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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 291 Pussy Playland (nnd) g2
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Don’t Call an Exorcist
I’M POSSESSED BY THE GHOST OF ELVIS!
I started my new job today. I am now the Official
City-Appointed Sanitation Engineer for Work Lot 211, subparcel b. So,
just like everybody else, I had to get up at dawn this morning, and
hustle off on my bicycle amid morning traffic to the workplace! And I
must admit, I felt pretty good, doing it. While everyone else was
jammed in the freeway lanes in their Ford Aerostars, I just pedalled
between the lanes, waving to all the little girls I saw in all those
back seats!
Yes, I did look cool. I was riding my official Schwinn “Easy
Rider” bicycle, and I was decked out just like Peter Fonda. But when I
pulled up to the construction site the welfare office had assigned me
to, a funny thing started happening. My hips started wiggling! Well,
you can imagine how all those construction dudes laughed at me when I
came walking onto the site, carrying my lunch bucket, with my hips
wiggling around like a girl’s.
Nonetheless, I kept my chin up. I began my job by distributing
my Anti-Smoking literature. It’s not illegal to smoke at the
construction site, but my job involves keeping the site clean by picking
up all the litter. So I figured a little lecture from Butt Man would
help my friends in the construction trade protect their lungs, and my
back!
Then, it was time to go to work. First I cleaned out the
porta-potty, then I picked up cans. I’m not supposed to keep any of the
cans, but I stuck a few in my knapsack and considered it a tip for a job
well done. (Plus, there was an old Hustler in the porta-potty, and I
exercised my right to supervise Site Decency by putting that safely away
in my knapsack too. (You never know when a child might wander onto a
construction site!)
Well, anyway, my hips kept wiggling all day. At first, I
thought it had something to do with the loose back wheel on my bicycle.
But when I went home that night, I fell into a deep sleep. Elvis came
to me in my sleep. He told me not to worry if all the construction
dudes were laughing at me.
“You are the only person on the planet who still lusts after
14-year-old girls, like I once did,” Elvis told me. “Hence, you are the
one person on earth who is closest to me. Don’t be surprised if your
hips start wiggling. And if you think of a song, contact my manager.
YOU are the new Elvis!”
Well, I haven’t thought of any songs yet. This morning I saw a
dog lying in the road and that sort of got me to thinking about dogs,
and some guy told me if he caught me waving to his daughter again he’d
send me to jail, and that sort of got me thinking about jails, and
whether I’d be reduced to doing, you know, my Rock career in the jail
house, but I don’t quite have a song yet. (I’ll keep trying to be more
like Elvis, though. Sooner or later something should catch. Right now
I’m saving up for a pair of gold pajama pants.)
I guess I should start taking drugs too. It’s kinda tough to
support a drug habit with a rubbish collector’s job, but maybe if I quit
buying porn I can move up to drugs. Oh, yeah. Guess I gotta start
drinking too.
Anyway, ladies (and girls). Here’s where you can help. Elvis
never paid for sex. So, you know, if you come visit me at my job site,
we can ride my bike over to your place after work and get going on the
sexual aspect of Elvis’s life. Then you can loan me some of your dad’s
beer and I can begin to implement the alcohol part. Then, if you know
some guy in 7th grade who deals dope, well, tell him I’ll trade him
three empty cans and an old Hustler for some of it.
Oh, yes. Just like Bill Clinton, I’m starting up a Fund for
those of you who want to help me (and Elvis). If everybody contributes,
I can buy a mansion down south and start living and eating and sleeping
like Elvis. Plus I need a revolver, and at least two T.V.’s. (One to
shoot and one to watch.) If Priscilla Presley wants to pay me a visit,
that’s okay too.
See? Already I’m on my way to being Elvis. (And if this
doesn’t work, don’t forget -- I’m ALREADY the reincarnated Kurt
Cobain.) (Courtney Love doesn’t need to visit me, though. Elvis was
never interested in fat chicks, even if they do buy a lot of his
merchandise.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 291
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Three
In the guest room, Sherry let me go first. We were being very
modest, but I guessed she wanted it that way. We would only be together
once, according to her rules. She wanted to make the whole thing as
special as possible. I was grateful because it gave me a chance to
reconsider. But, showering alone, feeling my aching tits and my cunt
that was already too excited, I knew there was no turning back. All I
could hope for now was that I would comport myself properly. Or should
I say acquit? After all, we would do it just once, then quit. Perhaps
she meant we would party all weekend, but that would be our only time
together. Soaping myself all over as I considered all this didn’t help
lower my temperature. I tried turning the shower water to ‘cold.’ As I
shrieked under the icy spray I think Sherry knew I was still feeling
shy.
“Hurry up. I want a shower too!” Sherry scolded me, peeking
her head through the curtain. I screamed again as she saw me naked for
the first time. “Silly, we’re both girls,” she said.
“I don’t want to get spanked!” I confessed to her.
“You’ll get double whatever’s coming to you if you don’t hurry
up and get out!” Sherry replied.
I finished up with a renewed sense of expediency. When I got
out, and got a towel wrapped around myself, Sherry let herself into the
room and Jeff was with her. All my thoughts of resisting vanished as I
laid eyes on him. Who could refuse such a big man? He had on plaid
shorts and a polo shirt. Telling myself not to, I let my eyes drop to
his crotch. I swallowed hard. It was bigger than ever, fine and
upstanding and obviously not too comfortable inside his fashionable
shorts.
“You’ve got to get those shorts off you, poor man,” I said in a
whispery voice. It was a bold, ladylike thing to say, but my voice was
high as a choir girl’s and sounded quite nervous.
“Put this on,” Jeff replied. He offered me something that
looked like nothing but string.
“For me?” I asked. I plucked at it. It was nothing but
string, except for two postage stamp bra cups and a pair of undies that
made a doily look like a throw rug. He simply nodded. I accepted his
gift. I stepped out of the steamy bathroom. I saw a riding crop lying
atop a dresser in the guest room. It hadn’t been there when I’d gone
for my shower. Jeff picked it up. He held it with a familiar grip.
“Don’t worry, I won’t look,” Jeff told me. He turned his back
on me. I heard Sherry get into the shower in the bathroom and turn on
the water. She screeched as she found I’d left it, quite by accident,
on ‘cold.’
Slowly I finished toweling myself off. There was no desire on
my part to rush for a man who was holding a crop! I combed out my
hair. I put on makeup, sitting nude in a chair, making Jeff wait for
me. All the while he obediently stood in the doorway, his arms folded,
his back turned. There was a Picasso on the wall in the hallway with
nude women so I guess he had something to look at, even if they were
nothing but sharp-angles and limbs. I thought the painting was silly,
but perhaps he liked it. Men probably like looking at any naked women
they can find.
When I was done with my hair and makeup I resolved to try on my
new gift. I had to struggle just to figure out which end tied where.
There was no elastic anyplace. Sherry took her time in the shower.
Perhaps she was a little frightened of Jeff’s crop herself. At last,
feeling queasy, I got myself all tied and fitted. I looked in the
mirror. My hard work had been for nothing. My bosoms ballooned at me
just like before, their whiteness showing, just my nipples concealed.
My pussy seemed half undressed, the pouch of my panties was so small.
And, turning around, I found there was nothing but a single thread
running down my ass crack. Oh well, I wouldn’t have to keep pulling
THESE panties out of my ass!
My only true consolation was that I saw an identical bikini (if
you could even call it that!) piled on the guest bed. I knew who that
was for. Well, if Sherry didn’t mind wearing something all stringy and
ridiculous like this, I guess I shouldn’t either. I admired her. I
hoped I could have a house and a husband this nice when I was 19. Maybe
I’d figure out some way to make Jeff a polygamist. It sure beat staying
home at mom’s and listening to her play records by the Mormon Tabernacle
Choir!
I padded silently up to Jeff. For a moment I just stood there
admiring his build and his muscles. Then, feeling very brave, I reached
up and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around.
“Oh, you’re done!” he exclaimed.
“You heard me come up behind you,” I reproached him. “You just
like staring at those naked ladies on the wall.” I smiled.
