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From: Andrew Roller <andrewroller@sprintmail.com>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 274 Bush League (nnd)
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QUEER JESUS
Jesus Christ walked past the barber shop. He considered,
briefly, getting his hair cut. After all, Julius Caesar had short
hair. But Jesus had long hair. Jesus decided against the haircut. He
was a fag. He liked having long hair. With long hair, he could pretend
to be a woman. That was always fun, cross-dressing. Then, when he
walked the streets, especially at night, men would try to pick him up
and have sex with him.
Jesus already had his own mini-harem. It consisted of twelve
men. He called them his 12 disciples. People wondered sometimes why
Jesus, who was popular with prostitutes like Mary Magdalene, didn’t have
sex with them. Jesus knew why. He was too busy having sex with his
twelve disciples!
Jesus tugged on his robe. It was long and flowing. It looked
like a woman’s dress. Some men, like Julius Caesar, wore a short tunic,
with a belt around it. But Jesus favored long, dress-like robes. It
made it all the easier for him to pick up new boyfriends on Friday and
Saturday night.
Jesus knew it was wrong for him to break the Judaic law. Yet
he was always going around breaking it, enraging the priests and the
Levites. This was because Jesus was a masochist. He knew someday
they’d catch him, and whip him. That excited Jesus. Perhaps, if he was
lucky, they’d even nail him up on a cross. He’d probably be wearing
very little clothing when they did that to him. If he popped a boner,
up there on the cross, everybody would be able to see it. That excited
Jesus even more. He knew there might be lots of men, and young boys,
looking up at him, hanging from the cross, just after being freshly
flogged, and he’d pop a boner and show them how big he was.
Jesus felt a little worried, in his excitement. What if he had
to pee, while he was hanging up there on the cross? He’d be up there,
and those big hunky Roman Centurions would be down below him, dividing
up his clothes! How delicious, being stripped naked by big hunky
soldiers, and then whipped, and then strung up, showing all the world
your boner, while big men competed with each other to see which of them
would get to keep your clothes.
And if Jesus had to pee, or to poop, hanging up there on that
big, wooden cross, well he’d just do it -- right on the heads of those
Roman centurions. Maybe they’d get angry, getting peed on the head like
that. Maybe one of those soldiers would lift up his big, long,
penis-like spear, and stick Jesus with it! Maybe right in Jesus’ ass!
Jesus felt himself having hot flashes. “Suffer -- the little
children to come unto meeee!” he said, and started whacking himself off,
right there in the street. That, too, was a violation of the Judaic
law, and Jesus hoped he might get himself arrested for that.
But Jesus’ time had not yet come. (Though he himself did come,
standing there in the street.)
“And best of all,” Jesus said to himself, “People will be
stupid enough to worship me, after I’m dead. After all, as P.T. Barnum
will say someday, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’
“Big dudes, who think themselves ‘total men,’ hating fags, and
pedophiles, and thinking themselves very moral, will go to church every
week, and look up at me, hanging there on the cross in their church
(with my boner showing just a little),” Jesus told himself. “Yes, even
though I’m basically the Pee Wee Herman of Roman history, these big men
will spend all their life worshipping me, a long-haired, dress-wearing,
unemployed, law breaking shit! And they’ll even be stupid enough to
criticize people who don’t worship me. And they’ll pass lots of laws
too, ‘Don’t drink on Sunday,’ ‘Don’t read this,’ ‘Don’t do that.’”
Jesus liked that. “Lots of laws, stupid laws, that people would wind up
breaking, and have to be punished for,” Jesus said, musing, as he
continued to whack off in the street. “OOOoooh! Such a society would
have to have LOTS of prisons! And more prisoners, per capita, than any
nation on earth. More even than the Soviet Union will ever have!” Jesus
screamed happily. He reflected, as he built toward another orgasm, on
where such a country like this would have to be. It would have to be,
he decided, located in the New World. (Which wasn’t discovered yet.)
Only the New World could contain such a big, dumb country.
