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VISION 2001
I went to the local college today. I asked the admissions office to
direct me to the Pedophile Studies department. They called campus
security.
I see that my needs are not being served by the Academy, despite the
fact that I pay taxes. (Sure, I don�t work; but every time I buy beer I have
to pay a tax on the aluminum can.)
Hence, today I am setting up a Pedophile Studies department, on the
Internet. There�s no cost to join my department. However, you will need
to get hold of books, as assigned, in order to do the reading.
Our first assignment will be to read the following book: Fire in the
Streets, The Battle for Hue, Tet 1968, by Eric Hammel. (ISBN: 0-935553-
18-5) Consider the following questions as you read this book:
STRATEGIC QUESTIONS:
1. Assume you are confronted with a feminist society. How do you
infiltrate this society and take command of its strategic points and
resources?
2. Assume you are confronted with a militarized, feminist society. This
society is on �red-alert.� It cannot be infiltrated. How do you use blunt,
direct miliary force to take command of this society?
TACTICAL QUESTIONS:
1. Assume you are facing a building. In this building there is a window.
There is a feminist machine-gunner who is shooting out of the window.
Whenever you try to shoot back, with your pistol, the feminist machine-
gunner is able to avoid being hit by your gunfire. You have one rocket-
propelled grenade. Do you:
a. Shoot your rocket-propelled grenade at the window? or do you
b. Shoot your rocket-propelled grenade someplace else?
(The answer to the tactical question will be given at the bottom of this
issue.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Baby Tiffany
Issue No. 335
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Two
But he was not alone. The other two men I�d been assigned decided
to jump in also. They poked their dicks at my gasping mouth. In a moment
I found myself with three penises all vying for my lips. Somehow, looping
their arms round each other so none would be denied, they all managed to
force their penises at the same time into my mouth.
I gagged and spluttered but there was no denying them. How many
nights had I lay in bed, dreaming of commanding and controlling boys,
telling them to drop their pants so Nurse Kelly could see to their
ailments? Well, now little Nurse Kelly had quite a mouthful! I felt their
hands clap against the back of my head to keep me from escaping. With
their three cockheads prying my mouth apart, I felt like someone with a
pan pipe or a mouth organ, except the organs were far bigger than any a
musician had ever put to his lips.
With my fingers I tried to push them back. It was no use. My hands
were small and delicate, slim-fingered. These guys had been specially
chosen because they were big and brawny. How nice it must be to be
Miriam, I thought, picking your customers. I ran my hands along their
shafts. I tried to do my duty to them, reaching in between their legs and
grasping at their balls.
They took it as an invitation to cum. As I squeezed their balls they
played with their dicks. Quickly they became homosexuals, at least for a
moment, for they found playing with each other�s penises was far more
exciting than simply massaging their own.
�Come, you dickhead!� the middle guy said to the college boy.
�After you, butthole!� the college guy replied.
The older man, happy, perhaps, to have two young men�s penises at
his disposal, stroked them with demanding fingers.
�You�re squeezing too hard!� the college boy said to the eldest among
them.
�Cum, dickwad,� the eldest man replied, no better in his manners
than his companions were.
�Shoot, dude, I haven�t got all day,� the male in the middle told his
college pal.
�No, I don�t want toooo, I want to be the lasssst,� the college boy
protested. But with me squeezing his balls and the oldest man yanking his
dick, he spurted into my mouth in a sudden flood of sperm. The other two,
excited, came in simultaneous torrents. As I received their inundation I
realized none of them were fags; they�d found themselves all wanting me
and the excitement of their forbidden closeness set them off.
A trio of fleshy firecrackers exploded their seed into my mouth. I
gasped, gurgled, practically drowned in the flood. I heard the other guests
laughing. I was swamped! Have you ever had three penises shoot into your
mouth at the same time? It�s awful! I had no hope of swallowing it all.
They jetted into my mouth, overwhelming me, slathering my pried apart
lips and letting their seed splurge all over my face, up my nose, and into
my eyes. The men were quite happy now. They were no longer
competitive. They simply enjoyed their release, shooting in my face like
three boys playing naughty urinal games. I tried to contain the flood,
pinching at their balls, but it only made them cum more. I batted my hands
at their shafts in desperation. They were too huge and stiff for me to
move. I was wedded to their tree-trunk like cocks, I was forced to accept
all they had to give me.
White-faced, a bride with a veil of sperm upon my face, I stood up at
last. My knees were wobbly. I found myself forced to face the guests.
There was nowhere for me to run. They surrounded me and the women
oohed and ahhed at my plight. I had taken three men. I was a mess. My
makeup was pieface now, sperm flavored; my lipstick was white, my
mascara the color of spermy yeast. I was sticky. When my lips moved, or
my eyelashes fluttered, there was a spiderweb of white goo that moved
with me.
�Why, I think she�s been to see the Rolling Stones!� Sharon laughed.
Miriam smiled. Other women stared a little enviously. I�d just put three
men out of commission, at least for the moment.
�Come, little girl, you need your face washed,� Miriam said to me.
She took me by the hair. She walked me in my wobbly heels over to the
punch bowl. I found myself staring down into it. Little lemon peels
floated across its surface.
�We girls always prefer sperm-flavored punch at our parties,�
Miriam said quietly to me. And then she dunked me!
My head, grabbed from behind by the hair, was plunged deep into the
bowl. I felt as if I were drowning. Indeed, I was; for my head was in the
punch and my feet kicked up behind me, trying to escape. Miriam held me
down. My eyes gaped in the bowl. I saw nothing but red punch. When at
last she let me up I gasped like a fish.
Down I went again. Miriam held my head down, waiting until I grew
desperate. Then up she lifted my head. She let me breathe. When I�d
relaxed a little, feeling the tricklings of punch running down my neck and
collecting momentarily at the tips of my nipples, she plunged me in yet
again.
I swam in the punch. I was a goldfish searching for a hiding place. I
tasted the punch, involuntarily. It was tropical, with a hint of liquor. My
head was lifted up for a final time and I was permitted to rejoin the
living. I gasped. They watched my breasts quiver as my chest filled
gratefully with air, then expelled it, then filled again. There were lemon
peels in my hair. Miriam plucked them out. She picked up a linen napkin
and carefully wiped my cheeks.
Sharon moved to the punchbowl. She dipped a ladle into the bowl.
Drawing up a cupful, she poured a glass for Sandy.
�Mmmm, mmmm, good!� Sandy giggled, accepting a glass and sipping
it. Two white-tailed servants, middle aged men oblivious to our nudity,
appeared and cleaned up the splashings made by my dunking. Miriam had
impeccable help. I watched as the two men, from Mexico, worked as
professionally as if they�d been matadors at a bullfight. They paid no
attention to the plethora of penises, though they had to weave in their
steps to avoid them. And their eyes did not savor the females. Despite
the abundance of bosoms and bottoms, all bare, they saw to their work and
nothing else.
MAGAZINE REVIEW
by holy joe
Mayfair, March 1998, Volume 32, Number 12, $5.99. E-mail:
mayfair@pr-org.co.uk
Review: The best photo in this issue is of Claire Cass, on pages
four and five. It�s a never-before seen photo of Claire as an art
student. Claire originally posed as an art student in Mayfair, Volume
32, number 1.
You may be wondering, what is happening in this photo? For an
answer, I once again sat on the toilet and prayed to God. She�s 8-
years-old. She has bee-stung lips, wide blue eyes, and long blonde hair
that hangs down to her waist. Her clothes sometimes look a bit large
for her, because she�s still growing into them. But they�re always the
latest fashion.
After conferring with God (actually God�s Only Begotten
Daughter), I had my answer. (Oh, yes. Jesus died for our sins. But
God�s Only Begotten Daughter ate candy for our sins. Just thought you�d
like to know.)
Here�s what I learned about the photo of Claire:
Claire, as you know, posed regularly in Mayfair for over a year.
As a result, she got a little spoiled. When she went to painting class,
she didn�t always pay attention to the nude models she was supposed to
paint. Especially the girls. This was because Claire figured, �Why
should I waste my time painting them? I�m prettier.� And, being Claire
Cass, she was.
One day, at the end of Claire�s painting class, the professor
looked over her work.
�Claire,� he said, in a deep, sonorous voice, that was rich with
his 30-plus years of teaching. �You�re not turning in very good
paintings lately. I�m disappointed in you.�
Despite the fact that Claire was much younger than her teacher,
she had a profound respect for him, because he was a man. So, thinking
quickly, she said, �I�m sorry, professor. It�s these darn paint brushes.
They�re so hard to control!�
�I understand,� Claire�s teacher said to her. �Why not try
crayons? You know how to color with crayons, don�t you?�
�Of course!� Claire, feeling a little indignant, declared.
�Claire,� the professor asked. �I know you don�t want to flunk
this class. I�m willing to let you paint anything you like. Using
crayons, which are easy to control. Would you like to stay after class
today and do a picture for me?�
�Sure!� Claire said. The idea of being able to spend time alone
with her professor made her nipples perk up under her blouse.
�Well, alright,� Claire�s teacher said. �But I�ll tell you what. I
want you to really concentrate on what you�re doing. No goofing around.
And don�t expect me to not have anything to do myself, while I wait for
you to finish. I want you to undress, Claire. That�s right! Take off
everything but your shoes and socks. Then, I want you to color with
your crayons. While you�re coloring, I�m going to paint a picture of you.
That way, I�ll have a model to paint, and my time won�t be wasted.�
Claire was feeling very contrite, and a bit sexy too. �Teacher?�
she asked.
�Yes, Claire?�
�Would you do me a favor?�
�What?�
�Teacher,� Claire said. �I can�t afford to flunk this class. If my
picture that I do for you tonight isn�t up to your standards, I want you
to do something for me.�
�What�s that?� Claire�s teacher asked.
�I want you to spank me,� Claire told her teacher.
After some hesitation, Claire�s professor agreed. (Why flunk a
girl, after all, if a little correction will inspire her to do better work?)
And this is the photo we see in the March Mayfair, on pages four
and five. Claire has just finished coloring with her crayons. She
colored on paper, on the floor, because her professor asked her to pose
in a �challenging� position, so he�d have something interesting to paint.
Plus, since Claire is coloring with crayons, everyone knows that the
funnest place to color is on paper laid out on the floor!
�Teacher? I�m finished with my homework,� Claire says in a
soft, submissive voice, looking back at her professor. It�s up to you to
decide whether her picture is acceptable, or whether she�ll need a
spanking to motivate her!
Elsewhere in this issue, Anita and Judith decide to take a shower
together. (Page 31.) There�s lots of soft looks and warm caresses in
this pictorial, plus wet-lipped kisses. If you�ve never gotten to peek
into a girl�s shower room or dormitory (I haven�t) this pictorial is a
must see!
Who is the greatest Porn Star Princess of them all? My vote goes
to the girl in the new film, Operation Sex Siege. (Page 42.) This
luscious babe wears her shoulder-length hair in pigtails. She has a
very sweet, very youthful face. She also has a killer body, with
voluptuous big boobs. I haven�t seen the film, but I�m definitely
yearning to, after gazing at this awesome girl!
Another actress is profiled on page 54:
�A slender, undeveloped young lady in the mid-80s, by 1990
[Jennifer Connelly] came BIG - in every sense of the word,� writes
Mayfair. �The combo of Jennifer�s sweet face and giant hooters [is]
captivating.� Indeed! Several (topless) photos of this lovely girl are
printed.
Blonde little Kirsty is back, in a new pictorial, on page 63. This
enormously popular blonde has recently gotten a boob-job. I thought
she was fine before, but apparently she didn�t. Kirsty is the very
definition of �hand-job material.� She�s not a perfect 10. But the
combination of her long blonde hair, her youthful face and attitude, and
the fetchingly submissive poses she adopts are mind-blowing. In this
pictorial, she�s not quite as sexy. For one thing, she looks older. For
another thing, her tits have an unnatural roundness to them, as if
they�re fake tits, which they are. But she still manages to adopt some
lusciously playful poses. If you�ve never seen Kirsty before, you will
like this pictorial a great deal.
Last but not least, Nikki rounds out this issue of Mayfair. (Page
74). She unties her panties and rubs them back and forth between her
legs. Then, suitably moist, she shows off her boobs and, finally, kneels
bottom-up on the bed for an enema. (Whether from a catheter or a
penis, I can�t say!)
This is a good issue of Mayfair. Even though it just came out, it
seems to be selling quite quickly at the newsstand. Hurry if you want
one!
ANSWER to the tactical question: Don�t shoot your rocket-propelled
grenade (RPG) at the window. It will simply go through the window and
explode against the back wall of the room in which the feminist machine-
gunner is hiding. The resulting explosion will burst into rooms behind the
one the feminist is hiding in. You want to kill the feminist. You must ask
yourself, where does she hide when I�m shooting at her? The answer is
simple. When she sees you about to shoot, she hides immediately to the
right (or left) of the window. Fire your pistol at the window several
times to get a sense of which direction the feminist is going when she
hides. Assume, for instance, that you notice that she darts to the right
when you fire your pistol. Now, pick up your RPG. Aim it *next* to the
window (where she�s hiding). Now shoot your RPG. The RPG won�t go
through the window. It will explode against the outside of the building,
*next* to the window. The resulting explosion will burst into the room in
which the feminist is hiding. It will literally smash the wall in on her.
She will be killed.
AND IN THE END...
�The modern university is not known as a place of great courage
or common sense.�
- U.S. News and World Report, January 19, 1998, pg. 13.
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
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-Other providers:
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or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
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NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
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-END OF 335 EMISSION
- Why settle for a woman when you can have Baby Tiffany?
1-800- WE CLONE
(You didn�t think I was going to be sponsored by Nissan Motors, did
you? - h.j.)