Message-ID: <4515eli$9710021146@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: FUCK DECENCY 297 Pussy Playland (nnd) g2 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3432F6B9.49BD@idt.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- BYE, BYE, LADIES “Seeing ‘Lolita’ at last reveals that Lyne has translated Nabokov’s classic with sensitivity, intelligence and style. ... ‘I’m very proud of this movie,’ [says creator Adrian Lyne], speaking from Rome. ‘And I think it’s important that it be seen.’ ... Lyne is ‘stunned’ at what he sees as the atmosphere of cultural constriction in America: ‘Six year-olds who kiss each other in school are charged with sexual harassment.’” - Newsweek, October 6, 1997, pg. 72. (Currently there is no U.S. distributor for the $60 million film ‘Lolita’ because, in the words of one studio executive, “Pedophilia’s a hard sell.” - h.j.) Andrew Roller Presents FUCK DECENCY Sponsored by: JOE CAMEL Issue No. 297 Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in Pussy Playland Chapter Three Jeff reached down and grabbed me beneath my arms. With one pull he yanked me straight up to my feet. My boobs jumped and bobbled on my chest. I gasped. My hips fell forward, presenting my bush to the wall. I tottered, finally found my balance. He slapped my bottom hard to wake me up. I was a newborn, newly in the world after my first real heavy-duty, butt wrenching fucking. I winced, howled, at the pain of his slapping palm. “Oooh, don’t!” I scolded. He did not hit me again. He liked letting me have a little power. He turned me carefully around and with Sherry’s help we walked slowly out from the maze of equipment. Jeff’s penis bounced merrily, not stiff but not deflated, still tantalized by all the youthful female flesh he had at his disposal. We were, indeed, his to do with as he pleased. “Jeff, let’s go upstairs and take a break,” Sherry suggested. Jeff yawned. “Alright, but we’re coming back down here,” Jeff said. “No excuses. I’ve got you both (he looked at Sherry) for the entire weekend. Kelly doesn’t get sent back home until Monday morning.” Sherry smiled and showed no disappointment. I think she was starting to like me as a real person, instead of just as someone who could be brought into their marriage to make her husband happy, or to satisfy some kinky longing they both felt to share themselves with a third person. “She can stay, dear, provided we go to the beach next weekend and pick up a boy,” Sherry said. Jeff looked at her. I watched in amazement as these two lovers, this husband and his wife, clashed a little. Her eyes were dark, fiery. His were a little glazed. He was satisfied. He’d gotten to shoot out his sperm and his fight was spent for the moment. I had no doubt he could be a very demanding master, insisting on his way in all things but, like most men (I guessed!) he was so satisfied and sated right now he had no desire to argue. “Alright,” Jeff said. His penis actually grew a little as he said it. Did he like the idea of seeing a young man poke himself into his wife? Did he have some deep, repressed fantasy of poking the young man himself? I didn’t know. We stepped up to the ladder. Jeff climbed up first. I watched his hairy butt as he climbed. He needed to go first because neither Sherry or I were strong enough to lift up the trap door. His balls swung merrily as he climbed. They’d been strung up tightly to his groin, full of passion, when we’d come down. Now they just swung aimlessly, loose and spent. His dick was retracting. It dripped precum down on us as he went up the ladder. There was a slow screech of hinges as the door protested being lifted. Jeff puffed out his breath, pushed harder, and at last got the better of the heavy door. It fell with a bang against the floor in the study. I could see nothing above. The sun had set. The house was dark. “OW!” Jeff bumped his head on the ceiling trying to find his way out through the opening. Sherry and I giggled. We really were prisoners down here. I hoped Jeff never had a heart attack fucking us. We’d starve, with nothing but a half-eaten cake to feed ourselves on until we finally expired. I went up the ladder next. Sherry stayed below to follow me, and help me if I needed it. I’d never climbed up before. She had Jeff had played down here before, and knew their way back up in the dark better than I did. Behind me, below me, the candles in the dungeon were burning low. Jeff and Sherry’s one sop to cleaning up had been to flick off the lights at the back of the dungeon. In a dwindling pool of candlelight I climbed up the twelve foot ladder and, just as I had to scoot through the trapdoor’s opening, Jeff flicked on the lights in the study. I poked my head up through the opening in the floor. I was greeted by the sight of Jeff’s penis. I looked up at it with childish, innocent eyes. He was big even when he was spent. Then, elf-like, I ascended into his world. He took my arm and lifted me the final foot. I landed on my feet in his study. It was as if he’d just lifted me off of some carnival ride. Sherry came up behind us. I turned as her head broke through the opening and felt a strange sensation as she was greeted, looking up, by the sight of my bare bottom. She climbed the rest of the way herself, stood, tossed her hair back from her face. “Well, wasn’t that fun?” Sherry smiled. She stood back from the dungeon’s opening so Jeff could bang the door back down into place. She bent and pulled the throw rug over it. Now it was disguised. Nobody knew. For all the world this was just a study filled with law books and guides to our state’s penal code. And, in the corner, I saw Jeff had started to pick up some medical books. They seemed to be mostly about girls; how they worked and functioned and birthed and grew breasts and had periods. Girls and Women, their bodies, their parts, but not, it seemed, what they thought or felt about their bodies and parts. Just how they worked. Men see us as bodies, I guess. Bodies to be fucked and spermed and made pregnant with their seed. It’s up to us to figure out the rest. I drew close to Sherry and sought her hand. She accepted it. At least we had each other. Jeff hustled us out of his study and closed the door. “Call Angela,” he said to Sherry. “I will, honey,” Sherry replied. “The maid,” she said to me. “We gave her a cell phone so she could come up and clean for us whenever we need it.” We drifted down the hall to the kitchen and Sherry picked up a cell phone and dialed their maid. Jeff picked up a banana. He peeled it and squirted it with a bottle of honey. He came close to me and put it to my lips. “Jeff, don’t you ever think about anything else?” I asked him. I smiled but I was a little baffled. He simply used the opportunity of my speaking to force me to take the banana. He made me eat it all the way down to the end. I heard Sherry talking to Angela as I was force-fed the banana. When she hung up and turned around she saw me with my cheeks bulging with the fruit. “Always playing with my hubby, hmmm?” Sherry asked me accusingly. She reached out and pinched one of my nipples. “Owww!” I said. I was helpless between them. Jeff made her relent and together we went to the bathroom in their master bedroom. We showered together. There was a little intimacy, but mostly we just wanted to get clean. Sherry had me bend over in the shower and she used a special spray nozzle to hose out my bottom. Poor Jeff. His seed did not breed babies in me but instead got washed down the drain. We stepped out, toweled off. “When we’re ready to go again I’ll have you take a pill,” Sherry said to me. “I do NOT want you pregnant with my husband’s sperm.” She turned to Jeff. “We should have been more careful, honey.” Then she frowned a little. She poked him in his belly. “You wouldn’t mind getting her pregnant, would you? It would just give you an excuse to have two wives and start a harem!” Jeff just grinned. He was no ‘man of the 90’s.’ He was an old-fashioned guy. Girls were put on this earth to be possessed and fucked. Sherry put her hand between his legs and drew out her husband’s penis. It was still long, even after he’d shot all he had into me. She regarded it. This was the organ of the man she’d married; her organ as much as his. Hers to put to use in making children for the two of them. “I ought to cut this off, you naughty, lusty boy!” Sherry said spitefully. Did she guess he might try to see me after our one weekend together? She turned to me and slapped my tummy. “Just one weekend together,” she warned me. “Just one. This cute little tummy of yours is NOT going to swell up with my husband’s sperm, no matter what. I’ve got plenty of coat hangers, honey!” Sherry said. I think she was feeling a little frustrated because I’d gotten her husband’s all down in the dungeon. Jeff put a hand behind each of our necks. He reached right through our long, thick tumbling hair and gripped us hard. “Girls, we’re going to bed,” Jeff said. And with that he turned us both around so we faced the door. He marched us straight into the bedroom, our tits bouncing like melons. He made us pull back the covers of his big bed and he put us into it. Sherry and I each fell asleep with a new dog collar around our neck. We were chained by our necks to the bedposts on either side of Jeff. He owned us, we were his. He fell asleep snoring and we had to content ourselves to liking his protection. His arms encircled us and his cock, perhaps dreaming of us as he slept, began to grow again. In the darkness I awoke. I had to go to the bathroom. What could I do? Did I dare to wake Jeff? I didn’t want to pee in their bed. I saw a shadow move past the bedroom door. Eyes peered in. I started. My hand flew to my throat. A voice asked, “Is anything to be cleaned in here?” It was Angela! “N-No,” I whispered in response. We were still squeaky clean from our bath. We had just started playing in here. A cloud stole back from the moon. Its light thrust into the bedroom and all was illuminated. My figure, quite nude, lay upon the sheets. The night had warmed. Our coverlet and sheet had been thrown back in our sleep to keep ourselves from getting hot. Angela stared in at me. The tips of my breasts poked skyward. My tummy was flat despite my playing and my hips were trim, still a little childish, waiting to fill out. My bush was newly fleeced and my legs were long, with slim ankles. Around my neck, quite embarrassing for me at the moment, was a dog collar, chained to a post of the bed. I put my hands to my pussy and held myself, lest I pee on the sheets. “Unlock... unlock me,” I whispered to Angela. “I mustn’t,” she answered. “I...” Could I say it to this ancient woman? She had a kind of dignity despite her years. She looked in at me like my grandmother might have. “I... I have to pee,” I said. “I mustn’t,” she said again, her voice more insistent. She turned away. I bit my lip. I felt a sudden onrushing of need. And then, quite suddenly, it happened. I peed in the bed! I heard Angela go out. The front door shut and she locked it. Jeff turned, almost awoke, but fell asleep again. I think you only wake up at night if you pee yourself. If somebody else pees, you might or might notice it, like you don’t notice a bed wet with sweat until you awake in the morning. Jeff began snoring again. Sherry, opposite me, did not stir at all. I lay there in the darkness, feeling awful. But, at last, I rolled atop Jeff. He did not awaken. I was light. Perched safely atop him, I at last fell asleep again. “Who wet the bed?!” Sherry hollared. I woke. I turned my head sleepily. I was about to admit that I had when she blamed her husband. “Jeff, PLEASE don’t just make a mess whenever you feel like it,” Sherry exclaimed. “I know you’re a very happy husband and I do everything just for you, but don’t just pee without bothering to get up!!!” “I- gosh, did I do that?” Jeff asked himself aloud. Then he burped. That seemed to seal his fate. AT THE DINNER TABLE by John Grey here we are in the enclosure with our fellow beasts and feeling pretty safe because these relationships are long tested; mama, pass me the okra or the Hemingway, the one tastes green and fleshy, the other shot himself in the head and my father who says that the source of everything that provides brings with it nostalgia for that source, and I add that the Arabian Oryx is dead in the wild, and my sister, tame as a spoon, reaches for the glittering ice-cream faster than her eyes fly open, oh these relationships have suffered under more microscopes than Plato, but we still get away with so much, like our hearts bouncing to the tune of the coffee bean or the way I sneak naked women to the dinner table, or the bones of Frank Lloyd Wright dug up from Unity Chapel Cemetery; but good to be in a cage where no one’s peering in, where all dreams are paired off with their prison, where the okra rises up in clouds and the potato thickens so hard the air screams land ho! and that gravy spreads to the edges of the plate in great oceans and you can live easily in this landscape and the voices that swirl around you are like gods and religion sprouts in the touch of flatware, in the death of a bird, the chill of ruptured milk; and Hemingway, called to dinner in Idaho of all places, and that oryx, hearing the cry as well, surprised to find it’s the dinner, and lives netted by old winds, hauled in off the common into family where the winds are safely dead, elbows on tables and out of danger, mouths telling what we did a hundred years ago, and food creating the roads and the buildings that will someday be highways and Malls when, at the prompting of all that’s gone before, our subject matter, fearful of being chosen, chooses us AND IN THE END... WALK LIKE AN EGYPTIAN “Girls were nubile at ten, and premarital morals were free and easy... Children of both sexes went about, till their teens, naked except for ear-rings and necklaces; the girls, however, showed a beseeming modesty by wearing a string of beads around the middle. “...It was a well-organized government, with a better record of duration than any other in history.” - Will and Ariel Durant on Egypt. (The Story of Civilization, Volume 1, pgs. 166, 169, and 162. -------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------ -Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians. -Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net -formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com, roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.) -Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com - Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! 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 Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder. -END OF 297 EMISSION -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /