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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 301 Pussy Playland (nnd) g2
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 301
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Four
“Oh, please stop!” I cried. But Jeff just watched, enjoying
the sight. Sherry, having suffered a similar fate, had no wish to see
me escape. As she bathed my forehead she kept touching her poor abraded
pussy. Jeff had seen to it that she should never have anything there
but a gash.
In my agonies, feeling the flames and with Sherry petting me, I
imagined I was a girl in Egypt, having her clit cut away. I moaned and
pleaded. I screeched at the top of my lungs and promised to be good.
At last, feeling merciful, Jeff doused the coals and I felt a rush of
hot steam scald my bottom. Whimpering, I settled back onto the table.
I felt my bottom sink through the hole in the table and did not try to
stop it. Jeff lifted me off the soft felt and kissed me and held me.
Sherry squirted lotion on my bottom and rubbed it briskly. I was rosy
cheeked in back, nothing more. I’d escaped unharmed, but I was sighing
and weeping and my chest was heaving with fright. Jeff held me close
and I felt my bosoms press into his hairy chest. His manhood rose
between my legs and I felt it bump against my twat.
“Ohhh, please don’t hurt me!” I sobbed. I bit into the flesh
of his chest and he flinched and I tried to draw blood. Carefully, he
separated my teeth from his body. He kissed my lips.
“Silly girl, I’m only training you,” he said gently. I cried
more loudly and Sherry, sensing I was pitying myself just to please him,
gave my poor bottom, glossy with lotion she’d just applied, a firm slap.
Jeff felt me bounce against him as Sherry’s slap hit my
bottom. I emitted a heartfelt cry of pain into his ear. He gripped me
tightly. His hands, hard and calloused, slid down over my pampered
bottom and held my cheeks wide apart, exposing my hole. Sherry lurked
behind me. I trembled from my head to my toes, fearing a new assault by
her. But the rest of my ass, held in Jeff’s palms, was protected. How
awkward to be so nicely protected, yet left with my hole open and
vulnerable! And the man who was now keeping me from being slapped again
by Sherry was the same man who’d just tried to burn my bottom off!
I wept. The emotions were too much for me. Yet as I wept,
wanting to break free of Jeff and, at the same time, relishing the feel
of his holding me, not letting me escape, I was aware of his penis. It
was deathly hard, and jammed up between my legs. It ran from his groin
under my cunny and then, tantalizingly, stuck out behind my thighs,
where Sherry could admire his drooling, unemployed cockhead waiting for
permission to enter me.
“I want to be your master, and also your slave,” Jeff confided
hotly in me. He bent over me, whispering in my ear. I was on tiptoe
against him, yet my head only rose up to his shoulder. He had to bend
close to tell me his secrets. Sherry could not hear. “I want to work
you, to exert myself in you every day, forever...” Jeff said to me in a
rushed, hushed voice. “I want to be like a horse to you, and ride you
every day, fucking you, again and again, stopping only to rest a moment,
and then to begin again!” I swooned. I could picture what he wanted.
To be hard forever (it was possible with Jeff!) and to have me under
him, ramming himself into me, exerting himself in me, spilling his seed
in MY womb, just mine, not hers, over and over. As soon as his balls
would fill up again I’d be on my back again. I’d be his slave, but he’d
be mine. We would couple forever, never working, never even playing,
really. Just mating. The two of us doing our duty to each other. Our
reproductive duty.
Sherry bobbed from one side of us to the other. She was aware,
now, that Jeff was telling me something special. Something that might
not include her.
Jeff pushed me back and away from him. It was as if we’d
disagreed, from all outward appearances, and he’d shoved me away. But
we hadn’t. He’d breathed his lust to me and I’d sighed agreeable in
response, in between my tears.
“Take everything off,” Jeff said to both of us. His words were
words of command. Much in the dungeon had to do with commanding,
obeying. “Everything. Right down to and including your earrings.” We
did not deny him. We could not. We were just two frail, big-bosomed
girls, Sherry older, but still a teen, and me younger. We stripped
ourselves of all of civilization’s baubles. We were Indian maidens,
without even our feathers. We put our stockings and Sherry’s corset and
our earrings and heels in a little pile on the floor.
