SPAMMER CONFESSES GUILT
Dear Fuck Decency - Please accept my apology for spamming you, and
other publishers of ÔindecentÕ material on the Internet. IÕm having my
picture published this week in The Economist magazine and IÕve decided
now is a good time to come clean about my spamming activities. (The
Economist, April 26, 1997, pg. 83.)
After a sabbatical, during which I spammed every author and
newsgroup I could find, I am once again returning to my regular duties as
Secretary of the Christian Perdition. Although I still feel people who
stray from the uplifting newsgroup alt.barney are sinners, and will be sent
to Hell, I now realize that, since ÒGod is Love,Ó it was wrong for me to sit
around in my underwear spamming people.
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 257
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter Three
I felt BradÕs cock bump up against my hole. He was kneeling behind
me now, as Dave lowered himself to the floor to do Rose. Darwin was
already enjoying RoseÕs succulent mouth. She was an expert at ÔblowingÕ
men and she used him with her lips even as her hands remained on the
control box.
ÒI expect sheÕs very good,Ó I called out to Darwin, feeling Brad at my
rear. ÒLet her control you and youÕll last a nice long time, IÕll bet.Ó
ÒI hope so! This is heaven!Ó Darwin answered me. I liked him. He
was just a big blonde, dumb dude. He had a grin on his face as wide as the
Cheshire CatÕs and I hoped someday I could show as much skill as Rose did.
She blew him gently, licking his cock and then puffing on it, stopping a
moment, then inhaling him deeply, right back against her throat. Polly
blubbered from her place on the floor, little snivelling sounds that I
expected were invitations to Darwin to take her instead. But Darwin was
supremely happy with his manhood in RoseÕs mouth and Polly, poor soul,
would lose this battle to her own stubbornness. For once nobody would
command her to obey, and sheÕd find she didnÕt like that, after all.
Rose started the bronco. At once Cheyenne began bouncing, lightly,
while at the same time she felt the nozzled penis enquiring in her ass.
Unlike Polly, she reached back and opened her bottomcheeks to receive it
more easily. There was no use fighting against something you couldnÕt
control. I wondered if IÕd have that much courage if I was put on the
horse.
BradÕs cockhead dug into my bottom. I took a deep breath and tried
to relax. I knew this would hurt some, but IÕd taken Andre just the night
before and survived. Now it was BradÕs turn. I felt used, like a whore, but
he didnÕt seem to mind, and he drove into me so hard I had to ball my hand
into a fist and bite it.
ÒGood, good, donÕt spare her. She needs to learn,Ó Rose told Brad.
She held DarwinÕs cock aloft, twixt her fingers, as she spoke. Like a cigar.
I wished she hadnÕt encouraged Brad for he took hold of my hips and
rammed me back upon his tool, going still deeper. I shouted. It felt like
some huge cork was being stoppered up my ass. Briefly I wondered if IÕd
somehow get stuck on him.
Rose yelped as Dave took her with more vigor than sheÕd expected.
Even as Brad reamed me, and the horse did Cheyenne, bouncing her more
jubilantly, making her cry out with shock, Rose got hers too. We were
three females, submitting to love, and finding it more gruelling than ever
weÕd hoped. The men, mechanical or real, were lusty and hard and not to
be taken lightly. I wished Brad would shoot. I tightened my cheeks on him
but he overcame me, urging me, kissing me now, leaning close and cupping
my breasts. In the corner of my eye I saw Polly had begun to masturbate
herself. Rose would scold her later for that, I was sure, doing herself
when a man had been available for her.
I rode Brad and Rose rode upon Dave as Cheyenne found her anus fully
invaded by the horse. Amidst gasps and cries and screams of pleasure and
just a touch of pain, we ran our course. At last we lay touching and
kissing upon the towels, spent, happy. Rose eventually got up and served
us drinks. Cheyenne, let down from the horse, consoled herself in the
arms of Polly, and we ended the night watching the two of them wriggle
into a spontaneous 69. Neither of them knew what it was called. They
simply found comfort in their shared experience, their shared anal
torment upon the horse. Their kisses evolved into licks and finally into
the deepest embrace of all, with each of them putting their noses up the
othersÕ slit. On the ride back to the castle they both sat quite bashfully.
