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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 359 NEW! Passions Playpen NND g2
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Hamilton! Sturges!
http://www.amazon.com
Issue No. 359
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Epilogue
Shantila rubbed my bottom. Her touch was light.
“Ready?” she asked me. I hesitated, then nodded briefly. I’d
come here for this. She would pay me when it was over.
Shantila drew back her hand. And the nerd did a strange
thing. He plopped right down behind me, sitting on the floor, and
squeezed his legs together. Then he pulled a small spiral notebook out
of his shirt. He grabbed a pen from behind his ear.
“What are you doing?” Shantila asked him.
“I’m going to write all this down!” the nerd said happily. “I
mean, if you won’t let me take photos... of course I’d need to borrow a
camera from you if you have one...”
“No photos,” Shantila said firmly. “I do have some respect for
her privacy.” She nodded perfunctorily at me, but I was grateful for
it.
“Okay, then. Just paddle away and I’ll write it all down for
the guys on the Internet!” the nerd grinned. I couldn’t see him but I
could hear his voice and it certainly sounded like he was grinning.
“What are you going to write... SPLAT?” Shantila asked.
“Um, don’t worry. I’ll add in some extra stuff and name it
after this girl at school who calls me a nerd,” the nerd answered.
“Alright then,” Shantila said. And, as if inspired by his
reportage to give me a really sumptuous punishment, she struck me as
hard as she could.
THE END
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Passion’s Playpen
Chapter One
She sensed it within him. A restlessness, a kind of
animalistic hunger. They had met only recently. They were new lovers.
And yet she sensed that somehow they were not. He had known other
girls. And now he knew her. And there was something in her that
sparked him to do more with her than he had done with any of the
others. Did he wish to use her?
All lovers use each other in some fundamental way. They meet,
they chat, and then they love. But she felt he was bored with such
superficial passings. This girl today, or that tomorrow. And although
she herself had not had many lovers, and was much younger than he (at
least she felt she was) she yearned too for something more. But not, it
would seem, the simplicities of life that an older female might wish
for. She was still quite young and spirited, in her own shy way. She
wished to be loved as deeply and as thoroughly as any human being could
be.
She listened as the horses drew their carriage down the gas-lit
street. Turning her head to look at this quaint attempt at urban
renewal, her breath slightly fogged the carriage’s glass window. There
was a flurry of snow outside; premature for this early in the autumn.
He put his arm around her. She drew away, a little
frightened. Of herself, really, for he would never hurt her.
Unless.... she let the word hang within her mind. Unless she asked for
it. But not directly. No. Directly would be too gauche. But she
remembered the pain of losing her hymen and knew she had wanted to be
hurt that night, when she was 13 and the moon was full and her lover was
brimming with passion.
Now, with another lover, much older and suave in his movements,
she sensed again the possibility of pain. This lover had all the social
graces, yet he wished to use her as no man dared. As a...
“Do you wish for me to be?” And again her voice broke, this
time audibly, not just in her mind. She tried to give a little cough to
cover her nervousness.
“Do I what?” he asked politely. He straightened a lock of her
hair that had fallen crossways into her eyes. He tugged at the collar
of her blouse. She had not brought her fur and she was cold and the
coldness forced her to find warmth and solace in the arms of her lover.
“A slave.”
There. She had said it. She had not meant to say it but she
had. She felt him adjust himself, as if a sudden growth within him had
made him uncomfortable. And she realized he was not as old as she
fancied. She could feel a kind of youthful exuberance shiver through
him, like on the night when she was 13 and her lover had stripped her
panties down to expose her sex and pierce it.
For the first time.
“I...” Now it was her lover who coughed.
“Possess yourself,” she thought, gritting her front teeth a
little. “I am putting myself into your hands.”
“Yes. I want you to be a slave.”
“A slave.” She felt the same excitement shoot up her spine
that had just possessed him moments ago. Not ‘his’ slave, but ‘a’
slave. That was quite different. ‘A’ slave could be used by anyone,
and was the center of attention for all whom she served. That was not
the simple, passionate slavery of a girl alone in a cabin with her
lover. That was... Well, what was it? That was the girl as complete
subservient, obeying all, but loved by all too, in a physical way.
Could she stand such love? Would it be too much for her? She
did not wish to think of it. She put it out of her mind with all her
effort. Yet she sank a little more deeply into her lover’s arms.
Because it was cold, she told herself.
He unbuttoned the top button of her collared blouse. “I can
have the driver take us there if you wish,” he murmured. He was all
suaveness and self-possession again. She liked that.
