Message-ID: <7244eli$9803251535@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Andrew Roller Subject: FUCK DECENCY 359 NEW! 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: <35182537.6C6B@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- Criminal history? Earnings history? Credit history? Character? General reputation? Mode of living? Andrew Roller Presents FUCK DECENCY Hamilton! Sturges! http://www.amazon.com Issue No. 359 Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in Dungeon of Desire Epilogue Shantila rubbed my bottom. Her touch was light. “Ready?” she asked me. I hesitated, then nodded briefly. I’d come here for this. She would pay me when it was over. Shantila drew back her hand. And the nerd did a strange thing. He plopped right down behind me, sitting on the floor, and squeezed his legs together. Then he pulled a small spiral notebook out of his shirt. He grabbed a pen from behind his ear. “What are you doing?” Shantila asked him. “I’m going to write all this down!” the nerd said happily. “I mean, if you won’t let me take photos... of course I’d need to borrow a camera from you if you have one...” “No photos,” Shantila said firmly. “I do have some respect for her privacy.” She nodded perfunctorily at me, but I was grateful for it. “Okay, then. Just paddle away and I’ll write it all down for the guys on the Internet!” the nerd grinned. I couldn’t see him but I could hear his voice and it certainly sounded like he was grinning. “What are you going to write... SPLAT?” Shantila asked. “Um, don’t worry. I’ll add in some extra stuff and name it after this girl at school who calls me a nerd,” the nerd answered. “Alright then,” Shantila said. And, as if inspired by his reportage to give me a really sumptuous punishment, she struck me as hard as she could. THE END Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in Passion’s Playpen Chapter One She sensed it within him. A restlessness, a kind of animalistic hunger. They had met only recently. They were new lovers. And yet she sensed that somehow they were not. He had known other girls. And now he knew her. And there was something in her that sparked him to do more with her than he had done with any of the others. Did he wish to use her? All lovers use each other in some fundamental way. They meet, they chat, and then they love. But she felt he was bored with such superficial passings. This girl today, or that tomorrow. And although she herself had not had many lovers, and was much younger than he (at least she felt she was) she yearned too for something more. But not, it would seem, the simplicities of life that an older female might wish for. She was still quite young and spirited, in her own shy way. She wished to be loved as deeply and as thoroughly as any human being could be. She listened as the horses drew their carriage down the gas-lit street. Turning her head to look at this quaint attempt at urban renewal, her breath slightly fogged the carriage’s glass window. There was a flurry of snow outside; premature for this early in the autumn. He put his arm around her. She drew away, a little frightened. Of herself, really, for he would never hurt her. Unless.... she let the word hang within her mind. Unless she asked for it. But not directly. No. Directly would be too gauche. But she remembered the pain of losing her hymen and knew she had wanted to be hurt that night, when she was 13 and the moon was full and her lover was brimming with passion. Now, with another lover, much older and suave in his movements, she sensed again the possibility of pain. This lover had all the social graces, yet he wished to use her as no man dared. As a... “Do you wish for me to be?” And again her voice broke, this time audibly, not just in her mind. She tried to give a little cough to cover her nervousness. “Do I what?” he asked politely. He straightened a lock of her hair that had fallen crossways into her eyes. He tugged at the collar of her blouse. She had not brought her fur and she was cold and the coldness forced her to find warmth and solace in the arms of her lover. “A slave.” There. She had said it. She had not meant to say it but she had. She felt him adjust himself, as if a sudden growth within him had made him uncomfortable. And she realized he was not as old as she fancied. She could feel a kind of youthful exuberance shiver through him, like on the night when she was 13 and her lover had stripped her panties down to expose her sex and pierce it. For the first time. “I...” Now it was her lover who coughed. “Possess yourself,” she thought, gritting her front teeth a little. “I am putting myself into your hands.” “Yes. I want you to be a slave.” “A slave.” She felt the same excitement shoot up her spine that had just possessed him moments ago. Not ‘his’ slave, but ‘a’ slave. That was quite different. ‘A’ slave could be used by anyone, and was the center of attention for all whom she served. That was not the simple, passionate slavery of a girl alone in a cabin with her lover. That was... Well, what was it? That was the girl as complete subservient, obeying all, but loved by all too, in a physical way. Could she stand such love? Would it be too much for her? She did not wish to think of it. She put it out of her mind with all her effort. Yet she sank a little more deeply into her lover’s arms. Because it was cold, she told herself. He unbuttoned the top button of