Message-ID: <7402eli$9803311935@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Andrew Roller Subject: FUCK DECENCY 362 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: <35205540.2439@earthlink.net> --------------------------------------------------------------- PROBLEMS? Please try viewing this with Netscape Navigator. --------------------------------------------------------------- In this issue: GIRLS and WAR (what more could you ask for?) Andrew Roller Presents FUCK DECENCY Hamilton? Sturges? http://www.amazon.com Issue No. 362 Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in Passion’s Playpen Chapter One “Very good,” Maria said. She touched a finger to Kate’s throat and briefly kissed her lips, as if to reward her for a job well done. Then she reached back and untied the ribbon that held Kate’s hair in a pony tail. “You have lovely hair,” Maria complimented the girl. She fanned it out on her hands and then fluffed Kate’s hair so that Kate felt like a pretty doll being prepared for a wedding. Still wearing her blouse, whose tail was fashionably short so that it didn’t cover an inch of her bottom, with her vest tightly around her body but hiding nothing, Kate was walked to a corner and faced into it. “You must not watch us undress, dear,” Maria said simply. Behind herself Kate heard a shucking off of clothing. Even as she heard this she was shocked to hear the doorbell ring, and more guests arrive. She bit her lip and trembled as, facing the wall, she heard these new guests welcomed with soft hellos and told to undress. This was so sinful! Yet, with her hands and arms so tightly bound behind her, showing off her nude white bottom as if it were a trophy, Kate knew she could do nothing. She bowed her head in an attempt at modesty. Maybe they would spare her if she looked properly contrite, she reasoned. And then she remembered the men. In particular, her boyfriend. Kate could only imagine what her lover must look like now that he had a chance to remove his sometimes uncomfortable clothing. She stood waiting, with her cheeks huddling into her, her hands resting on their plump surfaces. She could feel the cold steel of the handcuffs around her wrists pressing hard into the soft whiteness of her bottom. With cuffs also restraining and binding her elbows, she was made to stand very straight. She wondered, as she stood there listening to them undress, tasting the bra that had been stuffed into her mouth, whether she would experience other feelings upon her bottom this night, and whether it would be so white in the morning. A light, almost airy touch on her shoulders. Maria turned Kate around to face the guests. There were almost twice as many now. For a moment Kate was startled. The men, who had been so decent and reserved before, now rudely offered her their bare penises. Several stood with their hands on their hips and Kate blushed as she saw how trim their hips were and how trim and sleek and muscled their bodies. In the midst of each pair of male hips, where the bush lay and where a girl would have offered nothing, stood up a very stiff pestle of flesh. It made no bones about its purpose. It throbbed with a life of its own and Kate was forced to stare at each of the pee holes on each of the men’s penises. Was she a toilet? Kate gulped at the thought. What only a urinal usually saw, a big cockhead with its pee slit presented, she was now seeing. Staring at, for she couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of so many male penises clustered around her, showing interest in her, a girl of only 19 with her hands cuffed so neatly behind her back. While Kate blushed, the other females, who had shown such an interest in her earlier, hung back this time, letting the males be closest to her. The girls nibbled diffidently at aperitifs. One filled glasses with punch. Kate felt suddenly thirsty and wanted to ask for a cup of punch but she was afraid she would be given wine again instead, and forced to get drunk. Instinctively Kate looked for her lover. But Mark was gone. Maria noticed her darting eyes and softly stroked her bare shoulder. “Your lover has been given the girl of his pick and sent upstairs,” Maria explained. “So that you will be forced to rely on us. Now you cannot rely on him for guidance or comfort, but only on us.” A distinct cracking sound came suddenly to all their ears and they looked up. Leather on bare flesh. It was unmistakable. A female cry was heard, and a woman with a glass of punch in her hand giggled, spurting out a little punch from her lips, though she tried to catch it with her hand. It hit her friend on the breast and since her friend had undressed she was hit directly by the punch, and it speckled her skin. The woman who’d lost herself in giggles bent forward and licked up the punch that decorated her companion’s bare bosom. “Tch. He is being hard on her,” Maria said, looking up at the ceiling as another scream broke from above. Maria bared her teeth a little as she spoke, as if plotting vengeance. Her grip on Kate’s frail shoulder tightened. Kate felt her bosoms wobble on her chest. She wanted to shrink and run away before these partygoers. Her eyes were big in her face and her body was quite waifish and small, except for her large heavy breasts and her legs which looked very long because they were so slim. She felt frail and she gasped as a female, stepping up to a table with a lamp on it, set her drink down on top of the table and opened its single drawer. Dipping her hand within, the female drew out a riding crop. It was short and businesslike, with a tough hard handle. At its tip was an oversized loop, made of leather. Kate wondered if the big loop was made that way to appeal to the eyes of children. It reminded her of children’s heads, how they often appeared larger than their bodies, giving them the look of little bobbing-headed darlings. Now the crop, with its childish, loopy head, was brought by the female who’d drawn it out up to Maria. The dark-haired woman, naked now except for her bouffant hairdo, accepted the crop. Still holding Kate, she whisked it briskly through the air. Kate watched wide-eyed as it whistled past her bosoms, with their fine-tipped points, and past her tummy which seemed to have sunk within her, showing off her ribs as if she were an animal about to be broasted and eaten. The men, uncontrollably hard and breathtakingly long, drew back a little, lest Maria bobbitize one of their penises with her new toy. Screams permeated the ceiling above, as a slow cracking of leather worked itself upon some poor helpless female bottom. Kate felt she could hardly breathe. Butterflies flew in her soft, small indrawn tummy. Her legs trembled. She realized she was way in over her head. No wonder her parents had disapproved of her dating an older man! No college boy could have gotten her into something this deep, she reckoned. The wildest frat party was always somewhat silly in the end, with drunken boys dancing around vomiting puke or challenging each other to pee on passersby from an upstairs window. This was quite different. Here, the men seemed not the least drunk, but Kate was staring at their penises nonetheless, and they seemed much harder than frat boy’s penises, almost implacable, like policemen enforcing the law. The law of Nature? No, Kate gasped to herself, for whips and riding crops and such things were hardly what missionaries would approve of, despite their accord with the missionary position. Here was where people played who were outside the ambit of God, or what He and her parents approved of. These were not mere boys on a lark. These were men with real jobs and real responsibilities who’d chosen (yes, chosen!) to get together and strip naked and play wicked, decadent games. And the women were no better. By day they might be models, or private secretaries, or even businesswomen, but now they were stripped of all but their lovely hairdos and eyeing the crop in Maria’s hand as if it were something more than just an implement for encouraging horses. Kate imagined that women like these would, by day, scold men for complimenting them on their busts (or perhaps even their dresses) but now they stood with perky nipples waiting and hoping for attention from men. A few cupped the balls of their lovers encouragingly, from behind, still softly sipping their drinks as they weighed the hot swimming sperm sacks that hung so acutely. Fingers drew themselves along the freely displayed male organs, sizing them up, finding them especially hard and daunting. The men remained with their eyes fixed on Kate. “He has my wife upstairs,” the closest male said as a new scream broke from above. “Let me be the one to punish her.” The man spoke to Maria. He was the least attractive one present, Kate thought, with a face like a boxer who’d boxed too long, and a knotted, muscled body, like someone who works out but does it badly, without the sleek tall well-formed look that Kate so much admired. His cock, though big, resembled a sausage more than a cucumber. Everything about him spoke of meanness, of deprivation and revenge. Maria fixed her crop between two fingers, balancing it there with her fingertips free so that she could use her hand for other purposes, while still holding the crop, holding it like one might hold a cigarette. She reached up to Kate’s chin and pulled it down. “I must take out your bra, dear. You might choke on it or swallow the end of it,” Maria said. She pulled the stringy, lacy fabric from Kate’s mouth and Kate sighed. But no sooner was her mouth unplugged than a woman, circling around almost unnoticed, set down her drink and whipped a gag quickly around Kate’s mouth. HOT OFF THE PRESS by holy joe VIETNAM, Number 1, $5.99. Starlog Entertainment, 475 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016. No web site listed. (By mail: send $4.99 plus $2.50 postage and handling.) Review: A long time ago, in a land far away, there was a war. America lost. It was called Vietnam. As you know, in our Pedophile Studies Department (right across the hall from Feminist Studies, Gay Studies, and Afro-American Studies) we are reading a book. It’s called “Fire in the Streets.” (ISBN: 0-935553-18-5) It’s a book about the Tet Offensive, specifically, about the Battle for Hue. There are some very good maps in that book. However, I have found another map, in this issue of Vietnam, which shows the various