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From: andrewroller <andrewroller@sprintmail.com>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 275 Bush League (nnd) gB2
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YES, I GOT KICKED OFF inreach.com
Dear Reader,
Yes, I am once again back on the Internet! Those pesky
right-wing Christians managed to convince a “Mr. Smith” at inreach.com
to cancel my account. I was told by one “Ozzie” that my account was
cancelled because I was “making people angry” and “causing the system to
be mailbombed.”
Well, there are thousands of Internet Providers in this
country, and I have no problem going through each and every one of them,
if necessary, in order to continue bringing you my publication.
If you need to subscribe, or unsubscribe, now is the time to do
it. Send your e-mail to: andrewroller@sprintmail.com
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 275
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Four
...She confided in me: “We help and support each other as much
as we can. Our masters are very demanding.”
“I have not seen your...” I paused. I let my breath catch. I
did not want to say the word. “Master.”
“Rose is doing us herself. She receives instructions every
evening by telephone,” Joanne told me. “We have no idea what our
masters are up to.”
“Sleeping with other women, I’ll bet,” Sylvia said dolefully.
“You wish. Then you think that would give you an excuse not to
go through with your branding,” Joanne sniped.
“They could be, you never know...” Sylvia suggested.
“Or maybe they aren’t. Maybe you’re just scared,” Joanne told
her.
“Well, it’s my bottom that’s being branded, so I can be scared
if I want to,” Sylvia said.
They washed me in silence. When I was all freshened up I put
on a simple pair of panties and went down to the parlor. I eschewed
heels. It was warm out. I wanted to be barefoot. The castle was
lightly air conditioned, but Rose liked to keep it as natural as
possible. When I went into the parlor the windows were open. The
curtains were drawn, keeping the interior shady. A warm wind billowed
the curtains when it could and showed peeks of the parlor’s
inhabitants. I sat down among them. There was Andre, with Polly beside
him, clad in white panties as I was. Did we think alike? Louis was on
a loveseat near their couch. He wore a casual jacket and long pants,
plus loafers. Rose sat on a chair by herself, making another pouch out
of yarn.
“What are you knitting?” I asked her. Self-consciously I sat
down on the loveseat beside Louis. I pretended not to notice his eyes.
He drank me in, admiring my slim young figure and my uptilted breasts,
swinging free, my too skinny legs and my hair that I liked to wear free
and unfettered. I had my manacles on, of course, and my collar. I
never took those off. They were the symbols of my servitude to him.
“It’s for next Christmas,” Rose told me. She did not look up.
Maria came in with a bowl of oysters in hot tomato sauce. She handed
them to me. I saw Polly’s bowl had been set aside on the cocktail table
that fronted the couch she shared with Andre. She alone hadn’t touched
her oysters. Andre was finished, Louis was just polishing off his own
bowl. “When Christmas comes I’m having a very handsome young man over,
a virgin,” Rose said. Some ladies and I will get together and break the
lad in. “I don’t know who it must be, but I’ve got my requirements. He
must be young, preferably a little under 18, and shy. We like shy boys
at Christmas. He must be a young athlete. His cock must be
indefatigable, of course, which shouldn’t be a problem if he’s young,
which of course he must be.”
“How will you meet such a lad?” I asked, intrigued. I almost
envied whoever it would be. He would be royally feted, knowing Rose.
His only job would be to stay hard. How wonderful to be young and spend
Christmas with a roomful of ladies. He would come to the castle a boy
and leave quite the young Man, his cock probably aching and his balls
feeling like emptied-out sacks.
“I’m going to sponsor a surfing competition,” Rose said. She
threaded her yarn carefully through the evolving network that was
forming a perfect cock pouch for her Christmas boy to be. “In Brazil,
not here. Too many surfers would spoil the remoteness here. We’re
still pleasantly unknown here at the castle. But in Brazil, where the
boys are, and where I wish them to stay, except for specially invited
guests, I’ll sponsor a little surfing competition next December. The
waves will be up and, no doubt, so will my competitors. They’ll all be
strutting and showing their stuff to win the prize but myself and my
friends will be picking the winner of the real prize.”