“Where?” she asked. She looked at him with big innocent
child’s eyes, for she was a child, really, she told herself. Barely 19
and just a college sophomore. He was 35, not young at all, nor did she
wish for him to be. And yet again she felt him twist a little in his
seat and she watched as he moved his legs, trying to relieve himself of
a sudden stiffness. Where he was taking her, he had not been there
before either.
“A place where I’d like to keep you for awhile,” he said
softly. He looked at her with his deep sky-blue eyes and she felt small
in his arms. He brushed her cheeks with his lips and she drew away
again, but his arms were completely around her now and there was noplace
for her to go.
“You’d like me to stay there?” she asked.
“Yes. I’d like to keep you there,” he said.
“But--” she did not cough this time. She merely spoke the word
and let it hang. He unbuttoned the second button on her blouse.
“You are on break from school,” he said.
“Only for three days,” she replied. “Because of the
renovations.”
“But you could stay away a little longer? Your things are in
your dorm room, nobody will bother them. You are only taking electives
this year...”
“That’s true,” she admitted. She looked down at her knees.
They were bare. She remembered skinning them as a child. She had run
home crying and they had taken two weeks to heal but she’d learned to
skate.
He reached down along her thighs and straightened the hem of
her skirt. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something. She
swallowed. He had picked her up for dinner at eight and now it was
ten. They had both eaten salmon and she felt an easy softness within
her.
“Are you wearing panties tonight?” he asked her. She felt
herself shiver. He knew she always wore panties. She was not like
those girls who went dancing without their panties on. Her legs were
fine and firm and flawless and she was barelegged, without hose, but she
of course wore panties. And a bra, beneath her prim blouse with her
collar and her buttons, two of which he’d now undone. Her skirt was
black leather and she wore a seductive little black leather vest, and
black pumps, and a black ribbon which held her hair in a loose ponytail,
but she still nonetheless wore her panties. They were white. They
might have been slinky black or red but on this night, dressing, she
thought she’d prefer white, perhaps as an antidote to his intentions.
“Of course I’m wearing panties,” she replied softly.
“Take them off,” he said.
This time when she tried to draw away there was not even any
room in his arms, and she found she could not pull even a little bit
away, though she tried.
“Take them off,” he said again.
“But?” she let the question hang lightly in the air. It was a
butterfly. He had the net.
“The seat is spotless. Take them off and give them to me. I
will need to give them something when we arrive to show your consent.”
He drew back to give her room, but only so that she could take off her
panties.
She reached behind herself. She unzipped her skirt. It was
too tight for her to reach inside of. She had purposely bought a skirt
that moulded her ass and clung to the tops of her thighs. And then,
she’d bought the finest, silkiest panties she could, for she still
wished to wear panties despite the snugness of her skirt. They were
opaque panties though, to keep her from being seen should she somehow
find herself without her skirt on.
And yet now, obeying him, with the snow falling outside and the
air quite chilly inside the coach, she unzipped her skirt. She felt her
girlish bottom push through the unzipped halves of her skirt, like a
balloon seeking freedom. She unzipped her skirt right down to the end,
watching all the while, nervously, the driver of the coach in his
rearview mirror. He had the courtesy not to look back on the lovers, on
her.
“Now the panties,” her lover told her. She felt her panties
against her bottom, protecting it from the coach’s smooth vinyl seat.
She adjusted her skirt on her thighs so that it lay over them, unzipped
but still shielding her from the coachman’s eyes.
She raised her bottom a little and tugged down the back of her
panties.
“Where are we going?” she asked her lover, looking up at him,
as she felt the nakedness of her bold bare bottom make contact with the
vinyl of the seat. It was chilly and slick, for they had only entered
the carriage a little while ago and her bottom had not had time to warm
it. Her lover seemed to enjoy the look on her face as she felt the
coolness of the vinyl touch her bare ass.
She drew her panties down her thighs. She had to yank them
down carefully lest she displace her skirt and send it to the floor.
That would have left her bare, with just her blouse on, showing her bush
to the driver. Her lover, gallantly, saw her predicament and caught a
corner of her unzipped skirt in his hand to keep it in place.
“All the way off,” he said. She leaned forward and felt her
breasts fall broodingly forward into her blouse. Her bra was light and
sheer and held her only tangentially. She had full uplifted bosoms that
needed no support. She liked to feel them move when she danced but she
could not bring herself to not wear any bra. So she chose just the very
lightest ones, sheer, lace trimmed, but without any underwiring or
elastic. They were to preserve her modesty. They did nothing to keep
her from having a bouncy demeanor.
CATALOG REVIEW
by holy joe
Mystic Trader, free. Catalog, 8 1/2 x 11, full-color, slick paper, 48
pages. 1-800-634-9057.
Review: Well, I’m moving up in the world. Before, I was
living in a cardboard box. But now I live in my very own porta-potty!
It’s a little smelly, but I thank God every day that the construction
crew that just finished building the new Federal Building forgot to take
it with them. Hopefully they won’t come back for it. I figure, with my
own toilet, I’m pretty well set in life. Sure, it would be nice to have
a shower, so I could take a bath, but, then again, it does rain pretty
often where I live. I figure I should count my blessings, instead of
wishing for more. Don’t you agree?
I’m no longer alone in the world, either. Yesterday a man
visited me. I welcomed him into my home. I showed him around. I even
let him take a shit on my toilet. He liked the flowers I’d picked out
of the lawn, from the Bank next door, and put in a vase. He told me I
was unrecognized by the world, and would I be interested in making an
impact?
Of course! I told him. He asked if I’d be kind enough to
store some boxes for him, in my porta-potty. They say “TNT” on them.
The man said that stands for “Turner Network Television.” Imagine! I
guess I’m affiliated with the Turner Networks now. I guess they’re
going to set up a news bureau outside the new Federal Building. I hope
they have plenty of news to cover. Maybe I’ll even be on T.V.!
Let me tell you, I could certainly use the money. The can
collecting business isn’t what it used to be. Lots of guys are muscling
in on it these days. All the good dumpsters are taken-- something
called the Can Collecting Mafia has moved into town. They wanted me to
join. They told me they could get me rights to a good dumpster, in a
ritzy area. But I said ‘no.’ I’m a law abiding citizen, after all!
So here I am, broke but happy, sitting in my porta-potty,
reading my porn. If you’ve ever seen pointy bottles in a porno
pictorial, and wondered where the photographer got them, I now have the
answer. Check page 25 of this catalogue. You can now take photos of
your favorite girl, with sexy, pointed bottles sticking up in the
background! They’re called “Egyptian Aromatherapy perfume bottles.”
You can get one for $18.00, or seven for $99.00.
If you wish to be more direct, add a “Town Cryer” to your
photo. (Page 12) It’s a statue of a man with a large, removable
penis. Apparently primitive villages use him to summon the townspeople;
by removing the penis and whacking it against the man. Thank God in
America we have a wholesome way of gathering our people together: prime
time T.V.!
If your girl is youthful, perhaps you’d like to give her this
prop: a “Shaman Rattle.” (Page 13) Each rattle is hand carved, from a
gourd picked from a tree. The rattle comes in two sizes: one big, one
small. Is the small one for her bottomhole, and the big one for her
twat? It’s up to you!
This is a nice catalog. There isn’t a whole lot of great stuff
in here, but if you like the Far East, and Africa, you’ll find some
items you might not be able to get otherwise.
The Age of Innocence, by David Hamilton, $31.50. (Retail: $45.00)
Large-sized Art book with many black-and-white photos, and some color
photos. Many pages. Web: http://amazon.com or
http://barnesandnoble.com
Review: This book is the sacred religious text of Temple of
Pan, a religion devoted to worshipping little girls.
A central tenet of the Pan theology is that God is an
8-year-old girl. Satan, in this theology, often takes the form of a
grown woman. Lesser demons are male lackeys of Satan. They serve
Satan’s will instead of God’s.
Daily worship of this divinely inspired book is required for
all God’s believers. Any who blaspheme this book are damned to Hell.
Hell is defined as association with Satan. (A grown woman.) The worst
offenders are often found to literally be in bed with Satan.
Previously this book was found in the Art and Photography
section of better bookstores. However, if you see it on display there,
please ask that it also be stocked in the Religion section. Then new
adherents to the Pan theology will be able to locate it without exposing
themselves to photo-books of grown women.
Just as the Holy Bible consists of the Old Testament and the
New Testament, this book has a companion. It is:
A Place in the Sun, by David Hamilton, $31.50. (List price: $45.00)
Hardcover. Many color pages. Web: http://amazon.com or
http://barnesandnoble.com
AND IN THE END...
Of course, there’s always this religion...
“But what is Nirvana? It is difficult to find an erroneous
answer to this question; for the Master left the point obscure, and his
followers have given the word every meaning under the sun. In general
Sanskrit use it meant ‘extinguished’ - as of a lamp or fire.”
- The Story of Civilization, by Will and Ariel Durant, Volume 1, pg.
435.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock Sturges’ Radiant
Identities and David Hamilton’s The Age of Innocence. Support art!
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-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 359 EMISSION
Thank God they didn’t ask about my religion!
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