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From: ROLLER666@aol.com
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 257 Cunt Castle (nnd)
SPAMMER CONFESSES GUILT
Dear Fuck Decency - Please accept my apology for spamming you, and
other publishers of 'indecent' material on the Internet. I'm having my
picture published this week in The Economist magazine and I've decided now is
a good time to come clean about my spamming activities. (The Economist,
April 26, 1997, pg. 83.)
After a sabbatical, during which I spammed every author and
newsgroup I could find, I am once again returning to my regular duties as
Secretary of the Christian Perdition. Although I still feel people who stray
from the uplifting newsgroup alt.barney are sinners, and will be sent to
Hell, I now realize that, since "God is Love," it was wrong for me to sit
around in my underwear spamming people.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 257
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter Three
I felt Brad's cock bump up against my hole. He was kneeling behind
me now, as Dave lowered himself to the floor to do Rose. Darwin was already
enjoying Rose's succulent mouth. She was an expert at 'blowing' men and she
used him with her lips even as her hands remained on the control box.
"I expect she's very good," I called out to Darwin, feeling Brad at
my rear. "Let her control you and you'll last a nice long time, I'll bet."
"I hope so! This is heaven!" Darwin answered me. I liked him. He
was just a big blonde, dumb dude. He had a grin on his face as wide as the
Cheshire Cat's and I hoped someday I could show as much skill as Rose did.
She blew him gently, licking his cock and then puffing on it, stopping a
moment, then inhaling him deeply, right back against her throat. Polly
blubbered from her place on the floor, little snivelling sounds that I
expected were invitations to Darwin to take her instead. But Darwin was
supremely happy with his manhood in Rose's mouth and Polly, poor soul, would
lose this battle to her own stubbornness. For once nobody would command her
to obey, and she'd find she didn't like that, after all.
Rose started the bronco. At once Cheyenne began bouncing, lightly,
while at the same time she felt the nozzled penis enquiring in her ass.
Unlike Polly, she reached back and opened her bottomcheeks to receive it
more easily. There was no use fighting against something you couldn't
control. I wondered if I'd have that much courage if I was put on the horse.
Brad's cockhead dug into my bottom. I took a deep breath and tried
to relax. I knew this would hurt some, but I'd taken Andre just the night
before and survived. Now it was Brad's turn. I felt used, like a whore, but
he didn't seem to mind, and he drove into me so hard I had to ball my hand
into a fist and bite it.
"Good, good, don't spare her. She needs to learn," Rose told Brad.
She held Darwin's cock aloft, twixt her fingers, as she spoke. Like a
cigar. I wished she hadn't encouraged Brad for he took hold of my hips and
rammed me back upon his tool, going still deeper. I shouted. It felt like
some huge cork was being stoppered up my ass. Briefly I wondered if I'd
somehow get stuck on him.
Rose yelped as Dave took her with more vigor than she'd expected.
Even as Brad reamed me, and the horse did Cheyenne, bouncing her more
jubilantly, making her cry out with shock, Rose got hers too. We were three
females, submitting to love, and finding it more gruelling than ever we'd
hoped. The men, mechanical or real, were lusty and hard and not to be taken
lightly. I wished Brad would shoot. I tightened my cheeks on him but he
overcame me, urging me, kissing me now, leaning close and cupping my breasts.
In the corner of my eye I saw Polly had begun to masturbate herself. Rose
would scold her later for that, I was sure, doing herself when a man had been
available for her.
I rode Brad and Rose rode upon Dave as Cheyenne found her anus fully
invaded by the horse. Amidst gasps and cries and screams of pleasure and
just a touch of pain, we ran our course. At last we lay touching and kissing
upon the towels, spent, happy. Rose eventually got up and served us drinks.
Cheyenne, let down from the horse, consoled herself in the arms of Polly,
and we ended the night watching the two of them wriggle into a spontaneous
69. Neither of them knew what it was called. They simply found comfort in
their shared experience, their shared anal torment upon the horse. Their
kisses evolved into licks and finally into the deepest embrace of all, with
each of them putting their noses up the others' slit. On the ride back to
the castle they both sat quite bashfully. They put the entire length of the
limo seat between themselves. They did not want to be thought lesbians, and
none of us, not even me, accused them of it.
Eventually, as the limo rolled along, Polly fell asleep. Her head
drooped as she rode beside me and I watched as her eyelids fluttered closed.
Soon her head was on my shoulder. I patted her hair. It was best, I
thought, given what Rose kept promising us. I glanced up at her. She gazed
ahead, saying nothing. Sylvia mixed drinks for us.
"Have a little something, Fleury," Rose said to me. I knew why. To
lessen the agony of the whipping. I accepted, quietly. I sipped it. "Drink
it all. You'll need it," Rose told me. We wore towels about ourselves. Our
bikinis were lost, strewn back at the cabana on the dancefloor someplace.
Being stepped on, perhaps, as the night wound down.
In a second seat, farther up, Joanne had stretched out. She'd been
given over to a gang-bang by Sylvia at the club. Six men had gone down on
her, while Sylvia prepped them, each in turn, Joanne tied over a trestle so
she couldn't refuse. When all had been spent, save the last, Sylvia took him
for herself.
We arrived at the castle. The moon was already set. I looked up as
we got out and thought I saw bats flutter upward, high in the castle towers.
I'd not been up there. I half expected to see myself, letting down my hair,
begging to be freed.
The driver carried Polly to her room. We parted company at the top
of the stairs. Sylvia, still chipper, took me to my own room. We walked in
silence. She put me in the bathroom and I sat on the furred seat of the
potty, fretting, while she ran a bath for me. She helped me into it when it
was ready and slipped into the warm waters with me and bathed me. I felt
limp. She washed me like a little girl might wash a doll. She was very
attentive, shampooing my hair, scrubbing me right down to my toes, doing my
back and my bottom for me. Afterward, when I'd been rinsed and toweled dry,
she had me sit on the potty again. She placed a soft washcloth on it first,
because when I first sat on it I still had sperm dripping from my hiney-hole
from being fucked by Brad. We'd kissed goodbye, promised to meet there
again, but I doubted we ever would. He was just my lover for the night,
though I'd liked him very much. I belonged to Louis. And I was about to
suffer for his love as I never had before.
As I sat on the potty's seat Sylvia did my makeup. She worked
diligently, until everything was quite impeccable. You'd have thought I'd
been going to a grand ball, not simply to bed. Then she stood me up, and
walked me to the bed. I got in, slowly, letting her pull down the covers
first. When I'd laid down she pulled my hands up and over my head and bound
them to the back of my collar. I was imprisoned now. I still had my feet,
but I knew she'd lock the door when she left. She kissed me goodnight. I
could not resist her lips, with my hands bound behind me. She drew up the
covers over me. Then she pulled back the curtain to let in the night air and
the stars.
"Don't jump out the window," she teased.
"I want to," I confessed. She kissed me again.
"Don't worry," she said. "In the morning it will all be over. Try
to get some sleep. Waiting's no fun."
I promised myself I'd stay wide awake. Slowly, though, exhaustion
crept up on me. It might have taken only 15 minutes, perhaps a half hour.
When I next regained consciousness it was with a jolt, as delicate fingers
drew my covers down.
"Are you Branson?" I asked sleepily. I found myself staring into
the deep blue eyes of a young, vivacious blonde.
"I'm his niece," she told me. To my surprise I saw she was dressed
in a playsuit. "Branson's doing Polly," she told me simply. "But I'll be
tougher, I can assure you. I know how much a woman can really take." I
gazed at her with astonished eyes. She bent over me, confident,
self-possessed. Her hair was perfect, long and blonde with gentle flowing
curls in it. Her teeth were white. Her playsuit, white with little red
velvet triangles, fit her like a glove. There was not much to it. A simple
band of fabric, quite thin, looped round behind her neck. Then, in front,
the playsuit looked a bit like a one-piece swimsuit, except that nothing
covered her breasts except small lace-edged cups. They were held up by the
strip of fabric round her neck. Otherwise, they would have fallen right
down. Nothing covered her shoulders, her back, or even her front, except a
narrow strip of sheer, rose-patterned nylon that ran from her nothing bra
cups down to her pubic mound, where it slipped back between her legs to meet
a single thread-like strip of lace that crossed entirely around her waist.
One other thread-like strip crossed round behind her, joining the base of
the bra cups just like a swimsuit top did. You could almost say that she
wore a bikini, except it was made of lace and connected in front by the
narrow strip of sheer nylon that ran down from her breasts, over her tummy,
to meet her delta.
Where her delta was a red satin triangle beckoned. It's color was
in sharp contrast to the whiteness of the rose-patterned nylon that made up
the playsuit. I saw that a tiny white bow held up the red triangle. Untie
it, and you had immediate access to her pubis. The same held true for her
bra cups. White nylon circled her breasts, decorating them, but in the
middle a slender triangle was tied up over each of her bosoms. Untie each of
them, and her boobs would fall out and hang free. Of course, she was young,
no more than 19, so her breasts jutted against the red satin triangles like
juggernauts waiting to be launched into the sea. Each movement of her nubile
form sent those twin rocket tits joggling softly over me, the red satin
triangles straining to contain them.
"You have a cute playsuit," was all I could say, looking up at her.
She had on long crystal earrings that dangled freely from her ears and made
little tinkling sounds, like chimes. Elbow length gloves, not quite reaching
all the way to her elbows, accented the red in her playsuit. While they were
red, her thigh-high stockings were white. She was a true playmate, laced up
with all the trimmings. But in her hand she held a birch rod. It had a
little red and white lace bow tied at the handle end, while a spray of fresh
birches stemmed out from the handle and hung loosely over my eyes.
"When I get hot from whipping you I can untie the triangles, see?"
Branson's niece teased me. She tugged slightly at the white bow that held up
the red satin triangle over her nearest breast. "And later, if I get really
hot, I can of course untie myself down here too," she added, pointing down
toward her delta with her finger. Then she carefully laid her birch rod
aside and lifted me up from the bed. I helped a little, scrambling up with
my feet, trying to find purchase on the sheets. It was hard, with my hands
bound so ruthlessly over my head and behind my neck. She got me completely
standing up, right on the bed, as if I were a 6-year-old playing games. She
made sure I planted my feet solidly on the sheets. I wore no shoes. With
the care of an X-Ray technician she positioned me, leaning me forward a
little. Then she snapped a bar out from the wall and fixed it to the front
of my dog collar. I was caught now, a fish hooked on a stiff pole. She
pried open my mouth and snapped a small piece of wood up from the surface of
the horizontal pole. This little piece, angled upward, she fitted into my
mouth. It had a red ball on the end of itself. When I was gagged on the
rubber ball she strung a strap round the back of my head, running it under my
hair as best she could. The strap, attached to the base of the rubber ball,
kept me attached to it.
"Can you breathe O.K.?" Branson's niece asked me. I tried to nod,
could not, but she got the message. "I'm Bambi," she said to me. "Just in
case you're wondering. But people have nicknamed me Thumper, as you'll soon
see why."
I felt like I was at the dentist's. A big red ball was stuffed into
my mouth and I was bent forward as if to have my bottom x-rayed. Bambi
examined my bottom next, tracing her gloved fingers over it, prying apart the
cheeks, feeling within my hole a little with her finger. She cupped my
breasts, hefted them in each hand, as if I were livestock having my essential
parts weighed. At last she stroked my thighs, cooing at how lovely they
were, and when her hands reached my juncture she felt a little for my spot
and touched me there, reassuringly, like a dentist might before he begins
drilling.
I gazed out at the night sky. Even the stars seemed to be setting
now, and I hoped morning would arrive before she could get started.
