Message-ID: <12651eli$9807012300@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller Subject: FUCK DECENCY 384 Passions Playpen NND g2 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net 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: <359A8CF7.3712@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- I HAVE STOPPED MASTURBATING !!! I’ll be honest. I was about to jack off. I already had my pants off. My hand was lingering within range of my dick. Then, accidentally, as I was searching for the new Penthouse on my bookshelf, my eyes wandered over to Brooke. You remember her. She’s in a magazine. I liked her so much that I bagged her and hung her up on my wall. I mentioned her last issue. “Don’t shoot yet... you might meet me soon!” I heard Brooke say. My hand paused. I couldn’t believe it. Brooke was actually speaking to me! “Brooke!” I groaned in reply. My dick begged for attention but, with Brooke staring at me so sweetly, I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it. Isn’t this amazing? You would think that a naked girl, staring at me from a magazine, would inspire me to jack off. But it didn’t. Instead I got down on my knees and thanked Brooke for saving me from the sin of masturbation. From this we can derive a new rule of social theory: great porn causes men NOT to masturbate! Instead, they wish to live up to the perceived desires of the girl they are staring at in the magazine. I would never admit to the real Brooke, in person, that I was a hopeless jackoff. And with such a realistic photo of her hanging on my wall, I’m reluctant to BE a jackoff, even when I’m alone. Now the only question that remains is this: when will Brooke show up at my dumpster? Obviously it will take a little while, but I want Brooke to know that I am ready and waiting for her. Also, it would be good to emphasize the following: I will be making even more sperm in the interim. I can’t help it. My balls just keep producing it. I could reach a dangerous condition of ‘overload.’ How embarrassing it would be for Brooke to show up during my breakfast, tomorrow, and find me uncontrollably jacking off! Brooke, are you reading this? Time is of the essence! I’m not sure how long I can hold out. If you want to spend the night with a real stallion, (as opposed to a hopelessly flaccid loser), now is the time to cum! (But not before you arrive!) Don’t bother e-mailing me, Brooke. Just show up. Don’t worry about the sign on the outside of my dumpster that says “No Playing or Climbing.” That’s just for ugly girls. Brooke, my love! Hurry!!! A guy with sperm is similar to a guy with diarrhea. Both of them can only hold it so long. Already I’m using just One ha nnd to type t h is. Andrew Roller Presents FUCK DECENCY NAKED girls and more at: http://www.AlessandraSmile.com Issue No. 384 Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in Passion’s Playpen Chapter Four “Give them something to soothe their throats,” Marie said to the gardener. “I’d hate to see such lovely voices go hoarse.” The gardener fetched a wine bottle from behind a sack of fertilizer. Kate wondered if he secreted it there so he could drink himself through his daily duties. The gardener uncorked the wine (it had been drunk from before) and offered it to Kate’s lips. Kate refused, twisting her head away. “Drink, little one,” Marie said. She stroked Kate’s throat and felt her little bobbing Adam’s apple hidden underneath her swan-like neck. The gardener forced the neck of the bottle into Kate’s mouth, as if it were his penis. He tilted the bottle up and Kate, feeling rather like a baby being bottle-fed, was forced to gulp down wine. It was red wine. The gardener poured too fast and some of the wine slopped out of her and ran down her chin and spattered her breasts. “It’s not good to waste wine,” Marie said. She ran a finger between the cheeks of Kate’s bottom, in her crack, and Kate shivered. In just a moment her bottom would be a red ball of fire! Marie patted her white cheeks. “Yes, red as the wine,” Marie said, and Kate knew what she meant. Cindy was given a drink of the wine. As the gardener poured it into her, ignoring her pleas and protests, Marie patted her belly. The redhead flinched. “Yes, your baby will bounce in your tummy while I’m whipping you,” Marie teased the girl. “Perhaps you’ll both get a little exercise, hmmm?” “No, please!” Cindy burbled, the wine bottle still jammed in her mouth. The gardener laughed at her attempt to speak with the bottle inside her. “Now they are quite ready, I think,” Marie said. “But gag them, Bogart. I’m tired of having them beg me for favors.” The gardener, Bogart by name, though he resembled Bigfoot more than a Hollywood actor, fetched two strips of rawhide that hung on the wall. He forced a strip into each girl’s mouth, pushing her tongue back, so that she couldn’t speak and could hardly muster a scream. When he was done the girls stood silently, still waiting for the crop. Tears ran down their cheeks. The tears dripped off their faces and joined the droplets of red wine on their breasts. “Yes, my precious little flower. It is time to see what your bottom can take!” Marie chortled. She ran her crop in a saw-like fashion across the summit of Kate’s cheeks. They were lily white. Kate felt new tears well in her eyes as she realized her moment of truth was only seconds away. “Such peerless rounds. I almost hate to cut them up!” Marie said. She bent and kissed each of Kate’s bottomcheeks. “Ah, well. C'est la vie,” Marie said, upon rising. Kate felt a withdrawal of air behind her as Marie lifted her crop up past her head. Then, just as swiftly, the crop zinging down, Kate felt a streak of fire impress itself