had skipped a lot of it. I guessed mistress wouldn't find my
observations to be quite on the level she was looking for. Too bad. I
wanted to help her, but could not. Perhaps we'd read together, she and I,
sometime. We'd lie on our tummies in bed and read aloud from Wuthering
Heights. We'd take college classes together. We'd go to university
dinners, dressed in ravishing gowns, and chat with Al Gore about the
information superhighway. Afterwards we'd pop by Bill Gates' house, and
marvel at his technicolor walls, each different, while he gazed at us,
prettier still than anything his money could buy. Living flesh, in
shimmering evening wear, with long, glossy hair. He'd court us with
jewels and precious gifts, hoping to buy the electronic rights to us.
We'd succumb at last. A hundred years later, dead in our graves, we'd
stalk across his walls still, lovely and fresh. He would even create new
images using our video selves, and place us in films with Clint Eastwood
and J.F.K., men we'd never met. We'd have sex together, mistress with
Elvis, me with Luke Skywalker. C-3PO would bring us drinks to refresh us.
Spock would observe us, fascinated. Senator Exon would vow to ban us.
V I D E O R E V I E W S
By Deep Thought
These VHS videos are available from your local store or directly from
Playboy. These reviews are not intended as exhaustive analyses, with
exact Playmate names and other minutia. They are primarily intended to
keep you from getting ripped off.
Playboy Video Centerfold Tawnni Cable, $14.95. This is a fantastic
video...if you like masturbating over the box it came in! No doubt many a
young man, reading the excellent copy on the back of the box, will think
he's in for a great evening. Unfortunately, Cable's video is the biggest
rip-off Playboy has ever managed to put out.
The first 60 seconds or so of this video (when Cable is still clothed)
are excellent. After that, however, Cable spends the rest of her 40
minutes doing stupid, un-erotic things like twirling around while waving a
silk banner. Some of this material is even repeated in Playboy's Wet and
Wild II, as if we hadn't gotten soft enough from it already. (Re-using
footage in other "for sale" VHS tapes is a major crime which Playboy has
committed on any number of occasions.)
Cable herself has only an average face and below-average boobs, with a
bottom that looks so much like a man's I thought perhaps Playboy was using
her to jump-start a line of gay videos. Her legs are at best average as
well. The only saving moment (and it's only a moment) in this video is
when Cable and two other girls strip naked on a sailboat and then jump in
the water. One of the girls accompanying Cable isn't even a Playmate, and
is totally ugly. Naturally, the camera manages to focus mainly on her.
After you've lost your erection watching Cable's video centerfold,
Playboy tries to make things up to you by offering a profile of its
photographer Arny Freytag. The only seconds of interest in this worthless
piece of trash are when Arny clicks pictures of Playmate Lynda Wiesmeier.
I might have been able to get off on this, but it only lasts a brief
second or two and is ruthlessly cut in half and put in two different
places in the Freytag profile. The Tawnni Cable video is definitely one
to avoid.
Playboy's Wet and Wild II, $19.95. This is the usual sort of thing you
can expect to get from Playboy, a video consisting largely of garbage
vignettes with one or two pieces that are done well enough to (barely)
justify the price. I'll skip the crap and concentrate on what's worth
jacking off over.
The entire Wet and Wild II video is carried largely by Deborah Driggs,
with Karen Foster as her sidekick. In a nutshell, Driggs has a shitty
body with an excellent face, Foster a shitty face with an excellent body.
Other playmates come and go as the tape progresses. The best part is when
Driggs, Foster, and a third (fantastic) Playmate step out of a stagecoach
dressed as sexy 19th century whores. They proceed to hurry over to an old
iron pump in the middle of the desert and use its water to wet one another
down. Off camera, Playboy employees stand ready to douse the girls with
buckets of water. When each Playmate is hit with water by an offscreen
employee, it is her cue to begin stripping. Soon the Playmates are
reduced to stockings and panties as they continue to pour water on each
other and themselves.
Following this the girls, totally nude, begin washing down several
horses. Inevitably, they become as interested in dumping water on each
other as on the steeds. One of them slips in the mud and lands right on
her bottom! This entire "Wet and Wild West" segment must, unfortunately,
be watched in slow motion. Otherwise it slips by too quickly. The
segment is marred by the interposition of the girls playing together
(which is delightful) with pictures of the girls posing individually
(which is totally boring). I would also have liked to have seen more
footage of the girls in their "whore" clothing, perhaps walking around an
Old West town, with plenty of sitting down, standing up, and bending over
(their dresses are marvelously short). Of course, much more footage of
them throwing water on each other and washing their horses would also have
been greatly appreciated.
"Navel Adventures" is an intriguing piece featuring Driggs as the captain
of a submarine, with assistants Ava Fabian and Rebekka Armstrong. A word
about Armstrong: she is a total slut from way back in 1986 and I am
thoroughly sick of seeing her! There were any number of other fantastic
Playmates in Wet and Wild II who could have received much more air time,
but instead we are given slutty old Armstrong again. Is this girl giving
Hugh Hefner some special favors? Does she cost Playboy less money than
their other girls? "Navel Adventures," despite Armstrong, is a reasonably
sexy dance number.
"Navel Adventures II" is much less interesting, with its only redeeming
feature being the bondage poses the girls assume in the final seconds of
the piece.
"Beach Party" features a mercilessly short segment that could have sent
me shooting across the room, Driggs and Foster spraying each other with
bottles of seltzer water! It is really tantalizing to see seltzer water
striking Foster's bare, bouncing breasts. There is a breathtaking blonde
in "Beach Party" that I've never seen before. We only get one or two
seconds of this ingenue, but she is literally the most beautiful female
I've ever seen! Sadly, "Beach Party" has enormous potential but delivers
such short snippets of its best material that it leaves the viewer
unsatisfied.
In the (very) old days Playboy managed to put out reasonably decent
videos that took the time to linger over their Playmates. Ever since the
ascension of Hefner's daughter to CEO, however, Playboy's videos are a
blur of frames with little context. Playboy needs to learn two words:
slow down. If you've got a tape player (or, even better, a laser disc
player) with decent slow motion capability Wet and Wild II will prove
worth your investment.
Z I N E R E V I E W S
by holy joe
The Joe Boob Report, 5/15/95, Free. 8 1/2" x 11". Joe Boob Briggs, P.O.
Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.
Review: That warrior against the P.C. thought police is at it again,
with more devastating articles exposing their stupid policies. First up,
Joe Boob takes to task people who try to tell you what to eat. Then
there's an article about the horror of having a low sperm count, info on
how to join your local Andy Griffith Fan Club, plus much, much more.
You've probably seen Joe Boob on The Movie Channel pitching the greatness
of B-Movies, and that's the heart of this zine: a continual celebration
of shoestring movie makers, stars, and plotlines (such as they are). Must
reading for any serious movie fan and a good resource for those battling
the terrorists in the Congress, on campus, and in your state capitol.
felt, 50c postpaid. Minicomic, eight pages. William Dockery, P.O. Box
3663, Phenix City, AL 36868.
On the back cover of this tome is written the words, "Second Printing."
I was going to joke that with Dockery, this means my copy is not only the
second printing but the second copy. However, this damn thing is actually
very well written. Maybe he did actually print more than one copy in the
first printing, and sold out!
felt begins poorly, but picks up at the top of page four. Then things
really get going at the bottom of page four, and the lines roll on through
thunderous poetic crescendoes right to the end. There are amazing images
here; Tatumville park, the memory of Tracy, the father who's "a grey cat,"
even a lake of disappearing paths.
I highly recommend this chapbook on two counts, as a stunning book of
poems and as a sample of the best the comics small press has to offer.
Other zines that are available from other publishers:
R.I.P. Speed Co. #7, free. (There is no price listed. Since this is the
Internet, if I get something without a price on it, I am going to list it
as being free.) Digest. R.I.P. Speed Co., Box 55, Harrisonboro, VA
22801.
The Nihilist Glee Club #12, $1.00. Digest. The Nihilist Glee Club, P.O.
Box 57287, Jackson Station, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada L8P 4X1.
Cabaret #16, $2.00. Digest. Theresa Fleming, P.O. Box 1528, Ypsilanti,
MI 48197.
Zine publisher Randy H. (for "Hugh") Crawford, 911 Park St. S.W., Grand
Rapids, MI 49504-6241 writes: "If a 42-year-old guy happened to have a
26-year-old polaroid snapshot of HIS OWN erection (taken by himself when
he was 16) - would THAT count as child pornography?"
D R E A M G I R L S N E W S
PROTECT THE CHILDREN?
To me, the real crime is not what Iraq did (or, rather, tried to do) to
Kuwait. It is what America is currently doing to Iraq. It is starving to
death millions of children, who are simply unfortunate enough to have been
born in Iraq, with a stupid leader. Saddam Hussein (who is probably mad)
merely tried to do what many leaders have done, throughout history. He
tried to take over his neighbor. Did not America engage in the
Spanish-American war? Did it not take over large swaths of Mexico? (Now
known as, (among other states) California?) Here we have the spectacle of
a self-righteous America crusading against "child pornography," while
simultaneously starving to death millions of children in Iraq. This is an
affirmative act, starving Iraqi children, not merely an act of negligence,
as in the case of Bosnia, where America stood idly by for four years while
Bosnian children were starved, raped, and murdered. America, presumably,
does not have the excuse that it is ruled by a despot who is insane. Who
would you judge the worse offender? A single nut who tries to do what
countless leaders have done? Or a whole people, through their elected
representatives, who do what America is doing?
D R E A M G I R L S L E T T E R S
EXON SPEAKS
transcribed from C-SPAN by 2squirty
"...distinguished members of the 104th Congress, we have therefore
decided upon all the new Laws, Rules, and Regulations to which obedience
will be required. We will ban free speech on the Internet. Also, we will
impose a tax on tea. This concludes my remarks."
Free Naughty Naked Dreamgirls e-mail subscriptions: send (18 or up) age
statement to: roll...@aol.com Free back issues: send e-mail to
nnd...@backdrop.com Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed
envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL
36868 U.S.A. Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN:
1070-1427) is copyright 1996 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Chat:
alt.sex.stories.d END OF 124 EMISSION