“They’ll probably give such a country a dumb name,” Jesus told
himself. “Not Greece, or Rome. Or France, or Germany. No, it will
have a really long name, like a really long penis. The United States of
America. Yes! That’s a nice long name. With lots of laws in it, and
prisons, and prisoners, and wardens, and sheriffs, and chain gangs. And
lots of hypocrites too, who shout epithets at the prisoners on the chain
gangs, just like I’ll (hopefully) have epithets shouted at me, when I’m
hanging up there on the cross!”
Being a masochist, and a gay, Jesus found all this speculation
about a big, dumb country with lots of sadistic laws to be very
exciting.
“And this country, worshipping me, will probably have lots of
nuclear weapons.” Jesus decided. “Enough to kill everyone on earth, or
at least to make them suffer very GREATLY. And this big, hypocritical
nation will even try out these big bombs. Not once, but twice! Yes!
Blowing away lots of men, women, and CHILDREN too! Why? Because, I’ll
bet, a few of its ships will be sunk in some harbor. Pearl Harbor.
Yes. For a few sunken ships, and a few soldiers killed, America, that
big fucking country, will kill thousands of schoolchildren on their way
to school, in Hiroshima and Nagasaki! And women too. And then this
big, dumb-ass country will go on to claim it’s protecting children, when
in fact it has the blood of thousands of dead Japanese children on its
hands.”
Jesus went into new orgasms, standing there in the street,
thinking of all the dumb fucks who would be stupid enough to worship him
in the years to cum. Especially the ones in that country with the long,
penis-like name.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 274
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Four
I flopped down on the bed. My job was done. With frightened,
but sexually-heated eyes, I watched as Bambi drew a strap from the
whip-bag and curled it through her fingers. Then, with my ass poised
high to receive it, she brought it down hard on my bottom.
I walked as daintily as I could, but my bottom hurt and it
moved with an impulse of its own. I was wearing a dress so small it lay
high on my ass, lying neatly across its upper curve but showing all
beneath. Within my cleft a large dildo had been driven. I hoped the
guests would not notice. I advanced to their table with my pad in hand,
ready to take their order. Except for my nothing skirt I wore only a
chiffon scarf, tied round my neck. I’d been freed of my manacles. In
their place I did, however, wear small lace gloves on my hands, and
hightop black booties. But my bosoms hung free, my belly was bare, and
my thighs, my calves, all were naked. In front my dress dipped just low
enough to almost hide all of my pubis. A little showed under the hem.
It was not quite long enough to hide all of me.
“Good evening sir, madam,” I nodded. I had a neat little
maid’s cap on my head. The man gazed at my tits musingly for a moment,
saying nothing. Then he let his hand slip beneath my skirt and he
tugged very lightly at my pubic mound.
“How sweet,” the gentleman’s lady friend said. There was a
second couple at the table with them and they smiled at me, at each
other. The women wore party dresses. The men were in tuxes.
As I stood taking their order, the woman closest to me touched
my thigh and turned me so that she could admire my heinie. She gasped
when she saw the big dildo stuffed into it. It had a flanged end to
keep the whole thing from going up me. It was my job to walk
tight-assedly, keeping the thing up me. Rose had decided it would teach
me ‘bottom control,’ and had denied me a g-string chain at the last
minute to hold the dildo in place. From my dildo a plumed feather grew,
as if to show off that which made me so uncomfortable. The woman gasped
as she saw the source of my feather.
“My, dear, you’ve got quite a dong stuck up you,” she breathed.
“Oh, let me see!” the woman with her declared. I was made to
show my ass to them all. Their order was temporarily forgotten. I
blushed deeply as they examined my bottom, touched my plume, caressed
(though the occasion did not call for it) my moistening slit.
When at last they had satisfied themselves, they made me write
down the rest of their order. Then I went to the kitchen with it, all
of them watching my ass as I walked away. I felt mortified. Rose would
not have wanted it any other way. I was a newly-minted resident of Cunt
Castle now. I was one rank up from novice love slave. I was
experienced now, both having received and given a whipping. I felt
accomplished. Despite my embarrassment I walked as one does when she is
proud of her place in life. I let them see the still-fading marks on my
bottom from the strapping I’d let Bambi give me. I’d let her...I could
not believe it. I’d stuck up my bottom to her and asked for it. How
ridiculous, how selfless, how daring...but I’d done it. And she’d
strapped me quite vigorously. Rose had been surprised at my boldness.
