�SICKENINGLY ALLURING!�
Recently it occurred to me that I might not be providing an
appropriate amount of feminist theory in my zine. So, in the interests
of benefitting the community, I am beginning today a Feminist Update.
As a simple hobo, I don�t know how many Feminist Updates I�ll be
able to write. But I�ll do my best. For instance, may I recommend the
Friday, January 24, 1997 NewsHour with Jim Lehrer on PBS. In this
episode Ann Taylor Fleming provides a scathing review of the Little
Miss Pageant. I was so busy masturbating over all the wonderful
footage of little girls in the piece that I haven�t yet absorbed Ms.
Fleming�s teachings. I did, however, note that she considers the Little
Miss Pageant to be �sickeningly alluring.�
Let me make a promise to Ms. Fleming and the feminists. I, holy
joe, promise to masturbate (I mean, watch) the Little Miss Pageant
footage on PBS 100 times! Now, the first 50 times or so I�ll probably
be busy jacking off over it, but don�t worry. When I�m watching it for
the 60th time, or the 70th time, or (perhaps) the 99th time, I will
(hopefully) be paying little attention to the girls and LOTS of attention
to the feminist theory contained in the piece.
(If I�m not, I�ll just watch it another 100 times.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 176
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
�I�ll bet they make me do jumping jacks,� she said to me ruefully.
�And leg lifts,� I replied. We shared a smile. Master was so wicked!
How dare he leave us here with unknown men coming, complete strangers?
I found that my nipples were hard, though, just from the thought of it.
Jasmine�s were too, making seductive little points in the nothing cups of
her bra.
�We should not go through with this,� Jasmine warned me.
�I�ll put you in charge of befriending the dogs,� I replied.
�Those darned men! If they pull up close to the house they�ll be able
to get to the door from the car without being bothered by the dogs,�
Jasmine cursed. �If I could call a cab I�d be splitting!�
�You�ll be splitting,� Tara said, glancing at her bikini bottoms.
�Looks like you�ve already split, to me.�
�Isn�t there any way we can get out of this?� I asked Tara, a
pleading look in my eyes.
�No, so forget about it,� Tara answered. She touched a tube of
lipstick to her lips, glanced at her nails. �Your hair should be perfect,�
she said to us. �Hair, nails, the whole bit. Let�s not disappoint these men
or we�ll disappoint master.�
�Oh, I don�t like master sometimes,� Anna sighed. She sat in a
reflective pose on the edge of a stuffed chair. I smiled at her.
�I wonder which one they�ll like the most?� I asked. �Of us, I
mean?�
�If they like big boobs, attractively displayed, it�ll be me,� Anna
replied with a sigh laced with a smile. She wore a tight corset that
pushed up her breasts but left them conveniently bare for the men. Her
hair was not long enough to cover them, and I saw that her hands flitted
across her nipples, absently, as if to protect them from harm.
Nonetheless, her teats on her uplifted breasts were stiff, expectant. Her
corset was so tight that her breath came in wispy gasps, as master
ordered it must. Her pubis was covered by a small skirt. It swished when
she walked, wearing black leather booties and matching gloves.
�What do I wear underneath?� Anna asked, tugging on her skirt,
glancing at Tara.
�Do you see anything laid out for you?� Tara asked.
�No,� Anna answered. �Could I sneak on a pair of panties?�
�Everything�s locked up, dear, I already tried,� Tara answered.
�We�re prisoners in our own house!� Rachel blurted.
�It�s master�s house,� Tara replied. She bent and brushed back her
hair, inspected her face in a hand-held mirror. �Get on your things, dear!
It will be too late in a minute!�
�But I feel ridiculous in this stuff!� Rachel whined. She had been
given a fireman�s hat, rubber boots, and rubber gloves, nothing more. �I
like the squirtgun, though!� She had gotten a toy to go with her clothes,
laid out for her by master. She shot a bit of water out.
�Hey!� I griped. �Don�t shoot my bottom.�
�Oh, alright. I�ll shoot the men instead,� she replied. �They�ll stay
away from me!� She lifted her gun skyward and shot at the chandelier.
�Settle down, I think I hear them coming!� Tara scolded. I heard an
engine in the drive, approaching, stopping, shutting off.