Jeff watched us with possessive eyes. When we were quite nude,
he left us standing together a moment. He went to a shelf along the
wall and picked up a sweatband and put it on. It would keep the
perspiration out of his eyes. Then he put on two wrist sweatbands.
Sherry and I, watching him, huddled together. We weren’t the best of
friends, but with his hard cock and his menacing eyes, Jeff made us both
feel like victims. On his way back, Jeff picked up his switch. He
stood before us and let the sight of his cock impose itself on us. We
were all nude, like babies or, more likely, the first man and (two!)
women in the world. Except instead of being in a garden, we were in a
dungeon. Jeff slapped the switch into the open palm of his free hand,
once, then again.
“Jeff, my ass still hurts from that hot seat you made me sit
on,” Sherry confessed.
“Mine too,” I piped up. I put my hand behind myself and
wondered if I hadn’t been licked a little by the flames, after all. We
were both pretty red-bottomed. I hoped we wouldn’t peel.
“It’s not your bottoms I’m interested in right now,” Jeff said
to us gruffly. “We’ve been playing without protection. I’m afraid I
may have made you girls pregnant. You’ve been totally remiss in taking
your pills. But there are other ways to make sure you don’t bear me
children I don’t want.”
With our hair still lovely, though unpinned, Jeff walked Sherry
and I over to a rape rack. It was made of lumber, boards that had been
worn down over many years until, in certain places, you could see where
the boards held a person bound to them. Sherry and I stood staring.
“This ‘rape rack,’ as its called, can be used for conception,
or to terminate a conception,” Jeff told us. A topmost bar, higher than
our heads, waited for upraised wrists to be bound against it. I reached
up, touched where the wrists of many past girls had been set firmly
against the wood. The board was smooth there. Instinctively Sherry
reached out and palmed, then held, the nearest cheek of my bottom as I,
on tiptoe, examined the place where the arms were bound. We were both,
I think, quite frightened of it, but she must have been put here at
least once before. Now we would, it seemed, share the experience. But
Jeff was not rushing, not pushing us. He was letting us drink in our
fate, perhaps even to agree to it?
“A girl,” Sherry began, then her voice broke off. She began
again, nervous. “A girl is bound against the wood with fresh vines from
the jungle, in the olden days, or now, with rubber cuffs,” Sherry
gulped. I could see that Jeff had his options with us. The arms could
be bound directly over the head, together, or wide apart. Below, where
a girl’s hips would hang, a board pushed them forward, so her tormenter
could amuse himself with the sight of her bare pussy shoved outward at
him. That board was also worn down, in the center, where my hips would
be, if I ‘accepted my mission,’ as a certain film might say. And,
lastly, the feet were not simply allowed to drop down to the floor. A
separate foot stool rose up on either side of the rack. There, spread
apart, a girl’s feet would be held open so that her cunny would be the
lowest point on her body.
“This is how a woman should give birth,” Sherry said to me.
“Upright, with her cunny split open. The baby simply falls out.
Gravity helps pull it out of her.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I ran my finger along the wooden beams. They
were big and old and had the aura of ancient wisdom about them. But the
cuffs, made of soft rubber, were new. Fresh chains with no weak links
promised to hold a girl remorselessly to the rack.
“It is used for birthing, but also for insemination?” I asked.
I turned and looked over my shoulder at Jeff.
“Right now it will just be used for an abortion,” Jeff
answered. I gasped.
“Jeff’s going to beat any baby you have right out of you,”
Sherry taunted me. Her fingers glided over my shoulders and then
dropped down to cup and offer my bosoms to him. She nudged me around so
that I faced him full on. She pinched my nipples. I gasped. I ran my
fingers over my tummy. It felt smooth, flat. But you could never be
sure, could you? Jeff’s penis stared up at me like a huge hose. It
throbbed, hungry with his desire. I almost felt certain, for a moment,
staring speechless at it, that it might spew sperm all over me at any
moment. And he’d already been inside me; albeit, considerately, in my
ass instead of my pussy. But you could never be sure, could you? Some
might have leaked thru, I guessed, between the membrane that separated
my back channel from my front.
