A FOUNTAIN OF PORN!
As you are wading across a small creek you hear a gurgling sound.
At first you think it is just the stream. Almost reflexively, simply to
assure yourself that it is the water under your feet, you cast your eyes
into the bramble of announcements and phone sex ads that crowd in along
the footpath. The road, once paved with bright yellow brick, that now lies
broken and ruined under your feet, hedged in on all sides by nettles and
smeared with dirt.
You step cautiously to the left. A thorn from a bramblebush pricks
angrily at your leg. And then, parting the dense foliage, you see it! A
fountain of porn! Gushing mightily, as if fed by the dick of some ex-T.V.
actor ensconced in a porno theatre! You manage to get through the
brambles and wade into the water. It is surprisingly refreshing. It has
just a tang of salt, which seems to add to its character. As you splash it
up on your face it begins to falter, to disappear. For a moment the flow
slows to a trickle.
What has happened? You hear the sound of digging below. Gnomes!
They are under the earth, chopping away at the fountain, trying to block up
the flow so that no humans can savor it.
A shadow glides over your head. You look up. A large fat bird
circles. A dropping from its tail hits your face. It has a slick, oily taste
to it.
A sudden shifting of the earth moves under your feet. Geological
faults, you see, run through this fountain, letting it gush but at the same
time so unstable that they may block the flow.
What to do? You like this fountain. YouÕve searched long and hard
for something like this. But the rockÕs so unstable, and the gnomes are
trying to wreck it, and the bird overhead keeps trying to clog it up with
his droppings!
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 182
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
ÒJasmine is still to get one, according to our old masterÕs orders,Ó
Tara offered, casting a quick glance at Jasmine, who flinched and cupped
her hand to her nest.
ÒTake away your hand,Ó master ordered Jasmine. ÒYour pussy is as
pretty as hers. You deserve the same. And I do too, for I wish to watch it
put in.Ó Jasmine took away her hand, mumbled something, inaudible, a
protest probably. She looked down at her toes, hefted her breasts in her
palms self-consciously.
With dainty fingers, Ms. Tuppence dipped paper in each of our urine
cups to test our pee. She did it right on the dinner table, laying each strip
of paper out in a neat row, side-by-side, to see the results.
ÒOne, two, three, four, five fertile females,Ó she announced to her
husband. ÒNone pregnant.Ó
ÒGood, let us proceed,Ó he said simply. ÒHave them pee in the
bathroom on their way to the delivery room.Ó
Feeling quite powerless, we let Ms. Tuppence usher us down the hall
and into a well-appointed bathroom. Each of us sat on the toilet and peed,
while masterÕs fine-suited friends gathered round and watched us. Then
we were permitted to check our make up in a mirror, and to brush out our
hair, which the wind had tousled on our trip to the barn. Feeling odd, and
not a bit frightened, I let myself be led from the bathroom into an
adjoining room, where five wooden trestles awaited us. Each was topped
by a leather pad, and I saw that a table sat beside each trestle, busy with
vials of ointment and salve, and with rubbers. Boldly Tara walked up to
one of the trestles and ran her fingers lightly over its leather top.
ÒIs this for me?Ó she asked coyly. ÒHow unlike a marriage bed, to be
bent over like some animal and fucked from behind.Ó
ÒIt must not be too pleasant, dear,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒYou are
competing with me, after all.Ó She touched TaraÕs elbow.
ÒNow?Ó Tara asked. She turned her her face to Ms. Tuppence. Their
eyes seemed to clash a moment.
ÒYou are a beautiful animal,Ó Ms. Tuppence answered. ÒOffer your
cunt to your master.Ó
ÒOh, this is so silly!Ó Tara answered. ÒI shall simply take RU486
afterwards.Ó She bent, an impelling push from Ms. Tuppence at her back,
showing us her hiney and finally bending so low that her hair brushed the
floor.
ÒLegs apart,Ó Ms. Tuppence called out. She wedged her palms
between TaraÕs close-pressed legs and urged them apart, showing us her
fig. Rachel giggled.
Master unzipped himself. His penis popped out. We gasped, all of us,
it was so big. Veins ran along its shaft, pulsing, the head was a proud
plum of flesh, wriggling with his unspent need as he strode up to Tara.
