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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 294 Pussy Playland (nnd) g2
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PRINCESS DI, ALL I ASKED FOR WAS A DATE !
What is it with women today? Do I have no luck whatsoever?
There I am, standing outside a hotel in France, hoping to ask Princess
Di to go out with me. And, after much delay (at least 15 minutes), she
finally appears.
So I approach her. I know, I know, it’s very bad to “loiter,”
and to “approach” females but, throwing all caution to the wind, I
approached her.
You know the rest of the story.
However, don’t believe the “drunken chauffeur” part of the
story. He wasn’t driving. It’s Princess Di who was driving. So it’s
natural, I suppose, that her car crashed. (Typical woman driver.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 294
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Three
When we were done eating our pieces of cake we licked each
other’s fingers clean. It was very sensuous. I’d never done something
like this before and I found sucking on each of Sherry’s digits
fascinated me. I wondered what it would be like to suck on her toes, or
have her suck mine, or have all three of us sucking each other. I felt
wetter than ever between my legs, and I still hadn’t gotten permission
to pee.
Sherry picked up the bottle of champagne. I feared she would
aim it at me. Instead, as I backed away, she popped the cork and shot
the spurting contents all over Jeff’s dick. He howled with surprise.
She hosed him real good, getting his big thing all wet and directing the
spray down under his legs to shoot it all over his balls. He did not
insist on retaliating.
“Well, I’m glad you took that like a man,” Sherry smiled at
him.
“Just pour me a drink,” he answered. “And then you two finish
the bottle.”
Sherry and I stared at each other. We already had to go to the
bathroom quite badly. Jeff passed up a chance at one of the two glasses
on the table and drank from the bottle directly. Then he handed it back
to Sherry and told her to fill our glasses with whatever was left. We
each had to drink two whole glassfuls and I found myself a little tipsy
when it was over.
“Don’t be worried about getting a little drunk. You’ll be glad
for it when we pay for all our crimes and misdemeanors,” Sherry assured
me. She took my glass from me and put it back on the table. It was
quite empty, and my tummy was quite full and sparkly.
Sherry turned to Jeff. She was wriggling and I was too.
“Jeff, I mean, Master, may we please have permission to pee?!” Sherry
asked him. Her face took on an anguished look and I saw she was
standing with her thighs pressed tightly together. I put my hand down
to my pussy and held it. I did really have to go, just like I used to
when I was in kindergarten!
“You don’t have my permission, but if you want to get less
punishment for it you’ll use your champagne glasses and at least do it
like proper young ladies,” Jeff said. He slapped his thigh with his
riding crop.
“Oh, thank you, master!” Sherry said, half campily, but to my
great relief, at least! She gave me my glass back and led me over to a
little drain set in the middle of the stone floor. “Crouch down. We’ll
pee and then empty our glasses into the drain.”
“Sherry, I have to go more than one glassful!” I told her.
“Well, you’ll have to stop your flow, then,” she answered. She
crouched down, eager to go. “Don’t pee on the floor or your hand,
whatever you do. You’ll get extra strokes for missing the glass or
overfilling it.”
She began peeing. She’d played this game with her husband
before, I guessed, for when her glass was full she very neatly stopped
her flow with her abdominal muscles and held herself in while she
emptied her glass into the drain. I got down, crouching like a mare in
the barn. How could I possibly pee this way? It was so obscene! But
one look at Jeff with his crop assured me that I’d better find a way.
I peed into my glass. I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t my
fault, I told myself, I’d had to go longer than Sherry. But she scolded
me, still crouching and peeing herself, as she saw me overfill my
glass.
“I’m sorry master,” I said with utter sincerity, looking up at
Jeff.
“Extra strokes,” he replied. “You remember that one I have you
in the bedroom upstairs?” I reached back and touched my heinie and
suddenly found I was able to stop my flow.
“Yes,” I breathed. It still hurt. Fortunately it hadn’t
formed a welt. But I had no doubt if I stayed the night I wouldn’t be
so lucky by morning.
----------------------------------------------------------------
A R E A D I N G F U N D has been established for Stephen Knox,
imprisoned in a federal penitentiary for ordering a swimsuit video
featuring teenage girls. To help provide books to Knox (formerly a Phd.
candidate at Penn State), send any amount to: Uncommon Desires
Newsletter, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY 10185. Make checks payable to:
Ophelia Editions.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Sherry and I finished our peeing. I was less than expert at
it. Tutting her disapproval, Sherry went to the kitchenette. She
returned with a soft wet towel and wiped me between my legs. “I daresay
I got a bit more than pee down there,” she scolded me.
“Well, I am a little excited,” I replied. She wiped herself
too, and I knew she was as liquidy between her legs as I was. Even Jeff
was dripping pre-cum. We were all quite enamored of each other’s
bodies. We had absolutely nothing on, and our surroundings were lewd,
to put it mildly. Everything down here seemed designed to inflict
pain. I glanced again at all the awful things that surrounded me.
Whips, hanging on a wall, dreaming of days past and hoping to be chosen
again. A chair with a seat I just knew, from the hinges at the back of
it, that was designed to fall away. There was a chafing dish down in
the center of the chair’s interconnected legs. It had coals in it,
waiting to be lit. Talk about getting a hot seat! A girl would find
herself sitting on just a small ledge, the rest of the chair’s seat
gone, dropped away, and the chafing dish, intended to cook food, would
instead be used to cook her bottom!
“Come honey,” Sherry said to me. She took my wrist. “It’s
time we see which one of us gets whipped first.” She drew me in amongst
the equipment. I saw a long rubber mat laid down in amongst the
implements of torture. It was back behind the chair. It ran on and on,
like a runway, back through the machines. They’d been moved aside to
accommodate it. I saw that someone had covered it entirely with whipped
cream.
“We have our cleaning lady set up the room for us when we want
to play,” Sherry said. “She came in while we were at the beach. She’s
quite old, and speaks only Spanish. She’s homeless, but she lives in a
shanty down the road.” I remembered passing a homeless settlement of
illegal aliens as we drove into the canyon. “She’s never told anyone,
and I expect her not to, either, or I’ll report her to INS. She’s
cleans up the dungeon afterward too, of course.” Sherry tossed her
head. Her hair was luxurious and brown, like the hills that enclosed
us. I wondered if we’d ever be old someday. “Anyway, this is our
little competition. Jeff’s always made me do it alone before. It’ll be
fun to have someone to beat,” Sherry explained. “Those two bolsters
behind the chair are what you and I will get down on. You have to ride
it with your pussy against it, dragging it down to the other end of the
mat with you. You can lift your head and bosoms but you have to keep
your pussy against the bolster as much as possible. Jeff will watch for
infractions.”
“What happens when we get to the far end of the mat?” I asked,
staring into the gloom. It ended somewhere down there. Jeff flicked a
lightswitch and the shadows drew back. I saw more awful equipment, and,
running through them, the runway like mat layered with cream.
“At the end of the mat, you have to put your hands back behind
you and open yourself. This is to show Jeff you’re not using your hands
for this part of the contest. There’s a big soft pillow at the end of
the mat, one for each of us. Rest your chin on it. Above your pillow
you’ll see a hot dog. It’s cold and raw, but you have to eat it as fast
as you can. It’s held by a cock ring fitted near the base of the wall.
I don’t know what the people who built this dungeon used those
screw-down rings in the wall for but we just stick hotdogs in them.
Each your hot dog right down to the cock ring and lick and bite out
whatever is left stuck inside the ring. The wall is recessed to let you
get at the ring, so don’t hesitate. And don’t gag, either. Jeff knows
CPR but he’s liable to pound you to smithereens trying to do it. I
don’t even let him practise it on me, he’s so rough. When you’re all
finished look for the whistle lying between our pillows. There’s only
one, and the winner gets it. Grab it using just your tongue and teeth
and blow hard. Then you’ll be the winner.”
“What do I get for winning?” I asked.
“It’s more like what you don’t get,” Sherry replied, and said
no more.
Jeff made me sit down on the hot seat. I was deathly afraid he
intended to burn my bottom, but Sherry told me not to worry. He fitted
big iron rings to my ankles, right over the ankle straps for my shoes.
He locked them in place. They were connected by a heavy chain. When I
stood up I found the chain dragged along the floor when I walked.
Fortunately, the floor was smooth. Some workman must have labored down
here for months making the floor just right. Sherry assured me it
wasn’t she or Jeff. They’d bought the house this way, and simply added
themselves to it.
“It was dusty down here when we first bought it, but that’s
it,” Sherry said. “Our cleaning lady cleaned it up for us, of course.
It’s nice to have a cleaning lady. I think maybe a child molester or
drug dealer or somebody owned this house before us. We found the
dungeon on our own. The realtor never mentioned it. And,” she looked
at Jeff. “It definitely wasn’t included in the price.”
Jeff put heavy iron manacles on my wrists. These he left
unchained so I could move my arms in front of myself or behind myself.
I was grateful for that. I felt more excited than ever as I watched
Sherry put into the same kind of manacles I wore. We were both so
beautiful, could we really be letting a man fit us out with irons? We
had absolutely nothing on but our chains. I looked at Jeff and saw he
was inexplicably hard, bigger even than he’d been earlier. The
champagne had dried from his cock but it shone with a kind of glow of
its own. I longed to just skip the competition and pledge and enslave
myself to his penis forever. ‘His Royal Penis,’ I’d call him. Skip the
royal punishment he’d promised us. His penis was so huge it promised to
be punishment enough, just trying to get it inside me.
I looked at Sherry frankly as she stood up beside me.
“These are heavy,” she said, feeling her bonds. “You didn’t
chain me before, Jeff.”
“There’s a first for everything, and you promised you’d try
anything once,” Jeff replied.
“Sherry, are you going to let me love your husband as much as
you do?” I asked her. She looked at me.
“You mean, am I going to let him fuck you?”
“Well, yes, if I want him to,” I said. Jeff laughed.
“I guess so,” she replied. “But remember. We’re only doing
this once. After that he’s all mine again, and you go back to your
beachball and your mom.”
“You’re a bitch,” I said to her. “Jeff will like me better
than you when this night is over.”
“What a great time for a competition!” Jeff exclaimed. “Get on
your bolsters, girls.” He walked to the wall and hung up his crop and
got down a long whip.
“What’s that for?” I asked him.
“You don’t want to lose the race, do you?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Well, if you fall behind, I’ll whip your bottom, like a horse,
so you’ll race faster.” Jeff grinned at me.
“You’re so helpful, Jeff,” Sherry sighed. She looked at me.
We were a little less envious of each other now as we contemplated our
mutual fate. “There’s no polite way to do this, no matter what the
rules,” she said. Looking down, I could see that if I got down on that
big bolster, putting it between my legs so I could pull it down the mat
to the other end, I’d be showing off my tail. Not just a little, but a
lot. I’d practically be flaunting it!
“Did Jeff invent this game?” I asked Sherry.
“Yes,” she sighed. Without further ado she plopped down onto
her bolster. Like mine, it was encased it a white sheet-like covering,
tied off at both ends, to make it slide smoothly. There was some lace
trim on the bolster, making it pretty. I imagined it had come from some
very nice, white-sheeted daybed. The bed, of course, was nowhere to be
seen.
Lying atop her bolster, Sherry’s thighs fell off it on either
side, much like when one lies atop a big horse. Her knees and calves
lay frankly in the cream of on the mat. Her elbows, too, were forced to
take purchase on the mat, where they sank into the cream.
“Under the cream is a layer of vaseline, just to make
everything as slick as possible,” Sherry said. She had to turn her head
and look behind herself, over her shoulder, to talk to me. Her hair
tumbled down over her slim shoulders and the ends of it skimmed the
cream.
“Sherry, I can see your butthole and your pussy and everything,
just like you’re a newborn,” I said to her.
“I know,” she blushed. “Get down here beside me. You’re not
allowed to be a spectator!”
I flopped down onto my bolster. I could feel my pussy and ass
open up behind me as I spread my thighs to get myself properly down on
my bolster.
“These chains are going to slow us down and make us have to
work harder,” I said to Sherry.
“I know, dear. That’s why Jeff made us put them on.”
HOW TO CLEAN YOUR SEX TOYS
by holy joe
Some time ago I was reading a book on bondage. It was a
practical book, I suppose, for after talking about bondage itself, the
book mentioned that cleaning sex toys after bondage can be quite
annoying.
I decided to devote my mind to the resolution of this important
issue.
How do you clean your sex toys? Use Baking Soda. Go to the
grocery store and look in the ‘cake mix’ section of the store. There
you will find boxes of Arm & Hammer Baking Soda. A box of Baking Soda
costs less than a dollar to purchase. With Baking Soda, I think, you
will be able to quickly and easily clean all your sex toys.
I tested my baking soda theory not on sex toys, but on my
hairbrush. I enjoy using a hairbrush (to brush my hair), but it gets
really greasy. Traditionally, I have cleaned my hairbrush with a
toothbrush. I rub an old toothbrush over a bar of soap and then rub the
toothbrush through my hairbrush. I stand at a sink with the tap
running.
The downside of cleaning my hairbrush with a toothbrush is that
hair gets all tangled up in my toothbrush. Also, soap splatters all
over me and my bathroom.
Cleaning my hairbrush with baking soda is much easier. Here’s
how to do it:
1. Rip open a box of baking soda.
2. Pour the baking soda on to a dinner plate.
3. Put the dinner plate on top of a shelf, in an area of your
house that tends to smell bad. (Or anyplace at all.)
4. When it is time to clean your greasy hairbrush, first go to
the wastebasket. Stand over it and yank out all the hair from your
hairbrush and drop it into the wastebasket.
5. Rub your hairbrush in the plate of baking soda.
6. Now, go to the wastebasket. Bang your hairbrush against
the side of the wastebasket. This will cause all the baking soda to
fall out of your hairbrush and into the wastebasket.
7. Feel your hairbrush with your fingers. It’s not greasy
anymore, is it? Now you can clean it a little with a toothbrush and
soap if you wish, but you won’t need to do much scrubbing. Your
hairbrush is already quite clean.
See? Easy, huh? In summary, rub your comb, or your hairbrush,
in baking soda, and it will become clean. Now you have more time to
play with your sex toys.
AND IN THE END...
THE BENEFITS OF “NO GROWTH”
“The European Commission calculates that at any time there are
traffic jams stretching 25,000 miles on the European Union’s roads -- a
problem that will worsen as car ownership surges in booming Eastern
Europe.”
- Newsweek, August 25, 1997, pg. 35.
(But don’t build more roads. Instead, live with Nature, and obey your
American masters. - h.j.) (Helms-Burton, you know!)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 294 EMISSION
- “Ultimately the great roads merely paved the way for the physical
conquest of western Asia by Greece and Rome, and the theological
conquest of Greece and Rome by western Asia.” - Will Durant on the road
network built by Persia’s King Darius 1. (The Story of Civilization,
Volume 1, pg. 362.)
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