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WARNING ! ! ! WARNING ! ! ! WARNING ! ! ! WARNING ! ! !
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This zine contains words. I copied them out of the dictionary.
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YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED ! ! !
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Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 180
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Puppy Love
Chapter One
ÒOooh, that made my butt sore,Ó I remarked. I cast my gloves onto
the ground and rubbed my fanny with my hands.
ÒDid I say you could rise?Ó Ms. Tuppence asked. I sat down at once.
ÒIÕm-IÕm sorry,Ó I replied. My voice quavered. She frightened me.
My face was sheepish. I had, believe it or not, forgotten all about her,
about my captivity, so absorbed had I become in the milking.
ÒLetÕs not be all day about it, girls!Ó Ms. Tuppence called out.
Instead of striking me, she passed by, just letting her crop tremble a bit,
in her hand, keeping it limber. I wondered then at myself, at her. Were we
really being enslaved, punished, or were we being treated to some special
experience? Perhaps that was why we had not fought more, though how
we could I did not know, given the men whoÕd taken us, and who now
guarded us, in the distance, their weapons at the ready, and their cocks
too, no doubt, if we acted up and fell from grace with Ms. Tuppence and her
sprightly crop. Yet I felt, somehow, as if perhaps IÕd earned this moment
in the barn. IÕd been to the Andes, and to London and its environs, and on
into the jungles of Mexico, seeking what I knew not, and finding danger,
passion sometimes, but mostly an otherworldly kind of loss of control of
my physical self, only to repossess myself at the last minute, before all
was lost. Now, again, I had brought myself into some special zone, where
few entered. Naked, shivering slightly in the coolness of the barn, the sun
hot already in the fields beyond. Made to work, yet in a freshened barn,
lined with sweet hay, with freshly scrubbed cows waiting to be milked. I
guessed not every day was this barn so clean, so well prepared. They had
done it for us, because we were special. And why were we special? Not
because of our minds, tho we might speak with special eloquence, or
tenderness, or warmth, or passion. No, it was because, of all the females
in the world, we were the best, the most perfect. And, most importantly,
we were young. We were the girls of this season, though I found it hard to
believe there would ever be any other seasons when I was not perfect and
special and just as unique as I now was. Yet, there were older women in
the world, like Ms. Tuppence, who had been girls once, with free-flowing
hair, long and fine and tumbling down over their swan-like necks and slim,
tightly-fleshed backs, swishing across their ribs and spine, touching the
outcurving of their ass, their tailbone. Ms. Tuppence rousted us from our
bucket-seats and made us each pick up our full pail, leaving our upturned
buckets on the floor behind, perhaps to be reclaimed by whomever had
freshened the barn for us before our arrival.
ÒCome, girls! Back to the house!Ó Ms. Tuppence ordered. With
sloshing pails we proceeded forward. I felt milk splash my thighs as I
gripped my heavy, full bucket with both my small hands. My mane of hair
swayed as I carried my swaying bucket. My ass moved freely, jiggling in
time with my efforts. My titties were squeezed between my close-
pressed arms, offering my teats like twin little towers, HersheyÕs kisses
made of pink flesh, capping my sumptuous breasts.
Exiting the barn, we found the field hands loitering nearby. Perhaps
they had been invited to witness us at closer range. Our faces reddened at
once. With lowered eyes, feeling ridiculous, we waddled with our heavy
pails toward the farmhouse. They watched our wiggly bodies, noted with
amused, heavy-lidded eyes each opening of our bottom cracks, our silken
bottoms working in time with our legs as we carried in the milk.
ÒDonÕt spill it!Ó Ms. Tuppence cautioned us. ÒThe field hands want
every drop of it. Nourishment is scarce in these parts. They have hungry
children who need it. Walk carefully, donÕt trip! You will drink
pasteurized milk at breakfast, but these field hands need this raw milk
right away, for their many children. If even one of you drops your pail I
will turn you over to them for punishment. ItÕs only fair you should get
the milk for their children, since you will eat sausages and eggs and bread
that they baked, or butchered, or collected from the henhouse. We all
share the work here!Ó Fixing my lips I carried my bucket more
deliberately. It seemed only fair. We had milked in a kind of erotic,
selfish introspection, yet the work of the field hands was only hard,
forced, peasant labor. They worked sunup to sundown, and there was no
passion in it, only sweat and blood, toil and grime. Sleek-limbed, my hair
lustrous in the morning sun, feeling its rays upon my body, I carried my
bucket with a sense of duty. I was serving. I was contributing. A child
would drink this milk this very morning, still warm from the cowÕs udder.
