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YES, I GOT KICKED OFF SPRINT
As an author, I must say that IÕm not entirely displeased. The worst
thing for an author isnÕt to generate controversy. Far from it. The worst
thing for an author is to be ignored. I want everyone on the planet to read
my work. Please, Christians, keep complaining about me. Sure, itÕs a pain
in the ass for me to get kicked off ISPs. But IÕm learning more about the
Internet each time I have to switch to a new ISP. (For instance, I now
know what kind of a modem I have.)
So please, Christians. DonÕt stop now. We have a good thing going.
With your help, all these things will come to pass:
1. Everyone will know who ÔAndrew RollerÕ is.
2. Everyone will read everything IÕve ever written.
3. holy joe will get to move to a better dumpster.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 276
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Four
ÒAhh, Chrissakes!Ó Andre howled. We watched as the cream splashed
onto his dick, found its way to his balls underneath, and made a white
mess of his pubic hair. When Kelly had made Andre slick with the cream
Polly was told to resume her lap dance. A little gingerly she retook her
seat, wetting her bottom in the cream as she sat down on Andre. Then she
began to wriggle once more, lifting her arms and letting her breasts shake.
Her bottom moved like quicksilver. Andre gritted his teeth and waited for
his orgasm. There was no question of his sperming the sofa now.
Permission had been given. He ached to hold himself back now, knowing he
must loose himself. Men always like the forbidden. Now that Rose was
permitting him to cum, he didnÕt want to. But he wasnÕt about to make
Polly stop her wonderful dance.
I was next. Kelly came to me, made me get up. She stood admiring
LouisÕs manhood for a moment, then doused him with the cream. She
emptied her pitcher in his lap. Louis tried to look calm but his cock
twitched under the pouring cream, clearly enjoying the decadence, the
warmth, the deliciousness of it all. When Kelly was done I climbed back
onto him and made him accept my squirming bottom in his lap.
ÒI can hold on longer than you,Ó Louis boasted to Andre.
ÒYou had a later start than me,Ó Andre replied through gritted teeth.
He was farther along than my boyfriend and teetering, perhaps, beyond the
point of release, when the male knows he must cum but is hoping for a few
more seconds on the precipice. I saw the muscles in AndreÕs neck tighten.
He let his head fall back. Yet Polly felt nothing yet. She kept at him,
moving her heinie in tight little circles. Then Andre let out a hollar and I
knew he must be cumming, for Polly looked up at me like some child just
wetting her diapers. Andre came and came and came. Polly forgot to keep
dancing and Andre took hold of her small childish waist and urged her to
move briskly upon him. Haltingly she tried to start again. But she was
used to being naughty, not making peace with sex and enjoying it. She
could not bring herself to squirm on him now that he was actually
cumming. I think she wanted to stand up but Andre held her tightly to
himself. Rose tutted.
ÒSquirm, Polly. He needs it most now,Ó Rose urged. Polly just sat
still, feeling his seed squirt itself underneath her heinie. ÒShe must be
trained,Ó Rose lamented. I moved my fanny faster and vowed not to stop
until Louis had spermed me completely. I did not want anymore training. I
just wanted to enjoy Louis, he and I together in my bed.
ÒStop,Ó Louis said. He touched my shoulder. ÒLetÕs go upstairs and
get started on your receptivity training.Ó
ÒMy what?Ó I asked. I sat still as he wished.
ÒSpooning,Ó he said.
ÒOh.Ó He wanted to stick his thing in my butthole. ÒAlright. But itÕs
only early afternoon,Ó I answered.
ÒWe are lovers,Ó he replied.
I rose from his lap. He took my hand. We bid farewell to Rose. Polly
was being put over AndreÕs knee to smell his sperm on the couch and get a
spanking for failing in her lap dance. Sylvia, rising off RoseÕs lap, begged
to spank Polly for Andre, to save his hand the work of it.
Louis and I mounted the staircase together, his arm around my waist.
