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PEDOPHILE ALERT ! ! !
If you are a pedophile, please do not go near the magazine stand this
month. A magazine has just been released which will unravel all your
valiant efforts to conform to normal and decent society. That magazine is
Redbook, January 1998.
Allow me to depict, in words, the shocking contents of this
magazine, so that you can be sure to avoid it.
On the cover, there is a picture of Christie Brinkley. Naturally, if
you are a well-informed pedophile, you will instantly recoil at that name.
For you know that where there is Christie, there is bound to be her
daughter, Alexa.
Alexa is as beautiful as her mother. She has the added benefit of
being only 12, and a virgin. And yes, Alexa is depicted on the cover of
Redbook. Worse, directly across from her face are these words, in large,
black type: �The Number One Secret to Hotter Sex. (Try it Tonight)� !
Please, pedophile, do not associate that headline with little Alexa.
Please, please, please...
Bear with me, however, for I have yet to relate the full horror of
this issue:
The entire cover story of this month�s Redbook is about Alexa! The
story begins on page 58 with a glorious full page, full color photo of
Alexa. There is another full page, full color photo of Alexa on page 61.
Worse, by reading the accompanying text, one can learn many things about
this vulnerable young girl�s private life.
Please, pedophile, do not sin by looking at this magazine! All men
must belong to the Cult of Woman. It is Women we must worship, with our
minds and bodies.
Stay away, also, from Redbook�s web site: http://redbookmag.com
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Alexa
Issue No. 318
Naughty Alexa Dreamgirls in
Nudie Nursery
Chapter Alexa
�Oooh, these are so naughty,� Missy said admiringly. She pranced
around the room, emitting little gasps with every step. �Are we going to
an orgy?� she asked. I think she was somehow supposing we were
dressing for breakfast in the East Wing of the building.
�Why no, dear. You�re going OUT for brunch,� Jasmine smiled. �Out
in public.�
Missy frowned and looked at Jasmine. �Nobody is going to let us into
their restaurant dressed in these,� she said. Even little Missy wasn�t
naive enough to be fooled about that, her face seemed to say, as she
knitted her brows. Her tummy popped out again, teddy-bear like. She still
looked skinny even when she stuck out her tummy. Her navel twinkled.
With her hips thrust forward and her sighing tummy sticking out, she
seemed even younger than she was. She put her thumb in her mouth,
contemplatively.
I guessed the answer. �The furs,� I said.
�That�s right. I should call over with your measurements,� Jasmine
said. She walked over to one of the men and asked to borrow his portable
phone. He gave it to her, and she dialed somebody in the other wing. She
reported our measurements as Missy and I took little steps in our bikinis,
testing them, letting them rub us, watching our bra cups to make sure they
didn�t slip off our nipples.
�I like white,� Missy said, looking in the mirror at her bikini.
�Your bikinis are white for purity,� Jasmine said, returning the
phone to our suitors. �I hope you both maintain the high standards your
white bikinis imply,� she added. I touched the triangle of fabric at the
base of my pubic curls and tugged on it. I wished I could pull it up higher.
What if the butler at the restaurant asked to remove my coat?
�Jasmine,� I moaned. �These swimsuits are awful. They�re more
trouble than they�re worth! Can�t we please put on something else?�
�Up til now you�ve both worn bikinis for your own pleasure,�
Jasmine answered. �Here, you will wear bikinis and other things for the
pleasure of men. Don�t expect them to fit, or be comfortable. They�re
designed to show as much as conceal. When you�ve been trained, you may
wear what you wish. But until then, you�re dolls, girls. Pretty little
slaves for Brent to kiss and pet and be delighted in.�
�And spank too,� Missy said, with open-eyed frankness, sticking out
her hips and her tummy and clapping her hands to her bottom.
�Well, dear, you DO have a reputation for being naughty,� Jasmine
said.
�I promise I�ll try to reform myself!� Missy offered. Jasmine sliced
her crop through the air, just missing the girl�s thighs, forcing her to
jump back.
�You�re too cute to reform yourself,� Jasmine smiled. �But you may
try if you wish. I�m sure we�ll all appreciate it, even if it doesn�t spare
you.�
I ran my fingers tenderly over my heinie. I turned and looked at my
ass in the mirror. Across the fleshy white cheeks of my bottom, high and
proud and firm, ran traces of last night�s whipping. My bikini panties,
which did almost nothing to hide my fanny, made my marks look even more
ominous, as if I were just a bottom for whipping, nothing more.
�Jasmine, please don�t whip me ever again,� I said. I was quite
serious. Were we not equals now, more or less? A firm gaze from her
dispelled that hope.
�You�re not being whipped this morning so you can sit down like a
proper young lady when Brent takes you to brunch,� Jasmine said to me.
She stuck her crop right into the front of my panties and pried them away
from my bush. I felt the loop of her long crop nesting in my pubic hair,
hungering, perhaps, to whip my pussy. �When you come back, I�m going to
have you stand in the seat of a big leather chair in the East Wing. We�ll be
having our afternoon tea, the ladies and I, and you and Missy will show us
what big girls you are.�
�By being whipped?� I shouted. I felt my face reddening.