I accepted a chilled glass of Arcticle beer from Maria, sipped
it. A foam mustache formed on my upper lip. Louis reached over and
wiped it off. I pushed his hand away. I wanted to hear Rose, not play
with Louis. “So some hunk will get the money prize, some experienced
man, no doubt, but you’ll be looking for someone else?” I asked.
“Yes,” Rose said. She finished her yarn pouch and held it up
proudly. It was large, fit for a stallion, but with a slenderness to it
that befitted a young, slim, still-growing lad. “He’ll be dejected that
he came in fourth, or fifteenth, or twenty-ninth, but I’ll console him
with my own special consolation prize, awarded privately. Like I said,
I have no idea who it’ll be. That’s what makes it fun, I guess. He’ll
be healthy and young and shy, which means he won’t have experienced
girls before. No VD, no herpes, none of that. Just a healthy young
thing, ready to fuck.”
I felt my eyes shining. It sounded very fun. I wanted to be
there, but I knew it would just be Rose and her closest friends, all
older ladies, hungry to be laid by a boy who, thinking himself doomed to
virginity, would suddenly find himself fucking like mad.
Louis reached out and toyed with my nipple.
“Louissss,” I complained, and pushed him away. He refused to
go.
“How’s the restaurant business?” he asked.
“Well, if you must know, it’s practically wore me out,” I said
to him.
“Good. Then at least I know who you’re fucking, and when,” he
answered. I turned to him.
“Is that the only reason you’re making me play waitress--to
keep control of my love life?” I asked him. There was a touch of anger
in my voice. He plucked an oyster from my bowl and forced it between my
lips.
“Eat,” Louis commanded me. I munched on my oyster.
Sylvia floated into the room. She sat her bare bottom down on
the couch beside me.
“You didn’t require her to have her dildo put back in after her
bath,” Sylvia said to Louis. She reached out and stroked my fanny.
“Never mind that,” Louis said. “I’m going to do her myself,
every night. I’ll keep myself inside her until morning.”
“You’ll have to stay HARD until morning,” Rose laughed. She
picked up her mug of Arcticle beer and swallowed down a big mouthful of
it. Her breasts lifted with her arm. She wore a simple cotton blouse.
It was loose and sheer. It hid nothing, letting her nipples show. They
grew pointedly into her blouse as she considered my fate at the hands of
Louis.
“I can stay hard all night,” Louis said casually. Rose touched
her throat, set down her beer on a low Rosewood flower stand beside her
chair.
“She’ll twitch and squirm her bottom all night,” Rose said.
“Think you can stand it?”
“Yes,” Louis replied, and I felt my own nipples perk up,
hearing him. Sylvia caressed my bottom and then lifted her hands to
accept a bowl of oysters from Maria. She cared for us well.
“I want Polly branded,” Andre said. Polly found herself
looking shocked and gazed about herself in wonderment. “Unless she eats
her oysters, that is,” Andre added. Polly glanced into her untouched
bowl and then looked away. “Yuck!” she declared. She was being a
little theatrical, I think.
“Andre dear, you must pick an older girlfriend if you wish to
see her branded,” Rose said. “Polly is too young. She must be full
grown before you can have her permanently altered.” Polly let out her
breath in a loud whoosh. She and I both knew we’d never be as old as
21, or even (alas) 18!
“Then I want her butthole enlarged,” Andre announced.
Rose giggled. I think all of us giggled. “She must be at
least 14 for that,” Rose said. She glanced at me. I smiled. I liked
the idea of being widened naturally, by my boyfriend’s own cock. Let
him put it up me and widen me with it. If he could keep himself hard
all night, despite my squirmings, then I deserved whatever he did to
me. I let Louis put another oyster in my mouth. I chewed, I swallowed,
he fed me another one. I was his pet. Behind me I think Sylvia was
wondering if an oyster could be put up my fanny, but she contented
herself with just speculating, palming and caressing me as she munched
on her own oysters. They dripped with tomato sauce.
Polly stood up matter-of-factly. She stuck her thumbs into her
white cotton panties and shoved them down her thighs. She kicked them
off. She turned to her boyfriend and carefully opened his zipper.
She’d caught him the other day, by accident, and almost been spanked for
it. She knew better now. Andre sprang out of his trousers hard and
excited. He had a big one. Too big for Polly, I think, but she
declared that she would sit on it. She parted his big thighs and placed
herself between them. Then she turned around, showing him her bottom,
and she proceeded to attempt, standing on her tippie toes, to impale her
heinie on him. It was a losing battle. She was too young and tight and
he was too huge. Polly reached back and opened the bare cheeks of her
seat and strove mightily, in her girlish way, to pop herself on top of
him. We all laughed a little, enjoying her antics. At last she
contented herself with just sitting in his lap. She wriggled onto the
big snake of his prick, feeling him slithering underneath her. Rose
watched, fretting aloud that Andre would sperm the soft fabric of her
sofa. It must have been a comfy seat for him, caught between the
cushiony bare bottom of Polly and his own trousers, with the sumptuous
sofa just beyond.
“Ah, let me take my pants off,” Andre groaned with happiness.
“I was just about to suggest that you put your cock away,” Rose
intoned. I don’t want to have to wash my couch.
“I can hold it,” Andre replied. He unbuckled his belt and
began shifting his pants down off his butt. A moment later and he’d
gotten them down far enough to allow his bare, hairy ass to rest
directly on the sofa. Polly bore down on his crotch with her fanny,
after rising up a bit for him so he could bare himself to her. “God,
this is Heaven,” Andre groaned. His dick was embedded directly within
the spheres of Polly’s ass now, with the deep, rich sofa supporting his
cock underneath. His pants, neatly pressed and fashionable, were down
at his knees. They kept his knees close, making an even tighter
enclosure for himself and Polly’s squirming tushy.
“Polly, dear, don’t let him sperm my nice couch,” Rose pleaded.
“He’s the one with the penis. Not me,” Polly replied. She was
churlishly indifferent. She ground her soft pumpkin more wildly,
shaking her breasts, lifting her arms.
“Please, Polly, don’t wriggle your bottom on purpose!” I
scolded her. “You’re wiggly enough without doing a lap dance on him!”
“God, I don’t think I can hold it after all,” Andre moaned.
“I want a lap dance too,” Louis told me. I finished the oyster
in my mouth and put my oyster bowl on the floor. Maria came in, picked
it up. I unzipped Louis. I bent low and kissed his prick when I’d
drawn it out of his underpants. Right on his peehole I kissed him,
quite boldly.
“Hi,” I said to his peehole. I was feeling frisky.
“Hi,” Louis replied, speaking for his penis.
“Come and sit in my lap, dear,” Rose said to Sylvia.
“But you don’t have a penis!” Sylvia replied.
“No matter, I want to talk to you about your branding,” Rose
said to her. As I shucked off my undies and got into Louis’s lap Sylvia
stood and walked over to Rose. Our hostess pushed down her own small
plaid skirt and welcomed Sylvia into her lap. They kissed. I turned
and kissed my Louis. Andre gritted his teeth and prayed aloud that he
could hold himself back just a little longer.
Kelly entered. She walked over to Polly and took hold of the
girl’s arm. Polly gazed up at her wide-eyed as Kelly lifted Polly
bodily from the couch.
“What do you have there, dear?” Rose asked Kelly. She lifted
her mouth from Sylvia to inquire of her maid. Kelly held a pitcher.
“Warm cream,” Kelly replied.
“Ah, Maria must’ve thought I wished it. We did this once
before. Alright, spoil the couch, then,” Rose said.
As Polly and I watched, Kelly aimed the pitcher of cream at
Andre’s crotch. He was hard, hairy, breathless, close to cumming.
Kelly wore a simple skirt, stockings, high heels, but nothing else
except her maid’s hat. With her breasts swaying freely, she arched her
pitcher, leaned forward, and poured the rich, hot white cream directly
onto Andre’s stemming cock.
“Ahh, Chrissakes!” Andre howled. We watched as the cream
splashed onto his dick, found its way to his balls underneath, and made
a white mess of his pubic hair. When Kelly had made Andre slick with
the cream Polly was told to resume her lap dance.
ZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Hustler, July 1997, $5.99. Web: http://www.hustler.com
Review: Apparently, the Christians have failed, at least for
now, to get the Communications Decency Act passed into law. (Although
various senators promise a “Son of CDA” if the CDA is struck down by the
U.S. Supreme Court.
Meanwhile, the Christians intend to mailbomb everyone they
disagree with into oblivion. So, I have been thinking. (Usually a
dangerous thing in my case, but I did it anyway.) What if Larry Flint
started an Internet Service Provider?
What we need in this country is a nationally-based,
nationally-known Internet Service Provider, whose very name stands for
freedom. What better name than “Hustler”?
Based on the tactics of the Christians, I would hasten to add
that any freedom-loving ISP needs to protect itself from mailbombs.
They just need to know, from the start, that when they themselves aren’t
being mailbombed, their various customers will be. But, with mailbomb
software in place, there shouldn’t be any problem.
In the meantime, when I’m not on the Internet, I’ve got more
time to read porn! And this issue of Hustler is one of the best porno
magazines I’ve ever seen.
“Sadie” (pg. 24) invites the reader to some down-home cooking,
out on the range, where no one can hear her scream. What a glorious
bottom this girl has! (In fact, many photos in this issue of Hustler
are of breathtakingly beautiful bottoms!) When you’re admiring Sadie,
don’t forget to look on the Table of Contents page. (pg. 3) I really
liked that photo of her too.
“Lust Ward” (pg. 58) features Annie and Kris. They’re inmates
in an asylum. At the beginning of this pictorial, they’re beguilingly
wrapped up in straightjackets. But one girl manages to free the other.
They’re still locked up, so they decide to pass the time making love to
each other. What a delightful pictorial! I could go into an essay on
how modern psychiatry is little more than an arm of the police state,
but I’m still too busy jacking off to these lovely lasses to write such
a serious essay. Suffice it to say, if you’re arrested in today’s
America, and the police can’t figure out how to stick your ass in the
jail, you’re not taken home. Instead you’re taken to the “Mental
Health” Clinic. There, from what I hear, you can be forcibly drugged.
(Of course, if you’re still living with your parents, or have
money and influence, this is less likely to happen. But if you’re on
your own, as an ordinary citizen of the United States of America, you’re
out of luck.)
Next up is “Rachel.” (pg. 82) The title of her pictorial is
“Roughing it.” She’s out in the woods. (Where no one can hear her
scream either). She’s lost her clothes, but she’s still got her little
pup tent with her. Staring at these photos, though, I’ve come to the
conclusion that she’s having to set up that pup tent for her boyfriend.
And, looking at pg. 87, I’m guessing that, just as her boyfriend is
inducing her to play with herself, guests show up. Are they there to
play with her too? And what about her bottom? It looks perfect for
spanking!
Well, I hope Rachel doesn’t have too rough a time in the
woods. Rick and Kim, meanwhile, are “Bank Jobbers.” (pg. 98) But
they’re so horny they soon forget all about robbing the bank. Rick
takes out his prick and does a number on Kim, quite beautifully.
Usually I’m not fond of Male/Female pictorials. I mean, they leave the
Christians nothing to complain of! (Except that some guy happened to
photograph them.) But this pictorial was quite nice. I especially
liked seeing them kiss (pg. 104 ) and seeing Rick stick his finger in
Kim’s mouth (pg. 100).
Last up in this issue is “Mindy.” (pg. 164) But she’s shaved
her pussy and looks, well, uh, young. So I’ll skip mentioning her. I
wouldn’t want to offend anyone’s morals.
AND IN THE END...
FEMINISM WINS AGAIN!
“The age for eligible gymnasts has been raised to 16 for the
Sydney Olympics. (Of course, if this rule had always been in effect,
fans would [have] been deprived of the most stirring performance in
gymnastics history, Nadia Comaneci’s quadruple gold at the ‘76 Olympics
-- when she was 14.)”
- Newsweek, May 26, 1997, pg. 14.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 275 EMISSION
- America, land of the free. (Except for writers and thinkers.)
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