her collared blouse. “I can have the driver take us there if you wish,” he murmured. He was all suaveness and self-possession again. She liked that. “Where?” she asked. She looked at him with big innocent child’s eyes, for she was a child, really, she told herself. Barely 19 and just a college sophomore. He was 35, not young at all, nor did she wish for him to be. And yet again she felt him twist a little in his seat and she watched as he moved his legs, trying to relieve himself of a sudden stiffness. Where he was taking her, he had not been there before either. “A place where I’d like to keep you for awhile,” he said softly. He looked at her with his deep sky-blue eyes and she felt small in his arms. He brushed her cheeks with his lips and she drew away again, but his arms were completely around her now and there was noplace for her to go. “You’d like me to stay there?” she asked. “Yes. I’d like to keep you there,” he said. “But--” she did not cough this time. She merely spoke the word and let it hang. He unbuttoned the second button on her blouse. “You are on break from school,” he said. “Only for three days,” she replied. “Because of the renovations.” “But you could stay away a little longer? Your things are in your dorm room, nobody will bother them. You are only taking electives this year...” “That’s true,” she admitted. She looked down at her knees. They were bare. She remembered skinning them as a child. She had run home crying and they had taken two weeks to heal but she’d learned to skate. He reached down along her thighs and straightened the hem of her skirt. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something. She swallowed. He had picked her up for dinner at eight and now it was ten. They had both eaten salmon and she felt an easy softness within her. “Are you wearing panties tonight?” he asked her. She felt herself shiver. He knew she always wore panties. She was not like those girls who went dancing without their panties on. Her legs were fine and firm and flawless and she was barelegged, without hose, but she of course wore panties. And a bra, beneath her prim blouse with her collar and her buttons, two of which he’d now undone. Her skirt was black leather and she wore a seductive little black leather vest, and black pumps, and a black ribbon which held her hair in a loose ponytail, but she still nonetheless wore her panties. They were white. They might have been slinky black or red but on this night, dressing, she thought she’d prefer white, perhaps as an antidote to his intentions. “Of course I’m wearing panties,” she replied softly. “Take them off,” he said. This time when she tried to draw away there was not even any room in his arms, and she found she could not pull even a little bit away, though she tried. “Take them off,” he said again. “But?” she let the question hang lightly in the air. It was a butterfly. He had the net. “The seat is spotless. Take them off and give them to me. I will need to give them something when we arrive to show your consent.” He drew back to give her room, but only so that she could take off her panties. She reached behind herself. She unzipped her skirt. It was too tight for her to reach inside of. She had purposely bought a skirt that moulded her ass and clung to the tops of her thighs. And then, she’d bought the finest, silkiest panties she could, for she still wished to wear panties despite the snugness of her skirt. They were opaque panties though, to keep her from being seen should she somehow find herself without her skirt on. And yet now, obeying him, with the snow falling outside and the air quite chilly inside the coach, she unzipped her skirt. She felt her girlish bottom push through the unzipped halves of her skirt, like a balloon seeking freedom. She unzipped her skirt right down to the end, watching all the while, nervously, the driver of the coach in his rearview mirror. He had the courtesy not to look back on the lovers, on her. “Now the panties,” her lover told her. She felt her panties against her bottom, protecting it from the coach’s smooth vinyl seat. She adjusted her skirt on her thighs so that it lay over them, unzipped but still shielding her from the coachman’s eyes. She raised her bottom a little and tugged down the back of her panties. “Where are we going?” she asked her lover, looking up at him, as she felt the nakedness of her bold bare bottom make contact with the vinyl of the seat. It was chilly and slick, for they had only entered the carriage a little while ago and her bottom had not had time to warm it. Her lover seemed to enjoy the look on her face as she felt the coolness of the vinyl touch her bare ass. She drew her panties down her thighs. She had to yank them down carefully lest she displace her skirt and send it to the floor. That would have left her bare, with just her blouse on, showing her bush to the driver. Her lover, gallantly, saw her predicament and caught a corner of her unzipped skirt in his hand to keep it in place. “All the way off,” he said. She leaned forward and felt her breasts fall broodingly forward into her blouse. Her bra was light and sheer and held her only tangentially. She had full uplifted bosoms that needed no support. She liked to feel them move when she danced but she could not bring herself to not wear any bra. So she chose just the very lightest ones, sheer, lace trimmed, but without any underwiring or elastic. They were to preserve her modesty. They did nothing to keep her from having a bouncy demeanor. CATALOG REVIEW by holy joe Mystic Trader, free. Catalog, 8 1/2 x 11, full-color, slick paper, 48 pages. 