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From: ROLLER666@aol.com
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 255 Cunt Castle (nnd)
THREE SPAMMERS FOUND DEAD
Mount Holyoke, Neb. - Three important religious figures were found
dead in their suburban parish on Monday.
The dead were the Honorable Reverend Jack Assumpsit, Assistant
Sunday School Teacher I. Mole (formerly a leader in the EST movement), and
choir soprano Cass Strated. All three men were involved in an effort to
'spam' authors of indecent material on the internet.
"We found them next to their computer," reported Officer Dilbert
Doe, (familiar to many readers as "Dil," because he likes eating uncut
pickles). "Yep," Officer Dil. Doe said, sucking hard on a pickle, "They'd
downloaded every item of porn they could find on the Internet -- legal and
illegal. Why, if they weren't dead, I would have had to arrest them for
possessing illegal porn! But they were doing the Lord's work, of course,
even though they spent all their time looking at porn."
"Who will preach our Sunday sermon?" a bereaved woman asked as she
watched the men taken away to the morgue. "Now I guess they're with God, but
I always liked our weekly sermon on 'Fags, Deviants, and other Perversions.'
Church just won't be the same without them."
Coroner I. D. Compose reported the men's death as being "due to
coronary arrest. They said they wanted to find shocking material on the
Internet -- I guess they found it."
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 255
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter Three
"Girls! Girls!" Rose admonished us. She handed us lipstick.
"Here, put on your makeup. We don't want to be outshone at the cabana. And
brush your hair." She put down a vanity mirror for us, concealed in the
ceiling. She and Joanne and Sylvia shared lipstick. Polly and I dutifully
made ourselves up and brushed out our hair. We did not bother to pin it up,
although Rose piled hers atop her head to give herself a regal look. Sylvia
did the same, then insisted on making Joanne's brown hair into braids. It
was strange to see them without their bottoms and bosoms bare. Polly and I
still wore our wristlets and anklets of steel, and our collars. We wanted to
take them off but Rose said no.
As I contemplated the effect my collar and bracelets would have on
the people at the cabana, Polly began counting stars. We sat beside each
other. Rose said it would take awhile to reach the cabana. It was farther
away than the saloon. Soon I found myself counting stars with Polly to ease
my misgivings.
Gradually the lights of the city became a dim glow in the distance.
The twinkled like some distant Bethlehem, then like Jerusalem, perhaps, and
finally like New York City, although we were of course quite far away from
all those destinations. The light from the city began to overshadow the
stars and finally Polly and I couldn't see them well enough any more to
count. We'd lost count, anyway, and set instead to figuring out the
constellations. Polly found what she thought was a bull, with a rather large
endowment where it mattered. All I could see was a snake winding across the
heavens, poised to bite me.
Rose handed out shoes for each of us, plus a towel to wipe our feet
with. I passed the towel through my toes, savoring the feel of it. It was
hot. Rose had kept it in a little steamer. There were three towels in all.
We shared them.
"I sent the driver to pick up the best possible shoes for dancing
in," Rose said. "Given, of course, that they must be high heels. It
wouldn't be proper for us to dance in anything less, I don't think."
I looked at my pair. They were very nice. Open toed, open heeled,
with straps to tie round my ankles, over my anklet bracelets. I helped Polly
tie hers on and she helped me with mine. We threaded them through clasps on
our leg manacles to make them more difficult to take off.
"If a man can't get your shoes off he won't try to put you in bed,"
Polly intoned, sharing some old wives tale from primary school. She told me
she and her friends used to double-knot their tennies before walking home
from school. I simply nodded. It was no use arguing with her. She was
always certain of what she told me, until, that is, experience proved her
wrong. Like a child sure that gum won't stick in her hair, or that the oven
isn't really so hot, or that you can't wet your panties if you hold your
breath. There was no way to prove her wrong on this point with just five
women in the car, so I skipped it.
The buildings of the city finally enveloped us. We travelled over a
bridge and found ourselves at once within canyon walls of windowed concrete.
