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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 326 Nudie Nursery (nnd) g2
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 326
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Four
“When I send you home, I will give you a business card,”
Jasmine told me. Her words purred into my ears. “It is the name of a
man. He will treat you much crueler than I can, or than Brent ever
would. Much crueler. He is utterly demanding. He allows a girl no
rest, no reprieve. He trained me and I suffered much at his hands. I
can only start you down the path tonight that he will take you on. But
you must call him. Tell him your age. He accepts no one over
eighteen. When he gives you his address, and you go to him, you must
take a whip along. It is the only way. He will not accept you if you
forget it. And you cannot come again, only once, and you must do it
properly, just as he says, bringing the whip with you.”
“Where--where would I get a whip?” I asked through my tears. I
knew where to buy CD’s in L.A., but not whips!
“Any store that sells things for horses will have them,”
Jasmine whispered. “I will not give you one. You must go and buy it
yourself. Pick it out, present it at the counter. Yes, Kelly! It is
that bad! He is that bad!”
I came again, into Kerri’s seeking fingertips. I was all honey
now, my moistness filling my empty cunt, my thighs wet and loved and
caressed and parted and delved between. Jasmine stroked the plump
cheeks of my bottom and began easing out the hard dildo. She drew some
water back into the syringe so the dildo could move in my bottom. I
felt it slide slickly back, slowly, so as not to hurt me and also to let
me have the feel of it, the penetrating effect of it as it let me go
only ever so slowly. At last, gleaming with the juices of my well-oiled
ass, it was removed. Jasmine laughed and set it aside on the carpet. I
felt open. I felt remorseful. In my relief, crazily, I wanted the
dildo back. And I wanted Brent where the dildo had not gone, in my
cunt.
“Stand up, girl,” Jasmine told me. She and Kerri hauled me to
my feet. I stood dizzily. I palmed my poor ass with my hands. It was
hurt, it was pried apart and then left to dream of past penetrations,
wishing for more. “Come, we must give Brent his final treatment,”
Jasmine said. Happily she led me over to my lover so I could watch his
destruction.
Brent was hard as a rock. His penis looked like one of those
stone phalluses in Fiji. Yet, soon, it would all be over. He would be
made to cum and cum in buckets until he was soft and withdrawn. I
stared at him.
“Hi,” I breathed.
“You took quite a dildo up that fat little ass of yours,” he
said.
I touched his cock with my finger. “You’re going to be small
soon,” I told him.
“I know,” he answered.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Leslie said. She freed his cock from the
vise. Brent let her handle him. He did not resist. He was beyond
resisting. He quavered in her small palms, his organ hard but wanting
to lose itself now, to let its seed spring forth and be gone. He no
longer cared whether he shot in or out of a girl. He wanted to be rid
of his tormenting seed.
“Brent, I know you want to cum, but try to hold it,” Leslie
told him. “I would really like to see you pork one of us, even if you
don’t care.”
“Okay,” Brent gasped. “Just finish this game of yours. I’ve
got to pee badly.”
Leslie turned her head and looked at Jasmine. “It’s okay if he
pees now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, let him. I want him thinking of nothing but his hardness
and his sperm,” Jasmine agreed.
“Which one of us do you want to pee on?” Leslie asked Brent.
“Which--?” he asked, stunned.
“Yes, pick your favorite pee partner. You may just go on her.
Don’t worry about the carpet. We’ve spilled a little pee on it already,
I’m afraid. Now it’s your turn to go. Which of us do you like the
best?”
“Missy,” Brent answered firmly.
“Brent!” I shouted. Missy hollared that she did not want to be
peed on.
“I’m sorry,” he told me. “I like you, but I can’t get enough
of Missy. Bring her over here, ladies! I’m going to pee right on that
cute belly of hers!”
“Noooo! I don’t want him wetting on me!” Missy cried, but
Jasmine and Leslie brought her over to him. Brent presented her with
his cock. He aimed so that his penis would go on her belly button.
“Well? Let’s see it!” Leslie told Brent. She tickled the
underside of his cock. A minute passed. Then another.
“I, I can’t!” Brent gasped. Leslie bent and kissed his shaft.
Suddenly, as her lips mouthed him wetly, Brent’s cockhead exploded with
pee. It arced across the space between himself and Missy, falling, and
splattered on her belly. Missy howled her disapproval but Jasmine and
Kerri, laughing, held her tight between them. Droplets of pee hit them
as Brent’s powerful stream gushed onto Missy’s tummy.
Too soon, he was spent. He had no more pee to give. Missy
stood sobbing, pee running down her belly, nesting in her pubic curls,
trickling down to her cuntlips and dripping to the floor.
Leslie popped open a can of Mountain Dew. Quickly she poured
it into a dark green Tiffany glass. Coca-Cola was stamped on the side
of the glass, molded into the glass itself. I watched as the foaming
bubbles of Mountain Dew rose up to the hand-blown lettering and then
beyond, right to the rim of the glass.
I was urged to take hold of Brent’s penis. “Grab the shaft,
point him toward the floor,” Leslie told me. I did as she asked. My
fingers barely fit around him, but I managed it, and then held him down,
with difficulty, so that he could be put into the glass.