They put the entire length of the limo seat between themselves. They did
not want to be thought lesbians, and none of us, not even me, accused them
of it.
Eventually, as the limo rolled along, Polly fell asleep. Her head
drooped as she rode beside me and I watched as her eyelids fluttered
closed. Soon her head was on my shoulder. I patted her hair. It was best,
I thought, given what Rose kept promising us. I glanced up at her. She
gazed ahead, saying nothing. Sylvia mixed drinks for us.
ÒHave a little something, Fleury,Ó Rose said to me. I knew why. To
lessen the agony of the whipping. I accepted, quietly. I sipped it. ÒDrink
it all. YouÕll need it,Ó Rose told me. We wore towels about ourselves. Our
bikinis were lost, strewn back at the cabana on the dancefloor someplace.
Being stepped on, perhaps, as the night wound down.
In a second seat, farther up, Joanne had stretched out. SheÕd been
given over to a gang-bang by Sylvia at the club. Six men had gone down on
her, while Sylvia prepped them, each in turn, Joanne tied over a trestle so
she couldnÕt refuse. When all had been spent, save the last, Sylvia took
him for herself.
We arrived at the castle. The moon was already set. I looked up as
we got out and thought I saw bats flutter upward, high in the castle
towers. IÕd not been up there. I half expected to see myself, letting down
my hair, begging to be freed.
The driver carried Polly to her room. We parted company at the top
of the stairs. Sylvia, still chipper, took me to my own room. We walked in
silence. She put me in the bathroom and I sat on the furred seat of the
potty, fretting, while she ran a bath for me. She helped me into it when it
was ready and slipped into the warm waters with me and bathed me. I felt
limp. She washed me like a little girl might wash a doll. She was very
attentive, shampooing my hair, scrubbing me right down to my toes, doing
my back and my bottom for me. Afterward, when IÕd been rinsed and
toweled dry, she had me sit on the potty again. She placed a soft
washcloth on it first, because when I first sat on it I still had sperm
dripping from my hiney-hole from being fucked by Brad. WeÕd kissed
goodbye, promised to meet there again, but I doubted we ever would. He
was just my lover for the night, though IÕd liked him very much. I belonged
to Louis. And I was about to suffer for his love as I never had before.
As I sat on the pottyÕs seat Sylvia did my makeup. She worked
diligently, until everything was quite impeccable. YouÕd have thought IÕd
been going to a grand ball, not simply to bed. Then she stood me up, and
walked me to the bed. I got in, slowly, letting her pull down the covers
first. When IÕd laid down she pulled my hands up and over my head and
bound them to the back of my collar. I was imprisoned now. I still had my
feet, but I knew sheÕd lock the door when she left. She kissed me
goodnight. I could not resist her lips, with my hands bound behind me. She
drew up the covers over me. Then she pulled back the curtain to let in the
night air and the stars.
ÒDonÕt jump out the window,Ó she teased.
ÒI want to,Ó I confessed. She kissed me again.
ÒDonÕt worry,Ó she said. ÒIn the morning it will all be over. Try to
get some sleep. WaitingÕs no fun.Ó
I promised myself IÕd stay wide awake. Slowly, though, exhaustion
crept up on me. It might have taken only 15 minutes, perhaps a half hour.
When I next regained consciousness it was with a jolt, as delicate fingers
drew my covers down.
ÒAre you Branson?Ó I asked sleepily. I found myself staring into the
deep blue eyes of a young, vivacious blonde.
