Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 203
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Private Places
Chapter Four
As I watched, mesmerized, each of the men sitting along the table
behind me kicked off his pants and got up. They gathered around hostess
and Candi. They were stark naked now, ready for sex, for whatever the
night had to offer. On some of their bottoms I saw newly healed scars, not
deep, more bruises than anything, all fading away now, but still in their
last stages of healing. Hostess� whip. And God only knows what else she�d
used on them. It had worked, that was for sure. They stood around me
now, painfully erect, yet they did not touch me. Hostess and Candi
finished up their shared moment of bliss. The men stood with arms
crossed, closing themselves off from their own emotions. But their
penises stood up eagerly, unable to hide anywhere, betraying their real
desires. It was that sight, I think, of all those men staring directly at me,
their cocks stiff to the point of abandon, uncaring. I think I could have
whipped out a chain saw at that moment and the men would not have cared.
They were all cock now, nothing else could chase their erections from
their mind. Only hostess� injunction stayed their desires, restrained them.
They had seen one of their number expelled, did not want to be the next to
go. As they stood there, holding themselves round their chests, arms
crossed, many of them jabbed at the air with their hard-ons. Absently, as
if horses swishing their tails at flies, except nobody would mistake their
big, unforgiving organs, full of the blood of their passion, for harmless
horsetails. These were all muscle, ready to sperm me. It was that vision
of male pride, of male desire, for little me, that held me pinned to the
chair even though nobody kept me forcibly in my seat.
My senses might have returned eventually, but my girlfriends knew
that and moved quickly to keep me in my place. Smiling, Jill and Gwen
approached me. They took up position on either side of me. They leaned
me forward. My breasts hung gourdlike beneath me. Jill pushed the back
of the chair down with some difficulty. They lifted my bound arms over
the chair back, let them hang down behind it. Then Jill pulled the
chairback up again.
With one quick buzz hostess� boyfriend drilled a little ring into the
wood of the table behind me. I could not see, but felt something pass
between my bound wrists and affix them to the newly installed ring. I
saw Jill and Gwen trembling as they worked. Their nude titties shivered.
Their slim throats gulped little gulps. Affixing my wrists to the ring,
they knew they were advancing their own fate. I would only be the first to
suffer under the long tattooing needles. They would be next, and all the
other girls after them. None would leave here tonight without having her
boyfriend�s initial drilled into the inner lip of her sex, where only he could
see it, parting her lips to look, or she herself, in her private moments, by
hostess� needles.
�There. Pull. See if you can break free,� Jill said softly to me. With
childlike determination I yanked upward with my arms. Nothing. I was
held fast like a butterfly to a board.
�Good,� Gwen said. �The legs next.� She took hold of my knee. Her
hands were light, forgiving, but my knee was drawn up and out
nonetheless, to give hostess plenty of room to get at me. Jill pulled my
other knee, both were looped with rope and tied off to the sides of the
table, a little behind me, the ropes arching backward so there could be no
forward movement of my legs.
I contemplated myself. I was in quite a predicament now!
Fortunately, I still had my little feet. With my dangerously spiked heels I
tried to hide my pussy. I kicked my feet in front of myself, holding them
over my sex. Jill giggled. She and Gwen each took hold of one of my heels
and drew them apart. As I watched, biting my lip, each of my feet was
secured with a special rope of its own. In all, two ropes bound each of my
legs. One at the knee, attached to the side of the table, and one at the
foot, attached to the side of the table. A simple affair, when you consider
it. A towel-covered lawn chair, four ropes, two candlesticks and a ring
for my wrists. Hostess� boyfriend stood up, the drill propped casually on
his shoulder. It was a good job. I was ready, like a turkey about to be
stuffed, my sex displayed. All around me the men stabbed with
frustration at the air with their cocks. Such a luscious young thing as
myself, all open and ready, yet they could not have me! I think they were
on the verge of fighting amongst themselves to see who could be the first
to get into me. They seemed grumpy now, mean, sullen. Yet their hips
moved with proud pumping motions, cockfucking me with their minds even
if their cocks could not have me, stabbing into the air like frustrated
fighters.