deep into her skin. It hit right where Marie had only moments ago touched the crop to her rear and then kissed her. “Ya hoooo!” Kate called from somewhere within her gag. Despite being fitted into a spreader bar, she managed to lift one foot and stamp it back down on the ground. “There, that’s a nice one, don’t you think?” Marie asked Bogart. She stood examining Kate’s bottom, which now bore a fiery red streak across it. “You forgot to dip the crop, Ma’am,” Bogart said. “And I forgot myself. Shall I get the bucket for you?” “Please, dearest.” Marie said. “We must give Kate a challenge if she’s to win back her lover’s penis. I would so like a nice big sausage for lunch, you know.” Marie laughed and the gardener, sounding like a big dolt, for that’s just what he was, laughed stupidly along with her. While Kate was left to waggle her bottom, hoping to throw off the sting, Marie proceeded to award Cindy a similar cut. She struck hard, hoping to leave a weal, and Cindy howled like a bitch in heat into her gag. Ignoring the baby in her belly, Cindy stamped her feet and danced on her toes and shoved her bottom back at Marie, hoping to catch cool air upon it but looking for all the world like she wanted more. Marie laughed, watching the girl’s display. “Cindy, for a mother you certainly are brazen!” Marie said. “I’ll have to give you extra cuts for immodesty, lest your baby wind up here itself someday, hmmm?” Cindy was not amused and shed new tears, hanging her head and sobbing profusely. All the while her bottom kept gyrating, showing itself, humping back at Marie. The dark-haired woman returned to Kate. The blonde’s wigglings had subsided. Marie gave her a new slash, making her bottom feel like it had sat down on a hot iron bar. Kate howled and shook her bottom like she were a stripper at Hooters. Her bosoms jostled under her, their nipples like thorns, and Marie remembered her clamps. “Bogart, fetch the clamps, please. These girls must learn a little tit discipline,” Marie said to her gardener. “Yes, ma’am,” Bogart replied. “At least you can keep from showing your nipples,” Marie said to Kate when Bogart had passed her the clamps. “Your mother would appreciate a LITTLE modesty, don’t you think?” Marie caught one of Kate’s breasts in her hand. It was big and Marie had to squeeze it to keep its satiny, tear stained bulk from slipping out again. Kate tried to escape, shaking her chest and moving her hips as if she were at some nudist camp dance. Marie wrenched Kate’s breast upward. She extruded its pink thorn-shaped nipple between two of her finely nailed fingers. Then she positioned the clamp over the teat, squeezed its jaws open, pushed forward, and released the clamp handles before Kate could escape. “Owwwww!” Kate howled from behind her gag. Her scream was barely audible. Marie smiled at her handiwork and set about capturing Kate’s other breast and putting a clamp on its tip. When Kate was confined, just her tits covered, the rest of her, including the cones of her breasts, still bare and exposed, Marie went to Cindy and did the same to her. “Yes, you will learn what its like to nurse a baby by having these little fake mouths biting away at your nipples,” Marie said to Cindy. The redhead seemed not at all disposed to risking the health of her breasts in the clamps, but with her hands and legs bound there was nothing she could do but accept them. Marie, though she found she didn’t need sighting strokes, decided to whip the girl’s backs as well as their bottoms. “Between the bottom of the shoulder blades, not touching the shoulders, of course, and the middle of the back is best,” Marie told the girls, instructing them as if they were on their way to being dommes themselves, by learning first how to receive. “The back may be divided into four quadrants, top to bottom, and it is the second quadrant that is safest,” Marie said. Kate and Cindy only waggled their bottoms at her in response, their hips lewdly performing a dance in the cool barn air, hoping for relief from the marks already given. Each girl bore two neat slices across her hinds. Marie had given them with the intention that they should remain awhile, as evidence of her dominion. Both were forming into weals, ridges of skin across the girl’s fannies that would last for days and remind the girls of their submission whenever they sat. Marie flogged the girl’s backs. She gave each girl three hard-hitting, weal forming strokes. The blows shredded part of Cindy’s baby doll nightie. The little gown was left hanging in tatters from just her right shoulder. It dipped down on the side of her where it had been torn away, actually covering part of her bottom. Marie interspersed the blows to each girl’s back with more blows to each girl’s bottom. After each sweep of the crop Marie redipped her crop in the bucket of brine to keep it stingingly wet. Kate and Cindy found themselves lost in a demi-world of passion between their legs and hell on their behinds. Their nipples screamed for relief inside the jaw-hinged clamps. Kate’s gag was released and she was given more wine. “It will make it easier for you to accept the cuts. I want to give you more,” Marie told her. Kate sobbed and let herself be force-fed the wine. She was beyond resisting now, simply moving her hips in a kind of auto-dance, lost in her burning cunt and ass and the pain of her bitten teats. Bogart made her drink down long draughts of wine. With Kate re-gagged, Cindy was given wine. Marie did not give her as much wine as Kate for Cindy was pregnant and, despite her fondness for seeing Cindy suffer, she did not want to hurt Cindy’s baby. Cindy seemed to wish for more wine, mouthing at the open neck of the bottle as it was drawn away. But a few quick gulps was all Marie permitted her. The punishment of the girls continued. Marie struck more lightly now that the girls had slipped into themselves, consumed by their pain and desire. She concentrated on the men now, hitting the girls to drive the men crazy. With hot faces and straining loins, the men watched. There was absolutely nothing they could do to save the girls. And they were at an equal loss to save, or relieve, themselves. Several more peed. When the girls had, in Marie’s opinion, had all they could take, she went to the first man. She ordered Bogart to release him. “I’m going to release you one by one,” she said to the men. Playfully she slashed at the cock of the man whom Bogart was unchaining. She did not hit him hard, just enough to leave pink marks on his cock and remind him who was boss in the barn. “I’d order you to take your pick of the girls and fuck them, but I know that orders aren’t necessary. You’re quite helpless to do anything else, aren’t you, you poor souls? Even if you wished to strike me, you wouldn’t. You’re too hungry to fuck. And poor Kate and Cindy are too available for you to even try manhandling me to the ground. Take them as you wish, gentlemen, in the cunt or in their flaming asses. But please be gentle if you do them in their asses. They’re quite tight in back and Kate’s never been fucked, except by me, with a cucumber. Show their virginal bottoms some consideration if you take them that way.” Marie, seeing that the first man would soon be rid of his chains, took some oil from a shelf and lubed his cock with it. The oil warmed as she applied it to his skin. The man thrust himself at her, hating her for tying him up but nonetheless eager to cum. Marie rubbed him carefully to keep him from spending in her hands. Bogart slowed the pace of his unraveling to give Marie more time to get the man thoroughly oiled. “Yes, you will do your duty by Kate or Cindy, hmmm?” Marie asked the man. He stared back at her, frowning. He bucked his hips at her as if he were trying to batter her down with just his cock. “Oh, your poor penis! Here you’ve been tied up in this awful barn, unable to do anything but pee! Now you want to shoot yourself all over me but I won’t let you, no no. You must fuck Kate or Cindy. Give all your energy to her,” Marie said. Then, turning to Burton and rising from where she’d knelt in the hay in front of the man, she said, “He’s ready. Loose the rest of his chains and let’s see his performance.” Out of Control by Lisa Scarboro Have you ever felt like a blast furnace of rage burning out of control like a California wildfire gone past the point of containment consuming everything in its path in a blind white sheet of destruction leaving in its wake only ashes and traces of memories that make the eyes burn and sting with bitter sweet pain and sickening awakening of loss and regret for things that cannot be salvaged and things so damaged can they ever be the same as they were before when hopes were expectantly optimistic and conversation light and punctuated with laughter and lingering glances and slight touches that tingle the senses with foreknowledge of things to come in warm embraces and soft kisses and endless shivers of excitement and the even warmer feel of contentment and safety of knowing that you are special to someone somewhere that makes all the bad things that happen not matter quite so much at least a break from them anyhow because when you burn the fire out you’re all empty on the inside anyway because you know it doesn’t matter because you’re never going to win or matter or amount to anything anyway. (I’m glad to see someone learned about punctuation in school... h.j.) AND IN THE END... Who needs JOE CAMEL? “British Columbian pot has become the champagne of cannabis. The stuff that makes pot appealing is a chemical known as THC -- short for delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol. Most American baby-boomers, in their mis-spent youth, smoked pot with a THC content of maybe 2 percent. Later, Hawaiian grass labelled “Maui Wowie” offered an impressive 10 percent or 12 percent. Now, British Columbia-based growers, using carefully bred seeds and sophisticated indoor hydroponic gardens, sometimes produce marijuana with a mind-blowing THC content of 30 percent.” - The Economist, June 27, 1998, pg. 33. (Down with tobacco! - h.j.) -------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------ -Back issues (and stories): type http://www.dejanews.com/ into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key. Click on “Power Search” in the middle of the screen. Next, Type in: roller666@earthlink.net in the box that appears. Click on “find” (the button to the right of the box). -Other providers: Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -When visiting Barnes and Noble, ask for: Jock Sturges’ Radiant Identities and David Hamilton’s The Age of Innocence. Support art! -Also by David Hamilton: A Place in the Sun, and Twenty Five Years of an Artist Need a book? http://www.amazon.com - NAKED girls, under 18! Plus scholarly books. Publishing for over a decade, it’s Alessandra’s Smile, P.O. Box 2377, New York, NY 10185-2377. Phone: 1-212-505-6985; Web: http://www.AlessandraSmile.com - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, 537 Jones St. #8418, San Francisco, CA 94102. Phone: 1-212-807-8578; Web: http://www.nambla.org -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder. -Official Newsletter, Temple of Pan -END OF 384 EMISSION EEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAH! Um, Brooke... let’s just talk, okay? -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----