ÒIÕm his niece,Ó she told me. To my surprise I saw she was dressed
in a playsuit. ÒBransonÕs doing Polly,Ó she told me simply. ÒBut IÕll be
tougher, I can assure you. I know how much a woman can really take.Ó I
gazed at her with astonished eyes. She bent over me, confident, self-
possessed. Her hair was perfect, long and blonde with gentle flowing
curls in it. Her teeth were white. Her playsuit, white with little red
velvet triangles, fit her like a glove. There was not much to it. A simple
band of fabric, quite thin, looped round behind her neck. Then, in front, the
playsuit looked a bit like a one-piece swimsuit, except that nothing
covered her breasts except small lace-edged cups. They were held up by
the strip of fabric round her neck. Otherwise, they would have fallen right
down. Nothing covered her shoulders, her back, or even her front, except a
narrow strip of sheer, rose-patterned nylon that ran from her nothing bra
cups down to her pubic mound, where it slipped back between her legs to
meet a single thread-like strip of lace that crossed entirely around her
waist. One other thread-like strip crossed round behind her, joining the
base of the bra cups just like a swimsuit top did. You could almost say
that she wore a bikini, except it was made of lace and connected in front
by the narrow strip of sheer nylon that ran down from her breasts, over
her tummy, to meet her delta.
Where her delta was a red satin triangle beckoned. ItÕs color was in
sharp contrast to the whiteness of the rose-patterned nylon that made up
the playsuit. I saw that a tiny white bow held up the red triangle. Untie
it, and you had immediate access to her pubis. The same held true for her
bra cups. White nylon circled her breasts, decorating them, but in the
middle a slender triangle was tied up over each of her bosoms. Untie each
of them, and her boobs would fall out and hang free. Of course, she was
young, no more than 19, so her breasts jutted against the red satin
triangles like juggernauts waiting to be launched into the sea. Each
movement of her nubile form sent those twin rocket tits joggling softly
over me, the red satin triangles straining to contain them.
ÒYou have a cute playsuit,Ó was all I could say, looking up at her.
She had on long crystal earrings that dangled freely from her ears and
made little tinkling sounds, like chimes. Elbow length gloves, not quite
reaching all the way to her elbows, accented the red in her playsuit. While
they were red, her thigh-high stockings were white. She was a true
playmate, laced up with all the trimmings. But in her hand she held a
birch rod. It had a little red and white lace bow tied at the handle end,
while a spray of fresh birches stemmed out from the handle and hung
loosely over my eyes.
ÒWhen I get hot from whipping you I can untie the triangles, see?Ó
BransonÕs niece teased me. She tugged slightly at the white bow that held
up the red satin triangle over her nearest breast. ÒAnd later, if I get
really hot, I can of course untie myself down here too,Ó she added,
pointing down toward her delta with her finger. Then she carefully laid
her birch rod aside and lifted me up from the bed. I helped a little,
scrambling up with my feet, trying to find purchase on the sheets. It was
hard, with my hands bound so ruthlessly over my head and behind my neck.
She got me completely standing up, right on the bed, as if I were a 6-year-
old playing games. She made sure I planted my feet solidly on the sheets.
I wore no shoes. With the care of an X-Ray technician she positioned me,
leaning me forward a little. Then she snapped a bar out from the wall and
fixed it to the front of my dog collar. I was caught now, a fish hooked on a
stiff pole. She pried open my mouth and snapped a small piece of wood up
from the surface of the horizontal pole. This little piece, angled upward,
she fitted into my mouth. It had a red ball on the end of itself. When I
was gagged on the rubber ball she strung a strap round the back of my
head, running it under my hair as best she could. The strap, attached to
the base of the rubber ball, kept me attached to it.
ÒCan you breathe O.K.?Ó BransonÕs niece asked me. I tried to nod,
could not, but she got the message. ÒIÕm Bambi,Ó she said to me. ÒJust in
case youÕre wondering. But people have nicknamed me Thumper, as youÕll
soon see why.Ó
I felt like I was at the dentistÕs. A big red ball was stuffed into my
mouth and I was bent forward as if to have my bottom x-rayed. Bambi
examined my bottom next, tracing her gloved fingers over it, prying apart
the cheeks, feeling within my hole a little with her finger. She cupped my
breasts, hefted them in each hand, as if I were livestock having my
essential parts weighed. At last she stroked my thighs, cooing at how
lovely they were, and when her hands reached my juncture she felt a little
for my spot and touched me there, reassuringly, like a dentist might
before he begins drilling.
I gazed out at the night sky. Even the stars seemed to be setting
now, and I hoped morning would arrive before she could get started.
