---------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew Roller Presents
holy joe in
The Man from T.O.I.L.E.T.
(That Offensive Illegal Lecherous Execrable sTranger)
Issue No. 1
HOLY JOE, MULTI-CULTURALIST
by me, holy joe
As a White male, I have the deepest respect for other races and
cultures.
The feminists tell us that we White males have treated our
women horribly. Other cultures, like that of the Black man and the
Indian, have (presumably) treated their women in a commendable
fashion. In this I totally agree.
Recently I have been researching the matter of how other
cultures honor their women. In The Story of Civilization, by Will and
Ariel Durant, Vol. 1, pg. 33, it is written:
"Bush-women [of Africa] were used as servants and beasts of
burden. When the natives of the Lower Murray saw pack oxen they
thought that these were the wives of the Whites. (The White men.)
"[Woman] was a robust animal, able to perform arduous work
for long hours.
"Women," said a chieftain of the Chippewas, "are created for
work. One of them can draw or carry as much as two men. They also
pitch our tents, make our clothes, mend them, and keep us warm at
night...We absolutely cannot get along without them. They do
everything and cost only a little. Since they must be forever
cooking, they can be satisfied in lean times by licking their fingers."
(While the men eat the food.)
I believe we White males should make use of our women as the
Bushmen and the Chippewas do. Of course, the very youngest
females in our society are not yet physically able to be used as pack
animals. They can, however, serve in harems as playthings,
ornaments, and sex toys. When they are older and loose and sagging
from lots of useful fucking, they can be put to work in the fields. In
this way we White males can turn to the traditional values of our
ancestors. We can "get back to nature," and "save the planet," by
living in harmony with our natural surroundings. There will be no
need for a second car, three garages, and all the other "necessities"
of modern life, once White women are returned to their proper role.
In olden days, according to Mr. Durant:
"The male rested magnificently for the greater part of the
year. The woman bore her children abundantly, reared them, kept the
hut or home in repair, gathered food in woods and fields, cooked,
cleaned, and made the clothing and the boots. When the tribe moved,
the men carried nothing but their weapons, the women carried all
the rest."
---------------------------------------------------------------
NAKED girls and more at:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
---------------------------------------------------------------
Now, after that educational essay by me, it is time for an
inspiring story:
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
kiddie clitties
Chapter One
Had one of the horses been bad? From the barn I heard a sound of
whipping. It was slow, regular, almost hypnotic. I put down my
ÒDangerous LiaisonsÓ paperback, the ÒTropical TemptationÓ one, where the
girl becomes a junior airline stewardess on her dadÕs plane and meets a
young pilot, and went to the window. IÕd read the novel before, anyway.
I gazed out across the lawn from my second story bedroom window.
In the distance was the barn. It was a warm summer morning. I still had
my nightgown on. IÕd slept late. Auntie and Uncle didnÕt mind. Well, they
might have, but they were away this morning, off early to buy feed for the
horses at the feed store. And to haggle, I think, over the price they might
get for their wheat next year.
The sound of whipping continued. I heard a horse neigh, but
otherwise it was quiet. I left my window and crept downstairs. I went
out the back door of the house. I didnÕt bother putting shoes on. The
morning dew had long since burnt off the grass and it was soft under my
feet. I felt the wind in my nightgown. It lifted it. The nightgown had
been given to me by Eveline. She was Auntie and UncleÕs only child. She
was 19. I was just 12. Auntie had protested the nightgown, saying it was
too short. My others had always covered me down to my knees, but this
one barely covered my bottom. When the wind caught my nightgown it
lifted it, showing my panties. I struggled to capture the hem of the gown.
I got hold of it, pressed it against myself, against my hips, but as soon as
I let go the wind lifted it again.
I guess I was being punished for not getting up at the proper hour and
dressing. I hoped none of EvelineÕs boyfriends were visiting today. I
walked across the lawn, my gown held high by the wind. It showed my
belly and it threatened to show my breasts. I didnÕt mind it showing my
tummy, really, but I worried about it showing my breasts. I was
embarrassed by them. A year ago IÕd been flat-chested. Now I had two big
gourd-like things hanging off me. They were round as peaches and they
swung easily as I walked, for I wore no bra. I felt so silly, having them.
Only one other girl I knew was so well-endowed, my friend Tabitha, and
she was a year older than me.
The sound of the whipping continued, drawing me toward the barn. I
liked the barn. My favorite horse, Pepper, lived there, with his mate. She
was named Downy, because she was all white, while Pepper was black as a
moonless night. I worried that he might have gotten in trouble somehow.
He was a little spirited, though he was nice to me. HeÕd broken out a week
ago and I remembered Uncle warning him that if he did it again, heÕd give
him a good whaling to make him behave. But uncle was gone today. I knew
Eveline wasnÕt likely to whip the horses. She liked them as much as I did.
So why, then, was I hearing that sound?
I crept into the barn. I was frightened by the sound, but I had to find
out what was happening. I had to push the barn door back a little to sneak
inside and it let out a small Ôcreak!Õ As I stepped within, into the
shadowed interior of the barn, I saw a womanÕs figure. She was clad in
riding boots with her legs otherwise bare, wearing very short hot pants
around her waist. Above her pants her back was bare, except for a small
bikini top tied casually around her oversized breasts. The drawstrings of
the bra were loose, the one around her back hanging down a little,
obviously not tightly drawn, the one around her neck tautened by the
weight of her breasts but otherwise loosely bound to her neck, in a big,
careless bow.
Of course, seeing this tall, tanned figure standing in the barn, I knew
immediately who it was. Eveline! Her long red hair was tied off in an
efficient pony tail. She was in the middle of a whipstroke as I entered. I
saw the tail of the whip fly out, strike something in the distance, and then
rebound.
Eveline turned. As she did her hand flew to her bosom and she
seemed to do her best to straighten her bra, repositioning the too-small
cups over her breasts.
ÒOh, itÕs you!Ó she gasped. She seemed slightly heated. ÒI thought
you were my dad or mom.Ó
ÒNo, theyÕre out this morning,Ó I said. I felt small, like a mouse
entering someplace itÕs not supposed to be. My nightdress settled around
my waist, concealing my panties once more, though just barely, for it was
quite short. I could feel the wind through the door of the barn. It still
stood open a crack, from my entering. It tugged at my nightdress, trying
to lift it, but not quite able to, anymore. I pushed the door closed behind
me to keep the wind out.
I saw a white block of what looked to be tofu in the distance. It was
set atop a big wooden post. It stood about level with my waist, a few
inches higher, perhaps. Eveline had been whipping it and flecks of tofu
were spattered around the dirt floor of the barn, near the post.
ÒWhat are you doing?Ó I asked. I padded across the cool dirt floor of
the barn, enjoying the feel of my toes free in the dirt, needing no shoes,
wanting none. I walked slowly, a little hesitant, but not too frightened
anymore because it was just Eveline here, and the horses stood
contentedly some distance away from her whip, in their stables.
Eveline brushed a loose strand of her long red hair away from her
eyes. She was calm, but there was a quiet sense of excitement brooding
within her. There was a gleam of perspiration on her brow.
ÒIÕm practising my whipping,Ó she said to me. Her eyes were bright.
They seemed to burn into me as I approached her.
ÒThatÕs good,Ó I replied. It was all I could think to say. Horses
sometimes needed a whip applied to them, but of course she wouldnÕt want
to hurt them any more than I would, except I would never whip them. I
looked at the block of bean curd sitting atop the post. It was half-ruined,
I guessed Eveline had been whipping it. Inside IÕd mostly been hearing the
snap of the whip, for the tofu was quite soft.
I figured I knew the answer but I asked anyway, there in the
darkness, standing close to Eveline now, looking at her and the long tail of
the whip she held. She smiled, seeing me in the nightgown sheÕd given me.
