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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 348 Dungeon of Desire NND g2
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“Last summer anti-abortion activist Randall Terry began using
his radio talk show to urge people to protest against Barnes and Noble
stores for selling books by... photographers Jock Sturges [and] David
Hamilton.
“...The [Barnes and Noble] chain, which has nearly 500
superstores... has declared in a statement that ‘under no circumstances
will we remove books from our shelves.’
“...Last week The New York Times ran an editorial defending
Barnes and Noble under the First Amendment and calling the protests ‘a
campaign of intimidation.’
“...What exactly are in the books? Sturges, whose work is in
the Museum of Modern Art, focuses on nudist families, in black-and-white
images that are beautifully composed and printed.
“...Hamilton offers... color shots of girls on the cusp of
puberty.”
- Newsweek, March 9, 1998, pg. 58.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 348
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Four
“God damn, I feel weird,” Dick said. He looked down at his
penis. “I’ve never been so hard in my life! I’m practically almost
cumming even now. I remember once when my mother spanked me for
masturbating. When I was five. I hated it but, ever since, I’ve had
this fantasy of being, well, you know, like Miriam did this morning.
But she never did that before. She always kept her distance, just
letting me play with others. I only went there twice, actually, not a
hundred times like I told you last night.”
I pulled out my thumb and said, “I figured that.” Then I
replaced it again.
“Well, anyway, I went to two orgies at her place. Just, you
know, orgies. Everyone fucking and groping. But this morning, when she
put the loop of her crop around the head of my penis...”
His voice broke off. Katy reappeared, bearing hot steaming
towels on a silver tray. Under her arm she carried twin silk kimonos,
one blue and one pink. Her own kimono was yellow.
“Wipe your face and your hands,” Katy told Dick and I, setting
the tray of hot towels down on the dresser. She had laid the crop there
while she undid our shoes and now she picked it up again. As she
watched, Dick and I picked up towels and wiped our faces. The steam
felt wonderful.
Katy, ever helpful, despite the mean streak I knew she
possessed, picked up a towel and bent over and wiped the head of Dick’s
cock.
“Please don’t drip pre-cum on our expensive carpet,” she said
to him. Dick shivered as she touched him. He was enormous, and on the
verge of cumming. No girl, I swear, would have parted company with that
man’s glorious penis. Even at the gates of Hell she’d still accompany
him, hoping, watching it move with his every step, bouncing above his
tightly balled balls.
Katy, still bending, looked with concern at Dick’s organ.
“You’re on a hair-trigger,” she told him. “Please don’t cum on our
carpet. Pre-cum is bad enough, but cum would be a real mess!”
“Then... stop... touching... me,” Dick breathed. Katy was
massaging his pee hole with just the tip of her finger.
“Oh, alright, I won’t touch you,” Katy said. She straightened
up. “Control yourself. You can’t wear pants in the Japanese tea
ceremony and we have nice woven mats that Sauron would hate to see
spermed. Here, put on a robe.” She handed him a kimono and Dick,
gallantly, took it and shucked it on. I hated to see his penis hidden.
But it poked out again, between the halves. Dick belted the waistbelt
of the kimono and did not bother to try to recapture his dick inside its
folds. He was simply too big. Too hard.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to put up with you displaying
your manhood throughout the entire tea ceremony,” Katy said with a sigh
and a smile. I didn’t know whether she really wished him covered up or
not, or whether he would be permitted to remain clothed in the kimono.
I did take one for myself, however, thankfully, for I wanted to gain a
little modesty before Sauron barged in on us.
“No, dear, we must make you up first,” Katy advised me. “A
little rouge on your nipples, a squirt of perfume in your bush.” She
took my hand and led me to the dresser. “Mmmm, you have such a nice
straight back and such an adorable ass,” she said. She was frank in her
comments. I did not mind. Dick was watching all, his penis sticking
out from his robe.
“But you let your panties crease your skin,” Katy said. She
touched the soft line where my undies had hugged me between my bottom
and my thigh. “You white girls. You must learn more refinement. Your
skin is precious. Perhaps your master might mark it, but you yourself
must take the utmost care of it,” she said.
Katy passed a hand beneath my huddling bottom cheeks and
pinched me lightly. There was a mirror hung over the dresser. Looking
in it, watching myself as she felt me, I jerked a little. She laughed.
“There, you see? That’s for letting your panties be too tight. Wear
nothing next time. No one will know.” Her breath was hot on my face.