It would feed upon milk that I had provided, albeit with my squeezing
hands, instead of my breasts which squished between my close-pressed
arms.
We advanced with our milk pails to a big metal drum beside the farm
house. It looked like it might be for catching rain, but Ms. Tuppence told
us to dump our milk into the drum. It might have held oil once, now it was
old, bright from long years of use and reuse, not rusty though, as if it had
been well cared for, despite its long years of service. I bit my lip when
my turn came and hefted up my pail. I poured the sweet, fresh milk into
the drum.
ÒToss your bucket over there. It will be seen to,Ó Ms. Tuppence
ordered me. I cast my pail beside the house, with the other buckets that
my farmmates had emptied. We were special, I realized. Our chores were
to delight us, Ms. Tuppence too perhaps, and others besides, if they saw us.
Together, swinging our bottoms freely, feeling unique, tossing our heads,
we re-entered the farmhouse.
ÒWash up at the sink,Ó Ms. Tuppence ordered. ÒNo playing, and be
quiet. Take off your sandals and wipe your feet with a rag. There are
some clean ones piled there, beside the sink.Ó We crossed from the
entrance of the farmhouse into the kitchen, passing the parlor. I saw men
sitting in there, discussing business, wearing suits. I smelled the smoke
of fine cigars and felt their eyes upon me as I went to the kitchen. With a
newfound sense of uncertainty we washed at the sink. Men were here, not
guards, not little boys, not field hands, but real men from the city, men
intended for us.
When weÕd freshened up at the sink Ms. Tuppence ushered us into the
dining room for breakfast. Two maids, dressed neatly in white, curtsied
to us as we entered the dining room, though we were stark naked and they
were primly attired. They were middle-aged women, fat field hand women
brought inside for servant-work.
ÒGood morning, fine ladies,Ó they said in broken English, with heavy-
Spanish accents. The chairs around the table were upright, made of
polished wood. I saw that each chair had a small white pillow, fringed
with a ruffle, upon it.
ÒYouÕll appreciate those pillows at future meals,Ó Ms. Tuppence
smiled, a gleam in her eyes. I saw that underneath each pillow was a
velvet cushion. I might have sat right upon it this morning, but the
pillows were already there, lest we had needed discipline in the barn, or
coming back with the milk in the heavy pails.
I scooted out my chair and made to sit. A man, filing in with the
other men behind us, appeared at my back.
ÒAllow me,Ó he offered. I looked up at him, surprised, feeling
awkward in my nudity as he stood well-clothed, finely-attired, behind me.
He waited for my nod of permission. At last I gave it. With an ass-
lurching push he shoved my chair forward, so that my torso came against
the table. ÒSorry,Ó he coughed. I glanced at him again, saw he was very
large in his trousers, where his legs met.
ÒItÕs alright,Ó I answered, softly. He saw my eyes gazing in curious
surprise at his crotch.
ÒI find you...a pleasure,Ó he answered, uncertain of his words.
NAKED AT THE NEWSSTAND
by holy joe
Playboy (French Edition), October 1996, $7.25.
Review: I asked my friend Barney the Dinosaur to write some
reviews for me, but he told me he was too busy playing with little girls.
So once again the job of reviewing porno falls to me. Some people get to
be doctors, some get to be lawyers, some spend all day in a purple
dinosaur suit, and some take the bus every day to Tower Books!
The Playmate of the Month in this issue is Jennifer Allan. In one of
her photos sheÕs inside a stable, bending naked over a saddle, with her
bottom pointed at the camera. ThereÕs a handy rope in the background, in
case she kicks and screams when she finds out what her master has
planned for her!
Also in this issue is the ever-marketable Jenny McCarthy. Her
Playmate of the Year pictorial is reprinted (a rather boring ÔbathÕ with
lots of foam and a bottle of champagne). But thereÕs also one excellent
Christmas photo that is reprinted. It shows her bent over on the floor
playing with two Dalmatian pups. IÕve always assumed that as sheÕs doing
this her friends announce to her that theyÕre going to give her an enema.