ÒWhy are you practising your whipping?Ó I asked her. I looked up at
her with my large, liquid eyes, set inquiringly on opposite sides of my
upturned nose. She considered a moment, as if considering telling me a
lie. Then her eyes fell to my breasts and they seemed to convince her to
tell me the truth. As if they made me old enough to know it.
ÒI --Ó she paused, as if reconsidering her decision. Then before she
could withdraw it she blurted out, ÒI have to practise. So I can whip
female bottoms.Ó
I blanched. I donÕt think anything could have prepared me for a
response like that! My hands flew instinctively to my heinie and clutched
at it. ÒYou what?!Ó I asked. My fingers found the hem of my nightgown and
tugged hard at it, trying to pull it more concealingly over my rump.
Eveline eyed me with a kind of gleeful wickedness now, realizing
sheÕd given herself the upper hand. She seemed glad of her statement and
happy, perhaps, to have the secret off her chest. ÒYes,Ó she said, giving
the whip she held a little snap, with just the slightest movement of her
wrist. ÒMy dad and mom want me to marry a farmer, of course, and spend
my days and nights growing wheat and milking cows, but IÕve found a
funner way to live.Ó She grinned. I held on to my bottom for dear life.
ÒYou donÕt think I got that red convertible in the drive selling hogs, do
you?Ó
ÒAuntie and Uncle say you talked the dealer into giving you a great
price for them,Ó I replied. My voice was tremulous.
ÒI did nothing of the kind,Ó Eveline replied. She tossed her head and
her big red ponytail swished across her bare back. ÒThe dealer is an old
shit whoÕs 55 and likes swindling people out of their swine more than he
likes getting an erection, which I doubt he gets any more. I got an
ordinary price for the hogs, just like everyone else does, and then only
after two hours of haggling and flirting with him. The rest came from my
escort service.Ó
ÒOh,Ó I answered. I looked at her lean, half-bare body and the
slender whip she held gracefully in her hand. My voice was quiet,
mouselike.
Eveline reached behind her neck and untied the drawstring of her bra.
ÒStep back,Ó she said. ÒI like practising topless, but I was worried that
someone was coming, so I put this on, just in case. I heard the back door
of the house slam when you came out.Ó She smiled. Her loosely tied bra
dropped from her breasts. They were perfectly formed, teenage breasts,
with pink nipples topping them. The bra remained tied around EvelineÕs
back, but, without the support of the drawstring around her neck, it
quickly slid down to her waist. It hung there, white against the dark red
of her hot pants, the small cups of the bra dangling between her legs.
Eveline drew back her hand, drawing the whip along with it. Then
she let fly another stroke. It was a fast, hard stroke, but when it hit the
block of tofu it seemed to barely mar it, just taking off the slightest bit
of it, which flew in a white glob to the floor.
ÒMmmm, nice one,Ó Eveline said. Her voice was high, lilting. One
might have mistaken it for a childÕs voice, except when you saw her you
realized she was obviously a woman.
I knew I should leave the barn, seeing such a strange sight as a
topless girl who claimed to run an escort service whipping a block of tofu.
But, of course, curious as a cat with nine lives (though I only had one) I
stayed. Eveline seemed to ignore me, now, saying simply, ÒLet me know if
you think you hear somebody coming.Ó She gave the tofu blow after blow,
but each only hurt it a little, for sheÕd obviously done lots of practising
and had quite a talent at whipping. Gradually I let go of my bottom and the
hem of my nightgown. I stood barefoot on the dirt, watching, my hair tied
off neatly in pigtails, shivering a little as each blow of the whip fell.
ÒWhy do you have to whip female bottoms?Ó I asked at length,
gathering my courage.
ÒFor pleasure,Ó Eveline surprised me by answering. She gave the
tofu another strike, hitting it a little too hard this time, digging a big
chunk out of it.
ÒSorry,Ó I said, seeing IÕd ruined her stroke.
