HOLY JOE WINS!
Well, I harangued and exhorted and lectured the bums down at Burger
Thing for 69 hours, until I lost my voice. Then they told me that none of
them were registered to vote. (Not even Libertarian!) But they held an
election anyway. Some man who likes to get blow-jobs from young, nubile
20-year-olds won the Presidential part of the election, but donÕt worry! I
won too. I was elected Biggest Pervert. (I donÕt know if that has anything
to do with the size of my penis -- I hope so!) To honor me, the bums stole
a roll of toilet paper out of the restroom and presented it to me. They
said it was in case I caught a cold this winter. At first I was offended at
being given a roll of toilet paper as a prize. But later, when I was at the
bookstore looking at Playboy, I had a little accident. So that roll of toilet
paper came in handy after all. Thanks, guys!
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 133
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Bordello Girls
Chapter One
Perhaps she had some prior acquaintance with them. She knew what
doom awaited her. But the house was old. The scratch marks were old.
Briefly I placed a finger in them as I passed. Perhaps an animal had made
them, a doberman going to be neutered. We entered the room. The door
was open. We entered freely, but once inside I saw there were cages
waiting there. They were of slim iron, too small to do anything but sit in.
There were three cages, three separate ones, each with a clean blue towel
on the floor. We were brought forward to them before we could think,
before we could protest. I saw that the towels had been fastened by rings
onto the floor of the cage, locked in place, so that they could not be lifted
by one trapped inside. They were for sitting on only, nothing more.
Melanie squeaked as the first cage was opened and she was pushed
inside. Alison opened the door, the men bent her down roughly and forced
her into her cage. They clanged the barred door shut on her. She
scampered about to face them.
ÒEat,Ó Alison said, pointing. Her chain fell from her mouth again and
she delicately replaced it. She jabbed a finger at a bowl of strawberries
set in a corner of the cell. There was a dipping bowl of fresh cream
beside it, liquid cream. A plate of brown bread was also there, with a
clump of butter atop it, newly scooped from a vat of the stuff, farmyard
butter, the very best. And next to the bread was a bottle of wine. I did
not know vintages but it looked very expensive. ÒEat. You must keep up
your strength,Ó Alison murmured. She let her chain fall out and then
caught and held it as she spoke.
ÒAnd as for you two...Ó her voice was bright, cheery. She spoke to us
as if we were guests at a party. ÒYou have been naughty and I need to
wash you both up before I can lock you up.Ó I had a little trouble
understanding her, though I got the gist of it. Her words were mauled by
the ring through her tongue. She smiled again, but Steve was fed up.
ÒWhat the fuck is going on here?Ó he asked. His voice was bold,
demanding. Alison simply reached forward and took hold of his big cock.
She held it as one might hold the neck of a dog, to still it.
ÒShhhhhh!Ó Alison lisped, quietly. Steve, like some trained animal,
let his anger abate. Alison let go of him, stood and regarded him a
moment. ÒIÕll catch hell for this,Ó she said finally, Òbut you deserve it.Ó
Watching him, she began to unbutton her blouse. We were both so startled
that we just stared at her until she was finished. With casual abandon she
removed her blouse and, turning, tossed it back past MelissaÕs cage.
Melissa crouched in her cage watching, a kitten trapped in a cage at the
dog pound.
Her blouse gone, Alison next reached behind herself and unzipped her
skirt with a sexy wiggle. Then she let it drop to her ankles and stepped
out of it. What remained was a leather corset, without cups, her boobs
wobbling freely above it. It cinched her waist tight and was tied in back.
Sheer black silk stockings rose up her legs and were caught fast by garter
straps hanging down from her corset. She bent a moment, adjusted the
straps, to make sure her stockings were perfect. I saw she wore panties
also, delicate silk ones, opaque. They were too small to entirely cover her
bush. Wisps of fine golden hair curled out the top of the vee of silk that
did its best, given its tiny size, to keep her modest.
Alison turned briefly, showed Steve her bottom. It was full, round,
looking like a big wobbly moon, her indrawn waist accentuating its beauty.
It stuck up pertly at us with the candor of a girl come for her first
strapping, unknowing, unblushing, not realizing what would be required of
her. I felt like that girl, gazing, a hand to my throat. A strip of fabric ran
up between the halves of AlisonÕs heinie, there was no other covering.
Thong panties, made for serious partying, especially when worn with a
corset, I thought. All the fantasies whispered to me in girlÕs gym came
pouring into my head. Alison stroked her lovely hinds briefly and asked
Steve what he thought.
ÒLuscious,Ó Steve breathed. Having gotten what she wished from
him, Alison promptly turned around. The sight in front was no less
breathtaking, her nipples stiff, each pierced by a small ring. She opened
her legs for us and, pulling back her delicate panties, showed us a ring
through her labia. She was a schoolgirl at show and tell, we were her
pupils. ÒIt hurt like the dickens, but master insisted,Ó she explained. We
watched with trembling loins. My pussy felt tight, excessively moist.
SteveÕs cock had a jewel of pre-cum poised on his pee slit. It dropped off
suddenly, leaving a sticky drool as it plummeted to the floor. We were
excited. We wanted to party with her. But the men were at our backs,
restless. And there was another, I knew, somewhere, perhaps secretly
watching us right now.
ÒDonÕt worry, you donÕt have to get pierced if you donÕt want to,Ó
Alison reassured me. She reached out at the same time and took hold of
the crown of SteveÕs cock. ÒAs for you, IÕd like to see a ring right through
here,Ó she said, indicating the bit of flesh hanging beneath his cockhead,
right behind the flange.
ÒNo way!Ó Steve shouted. Alison laughed. She led us over to a faucet
in the wall. There was a bucket there, with a sponge floating in it. She
picked up the sponge and bathed SteveÕs member with it. She was washing
off the semen left behind by his joust with me in the dungeon. He flinched.
The water was cold. It did not dampen the lust of his organ, though. He
remained stiff, painfully so, and had to bite his lip to avoid coming in her
hands.
ÒThatÕs a good boy,Ó she cooed. ÒMustnÕt come, master would be
upset. He admires a fine young cock as much as I do!Ó Steve trembled as
she spoke. She was only encouraging him, and she knew it. At last she
placed a kiss on his cockhead, right on the slit, leaving a smudge of red
lipstick behind.
I was next. I let her bathe me between my legs. It felt good, though
fretfully cold. I felt nice and clean when she was done. We were led to
our cages. We walked easily, not knowing how to escape, proud in our
nudity. Steve, mesmerized by AlisonÕs intense femininity, offered no
complaint as the door to his cage was opened. She patted his bottom. It
was small, studly, twin muffins of white flesh served up without any
Speedos to hide them. Steve bent, inspected the interior of his cage with
his eyes, his hands on the doorway posts, uncertain.
And then he went in. I do not know why. With his cock bobbing and
his balls incredibly tight, he went in with his back bent, his ass showing
itself off to us all. He could not stand up. He circled once inside the cage
and sat down. ÒIÕm hungry,Ó he announced, and began at once to devour the
brown buttered bread that waited for him as it waited for all of us. His
cock trembled between his hairy thighs. I sensed he was on the brink of
coming. He had taken leave of his senses. He was in a luxury of pronging
maleness, only capable of thinking anymore of his dick, his testicles. He
was churning inside, desperate for relief, and unsure what to do. With the
men present he could do little. In the end he opted to play Tarzan in Italy,
captured and caged for some mistress, Alison perhaps, or someone else. I
wished a loin cloth on him but none appeared. Alison closed his cage door
and firmly locked it. She rattled the door once to make sure it was locked.
There was a smug smile on her lips.
And then it was my turn. I had little choice. They opened the door
for me; I bent, knowing that my bottom, silk smooth, protruding behind me,
offered its cheeks to them, enticingly, sinfully. My breasts dangled,
wobbled, I entered and plopped down on my heinie. The towel felt soft and
comforting beneath me. They shut my door. They left us.
We sat in silence. We said nothing to one another. After a bit
Melissa began eating her strawberries. She dripped cream on her bosoms.
I wanted to lick it. Steve, pretending to be casual, lay back in his cell. He
had to draw his knees up to lie down. He let his knees fall open after a bit.
His groin-end was toward me. I gazed at his cock, standing erect like a
corn stalk, full-formed and tall under the Indian summer sun. Lights in
our cells kept us from enjoying any privacy. They were set in the ceiling
of each cell and bathed each of us in bright neon. My privates were not my
own.
Alison reappeared. Her face was lightly bruised. She had just
finished crying. Her breasts jostled atop her corset. Wiping her eyes, she
passed a small pair of panties to me through the bars of my cell. ÒPut
them on, master is coming,Ó she urged.
ÒWho?Ó I asked. I was deathly afraid. I could not control the
trembling of my hands.
Alison went to Steve. She handed him little Speedo underpants.
ÒPut them on,Ó she instructed. He was similarly awestruck. She turned,
offering Melissa nothing, and left again. On her bottom I saw fresh marks,
birch marks, with telltale weals and spots of red where the buds had
bitten into her. All this I knew from my bad friends in girlÕs P.E., with
their wicked downloads from the internet.
AlisonÕs bruises scared me. They were not major, IÕd been bruised
playing softball, but that had been accidental. These were not. Someone
had slapped her, or worse. And the weals on her bottom, they were
intentional too. Not disastrous weals, not weals that had cut her flesh,
but they were marks all the same, and she had suffered for them, I saw.
All in the last half hour.
The panties Alison had given me could not simply be pulled on. They
had drawstrings, which needed to be tied. My fingers trembled so badly I
could barely get the panties slipped up around me, let alone the
drawstrings tied. At last, somehow, I managed to tie them off. My efforts
seemed almost useless. The panties were but a thong in back. In front
they barely covered my mount. I looked across at Steve. He seemed wary
now, afraid. His underpants barely fit him, his balls tightly encased
within them while his cock, unbearably stiff and fully erect, jutted out
the top of the pants. There was no chance it could be covered. He could
jerk himself off, but Alison, or master, would find his spilt semen in his
cage. I knew myself that option was unthinkable. If they treated Alison
as roughly as they did, we were finished completely if we disobeyed.
They had punished her for stripping for us, I guessed. I dreaded the
appearance of master. He had done it, I knew, not the men whoÕd brought
us. Suddenly I flinched. There was utter stillness in the room as a sound
of footsteps came to our ears. Two footsteps, plus a cane. A new man. It
could only be the one we hadnÕt met yet, deliberate, evil. Two steps, plus
a cane. Slowly, unhurriedly. In our nudity we waited like scared rabbits.
The door was open. He had no need to open it. He just walked right
in, the master of the house. I blanched. My whole body froze. He was
huge, immeasurable. I was instantly revolted by him. And I knew at once
there could be nothing, absolutely nothing but complete obedience to his
wishes.
He spotted me at once. He grinned, but it was a crooked, wicked
grin, an opening of the gash of a mouth that scarred the front of his face.
He was ruddy, with a slash, from a knife perhaps, running down past his
right eye and on to his chin. Somehow, miraculously, his eye had survived
the cut, unless it was glass. I could not tell from this distance. He had
long, unkempt hair, pirate hair, that straggled down over his thunderously
broad shoulders, a far cry from SteveÕs military-clean crew cut. His
clothes hung from him, elegant but depraved, as if NordstromÕs had
dressed Satan. He was too ogre-like, too vulgar looking and fireplug
shaped, for the look of a Dracula. Instead he looked like some troll, up
from the waters, tall but so broad in the shoulders that you could easily
miss his height, think him shorter than he was. He advanced on me,
leaning on his ivory tipped cane as he walked, a belt looped in his free
hand. I sat trembling, scared out of my wits. There was enormous,
rippling power in his every step. I saw that one blow alone could have
caused the harm IÕd seen on AlisonÕs face. One slap from him would have
sent her reeling. Yet sheÕd disobeyed, willfully. And heÕd stung her bottom
with a birch too, though I saw from his strength that sheÕd gotten off
easy. I wanted to run. I vowed to claw him the minute he opened my cell
door.
And then he was at the door, peering in at me. I thanked myself for
the bars which kept him from me. But did he have the key? I turned my
head to Melissa, anything to escape his evil stare! She was caught by him,
mesmerized, her fingers holding a strawberry in mid-air, a bite from it,
forgotten. There was cream round her mouth and sprinkled on her teats.
She looked like a child at school, suddenly frozen in time as she played,
caught by the flash of a flashbulb. Forever captured for daddyÕs scrapbook.
A sound of unlocking. I glanced back at my master. He had the key! I
shrunk within my cage. He reached in, groping. I wanted to bite his arm
but didnÕt dare. And then I was plucked from my cage, wriggling, naked, an
eel caught up from the pond by a lurking fisherman.
ÒI-I thought you wanted the youngest first,Ó Alison said. SheÕd slunk
into the room behind him, careful, afraid.
ÒI changed my mind,Ó master replied simply. He pushed me ahead of
him.
I was a chattel, nothing more. An object, property, valued only for
the waggling of my heinie which was most delectable in the eyes of my
host.
ÒAh, a perfect bottom,Ó he enthused. He watched with eager eyes as
I walked, gracefully as I could, toward a trestle that Alison was shoving
into the center of the room. SheÕd dragged it out from a closet as master
opened my cage. It was heavy. She had to exert herself as she pushed it
with both hands. Her hair fell easily about her shoulders, luxuriant as
ever, tumbled on down past her breasts, swinging as they swung, as she
pushed the trestle.
ÒHelp her,Ó master ordered me. I turned to him, my bottom bare,
save for the slender wisp of fabric that ran up between my cheeks. I was
made for work, wasnÕt I, all naked and stripped down, raw and bare and
ready for labor. Ready to go into labor, to swing my breasts and flex my
tummy, to stretch my thighs. I assented. Trembling, knowing how much it
would cost me, I hurried over to Alison. Together we pushed the big
trestle out to the center of the room. Master stripped off his clothes.
There was no courtship, no offer, no acceptance of love. He simply ripped
his clothes from his body, not tearing them, but careless all the same,
shedding them quickly, as if to wait would be to deny himself, and he did
not need to deny himself here in his own castle (or anywhere, I guessed).
Alison and I gulped as we watched him. We stood by the trestle, not
knowing where to go. He could catch us however quickly we ran, I knew.
His guards lurked by the door. Turning my head I saw them. Their flies
were open now, now that master himself was free of clothes. They rubbed
themselves with lewd abandon, their members presented for whatever
offerings master might let them sample.
I was surrounded by cocks...
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Playboy, December 1996, $5.95. http://www.playboy.com
Review: One thing that really bugs me is when my subscription copy
of Playboy arrives after the magazine hits the newsstand. I mean, here I
am, waiting and waiting and waiting, while meanwhile all the
nonsubscribers buy up all the copies at the bookstore! Then, when I finally
realize my copyÕs been lost in the mail, the bookstoreÕs sold out. So I call
Playboy (or Penthouse, as the case may be) and they say: ÒSorry. WeÕre
sold out too. WeÕll advance your subscription by one issue.Ó Or, worse,
they say: ÒO.K., weÕll send you another copy.Ó That copy arrives sometime
next year.
Once again I was forced to buy Playboy at the store because my
subscription copy hasnÕt arrived yet. You donÕt want to dally around
waiting for this issue. It has Jenny McCarthy on the cover! SheÕs with
Santa Claus and yes, inside sheÕs naked with Santa, in a very exciting
pictorial.
Now as the Biggest Pervert, I have some words of wisdom to offer
on this pictorial. ItÕs two years old. It first appeared in November 1994.
It was in a Newsstand Special called PlayboyÕs Nudes. Then, later, a part
of ÔJenny and SantaÕ (for lack of a better description) was reprinted in
another Playboy Newsstand Special. (I forget the name of that one.) So
this is the third go-round for this pictorial. I donÕt have any objection to
this, itÕs a great pictorial, and each time Playboy provides a few more new
photos.
Also in this issue is one of my ex-girlfriends, Victoria Silvstedt.
She talks about our first sexual experience together: ÒI was 13 my first
time, when I sneaked out the window of my parentsÕ house and met a boy.
He was 13, too. We both knew what we were doing. We learned all about
it in school, so for us it was like doing homework (pg. 114).Ó
You can look at her now that IÕm done with her.
AND IN THE END...
ATTENTION GIRLS
ÒGo out and celebrate breast freedom.Ó
- USA TODAY, October 30, 1996, pg. 3A.
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-END OF 133 EMISSION