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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 401 Passions Playpen NND g2
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Fuck Decency BANNED by Poet’s Market !
Today I went to the bookstore. I didn’t go there to buy porn.
I went there to ogle a teenage girl who works there. She has a perfect
body, an (almost) perfect face, and big tits.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find her. As I was admiring one of
several 13-year-old girls wandering through the bookstore, I noticed
Poet’s Market. The new 1999 edition.
Guess what? After many years of appearing in that publication,
I am no longer in it! I have been removed from it, against my will. Of
course, nobody at Writer’s Digest Books told me about this. Heck, if I
hadn’t gone to the bookstore to find a big-bosomed clerk, and not found
her, and been admiring 13-year-old girls instead, I wouldn’t have even
known about it!
I have no idea why Writer’s Digest Books chose to censor me
from their 1999 Poet’s Market. All I ever did was provide steady,
reliable, professional publication to America’s poets. In fact, I think
I’ve published more poems in the past year in Fuck Decency than any of
the other zines listed in Poet’s Market! Plus, I provided quick
publication, most of the time, and almost every poet who submitted to me
got published!
I could understand if someone had accused me of misconduct of
some kind. But nobody ever did. It is amazing to me how, here in the
“land of the free” one can be so mistreated simply for one’s point of
view! For instance, if you take a look at the Poet’s Market 1999, there
is a big section listing all the feminist publications. Where are the
pedophile publications?! I mean, if Poet’s Market is going to list
every radical feminist rag under the sun, you’d think that they could
list something representing an alternative point of view.
As you know, Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler have routinely run
articles over the years condemning so-called “pedophiles”, “sexual
predators”, and “child molesters”. These are terms which, in the view
of Fuck Decency, are little more than “crap words” invented by feminists
to control and dominate men.
It is my hope that, one day, Fuck Decency will no longer be
merely a text zine, but a full-color magazine, available at your local
bookstore and featuring nude females! Then you will (finally) be able
to purchase and read a “men’s magazine” that represents a truly MALE
perspective, and is not published by pussy-whipped sissies!
(Who knows? It might even get banned!)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
NAKED girls and more at:
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
Issue No. 401
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Passion’s Playpen
Chapter Seven
Kate was taken into the living room. There, standing on a
plush rug, she was shown a wide collection of rare antiques by Melinda.
John snapped pictures of Kate examining the old relics. Kate inspected
a pair of ivory candlesticks, to fragile to ever hold real candles
again. She touched a sword from the middle ages, sharp on both of its
sides. She was careful not to cut her fingers on its sharp blade. She
found herself enthralled by a Jade sculpture of a Japanese maiden. Next
to it was a dwarf tree, carefully cropped to keep it small despite its
advanced age, “at least 200 years,” Melinda assured her.
Kate was shown Melinda’s fine china. Examining a cup, Kate
found herself standing next to the living room’s fireplace. It had a
stone hearth. Suddenly, as Melinda lectured Kate on the age of the cup
and its frail delicacy, Kate looked at John with his insidious camera.
Out of spite, she dropped the cup. It shattered on the hearth. Melinda
shrieked. Then, quieting with a strange brooding satisfied kind of
quiet, Melinda looked from Kate to John.
“You may continue your photographing if you wish,” Melinda told
John. “But I’m going to make our friend here pay for the cup.”
“I’m sorry,” Kate mumbled. But she knew she wasn’t and she
wondered if the buzzing of her hungry little pussy had made her
misbehave. John captured another shot of her, his penis stiffly erect,
as she allowed Melinda to take her hand and guide her away from the
shards of the shattered cup to the other side of the room. Melinda
unlocked and opened the front door and pushed Kate outside.
Kate found herself standing on the stone porch again. The
night was still. The moon had set. Kate noticed that the porch was
wet. Someone had washed it off for them. In the cold night air Melinda
came out on the porch, behind her, and forced Kate down the front
steps. Kate found herself pushed from the concrete walkway that led up
to the porch into the front yard’s dewy grass. She didn’t like getting
her feet wet but there was nothing she could do, for Melinda followed
her closely, pushing her ahead until they approached an old tree
standing in the middle of the lawn. All about the front yard stood a
forest of pines. They’d been cleared from the yard but they stood just
beyond it, staring down with their heavy dew-laden branches. There was
not a sound in the forest. Kate felt like Gretel, come to the candied
house of the witch to be eaten.