Within the privacy of the canopy she laid out her implements of
flagellation like an artist might lay out his brushes. She gave me a mirror
to watch, and I sometimes did, furtively, glancing off to the side to see
what her reflection was doing. I saw her kneel upon the bed, quite happy and
self-possessed. Among her implements she placed before herself a cane,
several paddles, and three whips. I glanced away, too scared to look. My
bottom cheeks bunched together. I felt my white ass flesh jiggling with
nervous fear.
Bambi brushed back her hair. She selected the birch rod first, with
awful nubs. She was kneeling, and seemed excited. She untied both her bra
triangles as she knelt behind me, staring at my bottom. I saw her tits
spring out and they quivered with lovely grace. Oh, how could one girl do
this to another?
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Penthouse, June 1997, $6.99. http://www.penthousemag.com
Review: I am in grief. The Christians were right. Cyberspace is a
dangerous place.
Ample evidence of the dangers of Cyberspace is presented in a
pictorial in this month's Penthouse. It is titled "Universal Woman." In
this pictorial, a young blonde, described in the pictorial as "the most
beautiful woman in the cyber-verse," is kidnapped. She is put into an odd
contraption called "the chair." In the chair, she is forced to receive
diabolical tubes in all the orifices of her body. They are shoved in her
mouth. They are shoved in her cunt. And, on the final page of this
pictorial, they are even shoved up her ass!
Worse, this poor, young blonde has electrodes put on her nipples.
As her titties are shocked into erection, she's forced to imbibe awful male
sperm in all her bodily orifices.
Poor child! If only I'd known! Perhaps I could have protected you
somehow. Now it is too late. You're doomed to suck male sperm down your
throat, and have it forced up into your womb and into your tight little ass.
Alas! I am in grief. However, there is still hope for the rest of
America's females. And there is especially hope for our young.
Please, if you are charged with the care of a child, show them this
issue of Penthouse. Why merely lecture your daughter on the evils of the
"cyber-verse"? After all, a picture's worth a thousand words. Buy this
Penthouse and hand it to your daughter. Tell her, "See, honey? If you go
out into the 'cyber-verse' you could wind up like this girl -- stuffed with
cock!
In fact, I suggest you go a step further. Don't just show your
daughter some pictures. Demonstrate the Internet's dangers to her. Pull
down her panties and stick your dick in her, and put your finger in her
mouth, and another one of your fingers up her ass. Tell her, "See? This is
what might happen!!!" She can't help but get the point if you've rammed it
up her twat.
However, I realize some fathers will be reluctant to be so direct
with their daughters. That's what I'm here for. Just give me a call. I'll
be happy to show your daughter the dangers she faces.
The Internet isn't the only danger facing the young ladies of our
society. The Navy presents a danger too. In "Tania and Nicolai," an evil
communist sailor returns from the sea. A poor, misguided girl is waiting for
him on the dock. (Why? I assume because Christianity was banned in the
Soviet Union, and they had no nunneries there.) The sailor steps off his
ship and promptly violates this nubile young female. He induces her to suck
his cock. He yanks up her dress, and wickedly induces her to show him her
bottom. He licks her cunt. And he shoves his rockhard penis into her.
And you thought "Tailhook" was bad. But there's more! 19-year-old
Dayna Ann, barely old enough to read Fuck Decency, and too young to drink,
bares all in the pictorial "A Class by Herself." When she isn't utterly
nude, she's strutting around in lingerie made of red satin and chains.
Fear not, Christians! I am repenting now! At last I see the light.
I promise you, just as soon as I finish jacking off to this issue of
Penthouse, I too will support the CDA!
AND IN THE END...
ANOTHER CHILD MOLESTER!
"Massachusetts prosecutors are reviewing allegations, first printed
in The Boston Globe, that [39-year-old] Michael Kennedy, son of Robert F.
Kennedy, had a five-year affair with his children's babysitter that began
when she was 14."
- Newsweek, May 5, 1997, pg. 6.
(He must be shot! Right, America?)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 257 EMISSION
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