“Doctor, our patient here thinks she might be pregnant,” Sherry
teased. She slid a hand over my tummy, poked in my belly button. Then,
stepping back suddenly, she slapped both my bottom cheeks hard.
“YEEEEEOWCH!” I cried. The flames had burnt my bottom a little
and her handslaps sent pain bursting through my hind cheeks. My palms
flew back. I cupped myself. My bosoms jutted out at Jeff and my cunny
arched forward as I clapped my hands to my bottom.
“Get her a towel,” Jeff ordered his wife. She grinned,
wickedly, and walked with her bottom rolling grandly to a shelf. There,
next to bottles of antiseptic and beneath a collection of neatly hung
whips, was a small stack of towels. She picked one up. It was white.
She returned to where I stood and unfolded it slowly for me. She let me
run my hand over it. It was fluffy.
“This will protect your back,” Sherry said. She wrapped the
towel several times around the central beam. It was a big towel and
when she was done wrapping it there was no question it would stay put.
“Upsie daisy,” Sherry said. She pushed on my bottom with her palm. I
did not want her to slap me again. I stepped up with one foot, then
both, on a low rung that hung, ladder like, near the base of the frame.
I think if I’d thought about the fact that I was mounting a rape rack I
would have run, or tried to escape, but my mind was awhirl with the
burning in my bottom and the stiffness of my teats and the tingling of
my cunny, with the closeness of Sherry, alternately my friend and foe,
and Jeff, too, my master and, somehow, my worshipper. He gazed with
awed eyes as I turned my back to the rape rack and fitted my 14-year-old
body into it. The uppermost beam was a little high. I had to stretch
to reach it, leaning back, seeing if I could. Just as I felt my fingers
touching the rubber cuff waiting there, Sherry intervened. Quickly,
before my inquisitiveness faded, she bound the cuff round my wrists so
that I could not escape. Next a soft collar was put round my neck and
my head was pinned back to a crosswise beam. It ran parallel to the one
my wrists were bound to. I felt the small of my back press against the
towel where my hips hit the central beam. My bottom hung below that
beam and, fearfully, I felt each of my feet lifted up and put on top of
one of the toadstool-like footrests. Quickly my ankles were bound with
soft cuffs to keep my thighs wide apart.
“Well, doctor, there you have her,” Sherry grinned at her
husband. I expected my tummy to have something bound over it, a wide
belt perhaps, but it was left quite exposed. Only my neck, my wrists,
and my feet were collared or cuffed. But to keep me wide apart Sherry
ran decorative black ribbons out from the sides of the rack and around
my bent knees. I hoped they wouldn’t hold me but, even if they broke, I
was so distended and open that I had little hope of closing myself. I
was squatting, but with my arms drawn so high and my hips so awkwardly
thrust out that I was as much hanging as squatting.
“Oh, you poor little cunt!” Sherry laughed. She ran a finger
over my cheek. Our bottoms were still red from being ‘toasted’ by Jeff
and I looked at her, hoping for mercy.
“Please, Sherry,” I breathed. My bosoms rose and fell with my
every gasping breath. “This is interesting but, I’m, I’m quite sure
I’ve had enough now,” I pleaded. My mom had sent me to a Catholic
elementary school and, strung up like this, I knew I was being too
unladylike even for a rebellious 14-year-old. I wished suddenly I was
sitting back in 3rd grade, clad in my little saddle shoes and my neat
blouse and dress. I’d count properly this time, and not make naughty
words with the alphabet letters.
“Dear, you must first learn to suck,” Sherry giggled. She and
Jeff were just making up games now, with me as their victim. She walked
casually to a shelf. There was no hurry. She picked up a huge dildo.
She walked back over to me but I was determined not to take it. I
feared she would make me choke on it.
Sherry pushed the dildo against my belly button. “I wonder if
I should shove this up your ass first, to make it nice and tasty,” she
asked me. “Or will you be a good girl and practise your sucking on it
just as it is?”
BOOK REVIEW
by holy joe
Driving Blind, by Ray Bradbury. Avon, $23.00.
Review: Yesterday I decided to be a Man. I went down to the
Marine Recruiting Office. I figured I’d get a job and, more
importantly, I’d get laid, since girls love Marines.
A bum I met on the street, who’d been in Vietnam, warned me
about the U.S. Military. “Everything is hurry up and wait in the
military,” he told me. So I took a book along with me when I went to
the Marine Recruiting Office.
That was my first mistake.
I made some other mistakes too, which is why I’m now writing
this review instead of learning how to blow up buildings.
For one thing, how was I supposed to know the sergeant would be
a woman? I thought, you know, I’d be greeted by some man with a big
cigar. Instead I was greeted by a woman with big bosoms.
When the sergeant asked all us guys who were waiting to enlist
if we had any questions, I made another mistake.
“Ma’am,” I asked. “Why did you decide to become a sergeant
instead of a Playboy Playmate?”
This was not a good question to ask.
I tried to repair the damage by adding, “Actually, ma’am, I’d
be more interested in your daughter than I am in you.”
That was a mistake.
But, anyway, you’re probably wondering why it was a mistake for
me to take a book along to the Marine Recruiting Station. I’ll tell you
why. It made me cry.
I’ve read other books by Ray Bradbury. They’re about Mars, and
Illustrated Men, and stuff like that. Usually they contain lots of
science fiction and horror. So I figured it would be safe to take
Bradbury’s latest book, Driving Blind, to the Marine Recruiting
Station. I figured I’d be reading about astronauts being eaten alive by
alien cities on extraterrestrial planets. Red-blooded, manly stuff like
that.
But Driving Blind contains no science fiction stories. It
contains no horror stories. Instead, it contains ordinary stories. For
some reason, many of them made me cry. I have no idea why. They’re not
particularly sad stories. Perhaps they’re melancholy stories. In any
event, it did me no good to be sitting there in the Marine Recruiting
Office crying.
So, if you’re thinking of being a Marine, here’s some tips.
Don’t look at the sergeant’s boobs, no matter how big they are. Don’t
mention to her that you’d like her daughter better than her. And for
God’s sake don’t take a book along. It might be a sad book, and you’ll
wind up being a crybaby.
Despite getting kicked out of the Marine Recruiting Office, I
must say that Driving Blind is one of the most enjoyable reading
experiences I’ve had in years. If you’re looking for a good book, this
is it.
I must warn you, however, that Driving Blind gets off to a slow
start. It’s a collection of short stories. The first few stories are
mindless entertainment. However, the stories get better as you go
along. By the time I got to the middle of this book, I was enjoying it
immensely.
The copy of Driving Blind that I bought is a First Edition.
Now is the time to go buy this book if you want a First Edition by Ray
Bradbury. At first I didn’t like the cover, but now I like it a lot.
It’s purple, with a ‘glow in the dark’ feel about it. The book costs
$23.00 because this is a hard back edition.
Now that I’ve finished this book, I’m wondering: maybe I
didn’t get into the Marines, but there’s still the Army, the Navy, the
Air Force, and the Coast Guard. They don’t know I’m a sexist pedophile
crybaby. I wonder if I could get into one of them? And then, in
addition to that, there’s the Federal Civil Service. Somehow, I think
being a federal bureaucrat might be my best option. What do you think?
AND IN THE END...
YOU OWE THE I.R.S. !
“Over the past decade, the IRS has spent $4 billion to upgrade
its computers; they still do not work properly.”
- The Economist, September 20, 1997, pg. 33.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
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copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 301 EMISSION
- “80 percent of taxpayers who call the IRS are confronted by a busy
signal.” (Ibid.)
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