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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 318 Nudie Nursery (nnd) g2
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PEDOPHILE ALERT ! ! !
If you are a pedophile, please do not go near the magazine
stand this month. A magazine has just been released which will unravel
all your valiant efforts to conform to normal and decent society. That
magazine is Redbook, January 1998.
Allow me to depict, in words, the shocking contents of this
magazine, so that you can be sure to avoid it.
On the cover, there is a picture of Christie Brinkley.
Naturally, if you are a well-informed pedophile, you will instantly
recoil at that name. For you know that where there is Christie, there
is bound to be her daughter, Alexa.
Alexa is as beautiful as her mother. She has the added benefit
of being only 12, and a virgin. And yes, Alexa is depicted on the cover
of Redbook. Worse, directly across from her face are these words, in
large, black type: “The Number One Secret to Hotter Sex. (Try it
Tonight)” !
Please, pedophile, do not associate that headline with little
Alexa. Please, please, please...
Bear with me, however, for I have yet to relate the full horror
of this issue:
The entire cover story of this month’s Redbook is about Alexa!
The story begins on page 58 with a glorious full page, full color photo
of Alexa. There is another full page, full color photo of Alexa on page
61. Worse, by reading the accompanying text, one can learn many things
about this vulnerable young girl’s private life.
Please, pedophile, do not sin by looking at this magazine! All
men must belong to the Cult of Woman. It is Women we must worship, with
our minds and bodies.
Stay away, also, from Redbook’s web site:
http://redbookmag.com
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Alexa
Issue No. 318
Naughty Alexa Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Alexa
“Oooh, these are so naughty,” Missy said admiringly. She
pranced around the room, emitting little gasps with every step. “Are we
going to an orgy?” she asked. I think she was somehow supposing we were
dressing for breakfast in the East Wing of the building.
“Why no, dear. You’re going OUT for brunch,” Jasmine smiled.
“Out in public.”
Missy frowned and looked at Jasmine. “Nobody is going to let
us into their restaurant dressed in these,” she said. Even little Missy
wasn’t naive enough to be fooled about that, her face seemed to say, as
she knitted her brows. Her tummy popped out again, teddy-bear like.
She still looked skinny even when she stuck out her tummy. Her navel
twinkled. With her hips thrust forward and her sighing tummy sticking
out, she seemed even younger than she was. She put her thumb in her
mouth, contemplatively.
I guessed the answer. “The furs,” I said.
“That’s right. I should call over with your measurements,”
Jasmine said. She walked over to one of the men and asked to borrow his
portable phone. He gave it to her, and she dialed somebody in the other
wing. She reported our measurements as Missy and I took little steps in
our bikinis, testing them, letting them rub us, watching our bra cups to
make sure they didn’t slip off our nipples.
“I like white,” Missy said, looking in the mirror at her
bikini.
“Your bikinis are white for purity,” Jasmine said, returning
the phone to our suitors. “I hope you both maintain the high standards
your white bikinis imply,” she added. I touched the triangle of fabric
at the base of my pubic curls and tugged on it. I wished I could pull
it up higher. What if the butler at the restaurant asked to remove my
coat?
“Jasmine,” I moaned. “These swimsuits are awful. They’re more
trouble than they’re worth! Can’t we please put on something else?”
“Up til now you’ve both worn bikinis for your own pleasure,”
Jasmine answered. “Here, you will wear bikinis and other things for the
pleasure of men. Don’t expect them to fit, or be comfortable. They’re
designed to show as much as conceal. When you’ve been trained, you may
wear what you wish. But until then, you’re dolls, girls. Pretty little
slaves for Brent to kiss and pet and be delighted in.”
“And spank too,” Missy said, with open-eyed frankness, sticking
out her hips and her tummy and clapping her hands to her bottom.
“Well, dear, you DO have a reputation for being naughty,”
Jasmine said.
“I promise I’ll try to reform myself!” Missy offered. Jasmine
sliced her crop through the air, just missing the girl’s thighs, forcing
her to jump back.
“You’re too cute to reform yourself,” Jasmine smiled. “But you
may try if you wish. I’m sure we’ll all appreciate it, even if it
doesn’t spare you.”
I ran my fingers tenderly over my heinie. I turned and looked
at my ass in the mirror. Across the fleshy white cheeks of my bottom,
high and proud and firm, ran traces of last night’s whipping. My bikini
panties, which did almost nothing to hide my fanny, made my marks look
even more ominous, as if I were just a bottom for whipping, nothing
more.
“Jasmine, please don’t whip me ever again,” I said. I was
quite serious. Were we not equals now, more or less? A firm gaze from
her dispelled that hope.
“You’re not being whipped this morning so you can sit down like
a proper young lady when Brent takes you to brunch,” Jasmine said to
me. She stuck her crop right into the front of my panties and pried
them away from my bush. I felt the loop of her long crop nesting in my
pubic hair, hungering, perhaps, to whip my pussy. “When you come back,
I’m going to have you stand in the seat of a big leather chair in the
East Wing. We’ll be having our afternoon tea, the ladies and I, and you
and Missy will show us what big girls you are.”
“By being whipped?” I shouted. I felt my face reddening.
“Yes, by sticking your bottom right out and not complaining and
taking your daily punishment just as you must. Brent will be so pleased
to learn of your progress when I tell him you didn’t shout or whine.”
“She was naughty last night. She licked my pussy and made me
cum,” Missy said, pointing a finger at me. I think she supposed she
could exclude herself from my afternoon whipping if she blamed me for
something.
“You too, little one,” Jasmine said. “Really, girls! What do
you think being a love slave entails?” She pulled her crop from my
panties and walked up to me and corralled both Missy and me in her
arms. Suddenly, heated from the string rubbing me so intimately, I
found myself meeting her tongue with mine and sharing a kiss. Missy,
aware of Jasmine’s crop and not wanting to misbehave, stuck out her own
tongue. Suddenly we were three love birds, all cooing and sighing and
necking.
“Mmmm, such sweet dears, let me train you and you will have men
eating from the palms of your hands!” Jasmine sighed. We kissed, our
tongues exploring lightly; limning lips, delving within mouths.
Jasmine’s teeth bit and held the tip of my tongue. Missy pecked my
cheek. Our hands caressed each other. The bikinis Missy and I wore
were hardly a bar to inquiring fingers. I felt Jasmine’s intrude into
my cunt lips, bypassing the string there. Missy, meanwhile, ever the
devil, probed a childish finger within my fanny and found my hole.
----------------------------------------------------------------
A R E A D I N G F U N D has been established for Stephen Knox,
imprisoned in a federal penitentiary for ordering a swimsuit video
featuring teenage girls. To help provide books to Knox (formerly a Phd.
candidate at Penn State), send any amount to: Uncommon Desires
Newsletter, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY 10185. Make checks payable to:
Ophelia Editions.
----------------------------------------------------------------
With sighs of mounting desire we desisted at last, letting our
mouths, then our fingers retreat. Jasmine tossed her hair and regained
her composure. She still held the crop. She was clothed, though her
boobs presented us with the treat of risen nipples now, sticking up
through her t-shirt. I’d slipped a finger past the crotch of her jeans,
to pay her back for the urgency she was creating in me. Jasmine
adjusted her shorts and gave me a smile.
“You are such a sweet guest,” Jasmine said. “But you truly
must not be my equal, dear. I do charge men money who bring their loves
here for training.”
“Then I’m just property?” I said with a moany-sigh.
“You are your lover’s property,” Jasmine corrected.
“What if I don’t like him anymore?” I asked. And, truly, I was
beginning to have my doubts.
“You won’t like him, sometimes, but that’s to be expected.”
Jasmine fingered her crop and I knew she was dying to ply me with it.
Did she wish to see me scream? A flash of myself hitting her ran
through my mind and I realized with a shiver how tempting it seemed. To
control her, to make her respond to my every whim...
“I’M not Brent’s proberty,” Missy piped up, mangling the very
word she wished to dispute.
“You, dear child, are a little handful, and I decided to mate
you up with the nearest available male,” Jasmine whispered, out of
earshot of our male admirers. “Behave or I’ll give you to Larry, Moe,
and Curly,” she added, with a nod toward our masturbators. I felt quite
detached from them now, as if they were just furniture. They watched us
like hungry dogs. Much as I disliked Jasmine’s crop, I was glad she had
it available to keep our three hungry suitors at bay. I plucked at it
with my fingers and lifted it to my lips. As she held it steady for me,
I kissed it. I was kooky, the string, our kisses, making me wild.
“Punish me now!” I begged suddenly. I wanted to get it over
with. I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting.
“No,” Jasmine breathed. “Half the fun is in the waiting.
Think of it as you’re sitting at brunch. Do you remember last night?”
I nodded.
“Today will be harder,” Jasmine said. She did not smile. Her
face was deadly serious.
“You will hurt me!” I gasped.
“Hurt, but not harm. There is a difference, dear. Always you
must be reminded of your enslavement. Otherwise you would be just a
houseguest. Come, let’s go to the East Wing. I’m sure your coats are
ready by now. I have a wonderful tailor.”
Jasmine swished her crop and Missy and I, not wanting to cross
her, spun about to go find our lover. Our real lover, Brent, whom I
hoped would find a way to spare me my afternoon cropping. With wiggling
bottoms, glistening earrings dangling from our ears, our makeup just a
little mussed, Missy and I paraded past the masturbating men and headed
for my bedroom door.
“Agh! I can’t stand it! They’re too young! We’re not
supposed to be watching this!” one of the crewcut twins declared. Missy
yelped as his jism suddenly shot forth and splattered across her leg.
“Hey! Don’t pee on me!” Missy cried. She bent down and
brushed at the spurting on her leg. I pushed her forward. I could
sense more was in the offing.
“It’s not pee, silly. It’s sperm!” I said in a hushed voice.
Missy bounced forward as my hands shoved at the small of her back. Her
fingers, scooping up the man’s sperm from her thigh, waved in front of
her face.
Jasmine, following me, frowned at the men and slashed her crop
through the air. It was a warning to the men. She didn’t want to see
them spoil our swimsuits.
A naughtiness possessed me as I passed in front of our
admirers. “Tootle-oooh, men!” I called out to them, and gave them a
little wave. Suddenly, the remaining two shot off, sending spurts of
jism right across my path. A little hit my thigh but, fortunately, I
seemed to magically walk through the rest, just managing to avoid it.
Standing in the doorway to my bedroom, I looked back with tense
bottom cheeks at the three men who’d invaded and defaced my room. A
pungent odor of semen greeted my nostrils. Between each man’s open legs
lay a puddle of his manhood, upon the floor, staining my nice carpet.
“Are they football players?” I asked, surprised at their sudden
loss of control.
“No,” Jasmine said. “They’re Sanramento District Attorneys.”
“What kind of District Attorneys?” I asked. I brushed their
sperm off my leg with my fingers.
“They live in a tomato?” Missy piped up.
“Never mind,” Jasmine answered us both. “They came down to
Caracas to maintain their political viability within the system. Bye
bye, boys! If you can’t control yourselves in front of two little girls
don’t expect me to have anything to do with you!” She slammed the door
on them. “Don’t worry, I’ll have Olaf clean your room before you come
back,” she told me. I heard a crashing sound.
“What’s that?” I asked. I cringed. It sounded as if someone
was smashing the furniture in my bedroom.
“It’s Olaf. I told him if they couldn’t control themselves he
could give them a free membership in NAMBLA.”
“What?” I asked.
“Well, perhaps NAMBLA isn’t the right word for it. SAMMLA
might be better. The South American Man Man Love Association,” Jasmine
smiled.
I heard a howl from within my (former) bedroom. What were they
doing in there?
“All work and no play makes Olaf a temperamental boy,” Jasmine
grinned. Her teeth were white. Wisps of her long dark hair were caught
by the breeze and sent flying out in front of her. She looked like the
world’s sweetest dominatrix, standing there with her hair wild in the
wind, but she turned to my bedroom door and locked it from the outside
so our suitors couldn’t escape. The wind ruffled her t-shirt and she
caught at its scissored neckline to restore it to her shoulder. “They
put fine young men in prison for having underage girlfriends, yet sit at
home downloading child pornography from the Internet!” Jasmine said
aloud. “Then, when that gets tiresome, they visit Caracas to learn
about drug interdiction, and girl interdicktion, of course. Let them
have a taste of their own medicine for a change!”
“Really, Jasmine, you shouldn’t!” I pleaded. I wanted to grab
the key from her and release our three friends. After all, even cops
needed a little fun, didn’t they? So what if they’d lost control of
their penises? It just meant they found me attractive!”
“I don’t wish to be cruel, dear, but Olaf must be fed
sometimes,” Jasmine said to me. “I don’t pay him. I just let him have
a man, now and then. It keeps him happy and I do need his services.”
Missy and I heard howls and cries of remorse from my cellblock-like
bedroom as the three Attorneys from the Tomato, or whatever it was, got
cornholed by Olaf.
“My daddy doesn’t like lawyers,” Missy offered. She looked at
me with wide eyes. I shivered as screams continued to break from within
the stone walls. I reached out to her and we hugged each other. Then
Jasmine, ever in charge of us, whistled her crop past our bottoms and
sent us walking with quick steps through the garden. The East Wing
beckoned, home of last night’s orgy that left me and Missy out in the
cold, uninvited, forced to sleep by ourselves and, though I could hardly
dare to remember it, forced to drink from a toilet! My cunny whispered
to me naughtily. My little string bikini sluiced back and forth within
my dell. Every step I took sent little shivers up me. Bouncing freely,
barely contained by the string and the tiny cups, my breasts felt like
lassoed gourds. The wind blew my long hair out in front of me, making
me feel like I had a blonde halo on. Missy sought my hand. I squeezed
hers, reassuringly, even if we were doomed to have our hineys whipped.
We were going to meet Brent, my love! With my sexy bikini on, inspiring
me with my every step, I knew I would find happiness in his arms.
My Favorite Space Man
by Carolyn Ballard
My dream would be
To be with my life-time special mate
To be with him up high in a spaceship
See the lucky blue stars shooting
Across the dark sky
Then get married and hold hands
And then kiss his soft lips
Then celebrate our special candle-light dinner
With a glass of red wine
They say roses are red
I say I enjoy someday going to the next planet.
AND IN THE ALEXA...
Take Note, Dan Coats
“The hidebound illiberality of the Tory establishment was such
that even the open-endedness of Keats’s couplets could outrage it. As
for the sensuousness of his language and his over-familiar handling of
Greek mythology, these were a scandal.”
- The Economist, November 15, 1997, Review page 13.
--------------------------- Fuck Alexa! -------------------------
-Back Alexa: type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “Alexa” key.
Under “Quick Search”, type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your “Alexa” key.
-Other Alexas:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Alexa: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free Alexas: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim
Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest Alexa! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Alexa ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Alexa Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 318 EMISSION
- Praise Woman, from whom all blessings flow!
(including little Alexa!)
(ack!)
--
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