Hanging from the tree, the single tree permitted in John’s
yard, was a noose. Kate saw it and flinched with horror. The noose
hung from a branch of the tree. It was a stout branch, big enough to
hold the entire weight of a girl like Kate. She was pushed under the
branch by Melinda and then, with Melinda grabbing her arms from behind,
she was made to reach up into the noose itself. Melinda bound her
wrists with it so that Kate couldn’t do anything but stand helplessly
under the tree. Kate balanced on her tip toes. She was stung up so
that her heels could not longer touch the grass.
Melinda, as it turned out, had slipped into high heels on her
way out the front door. Kate noticed this as she turned her head
pleadingly to Melinda to be released from the noose. Fear knotted
itself in Kate’s tummy as she saw that Melinda held a pair of steel
clippers in her hand. But instead of cutting off Kate’s nipples, as
Kate momentarily feared, Melinda cut a slim branch from the tree. Kate
realized she was strung up under a birch tree. She wiggled her bottom
and tried to free herself from the noose. John came around in front of
her and snapped her picture as she watched Melinda stalk round behind
her, swinging the freshly cut birch. It sliced cooly through the night
air. It seemed to ache for something to strike.
Kate heard a woman’s voice cry out in the night. For a moment
she fancied it was her own, but nobody had touched her, she realized,
after a moment, tensing her bare bottom and feeling it respond in the
stillness of the night air. Suddenly she saw a dog bounding across the
lawn. A woman’s voice called to it. Kate realized Eunice was calling
the dog, but it failed to obey. It ran up to Kate and sniffed Kate’s
huddling bottomcheeks. Kate yelped. She tightened her bottom, but felt
quite helpless, for it still bulbed out behind her like a big moon,
asking for whatever attention it got.
The dog raised itself on its hind legs and tried to mount Kate.
“Spot! Bad dog! Down!” Melinda said to the dog. Perhaps out
of courtesy for a fellow female, she gave the male dog a hard cut with
her birch. He dropped to all four of his legs, yelping a little and
surprised, but undissuaded. He ran round in front of Kate and sniffed
at her bush and immediately mounted her thigh, standing erect and
rubbing himself against it. Melinda swatted him again with her birch.
He dropped down but circled Kate excitedly, dying to spend on her.
Eunice came bustling up. Her stockings could be heard as her thighs
rubbed together. She grabbed the dog’s collar and led him away from
Kate.
“Open your legs. The dog’s gone,” Melinda told Kate. The
blonde felt afraid and kept them tightly together.
“Do as she says,” John told Kate. His voice was stern, not at
all the laughing voice she’d grown accustomed to. “I want to photograph
you being whipped by her. Do it now!” John barked.
Kate opened herself to Melinda’s gaze. Her fig could just be
seen, hiding up between her legs. John, in a less sanguine mood now,
perhaps because of his aching cock, gave himself a few quick, fisting
strokes before resuming his photography.
“Are you ready?” Kate heard. She was going to tell Melinda
‘No, certainly not!’ but then she realized Melinda had asked John, not
her.
“Yeah, I have enough film,” John answered, checking his camera.
Melinda swiped the branch in low and struck Kate right across
her incurving bottomcheeks, where they swept back under her to meet her
thighs.
“No!” Kate cried. She screamed at the stars in the dark
cloudless night but all she heard in response was the swaying of the
trees, and a bark from Spot as Eunice led him away.
Amidst flashes from John’s camera Kate was made to suffer under
the birch. She cried and wept and pleaded, and John caught her every
gasping cry and begging imprecation. He photographed her as her tears
sprung from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. He photographed her as
she closed her thighs together and squeezed her bottom and tried to
protect herself, only to be bitten more deeply by the birch and forced
to show her private in all its openness again.
When Kate had been well-marked by the birch, John memorializing
her damaged fanny in a series of flashes, she was forcibly fucked.
Eunice brought out a dildo and Melinda, standing behind Kate, made Kate
take the whole thing up her cunt. Then, with it wet from her own
juices, Melinda introduced the dildo anew to Kate, making her take it up
her wounded bottom. John forced himself into Kate’s pussy as she was
violated from behind. Kate had never been double-fucked. She found it
almost unbearable, like two massive flagposts going up her at once.
Eunice snapped photos for John’s collection.
When John had spent himself in Kate, he withdrew and let
Melinda take her down. He went inside with Eunice. Kate followed a
little later, Melinda guiding her across the grass. Melinda tutted over
how the dew made Kate’s feet wet and promised to bathe them for her when
they were inside.
Chapter Eight
After being used so cruelly out under the birch tree, strung up
by her wrists with her boobs swaying like ripe fruit in front of her
while her ass was stung endlessly by the birch, Kate wanted nothing more
than to go home. She cried to herself, stumbling in the wet, dew-laden
grass as Melinda led her back into John’s house. Oh, how could he have
been so inconsiderate of her? Kate asked herself. She’d contemplated a
more romantic encounter than simply being tied up and fucked, and,
worse, whipped by his mistress. Melinda had struck her with the hand of
a jealous woman. Kate’s bottom was burning like the sun and amidst the
overall feeling of fire there were deeper, whip-thin scars of heat,
blazing away on her chubby cheeks. Kate knew those must be weals, or
near-weals, and they’d take days to heal. She wanted to reach behind
herself to feel if her skin had been broken, but she didn’t have the
nerve. Instead she sobbed into her palm while her other hand was
dragged forward by Melinda, who led her back up the stone porch and in
through John’s imposing front door. Its square wooden frame received
her like the maw of Hell, Kate’s bottom impelled forward by its burning
into what she knew must be more ferocious tortures inside.
Yet, within, inside the seeming safety of the house, Kate’s
bottom turned out to be a new source of delight for John. He
photographed her as she came tripping inside. Kate was led into a room
where a massage table had been set up. It was modern-looking, like an
examination table in a doctor’s office. Kate saw that a clean fresh
white towel had been thrown over it for her comfort.
“Up on the table, dear. We must attend to your bottom right
away,” Melinda said in a conspiratorial voice to Kate. Eunice stood
near the table. She viewed Kate with the air of a British household
servant, an adherent of the commonsense view of life, who, though
dutiful, looked upon the lifestyle of her rich masters with dubious
disapproval. Nonetheless she stood beside a night table cluttered with
phials, apparently all specially prepared just for Kate.
Kate was grasped from behind by John. He took her by the ribs
so as not to further injure her bottom. He lifted her bodily. For a
moment Kate was held aloft by him, her feet merely dangling beneath
her. Then he plopped her face down on the table. The soft towel
received her. Kate felt her nipples, still stiff from the cold
outdoors, prick against the cotton of the towel.
“Spread your legs,” Melinda told Kate.
CLINTON APOLOGIZES (again!)
“I’m sorry, mommie, even though I’m not. And I promise never
to do it again, even though I probably will. And I would never have
told the truth to the American people, except I got caught. And please
forgive me, even though I’ve never forgiven anyone and have taken every
opportunity to condemn my fellow man for the purpose of political gain.
“And, furthermore, Ken Starr probably doesn’t even have a
penis, so who’s he to talk anyway?”
(keep it up, Bill. there’s three people in rural Alaska who
haven’t heard you apologize yet. - h.j.)
bitter warm morning
by Will Dockery
It is becoming clear,
answers from the past,
when I wasn't looking,
when I thought this was real.
So tired of being known,
twisted, torn, held up for ridicule,
also forgotten.
Hard to forget,
when I had faith in your heart,
when I never really lost hope.
The breeze blows,
through this bitter warm morning,
the sun makes shadows,
dark in the heat.
There will never be an answer,
I see I'll never know.
I hear your voice,
dreamed of your new address.
I'm going down,
sinking deeper through darkness,
on this hot september morning.
Down, down,
desperately twitching inside,
but it's only fading embers.
AND IN THE END...
OUR INNOCENT CHILDREN
“Kids at the age of seven and eight are forever doing little
kinky, polymorphously perverse things -- voyeurism, exhibitionism, cross
dressing, anal and oral experimentation.”
- TIME, August 24, 1998, pg. 66.
-------------------------- 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.
Find the box labelled “Main Archive”.
Change “Main Archive” to “Complete Archive”.
Next, do you see a blank box labelled “Power Search” ?
Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the blank box on the screen
that has “Power Search” written next to it.
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.qz.to/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 401 EMISSION
--
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