“Sit up,” she urged. She palmed my soft white hinds and pushed them up,
taking me with my bottom. Tensely I got up on the dresser and sat on
its hard wood top. The surface was slick, well polished, but it still
was an uncomfortable seat. She ignored my look for a cushion or pillow,
my little silent plea. Instead she got out a makeup kit from the top
drawer. She had to make me lift up my legs, her standing between them,
in order to open the dresser drawer.
She touched up my eyeliner, matching the shade. She powdered
my face. She limned lipstick across my lips to make them bright and
seductive. Then, taking a tickly brush, she painted my nipples a
little, making them redder. Then she powdered my pussy. “Get down, let
me see your bottom,” she said to me. Her voice sounded quite natural,
even demanding. I felt like a yearling being readied for a show by my
mistress. I slid from the hard dresser top and turned around. I cupped
my hands under my bottom and hefted up my cheeks, pushing them high, as
if they were bosoms caught up in a tight corset. She smiled and
squirted a scent on them with an atomizer. I felt the little droplets
of mist as they struck my bottomflesh and wondered if I’d be feeling
something less agreeable there by nightfall. Where was Sauron? Perhaps
he would not come. We would drink tea, we would be safe, we would
depart as virginal as we felt now, all undressed yet not touching, just
smiling and winking and nodding.
“Now put on your kimono,” Katy said to me. She gave me mine
and I slipped it on. I belted it round my waist.
“Too tight. Let your bosoms show,” Katy told me. She put her
hands to my front and opened my robe sufficiently. “That’s why we
rogued your tits, so they could be admired at dinner,” she said. “Just
don’t drip any sushi noodles on them or spill your tea. I wouldn’t want
to see you scald yourself.” She smiled. I felt new fright, yet I did
my best to be brave and suppress it. She took my hand. Then, turning,
she reached for Dick but caught him by the penis instead of the hand.
“Come, Dick. And don’t cum on our carpet, please.”
Barefoot, my breasts bouncing above the folds of my open robe,
my ass hiding its swing inside my kimono, I walked with Katy and Dick
across the house, back through the living room, and to an authentic
Japanese tea room. Sauron was nowhere to be seen, but there was a low
table made of marble, and around it were three cushions. Each cushion
had been placed on a bottom-sized block of wood so that when somebody
sat on them their genitals remained above the level of the table.
COMMENTARY
by holy joe
Today I was riding the bus. I was telling a guy about my
publishing activities on the Internet. And he said to me, “You wouldn’t
be wanting any children to be reading your zine, would you?”
Allow me to clarify who I am publishing FUCK DECENCY for. I am
publishing it for those ‘children’ who will be born after I’m dead.
Think of it this way: when did Plato write his dialogues?
2,500 years ago. Believe it or not, I wasn’t alive then. The poet Ovid
wrote his Metamorphoses 2,000 years ago. I wasn’t alive even then!
So, in my case, I’m not really writing for you. I’m not even
writing for your precious children. I’m not even writing for their
children, who have yet to be born. I’m writing for those human beings
who will be here long after you, I, and America are long gone.
(I figure, even then, there will be people who do a search of
data using the keyword “fuck”.)
In the far-flung future, some poor student will probably be
tasked with writing a report on “The United States of America.” Allow
me to assist her with selected readings that she may wish to include in
her report:
“Colorado Springs - An elementary school principal suspended a
first-grader for passing out lemon drops at school, citing the school
district’s drug policies. The boy’s mother asked for an apology, but
school officials refused. ‘Students reported to the teacher that the
boy was handing out something they perceived as a controlled substance,’
an administrator told reporters. The principal, who wasn’t familiar
with the brand of candy, which looks somewhat like tablets, phoned the
fire department and an ambulance ‘to be on the safe side.’”
“Thornton, Colorado - Citing a zero-tolerance policy toward
sexual harassment, a principal threatened a fifth-grade girl with
suspension after she and a group of girlfriends repeatedly asked a
classmate on the playground if he liked any of them. He insisted he did
not and notified a teacher.” (Playboy, April 1998, pg. 52.)
Meanwhile, inspired by the American Revolution, Ho Chi Minh
decided to unify his country, Vietnam. Here’s what happened to one
girl, named Tran Thi Truyen, who tried to help Ho unify Vietnam:
Stanley Karnow writes: “She went south at the age of sixteen
to serve as a nurse in a field hospital in southern Laos, near the South
Vietnamese frontier. Like her comrades, she... carried a rifle, a
shovel and a sixty-pound knapsack containing clothes, food and a few
personal items. Her unit was driven by truck to the head of the [Ho Chi
Minh] trail, and proceeded from there by foot on its month-long journey
[south].”
Truyen states: “The rainy season had just started, and the
route was muddy. Occasional flash floods forced us to cling to trees
and shrubs to keep from being washed away. The jungles were infested
with leeches and other insects that swarmed all over us. We crossed
deep rivers and streams, and there were the mountains, some so high that
it was as if we were walking above the clouds. We sometimes needed
ladders to scale their steep slopes, or we removed our sandals and
climbed in our bare feet. Despite our hardships, the local tribesmen
acting as guides tried to scare us with tales of bandits in the area. I
was young, and I frightened easily.”
Karnow writes: “Worse still, Truyen and her unit were
constantly harassed by U.S. aircraft as they marched down the trail.”
Truyen states: “The Americans had denuded the jungles with
their bombs, and there was no place to hide. They would light up the
area with flares, then drop bombs everywhere. Each time they flew
overhead, our commander ordered us to disperse and dig foxholes, but the
bombs fell close, and I shook with fear. My heart would throb, and my
whole body trembled inside as the bombs exploded. Even after the
bombing had stopped, I couldn’t focus my eyes, and my head ached for
hours.”
When Truyen reached her destination in the south of Vietnam,
she set about enjoying the vast benefits conferred on her people by
God’s Country, The United States of America:
Truyen states: “I was inexperienced, and my first sight and
smell of blood and pus so nauseated me that I vomited and couldn’t
work. Some of the wounded had lost arms or legs. Or their bellies had
been ripped open by bomb fragments, and their intestines were spilling
out. Others were horribly burned by napalm. Many, who had been lying
injured in the jungle for days, were brought in with maggots crawling
out of their infected wounds...” (Vietnam, by Stanley Karnow, pgs.
469-471.)
Having satisfied the needs of some future scholar, allow me to
do quick reviews of the latest issues of Playboy, and Penthouse:
Playboy, April 1998, $4.95. Web: http://www.playboy.com
Review: Aw, damn, it’s a fucking nigger. (Did I say I’m
perfect? I’m not.)
For some reason, Playboy tends to run a black centerfold during
this time of year. This year is no exception. There’s a delicious shot
of this month’s (black) Playmate of the Month taking off her panties on
page 104. The gatefold isn’t bad, either. But I just have no interest
in black girls, particularly in magazines. (Sometimes I do see black
girls in ‘real life’ who have spectacular bodies.)
“The Return of Casual Sex”, page 66, looks like it may be a
great article. I only skimmed it, but it seemed quite informative.
“Guys are Good”, page 45, is a welcome article telling how
great us guys are. Among other things, guys “are interested in sex.
...We make the first move. Despite the odds, or the politically correct
stance that flirting is a form of sexual harassment, we still make
sexual advances. ...We ignore discomfort to try sex in the backseats of
cars, [and] on jungle gyms.”
I’m glad to see the articles improving in Playboy. Now all we
need in this magazine are some GIRLS! (God forbid they should make
Tiffany Taylor a Playmate of the Month. Men everywhere might actually
jack off to this magazine.)
Penthouse, April 1998, $5.99. Web: http://www.penthousemag.com
Review: Chloe, in last month’s issue of Club, is this month’s
Penthouse Pet of the Month! Bob Guccione does his best to gunk her up
with makeup and make her look like a whore, but she’s so young her
youthful innocence still shines through! I don’t know what kind of
articles were in this month’s Penthouse. I was too busy jacking off to
it.
HEY CREAMBALL
by Mal J. Daniel III
What’s happening girl?
Still creaming the boys in the gym?
Oooooooooooooo,
pouts Creamball.
Not now, Creamball
I’ve got to grade exams.
Creamball,
in her six foot nakedness,
squeegees into her raincoat,
slithers outside in the February mist;
shoots the orange pill
in an olive drab London Fog.
Her hair matches the ball;
her eyes, the raincoat.
Shooting foul shots,
she often sings.
Teenage boys peer
through the back yard fence.
Mud smudges Creamball’s
long freckled legs.
She works on “post-ups”
and “tip-ins”.
North Carolina
is a great basketball state.
AND IN THE END...
“The digital age... has brought... the spread of... poisonous
ideas to every nook of a networked world.”
- TIME, March 9, 1998, pg. 196.
(This from a magazine that, in 1938, named Adolf Hitler its Man of the
Year. - h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key.
Find “standard” in the middle of the screen. Click on “standard”.
Change “standard” to “complete”.
Above the word “complete”,
Type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your “return” key.
-Or search using: roller666@earthlink.net
-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/
-Copyright 1998 Andrew Roller. Poem copyright 1998 Mal J. Daniel III
-END OF 348 EMISSION
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