Leslie brought the glass of soda water under his dick. She
lifted the glass, sinking Brent’s cock into the brimming soda. Brent
shouted as his penis, already coated with Spearmint Binaca, was plunged
into the bubbling soda. His arms, bound behind him, ensured he would
not resist. He might have run, or course, or dodged away, but he stood
his ground, bravely, and watched as his cock was defiled.
It’s amazing what a glass of bubbling soda can do. I’m told it
burns, the bubbles exploding against a man’s cock and causing him true
pinpricks of pain. “Yahoooo! Mountain Dew!” Leslie cried, and Brent
was forced to join in, watching his own cock’s denouement. I held him
in the glass, despite his flexing attempts to lift himself out of it. I
made him take it all.
When at last Brent surfaced, we took his dripping cock and
stuffed it deep into Mindy. She shouted as she was forced upon him. He
was big, she was nothing if not small. They merged like fire and water,
sizzling, hungry but dueling, she a captive between Jasmine and Kerri,
he guided by my own hands.
It took a long time to work Brent fully into Missy. She was
too young for him, really, but we made her take him anyway. She must
learn sometime, Jasmine said. She cannot just play little games
forever. Remorsefully, but wanting to see my friend fucked, I
deflowered her with my lover. Her blood stained the carpet. Jasmine
said she would save the stain as a memory of little Missy’s virginity.
It was gone now. She was impaled on him. We rammed Brent into her
belly again and again. When Brent was fully lodged, deep in her womb, I
put my hands under his balls. I lifted them and I squeezed them hard.
“Give her your sperm,” I said in a hushed voice. “Go ahead, I
don’t mind. She’s my friend. It’s my gift to her.”
“Yessss,” Brent gritted. He tried to fight his need but it
exploded suddenly from him. Missy wept and shivered upon his huge
cock. We made her take every last drop of him.
“You have been a good girl, Missy,” Jasmine whispered. She
kissed the girl when it was over. We lifted her off Brent. We took her
from the room and walked her back to the West Wing. When we arrived,
the DAs were gone. We tucked her into my bed. I slipped in after her,
I was so exhausted.
Kerri remained in my room with me. The others left. They went
back to Brent. I was past loving him now. I loved myself instead. I
lay in bed kissing Missy, not because I liked her but because she was
there, and I wanted her softness against mine. She did not matter, only
the pillowy softness of her breasts did, her little gasps, her rising
and falling tummy. I felt womanly and I wanted to be a woman with her,
the two of us survivors, suffering together and passing through fire.
Kerri pampered my bottom. She soothed lotion all over it. I
felt loved, needed. I cared no more about Brent. I would leave in the
morning, I told myself. Back to L.A. and the things I knew. I’d had
enough adventures, for now. I’d grown up a little more. I yearned for
familiar things, not whips or chains or huge phalluses, but simple
dresses, and homework, and sensitive, gentle teachers.
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
ym Young and Modern, February 1998, $2.95. (No Website listed.)
Review: What am I doing on the cover of this magazine? You’d
think this magazine would at least ask my permission, or send me a
check, or something...
“Crushing: 24 Crucial Clues (pg. 48),” breaks America’s girls
down into four personality types. Then, based on what kind of
personality you have, the magazine gives you advice on how to snag a
boy. There’s a big chart with lots of lines on it to help you figure
out who you are, and what you should do.
Take a look at this chart yourself. Do you think Alicia
Silverstone is actually going to be able to figure anything out, gazing
at this chart? How about Kelly Bundy (who can’t read)? Not likely.
Fortunately, holy joe has a surefire, simple method for getting
a boy. Here’s what to do, girls. (This was something everyone did in
the 1970’s, and it was very popular.) Tomorrow, when you go to school,
slip into the girls’ locker room. Take off all your clothes. Yes, even
your bra, and your panties. Then, run through the halls. Run as fast
as you can. As you’re running, yell, “I’m streaking! I’m streaking!”
Some of the students might not know what you’re saying, but the teachers
will, and some of them will even blush, remembering that they did the
very same thing, back in the 70’s.
Since this is the 90’s, and not the 70’s, half the faculty will
start running after you. Keep running, though (unless you’re into older
guys). For, being a girl, and naked, I can assure you that every
red-blooded male in junior high will soon be hot on your tail.
Remember, this was once a fashionable activity, so you shouldn’t feel
embarrassed just because you’re not wearing clothes, and nobody under 20
has ever seen anyone ‘streak’ before.
Now, what to do when you get to the end of the school building,
and you’re naked, and surrounded by boys? Gig’s up, right? Not at
all! This is where a friend is needed. Tell one of your girlfriends to
call the school office on the telephone, and announce, “There’s a bomb
in the school.” This is called a ‘bomb scare.’ This too used to be a
fashionable, and popular activity, though since the ‘Reagan Error’ it
has fallen into disuse.
With the faculty distracted by the bomb scare, it’s time to
celebrate yet another 1970’s tradition. It’s called an ‘orgy’. Your
girlfriend won’t be needed for this (though she might want to bend
over). Just stand still and let all those hot-blooded boys get hold of
you. You’ll have a great time with all your favorite boys while the
police and the bomb squad are busy searching the school for explosives.
“Your Romantic Destiny Revealed (pg. 50)” is yet another
complicated, although slightly more fun, way to get boys. It consists
of various ‘tarot cards’ that you’re supposed to cut out of the
magazine, with lots of directions for how to use them.
Once again, I can assure you, girls, that there is a much
simpler way to find your romantic destiny. It’s a long-lost tradition
known as “wearing a mini-skirt.” Here’s what you do. Go to your closet
and get a skirt. Get the shortest skirt you can find. Then, get a
scissors. Put the skirt on and have a girlfriend cut the skirt so that
it barely covers your bottom. Cut it just as short in front, and along
the sides. Then walk outside. I guarantee you that every boy you meet
will blow his mind (and something else) just looking at you. And
remember, a miniskirt is not to be worn with stockings. You wear a
miniskirt with your legs bare. You can also skip wearing your panties,
if you like. But generally, with a miniskirt, it is customary to wear
high-heels. If you’ve got leather boots, with high heels on them, those
are okay too. Don’t worry if your mom sees you. If she’s a certain
age, she definitely wore miniskirts when she was young. So you’re not
doing anything racier than your own dear mother did.
Another way to catch boys is to burn your bra. Do you like
wearing a training bra? It’s such a fuss and bother, don’t you think?
Burn the damn thing! Burn it in your front yard, and tell everyone who
sees you that you’re becoming an uninhibited feminist. Tell that to
your school principal too, when he asks you why you’re walking around
school with your boobs bouncing all over the place. Tell him, “I’m
being natural and free, and not restricted by a male-dominated
society.” (If it’s a woman, ask her to tell the truth about her own
past life, instead of trying to cover it up.)
Yet another time-tested way to attract boys is to wear
something called ‘hot pants.’ Yep, that’s what they’re called. Your
mom probably wore these too. They are very, very short shorts that you
wear bare-legged, just like your miniskirt. Generally you wear them
with high heels, or boots. Remember that it’s important that your ass
hang out the back of your ‘hot pants.’ Otherwise, they’re ordinary
shorts, and not hot pants. So cut them very, very short, and watch your
bottom attract boys like flies.
“Ask Anything (pg. 44)” attempts to answer girls’ questions
about their lives. For instance:
Question: “I suck my thumb! I’m 16. How can I quit my secret
habit?”
You would think the feminists at ‘Young and Modern’ would
answer, “Don’t worry. Whatever you want to do, as a young woman, is
fine and dandy.” You know, ‘woman power’ and all that. But no, the
advice lady, Stephanie Dogoff, actually gives advice to this girl on how
to QUIT sucking her thumb!
Girls, let me tell you something. There is nothing wrong with
sucking your thumb. Right next to my computer I have a photo. It’s
from the July 1979 issue of Playboy. It’s of Playboy Playmate Dorothy
Mays. Do you know what she’s doing in this photo? She’s sucking her
thumb. This photo has sat right next to my computer for over a year,
all because I so love looking at Dorothy sucking her thumb.
Do you know how much I had to pay to get hold of this photo of
Dorothy sucking her thumb? $40.00! This for a magazine that originally
sold for $2.00. What do you think this issue of Playboy is worth
today? Not $40.00. No, no. That was a year ago, that it was worth
$40.00. Today, in order to have this photo, you would have to shell out
$75.00.
See for yourself in the Winter 1998 issue of the Playboy
catalog, by calling 1-800-423-9494. It’s listed on page 32 and it’s
item number: DGBI7907.
Thumb sucking is popular, girls. Do you think guys would be
paying $75.00 to see a girl suck her thumb if it wasn’t? But, if for
some reason you don’t want to suck your thumb, there’s a quick and easy
solution. Go on the Internet and post this message: I SUCK. Leave
your phone number. Leave your name too, so guys know you’re a girl.
Believe me, tons of guys will call you! See, as a girl, you’re not
supposed to quit sucking your thumb. You’re supposed to *graduate* to
sucking something much more fun than a thumb. It’s something us guys
carry around with us all the time, just so you can suck it. Isn’t that
nice of us? Every guy in the world is waiting to help you graduate from
your thumb-sucking habit, by giving you something more fun to suck.
Something that he lugs with him wherever he goes! Isn’t that nice of
us? And the feminists claim us guys aren’t considerate...
Well, that wraps up my review of ym! It was a pretty yummy
issue, what with a photo of a girl in a pink sweater sucking her thumb
(pg. 44). But there were way too many pictures of guys in this issue.
However if you’re gay, or a girl, or need advice and can’t reach me,
it’s a pretty okay magazine for you to buy. I recommend it. And don’t
forget to think of me when you look at the cover, okay girls? (And no
using my photo for a dartboard!)
AND IN THE END...
“I became popular with guys and we used to do a lot of
partying. A *lot* of partying.”
- Dorothy Mays, Playboy, July 1979, pgs. 120-121.
(see what happens when you suck your thumb, girls? -h.j.)
-------------------------- Suck Decency! ------------------------
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copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 326 EMISSION
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