�Yes, by sticking your bottom right out and not complaining and
taking your daily punishment just as you must. Brent will be so pleased to
learn of your progress when I tell him you didn�t shout or whine.�
�She was naughty last night. She licked my pussy and made me
cum,� Missy said, pointing a finger at me. I think she supposed she could
exclude herself from my afternoon whipping if she blamed me for
something.
�You too, little one,� Jasmine said. �Really, girls! What do you think
being a love slave entails?� She pulled her crop from my panties and
walked up to me and corralled both Missy and me in her arms. Suddenly,
heated from the string rubbing me so intimately, I found myself meeting
her tongue with mine and sharing a kiss. Missy, aware of Jasmine�s crop
and not wanting to misbehave, stuck out her own tongue. Suddenly we
were three love birds, all cooing and sighing and necking.
�Mmmm, such sweet dears, let me train you and you will have men
eating from the palms of your hands!� Jasmine sighed. We kissed, our
tongues exploring lightly; limning lips, delving within mouths. Jasmine�s
teeth bit and held the tip of my tongue. Missy pecked my cheek. Our hands
caressed each other. The bikinis Missy and I wore were hardly a bar to
inquiring fingers. I felt Jasmine�s intrude into my cunt lips, bypassing the
string there. Missy, meanwhile, ever the devil, probed a childish finger
within my fanny and found my hole.
----------------------------------------------------------------
A R E A D I N G F U N D has been established for Stephen Knox, imprisoned
in a federal penitentiary for ordering a swimsuit video featuring teenage
girls. To help provide books to Knox (formerly a Phd. candidate at Penn
State), send any amount to: Uncommon Desires Newsletter, P.O. Box 2377,
New York, NY 10185. Make checks payable to: Ophelia Editions.
----------------------------------------------------------------
With sighs of mounting desire we desisted at last, letting our
mouths, then our fingers retreat. Jasmine tossed her hair and regained her
composure. She still held the crop. She was clothed, though her boobs
presented us with the treat of risen nipples now, sticking up through her
t-shirt. I�d slipped a finger past the crotch of her jeans, to pay her back
for the urgency she was creating in me. Jasmine adjusted her shorts and
gave me a smile.
�You are such a sweet guest,� Jasmine said. �But you truly must not
be my equal, dear. I do charge men money who bring their loves here for
training.�
�Then I�m just property?� I said with a moany-sigh.
�You are your lover�s property,� Jasmine corrected.
�What if I don�t like him anymore?� I asked. And, truly, I was
beginning to have my doubts.
�You won�t like him, sometimes, but that�s to be expected.� Jasmine
fingered her crop and I knew she was dying to ply me with it. Did she wish
to see me scream? A flash of myself hitting her ran through my mind and
I realized with a shiver how tempting it seemed. To control her, to make
her respond to my every whim...
�I�M not Brent�s proberty,� Missy piped up, mangling the very word
she wished to dispute.
�You, dear child, are a little handful, and I decided to mate you up
with the nearest available male,� Jasmine whispered, out of earshot of
our male admirers. �Behave or I�ll give you to Larry, Moe, and Curly,� she
added, with a nod toward our masturbators. I felt quite detached from
them now, as if they were just furniture. They watched us like hungry
dogs. Much as I disliked Jasmine�s crop, I was glad she had it available to
keep our three hungry suitors at bay. I plucked at it with my fingers and
lifted it to my lips. As she held it steady for me, I kissed it. I was kooky,
the string, our kisses, making me wild.
�Punish me now!� I begged suddenly. I wanted to get it over with. I
couldn�t bear the thought of waiting.
�No,� Jasmine breathed. �Half the fun is in the waiting. Think of it
as you�re sitting at brunch. Do you remember last night?�
I nodded.
�Today will be harder,� Jasmine said. She did not smile. Her face
was deadly serious.
�You will hurt me!� I gasped.
�Hurt, but not harm. There is a difference, dear. Always you must
be reminded of your enslavement. Otherwise you would be just a
houseguest. Come, let�s go to the East Wing. I�m sure your coats are ready
by now. I have a wonderful tailor.�
Jasmine swished her crop and Missy and I, not wanting to cross her,
spun about to go find our lover. Our real lover, Brent, whom I hoped would
find a way to spare me my afternoon cropping. With wiggling bottoms,
glistening earrings dangling from our ears, our makeup just a little
mussed, Missy and I paraded past the masturbating men and headed for my
bedroom door.
�Agh! I can�t stand it! They�re too young! We�re not supposed to be
watching this!� one of the crewcut twins declared. Missy yelped as his
jism suddenly shot forth and splattered across her leg.
�Hey! Don�t pee on me!� Missy cried. She bent down and brushed at
the spurting on her leg. I pushed her forward. I could sense more was in
the offing.
�It�s not pee, silly. It�s sperm!� I said in a hushed voice. Missy
bounced forward as my hands shoved at the small of her back. Her fingers,
scooping up the man�s sperm from her thigh, waved in front of her face.
Jasmine, following me, frowned at the men and slashed her crop
through the air. It was a warning to the men. She didn�t want to see them
spoil our swimsuits.
A naughtiness possessed me as I passed in front of our admirers.
�Tootle-oooh, men!� I called out to them, and gave them a little wave.
Suddenly, the remaining two shot off, sending spurts of jism right across
my path. A little hit my thigh but, fortunately, I seemed to magically
walk through the rest, just managing to avoid it.
Standing in the doorway to my bedroom, I looked back with tense
bottom cheeks at the three men who�d invaded and defaced my room. A
pungent odor of semen greeted my nostrils. Between each man�s open legs
lay a puddle of his manhood, upon the floor, staining my nice carpet.
�Are they football players?� I asked, surprised at their sudden loss
of control.
�No,� Jasmine said. �They�re Sanramento District Attorneys.�
�What kind of District Attorneys?� I asked. I brushed their sperm
off my leg with my fingers.
�They live in a tomato?� Missy piped up.
�Never mind,� Jasmine answered us both. �They came down to
Caracas to maintain their political viability within the system. Bye bye,
boys! If you can�t control yourselves in front of two little girls don�t
expect me to have anything to do with you!� She slammed the door on
them. �Don�t worry, I�ll have Olaf clean your room before you come back,�
she told me. I heard a crashing sound.
�What�s that?� I asked. I cringed. It sounded as if someone was
smashing the furniture in my bedroom.
�It�s Olaf. I told him if they couldn�t control themselves he could
give them a free membership in NAMBLA.�
�What?� I asked.
�Well, perhaps NAMBLA isn�t the right word for it. SAMMLA might be
better. The South American Man Man Love Association,� Jasmine smiled.
I heard a howl from within my (former) bedroom. What were they
doing in there?
�All work and no play makes Olaf a temperamental boy,� Jasmine
grinned. Her teeth were white. Wisps of her long dark hair were caught by
the breeze and sent flying out in front of her. She looked like the world�s
sweetest dominatrix, standing there with her hair wild in the wind, but
she turned to my bedroom door and locked it from the outside so our
suitors couldn�t escape. The wind ruffled her t-shirt and she caught at its
scissored neckline to restore it to her shoulder. �They put fine young men
in prison for having underage girlfriends, yet sit at home downloading
child pornography from the Internet!� Jasmine said aloud. �Then, when
that gets tiresome, they visit Caracas to learn about drug interdiction,
and girl interdicktion, of course. Let them have a taste of their own
medicine for a change!�
�Really, Jasmine, you shouldn�t!� I pleaded. I wanted to grab the key
from her and release our three friends. After all, even cops needed a little
fun, didn�t they? So what if they�d lost control of their penises? It just
meant they found me attractive!�
�I don�t wish to be cruel, dear, but Olaf must be fed sometimes,�
Jasmine said to me. �I don�t pay him. I just let him have a man, now and
then. It keeps him happy and I do need his services.� Missy and I heard
howls and cries of remorse from my cellblock-like bedroom as the three
Attorneys from the Tomato, or whatever it was, got cornholed by Olaf.
�My daddy doesn�t like lawyers,� Missy offered. She looked at me
with wide eyes. I shivered as screams continued to break from within the
stone walls. I reached out to her and we hugged each other. Then Jasmine,
ever in charge of us, whistled her crop past our bottoms and sent us
walking with quick steps through the garden. The East Wing beckoned,
home of last night�s orgy that left me and Missy out in the cold, uninvited,
forced to sleep by ourselves and, though I could hardly dare to remember
it, forced to drink from a toilet! My cunny whispered to me naughtily. My
little string bikini sluiced back and forth within my dell. Every step I
took sent little shivers up me. Bouncing freely, barely contained by the
string and the tiny cups, my breasts felt like lassoed gourds. The wind
blew my long hair out in front of me, making me feel like I had a blonde
halo on. Missy sought my hand. I squeezed hers, reassuringly, even if we
were doomed to have our hineys whipped. We were going to meet Brent,
my love! With my sexy bikini on, inspiring me with my every step, I knew I
would find happiness in his arms.
My Favorite Space Man
by Carolyn Ballard
My dream would be
To be with my life-time special mate
To be with him up high in a spaceship
See the lucky blue stars shooting
Across the dark sky
Then get married and hold hands
And then kiss his soft lips
Then celebrate our special candle-light dinner
With a glass of red wine
They say roses are red
I say I enjoy someday going to the next planet.
AND IN THE ALEXA...
Take Note, Dan Coats
�The hidebound illiberality of the Tory establishment was such
that even the open-endedness of Keats�s couplets could outrage it. As
for the sensuousness of his language and his over-familiar handling of
Greek mythology, these were a scandal.�
- The Economist, November 15, 1997, Review page 13.
--------------------------- Fuck Alexa! -------------------------
-Back Alexa: type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser�s �Location� window. Press your �Alexa� key.
Under �Quick Search�, type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your �Alexa� key.
-Other Alexas:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Alexa: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free Alexas: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim
Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world�s greatest Alexa! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Alexa ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1997 and a trademark of Alexa Roller. Work by others
copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 318 EMISSION
- Praise Woman, from whom all blessings flow!
(including little Alexa!)
(ack!)