Within the privacy of the canopy she laid out her implements of
flagellation like an artist might lay out his brushes. She gave me a mirror
to watch, and I sometimes did, furtively, glancing off to the side to see
what her reflection was doing. I saw her kneel upon the bed, quite happy
and self-possessed. Among her implements she placed before herself a
cane, several paddles, and three whips. I glanced away, too scared to look.
My bottom cheeks bunched together. I felt my white ass flesh jiggling
with nervous fear.
Bambi brushed back her hair. She selected the birch rod first, with
awful nubs. She was kneeling, and seemed excited. She untied both her
bra triangles as she knelt behind me, staring at my bottom. I saw her tits
spring out and they quivered with lovely grace. Oh, how could one girl do
this to another?
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Penthouse, June 1997, $6.99. http://www.penthousemag.com
Review: I am in grief. The Christians were right. Cyberspace is a
dangerous place.
Ample evidence of the dangers of Cyberspace is presented in a
pictorial in this monthÕs Penthouse. It is titled ÒUniversal Woman.Ó In
this pictorial, a young blonde, described in the pictorial as Òthe most
beautiful woman in the cyber-verse,Ó is kidnapped. She is put into an odd
contraption called Òthe chair.Ó In the chair, she is forced to receive
diabolical tubes in all the orifices of her body. They are shoved in her
mouth. They are shoved in her cunt. And, on the final page of this
pictorial, they are even shoved up her ass!
Worse, this poor, young blonde has electrodes put on her nipples. As
her titties are shocked into erection, sheÕs forced to imbibe awful male
sperm in all her bodily orifices.
Poor child! If only IÕd known! Perhaps I could have protected you
somehow. Now it is too late. YouÕre doomed to suck male sperm down
your throat, and have it forced up into your womb and into your tight little
ass.
Alas! I am in grief. However, there is still hope for the rest of
AmericaÕs females. And there is especially hope for our young.
Please, if you are charged with the care of a child, show them this
issue of Penthouse. Why merely lecture your daughter on the evils of the
Òcyber-verseÓ? After all, a pictureÕs worth a thousand words. Buy this
Penthouse and hand it to your daughter. Tell her, ÒSee, honey? If you go
out into the Ôcyber-verseÕ you could wind up like this girl -- stuffed with
cock!
In fact, I suggest you go a step further. DonÕt just show your
daughter some pictures. Demonstrate the InternetÕs dangers to her. Pull
down her panties and stick your dick in her, and put your finger in her
mouth, and another one of your fingers up her ass. Tell her, ÒSee? This is
what might happen!!!Ó She canÕt help but get the point if youÕve rammed it
up her twat.
However, I realize some fathers will be reluctant to be so direct
with their daughters. ThatÕs what IÕm here for. Just give me a call. IÕll
be happy to show your daughter the dangers she faces.
The Internet isnÕt the only danger facing the young ladies of our
society. The Navy presents a danger too. In ÒTania and Nicolai,Ó an evil
communist sailor returns from the sea. A poor, misguided girl is waiting
for him on the dock. (Why? I assume because Christianity was banned in
the Soviet Union, and they had no nunneries there.) The sailor steps off
his ship and promptly violates this nubile young female. He induces her to
suck his cock. He yanks up her dress, and wickedly induces her to show
him her bottom. He licks her cunt. And he shoves his rockhard penis into
her.
And you thought ÒTailhookÓ was bad. But thereÕs more! 19-year-old
Dayna Ann, barely old enough to read Fuck Decency, and too young to drink,
bares all in the pictorial ÒA Class by Herself.Ó When she isnÕt utterly
nude, sheÕs strutting around in lingerie made of red satin and chains.
Fear not, Christians! I am repenting now! At last I see the light. I
promise you, just as soon as I finish jacking off to this issue of
Penthouse, I too will support the CDA!
AND IN THE END...
ANOTHER CHILD MOLESTER!
ÒMassachusetts prosecutors are reviewing allegations, first
printed in The Boston Globe, that [39-year-old] Michael Kennedy, son of
Robert F. Kennedy, had a five-year affair with his childrenÕs babysitter
that began when she was 14.Ó
- Newsweek, May 5, 1997, pg. 6.
(He must be shot! Right, America?)
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-END OF 257 EMISSION