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What Messy Room?
FUCK YOU, MOM AND DAD
�Every child in this country is endowed by their creator with the
right to pursue happiness. That�s the base of our Declaration of
Independence. It is a God-given right.�
- Newt Gingrich, September 30, 1997
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL
Issue No. 298
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Pussy Playland
Chapter Four
[ Note: Chapter Four began with issue 296. The reference to
�Chapter Three� in issue 297 is erroneous. Ed. ]
�You are nothing but a big, hairy BEAST!� Sherry cried. She pushed
him away from her.
I gulped. Should I tell the truth? I felt sorry for Jeff getting
blamed for my pee.
�Anyway,� Sherry continued. �I have to go very badly myself, Jeff.
Get the key and unlock this damn dog collar you�ve got me in!�
�No,� Jeff said simply. He rose up from our bed. He was not chained.
He walked to the bathroom and was about to pee into the toilet when, on
an inspiration, he returned. �I want to watch you pee,� he said to myself
and Sherry.
�Jeff, we can pee on a tarp or something but we can�t just pee in our
bed,� Sherry replied.
�Alright, in the yard then,� Jeff said.
�In the yard?!� Sherry exclaimed.
�Yep,� Jeff answered. He unchained our chains from the bedposts but
not from us. He would use them as leashes to take us outside. �It�s
early,� Jeff said. �The people next door won�t see. Maybe the boy, but not
his parents. Let�s go.�
�What about the girl?� Sherry asked. �What about their daughter?�
�She�s growing nice tits,� was all Jeff said in reply.
He took us outside. It had cooled again and the morning was chilly.
It looked as if it had rained during the night. The grass had a frosting of
dew on it. The bushes glistened with droplets. Sherry and stepped
barefoot onto the grass. We�d taken our heels off to get in the shower the
night before. We were utterly naked now, save for our collars. Like cats
we stole across the lawn, hoping not to wake the neighbors. Our master,
Jeff, made us walk out to the farthest bush. There, amidst a bed of tulips,
he made us squat down.
�Water the flowers,� he said simply. Sherry and I, squatting rudely
on the lawn, the tulips springing up around us, spread the lips of our cunts
with our fingers and let out our pee.
I saw a windowshade rise up on the second floor of the house next
door. �Oh, Jeff!� Sherry hissed. There were tears in her eyes. Someone
watched as she and I peed like female animals.
We stood up. Sherry tossed her hair back from her face to try to
regain her composure.
�Damn toilet. Never works when it�s supposed to,� Jeff announced
for the neighbors. He stopped in front of a tree and pissed on it casually,
deliberately, as if he�d saved up his pee just to give this tree what it
deserved. Then he took us inside.
We bathed again. Jeff permitted Sherry and I a long luxurious bath,
together, in the tub. After we were done he took a quick shower while we
dressed in clothes he�d laid out for us.
Angela came. We greeted her in tight little waist corsets. They did
nothing to hide our breasts, our pussies. They simply constricted our
tummies, perhaps so we wouldn�t conceive. A small bib-like skirt flared
at the back of our corsets. Although it hinted at being a skirt it hid
nothing. Our bare white bottoms were as impudent as ever. Pink lines
still crisscrossed them where Jeff had stung us the night before with his
whip. Sherry and I wore long thigh-high stockings on our legs. They were
white, patterned with delicate designs of lace, sheer except where the
designs were. I felt special with my legs sheathed in these stockings.
Glossy silver heels lifted my feet and held them buckled within straps.
The stockings stayed up by themselves. They needed no garters.
�One of us peed in the bed,� Sherry told Angela. She had begun to
suspect me instead of Jeff. I was, after all, only 14. I think she knew
she�d been wrong to blame her husband; how, I don�t know. Perhaps it was
just her endless envy of me. I�d peed in their marriage bed. The bed where
she�d been taken as a new bride, I�d defiled it. Did she harbor some evil
intent toward me now? I couldn�t tell. Jeff would protect me, I hoped.
Angela went into the bedroom and began cleaning up. Sherry and I,
gift-wrapped in our new corsets, went to the breakfast room where Jeff
was just starting to eat the oatmeal banana pancakes we�d fixed for him.
Sherry said she�d picked banana pancakes because they made a man long
and hard. We both knew that as soon as his balls were nice and full again
he�d take us downstairs to the dungeon. She wanted her turn with him
now. I would be helpmate, unless Jeff, at the last minute, as he had the
night before, decided to fuck me again.
Sherry and I sat down with Jeff and began eating our pancakes. Jeff
ate in the nude. He made no attempt to hide his nudity. I peeked under the
table and saw, to my heartbeating surprise, that the banana pancakes were
having their effect. He was big again, full and thrusty and with his balls
slowly rising up toward his groin.