ÒNo, itÕs okay,Ó Eveline answered. ÒThough I am running out of tofu.Ó
She turned to me. ÒSome men like to see a girl whipped. ItÕs just that
simple.Ó She drew the cord of the whip across her palm. It was a long
whip, black, with a knot at the end of it, and a spray of little threads
extending out from the knot, like a whisper-soft embellishment. ÒAnd
sometimes,Ó she said. ÒI have to whip a girl. SheÕs disobedient, or she
tries to cheat me out of my share of the money sheÕs made. After all, I
arrange the parties, and invite the men, and keep everything orderly. That
takes a lot of work and I expect to be paid for it. So sometimes I have to
whip a girl for that reason. And also,Ó she paused. Her breasts hung
nakedly from her chest like large grapefruit. She laughed and they jiggled
a little. ÒAnd sometimes I have to whip men too,Ó she said. ÒEither
because they want it or their wives or girlfriends want to see it done, or
because weÕve played a game and they were the loser.Ó She smiled at me.
ÒWhen a man has his legs spread to the whip, thatÕs dangerous, and I have
to be able to place the strokes precisely. Some mistresses allow a man to
wear a jockstrap for the event, to give his balls some protection, but I
donÕt. It seems to me thatÕs the whole fun of it, seeing his naked balls
hanging down, and his dick stiffly protruding. So I have to slice him just
right, hitting his buns and not his balls, or the whole evening might be
spoilt.Ó She giggled. ÒEspecially if he spurts when I hit his balls. Sperm
is a terrible thing to waste.Ó She tossed back her ponytail. ÒOf course,
the best whipping of all it so flay a manÕs seat and then, in the final
stroke, to kiss his balls with the whip, but just using the very tip of the
whip, so it just grazes him, scaring him, but not hurting him too much to
put him out of commission.Ó
ÒOh!Ó I said. Her words sent a thrill of excitement through me. I
could barely contain a desire to rub myself as I heard her speak of
whipping a manÕs balls. Absently my hands had found the front of my
panties. Without even thinking about it, listening to her, IÕd lifted the
front of my nightgown. IÕd slipped the fingers of both my hands into the
front of my panties. Now, with my fingers splayed over my puss, I felt a
strong desire to seek out my clit and rub it.
Eveline laughed at me. ÒI think you are not quite the innocent in your
mind that you are in your body,Ó she teased. She knew I was a virgin. I
was only 12, how could I be anything else?
ÒCould I--?Ó I asked. My voice was quavering as I spoke.
ÒNo,Ó she said abruptly, guessing my question. ÒYouÕre too young, too
little.Ó She eyed my bosoms. ÒWell, ÔlittleÕ might not be the correct
anatomical description anymore but...Ó
ÒPlease?Ó I asked. Suddenly, being denied it, I wanted it.
ÒSally, we *fuck* at those parties,Ó Eveline told me bluntly.
AND IN THE END...
ÒThatÕs not writing. ThatÕs typing.Ó
- Truman Capote
-------------------------- T.O.I.L.E.T. ------------------------
-Back issues (and stories): http://www.deja.com/
Search by typing: roller666@earthlink.net
DonÕt forget to click on ÒPower SearchÓ.
Change ÒstandardÓ archive to ÒcompleteÓ archive.
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
Web: http://www.eroticstories.com
Web: http://www.insatiable.net/
-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock SturgesÕ Radiant
Identities and David HamiltonÕs The Age of Innocence. Support art!
-Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years
of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
- NAKED girls, under 18! http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
- JOIN the worldÕs greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, 537 Jones St. #8418, San Francisco, CA 94102.
Phone: 1-212-807-8578; Web: http://www.nambla.org
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1999 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1999 by the respective copyright holder.
-Official Newsletter, Temple of T.O.I.L.E.T.
- Visit me: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
-END OF 1 EMISSION
Capote: Charlie Rose, January 5, 1998.