�Oh, help!� Anna said in her whispery-voice.
�Shhh! Let me greet them!� Tara said.
Tara went to the door, her tassels swinging, the little decorations
on her shift rustling, her hips a fluid movement of to-and-fro, jiggly in
their womanly fullness, her long hair swaying behind her like an invitation
to any man. She opened the door and, as she told me later, she blushed.
Her white teeth showed between her nervous lips as she tried to smile
cheerily at the hulking group of men who greeted her at the door. Shyly
she lifted the front of her shift, to show them they were at the right place
by giving them a full, unhindered glimpse of her pussy. No woman would
do that for a group of unknown men unless someone had pre-arranged the
meeting. Satisfied, both that they were at the right address and that they
were not being set up by some police sting for prospecting Johns, the men
entered. With forced cheerfulness Tara tried to keep her role as hostess
over them.
�Hello, guys. We were just playing dress-up, but I guess we�d be
remiss if we left hunks like you standing out in the cold,� she smiled.
�Cut the crap,� a man, whom I never knew by name but who I named
Ivan, since he seemed the leader of these Russians, told her. A little
startled, Tara drew back. Then she tried again to regain control by
walking toward the rest of us, sitting in the living room, inviting the men
to follow, hoping the rest had a better disposition than Ivan.
�Stop right there,� Ivan said to Tara. He glanced around
suspiciously. �Squat down.� Tara, a little uncertain, squatted as best she
could in the middle of the carpet, striving to keep herself looking the
elegant hostess for them. �Lift up your dress in back, get it out of the
way,� Ivan told Tara. Still smiling, surprised and admiring his
ruthlessness a little, she obeyed, showing off her ass amidst the handful
of tassels that still dangled down. �Pee,� Ivan barked.
�What?!� Tara gasped. She tried to retain her smile.
�Right there, on your master�s rug. Pee like a dog.� Ivan had a huge
bulge in his pants, and I saw the other men were as aroused as he. They
surveyed us with lascivious eyes, waiting, though, for Ivan to lead them.
�I-I don�t know if I can go,� Tara protested.
�Do it, do it now or I�ll punish you,� Ivan ordered.
Tara bit her lip, smiled to keep Ivan happy, concentrated a moment.
She kept her hands on her dress, lifting it up so it wouldn�t be in the way.
As far as possible she opened her thighs, letting her cuntlips spread. Then
she peed. A quick, spritzing yellow sprinkle right into the deep softness
of master�s expensive carpet. No pee splashed. The carpet was too rich
and deep. When she was done, Tara rose. She walked to a table, drew a
kleenex from a decorated china box, and wiped herself between the legs.
�Do you want my kleenex?� Tara asked Ivan. He nodded. Slyly, she
walked over to him, and tucked her used kleenex into the breastpocket of
his coat.
�If you�re a cop, you�re a damn bold one,� Ivan told her. She stood on
tiptoe, briefly hooked her arms around his neck, and lightly kissed him on
the lips.
�I�m not a cop, okay?� Tara smiled. Then she turned, and invited the
men to join us in the parlor. She was in control again, they were agog at
her and at us. �Sit down, gentlemen,� she invited. �Let�s get to know each
other a little first. Would you like some wine, some coffee?�
�Vodka,� Ivan ordered.
�Alright,� Tara said. She cast a quick glance at Anna.
�I�ll get it,� Anna offered. She went to the bar.
�Rachel, since you�re in charge of putting out fires, you can light
them, too. Offer to light the men�s cigars for them,� Tara ordered.
�Okay,� Rachel replied. She rose in all her nude glory, girlish and
childish, and tromped in her yellow firegirl boots over to Ivan. �Hi,� she
said. She pointed her squirtgun at him. �Stick �em up.�
�I see you�re armed and dangerous!� Ivan laughed, his voice thickly
Russian. He gazed at her boobs, her pussy. �In more ways than one. How
old are you?�
�Sixteen, pardner,� Rachel answered. She squirted Ivan�s big nose.
He winced.
