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From: ROLLER666@aol.com
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 263 Bush League (nnd)
YES, AMERICA, it's time for you to hear from me AGAIN!
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 263
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bush League
Chapter Two
"I like your cock, Louis, but this one was bigger," Polly teased.
She sashayed past him.
"Where are you going, dear?" Rose asked her.
"Swimming!" Polly replied. She unzipped the back of her dress as
she headed out the back of the parlor. A moment later and there was nothing
but her dress on the floor. Beyond that, following just a little, but not
leaving the parlor, I saw her panties abandoned on the rug. So much for
being an innocent schoolgirl.
"I need a nap," I said, sauntering over the couch on which Louis and
Andre were sitting. I guess a year makes a difference sometimes. Either
that or the sheer rigor of what I'd been through, being anally probed,
whipped the night before, fucked this morning.
"Don't lie down here if you don't like my cock," Louis warned. I
plopped down beside him anyway and let my head fall back into his crotch. It
felt satisfied beneath me, though I detected perhaps a slight bulging when I
looked up at him, babylike and parted my lips.
"Goo," I said to Louis. "You're my daddy now. Please don't spank
me for trying to take the world's biggest cock up my ass."
"Go to your room if you want to sleep, Fleury," Rose told me. "We
have a party tonight and the men need to save up their energy for it." She
looked up from her knitting. "Where it counts."
"Oh, I'm too tired to get up now," I said, yawning.
"Up! Scat! Or I won't invite you to the party tonight," Rose told
me. "I'll lock you up in your room and who knows who might visit you then?
You'll have to lie awake all night waiting, just to see."
Somehow I found the energy to spring up from the couch. "You are a
bitch, Rose," I told our hostess. I stalked from the room, feeling quite
mature and grown-up. I might be her guest, or, rather, a female brought here
by my boyfriend Louis to be trained to be a love slave, but I didn't like
being ordered around. Not all the time, anyway. I think I was getting
grumpy in my sleepiness. Rose ignored me. Louis and Andre went back to
reading their newspapers. I ascended the stairs, broad polished steps that
made me feel like Scarlet at Tara. Now I knew why I liked this place.
Mingled with the sense of submission was an extraordinary freedom. And
binding it all was Rose's mindbending sense of elegance. I stopped to look
at a Monet hanging halfway up the stairs. Water lilies. It was a
reproduction of course, but it was still pretty. I proceeded up the rest of
the stairs and down the hall to my room.
I undressed slowly and carefully lay my schoolgirl clothes on a
chair. Someone would come and hang them for me, or iron them, or wash them
or whatever needed to be done, but I still wanted to be neater, at least,
than Polly. When I stripped to my panties, though, I tip-toed to my window.
I drew back the drapes. I took my underpants off and, leaning out the
window just a little, I dropped them. They fluttered toward the ground.
From a distance they looked like a handkerchief or, when the wind briefly
caught them, like a dove. I watched them until they landed in the grass.
Then I slipped into bed and pulled up my covers and waited to see if anybody
would find them. My door to my room was unlocked. Perhaps he'd bring them
to me, whoever he was, and graciously return them. Or perhaps he'd just be
Branson, whip in hand, come with my panties and ready to scold me for tossing
them out the window. I shuddered and turned on my side and tried not to
think of that possibility. As I shut my eyes, sleep overcame me.
I had slept perhaps an hour or two when, just lingering on the edge
of sleep, I heard my bedroom door open. Rose entered. She had a folded
parasol in her hand which she laid down just inside my door, as if she'd been
out walking. She held aloft my panties that I'd dropped from my window. She
let them dangle from her finger, significantly, it seemed to me. I felt a
shiver run down my back to my tailbone.
"You seem to have lost these," Rose said in a low, disciplined
voice.
"I-" What could I say? I should have put them away, I guess, but I
wanted to be naughty. I wanted to tease and taunt passersby under my window.