“Well, you’re a damn sight better than Modern Art!” he
complimented me.
“I like the Old Masters,” I said. I stuck out my lip and
pouted. “They’re full of guys... well, you know, Hercules and David and
stuff.” He smiled and stuck his thumbs in the strings that supposed
they made up my panties. Playfully he tugged at them, as if to pull
them down.
“Jeff! Don’t! It’s all I have!” I shouted, giggling. He
relented. “Which brings me to my next question,” I said to him, knowing
the answer, and fearing it a little. “What else do you want me to
wear?”
“Nothing at all,” he replied. “Nothing at all.” He smiled and
tweaked the cup that covered my right nipple. I thrust my tits at him.
“Sir, please don’t play with the merchandise,” I scolded.
“Even if it sticks itself in your face,” I added with a giggle. He
liked my breasts. They were young and high on my chest and tilted up
like presents stacked under a tree at Christmas. He reached up and
lifted my chin with a finger and offered my lips to himself. He bent
down and kissed me. It was light, like two new friends kissing when the
man’s wife is gone, which was in fact the case.
When he lifted his face from mine I looked down at his riding
crop. Gingerly I touched it.
“That looks awful,” I confessed.
“It feels awful,” he replied. I ran my finger along its
length. It was a hard stick of bamboo cut like a cylinder and encased
in leather. At the tip was a loop. I toyed with it. I put my finger
through it as if it were a penis and the loop was my hole.
“Why must we use it, then?” I inquired.
“I don’t know. I guess I just like seeing girls hit with it,”
he shrugged. I shivered. My spine wobbled and I felt my legs almost
drop out from under me. My ass cheeks, bare except for the single
thread running through them, waggled fearfully.
“I’m so nervous. I have to pee,” I confessed. He took me by
the wrist like a doctor might. He seemed to be checking my pulse, but
instead he frankly put his finger under my crotch and felt my cunny. He
felt it through the cloth of my panties, and I felt embarrassed because
I’d already moistened the thin piece of cloth pressing against me there,
with my juices.
“You didn’t PEE in your panties, did you?” Jeff asked.
“No,” I replied. He rubbed me a little. He removed his
finger. He let go of my wrist.
“Good,” he said. “Just hold whatever you have. You’ll go with
my permission, and not before. Is that understood?” I looked up at
him. Dare I say it? I glanced again at his crop.
“Yes,” I said very quietly, with lowered eyes. His finger
darted under my chin and he lifted my eyes to meet his.
“Yes?” he asked. He was frowning.
“Yes master,” I gulped. I forced my eyes down again because I
couldn’t bear to look at him, despite his finger under my chin. But
when I lowered my eyes from his face I found myself looking instead at
his groin! I was utterly captive and knew it. I raised my eyes again.
“Yes master,” I said again.
“That’s better,” he replied gruffly. “Why do you think I gave
you panties without any seat to them?”
“So... Ohhhh, so you can see my bottom?” I half-sighed. We
were much more intimate now than we’d been even a few minutes ago.
“Turn around,” he said. I gulped and hesitated a moment.
Then, relenting, I turned around so that my uncovered ass showed itself
to him. I could feel its plump curves attracting his eyes and I
squeezed my cheeks in a vain attempt to somehow hide myself from him.
Sherry stepped out of the shower. She had a big fluffy towel
wrapped around her, as if we were all at camp. She walked calmly past
me even as her husband told me to bend over and show him more of my
bottom.
“We’ll go cut some roses out back in a minute,” Sherry told me
as she walked past. Jeff roughly told me to bend farther, to touch my
ankles and grab on to them. Confused, I obeyed. We were going outside
dressed like this? With her back to us, Sherry, on the other side of
the bedroom now, dropped her towel. Sure, why not? The thread of her
bikini’s panties would, like mine, run through her bottom’s crack and
hide nothing. Only her nipples would be covered by her bikini, and not
much of her pubic hair. The bikini for her was laid on the guest bed
and she picked it up and began trying to figure it out. I think she’d
worn one before, because it took her a lot less time than me.
