Message-ID: <12651eli$9807012300@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/12651.txt>
From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 384 Passions Playpen NND g2
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <359A8CF7.3712@earthlink.net>
---------------------------------------------------------------
PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I HAVE STOPPED MASTURBATING !!!
I’ll be honest. I was about to jack off. I already had my
pants off. My hand was lingering within range of my dick. Then,
accidentally, as I was searching for the new Penthouse on my bookshelf,
my eyes wandered over to Brooke. You remember her. She’s in a
magazine. I liked her so much that I bagged her and hung her up on my
wall. I mentioned her last issue.
“Don’t shoot yet... you might meet me soon!” I heard Brooke
say. My hand paused. I couldn’t believe it. Brooke was actually
speaking to me!
“Brooke!” I groaned in reply. My dick begged for attention
but, with Brooke staring at me so sweetly, I simply couldn’t bring
myself to do it.
Isn’t this amazing? You would think that a naked girl, staring
at me from a magazine, would inspire me to jack off. But it didn’t.
Instead I got down on my knees and thanked Brooke for saving me from the
sin of masturbation.
From this we can derive a new rule of social theory: great
porn causes men NOT to masturbate! Instead, they wish to live up to the
perceived desires of the girl they are staring at in the magazine. I
would never admit to the real Brooke, in person, that I was a hopeless
jackoff. And with such a realistic photo of her hanging on my wall, I’m
reluctant to BE a jackoff, even when I’m alone.
Now the only question that remains is this: when will Brooke
show up at my dumpster? Obviously it will take a little while, but I
want Brooke to know that I am ready and waiting for her. Also, it would
be good to emphasize the following: I will be making even more sperm in
the interim. I can’t help it. My balls just keep producing it. I
could reach a dangerous condition of ‘overload.’ How embarrassing it
would be for Brooke to show up during my breakfast, tomorrow, and find
me uncontrollably jacking off!
Brooke, are you reading this? Time is of the essence! I’m not
sure how long I can hold out. If you want to spend the night with a
real stallion, (as opposed to a hopelessly flaccid loser), now is the
time to cum! (But not before you arrive!)
Don’t bother e-mailing me, Brooke. Just show up. Don’t worry
about the sign on the outside of my dumpster that says “No Playing or
Climbing.” That’s just for ugly girls.
Brooke, my love! Hurry!!! A guy with sperm is similar to a
guy with diarrhea. Both of them can only hold it so long. Already I’m
using just One ha nnd to type t h is.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
NAKED girls and more at:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
Issue No. 384
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Passion’s Playpen
Chapter Four
“Give them something to soothe their throats,” Marie said to
the gardener. “I’d hate to see such lovely voices go hoarse.” The
gardener fetched a wine bottle from behind a sack of fertilizer. Kate
wondered if he secreted it there so he could drink himself through his
daily duties. The gardener uncorked the wine (it had been drunk from
before) and offered it to Kate’s lips.
Kate refused, twisting her head away.
“Drink, little one,” Marie said. She stroked Kate’s throat and
felt her little bobbing Adam’s apple hidden underneath her swan-like
neck. The gardener forced the neck of the bottle into Kate’s mouth, as
if it were his penis. He tilted the bottle up and Kate, feeling rather
like a baby being bottle-fed, was forced to gulp down wine. It was red
wine. The gardener poured too fast and some of the wine slopped out of
her and ran down her chin and spattered her breasts.
“It’s not good to waste wine,” Marie said. She ran a finger
between the cheeks of Kate’s bottom, in her crack, and Kate shivered.
In just a moment her bottom would be a red ball of fire! Marie patted
her white cheeks. “Yes, red as the wine,” Marie said, and Kate knew
what she meant.
Cindy was given a drink of the wine. As the gardener poured it
into her, ignoring her pleas and protests, Marie patted her belly. The
redhead flinched.
“Yes, your baby will bounce in your tummy while I’m whipping
you,” Marie teased the girl. “Perhaps you’ll both get a little
exercise, hmmm?”
“No, please!” Cindy burbled, the wine bottle still jammed in
her mouth. The gardener laughed at her attempt to speak with the bottle
inside her.
“Now they are quite ready, I think,” Marie said. “But gag
them, Bogart. I’m tired of having them beg me for favors.”
The gardener, Bogart by name, though he resembled Bigfoot more
than a Hollywood actor, fetched two strips of rawhide that hung on the
wall. He forced a strip into each girl’s mouth, pushing her tongue
back, so that she couldn’t speak and could hardly muster a scream. When
he was done the girls stood silently, still waiting for the crop. Tears
ran down their cheeks. The tears dripped off their faces and joined the
droplets of red wine on their breasts.
“Yes, my precious little flower. It is time to see what your
bottom can take!” Marie chortled. She ran her crop in a saw-like
fashion across the summit of Kate’s cheeks. They were lily white. Kate
felt new tears well in her eyes as she realized her moment of truth was
only seconds away. “Such peerless rounds. I almost hate to cut them
up!” Marie said. She bent and kissed each of Kate’s bottomcheeks.
“Ah, well. C'est la vie,” Marie said, upon rising. Kate felt
a withdrawal of air behind her as Marie lifted her crop up past her
head. Then, just as swiftly, the crop zinging down, Kate felt a streak
of fire impress itself deep into her skin. It hit right where Marie had
only moments ago touched the crop to her rear and then kissed her.
“Ya hoooo!” Kate called from somewhere within her gag. Despite
being fitted into a spreader bar, she managed to lift one foot and stamp
it back down on the ground.
“There, that’s a nice one, don’t you think?” Marie asked
Bogart. She stood examining Kate’s bottom, which now bore a fiery red
streak across it.
“You forgot to dip the crop, Ma’am,” Bogart said. “And I
forgot myself. Shall I get the bucket for you?”
“Please, dearest.” Marie said. “We must give Kate a challenge
if she’s to win back her lover’s penis. I would so like a nice big
sausage for lunch, you know.” Marie laughed and the gardener, sounding
like a big dolt, for that’s just what he was, laughed stupidly along
with her.
While Kate was left to waggle her bottom, hoping to throw off
the sting, Marie proceeded to award Cindy a similar cut. She struck
hard, hoping to leave a weal, and Cindy howled like a bitch in heat into
her gag. Ignoring the baby in her belly, Cindy stamped her feet and
danced on her toes and shoved her bottom back at Marie, hoping to catch
cool air upon it but looking for all the world like she wanted more.
Marie laughed, watching the girl’s display. “Cindy, for a
mother you certainly are brazen!” Marie said. “I’ll have to give you
extra cuts for immodesty, lest your baby wind up here itself someday,
hmmm?”
Cindy was not amused and shed new tears, hanging her head and
sobbing profusely. All the while her bottom kept gyrating, showing
itself, humping back at Marie.
The dark-haired woman returned to Kate. The blonde’s wigglings
had subsided. Marie gave her a new slash, making her bottom feel like
it had sat down on a hot iron bar. Kate howled and shook her bottom
like she were a stripper at Hooters. Her bosoms jostled under her,
their nipples like thorns, and Marie remembered her clamps.
“Bogart, fetch the clamps, please. These girls must learn a
little tit discipline,” Marie said to her gardener.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bogart replied.
“At least you can keep from showing your nipples,” Marie said
to Kate when Bogart had passed her the clamps. “Your mother would
appreciate a LITTLE modesty, don’t you think?” Marie caught one of
Kate’s breasts in her hand. It was big and Marie had to squeeze it to
keep its satiny, tear stained bulk from slipping out again. Kate tried
to escape, shaking her chest and moving her hips as if she were at some
nudist camp dance.
Marie wrenched Kate’s breast upward. She extruded its pink
thorn-shaped nipple between two of her finely nailed fingers. Then she
positioned the clamp over the teat, squeezed its jaws open, pushed
forward, and released the clamp handles before Kate could escape.
“Owwwww!” Kate howled from behind her gag. Her scream was
barely audible. Marie smiled at her handiwork and set about capturing
Kate’s other breast and putting a clamp on its tip.
When Kate was confined, just her tits covered, the rest of her,
including the cones of her breasts, still bare and exposed, Marie went
to Cindy and did the same to her.
“Yes, you will learn what its like to nurse a baby by having
these little fake mouths biting away at your nipples,” Marie said to
Cindy. The redhead seemed not at all disposed to risking the health of
her breasts in the clamps, but with her hands and legs bound there was
nothing she could do but accept them.
Marie, though she found she didn’t need sighting strokes,
decided to whip the girl’s backs as well as their bottoms. “Between the
bottom of the shoulder blades, not touching the shoulders, of course,
and the middle of the back is best,” Marie told the girls, instructing
them as if they were on their way to being dommes themselves, by
learning first how to receive. “The back may be divided into four
quadrants, top to bottom, and it is the second quadrant that is safest,”
Marie said. Kate and Cindy only waggled their bottoms at her in
response, their hips lewdly performing a dance in the cool barn air,
hoping for relief from the marks already given. Each girl bore two neat
slices across her hinds. Marie had given them with the intention that
they should remain awhile, as evidence of her dominion. Both were
forming into weals, ridges of skin across the girl’s fannies that would
last for days and remind the girls of their submission whenever they
sat.
Marie flogged the girl’s backs. She gave each girl three
hard-hitting, weal forming strokes. The blows shredded part of Cindy’s
baby doll nightie. The little gown was left hanging in tatters from
just her right shoulder. It dipped down on the side of her where it had
been torn away, actually covering part of her bottom.
Marie interspersed the blows to each girl’s back with more
blows to each girl’s bottom. After each sweep of the crop Marie
redipped her crop in the bucket of brine to keep it stingingly wet.
Kate and Cindy found themselves lost in a demi-world of passion between
their legs and hell on their behinds. Their nipples screamed for relief
inside the jaw-hinged clamps.
Kate’s gag was released and she was given more wine.
“It will make it easier for you to accept the cuts. I want to
give you more,” Marie told her. Kate sobbed and let herself be
force-fed the wine. She was beyond resisting now, simply moving her
hips in a kind of auto-dance, lost in her burning cunt and ass and the
pain of her bitten teats. Bogart made her drink down long draughts of
wine.
With Kate re-gagged, Cindy was given wine. Marie did not give
her as much wine as Kate for Cindy was pregnant and, despite her
fondness for seeing Cindy suffer, she did not want to hurt Cindy’s
baby. Cindy seemed to wish for more wine, mouthing at the open neck of
the bottle as it was drawn away. But a few quick gulps was all Marie
permitted her.
The punishment of the girls continued. Marie struck more
lightly now that the girls had slipped into themselves, consumed by
their pain and desire. She concentrated on the men now, hitting the
girls to drive the men crazy. With hot faces and straining loins, the
men watched. There was absolutely nothing they could do to save the
girls. And they were at an equal loss to save, or relieve, themselves.
Several more peed.
When the girls had, in Marie’s opinion, had all they could
take, she went to the first man. She ordered Bogart to release him.
“I’m going to release you one by one,” she said to the men.
Playfully she slashed at the cock of the man whom Bogart was
unchaining. She did not hit him hard, just enough to leave pink marks
on his cock and remind him who was boss in the barn. “I’d order you to
take your pick of the girls and fuck them, but I know that orders aren’t
necessary. You’re quite helpless to do anything else, aren’t you, you
poor souls? Even if you wished to strike me, you wouldn’t. You’re too
hungry to fuck. And poor Kate and Cindy are too available for you to
even try manhandling me to the ground. Take them as you wish,
gentlemen, in the cunt or in their flaming asses. But please be gentle
if you do them in their asses. They’re quite tight in back and Kate’s
never been fucked, except by me, with a cucumber. Show their virginal
bottoms some consideration if you take them that way.”
Marie, seeing that the first man would soon be rid of his
chains, took some oil from a shelf and lubed his cock with it. The oil
warmed as she applied it to his skin. The man thrust himself at her,
hating her for tying him up but nonetheless eager to cum. Marie rubbed
him carefully to keep him from spending in her hands. Bogart slowed the
pace of his unraveling to give Marie more time to get the man thoroughly
oiled.
“Yes, you will do your duty by Kate or Cindy, hmmm?” Marie
asked the man. He stared back at her, frowning. He bucked his hips at
her as if he were trying to batter her down with just his cock. “Oh,
your poor penis! Here you’ve been tied up in this awful barn, unable to
do anything but pee! Now you want to shoot yourself all over me but I
won’t let you, no no. You must fuck Kate or Cindy. Give all your
energy to her,” Marie said. Then, turning to Burton and rising from
where she’d knelt in the hay in front of the man, she said, “He’s
ready. Loose the rest of his chains and let’s see his performance.”
Out of Control
by Lisa Scarboro
Have you ever felt like a blast furnace of rage burning
out of control like a California wildfire gone past the
point of containment consuming everything in its path
in a blind white sheet of destruction leaving in its
wake only ashes and traces of memories that make the
eyes burn and sting with bitter sweet pain and
sickening awakening of loss and regret for things that
cannot be salvaged and things so damaged can they
ever be the same as they were before when hopes were
expectantly optimistic and conversation light and
punctuated with laughter and lingering glances and
slight touches that tingle the senses with
foreknowledge of things to come in warm embraces
and soft kisses and endless shivers of excitement and
the even warmer feel of contentment and safety of
knowing that you are special to someone somewhere
that makes all the bad things that happen not matter
quite so much at least a break from them anyhow
because when you burn the fire out you’re all empty
on the inside anyway because you know it doesn’t
matter because you’re never going to win or matter or
amount to anything anyway.
(I’m glad to see someone learned about punctuation in school... h.j.)
AND IN THE END...
Who needs
JOE CAMEL?
“British Columbian pot has become the champagne of cannabis.
The stuff that makes pot appealing is a chemical known as THC -- short
for delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol. Most American baby-boomers, in their
mis-spent youth, smoked pot with a THC content of maybe 2 percent.
Later, Hawaiian grass labelled “Maui Wowie” offered an impressive 10
percent or 12 percent. Now, British Columbia-based growers, using
carefully bred seeds and sophisticated indoor hydroponic gardens,
sometimes produce marijuana with a mind-blowing THC content of 30
percent.”
- The Economist, June 27, 1998, pg. 33.
(Down with tobacco! - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key.
Click on “Power Search” in the middle of the screen. Next,
Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the box that appears.
Click on “find” (the button to the right of the box).
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock Sturges’ Radiant
Identities and David Hamilton’s The Age of Innocence. Support art!
-Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years
of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
- NAKED girls, under 18! Plus scholarly books. Publishing for over
a decade, it’s Alessandra’s Smile, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY
10185-2377. Phone: 1-212-505-6985; Web:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, 537 Jones St. #8418, San Francisco, CA 94102.
Phone: 1-212-807-8578; Web: http://www.nambla.org
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-Official Newsletter, Temple of Pan
-END OF 384 EMISSION
EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAH!
Um, Brooke... let’s just talk, okay?
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>