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Subject: FUCK DECENCY 295 Pussy Playland (nnd) g2
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THE MILLIONAIRE IN YOUR (E-) MAILBOX ! ! !
“Many people who live in expensive homes and drive luxury cars
do not actually have much wealth. ...Many people who have a great deal
of wealth do not even live in upscale neighborhoods.”
- Stanley and Danko, The Millionaire Next Door, pg. 1.
Yep, that’s right. Remember when you tried to have me arrested
for walking past your luxury home? You thought I was a bum, simply
because I live in a dumpster. But now the truth is out. I don’t live
in a luxury home, because I’m a millionaire. There’s another thing I
wisely refrain from owning: a car. While you’re busy destroying the
environment with your Ford Aerostar, I’m walking. Tell your precious
children to thank me if they find they’re living on a habital planet 30
years from now.
I suppose it took two Ph.D’s to convince America of the facts
about money. After all, how could I, a mere pedestrian, convince
America of anything? (Stanley and Danko are both Ph.D’s.) Now that The
Millionaire Next Door has rocketed to the top of Business Week’s
bestseller list, however, perhaps the businessmen of America will listen
to me.
So let me address them. Do you want to read a 258 page book,
businessmen of America? You’d like to, I’m sure, but your time is
valuable. So let me assist you in finding out more about us wealthy
dudes in America.
How do you sell to someone who has 1 million dollars, but
refuses to spend it? Frugality, after all, is the number one reason
most millionaires became millionaires. Let me tell you the key to
selling to people who refuse to buy. You only need to remember two
words: Free Samples.
Perhaps your mother scolded you when you were young, for
reading comic books. But you read them anyway. Remember Walt Disney’s
Uncle Scrooge? He didn’t just wander into wealth. He was the richest
duck in the world, because he was a skinflint. And now, thanks to The
Millionaire Next Door, we see that’s an apt description of most of
America’s millionaires.
So let’s get down to this business about providing free
samples. Take me, for instance. You probably wish I’d buy a car. But
you know, if I ever do buy a car, I’m going to want to get my money’s
worth. I don’t want it to lose its paint, or look bad. I want it to
last and last. So, obviously, I’ll need a Rolls Royce.
Rolls Royces cost a lot of money. I’m not going to pay all
that money unless the car is as good as the Rolls Royce people say it
is. So, obviously, I’m going to need to test drive it. And don’t think
driving it around the block, with a salesman yapping at me the whole
time, is going to constitute a “test drive.” Uh-uh. I’ll need to give
that car a full workout. Mountains, deserts, crossing streams, and lots
and lots of highway driving to make sure everything’s ship-shape. But
don’t think I’m trying to keep it forever. I figure I’ll need to test
it for no more than a year.
Oh, yes. Please include a driver. Wealthy people like me
don’t drive.
Next I’ll address myself to the real estate salesmen of
America. Do you think you’re going to take me to three houses in one
afternoon? I know your tricks, guys. The first house looks like shit.
But it’s a bargain. The second house meets my budget, and looks okay.
The third house is more than I can afford, but I can just make the
payments, if I “stretch”. The third house is beautiful, and it’s the
house you expect me to buy.
Well, Realtors. As a millionaire, let’s skip the crap, okay?
I’m willing to stretch my budget, so let’s proceed straight to the third
home. Don’t waste my time, and I won’t waste yours. We’ll see three
top-of-the-line homes. They’ll need to all be worth at least 10 million
dollars, if I’m going to “stretch”. And plan to leave me there for a
year or so. I don’t expect to put myself in hock to the tune of 10
million only to find out 6 months later that the roof leaks.
Next up, girls. I know, I know. Every girl loves a
millionaire. But in today’s world, who wants to get stuck with some
gold digger? I have to be sure you really love me, girls. So stop by,
hang out with me for a year or so, okay? Of course we’ll have lots of
sex. That’s necessary, if we’re ever to marry. I don’t want to get
stuck with a frigid wife. So, after a year or so of hot sex, just ask
me if I’m satisfied with your performance. I’ll either say “Yes,” by
giving you a big diamond ring. Or I’ll give you a sapphire ring
instead, and bid you goodbye. (Us rich guys can afford buying lots of
rings.)