I gazed up at them. Behind each was a different story, I knew. Somewhere
someone was fucking, no doubt, gazing down at our limo, perhaps, as it
passed. A rush of cars swept us along the street and we sped like flotsam, I
thought, being just a passenger, to our destination.
We pulled up to a busy sidewalk. The driver got out amidst swirls
of people. They were dressed mostly in tropical clothes. The beach was
nearby. Some people wore just their swimsuits, nothing more, for which I was
grateful. Our driver opened the door where Polly and I sat. We were the
first to get out. I felt the eyes of the passersby staring into the vee of
my legs as I got up from the seat of the limo and exited through the door.
Rose followed quickly, ushered us forward. Joanne and Sylvia followed. The
club was only a few steps away. We crossed the sidewalk, and Rose placed a
wad of bills in the doorman's open palm. He was dressed like a royal
servant, with top hat, gloves, long boots and a long tailed jacket. He
nodded, passed the money to a woman behind a window. She counted it quickly
as we passed through the door to the club, a glass door that a second doorman
opened for us. He was dressed as the first. Nobody checked our I.D.,
although it would be saying too much of the doorman's manners to say he
didn't check us out.
I found myself huddled with Rose and Polly and Joanne and Sylvia
inside a large lobby with flashing strobe lights. In the center, people were
dancing. Beyond a band played. Above us was a balcony of glass, where yet
more people danced. It stretched around the four walls of the club and,
looking up, polly and I found ourselves staring straight into the crotches of
women and men. Most wore swimsuits, like we did, although a few more modest
dancers wore clothes. A waitress passed overhead, wearing a miniskirt, but
it was quite useless with Polly and I staring straight up from below.
"She doesn't have any panties on!" Polly cried, pointing upward.
"Be good dear," Rose told her. "Please don't point at people's
genitals." She herded us toward the dance floor, while the doorman who'd let
us in nodded to another who approached Rose and asked her which table she'd
like. There were round tables scattered about, many of them filled. The
ones that were empty belonged to dancers.
"Whichever one is closest to the floor," Rose said to the man.
Despite her bikini, she had a purse with her. A small, leather one, black
as her suit. She handed it to the man to use to mark our table with. She
kept it in the limo for just such uses, she told me.
"It's got a few condoms in it if you meet someone really special,"
she confided.
"A few what?" Polly asked. Joanne and Sylvia had gone dancing with
Rose before. They did not pay any attention, knowing already what Rose was
telling me.
"You know, rubbers," I told Polly.
"Good," she replied. "I shoot rubber bands at the boys at school
when they bother me!"
"Not rubber-" I began, but gave up. I had no real interest in
shouting over the music about condoms, especially as several eager men were
already approaching us.
"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm the chaperone for these girls. Would
you like to ask them something?" Rose said with a smile. Joanne and Sylvia,
not included in Rose's little introduction, let themselves be led away by men
who slipped up alongside them. As for Polly and I, we found ourselves
staring at two extremely studly dudes who vied, at that moment, with Louis
and Andre and Jack for my liking. They wore abbreviated swimsuits within
which their balls and organs seemed to be almost bristling. The nearest had
on a cut-off t-shirt, showing me his belly, while Polly's suitor wore an open
vest. I wondered if he were gay. They both looked to be in their early
20's, just old enough to know when to hold and to fold, I suspected, and the
thought excited me. To my surprise Rose approached the one I was
contemplating and pointedly stuck her finger in the front of his suit.
Pulling it open, she stared right down into his equipment. I wished I could
see, but he was just a little too far back from me. I would have to rely on
Rose's judgement.
"Well, you certainly LOOK healthy," Rose said to the young man. A
girl came up between them, missing her bra, wearing just bikini panties. Her
breasts jogged easily on her chest. She wore long glass earrings. They
looked almost penis-shaped. Her lips were wet and open. I felt an urge to
stick my finger in her mouth and watch her suck it.
"Hi," she said to me, her voice soft despite the amplified music.
Yet I could hear her. I could read her lips. She seemed utterly
unaffected. She was no more than 16. I felt a kinship with her. She
glanced along the nearest boy's belly into the suit Rose still was
inspecting.
"Oooh, cool," the girl sighed. She brushed a hand along her belly.
It was flat, with the gentlest of swelling right where her navel was, as if
to promise something to us all if she were fucked.
Rose let the man's suit snap shut. "You have permission to dance
with my charges," Rose told him.
"Are they your daughters?" the man asked Rose. She flushed a
little.
"Do I look that old? No, of course not. They're not my daughters!"
She pushed the first man aside and went to the other. She was no less frank
with him, despite his muscles and his hard-edged demeanor.
"Yes, I see you're well equipped too," Rose complimented the man.
In retaliation he pulled open the front of her bikini bottoms.
"Monkey see, monkey do," he said to excuse himself, and looked with
candid ardor at her bush. Rose let her hands drop to her sides and did not
protest.
"Do you like what you see?" she asked, laughing, as he held open her
front.
"I'll kiss it for you," the man said. Rose smiled, looked at me. I
tried not to blush. Gently the man placed Rose's panties back against her
delta. Then he placed a finger beneath her and felt between her legs. "Your
swimsuit's moist," he said. Rose looked at me again.
"Did you wet your panties?" Polly asked Rose with wide eyes.
"Go dance, dear," Rose replied.
The man I thought would take Polly went instead for Rose. They
began swaying to the beat of the music as Polly and I joined the guy with the
cutoff tee.
"What's your name?" he asked each of us, telling us he was Brad.
The girl introduced herself as Cheyenne. Another male, seeing the surfeit
of females around Brad, soon joined us. We minded not. He was Darwin, a
blonde surfer, with trunks as full as Brad's.
I noticed the floor we were dancing on was strangely modern-looking.
It seemed to have pegged holes in it every few inches. They were covered
with mesh, I saw, as I bent down to look. Strange, but I had no explanation
for them. I had to pull my swimsuit up when I straightened my back. The
slightest bow in my frame, the littlest bending over, and it slipped further
down my heinie, exposing my white cheeks.
"Your daughter has a lovely ass," Brad told Rose as we found
ourselves dancing within earshot.
"She's going to have it whipped later tonight," Rose confided. I
blushed. Rose indicated Polly and said she would be treated the same. Brad
seemed shocked. His cock grew, straining his swimsuit. He became noticeably
uncomfortable from his erection.
"I hope the suds start soon," he said.
"Suds?" I asked.
"You'll see," Cheyenne assured me. "Any minute now."
Suddenly, even as she spoke, a spray of water erupted from the
floor. Squirting fountains began shooting up and wetting our bodies. They
didn't spurt high enough to hit our faces, but I found my crotch and my belly
getting rained upon. Even my breasts were not out of reach of the higher
spurts. Cheyenne laughed, jiggled her tits. The water was not a thorough,
unrelenting spray, like a fountain, but rather a series of distinct streams
emanating from the floor. There were just enough of them, though, that there
was no escaping being wettened. And for each fountain of water there was,
right beside it, a fountain spraying some kind of liquid cream. It smelled
like Cool-Whip and I knew now why the cover charge was $200.00. Somebody
must have bought an awful lot of it to spray it on us so freely.
"Take off your bottoms," Cheyenne urged me. She loosed her own as
she spoke. Feeling uninhibited in all the spurting cream, I ran my fingers
over my drawstrings and tugged at them. I felt my heinie become more exposed
than ever, and, worse, my pussy too. Cream shot up and hit my cunny as my
panties fell away. Not wanting to be alone, I reached over and grabbed
teasingly at Polly's panties. She tried to resist but, for some reason,
fought with only half her strength and I had hers undone in no time.
Brad laughed and yanked down his Speedos. His cock, so eager to
break free, sprang up and was immediately anointed with Cool-Whip. He let
his balls swing over the spray and they got a baptism of their own. I
reached back and undid my top and let it flutter away. I felt like an
Indian, naked as Cheyenne, and I made sure Polly's top came off too. We
danced away from our things. I knew I should recover them from the floor but
the whole atmosphere was so heady I just didn't care. I wiggled my tits and
felt their freedom. Brad watched with mesmerized eyes.
"I love you, Brad," I called to him. Laughing, I asked, "What's
your last name?"
"Pitt," he replied.
"Liar," I giggled.
"Liar yourself, what's your last name?" he asked me above the din of
the music.
"Liar, liar, ass on fire!" I shouted, and I reached back and whacked
his naked haunches. He shouted, grabbed me, and I let him pull me close. I
felt my breasts crush themselves against his chest as he aimed for my mouth
with his tongue and found it. Beyond us Polly and Cheyenne were drawn close
by Darwin and he stood feeling their bottoms as he kissed them.
"Let's fuck," Brad begged me.
"I don't know," I replied. I wished only to dance, kiss a little,
perhaps. But then again, my thoughts whirling, I could feel him snake-like
against my belly, so hard, so very impressive.
A woman's hand, its nails long and chiseled, placed itself softly on
my fanny. I broke my mouth from Brad's, turned. It was Rose.
"Come," she said. She interrupted Darwin and Polly also and, with
our new friends accompanying us, she led us up some steps to a private room,
retrieving her purse first, in case we needed Polly's 'rubber bands.'
We entered into a small room with a crackling fireplace. I let
myself be drawn to it. The water had been chilly and I felt grateful for the
fire. I extended my hands to it, standing before it, and let the heat bathe
my tummy. Then I turned around and offered it my ass.
Rose found a pile of towels and passed them around. We stood drying
ourselves before the warmth of the fire. I felt romantic. I was glad the
water had not wet my hair. Polly found a large cowboy hat and, perhaps to
regain just a touch of modesty, she plopped it on her head.
"Oh, what's that?" she asked, adjusting her hat. She pointed to a
leather stool in the corner. It was shaped like a saddle and it had a pommel
with reins. Polly wandered over to it.
"You don't want to sit on that, darling," Rose cautioned. "It's an
electric bucking bronco. Someone must have decided to store it here."
But Polly was curious. The padded stool with the pommel was too
tall for her to mount standing on the floor. She placed both her hands up on
the seat, and then lifted a foot and stuck it in a stirrup that dangled down
along the side of the stool. The thing was a real-looking saddle, I had to
admit, complete with everything but the horse itself. But why would anyone
mount it on a stool?
Darwin eased himself over to Polly and offered to help her up. She
accepted, and he hoisted her bottom up for her so that she could settle
herself in the saddle. She looked just like a cowgirl and, clearly enjoying
herself, she pulled the chin strap of her hat down below her chin so she
wouldn't lose it.
Polly picked up the reins that dangled down from the pommel in front
of the stool. Holding them aloft in her hands, she began to bounce her ass
up and down on the smooth leather saddle. It was padded, but stiffly soft,
so that her bottom did not sink down into it but was nonetheless not
discomfited as she bounced up and down.
"Giddap, giddap! Go, pony, go!" Polly shouted happily. She turned
to Rose. "I want to GO someplace!" she whined. "On my horsey." She was
being utterly childish again, but, judging from the mesmerized look on Brad
and Darwin's faces, they didn't mind in the least.
Rose whispered to the boys and their eyes lit up. With quick steps
they approached Polly's 'horse.' As Polly watched, curious and, I think, a
little randy from the dancing, they buckled her legs below the knee into
leather straps that hung from the sides of the stool. I hadn't taken note of
them earlier. They sprouted from the sides of the stool, right where Polly's
calves were, and it was the easiest of things for Brad and Darwin to 'buckle
her up', one might say, as she sat watching them.
AND IN THE END...
"Designers are continually blurring the line between lingerie and swimwear."
- Vogue, May 1997, pg. 280.
(Don't forget little girls when you're designing swimwear! - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-END OF 255 EMISSION
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