�Jeff�s hard,� I said with a gasp to Sherry after I�d pulled my head
back up.
�Good,� Sherry said. �We�ll take our pills after breakfast.�
�You both still need to get spanked,� Jeff said to us.
�Jeff, that was YESTERDAY,� Sherry said in a surprised, pleading
voice. �Let�s just play downstairs, okay?�
�We�ll do as I say, nothing more, nothing less,� Jeff answered. He
looked at Sherry. �Go get the handcuffs,� he said.
�Jeff! Not while Angela�s here,� Sherry begged. But Jeff insisted
and she rose and went to their bedroom and returned with two pair of
steel cuffs. She made me put my wrists out and she locked them on me.
Then, giving me her pair, she made me lock her within her cuffs.
We were forced to finish our breakfast wearing police handcuffs.
Mercifully, they were lined with fur, but it made it no easier for us to eat
or to do the dishes afterwards. When we let Angela out, so she could go
home again, it was with blushing faces. It was bad enough being nude in
front of her. Actually being handcuffed for an impending punishment was
even more embarrassing.
�I used to throw a bathrobe on whenever she came over,� Sherry
admitted to me after Angela left. �But Jeff made me show myself naked
to her so many times that I finally gave up.� She looked at her husband.
�But he never, NEVER made me show myself to her like this!�
�She saw us chained to the bed last night,� I told her. Sherry looked
at me. �That�s different. I was asleep. I didn�t know,� she said.
�Girls,� Jeff intoned. He stood before us with a hard cock and a
switch in his hand. It was long, wrapped in leather and quite flexible. Too
flexible. Made to bite at the first contact with skin. He�d let Angela see
him holding it, his cock hard, demanding pleasure. �It�s time for your
correction,� he said. �Please come with me.� He stopped, turned around.
�And Sherry,� he said. �You will want to be as obedient as you can. I have
a fantasy of stopping our car outside the Mexican squatters� camp and
taking you in to Angela and having her beat you... Or beating you myself in
front of all of them. They would enjoy it, I think!� He laughed. Sherry
screamed. And I knew that they would enjoy it, seeing this proud, young
white woman, his wife, beaten right in front of them.
He took us into his study and lifted the trapdoor. It was awkward
climbing down with our handcuffs on. When we reached the floor and
Sherry, guided by a flashlight shone by Jeff, had lit the new tapers placed
in the wall by Angela, we saw an astonishing sight. All our roses that
we�d clipped the day before were laid neatly round a cake. It was a big
wedding cake, frosted with white frosting and bedecked with candied
flowers.
�I hope you girls have a sweet tooth,� Jeff told us. �There are two
giant dildoes buried inside that cake and you�re both going to eat them out.
He whacked his switch against the chair with no seat. �Get busy! Use the
champagne to wash the cake down. And try not to make a mess. Messy
girls will be whipped extra hard for not having proper table manners.�
INTERVIEW WITH THE JERK-OFF
by holy joe
Recently this guy from Playboy dropped by. He said he wanted to
interview me. So, naturally, hoping to get a free visit to the Playboy
mansion, I said yes.
Int (interviewer): Why do you write sex stories?
hj (holy joe): God told me to.
Int: Huh? Why in God�s name would God want you to write sex stories?
hj: God is an 8-year-old girl. (A blonde.) She told me she was curious
about sex. Maybe I should tell you exactly what God said to me, so you�ll
better understand.
Int: Don�t count on it.
hj: Well, see, I was sitting on the toilet. It was a public toilet. And,
suddenly, after having massive diarrhea, I realized there was no toilet
paper. So I prayed to God: �God, please give me some toilet paper,� I
prayed. And I heard this voice:
God: Why in God�s name do you people bother me with little things like
toilet paper?!
hj: Yikes! God is speaking to me!
God: Would you prefer that I fart at you?
hj: Huh?
God: How much goodness are you going to do if I give you a roll of toilet
paper?
hj: Uh, a lot, God.
God: Would you buy me a lollipop?
hj: Huh?
God: Are you deaf?
hj: No, but I only have $5.99. If I buy you a lollipop, I won�t have enough
money for Hustler! (Ooops!) I mean, uh, HustlED. It�s a new magazine for
�hustled� sinners, telling them how Satan has swindled them out of their
love for the Lord.
God: Don�t try to fool me! I want a lollipop!
hj: Why in God�s name do you want a lollipop?
God: Because my dad put ours up on a big shelf, so I won�t get cavities.
hj: I thought you WERE God!
God: You can call me that but, um, I�m actually God�s daughter.
hj: Uh, okay. I guess, since Jesus is God�s son... You can be God�s
daughter...
God: My big brother is getting himself crucified someplace.
hj: Oh. Like, where?
God: On another planet. He travels around from planet to planet and gets
himself crucified in all the various solar systems.
hj: You mean there�s extraterrestrial life?
God: Yeah, but don�t sound so excited. You�re lucky. You don�t have to get
crucified on all the different planets.
hj: So, like, is your dad home?
God: No, and I�m not supposed to talk to strangers. But I�m bored.
hj: Well, I�m not! Send me some toilet paper! You may be God, but I still
need to wipe my ass.
God: Don�t use a bible. That really pisses my dad off.
hj: Don�t worry. I haven�t carried a bible in years.
God: That�s probably why you ran out of toilet paper! My dad hates being
ignored. But I�ll tell you what. If you write sex stories for me after I help
you out, I�ll give you something to wipe your ass with.
hj: Okay! Shoot!
God: Here it is!
hj: Yikes! This is the new Hustler!
God: (Laughter).
hj: This is a cruel joke. I�m supposed to wipe my ass with this precious
new issue of Hustler?
God: Yep. Have fun!
hj: But I... can�t! I mean, look at these babes!
God: Sorry, dude. But you got me instead of my dad. I like playing pranks
on people!
hj: (after wiping). Shit! I�ve got shit all over this magazine!
God: Don�t forget your promise!
hj: My...? But I got shit all over this magazine!
God: Nonetheless, you got to wipe your ass. I did my part. Now you do
yours. And buy me a lollipop too!
hj: So, anyway, I had to obey. I don�t know where God the father was, but I
found I suddenly had a close, personal relationship with his daughter.
Int: Hmmm. You need a close, personal relationship with a psychiatrist!
hj: Anyway, let me tell you what happened when I finished my first sex
story...
God: This is pretty good. It explains a lot of stuff. Now write another.
hj: Another? I practically wore out my dick writing this one! And I have
hair growing on my palms now...
God: Poor man. You�re so inadequate to us women. Even to us 8-year-old
women. Anyway, I didn�t say how many sex stories you had to write, did
I? Did I promise you that one would be all I needed?
hj: No...
God: Anyway, you�ll be done when I SAY you�re done. I am God, after all.
hj: His daughter, you mean.
God: Whatever. Did you ever hear of Queen Elizabeth?
hj: Uh, I think so.
God: I�m next in line, after God�s retired. And Jesus is busy getting
himself crucified. So you better learn to like me. I�ll be running things
someday.
Int: So you had to write another sex story?
hj: I had to write more than just another one, friend. God can be very
demanding. She keeps urging me to, uh, �cum again,� as she likes to say.
Int: Do you really expect me to believe that God is a blonde, 8-year-old
girl, who�s too short to get hold of lollipops, so she talks to perverts
sitting in public restrooms?
hj: You don�t have to believe. There are unbelievers everywhere. As God
herself told me, �That�s why my dad built Hell.�
Int: Yeah, right. So what would God, or rather, God�s daughter, do to you if
you refused to write any more sex stories?
hj: She told me she�d shoot a lightning bolt up my ass.
Int: Haw! Haw! Haw! You�re full of it, you fucking pervert!
Anyway, the next day I was sitting in that same public restroom
again. I made sure I brought along The Sacramento Pee, so I�d have
something to wipe my ass with. And as I sat there, reading it, waiting �til
I was done pooping, I read an amazing article. It was about that
Interviewer guy. The headline read, �Man Struck by Lightning.�
It happened on the golf course. He saw a thunderstorm coming, and
decided to go into the clubhouse. Then, accidentally, he dropped one of his
golf balls. So he bent over to pick it up. But as he bent over, a lightning
bolt came shooting down from the sky. And, since he was bending over, it
shot up his ass.
(It�s terrible, I know.)
But don�t worry. I�m still here. My dick�s gotten skinnier, since I�ve
had to rub it so much, to inspire me to write these stories. But God isn�t
through with me yet. She keeps me hard at work, �cumming and cumming,�
as she likes to say, in her naughty way. It�s pretty exhausting work. But
I�m a slave, I guess. In bondage to our Lord Jesus Christ! (Or, rather, his
bratty kid sister.)
Yeeeouch!
AND IN THE END...
What Homework?
FUCK SCHOOL
�Today, in all too many communities, children are trapped in
schools that ruin their lives.�
- Newt Gingrich, September 30, 1997
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-END OF 298 EMISSION
- Gingrich: Rep. Newt Gingrich, R - Georgia, Speaker of the House,
before the National Press Club (C-SPAN 2).