1-800-634-9057. Review: Well, I’m moving up in the world. Before, I was living in a cardboard box. But now I live in my very own porta-potty! It’s a little smelly, but I thank God every day that the construction crew that just finished building the new Federal Building forgot to take it with them. Hopefully they won’t come back for it. I figure, with my own toilet, I’m pretty well set in life. Sure, it would be nice to have a shower, so I could take a bath, but, then again, it does rain pretty often where I live. I figure I should count my blessings, instead of wishing for more. Don’t you agree? I’m no longer alone in the world, either. Yesterday a man visited me. I welcomed him into my home. I showed him around. I even let him take a shit on my toilet. He liked the flowers I’d picked out of the lawn, from the Bank next door, and put in a vase. He told me I was unrecognized by the world, and would I be interested in making an impact? Of course! I told him. He asked if I’d be kind enough to store some boxes for him, in my porta-potty. They say “TNT” on them. The man said that stands for “Turner Network Television.” Imagine! I guess I’m affiliated with the Turner Networks now. I guess they’re going to set up a news bureau outside the new Federal Building. I hope they have plenty of news to cover. Maybe I’ll even be on T.V.! Let me tell you, I could certainly use the money. The can collecting business isn’t what it used to be. Lots of guys are muscling in on it these days. All the good dumpsters are taken-- something called the Can Collecting Mafia has moved into town. They wanted me to join. They told me they could get me rights to a good dumpster, in a ritzy area. But I said ‘no.’ I’m a law abiding citizen, after all! So here I am, broke but happy, sitting in my porta-potty, reading my porn. If you’ve ever seen pointy bottles in a porno pictorial, and wondered where the photographer got them, I now have the answer. Check page 25 of this catalogue. You can now take photos of your favorite girl, with sexy, pointed bottles sticking up in the background! They’re called “Egyptian Aromatherapy perfume bottles.” You can get one for $18.00, or seven for $99.00. If you wish to be more direct, add a “Town Cryer” to your photo. (Page 12) It’s a statue of a man with a large, removable penis. Apparently primitive villages use him to summon the townspeople; by removing the penis and whacking it against the man. Thank God in America we have a wholesome way of gathering our people together: prime time T.V.! If your girl is youthful, perhaps you’d like to give her this prop: a “Shaman Rattle.” (Page 13) Each rattle is hand carved, from a gourd picked from a tree. The rattle comes in two sizes: one big, one small. Is the small one for her bottomhole, and the big one for her twat? It’s up to you! This is a nice catalog. There isn’t a whole lot of great stuff in here, but if you like the Far East, and Africa, you’ll find some items you might not be able to get otherwise. The Age of Innocence, by David Hamilton, $31.50. (Retail: $45.00) Large-sized Art book with many black-and-white photos, and some color photos. Many pages. Web: http://amazon.com or http://barnesandnoble.com Review: This book is the sacred religious text of Temple of Pan, a religion devoted to worshipping little girls. A central tenet of the Pan theology is that God is an 8-year-old girl. Satan, in this theology, often takes the form of a grown woman. Lesser demons are male lackeys of Satan. They serve Satan’s will instead of God’s. Daily worship of this divinely inspired book is required for all God’s believers. Any who blaspheme this book are damned to Hell. Hell is defined as association with Satan. (A grown woman.) The worst offenders are often found to literally be in bed with Satan. Previously this book was found in the Art and Photography section of better bookstores. However, if you see it on display there, please ask that it also be stocked in the Religion section. Then new adherents to the Pan theology will be able to locate it without exposing themselves to photo-books of grown women. Just as the Holy Bible consists of the Old Testament and the New Testament, this book has a companion. It is: A Place in the Sun, by David Hamilton, $31.50. (List price: $45.00) Hardcover. Many color pages. Web: http://amazon.com or http://barnesandnoble.com AND IN THE END... Of course, there’s always this religion... “But what is Nirvana? It is difficult to find an erroneous answer to this question; for the Master left the point obscure, and his followers have given the word every meaning under the sun. In general Sanskrit use it meant ‘extinguished’ - as of a lamp or fire.” - The Story of Civilization, by Will and Ariel Durant, Volume 1, pg. 435. -------------------------- 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: roller39@idt.net in the box that appears. Click on “find” (the button to the right of the box). -Or search using: roller666@earthlink.net -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! - JOIN NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. -END OF 359 EMISSION Thank God they didn’t ask about my religion! -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |