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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 311 Nudie Nursery (nnd) g2
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Deep in the bowels of the earth, young girls endure unspeakable acts...
“I don’t want to be eaten!” Amber screamed.
...Like gazelles we walked, gazelles sought by men, captured
now, being taken off for slaughter. The innocence of such animals
showed in our eyes. We were large-eyed, observing all, yet driven
forward, hoping for reprieve from our captors as they gazed at the
succulence of our bodies. We were a good catch. Well fatted where the
meat was tenderest, long and lean on our limbs. I could feel the weight
of my breasts bouncing heavily on my chest. My nipples stood hard. My
bush sprouted invitingly between my young legs. My snatch was a wet
promise. Panties, some joke of civilization, ringed my hips, hiding
nothing with a wisp of expensive cloth.
PUNISHED FOR PLEASURE
Now Available from:
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 311
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Three
“Can you type?” he asked. He was big and strong and looked
like he worked out a lot. I judged he was about 30. He suit seemed
barely able to contain him. He sat behind a big desk but he had me pull
a chair close so we could sit facing each other without the desk between
us. His assistant helped me move the chair.
“How good is your spelling?” Brent asked. I admitted it was
pretty poor.
“How are your grades at school?” Brent inquired. I gulped and,
figuring all hope was lost and I may as well be truthful, admitted they
were bad.
Brent straightened up. He shuffled some papers. I braced
myself for the ‘thank you, we’ll call if we need you’ dismissal. The
thing they always say on T.V. when the show’s about a woman who nobody
wants to hire. Because she’s black, or poor, or got fired from her last
job for union organizing. I wondered why I’d even bothered to come.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Brent said. He looked at me and his
eyes were unexpectedly gentle. Was he going to talk down to me? ‘Stay
in school, girl, study hard and learn to spell your name,’ I could hear
rising up from his chest. So when the words broke from his lips I was
stunned. “I’m not really looking to hire a secretary. I’m looking to
hire a love slave. Would you like to accept the position?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. My throat was
constricted. Somewhere on my lap my hands began to shake. “I’ll have
to ask my mom,” was all I finally managed to say.
Brent looked at me more closely. Despite my nervousness I
actually found myself worrying that his bulging arms and shoulders would
rip his nice suit. Couldn’t he at least take his jacket off? The poor
thing seemed about to burst at the seams. I felt a sudden urge to drop
my eyes to his crotch to see if his pants were equally challenged.
“I’m only at this location for today,” Brent said. “Obviously,
hiring a teenage girl to be my love slave isn’t the most popular thing
to do, even in L.A. So you’ll have to decide right now.”
I gazed at him. Our eyes seemed to merge. I felt myself
breathing. My breasts were held within a gossamer bra. It offered no
support, but at 16 I didn’t need any. And that’s why he wanted me,
wasn’t it? I let myself drink in his frame and his powerful arms and
shoulders. His face was polite, discreet, but underneath it was like
hardened steel.
I tugged on my skirt, pulling it down as far on my thighs as I
could. “Okay,” I said.
“Our plane leaves in an hour. We’ll have to go to the airport
now,” Brent told me. He stood up. He offered me his arm.
“So soon?” I asked meekly. I was a mouse.
“I wouldn’t want you to change your mind,” he smiled. He
towered over me, grinning down. I lifted an arm, to ward him off? I
caught his sleeve with my hand. He drew me up.
When I was standing he lifted my chin with his finger and
looked at me. My eyes raised to his. I felt bold as I let my eyes
clash with his and then, quite suddenly, he kissed me. I felt his hand
clasp my back and then sink lower. My skirt was in the way. He lifted
it. He palmed my bottom with his hand. I wore cashmere panties, thin
as rice paper.
“DON’T!” I squeaked as his finger probed into the stretchy seat
of my undies, prying into the crack of my ass.
“You mustn’t say ‘don’t,’” he replied. I felt my throat
constrict. He kissed me hard.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door and we were apart; just
standing, it seemed, though I was blushing a little and my hair, so
perfectly coiffed and piled atop my head, had become a little mussed.
He was breathing hard. I dropped my eyes and inadvertently looked at
his crotch. I saw a tent there, trying to break open his zipper.
“Mr. Carson?” the female who’d let me in asked. She opened the
door to his office, looked in. “A modeling agency wants to send several
applicants over. Would you like me to make appointments for them?”
Brent cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “That won’t be
necessary.”
“Alright,” his secretary replied. She closed the door. I
looked at Brent with renewed admiration.
“Do you really want to hire me?” I asked him. I lifted a hand
and tried to fix my hair.
“Yes, I want to... hire you,” Brent answered. His voice was
commanding. He seemed to shiver for a moment with passion and then he
looked abruptly away, picked up some papers on his desk. “We must go at
once,” he said.
“I’ll have to call my mom,” I replied.
“On the plane,” Brent replied. “It’s noisy and the connection
won’t be the best. It’s expensive, too, so she won’t, in the end,
expect you to talk for long.” He looked at me again. “Is there anyone
else you need to placate?”
I glanced down at my shoes. “No,” I said. “I just live with
my mom. She said I should get a job because I party too much.”
Brent laughed. He pulled an expensive greeting card from
amidst his papers and handed it to me. “Here, fill this out,” he said.
“We’ll mail it to your mom at the airport. Tell her you’re taking a
five day trip for Genovese Diamond Co. and you’re to be interviewed in
Bolivia.”
“Interviewed?” I asked. He gave me a business card with the
face of a kindly old woman on it. It said ‘proprietor’ under her
photograph.
“Yes, interviewed,” Brent said. “Your mom would never approve
if you were simply hired and spirited away, but she’ll probably accept
the fact that we flew you down to our headquarters to interview you.
After all, she told you to get interviewed, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” I admitted. I sat down with the card and filled it
out. Brent gave me a check for $2,000 to put into the envelope with the
card. It was a very proper-looking check, from the Genovese Diamond
Co. “Is there really a Genovese Diamond Co.” I asked him.
“Of course not. But the check will cash,” Brent said.
“What line of business are you in?” I asked him. I licked the
envelope as I spoke. He gazed at my tongue.
“I’m just a rich playboy,” he smiled. Neatly I pasted the back
of the envelope down with my hands.
“You should be put in jail for hiring someone like me to be
your love slave,” I said. I felt a sense of pride and power as I
spoke. I was a play policewoman again at Kate’s.
“I should be shot, I’m sure,” Brent said. He made me stand and
he took my arm. We walked out of his office. “Cancel all my other
appointments,” Brent told his secretary. And then it was just the two
of us, alone, in the hall. We walked to the elevator and he pushed the
button for us. When the car arrived the bellboy looked disappointed.
Yes, I’d found someone cuter than him, and much wealthier, and more
powerfully built, and... more demanding? Yes, I guessed that was true
too. More demanding.
We made a quick stop at a photographer’s and Brent got me fake
I.D. and a fake Visa and Passport. I looked cute in my photo, with my
Hello Kitty pencil sticking up, my hair repaired but just a little
askew, as if I were going someplace in a hurry, and my eyes wide, with
extra makeup on them, to make me look older. Brent kept my passport for
me. He said I wouldn’t need anything myself; he’d provide everything I
required.
We were soon settled into First Class on a 747. The
stewardesses were nice; they didn’t pry like I feared they might. I
think they mistook Brent for my father. Either that or he was just too
handsome for them to pepper with questions. We were treated just like
any other couple. I felt unusually mature. Just think: if my mom
hadn’t made me get a job I’d be on the beach trying to make some boy
have wet dreams. Instead I was accompanying a very wealthy playboy, a
man of the world, and he was taking complete care of me. The stewardess
offered me champagne and I happily accepted.
Mom wasn’t home when I called. Breathing a sigh of relief, I
left a message on her answering machine. Fortunately I didn’t have a
father. I’ve known some girls who’ve met really nice guys only to have
Dad decide he didn’t like them. Well, I didn’t have that problem. I’d
always wished for a father who lived with me and mom but, really, at age
16 it was just too late. So a quick message to mom solved all my
problems, with a card in her mailbox soon after. As I hung up the phone
on the plane I felt giddy and queasy at the same time. I was free! But
my new love was not just another boy who’d happily settle for a quick
blow. He was possessive. And he had my I.D.s. All I had was my Hello
Kitty pencil and my purse with my makeup and bubblegum in it. I took a
deep breath, calmed myself, and then walked back to my seat. He sat on
the outside, I sat by the window. He let me pick my way past him and
when I sat down again he looked at me.
“Did you call your mom?” he asked.
“She wasn’t home,” I answered.
“Fine,” he replied. He went back to reading his magazine. I
looked out the window and watched the clouds floating by beneath us.