Our party had disintegrated after that, all of us but Cheyenne fucking
in and around my bed like wild Indians. At last, remembering Cheyenne,
we unfastened her from the post and encouraged, with not inconsiderable
effort, Louis and Andre to become hard one last time and do her. They’d
been called upon again and again that morning, but somehow we managed to
inspire new sperm in their balls. They were made to pump it into poor,
crying Cheyenne, who received it pettishly, but thankfully, I’m sure,
after all I’d made her suffer.
Now I was enjoying my new rank as an experienced love slave. I
was the same rank as Joanne and Sylvia now. I was in charge of serving
meals in Cunt Castle’s guest dining room. I didn’t cook them, merely
took orders and kept the guests entertained. And, simultaneously, I was
having my bottomhole widened. At least as much as I could stand it. I
was trying my best to accommodate Louis’s wishes. Rose said I could
cheat a little if I wanted to, and take the dildo out now and then, but
I was trying my best not to. Each day she promised to give me a larger
one to hold inside myself. Sometimes the g-string chain would be used.
Today, though, she wanted to see if I could keep it within myself by
holding my asscheeks tight as I could. It was kind of hard, given how
big the dildo was, and how much it stretched and widened me. Yet I
tried, biting my lip sometimes, getting help at other times to stick it
back up me if it started to come out.
“Four chicken dinners on table one,” I announced to Brent,
entering the kitchen. He’d been found doing unspeakable things with his
own daughters in the children’s nursery and had to promise to work in
the kitchen for a week to avoid having his wife told about it. He wore
a chef’s hat. His hairy chest was bare, his cock hard, despite the
closeness of the grill he slaved over. He did not seem unhappy. I
think he was intrigued with me, and the promise and availability of my
body. Well, I didn’t have to keep the chef happy, I reminded myself,
just the guests. But he looked enticing with his big cock, working
manfully over his grill.
“Alright, I’ll put four chickens on the grill,” Brent told me.
Currently he was roasting hot dogs, for Rose’s lunch, out back in the
dayroom with Polly and Louis and Andre and (sitting on pillows)
Cheyenne.
“Don’t get your own too close to that,” I reminded Brent.
“How thoughtful... may I put it someplace where the sun doesn’t
shine to keep it warm?” he asked me. He glanced at me.
“Maybe later,” I suggested. I began pouring drinks for my
guests. Two Bloody Marys and two Gin and Tonics. Brent gazed
approvingly at my ass.
“I’m glad you’re wearing that thing,” he told me. “You’ll have
trouble taking me, big as I am.”
“You’re no bigger than my Louis,” I replied.
“Still, you’ll feel me quite well, I can assure you, no matter
how receptive you try to make that pretty little ass of yours.”
“You have a cute butt yourself,” I replied. “Have you ever
thought of having one of those broiled hot dogs stuffed up it?”
“Hey, I was only trying to be friendly,” Brent said.
“So was I,” I replied. “Remember, I’m qualified to be a domme
now!” He shuddered and left off watching my heinie and went back to
cooking his dogs and my chickens. “Nice and spicy,” I reminded him.
“You know, the chickens...”
“Oh, it will be nice and spicy, when I fuck you,” Brent said to
me.
“We’ll see...” I called to him, and left the kitchen, walking
carefully, carrying the drinks for my guests on a small silver tray.
They admired me as I walked across the room toward them, my breasts
jiggling, my steps mincing to keep the dildo from popping out of me. I
was submissive. I was happy. They would rape me before their dinner
was done but I told myself not to worry about it. I had learned to
serve. When I arrived at their table one of the women picked up a
cannister of Cool-Whip. She’d kept it hidden ‘til now, but I guessed
she must have fetched it from the kitchen before they even sat down.
Guests take liberties like that, sometimes, at the Castle, especially if
they’ve visited before.