ALIENATION VS. SUBINFEUDATION
by holy joe
Life�s been tough recently. I was standing in line at the grocery and
some kid said, �Look, mom! There�s the guy from America�s Most Wanted.
He stole a porta-potty!� So I had to zip out of there without getting to
look at all the tabloids. (Or buy any beer, either.)
Then it was back to the big eighteen wheeler that�s hauling my
porta-potty. My potty was still hitched to the back of the truck, and the
driver still hadn�t noticed it. We got underway. I was bouncing along in
back, masturbating (as usual), when suddenly the truck stopped.
Apparently some cop had stopped the driver and asked him, �Do you have to
go a lot?� When the driver said �no,� the cop asked, �Then why do you
have a portable potty hitched to the back of your truck? It looks pretty
ridiculous, and it has no tail lights on it!�
Well, as you might guess, the two of them came back and opened the
door to my potty. That was pretty good. It let all the flies out. But
unfortunately I came tumbling out too, as well as all these Blueboys I was
hauling (for a friend).
When I saw the cop, I took off. I jumped over the guardrail by the
side of the road and rolled down a steep hill. I thought he would chase me
but apparently he was one of those new Gay cops. He was delighted to see
all those Blueboys. Meanwhile, a dense fog enveloped me. I tried climbing
back up the hill but suddenly a leopard appeared in my path! I moved back.
Suddenly there was a lion next to the leopard, and then a she-wolf!
I ran into a forest that bordered the hill. I could hear the animals
chasing me. As I ran a figure appeared in the mist beside me. He flitted
along between the trees and when I stopped, he stopped. He wore a cloak
about him and his whole figure appeared shrouded in deep shadow. But I
saw his nose poking out at me from under his hood and above it were two
gleaming eyes.
�I am Virgil,� he told me. �Come with me if you want to live.�
I felt really scared. I fell to my knees. �Lord, give me a sign!� I
cried. And one appeared. It read,
�Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here.�
�This way,� Virgil said. He grasped my hand and drew me to my feet.
He led me under the sign. �Where are you taking me?� I asked him.
�Into the Realm of Property Law,� Virgil answered.
The mist parted. I found myself on a desolate moonscape. I heard no
more animals following me. But all around me tortured humanoid figures
were moaning and groaning. They were bent over, as if weighed down by a
heavy load, and their noses were buried in mounds of books. Demons,
wearing business suits, were lashing their backs with whips!
�Who are those poor souls?� I asked Virgil.
�They are law students,� he replied. �And the demons are law
professors. But don�t worry. You�re with me. Just learn what I tell you to
and you�ll do okay. There will only be a little suffering for you.�
�Okay,� I said.
Virgil lifted his head and raised his arm. The moans of the poor
students receded. But I felt little comfort. I was going to have to learn
the Law now!
�Let us say you own a piece of property,� Virgil told me. �Assume
you wish to sell the back half of your property.�
�Sounds good. I could buy more porn then,� I answered.
�But let�s be a little devious, shall we?� Virgil asked. �Instead of
selling the back half of your property, we�ll subinfeudate it.�
�Hmmmm,� I said.
�So anyway, you�ve now �sold� your property. The next day you go
onto the land you�ve sold and you say to the man living there, �How are my
orchards doing?� And what does he say?�
�He probably says, �What the fuck are you doing on MY land asking
about MY orchards, you idiot?�� I replied.
�Right,� Virgil answered. �You�re doing very well for a pervert. But
you say to him, �I didn�t sell you this land, good fellow. I subinfeudated
it!�
SALE OF LAND (ALIENATION)
�Now let us look at what this means, from a practical standpoint,�
Virgil continued. �On the one hand, you could have sold the man your land.
In Law, we would say that you �alienated� the land. Much as some men
�alienate� themselves from their wives, by being bad husbands, or from
their children, by being bad parents. But when you �alienate� your land, you
sell it to someone.