Meanwhile, I was watching her with my hands on my ankles and my blood
rushing to my head. What was Jeff doing back there? Too late, I turned
to look.
WHACK! Jeff’s crop came blasting down onto my behind. My head
shot up and I grabbed my hinds and rubbed them furiously. I danced on
my toes and found Jeff laughing at me, Sherry too, although she at least
had the decency to put her hand over her mouth.
“Ooooh! OOOOHH! That HURT!” I yelped. Flexing my ass cheeks
to try to relieve the pain only made it sear within me again, as if a
new stroke had been laid. I shivered and shook and felt my breasts pop
right out of my top. When I finally settled down Sherry, dressed in her
own bikini, came up to me. Carefully she tucked my bosoms bag inside
the nipple-cups that formed my bra.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “Jeff, that was very rude!” she
scolded her husband. It was all very well for her, she was standing on
the opposite side of me. But it made me nervous because I was between
her and Jeff and I still was facing him with my bare bottom! “You know
we have to go out back and cut flowers. How do you think she’ll feel
having the neighbors see her ass with a big bright red line across it?”
“I was just showing her why it’s so important to obey,” Jeff
replied. I thought I’d heard him unzip himself while I was bent over
and, looking again over my shoulder without being interrupted by the
impact of a crop on my bottom, I saw to my heartbeating surprise that he
had his cock out! It was bigger than any I’d ever imagined. It was
almost a tree trunk, and it was pulsing with a life of its own and had
a big bulbous head that twitched hungrily at me.
“Well, it’s very important to obey,” Sherry agreed, nodding.
She looked at me and finished straightening my bra. “Always do just
what Jeff says, right away. The crop will teach you that if you can’t
learn it on your own, so please do. I don’t want to see you hurt any
more than you have to be!” Sherry told me quite candidly. I felt myself
swallowing and wanted to run. But, looking back from her very serious
eyes to Jeff’s cock again, I resolved to stay. Anyway, we might be
beyond my backing out. I didn’t want to test my luck and find I had
none!
“Now we’re going to go out into the backyard and clip some
roses for our party,” Sherry told me. She seemed to want to hurry me
past any thoughts I might have of begging to leave. “Let’s go out to
the sunroom and get some gloves so you won’t cut your fingers on any of
the thorns. And boots, too. The sprinkler might have come on in the
last half-hour and I don’t want your feet to get grass stains on them.”
Sherry took my hand and I found myself pulled past Jeff into the hall.
“After all, I’m in no hurry to party with a man with a riding crop, are
you?” Sherry asked me.
“No,” I agreed. Jeff followed, but did not interfere or give
us any orders. We walked to the back of the house. There was a sunroom
there. I could see the sun setting beyond the clifftop.
“It’s very beautiful,” I said. There wasn’t much of a view but
the sky was all red and the canyon walls stood up above us, rising into
the sky, already deep in shadow.
“Thanks. It’s our first house,” Sherry said. “We want a
bigger one when we have kids. Plus, when we have kids I don’t want a
dungeon in the house.” She picked up some heavy work gloves. She
fitted them over my hands, careful not to break any of my nails.
“A dungeon? I don’t see...” I said. I looked around me.
There were just potted daisies and sunflowers in the sunroom.
“Downstairs,” Sherry said. She got work gloves for herself.
“I scream sometimes. Jeff can hit hard.” I looked back at him. He’d
somehow managed to stuff himself back into his trunks so the neighbors
wouldn’t see his manhood. I smiled, he didn’t smile back. He was
enjoying looking severe. At least, I hoped he was enjoying it. If I’d
even suspected he was serious I would have gone shooting out the door of
the sunroom and climbed (somehow) over the rock wall that separated Jeff
and Sherry’s from their neighbors. After all, I was 14. I didn’t HAVE
to do this! I didn’t have to do anything!
AND IN THE END...
“Here all we are dealing with is sociopathic behavior that has
no real-world resonance.”
- Time, August 18, 1997, pg. 60.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-END OF 291 EMISSION
- “Gross, I just got a sweaty kiss and a stinky scarf.”
(- Newsweek, August 18, 1997, pg. 61.)
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