Kate lay within the bed. It was made of two furs, grey in color and very fluffy, and both impossibly soft and comfortable. And that was what made it so frightening and insidious. Maria herself had bathed Kate, upstairs, in a special bath of milk. Maria said she didn’t mind paying for the cost of filling an entire tub with milk when the girl being bathed was as beautiful as Kate. She said that milk was best for keeping a girl’s skin tender and sensitive. Especially when the girl’s skin was, in Maria’s words, “subjected to rough handling.” And Kate had no doubt that it would be. Already her breasts had been struck underneath by Maria’s crop, leaving a red burning line there. An older woman, perhaps, might hide the mark due to a natural sagging of her breasts, but Kate was only 19 and her bosoms stood out as firm and beautiful as if Michelangelo, in a randy mood, had sculpted them himself. Kate brushed her hand across her belly. It hurt too, a bright set of lines where Maria had stung her, as if trying to abort something, with her nasty crop. The brush of Kate’s own fingers reminded her of how Maria bathed her: with bare hands, so that even a bath sponge wouldn’t rub too harshly across Kate’s lovely porcelain skin. She’d suntanned it a little bit and Maria scolded her for that. “Dear Kate,” Maria had said, washing her bottom as Kate lay in a shallow tub of milk, her arms huddled beneath her and her heinie sticking up through the milk. “You must avoid the sun, dear, except for the purpose of letting your master see a little tan to better show off the absolute whiteness of your bottom. Don’t ever tan your bottom, or your breasts. Those are for your lover to tan, using his crop.” With anxious eyes Kate had looked back at her lover, who stood watching, his pants a little full, she thought, and his belt removed so that it dangled from his fist. Maria gave Kate’s bottom a shower of little marauding kisses. Kate, afraid she would be bitten, as Lisa had bitten her breasts, uttered up a scared little yelp. They had not hurt her in the bath. Downstairs, she’d been treated like property, suffering even a cucumber up her virgin ass, but upstairs she was given the rights of a princess. Fruit had been set out beside the bath, a pear, two apples, and a half of cantaloupe. Maria had insisted that Kate enjoy the fruit, and ask for more, if she wished, and anything else that might please her. “You are to be spoilt, dear. That is part of your training also,” Maria said to Kate as Kate sat huddling her knees to her chest, keeping her lover from seeing how excited her bosoms were by all the attention she was getting. Lisa, having undressed to douche herself while Kate was bathed, now stood ready to serve any of Kate’s needs, though she had been hard on Kate downstairs and Kate, casting a snub-nosed glance at her, felt determined not to like her. Eventually, with a little persuading, the milk she sat in getting a little cold, Kate accepted the cantaloupe from Lisa and spooned it greedily into her mouth. She ate it right down to the rind, and even ate the maraschino cherry that came with it, though she preferred fresh cherries. Maria ordered Lisa to bring cheddar cheese and chilled chicken from the fridge downstairs. Kate sat like a hungry little animal in the tub, her bath finished, and ate all the food they brought her. Then Maria rinsed her off with warm water from a hand-held nozzle and put her to bed. Naked. That was the clincher, Kate thought, as she lay between the fuzzy furs that kept her nipples perpetually tickled. She was very nude, her skin still feeling tingly and refreshed from her bath, but her left wrist had a pair of handcuffs attached to it. The manacle intended for her other hand was cuffed to the headboard. It was a headboard with many rails in it, between the left and right bedposts. It would have been a simple matter for them to lift both Kate’s hands above her head and cuff them both, with the chain between the cuffs behind a rail in the headboard. But instead the cuff intended for her other wrist had been attached to the rail. It was a symbol of her bondage, and her freedom within her bondage. Kate had no illusions that she would find herself bound both-handed in the cuffs before long, but for the moment, as she lay in the darkness of the bedroom, she was free to use her right hand as she wished. She passed it again over her belly, lower this time, beneath the marks, just grazing the soft tuft of fur that grew where her legs met. How could she masturbate herself, knowing what they had planned for her? Downstairs, sitting on the carpet, she had still been lost in her post-orgasmic reverie. But now her senses had returned. She could feel her bottom bulbing so sensitively underneath her, the fur rubbing it softly, her skin dreaming, nightmarishly, of the crop that would flog her there soon. At the moment her bottom was all comfy. She savored the feeling of freedom and pleasure that rubbing her bottom against the fur gave her. Yet her lover, and Maria, had promised her that she would not be able to sit down in the carriage on her ride back to the center of town. Nor in the cab that came to pick her up, after her master let her out, for she would ride alone back to the college, he said. He would be too busy getting to work to take her all the way back to the college. NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND by holy joe Penthouse, May 1998, $5.99. Web: http://www.penthousemag.com Review: Ever wonder how those Penthouse Pets manage to look so healthy? This month’s Pet, Pamela Pet(rokova), shares their secret. First, you get nice and comfortable. Then you get out your favorite wine glass. Next, call up a friend and have him pay you a visit. Ask him if he’d like to make you a drink. When he says ‘yes,’ and heads for the wet bar, stop him. He doesn’t need to trouble himself with opening a bottle of liquor to slake your thirst. Offer him your glass, and ask him if he wasn’t thoughtful enough to bring along some liquid of his own? “Ah, yes!” he admits. “I did come with something already prepared.” “Just put it right in here,” Pamela says, holding her glass up. He does. Unfortunately, with her glass filled, Pamela gets a little excited. She spills her drink all over her breasts. Thank God she didn’t have her blouse on! Sperm can be so messy. I was impressed by this month’s Penthouse. The centerfold is a young, wholesome-looking blonde from the Czech Republic. She’s a wonderful mixture of innocence and sexiness. Her biography is fun to read. She talks about entering spelling bees as a little girl, learning about boys, and the trick she pulled to win a wet t-shirt contest. Her pictorial is photographed by Suze Randall, someone who’s work I’ve cum to admire. Also in this issue is an excellent article on the subject of so-called “child abuse.” Penthouse writes: “For years child-sex-abuse panic has been like a train off its tracks, as legions of innocent people are thrown into jail.” (Page 26.) “If you say that you’re innocent, as I emphatically did, then you’re a ‘denier’ and don’t get your daughter back, and if you say that you’re guilty, you’re a child molester-- and definitely don’t get her back,” reports one accused father. “The judge said she was disgusted by my ‘lack of progress’ in admitting guilt and ordered me to go to a ‘deniers group’ twice a week.” (Page 27.) After a horrendous ordeal, the father was eventually cleared. Unfortunately, the “child abuse” article only details the abuses of the current system. It doesn’t challenge the underlying assumptions of the legal system. It doesn’t offer the view that, in fact, there is no such thing as “child abuse,” except in rare cases where actual non-consensual contact occurs. The best photo I’ve ever seen of Titanic’s Kate Winslet is on page 100. God, what a photo! She’s posing naked for Leonardo DiCaprio, with a look in her eyes that’s astoundingly warm and loving. Unfortunately the photo’s only at the top of the page. The rest is devoted to an article by Alan Dershowitz. It is very well written. He discusses recent efforts by anti-porn crusaders to pass new anti-pornography laws. Unfortunately, Dershowitz doesn’t question the underlying assumptions of the legal system. For instance, if a girl under 18 wants to pose naked, even ‘lasciviously,’ she ought to be able to, in my opinion. After all, she could in the U.S. in the 1970’s, and can today in various European countries. I’m glad to see Penthouse reporting on the current abuses of the current system. It’s more than Time, Newsweek, and other news magazines are doing. But the whole system needs to be abolished. This country was doing fine in the 1970’s. It doesn’t need the welter of laws that have been passed since then. Complaining about current abuses is rather like trying to promote a better version of communism, or a more humane Adolf Hitler. Soviet-style communism didn’t just need to be reformed, it needed to be trashed. Hitler didn’t need to be taught how to treat Jews