Quickly Ms. Tuppence squirted him with oil. It was warm, from a special
little heater placed just for the purpose upon the table. Master grimaced
at the pleasure of it, all wet and oily as it laced over his penis. Then he
opened up Tara in back, wedging her ass cheeks apart with his hands so he
could fully expose her cunny. He shoved himself into her. She yelped, bit
her lip. He pushed deeper.
ÒHow romantic!Ó Tara gasped.
ÒShut up,Ó master snarled. Tara tried to rise but Ms. Tuppence kept
her down with a quick, cautionary hand on her back. Master must not be
upset. He was already in a bitter mood. Why, I did not know. Perhaps he
was spoiled.
As we watched, master quickly rodded Tara, as if she were some
sheep in a barnyard that the stable boy wished to relieve himself in. All
her dainty preparations, combing her hair, fixing her lipstick, powdering
her cheeks, all was for naught, for master took her with casual
indifference.
ÒUh! Uh! Uh! Uh!Ó Tara moaned, as she was reamed by a our
implacable master. Within a minute or so he came, spurting freely, not
saving any for later for the rest of us. He withdrew after that, leaving
Tara bent over, shocked, feeling bereft. She did not even want to stand up
again, she was so humiliated. Master zipped himself up and left the room.
ÒYou may take the others,Ó he said to his friends, the men who had
watched us pee, eaten with us. ÒI am needed downtown, at my business.Ó
And with that, despite his promises of trips to Paris, or of claiming us for
his own, he was gone, slamming the door behind him.
Suddenly, our male companions stirred, found us objects they no
longer had to be polite to. Our master, our new, now-departed master, had
abandoned us. I felt a shiver of fright run down my spine, and quickly
deepen in my tummy. I did not know these men and, suddenly, I did not like
them. KimberlyÕs words of Òplaying RiskÓ rang within me. I felt a sudden
wetness between my legs. But it was cold, not the shivery anticipation I
felt when fear stalked me with quiet grace, somehow assuring me that I
would come through it okay. Now, a man seized Anna, brutally, and began
gnawing on her breast like it was a piece of meat to be consumed. We
were so perfect, so beautiful, and these men seemed about to tear us
apart, loosed wolves who would break us and leave us as our newfound
master just had.
Tara began to rise, but a man claimed her from behind and thrust his
newly exposed penis into her cunt. He fucked her like a machine, soulless,
working only toward his own release, caring nothing for her. Tara cried
out in anguish but Ms. Tuppence grabbed her by her hair and held her down.
A man unzipped himself, drew out his cock, and came toward me with it
swinging like a long sausage, expecting me to make it hard for him. I was
young, beautiful, yet he did not find me so pleasing that he was
automatically hard. Perhaps this was the difference between these men
and the Russians, who had taken us just yesterday. They had screwed us
lustily, bawdily, celebrating our sexuality with us. These men seemed
bent on destroying us.
In the distance I heard a hollow, repeating sound, just audible
through the walls. I cocked my head, wondering. Did some sixth sense
alert me to it? And, bright with youth, my mind suddenly clicked upon it.
ÒSomeoneÕs shooting!Ó I yelled. I had been the only one to hear, to notice,
and I spoke without reflection, almost hoping, perhaps, somewhere in my
subconscious, for a miracle. But was it the Argentinean government? I
might get in trouble, having quit my job. Even as a large, menacing man
advanced upon me, I began wondering what I might say if confronted by my
old employers and asked why IÕd left, without giving notice. ItÕs odd,
sometimes, how the mind works. It can speculate on the strangest things
sometimes. A picture flashed in my mind of Jesus, hanging on the cross,
in utter agony, and having to use the bathroom too. Certainly, if it took
three hours to die, youÕd have to go to the bathroom, wouldnÕt you?
The man behind Tara began humping Tara. But Ms. Tuppence had
turned white. Her grip loosened on TaraÕs hair. Among the men, there was
a new awareness, a sense of impending danger, perhaps even approaching
doom.
ÒWhat-who--?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked. TaraÕs unwanted lover kept
thrusting into her, mechanically, unfeeling.