Girls, I don’t want you to feel sad if I reject you. So, if
you have a kid sister, bring her along too. That way, if you don’t work
out, I might marry her instead, and then you’ll still be able to know
me!
Next, I’ll address myself to the drug dealers. Sure, you’d
love to get me hooked, wouldn’t you? Think how much you’d make if you
had a millionaire hooked to your ‘product.’ But remember, I’m wealthy.
Don’t think you’re going to get me hooked on crack. Nothing but pure
heroin will do for holy joe! As with the abovementioned items, I’m not
going to get involved in anything until I’ve had lots of free samples.
So, let’s discuss delivery. As you know, it’s dangerous to
deliver drugs to a customer. You might be spotted by the police, and
arrested. So, since I’ll need a year’s worth of heroin, why not deliver
the whole shipment at once? Probably a ton or so of pure heroin should
be enough for me to fully test its quality.
I know what you’re thinking. “I’ll see that damn holy joe
standing outside a school in the morning, selling my drugs to kids.”
You figure a smart millionaire like me won’t use the heroin, but will
instead sell it, to make yet more millions!
Not so. When you see me standing outside a school, I’m not
going to be selling that heroin. But do you think I can store a ton of
heroin in my house? Of course not. But I do want to protect you. So,
after you deliver the heroin, I’m going to spread it around. I call
this “strategic disbursement.” What kid wouldn’t want to brag to his
friends, “I have a pound of pure heroin under my bed!” See? Kids will
pay to be cool like that. So you deliver the drugs to me, in one
delivery, to protect yourself. Then I’ll spread the drugs around our
community, so kids can be cool. Of course I’ll give them a “Keep Kids
Off Drugs” pamphlet, to warn them from using any of it. Then, when I
need the drugs back, I’ll simply call them up. Meantime, there’s hardly
any drugs in my house, and all the kids can be cool, “renting” my
heroin. (And if they use some, don’t worry. That just gives you more
customers!)
So, there you have it. Millionaires are frugal, and to reach
these tough customers, you have to give them free samples. I have one
more secret to impart. Where do you think the REAL millionaires of this
world live? Not in expensive housing, we know that. But I’ve found,
based on my own independent research, that the wealthiest people of all
have abstained, like me, from buying any home at all. Half the guys you
see walking in and out of the homeless shelter are multi-millionaires!
Think of it. They can live free at the homeless shelter. All of their
meals are free. In the daytime they go hang out at the library, where
they read the Wall Street Journal. (For free.) They dress shabby, of
course, because clothes cost money! And they always carry around a
paper sack, with a bottle inside, because if people knew they were
millionaires, they might get kidnapped and held for ransom. Also, as an
extra precaution against kidnapping, they don’t take baths. You might
kidnap a wino, after all, if you suspected he was wealthy, but would you
kidnap a guy if you couldn’t stand his smell?
So, next time you’re driving down the road in your luxury car
(purchased on credit), and see “some fucking bum” standing in your
pretty neighborhood, holding up a cardboard sign that says “God Bless,”
don’t scoff. He really MEANS “God Bless.” He knows he’s a
millionaire. ANY money he gets, he’s able to keep. All his food and
lodging are free, and his time is his own. You, on the other hand, are
a poor wage slave. You work all day. Your lifestyle costs a lot. And
all night you worry about how you’re going to pay for it all. Worst of
all, you have to take a bath before you report to work. But the “bum”
has no job, and hence needs no bath. (He’s not corrupted by the
marketplace, like you. He, like your child, knows what a pain it is to
have to take baths.)
You might say, “If this fucking bum is a millionaire, Joe, why
is he asking me for money?” Well, remember Uncle Scrooge? Don’t you
think HE’D take free money from people? And if you told him, “Just put
on this old coat, and then you’ll maximize the amount people will give
you,” I guarantee you he’d be DELIGHTED to put on an old coat.
