Message-ID: <4839eli$9710131812@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: FUCK DECENCY 298 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: <34415D64.6558@idt.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- 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! ------------------------ -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 298 EMISSION - Gingrich: Rep. Newt Gingrich, R - Georgia, Speaker of the House, before the National Press Club (C-SPAN 2). -- +--------------' 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> /