A 13-year-old boy leapt into the room. ÒMs. Tuppence! WeÕre under
attack!Ó he cried. His cheeks were rosy. He seemed as excited by the
news as anything, as if some grand new adventure were opening: Rambo
Four, coming to a farmhouse near you! His news was all the confirmation
the men in the room needed. From underneath their suits they produced, as
if defending Reagan from assassination, guns of every caliber and
description. It was as if each man needed his own unique weapon,
specially selected. They left us, hurriedly and with desperation in their
eyes. TaraÕs lover was yanked away by one of his fellows and forced to
follow. I slipped out behind them. I was curious. I felt safer in the room
but I could not resist finding out what was happening.
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From a window in another room, I watched fascinated as a group of
irregular soldiers advanced on the farmhouse. They were dressed in black,
ninja-like, with dark sunglasses, as if war must take second place to
fashion. They seemed to come at the farmhouse from all sides. Bullets
peppered the old masonry of the farmhouse walls. They were thick walls,
defensible, but the soldiers advancing on us seemed to have already
dispatched many of Ms. TuppenceÕs armed guards. In the distance, I
thought I saw a familiar figure. He was hooded, with a deep black cloak
shrouding his body. Scarecrow-like, he seemed to stalk the fields, moving
ever closer. His irregulars advanced ahead of him. But he was just behind,
pointing, directing, yet not shouting, simply issuing orders, mouthing them
almost, as if by telepathy. His soldiers would duck, or crouch, or dive
from one point of cover to another. Yet he moved unblinkingly forward,
tall and handsome, striding like Aragon, king-like. He presiding over the
hard-fought advance like a statesman. He urged his men forward almost
as if they were children. Yet these were deadly, fierce soldiers,
mercenaries or veterans of the drug trade, hard-bitten men who would
rape and kill without a second thought. In His presence, though, they
seemed mere preschoolers, hustled forward by One who dominated them
with a power and presence I had not seen since, well, since the Emperor in
Star Wars 3, I guess, and I felt like little R2-D2 as I watched him. Who
was this dark prince, advancing through the fields, his image shimmering
in the hot sun. I gazed at him more closely. His cloak and hood were thick.
Bullets kicked up the dirt around him as he drew closer, as the men
defending the farmhouse realized he was the leader, the one who must fall
if the battle should be turned in their favor. Yet he did not seem to mind
the bullets. No, he feared something....it was the daylight! The hot,
blazing, unrepentant sun, that was what he feared, and his cloak, flanking
his legs on this breezeless, blazing summer-hot morning, shrouded him
from it.
ÒMaster!Ó the words formed in my rosebud lips. Like a little girl
caught up with excitement, I almost peed then, crouching by the window.
It was my Dracula-Druglord master, Lord Shaftsbury. He had come to fight
for us, for me! To duel on the field of battle. To reclaim his women, his
loveslaves. I watched with wondering, awestruck eyes as he advanced.
His ninjas fell, bleeding, shouting at their mortality, as the battle
thickened. Yet Lord Shaftsbury strode on, and I thought momentarily of
Adolf Hitler, marching forward in his first, failed coup, all the others
fallen, or fearful, yet he and one other only marched forward with demonic
determination. I did not think Shaftsbury capable of HitlerÕs evil, yet he
had the same, demonic quality. Even as his Nazi-like Ninjas fell around
him he came on with smooth grace. I could not see his eyes, though, or his
face. The hood kept all in darkness even under this bright noonday sun.
Yet in my gut I knew it was him. Who else would be so strange, so deadly
and erotically beautiful, a naughty girlÕs wet dream in the middle of the
night?
A face appeared beside mine. It was Tara, panting, her hair all
tousled, as if sheÕd had to fight her way from the room, as if the 13-year-
old boys, perhaps, had tried to stop her, or Ms. Tuppence. I felt her breath
on my bare shoulder. Her breasts heaved as she drew in and exhaled her
breath in quick gasps.
ÒLook, master!Ó I breathed.
ÒYes,Ó she replied quietly. She touched a hand to my shoulder. Her
nails pressed deep as she watched him with a close intensity, even as I
did. ÒHe is truly awesome, is he not?Ó she asked.
ÒMmmm,Ó was all I could say in reply, even as her sharp nails cut
into my skin with raw excitement.
It was a long and furious battle. There were no survivors. Except
one. The house had been difficult to take, but at last I heard him enter
down below. The door opened, and shut. Somehow he knew there was no
one in the house but us. The 13-year-old boys had scattered, off into the
fields where perhaps they might return from, or perhaps not. Ms.
Tuppence, too, was gone. Perhaps she had fled with the boys at last,
realizing her husband was dead, caught in the crossfire, caught defending
her homestead. And all his guests, his guards, even many of his male field
hands, perhaps all of them, were dead. And master too, my real master,
my Vampire master, who had earned my love, truly earned the right to take
me and keep me, all his vigorous ninjas were slain. Most had died up close
against the house, trying to break in, trying to enter, as if attempting a
virgin. Only master came in at last. His footsteps were slow and
measured across the floor down below. We girls, hearing him, not knowing
quite what to expect, retreated to the room where Tara had been fucked.
The trestle stood empty now, as did the four others that had been intended
for each of us. ÒInsemination stations,Ó I think theyÕd been called. And in
the center of the room a Òbirthing station,Ó where each of us, squatting,
might deliver her baby into Ms. TuppenceÕs arms nine months later. Well,
all that was finished now, and I was grateful. There was only one man
whose child I wished to bear.
He entered. His presence was awesome. His cloak was torn. He
stooped a little, and I glimpsed blood within the darkness of his shroud
and gasped. With a brush of his hand he threw back his hood. I saw his
face, streaked with grime. He had blood running from the corner of his
mouth.
ÒMaster!Ó I cried aloud. I ran up to him, so in awe of him. I flung
myself at him, even as the other girls did, naked and trembling like a child
welcoming home her long-lost daddy. I managed to press myself to his
chest and I tossed my arms up and looped them around his handsome neck.
He permitted me to kiss him. He lowered his lips to mine and I kissed him
more passionately than IÕve ever kissed any man in my life, before or
since. With wild abandon I pressed and ground my pussy into the
substantial bulge in his pants. Then I lifted my body off his. Delicately I
touched his abdomen. ÒMaster, youÕre bleeding!Ó I whispered.
ÒI am not quite undead,Ó he breathed in reply.
ÒOh, my God! We must get a doctor!Ó Tara exclaimed. Carefully we
laid him down on the floor. We opened his cloak, his clothes. There were
guns slung from his chest and tucked within folds of his cloak. All sorts,
a kind of arsenal like Mad Max would carry. We pulled the guns out of his
clothes and lay them in a pile on the floor with ever-so careful hands.
Tara ran to the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit. Working
frantically, her nude limbs tense, her pussy still seeping semen from the
men who had fucked her, her bosoms quivering, she broke open the kit and
drew out the articles of healing. Tape, antiseptic, q-tips. Anna ran to the
bathroom and came back with a pail of water and a sponge. We bathed
master right there, removing his clothes, nursing him as best we could.
His wounds were not as bad as IÕd feared. Five diligent girls, nude nurses,
could do a bang-up job on a man, even with just a first aid kit and a bucket
of water. At last, feeling better, he eased himself up on his elbows. He
watched with amusement as each of us in turn insisted on mounting his
cock, newly wakened, and bouncing upon it.
ÒDonÕt. ThatÕs the last lively organ IÕve got,Ó he protested weakly.
But each of us took a turn on the cock, selfishly perhaps, getting it deep
inside us and feeling his presence in our womb.
ÒOnly you, master. Only you,Ó I said, looking at him with my deep,
liquid eyes.
ÒHurry up. Another bounce of your ass and heÕll cum!Ó Rachel urged
me. Tara and Jasmine lifted me off him so she could have her turn. And,
once mounted, she bounced with abandon, ignoring all our pleas, until she
got the victory spurt.
AND IN THE END...
A WORD TO THE WISE
And to the Supreme Court!
ÒPeople crushed by law have no hope. If laws are their enemies, they will
be enemies to laws.Ó - Edmund Burke
ÒA very wise remark.Ó - Chris Patten, Governor of Hong Kong
----------------------- Fuck Decency! -----------------------
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- Patten: The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer, January 28, 1997.