I lifted their drinks one by one from my tray. Bending
forward, my breasts dangling, I served each of them their drinks. As I
stood erect to leave the woman with the cream stilled me with a hand on
my thighs. Then she lifted up the front of my skirt. She aimed the
whipped cream at my pussy. I tried not to flinch. She depressed the
top of the can and I felt chilly cream squirt all over my mound. Then
she replaced my dress.
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hi, christians. Are you reading this? Don’t skip any parts of this,
okay?
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“There. Now I don’t have to worry about my husband looking at
your pussy each time your dress flips up,” she said to me. “As for your
nipples, I have a more permanent solution.” She put down the can of
cream and opened her purse. I gasped as I saw her draw out two nipple
clips. She put her hand to the small of my back and made me lean
forward to receive them. I winced as each was clipped on to my erect
nipples. It hurt! I tried not to cry out but I couldn’t help myself.
The clips were heavy. I worried that they might make my breasts sag.
They did draw my breasts downward a little. I was proud of my high,
firm breasts. I didn’t want them ruined.
“Hurry with our dinner and I’ll take the clips off when it
arrives,” the woman told me in a no-nonsense tone.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said with an abashed look. Despite my pride
and my self-confidence, she’d found a way to bring me down. I turned
and, struggling to hold back my tears, I walked to the kitchen. I could
feel my breasts bobbing and hanging with each of my steps. They felt as
if Christmas ornaments had been hung from them. I was acutely aware of
the clips. They made me think of my breasts in new ways. I was a thing
on which objects could be hung, for amusement. Brent laughed when he
saw me come into the kitchen.
“Don’t expect me to allow you to take those off in here,” he
warned, as he saw me reach up to try to dislodge one of the clips.
“You’re mean,” I pouted.
“Clipped and creamed and stuffed,” he said, flipping a chicken
on the grill, admiring me as he spoke. “I’d say you’re pretty well
accounted for, young lady.”
“Just hurry up and get those chickens cooked!” I snapped.
“Only if you play with me while I do,” he answered. I agreed,
went up to him, and took hold of his dick. I fondled it with my
fingers. I drew it dangerously close to the grill, so that he had to
yank himself back to keep from getting burned. He laughed. I giggled,
feeling the weights jangle on my breasts. I was still happy, after
all. Life was strange here at the castle, but I hoped it never ended.
After my exhausting service at lunch I was taken upstairs by
Sylvia and Joanne. They bathed me in my tub. Joanne plumped up my
breasts and tweaked my nipples. They felt good. I was glad I was free
of those awful weights. Sylvia experienced difficulty in bathing me.
She was bound into a tight corset. Her hair was long, loose, combed
back and pinned into place by a small pair of barrettes. She was naked
except for her corset. It did not cup her breasts, or cover them. It
left them as free as if she were an Indian maiden, untried by men and
unbroken. Her legs, her ankles, even her feet were bare. But the
corset bound her middle like an iron grip.
“Take it off,” I told her. I rubbed one of my nipples with my
hand. It ached from the clamp. I did not want to see her constricted
so. There was no need. She was slim and beautiful.
“No,” Joanne cautioned. She took my hand from my breast and
kissed it, then placed it into the bubbled water of the bath. She
fondled my breast for me. I was to do nothing. They had even wiped me
after my potty. “She is wearing it for her branding. It will constrict
her waist even more and plump out her bottom.” I gasped. I looked at
Sylvia. She was not as nonplussed as she’d been in earlier days. She
nodded, said nothing. “Just do her hair. I’ll do the rest of her.
That way you won’t have to bend over so much,” Joanne told Sylvia. Then
she confided in me: “We help and support each other as much as we can.
Our masters are very demanding.”
AND IN THE END...
WITCHES! FAGS! COMMIES! PEDOPHILES!
escaped slaves! marauding Indians! immigrants!
“Raising fearful spectres is a well-tried device of governments
under political pressure (or of generals who want bigger budgets.)”
- The Economist, May 10, 1997, pg. 36.
(Enemies, both foreign and domestic! - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 274 EMISSION
- mine eyes have seen the glory of the cumming of the lord.
--
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