A man might have come to the castle to get closer to his wife and then,
strolling along with her on the castle grounds, he might have seen my
panties, the panties of a mere 14-year-old girl, and suddenly his mind might
be gripped with an insensate lust for someone much younger than his wife.
For me, Fleury.
Rose moved closer to me and her figure, fully formed and with its
dominant bust line, overshadowed me as I lay in my bed. Her breasts, couched
in a low cut gown, but with a series of straps leading up to her neck where
they formed a tight collar, loomed large and impressive. Twin hindenburgs,
filled with hot air and ready to burst upon me. "May I remind you, Fleury,
that while you are given many freedoms here at my castle, you are in fact not
free. You are expected to behave as Louis' love slave, especially when he is
present. He was not the least amused to find two young men eagerly inquiring
as to the possessor of these panties. They seemed to think they had a right
to return them to the 'poor girl,' as they called you, who'd 'lost' them. A
fight almost ensued right in my living room. I had the men ejected, of
course. They should not have been invited in the first place if they are
going to let their lust get out of hand like that. But I mustn't let you go
unpunished for such an indiscretion, clever and sexy as it might have been.
Least because it caused me trouble, and that's enough of a standard for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I begged her. I drew my covers tightly under my
chin.
"You are not Polly," Rose told me. "You are older, and more
experienced. Do you wish to remain my guest at the castle, or should I send
you home now?" She took my covers from my hands, persuading them out of my
grip.
"No-- no I like it here," I answered, truthfully, though I felt my
tummy all aflutter. She pulled down my sheets and my bedcover and looked at
my nude body. The panties, so important a moment ago, lay dropped on the
covers and got rolled under them as she drew them down.
"Look at you, you didn't even bathe before getting into your nice
clean bed," Rose said. Then, speculatively, she took both my breasts in her
hands and palped them, squeezed my tits a little, as if she might be picking
up where Glenda had left off. "Polly resists sometimes, but I do not expect
you to, Fleury. You are to obey. You are old enough to understand this. I
will have Joanne and Sylvia come and bathe you. You are entitled to that, at
least, as a prisoner. This is not a real prison, as I sometimes have to
remind Branson. It is a prison of love. Your cuffs will be put back on
after your bath, and your collar too. Then you will report to me,
downstairs, and I will punish you for throwing your panties out the window."
I felt my hands slip quickly beneath my bottom. "Oh, not on my
heinie!" I begged. "It hurts still from last night!"
"Wherever Louis wishes it, that's where it will be done," Rose said.
She bent low and kissed my forehead. "You are loved, my dear. Never forget
that. You are a captive of love. The men may mistreat you sometimes, but it
is only because they enjoy seeing your young little body wriggling around,
showing all your forbidden parts. There will be time enough in life for your
mind, my dear. Now is the time for your body. We must awaken it to all the
pleasures of life. Think of all the dowdy girls who long for love, but find
none or, worse, find themselves shunned, ostracized by their peers because
they're too fat, or wear glasses, or have stupid hair that just won't set
right."
"I still don't want to be punished," I mourned.
"Of course you don't," Rose replied. "No girl does. I didn't. But
a sharp slap on your beautiful fanny is nothing compared to what those other
girls suffer, the ones who waste their lives reading Tiger Beat long after
they should have outgrown it, because nobody likes them and nobody plays with
them." Rose pulled down the front of her dress and her tits bulged out, her
nipples and tit flesh extruded up by the bunched down gown. She offered me
her nipples. They were coral-tipped, like jewels.
"Lick my nipples," Rose told me. "Suck them, yes, ah like a baby
you suck!" she exclaimed, as I, hoping perhaps to win a reprieve, took her
nearest nipple tip in my mouth and sucked on it urgently. "Good, good," Rose
told me, encouraging my hopes. I let my eyes bulge wide and I suckled her
breasts as if my life depended on it for, indeed, my bottom no doubt did!