�Just light my cigar, cherrybomb,� Ivan said, and tossed her his
lighter. It was made of Ivory, as forbidden as Rachel herself. The girl
caught it and lit a cigar Ivan produced. Then she pranced around the room,
lighting each man�s cigar in turn, and squirting him for good measure. A
few men unzipped themselves and she squirted through their zippers into
their underpants. Their cocks remained buried, waiting for Ivan to allow
them out. When Rachel was all done she begged leave to go to the kitchen
to refill her precious squirtgun. Tara made her use champagne instead,
handing her the bottle. If she left she might hide and get us all in trouble
if we couldn�t find her. The men were enraptured with her.
�What happened to your panties?� a man sitting near me asked.
I had been made to settle into the lap of a burly man I named Stalin, and he
had me uncomfortably perched right on top of his prong. I dreaded what
would happen when Ivan let him take it out.
�It�s summer. Torn panties are cooler,� I answered Khrushchev,
Stalin�s seatmate on the couch.
�Easier for paddling too,� Stalin winked at Khrushchev. �You don�t
have to lower them or anything.�
Anna began passing drinks around, offering them on a silver tray.
�Such a nice skirt,� Ivan admired. He reached out, fingered the
fabric. Anna blushed, knowing he might guess her secret. He did. He
lifted the skirt. �Ah, no panties,� Ivan admired. �How convenient for
fucking.�
�Behave yourselves, gentlemen,� Tara said, swishing over to help
Anna hand out drinks. She lifted them from Anna�s tray and handed one to
each man. Her tray quickly depleted, Anna went to the bar to get more.
Tara sat down in a chair of her own near Ivan. Her bare bottom rested
neatly on the cushion. She did not show more than a hint of
embarrassment as the lips of her pussy showed. I thought she might cross
her legs, but she didn�t. She kept her thighs close together, but not tight
pressed. Hunching forward a little, she placed her elbows on her legs and
rested her chin in her hands. She was every man�s dream; model-perfect,
20-something elegance, her legs lightly open, casual. Anna gave her a
drink and she balanced it on her fingertips. She sipped it, tossed her hair.
�What brings you men to such a faraway place as Argentina?� Tara
asked lightly. Anna finished handing out her drinks and went over to
Tara�s chair. Quietly she settled onto the hard wooden arm of the chair,
placing her palms beneath her soft bottom to protect it. Her big bosoms
wobbled atop her corset. She breathed in shallow breaths, lifting her chin
a little to accept more air, then finally bowing her head to curl her finger
in Tara�s raven-colored locks.
�We will come far to punish young females,� Ivan replied. He spoke
softly, but firmly, not harshly as he had earlier. Yet I sensed there could
be no disobeying his desires.
�You want to punish us?� Tara gasped. I shifted on my suitor�s lap.
He took my waist in his hands and held it tight.
�It is all part of the training your master has ordered,� Ivan replied.
Anna put a hand to her throat. I saw Tara swallow, the muscles on the
sides of her swan neck briefly flexing.
�Wh-what do you propose to do?� Tara asked.
�I don�t want to be punished, I haven�t been bad,� Rachel piped up.
She was playfully overturned on a man�s lap, her bottom up, her titties
hanging down. She twirled her squirtgun on her finger and kicked her
booted feet aimlessly behind her. Her gloves had been tossed away, but
she still had her fireman�s hat on. 911 was printed in big gold letters on
the front of it.
Ivan drew a piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it. He
looked at Tara, at the paper. �You are--?� he asked.
�Tara,� she answered.
�You are to have your pussy pierced.� Ivan read in a cool,
emotionless tone.
�What?!� Tara shrieked. Her hand flew to her mouth. I saw her bite
into one of her fingers. For a moment she just stared, Ivan staring back at
her.
�Don�t worry, I�m a surgeon,� Ivan answered. �You will not be
harmed in any way, except, of course, that you will be pierced, a small
hole only, through the clitoral hood, because your master says you�re the
sexiest. For Jasmine, the piercing will be through the vulva.� He glanced
at Anna, watched her breasts a moment as they joggled in their buoyant
fullness atop the crest of her corset. �You must be Anna,� he smiled. �I
will be piercing your nipples, Anna.� The woman, my former teacher,
blanched.
�But I like my nipples!� she cried. She clapped her fingers to them
and twisted them lightly, feeling already, in her mind, the sensation of
having a needle put through them.
