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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 335 Dungeon of Desire NND
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VISION 2001
I went to the local college today. I asked the admissions
office to direct me to the Pedophile Studies department. They called
campus security.
I see that my needs are not being served by the Academy,
despite the fact that I pay taxes. (Sure, I don’t work; but every time
I buy beer I have to pay a tax on the aluminum can.)
Hence, today I am setting up a Pedophile Studies department, on
the Internet. There’s no cost to join my department. However, you will
need to get hold of books, as assigned, in order to do the reading.
Our first assignment will be to read the following book: Fire
in the Streets, The Battle for Hue, Tet 1968, by Eric Hammel. (ISBN:
0-935553-18-5) Consider the following questions as you read this book:
STRATEGIC QUESTIONS:
1. Assume you are confronted with a feminist society. How do you
infiltrate this society and take command of its strategic points and
resources?
2. Assume you are confronted with a militarized, feminist society.
This society is on ‘red-alert.’ It cannot be infiltrated. How do you
use blunt, direct miliary force to take command of this society?
TACTICAL QUESTIONS:
1. Assume you are facing a building. In this building there is a
window. There is a feminist machine-gunner who is shooting out of the
window. Whenever you try to shoot back, with your pistol, the feminist
machine-gunner is able to avoid being hit by your gunfire. You have one
rocket-propelled grenade. Do you:
a. Shoot your rocket-propelled grenade at the window? or do you
b. Shoot your rocket-propelled grenade someplace else?
(The answer to the tactical question will be given at the bottom of this
issue.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Baby Tiffany
Issue No. 335
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Two
But he was not alone. The other two men I’d been assigned
decided to jump in also. They poked their dicks at my gasping mouth.
In a moment I found myself with three penises all vying for my lips.
Somehow, looping their arms round each other so none would be denied,
they all managed to force their penises at the same time into my mouth.
I gagged and spluttered but there was no denying them. How
many nights had I lay in bed, dreaming of commanding and controlling
boys, telling them to drop their pants so Nurse Kelly could see to their
ailments? Well, now little Nurse Kelly had quite a mouthful! I felt
their hands clap against the back of my head to keep me from escaping.
With their three cockheads prying my mouth apart, I felt like someone
with a pan pipe or a mouth organ, except the organs were far bigger than
any a musician had ever put to his lips.
With my fingers I tried to push them back. It was no use. My
hands were small and delicate, slim-fingered. These guys had been
specially chosen because they were big and brawny. How nice it must be
to be Miriam, I thought, picking your customers. I ran my hands along
their shafts. I tried to do my duty to them, reaching in between their
legs and grasping at their balls.
They took it as an invitation to cum. As I squeezed their
balls they played with their dicks. Quickly they became homosexuals, at
least for a moment, for they found playing with each other’s penises was
far more exciting than simply massaging their own.
“Come, you dickhead!” the middle guy said to the college boy.
“After you, butthole!” the college guy replied.
The older man, happy, perhaps, to have two young men’s penises
at his disposal, stroked them with demanding fingers.
“You’re squeezing too hard!” the college boy said to the eldest
among them.
“Cum, dickwad,” the eldest man replied, no better in his
manners than his companions were.
“Shoot, dude, I haven’t got all day,” the male in the middle
told his college pal.
“No, I don’t want toooo, I want to be the lasssst,” the college
boy protested. But with me squeezing his balls and the oldest man
yanking his dick, he spurted into my mouth in a sudden flood of sperm.
The other two, excited, came in simultaneous torrents. As I received
their inundation I realized none of them were fags; they’d found
themselves all wanting me and the excitement of their forbidden
closeness set them off.
A trio of fleshy firecrackers exploded their seed into my
mouth. I gasped, gurgled, practically drowned in the flood. I heard
the other guests laughing. I was swamped! Have you ever had three
penises shoot into your mouth at the same time? It’s awful! I had no
hope of swallowing it all. They jetted into my mouth, overwhelming me,
slathering my pried apart lips and letting their seed splurge all over
my face, up my nose, and into my eyes. The men were quite happy now.
They were no longer competitive. They simply enjoyed their release,
shooting in my face like three boys playing naughty urinal games. I
tried to contain the flood, pinching at their balls, but it only made
them cum more. I batted my hands at their shafts in desperation. They
were too huge and stiff for me to move. I was wedded to their
tree-trunk like cocks, I was forced to accept all they had to give me.
White-faced, a bride with a veil of sperm upon my face, I stood
up at last. My knees were wobbly. I found myself forced to face the
guests. There was nowhere for me to run. They surrounded me and the
women oohed and ahhed at my plight. I had taken three men. I was a
mess. My makeup was pieface now, sperm flavored; my lipstick was white,
my mascara the color of spermy yeast. I was sticky. When my lips
moved, or my eyelashes fluttered, there was a spiderweb of white goo
that moved with me.
“Why, I think she’s been to see the Rolling Stones!” Sharon
laughed. Miriam smiled. Other women stared a little enviously. I’d
just put three men out of commission, at least for the moment.
“Come, little girl, you need your face washed,” Miriam said to
me. She took me by the hair. She walked me in my wobbly heels over to
the punch bowl. I found myself staring down into it. Little lemon
peels floated across its surface.
“We girls always prefer sperm-flavored punch at our parties,”
Miriam said quietly to me. And then she dunked me!
My head, grabbed from behind by the hair, was plunged deep into
the bowl. I felt as if I were drowning. Indeed, I was; for my head was
in the punch and my feet kicked up behind me, trying to escape. Miriam
held me down. My eyes gaped in the bowl. I saw nothing but red punch.
When at last she let me up I gasped like a fish.
Down I went again. Miriam held my head down, waiting until I
grew desperate. Then up she lifted my head. She let me breathe. When
I’d relaxed a little, feeling the tricklings of punch running down my
neck and collecting momentarily at the tips of my nipples, she plunged
me in yet again.
I swam in the punch. I was a goldfish searching for a hiding
place. I tasted the punch, involuntarily. It was tropical, with a hint
of liquor. My head was lifted up for a final time and I was permitted
to rejoin the living. I gasped. They watched my breasts quiver as my
chest filled gratefully with air, then expelled it, then filled again.
There were lemon peels in my hair. Miriam plucked them out. She picked
up a linen napkin and carefully wiped my cheeks.
Sharon moved to the punchbowl. She dipped a ladle into the
bowl. Drawing up a cupful, she poured a glass for Sandy.
“Mmmm, mmmm, good!” Sandy giggled, accepting a glass and
sipping it. Two white-tailed servants, middle aged men oblivious to our
nudity, appeared and cleaned up the splashings made by my dunking.
Miriam had impeccable help. I watched as the two men, from Mexico,
worked as professionally as if they’d been matadors at a bullfight.
They paid no attention to the plethora of penises, though they had to
weave in their steps to avoid them. And their eyes did not savor the
females. Despite the abundance of bosoms and bottoms, all bare, they
saw to their work and nothing else.
MAGAZINE REVIEW
by holy joe
Mayfair, March 1998, Volume 32, Number 12, $5.99. E-mail:
mayfair@pr-org.co.uk
Review: The best photo in this issue is of Claire Cass, on
pages four and five. It’s a never-before seen photo of Claire as an art
student. Claire originally posed as an art student in Mayfair, Volume
32, number 1.
You may be wondering, what is happening in this photo? For an
answer, I once again sat on the toilet and prayed to God. She’s
8-years-old. She has bee-stung lips, wide blue eyes, and long blonde
hair that hangs down to her waist. Her clothes sometimes look a bit
large for her, because she’s still growing into them. But they’re
always the latest fashion.
After conferring with God (actually God’s Only Begotten
Daughter), I had my answer. (Oh, yes. Jesus died for our sins. But
God’s Only Begotten Daughter ate candy for our sins. Just thought you’d
like to know.)
Here’s what I learned about the photo of Claire:
Claire, as you know, posed regularly in Mayfair for over a
year. As a result, she got a little spoiled. When she went to painting
class, she didn’t always pay attention to the nude models she was
supposed to paint. Especially the girls. This was because Claire
figured, “Why should I waste my time painting them? I’m prettier.”
And, being Claire Cass, she was.
One day, at the end of Claire’s painting class, the professor
looked over her work.
“Claire,” he said, in a deep, sonorous voice, that was rich
with his 30-plus years of teaching. “You’re not turning in very good
paintings lately. I’m disappointed in you.”
Despite the fact that Claire was much younger than her teacher,
she had a profound respect for him, because he was a man. So, thinking
quickly, she said, “I’m sorry, professor. It’s these darn paint
brushes. They’re so hard to control!”
“I understand,” Claire’s teacher said to her. “Why not try
crayons? You know how to color with crayons, don’t you?”
“Of course!” Claire, feeling a little indignant, declared.
“Claire,” the professor asked. “I know you don’t want to flunk
this class. I’m willing to let you paint anything you like. Using
crayons, which are easy to control. Would you like to stay after class
today and do a picture for me?”
“Sure!” Claire said. The idea of being able to spend time
alone with her professor made her nipples perk up under her blouse.
“Well, alright,” Claire’s teacher said. “But I’ll tell you
what. I want you to really concentrate on what you’re doing. No
goofing around. And don’t expect me to not have anything to do myself,
while I wait for you to finish. I want you to undress, Claire. That’s
right! Take off everything but your shoes and socks. Then, I want you
to color with your crayons. While you’re coloring, I’m going to paint a
picture of you. That way, I’ll have a model to paint, and my time won’t
be wasted.”
Claire was feeling very contrite, and a bit sexy too.
“Teacher?” she asked.
“Yes, Claire?”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Teacher,” Claire said. “I can’t afford to flunk this class.
If my picture that I do for you tonight isn’t up to your standards, I
want you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” Claire’s teacher asked.
“I want you to spank me,” Claire told her teacher.
After some hesitation, Claire’s professor agreed. (Why flunk a
girl, after all, if a little correction will inspire her to do better
work?)
And this is the photo we see in the March Mayfair, on pages
four and five. Claire has just finished coloring with her crayons. She
colored on paper, on the floor, because her professor asked her to pose
in a ‘challenging’ position, so he’d have something interesting to
paint. Plus, since Claire is coloring with crayons, everyone knows that
the funnest place to color is on paper laid out on the floor!
“Teacher? I’m finished with my homework,” Claire says in a
soft, submissive voice, looking back at her professor. It’s up to you
to decide whether her picture is acceptable, or whether she’ll need a
spanking to motivate her!
Elsewhere in this issue, Anita and Judith decide to take a
shower together. (Page 31.) There’s lots of soft looks and warm
caresses in this pictorial, plus wet-lipped kisses. If you’ve never
gotten to peek into a girl’s shower room or dormitory (I haven’t) this
pictorial is a must see!
Who is the greatest Porn Star Princess of them all? My vote
goes to the girl in the new film, Operation Sex Siege. (Page 42.) This
luscious babe wears her shoulder-length hair in pigtails. She has a
very sweet, very youthful face. She also has a killer body, with
voluptuous big boobs. I haven’t seen the film, but I’m definitely
yearning to, after gazing at this awesome girl!
Another actress is profiled on page 54:
“A slender, undeveloped young lady in the mid-80s, by 1990
[Jennifer Connelly] came BIG - in every sense of the word,” writes
Mayfair. “The combo of Jennifer’s sweet face and giant hooters [is]
captivating.” Indeed! Several (topless) photos of this lovely girl are
printed.
Blonde little Kirsty is back, in a new pictorial, on page 63.
This enormously popular blonde has recently gotten a boob-job. I
thought she was fine before, but apparently she didn’t. Kirsty is the
very definition of ‘hand-job material.’ She’s not a perfect 10. But
the combination of her long blonde hair, her youthful face and attitude,
and the fetchingly submissive poses she adopts are mind-blowing. In
this pictorial, she’s not quite as sexy. For one thing, she looks
older. For another thing, her tits have an unnatural roundness to them,
as if they’re fake tits, which they are. But she still manages to adopt
some lusciously playful poses. If you’ve never seen Kirsty before, you
will like this pictorial a great deal.
Last but not least, Nikki rounds out this issue of Mayfair.
(Page 74). She unties her panties and rubs them back and forth between
her legs. Then, suitably moist, she shows off her boobs and, finally,
kneels bottom-up on the bed for an enema. (Whether from a catheter or a
penis, I can’t say!)
This is a good issue of Mayfair. Even though it just came out,
it seems to be selling quite quickly at the newsstand. Hurry if you
want one!
ANSWER to the tactical question: Don’t shoot your
rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) at the window. It will simply go through
the window and explode against the back wall of the room in which the
feminist machine-gunner is hiding. The resulting explosion will burst
into rooms behind the one the feminist is hiding in. You want to kill
the feminist. You must ask yourself, where does she hide when I’m
shooting at her? The answer is simple. When she sees you about to
shoot, she hides immediately to the right (or left) of the window. Fire
your pistol at the window several times to get a sense of which
direction the feminist is going when she hides. Assume, for instance,
that you notice that she darts to the right when you fire your pistol.
Now, pick up your RPG. Aim it *next* to the window (where she’s
hiding). Now shoot your RPG. The RPG won’t go through the window. It
will explode against the outside of the building, *next* to the window.
The resulting explosion will burst into the room in which the feminist
is hiding. It will literally smash the wall in on her. She will be
killed.
AND IN THE END...
“The modern university is not known as a place of great courage
or common sense.”
- U.S. News and World Report, January 19, 1998, pg. 13.
-------------------------- 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 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 335 EMISSION
- Why settle for a woman when you can have Baby Tiffany?
1-800- WE CLONE
(You didn’t think I was going to be sponsored by Nissan Motors, did
you? - h.j.)
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