They looked happy. I felt a happy tenseness inside myself and didn’t
know whether I was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. But then,
I like that. It makes me hold my breath and contemplate and worry a
little. And when, well, when whatever happens happens, it blows my
mind.
The flight cruised on. They had us draw the shades so we could
watch a movie. The film was boring, but in the darkness Brent and I
necked. I was really getting to like him now. At the airport, despite
the high prices, he’d bought me a fur coat. It hung in the closet at
the rear of First Class at the moment, but I couldn’t stop thinking
about it. Imagine, my very own fur! I let Brent grope my breasts and I
found the tent in his pants and caressed it. We were really getting hot
and heavy as the film wound on through some boring plot about space
aliens. ‘We have come to conquer earth.’ Yeah, right. Well, I’d come
to serve man. My man, Brent. Whenever a stewardess passed we had to
stop. After all, they might be thinking he was my father. We didn’t
want to look improper!
Brent had me pretty high in all my erogenous zones when he drew
a pair of police handcuffs from his inner jacket pocket. They were
metal; suddenly I understood why I saw him passing money to the guard at
the metal detector. I bit my lip and watched as he took hold of my
arms, drawing them back behind me, the handcuffs lying for the moment on
my thigh; open, unlocked. When he had my wrists behind my back he
locked his handcuffs on them.
“Sit back, don’t let anyone see,” Brent told me. We kissed
some more. I was feeling really hot now. It was amazing to be sitting
there, wearing my prim business suit, in First Class, the stewardesses
breezing by now and then, but with my hands tightly locked behind me.
----------------------------------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Brent had a new surprise in store for me a few minutes later.
“Lift up your bottom,” he told me. I obeyed. He reached inside my
skirt, someplace he’d not gone before. He did it quite frankly, without
asking. He grabbed the crotch of my panties. He drew them down my legs
and, when he’d got them past my heels, he put them inside his coat
pocket where the handcuffs had been just a little earlier.
“You’re wicked,” I said to him. It was one thing for him to
feel my bottom in his office and grope my breasts on the plane, but to
actually take off my panties? I wanted to make him put them back on but
I didn’t want to betray our love to the stews.
“You haven’t seen wicked yet,” Brent grinned. From someplace
in his jacket he drew out an ostrich feather. It was very delicate and
fluffy at the end. He lifted up the front of my dress. I let out a
little gasp as he introduced it between my legs and slid it up to touch
my bare cunny.
“Don’t cry out,” he warned me.
“I won’t,” I whimpered. I didn’t want to get us in trouble. I
bit my lip and stifled a moan as he gently teased my clit with the
feather. Up and down, up and down it went, then round, and up and down
and round again. I was going wild!
A stewardess approached. He slid the feather out and dangled
it in the darkness below my knees. I gasped. She looked in on us.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked politely.
“Not now,” Brent replied, a little annoyed.
“Sorry to bother you,” she answered, and drifted away.
Brent picked up the feather again. He slid it back inside my
dress.
“Don’t,” I begged, but I felt the feather touch me again as I
spoke, right where my legs met, where my cunny dwelled in all its
girlish ambivalence.
“You’re not permitted to say ‘Don’t,’” Brent reminded me.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE 90’s
by Steve De France
This blue-haired crone
runs her 97 urban assault
4x4 Jeep up my tail pipe.
I’m trying to park.
But I’m boxed in and
Medusa lays on the horn.
It trumpets away.
She’s too close, I can’t back up.
It’s a new Yuppie parking space.
Engineered only large enough for German sub
compacts, if you don’t want to open doors.
She won’t budge. I back up till
our bumpers kiss.
I park.
Get out of my car.
She tries to run over my foot,
rolls by jeering, leering
and leaning on the horn.
A good thing she left.
I mean dragging old ladies
screaming out of highly mortgaged vehicles
at 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning -- dragging them
out without unfastening
their seat belts
smarts a bit -- and then, stomping them into the
ground with my trendy new mountain boots is not a
very Zen way to begin a spiritual journey, even if its
only a trip to the market.
ATTENTION, FEMINISTS !
Looking for something to do? Something useful? Read “The pill
in Japan,” on page 21 of The Economist, November 8, 1997. The issue
just came out, so you have all this week to buy a copy and read it.
AND IN THE END...
THE CRITICS ATTACK !
“His characters, particularly his women, were cardboard, his
writing... clumsy.”
- The Economist, November 1, 1997, pg. 92. (spoken of James Michener,
not me! - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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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 311 EMISSION
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