nicely, he needed to be bombed off the face of the earth. What America really needs is another large 1960’s-style hippie generation. The current morass of laws in America would have been unthinkable in the 1960’s. Unthinkable! There was always somebody ready to do something. Tear down a sign, blow up a building, whatever it took. One reason people were free in the 1960’s and 1970’s was because the Establishment couldn’t get away with imposing its rules. If it tried, it got beaten back. It is shocking to see how this country has degenerated from ‘free love’ into a gulag, running an Inquisition. Milo Manara serves up a wonderfully sweet, youthful heroine in this month’s installment of “Click!” (Page 136.) She’s discovered by a guy on a motorcycle. He looks like James Dean. She mounts the back of his cycle, buck naked, and they go riding off together. Perhaps next month she’ll get lucky enough to hitch a ride with Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, and Jack Nicholson! If you’ve never seen a girl pee (I haven’t) you finally have your opportunity. This month’s Penthouse features Jasmine Raff. (Page 115.) She does an exemplary job of showing exactly how a girl goes to the bathroom. When she’s not pissing all over the place, she poses with a dildo rammed up her cunt. When she’s not got a dildo stuck in her cunt, she’s sucking on it! My only disappointment was that she didn’t put the dildo up her ass. Perhaps next issue? Hustler, June 1998, $5.99. Web: http://www.hustler.com Review: God, what a cover! I almost jacked off right in the middle of Tower Books when I saw it! It features a girl. She has a very cute face and long, lovely brown hair. She’s forgotten to put her clothes on, even though she’s on the front of a nationally-distributed magazine! But she did, at least, slip on a pair of socks. They’re blue. They look nice and soft. And she’s kneeling on a big, pink blanket. I’m glad Hustler managed to snap a picture of her before she got that blanket around her. Oh. Now I know why she’s nude. She’s staring into the camera, rubbing her bottom. She’s been spanked, and can’t wear her panties-- they’d hurt her ass too much! Ah yes, pink and blue-- the colors of childbirth! And that is the ticket to meeting girls, according to Hustler. “Watch women watch men with infants,” Hustler writes. “Primal, biochemical maternal instincts take hold. The females become transfixed, edgy and obviously turned on. The sight of a father arouses myriad hot points in the female psyche.” This is because, “oftentimes, women associate erotic experiences with birth and child-rearing.” (Pages 44, 47). I noticed this fact myself, some years ago. I was walking around a shopping mall with a little boy. I got tons of smiles from lovely girls who ordinarily wouldn’t have noticed me. It was like they were saying, “Wow. I like you. You’re virile.” They obviously thought he was my son. Unfortunately the little boy wasn’t my son. Also, he had a squirt gun and kept squirting people. I had no real way to stop him from squirting people, but everyone considered me to be responsible for him. So he was too troublesome to have along, and I didn’t take him to the mall anymore after that. (I will always treasure, though, the memory of him shooting ladies on the escalator, while lovely young chicks gave me big smiles!) An amazing pictorial in this issue is “Holistic Hootch.” (Page 86.) It features a cute (black) girl and a studly white male. In this case the black girl looks fine; even though she’s black, you don’t really notice it. Maybe she’s both black and Spanish. In any event, this cute girl really gets fucked! Right up her cunt and in her mouth too. Normally such photos would probably come across as dirty, but not these! They’re very well posed. You’ll really enjoy seeing this girl’s lips spread wide, sucking the man down her throat. It sort of reminds me of a photo of Playboy’s Dorothy Mays, sucking her thumb. (A Playmate in the late 70’s.) As for the girl on the cover, she’s also this month’s centerfold. Her name is “Rosie.” She bills herself as a “Star Fucker.” (This is Hustler, after all.) I liked the first photo in her pictorial. The rest of them are boring, though. Nothing creative or interesting happens. Also, the girl turns out not to be as cute as I thought she was. This is a pleasant issue of Hustler. Educational, with some good photos. But it is rather ‘slim-pickings,’ in terms of the number of photos, when you compare it, say, to a magazine like Club Confidential.