�So does your master,� Ivan answered.
Jasmine had sat in shock for a moment, seated like Tara in a chair of
her own, apart from the men, elegant, diffident. Now she suddenly leapt
up. Long legs flashing, she ran across the room to Ivan and knelt down in
front of him. Her hair tumbled over her face, down her back, blonde as
mine. �Please don�t pierce my sex!� she cried. Her eyes brimmed with
tears.
�If you fear it most, it must be done, my dear,� Ivan answered her
calmly.
�Will you use pain medicine?� Jasmine asked, her voice quavering.
�No,� Ivan answered. �That would take all the fun out of it.�
Ivan looked at me next, sitting uncomfortably atop Stalin�s very
insistent bulge in his trousers.
�You will receive a test branding,� he said to me. �Within the
cheeks of your bottom, either side of your anus, just holding the brand a
second to your skin to see what it will look like when your master
decides, if he decides, to brand you permanently as his own first true
love.�
I gasped. My teeth began to chatter and Stalin helpfully put his
finger between them to stop me. With his other hand he still held my
waist firmly, perhaps afraid I might leap up and try to run away.
�Will-will it hurt?� I asked, getting Stalin�s finger from my mouth
and finding the courage to form the words with my nervous tongue and
lips.
�What do you think a hot brand on your bare bottom will feel like?�
Ivan smiled. �Not once, but twice?�
�Not good,� I replied.
�But it will be good, because the alternative would be to get a
permanent brand, so it�s all in how you see it, obeying or not,� Ivan smiled.
His eyes looked wicked.
�How about for a little squirt like her?� Rachel�s lover asked.
Rachel wasn�t kicking her legs anymore, but lay frozen over the man�s lap,
fear in her eyes. She�d dropped her squirtgun, hadn�t noticed. It lay upon
the floor, waiting for someone to inadvertently step on it.
�She will have a post driven through her tongue, from which leashes
can be hung,� Ivan answered. Rachel�s eyes bulged. She stuck her tongue
out, considering, her mouth wide.
�My tongue?!� Rachel asked. It seemed the perfect answer for her, I
thought to myself, even as I sat steeped in fear. She was always talking,
this would make her a little more controllable, perhaps.
�And your ass must be widened,� Ivan continued. �Nothing major.
You�ll just have something up it the whole time we�re here, to help you
learn to take penises better. �Test borings,� I call them, �Or �training
dongs.� You�ll feel stretched, but you won�t really be stretched or anything
when we�re done. You�ll just have a better sense of how to take a cock up
your ass...
QUIT SENDING ME E-MAIL!
I�m really sick of all the damn commercial e-mail I�m getting. Let
me detail, for you commercial mailers, my status in life. Then maybe I�ll
have a �junk mail free� e-mail address:
1. I�m a pervert.
2. I would like to have sex with your daughter.
3. When I�m not surfing the net, I�m masturbating.
4. When I am surfing the net, I�m masturbating.
5. When I�m not surfing the net or masturbating, I�m thinking about your
daughter.
6. I publish pornography.
7. I don�t have a job, just an e-mail address.
8. When I did have a job, I worked at McDonald�s.
9. I admire Beavis and Butthead for their intelligence.
10. I don�t read commercial e-mail.
AND IN THE END...
STEP ASIDE, LADIES!
�Now in the instability of the times a single individual, such as Shang
Yang in Ch�in, sometimes played the key role in revitalizing an
otherwise moribund state, often against virtually overwhelming
opposition from entrenched interests.�
- Ralph D. Sawyer, Sun Pin, Military Methods, pg. 14.
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
-Free Fuck Decency e-mail subscriptions: send (18 or up) age
statement to: roller666@aol.com
-To unsubscribe: Send $100.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love
Association, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-My ftp site is: members.aol.com/roller666 Diapergirls! (CuntCastle2d)
-My ftp site is: members.aol.com/roller6666 CuntCastle3b here!
-My ftp site is: members.aol.com/nnd666 NudieNursery5 here!
-My ftp site is: members.aol.com/nnd66
-Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.poop?
-For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com
-Fuck Decency: http://members.aol.com/nnd6/fuckdecency.html
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age
statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
-END OF 176 EMISSION