So get going, businessmen of America! I expect to see you down
at the homeless shelter first thing in the morning, handing out free
Rolls Royces. Don’t delay! After all, we could buy a Porsche instead.
Perhaps if they beat you to us, we will. After all, we’re not
impervious to flattery, even from a Porsche dealer.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 295
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Three
“These chains are going to slow us down and make us have to
work harder,” I said to Sherry.
“I know, dear. That’s why Jeff made us put them on. Don’t
fall behind,” she added, with a quick glance at Jeff’s dangling whip.
He’d let the tip dangle over our bottoms as a warning.
“Ready girls?” Jeff asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“Kelly, you get a head start,” Jeff told me. “Since you’ve
never done this before. But at the halfway mark I’m going to start
encouraging whoever is behind.”
“Okay,” I gulped. It was all I could think to say.
“Ready, set, go!” Jeff shouted. He lashed his whip against the
back of the hot seat chair to let us know we’d better get moving.
I yanked and pulled at the front of my bolster. It slipped
easily along the mat. But keeping my pussy pressed down to it meant my
tail was holding me back. It felt wide and open behind me, but I knew
just crawling on all fours and dragging the bolster without lying on it
would get me an instant whipping.
I pulled and pulled and pulled at my bolster. I quickly found
out that keeping my belly pressed down to it meant my cunny was getting
rubbed each time I pulled on my bolster. I gasped at the pleasure. I’d
be screaming by the time I got to the other end! This was a kind of
self-masturbation!
“Go!” I heard behind me. Sherry had been given permission to
start. Like seals we bobbed nude on our bolsters trough the sea of
cream. My head bounced up and down as I slid along, doing a kind of
breast stroke with my legs, the chains holding me back, making me
struggle more. I yanked at the front of my bolster and Jeff, appearing
beside me, watched with pleased amazement as my boobies flung themselves
all around, twin little beach balls caught forever in a juggling
crosswind.
Sherry came up alongside me. “Halfway!” she breathed. But she
was tired from working so hard to catch me. Her pace was forced to slow
a little and we bobbed along, neck and neck. I was getting the hang of
this now and I found I could just keep pace with her. Then, suddenly, I
saw her head pass mine. I felt a stinging rebuke on my bottom.
“Yeeeowwww!” I screeched.
“Go, Kelly! You’re my girl!” Jeff laughed. Squirming atop my
bolster I tried extra hard to catch Sherry. I did, and she hollared as
the whip landed on her. Mightily we struggled then, each of us almost
neck and neck. Whenever one of us fell even a little behind Jeff gave
us his ‘encouragement,’ flaying our bottom with a stroke of his whip.
Howling, panting, swooning from the rubbing of our clits
against the bolsters, Sherry and I raced down the length of the mat.
She arrived at her pillow just before I did and I felt Jeff’s whip
strike hard into my asscheeks to make me be sorry.
“Owwwwoooo!” I yelped. But I just as quickly forced myself to
take the big hot dog waiting over my pillow. I stuffed as much of it
into my mouth. I gobbled at it like I’d never eaten anything in my
life. Beside me, Sherry greedily ate at hers. Neither of us wanted to
lose. At the same time, to keep ourselves from cheating, we reached
back and spread our flaming asses for Jeff. I felt quite fearful doing
it, sure he would whip me right on my pussy. But he waited, seeing now
who would win.
I ate my hotdog right down to the cock ring in the wall. I
licked the ring clean. I looked for the whistle between our pillows,
and saw Sherry doing the same. ‘Please, God, I MUST have that whistle!’
I begged Jesus. I saw Sherry’s tongue sticking out. She almost had
it! We went at each other then, fighting with our tongues, each of us
trying to push the other’s mouth back. The whistle was right between
us, just above our noses. It was hard fighting and keeping my ass open
for Jeff, but I dared not let go of my behind. He let his whip’s tail
dangle and lick at my bottom just to make sure I remembered it.
“Tweeet! Tweeet!” I heard in my ears. Did I have it? No!
That momentary remembrance of the state of my bottom had let Sherry
steal away with the whistle. She blew on it like a madwoman, still
keeping her bottoms apart with her hands to show she hadn’t cheated.
I began crying. I had tried so hard, and I’d lost. Now I was
naked in a dungeon with just a whipped ass and nothing else, save the
chains that weighed down my feet and the manacles locked to my wrists.
And my heels, of course, with heels so high I risked breaking an ankle
walking in them. And, on top of that, I was up to my legs and elbows in
whipped cream. My pussy ate hungrily at me. I’d rubbed it on the
bolster so much it felt like it had some sensual fire burning within
it. Bravely I kept my hinds open to show I’d at least tried my best. I
was sure Jeff would flay me alive with his whip but instead he just
knelt down behind me and kissed me. On my ass, of course. I let go of
my fanny and grabbed my pillow with my hands and bit into it. He licked
and licked and licked at me right on all the marks he’d given me with
the whip. Pressing my face into my pillow I bit it, hard. I prayed he
decided to fuck me, anyplace, instead of beating me more with that awful
whip. It was a devil’s bargain, but I still didn’t want to be spanked,
even now, even with my chains on and my bottom bare.
“Jeff,” Sherry whined beside me. “You’re supposed to fuck the
winner!”
“Well, I changed my mind,” Jeff said behind me. I felt a rude
bump against my tail and realized it was his cock.
“Ohhhh!” Sherry glowered. She got up and found she could do
little with the heavy chains weighing her down. She kicked my arm with
her open-toed shoes. “You’re the loser! You’re supposed to get
whipped!” Sherry shrieked at me. I wanted to tell her that I was going
to steal her house and her husband too, but I knew taking Jeff in my ass
wasn’t going to be easy. I felt a slick wetness bump into me again and
realized he’d lubed himself up. A quick spooning of his cock on the
tarmac would have taken care of that. I bit my pillow and waited. He
rimmed my hole with a finger that felt like it had been scraped on the
tarmac. It was greasy and he tested my hole with it.
“God, she’s tight,” Jeff said to his wife. She knelt down
beside him and looked at my fanny as if she were a nurse.
“Don’t spare her, Jeffie,” she said. “Make her take all of
you.” She was vengeful.
“This is going to hurt. But if you prefer it to a whipping,
it’s what you’re going to get,” Jeff told me.
“It’s what you WANT her to get,” Sherry said.
“So it is,” Jeff replied. I felt his hardness knock against my
ass. Squeezing my eyes shut I tried not to squeeze my cheeks. I knew
I’d have to be as open as possible to take his monster thing. Sherry,
feeling a little less put out now at seeing how I’d have to suffer to
accept him within me, rubbed my bottom. Then she parted my cheeks with
her hands. Jeff pushed himself forward. In the cream, his knees
sliding, he didn’t have much to purchase himself on. I felt his
cockhead press hard against my sphincter. For a moment it was just his
penis tip and my hole, doing a kind of pole dance, with his pole trying
to sink into my hole. I could feel his weight bearing fiercely down on
me as he shifted his hips forward to fuck me. His knees slid out from
under him and I found his body atop mine, his pole pressing unbearably
hard. I gasped. I bit my pillow and prayed to God. Sherry yanked my
cheeks wider apart and, suddenly, thinking of myself as nothing but
openness, and mischievously hoping to poop out a turd, I suddenly found
him up inside me. I was plugged! Not by much, just the first half of
his cockhead, but it was a start.
For the next hour he worked over me, slowly, getting deeper and
deeper as the seconds ticked by. I cried and wept into my pillow.
Sherry bent down, letting herself sprawl in the cream, and licked at my
pussy. Jeff worked like a stallion breaking in a new mare until, at
last, I had enough of him inside me to let him do his work. Back and
forth he shunted, and when he let himself go I felt a huge spurting of
his cum deep into the very depths of my bowels.
AND IN THE END...
“Napoleon Hill didn’t write ‘Think and Grow Rich.’ He wrote
‘Stink and Grow Rich.’ (Read the above article to find out why.)
“(Yes, some politically correct editor changed the title.)”
- Howard Hughes.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by
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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 295 EMISSION
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