When I'd made one of her jug-like breasts all wet at its tip with my saliva
I went to her other one. I sucked on it just as greedily. I was hungry for
her forgiveness.
Rose seemed torn between lifting her dress and frigging herself and
desisting. Alas for me, her conscience won out. "Enough!" she declared, and
tore my lips from her bosom. "Go fill your tub. Joanne and Sylvia will be
fetched and in attendance on you. Obey them. Do not fight them. Let them
wash you and prepare you."
"But-" I begged. I did not want my hard work to be wasted.
"I will put in a good word with Louis," Rose replied.
"You fucked him this afternoon while I was at child protective
services," I snapped at her.
Rose put her palm over my mouth. She lowered her teeth to my right
nipple. She clamped her incisors over it. Within the cold grip of her teeth
she let the tip of her tongue flick across my tender nipple tip. "Do you
feel this?" she asked, squeezing my nipple harder with her teeth, making me
really feel its presence. Her words were understandable despite her clenched
jaws.
"Yes!" I breathed.
"I am in charge," Rose told me. I nodded, watching her bite my
nipple. She unclenched it. Smiling, she lifted her head, licked her teeth
with her tongue. Her hand found my other nipple and pinched it.
"Ow!" I said.
"One hour," Rose warned me. "Then I expect you to be downstairs and
all ready for your punishment, whatever it may be. Tell Joanne and Sylvia to
keep track of the time."
"Yes, mistress," I said quietly. She unfolded my bedcovers. She
drew my panties out of them and inspected them. Then she reached past my
head and tossed them out the window.
"What-?" I began. Her breasts swung over my face like ripe
watermelon.
"Love is obedience, my dear," Rose told me. She patted my face.
"You will make a good wife someday because I will have trained you well."
She turned and walked away from my bed, toward the door. I watched
as her hips undulated with a blatant sexuality. She did not intend it, I
think. She was just so perfectly formed, so fulsome, with a waspish waist,
that her hips could do naught but invite the eye, and make men especially
lust after her tail. I wondered if I might someday take a whip to her tush.
The thought made my spot tingle. I don't know why, but seeing her bent over
and howling sent a shiver of pleasure through my belly and up my thighs.
Yes! Despite all she did to me, I vowed someday it would be my turn. I'd
show her how well I'd learned all her love lessons. Her bottom would smart
for days after from all my learning.
I was presented by Joanne and Sylvia. I had a big pink bow in my
hair. I looked utterly precious...
FEMINIST STUDIES
for Men!
by Joe Klein
For many years we males have been subjected to "feminist theory."
It's main accomplishment was to declare, and then pass into law, the maxim
that "All men are evil."
Today, ladies, it's payback time. After all, I personally consider
the sexes to be equal. What's good for the gander is good for the goose.
Hence, our first maxim: "All women are evil."
Notice I didn't say, "little girls are evil." (Though women do
their best to make them so.) And I didn't say, "All teenage girls are evil."
I am keeping my theories 'feminist pure.' If the feminists didn't say it, I
won't say it.
Next, having declared all men evil, the feminists ask, "What to do
with them?" I agree. What to do with women? Generally, feminists declare
men to be unnecessary. I agree! Women are unnecessary. Little girls are
necessary. Teenage girls are necessary. Women are unnecessary.
Feminists usually decide that if a man can't live with all the new
feminist laws, he must be put in prison. (Preferably for life.) I agree.
Let's get rid of all these goddamn women! Put them in prison, for life.
After all, "All women are evil."
Some women will claim I'm a misogynist. Really, though, I'm not. I
personally don't have anything against women. They're often easier to deal
with than men. Men are always playing a game of one-upmanship. Men organize
themselves into a hierarchy. So whenever you're dealing with a man, the
question always arises, "Is he the dominant in this relationship, or am I?"
Dealing with a woman, there is usually only mutual respect and courtesy. A
woman doctor, for instance, is not intent on demonstrating to me that we're
in a hierarchy, and that she's above me. (Like a man would be.) She's the
doctor, and I'm the patient. That's it. There's no "King of the Hill" game
going on underneath the relationship.
Nonetheless, not having anything against someone doesn't mean you
wish to have -- what shall we call it -- a special relationship with them.
For instance, I have nothing against the man who picks up my garbage. I
endorse his RIGHT to work a job, picking up my garbage. But I don't want to
climb in bed with him.
The same goes for women. I mean, really, what does a woman have to
offer? A woman is basically the same as a man, in my opinion. She works a
job. I work a job. She worries over her taxes. I worry over my taxes. And
on and on. I mean, what's the difference? I may as well have a special
relationship with myself, or climb in bed with a man.
Girls, on the other hand, are totally different. This week I'm
reading the May 13, 1997 issue of Globe, about Michael Kennedy's 14-year-old
girlfriend. What a unique and interesting person she is! And I'll bet lots
of other 14-year-old girls are just as fantastic. But I'm told, "No, no, you
may only ever associate with women."
My answer to that? YUCK! I'd rather spend the rest of my life with
6-year-old JonBenet, on her naughtiest, most uncontrollable day, than spend a
second of my life with, say, Michael Kennedy's ex-wife.
So, returning to feminism: since all women ARE evil, what should we
men do about them? I suggest a regime of Laws. Let's set up a legal system
in this country that few if any women can ever hope to comply with. They'll
all find themselves declared "predators," and be imprisoned. And don't
forget the death penalty. After all, "Women. They're the WORST!"
Yes, ladies. I really can't stand you. Like I said, it's okay
dealing with you as doctors, (etc.) But I don't want to have a special
relationship with you. I really can't even understand men I see, hanging
around with women. (Especially since most women are way past their prime, in
terms of attractiveness.) I mean, is the average man insane? That's not
meant to be a rhetorical question. Anything a woman is, a girl is surely 10
times better. Prettier, more fun, more interesting, you name it. About the
only criticism I hear of girls is, "Women are better conversationalists."
Huh? Better to talk to? First of all, girls are more FUN to talk
to. (I know this more by surmise than by actual experience, alas.)
Secondly, if you really want educated talk, gentlemen, watch Charlie Rose.
I watch it and McNeil/Lehrer every night. That's 10 hours of educated talk
per week. Want more? There's C-SPAN's endless "About Books" program on
Saturday and Sunday, plus Booknotes. Want more? There's books, magazines
like The Economist, etc. And you won't just be getting some working woman's
half-assed assumptions on Charlie Rose, or C-SPAN. You'll be getting your
information direct from the world's most respected experts.
Yet Charlie Rose gets low ratings. So obviously these men who claim
they prefer women to girls aren't, in fact, interested in intellectual
conversation.
Is it sex you're after, men? Again, I would assume, a tight virgin
is more fun to fuck than some woman who's motto is: "Been there, done that."
Some men, apparently, like women because they're "sexually
talented." Well, so's the local faggot. Why don't you go get a blow job
from him?
Really, I can't understand men's fixation with women. I don't have
experience with girls, unfortunately, or with women (for which I thank my
lucky stars), but it would seem to me that girls are a FAR better deal than
women. Yet we see men collaborating with women every day to build and
strengthen the NaziFeminist matriarchy we're currently living in.
Oh well, that's my 2 cents worth. If I have any other thoughts on
the relative worthlessness of women, you can be sure you'll read them here.
FUCK WOMEN!
(or, better yet, don't!)
AND IN THE END...
RACIST AMERICA
Anyone remember Mel Reynolds?
"The girl isn't talking -- nor is her family -- and the case will probably
never get to court."
- Newsweek, May 12, 1997, on Michael Kennedy and his underage lover. (pg.
50)
(Congressman Reynolds' underage lover was jailed until she talked. - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
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copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 263 EMISSION
- Late word from Joe Klein: "I wish to remain anonymous."
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