movements of the various army battalions as they fought for Hue. I recommend the map in this magazine. Those weirdly numbered battalions (such as: “K4B Battalion 4th Inf. Reg.”) can be quite hard to follow. This map makes everything crystal clear. Also in this issue is an Adobe Illustrator-style fold-out diagram of a B-52 bomber and an F-4 Phantom. I’m not much of a fan of Adobe Illustrator-style art. I’m old enough to remember when such fold-outs, in books and magazines, were beautiful paintings or drawings. Alas, those days are gone. Now everyone seems to use Adobe Illustrator. It’s cheaper, I suppose. The only drawback is it looks cheap too. ym, Young and Modern, May 1998, $2.95. Subscription Service: 1-800-727-9696. No web site listed. Review: Temple of Pan devotees will be thrilled with this issue. There’s a swimsuit section. (Page 106.) It features a wholesome young blonde, bronzed by the sun, playing with her girlfriends in a tropical park. Just ahead of the swimsuit photos is a section depicting all the different types of swimsuits a YM reader might wear. Now you can speak with authority on the difference between a crop top and a halter top. (Page 104.) While we’re giving our worshipful attention to the girls in the swimsuit section, many girls will be admiring this issue’s cover. My brother Leonardo DiCaprio is on the cover. Nordstrom BP style, Number 2, free. From the creators of YM. E-mail: npta@nordstrom-pta.com Phone: 1-800-695-8000. Review: Now here’s a magazine cover I can get into: a wholesome young blonde, clad in hip-hugging jeans, with a blouse so short it leaves her belly-button showing! I really liked this issue. “Life’s a Beach,” page 29, features the cover-girl stripped down to a bikini. Beside her is a luscious brunette. Who needs the movie Lolita when you’ve got this magazine? “Cosmic beauty,” page 12, is a fascinating section that helps girls pick which look is best for them, based on their astrological sign. Carl Sagan would object, but it is snazzy to look at. “Boys on the side,” page 70, features full-color portraits of young men. I have no idea why ‘little girls’ would have an interest in ogling grown men, but I guess they do. Skank, June 1998, $6.99. Web: http://www.swankmag.com Review: Nude girls with lovely white skin engage in a ‘muff munch.’ (Page 69). I really liked this pictorial! Someday I’m going to have a harem and my girls are going to do this all day; keeping themselves constantly aroused in case I need a quick fuck. Swank has a very good track record of doing ‘naughty but wholesome’ girl/girl pictorials like this one. If you’re looking for a back issue to buy, with a good girl/girl pictorial, I recommend the August 1997 issue. The ad for back issues is on page 76. Penthouse Bathing Beauties, May 1998, $5.99. Web: http://www.penthousemag.com Review: A high-quality issue. The Penthouse special issues can vary quite a bit. Some are good. Some are junk. This issue is a must if you like: young, perfect females. Pinned-up long hair. Soap, bubbles, and spraying water. Plus licking tongues and probing fingers, teasing a girl to an orgasm in a warm bath. Shit. Now I need a bath, and a pair of clean underpants too! What I really liked about this issue is that some of the girls look like slave-pets. There are several pictorials in which you see a totally perfect girl sitting alone in a gorgeous tub, her hair neatly arranged, staring out at the camera like she’s been captured. “Yes, my pretty, you’re all mine now. HA! HA! HA!” the evil nerd says. If you have Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty trilogy, this magazine is the perfect companion to it. ----- “[This is a poem from] my chapbook entitled, “Even On The Longest Day,” writes David R. Hadley. “I am originally from Washington D.C. and am very familiar with the poetry circuit there. I participated in many poetry readings and various other functions.” (Bodily functions? - h.j.) “I have never published and my works have only been herd [sic] through these readings.” (untitled) by David R. Hadley There is the lonely drone of an engine In my head Keeping this facade at a distance The wolf in his den And a thin membrane Of passive aggression Keeping it all in check I waited Patiently Already knowing you would Finish the final chapter While I was getting a drink of water Then you left Then you left again And I stood there With my dick in my hand And the wolf biting my ass AND IN THE END... PROTECT THE CHILDREN? “Iraqi doctors had forgotten how to treat malnutrition -- now it is our main work,” says Abdulla Hussain, director of a pediatric clinic in Baghdad. “Our children are dying in front of us.” - Newsweek, March 16, 1998, pg. 41. -------------------------- 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 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 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder. -Official Newsletter, Temple of Pan -END OF 362 EMISSION “Some diplomats privately fear that Iraq under sanctions may become like Germany in the 1920s -- a nation so severely punished that its next generation will want revenge.” - Newsweek, March 16, 1998, pg. 41. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |