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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 368 Passions Playpen NND g2
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America Needs
LAW AND ORDER !
Sometimes a guy, perhaps a guy who’s never had a girlfriend,
will suddenly meet a girl. She likes him. He likes her. She’s under
18. He’s 18, or older. They fall in love and everyone’s happy, right?
No. Unfortunately, America’s legislators aren’t happy. They
call a guy like this a “child molester.” They insist he be punished.
But what sort of punishment, you may ask? What, after all, should be
the punishment for love?
“Death!” America’s legislators reply. “Life imprisonment!”
And, also, “Castration!”
Sometimes a guy, perhaps a guy who’s never even smoked pot
before, lights up a joint. It makes him happy. And nobody has any
problem with someone in America being happy, especially all by himself,
right?
No. Unfortunately, Mississippi State Representative Bobby Moak
isn’t happy. He’s proposed this law: “Smoke a Joint, Lose a Limb.” He
would “punish marijuana smokers by amputating an arm or a leg.”
In Kansas, 38 state legislators want “to impose life terms
without parole for growing marijuana plants.”
So, I have been thinking. If we have so many legislators
wanting to impose “law and order” on us Americans, isn’t it time we
imposed some law and order on them? For instance, occasionally a
legislator is caught lying, cheating, or stealing. Given the heavy
penalties legislators want to impose on us for love, or for growing
plants, or for smoking them, what should be the penalty for a legislator
lying, cheating, or stealing?
I thought about this for a long time. Then, one day, I found
out what happened to a political figure of the past. His name was King
Charles I. He seemed a good model to me, since:
a. He was a real politician.
b. He was actually tried, convicted, and sentenced.
c. He was convicted and punished under the law, by a court of
England.
d. England provides us here in America with the basis of our
own law.
Hence, I propose that the penalty for King Charles I be applied
to any politician here in America convicted of lying, cheating, or
stealing:
“You shall go from hence to the place from whence you came, and
from that place shall be drawn upon a hurdle to the place of execution,
and there shall hang by the neck till you are half dead, and shall be
cut down alive, and your privy members cut off before your face and
thrown into the fire, your belly ripped up and your bowels burnt, your
head to be severed from your body, your body shall be divided into four
quarters, and disposed as His Majesty shall think fit.”
Sources: Libertarian Party News, April 1998, page 4; and Encyclopedia
of Unusual Sex Practices, by Brenda Love, pg. 282.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 368
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Passion’s Playpen
Chapter Two
Kate flexed her thighs. Her ankles were secured to the
baseboard of the bed. She had watched them tie her feet. She wore
pretty red pumps. They had spikes on their heels. A soft white rope,
crossing several times over each of her ankles, and over the straps of
her pretty red shoes, bound her feet. They were spread wide apart.
Kate felt thankful for the fur draped over her body, for without it
anyone who came in the bedroom would have seen her muff. It was
well-displayed, under the concealing layer of fur, splayed and open and
too moist for a proper young college freshman. Kate wondered what her
mother would say, if she knew her daughter was skipping class and lying
here instead, feeling her bare bottom rub against the fur underneath her
as she tested the bonds that held her feet.
Yes. She was trussed quite tightly, like a turkey might be,
except turkeys could simply be open and spread for stuffing to be put
inside them. She was like a live turkey, Kate realized. She was
waiting for the butcher’s axe, or her lover’s penis, and she’d been
promised a date within the barn, no less, where turkeys might once have
been slaughtered for the Thanksgiving feast.
What was in the barn? Kate found herself wondering why a
cultured woman like Miriam, living within the city, in a proper
townhouse, would speak of having a barn out back, and animals housed
inside it. Just the thought of being taken out back to a real barn made
Kate desperate to pass her hand between her legs and rub herself.
They had not forbid her pleasure. Maria, kissing her
goodnight, had not mentioned the matter, like a mother who wishes to
turn a blind eye to her children’s sins. Yet Maria had directed Lisa on
how to bind Kate, what manner of rope to use, how tight the knots should
be made, and what posture Kate should be left in when it all was done.
Lisa had wanted to cuff both Kate’s hands, but Miriam had told her not
to. Kate’s lover, waiting by the door, watched it all in silence. He
still held his belt in his fist and Kate had feared he might beat her
with it when she was finished being tied. Perhaps, she had thought,
they left her one hand free to fend off his blows.
Now Kate lay in silence, squirming a little on the fur, nude
except for her heels and decorative earrings that hung from her ears.
They had denied her a pillow. They wished to admire the effect of
seeing her with her legs upraised, fixed to the posts of the bed’s
baseboard. After Kate had been tied Maria and Lisa and her lover stood
admiring her, watching her breath as it made her belly ripple and her
bosoms rise and fall. Perversely, Maria had given Kate a pacifier to
suck. Kate held it still between her lips, feeling the big plastic
nipple as it lay on her restless tongue.
Kate could feel her soft hair lying about her face. Maria had
braided it for her, after her bath, braiding just the strands in front,
leaving a little hanging free round her eyes and a great swathe of her
lovely hair free in back. Whenever Kate moved her head she felt the odd
duality of the braids, tugging at her head whilst her bangs hung down in
her eyes. She felt a luscious sense of being bound yet free, tied up
yet still able to move, to toss her head and flex her knees and rub her
bottom against the fur, while playing with her pubic hair with the
fingers of her right hand.
Surely she must be made to suffer for all this luxury. And she
knew she would be. She was like a sacrificial lamb, cared for and fed
and decorated with ribbons, only to be ripped apart by the priest.
Beside her, on the nightstand, lay yet more fruit, surrounded by ice
that Lisa had been forced to haul up from the kitchen downstairs. A
small bowl of cream lay beside the strawberries, for dipping, if Kate
should ever get hungry enough to stop playing with the curls of her
pubic hair. And next to the cream was a dish of cheese, and beside
that, all within reach of Kate, lay a bottle of wine, kept chilled in an
ice bucket. A little bell sat next to the bucket of wine, in case Kate
should need help in drinking it. The cork was already popped. Kate
could, she mused, merely pour the wine on herself. Nobody had told her
not to make a mess. Yet, somehow, she wished to be elegant, to be as
fine a creature as Maria and her lover wished her to be. She was no
longer a college girl, serious about her studies, and silly on the
weekends. She was a pinup, a poster girl, made for the camera. She was
a dream girl, fresh from her bath and ready for love.
And in all that luxury, in all the special and fine comfort,
Kate could only wonder and wait. She told herself to sleep but the
apprehension she felt about what they still promised to do to her kept
her awake. Kate looked at the little silver bell beside her bed. It
glowed at her, smugly, as if it knew what she was in for and cared not
the least if she suffered. It had seen other girls, she knew. Girls
who didn’t listen to their mother to study and be good in school and
instead ran away with a lover. To play wicked games. Games where
people lost their clothes and got fucked and spanked. And tied to a bed
between soft layers of fur, to wait for morning and a trip to the barn.
Kate felt a hopeless sense of longing brewing within her. She
tried to restrain her hunger, not that in her belly, which she’d fed,
but that just below, between her widespread legs. She’d been fucked in
her ass at the party downstairs, not her cunt. She longed to find her
lover in the room, his penis bare, pressing it between her legs and
forcing her to take him.
“No!” Kate cried. She tossed her head on the fur. She mustn’t
tease and play with herself, just below where she was touching, where
her pubic fur opened upon a wondrous cleft that begged for attention.
“Did you call?” a shy voice asked. Kate, who had squeezed her
eyes shut, to better fight her desire, opened them again. She saw a
figure in the doorway. The door was open again, but it was not her
lover standing there.
A girl tossed back long hair and braids.
“She has the same hairstyle as me!” Kate breathed to herself.
And she knew who had braided the hair that way. The figure in the
doorway crept closer. Kate saw a shirt but no panties. Between the
girl’s plump thighs she saw wisps.
The girl flicked on the light. Kate blinked. She had grown
accustomed to the darkness. The girl wore a man’s shirt. It was much
too big for her and one of her shoulders was bare, for the shirt on that
side of her body had fallen free of her and hung down round her arm.
The shirt was only partly buttoned in front. It left her bosoms mostly
uncovered, as well as her belly. Just one button was closed across her
middle to keep her modest. Where the shirt flared Kate saw hips as bare
as her own. Between naked legs a thatch of pubic hair grew. Kate
needed a cock but instead got a cunny, one to match her own, and perhaps
just as wet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” the girl apologized.
She had a finger in her mouth, tentatively, as if speculating about her
presence. She was white, with her skin just tanned a little, but not
where her private parts lay, for both her bosoms looked like
marshmallows and there was a band of pale flesh where she wore her swim
panties in the sun. In her right fist she clutched a riding crop. It
was long and slender and it had a tassel on its tip, making her look
like a little elf who’d lost her reindeer. She seemed to be tensing her
bottom.
“You didn’t wake me,” Kate replied. Then, as if to make
conversation, she said, “I see you don’t have any panties on either.”
“No. Panties are a no-no here,” the girl replied. She had
glossy red hair and looked no older than Kate and her pubic hair, since
she was so young and obviously uncontrived, was the same color as the
hair on her head. Kate lay looking at her for a moment and then,
wriggling her feet, she asked,
“Could you please let me go?”
“Oh, you shouldn’t ask such a thing!” the redhead exclaimed.
She advanced closer to Kate. She seemed to find a bit of confidence in
herself and she drew in her breath, which made her bosoms rise so that
the pert nipples of her breasts popped free of the man’s shirt she
wore. The shirt had slipped from her other shoulder as she walked and
she had to stop and heft it back up again, lest she remain bare
bosomed. “You may ask for cake, and chocolate if you wish, and all the
liquor you care to drink, but you mustn’t ask me to free you,” the girl
said. She turned and inspected Kate’s food. Kate saw that the girl’s
shirt was pinned up in back. It left her bottom totally bare and
accessible.
“Could you bring me something?” Kate asked. It seemed the only
thing to say. Perhaps, if she were a princess, she could force the girl
to bring her a knife.
“Let me whip you first,” the girl replied. “Don’t you want any
of this nice fruit?” She probed the strawberries with an inquiring
finger. “Do you mind if I have one?” she asked. Kate didn’t reply, so
she picked one up anyway and popped it in her mouth. It was big for her
cheeks and it distorted her mouth and she had to concentrate a moment to
get it chewed and swallowed.
“What do you mean, whip me?” Kate asked. She had dropped the
pacifier from her mouth when the girl opened the door but now the girl
picked it up and offered it to her again.
“Here, suck this,” the girl said. She seemed as artless as a
new pupil at school, yet she made Kate open her lips and receive the
pacifier inside her mouth, shoving it into her face until Kate accepted
it. “You must be whipped on the backs of your thighs, to make you ready
for tomorrow when your bottom is flogged. I’ve brought some Estee
Lauder creme to soothe you after I’m done.” The girl fished in her
shirt pocket which, owing to the largeness of the shirt, hung down at
the level of her belly. She drew forth a squirt tube of creme. “Would
you like to roll over and take it lying face down, or would you prefer
to stand up for it?”
HOW MANY GIRLS can you call on the phone?
by holy joe
Okay, you’re sitting at home. You’re by yourself. You’re
staring at your computer. (Your zipper, by the way, is unzipped.)
It’s time to play holy joe’s game, ‘How many girls can you call
on the phone?’
But don’t play it by yourself. That would be no fun at all.
Instead, print this out. Then, fold it up neatly and give it to another
guy in your life. When he’s opened your special message, here’s what
he’ll see:
CONGRATULATIONS!!!
You must now call and talk to real, live girls on the
telephone. Don’t be shy. Unless you call up some girls, you will have
bad luck for the rest of your life.
Pick up the phone. Start dialing up some girls you know, or
hope for luck as you dial whatever numbers come into your head. Only
real, live girls who answer and actually talk to you count in your
score.
To do really well, you need to call up five different girls and
talk to them. If you do less well, check below to see what will happen
to you for the rest of your life:
0 - You will be a worthless dweeb.
1 - You will be married to a hippopotamus and have five daughters who
all grow up to be groupies.
2 - You will have a ton of porno magazines stashed in your bathroom.
Your friends will drool on them whenever they use your toilet.
3 - You will lust after many girls, but the only love you will find will
be at porn sites on the Web.
4 - A girl will tell you she loves you, if you spend lots of money on
her.
5 - Girls will come running into your life and rip your clothes off and
practically kill you trying to have sex with you.
What are you waiting for, bad luck? Pick up the phone now!
@-->-->---- LOVE CONNECTION hot line, Incorporated
A FAMILIAR RENDEZVOUS
by Tim DiVito
We came to the park and in it,
like we always did.
This time was different somehow,
reaching new heights was in our grasp.
We made love for the first time,
maybe not love, something more erotic.
The dark clouds covered our naked bodies
like black satin sheets on our bed of green grass.
One kiss could not feed our insatiable hunger.
We tasted the sweetness of our tongues
like fresh strawberries in May.
The rain and her hands pushed me down,
down to the moist essence of her womanhood,
savoring the sweet honey once forbidden.
She now begins, to explore, with tongue and lips,
bringing me to stiff attention with playful expertise.
Lust was not deterred by the cold downpour
as my ass moved in erotic rhythm
to the beat of the raindrops.
Screams of animal passion filled the rain chilled air.
We achieved a rare moment, mutual release was ours.
AND IN THE END...
“Politicians have tried spending their way and jailing their
way to victory in the 25-year-old War on Drugs. Now they’re willing to
amputate their way to victory.”
- Libertarian Party News, April 1998, page 4.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-END OF 368 EMISSION
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