I felt my wet bottom wiggling distinctly behind me. I did not want him up
my ass but, but... I wanted to please him. In the distance I could hear Polly
blabbering that she neednÕt be spanked. Then there was a crack of palm to
bottom, and Polly, I knew, was being spanked over AndreÕs knee, by
SylviaÕs hand. It was a light, distinctive smack, like a woman would give
another woman. Polly disliked it all the same. She blubbered her penance.
Her voice and her screams faded as Louis guided me up the stairs and to
my room.
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Christians: what are you doing reading this? Get off your ass and
complain to my ISP!
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The sounds of insects was heavy, continuous. It was mid-summer,
the mating season. The air was warm and still.
I had been watching the phases of the moon from my bedroom
window at night, lying over a bolster, with my Louis slowly, inexorably,
working himself into my bottom each night. We played at it. We spent all
night at it. He would prepare me with vaseline and then finger me, finally
putting himself in. I would lie beneath him, captive, complete somehow,
with his penis up my fanny, fingering my pussy, or letting him finger me,
both of us feeling our need, toying with it, putting it off, finally releasing
ourselves to it. When the new moon came it was time for Sylvia to
receive her brand.
I gazed at Sylvia. She looked sheepish, frightened. She wore just
her corset, her breasts quite free, with little sandal-like heels on her feet
to make her seductive. I showed her the twin brands that would be
pressed simultaneously into the flesh of her bottom, right beside her anus,
within the crack of her fanny where only her lover would ever peer,
afterward, keeping her all to himself. I let her touch them. They were
cool, fresh from the cellar.
ÒTheyÕre so small,Ó Sylvia said aloud. She pressed her fingertip into
the surface of each one. The disk was about half the size of her fingertip,
with a small V on each. I think she was trying to console herself to the
branding.
ÒYes, theyÕre small,Ó I replied. ÒFashionably small, Rose says. She
is merciful, is she not? She wants me to do you.Ó I swallowed hard.
Sylvia, without meaning to, copied me. We were partners in crime, but it
was her bottom that was on the line. The fire in the parlor fireplace
glimmered beyond, throwing out soft light on the two of us. A metal bar
stood in front of the fireplace, waiting to receive the brands. They would
lie atop it, being heated by the simmering flames. Then, hot and burny,
they would be pressed into the fold of SylviaÕs pried apart bottomcheeks.
ÒCome, you two. Enough chit-chat!Ó Rose said. She walked into the
room wearing a scarf on her head, a full blouse, and an ankle-length skirt.
She was the very picture of modesty, but she did not have modest plans. A
wooden trestle stood in the center of the parlor. Rose held two leather
thongs in her palm. They dangled, they were thin. I gazed at them, at the
wooden log that formed the top of the trestle. I was to tie Sylvia down.
There could be no more musings, no more shared words of condolence.
With my bottom as naked as SylviaÕs, I walked to the fireplace. I lay
the branding irons carefully into the slots on the metal bar. There was a
second bar just beyond the first, running parallel to it, so that the
branding irons would be supported properly as they lay over the coals of
the fire. There were twin dips in each bar to receive the irons. I set them
down and returned to Sylvia. She was standing with an abashed look on
her face, feeling her bottom with her hands. I brushed her hands away.
ÒBe brave,Ó I told her.
ÒIÕll try,Ó Sylvia replied. I lifted a hand to her eye and wiped away a
tear. She bit her lip. She was clad in a corset but I was entirely nude. I
would have to be careful of the brands, lest I burn myself. Rose had
dictated all. She wished for us both to be sensitive. Our bare skin
guaranteed it.
ÒYouÕll need a gag,Ó I said to Sylvia. WeÕd grown close during the
last day of her freedom. WeÕd played in the pool that morning, before the
sun became too bright. WeÕd swum like seals, buck naked, with Polly
floating bare-bottomed in an innertube.
All was arranged. I went to the couch, picked up a leather gag. It
was a new, freshly refurbished couch. It had flowers on it. The gag was a
simple strip of canvas. I returned to Sylvia. I took her to the trestle in
the center of the room. It was low to the floor. I made her kneel down on
a soft, broad platform in front of it. Then I pushed her forward so that her
weight pressed onto the trestle. She dipped her back in the process. She
showed me her bottom like an animal might, hoping to be made a mother by
some steed. I kneed her legs apart. She allowed me to put her into a
wide-kneed posture, kneeling on the platform in front of the wooden
trestle. There was a spreader bar lying on the floor and I picked it up,
placed it between her opened knees, and bound them to either end of it.
Then I snapped chains along the sides of the platform up over the spreader
barÕs center. Now she could not rise, no matter what. And she could not
close her legs. The platform was deceptive. It looked lightweight, but it
was actually a heavy block of broad, dense redwood underneath its soft
covering. It took two men to lift. Sylvia would not get up again until her
legs were freed.
I placed her wrists softly atop the trestleÕs hard, polished wood. A
whole log formed the top of the trestle, cut and polished with many layers
of wax. When Sylvia was properly positioned, bent forward with her
bosoms cushioning themselves against the wooden trestle, I gagged her.
Pushing the canvas gag deep into her mouth, forcing her lips apart, I
pushed her tongue back. Speaking was no longer an option now for her. A
guttural moan, a pleading whine, a stifled acknowledgement, perhaps, but
dictation, conversation, usually so highly prized in the parlor, was now
out of the question.
I fetched the thongs from Rose. They were soft but thin, raw leather
cut into two identical strips. Sylvia waited with her wrists resting on
the trestle. Her fingers hung beyond it, dainty, the nails brightly polished.
I bent down and bound the thongs round SylviaÕs wrists, pinning them to
the trestle.
ÒThese will cut into your wrists a little,Ó I warned her.
ÒI know,Ó she gulped. The gag made her difficult to understand, but I
knew what she said. It was what I would have said if I were her. It was
RoseÕs wish that the thongs be unplaited. Let Sylvia strive to keep calm if
she didnÕt want wristburns from the thongs as well as burns on her
bottom. It was an additional test, one we all knew Sylvia would fail. It
did not matter if she passed or failed, only that she have an incentive,
however small, to behave as best she could.
There was a final precaution. A stump stood upright in the floor,
bolted there by the men whoÕd set up the trestle and the platform. Atop it
lay a cushion. SylviaÕs tummy pressed against it. There were ropes coiled
around the stump. I lifted them, bound them round the small of SylviaÕs
back. They were mercifully broad and soft. I knotted them securely so she
could not buck or rear as the brands were applied.
Maria brought tea. She served Rose and Rose thanked her, sipped her
tea. Before leaving, Maria gazed at Sylvia. How amazing it must seem to
her, to see this beautiful young woman being bent double, waiting to be
marked by a brand on her lovely bottom as if she were a cow that might
run away to another pasture. In a way, she was like a cow, for her master
wanted him all to himself. Any man who dallied with her forever after
would encounter the brands, and see that she belonged to another.
ÒThe brands are hot now,Ó Rose observed. I had been slow in tying
Sylvia down. I did not want to break my nails, knotting the insidious
thongs, or the tummy ropes. I kissed Sylvia on her cheek for luck. Then I
stood up, brushed my hair back. I patted her bottom to reassure her.
ÒIÕll try not to make it hurt,Ó I said, but I knew it would burn
terribly, and she did too. That was itÕs purpose. Polly entered at the
doorway and stood there naked, clutching her bottom. Andre came up
behind her and took her by her shoulders. Would she be next? We both
knew she wouldnÕt but still, I felt butterflies in my tummy, just seeing
her there.
ÒI donÕt want to ever be branded,Ó Polly intoned in her sweet, high-
pitched voice.
ÒNeither do I,Ó I told her. Sylvia, hearing us, knew she had no choice,
and felt remorseful, I think. I heard her whimper.
NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND
by holy joe
WANK, August 1997, $6.99. Web: http://www.swankmag.com
Review: One look at the cover of this issue, and you know youÕre
in for a good Ôread,Õ if only the cover is truthful. And it is! These are
the same two girls from a recent issue of Mayfair.
ÒJade and YasminÓ (pg. 52) are probably the two most alluring
females to pose nude together in porno mag history. How beautiful they
look! Most female/female pictorials feature heavily made-up tramps,
who look about as interested in exploring each othersÕ bodies as I am in
getting mailbombed. But not these two. They seem very natural, very
loving. Two happy girls, baring each other just for me, while I get my
zipper unstuck. DonÕt forget to check the Table of Contents (pg. 3).
ThereÕs another absolutely lovely picture of them there.
It says in ÒSwank TalkÓ (pg. 1) that Jade and Yasmin are from the
Island of Sappho. Well, that settles that. I now know what IÕm going to
do with my life. IÕm going to become a lesbian. (IÕd cut off my dick but,
I figure, itÕs just a Ônatural dildo.Õ Right?)
Now, Christians. Let me tell you something. If you see me
walking down the street with a wig on, and makeup, wearing a dress,
please donÕt insult me. IÕm going to the Island of Sappho. You can stay
here and go to church and worship some man if you like. Maybe youÕre
gay or something. But IÕm interested in worshipping females. (And not
some fat Ômother goddessÕ either, ladies.)
Yes! Young, voluptuous, soft, tender girls. ThatÕs for me!
Speaking of which, ÒKarolinaÓ is busy taking her bath on page 177.
You and I may be on the Internet, but for a little girl like Karolina itÕs
bath time. How beautiful she looks! I know, I know, thereÕs nothing
like hanging around with a bunch of guys. I mean, you can drink beer
together, and burp, and talk about bashing fags and pedophiles. And you
can smell each othersÕ farts and listen to each other urinate. Sure, of
course, thatÕs much better than being with little Karolina.
And yes, of course, nothing compares to having sex with some
adult woman. Especially one whoÕs a lawyer, or a CEO, or a
construction worker. I mean, what a pleasure that sort of life is! She
works, and the man gets to stay home. He diapers the babies, and
breast feeds them, and chit-chats with other homebody men. Yes, yes.
Of course I would prefer to have that sort of life.
But, Christians. (And feminists). IÕm deprived. You see, I donÕt
have beer swilling guys to hang out with. And I donÕt know any strong,
assertive woman who can kick my ass and make me be a nursemaid for
her. ItÕs a tough life I have, I admit. So IÕm forced to be with little
Karolina instead. I know, I know. How horrifying it is to see her
undress. How terrible it is for me to look upon her nude body. And of
course, having breasts, and nice pussy hair, sheÕs curious about sex.
What a pain in the ass it is for me to have to explain to her all about
sex! What an annoyance to have to put my dick in her mouth, so she can
feel what itÕs like to suck it. And that damn hymen! Good God, donÕt
tell me I have to go to the trouble of popping it. Why canÕt she have a
big, wet, wide, loose snatch, like an experienced woman has? One I can
just stick myself into, as if IÕm going to the bathroom? Such trouble it
is to have to be gentle with Karolina, and WORK at getting myself into
her. What an annoyance it is for me to have to ask her if she feels okay,
and if my penis is hurting her.
Worst of all, Karolina is going to wonder about her tight little
ass. Hopefully she wonÕt ask what itÕs like to have my penis up her
there!
Well, like I said, IÕm deprived. Ho hum, such a life. Such trouble
and difficulty. Well, let me tell you something, Christians. (And
feminists). Just as soon as I meet some fat-bellied men, IÕll become a
pedo-hater and fag-basher. And, just as soon as a demanding and
assertive woman strides into my life, IÕll become a married
househusband. But, until then, IÕm going to try to get to the Island of
Sappho, where I can join Jade and Yasmin. And if, on my way there, IÕm
unfortunate enough to meet little Karolina, I guess IÕll have to stop and
be with her too.
AND IN THE END...
ATTENTION, SPAMMERS!
ÒWoe to him who builds his palace
by unrighteousness,
his upper rooms by injustice.Ó
- Jeremiah 22:13
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
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-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
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- JOIN the worldÕs greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
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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. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 276 EMISSION