SUBINFEUDATION OF LAND
�If you subinfeudate your land, however, you continue to own it, but
the man you subinfeudated it to owns it too. BOTH of you have what we
call �a fee simple absolute� in the land. You own it outright, and he owns
it outright.
�Furthermore, you can, when you subinfeudate your land to him,
write in the deed that he owes you a yearly rent. $1,000 per year, or a
peppercorn per year, or whatever.
�So he�s a renter?� I asked.
�It seems that way, doesn�t it?� Virgil answered. �But he�s not a
renter. He owns the land outright, in fee simple, but since it was
subinfeudated to him, you remain the owner too. You are the Lord of the
land, and he is the tenant, but both of you own the land. He owns it
tenurially, in tenure. Sort of like a professor has tenure.�
�Oh, yeah. That�s when he can teach any kind of claptrap he wants,
because he�s got tenure!� I said.
�Indeed!� Virgil replied. �In the same way, your tenant has tenure.
He owns his land much as the professor owns his professorship. Can the
professor sell his professorship?� Virgil asked.
�No,� I answered.
�Can his son inherit his professorship?� Virgil asked.
�No,� I answered.
�Can he give it away, to some bum, and let the bum become the
tenured professor instead?� Virgil asked.
�No!� I answered.
�Yet the tenured professor DOES own his professorship, while he
lives. It is his, and he may do as he pleases. But the University owns that
professorship too. When the professor dies, his interest in the
professorship ends. But the university can fill that �empty� professorship
with somebody new, of their choosing, because they own the professorship
too!� Virgil explained. �In the same way your tenant owns the land, but
you own it too.�
�Wow, I get it,� I said. �Since I subinfeudated my land to the guy, he
owns it, but I own it too. When he dies, I still own it, but he doesn�t own
it any more, nor does his son. And he can�t sell it or give it away?� I
asked.
�Not under the oldest form of English property law, which is what
we must understand before we can go on,� Virgil explained.
�What happens if you die today, and leave no heirs? What happens to
your land?� Virgil asked me sharply. His eyes glowed.
�Um, the State gets it,� I answered.
�Correct,� Virgil agreed. �Your land, if you had no heirs, would
escheat to the State. It was the same in the old days. When your �tenant�
died, his land would revert to you. And the professor�s professorship
would escheat to the university when he died.
�Now let us consider, again, the very old times. The King would own
all of England. He would subinfeudate some of his land to a Baron and the
Baron would subinfeudate some of his land to you, and you would
subinfeudate some of your land to your �tenant.�
�Now let�s consider just the relationship between you and your
tenant. He wants to sell the land that you subinfeudated to him. Can he?�
�I don�t know. I might wind up with some feminist living on my land
if he does,� I answered.
�Well, he can,� Virgil explained. �Because in the year 1290
Parliament passed a statute. It was called the Statute Quia Emptores.
Beginning in that year, your �tenant� would be able to sell or give away his
land to anyone he pleased, including a feminist.�
�Hmmmm, I guess I�ll just have to do some more subinfeudating,� I
replied.
�Not allowed after 1290!� Virgil exclaimed. �The same statute that
allowed your �tenant� to sell or give away his land also prohibited him, or
you, from subinfeudating it. No subinfeudation after 1290!�
�Rats,� I said. �So after 1290 I can only sell my land?� I asked.
�Yep. You sell it after 1290, it�s GONE. Let�s say you sell your land
to Rick Howe. Rick can put up a �No Trespassers� sign, and keep you off his
land,� Virgil replied.
�So,� I said. �Lemme see how that would work. The King owns all
the land. Under him, owning some land, but not as much, is the Baron. And
under the Baron is Rick Howe, and under Rick Howe is my tenant. But since
I sold my land to Rick Howe, after 1290 I�m just a homeless bum?!�
�That�s right,� Virgil said. �But let�s pretend you didn�t sell your
land. Forget Rick Howe. I�ll show you why, as an owner, you like the
Statute Quia Emptores.�
�How could I possibly like that dumb thing?� I asked.
Virgil gave me a broad smile. �Let�s consider: It�s PRIOR to 1290.
You subinfeudate to John Jones. You say to him, �I giveth you this land, for
the price of $1,000 per year.��
�Sounds great!� I said. �I can buy lots of porn with that!�
�Now John Jones subinfeudates his land, which is also your land, to
P.D. Wilson. Wilson doesn�t have much money. So Jones says, �Wilson, I
giveth you this land, for one peppercorn per year.�
�So all three of us own the land now?� I asked.
�Yep. Getting a little crowded, isn�t it?� Virgil smiled. �The King
owns all the land, under him is the Baron, under the Baron is you, under you
is John Jones, and under him is P.D. Wilson.
�Now comes the bad news. Jones dies. NOW who�s living on the
land? (Never mind the King and the Baron. They live some distance
away.)�
�Um, me and Wilson,� I answered.
�And what does Wilson owe for the land?� Virgil asked.
�A peppercorn a year,� I replied glumly. �How can I buy any porn if
I�m only getting a peppercorn a year?�
�Ha! You see? That�s why the Statute Quia Emptores was passed,�
Virgil said. �Let�s assume it�s after 1290. There�s just you and Jones
living on the land. Jones can�t subinfeudate. He sells his land to P.D.
Wilson for one peppercorn. Now, since it�s after 1290, Jones drops out of
the picture. But you can still �harvest� that land for $1,000 per year.
Since Jones held his land of you for $1,000 per year, even if he dies, or
sells it, you�re still guaranteed $1,000 per year after 1290. Jones can
sell the land to someone else, perhaps a feminist, for a peppercorn, but
she could only take what Jones had to sell. Since Jones owed you $1,000
per year, SHE will owe you $1,000 per year. And she can�t subinfeudate it
to anybody like Wilson.�
�Hmmmm,� I said. �So, before 1290, there�s me and Jones. Jones
owes me $1,000 per year. Jones subinfeudates to Wilson for a peppercorn
a year. Then Jones dies, and I�m stuck with Wilson. All he owes anybody
(which is me now, unfortunately) is a peppercorn a year.
�Now let�s see, after 1290. There�s me and Jones. Jones owes me
$1,000 per year. Jones sells to Wilson for one peppercorn. But since it�s
after 1290, Jones drops out of the picture. Wilson sits in Jones� place,
after 1290. So even though Wilson only paid Jones a peppercorn, Wilson
owes me $1,000 per year!�
�You�re doing well, grasshopper,� Virgil said.
�Whew! Am I supposed to remember all that?� I asked.
�Of course!� Virgil said. �I�ll have you do it again, by God, to make
sure you know it!� He looked at me austerely. �Summarize our lesson,� he
said.
I thought hard. Then I answered: �Prior to 1290, I can subinfeudate
my land. After 1290, I can sell my land, but I can�t subinfeudate it
anymore.�
�Very good,� Virgil said. �Now before 1290, you could have
subinfeudated your land, or you could have sold your land. But you would
have had to pay a fine to the Baron for selling your land. After 1290 you
don�t have to pay a fine to the Baron if you want to sell your land. But, on
the other hand, you can�t subinfeudate it. The good part of that is, if Jones
dies, you won�t be stuck with Wilson handing you only a peppercorn a year.
Whoever Jones sells to will still owe you the yearly �rent� Jones owed you
which, in our example, was $1,000 per year.�
�Can I go get myself arrested now for stealing a porta-potty?� I
asked.
�What? You do not desire a knowledge of the Law?� Virgil asked.
�A nightstick klonking me over the head would be much less
painful,� I replied.
�Begone!� Virgil bellowed.
Suddenly I was back on the highway. But the cop and the truck and
my porta-potty were gone. After taking a leak by the side of the road, I
was gone too.
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-END OF 203 EMISSION