But then I could be slightly more perverted than the average reader.
This issue is departing from the newsstand, so hurry if you think
youÕll like it.
Playboy (French Edition), November 1996, $7.25.
Review: How is it that all my ex-girlfriends keep turning up in
Playboy? First there was Jenny McCarthy, then there was Shae Marks,
then there was Victoria Silvstedt, and now, in this issue, thereÕs Nadine
Chanz! YouÕd think that riding the bus with me to Tower every day would
be enough for them.
This issue has just hit the newsstand and it is probably the best
single issue of Playboy you can ever buy! There are lots of glorious photos
of Nadine Chanz. Some of them have been in the American Playboy, but the
French blow them up real big so you can enjoy them more. NadineÕs
pictorial begins with a double-page spread of her. SheÕs wearing the little
uniform that I always made her wear on the bus with me: an apron, white
lace stockings, and a black doggie collar. Of course, as usual, sheÕs
blushing at the fact that she has nothing else on, but I figure since I paid
her bus fare she should wear what I tell her to. Then, in another photo,
weÕre in a bar. Of course I hate to get beer foam on my mustache. So
Nadine bends over for me and licks all the foam out of my beer to keep me
from being inconvenienced.
A previously unpublished photo of Nadine shows her naked, in white
lace up boots. I always made her bend over for me in those when she had
to be whipped.
Now another pictorial in this issue features girls on bicycles. These
are quite old photos, from a Playboy of long ago, but theyÕre terrific! We
see a girl. SheÕs sitting on a bicycle. SheÕs wearing pearl-studded,
fingerless, elbow-length gloves. AND, most deliciously, her ass is
pointing at the camera. Now, even though this girl is very beautiful, she is
not one of my ex-girlfriends. She wanted to be, but I couldnÕt afford bus
fare for her and Nadine, so she had to ride her bicycle instead.
As you know, when riding a bicycle you sometimes get a flat tire.
Well, this girl who couldnÕt be my girlfriend decided to kill two birds with
one stone (since I wasnÕt available to fuck her). In another picture, sheÕs
facing the camera. She places her tire pump so that it slices right through
her pussy lips. Then, as she inflates her bicycle tire, sheÕs able to
masturbate on her tire pump at the same time. ItÕs sad to see a girl have
to do this, but I can only have so many girlfriends.
But wait, thereÕs more in this issue! Once I had a girlfriend who I
got mad at. We were at a Hawaiian luau. She was naked (of course),
except for a delicate flowered lei around her waist. Since I was mad at
her, I decided not to let her use the potty. So she was forced to squat
down in her high heels and piss and poop right on the floor! (I enjoyed
that.) Naturally, since I wanted to keep the photos of her decent, you donÕt
see the piss and poop actually coming out. But you DO get to see her
squatting down, waiting for permission to relieve herself. Her first name,
by the way, in case youÕre wondering, is Donna. IÕd write her last name but
itÕs really long and I only let her ride the bus once, because she kept
asking the driver to stop so she could go to the bathroom. (Naturally, he
did, which made me late for my porno appointment, so thatÕs why I got
revenge on her at the luau!)
Playboy (Mexican Edition), Enero (whatever month that is) 1997, $3.95.
Review: The cover alone is worth the price of this issue! We see a
glorious, naked girl looking back over her shoulder, with her butt facing
the camera! Yes, this is another of my girlfriends. She was late for the
bus one morning so I had to take a whip to her hiney. Let me tell you, if
thereÕs one thing I hate, itÕs being late for my porno appointment! I mean,
Tower Books is only open from 9 a.m. to 12 midnight. That means I can
only loiter there for 15 hours per day. I canÕt afford to buy everything, so
every minute of free ÔreadingÕ is important to me. Fortunately, after I
whipped this girlÕs ass into shape she didnÕt make me late anymore.
Jami Ferrell is the Playmate of the Month in this issue. There are
some excellent, previously unpublished photos of her opening some
presents a guy gave her. He was hoping sheÕd ride the bus with him
instead of me, but it didnÕt work.
Also in this issue are some other photos of girls who are naked. One
of them shows a girl lying on a table between two male doctors. SheÕs
wearing just panties, and her bare breasts have been attached to
electrodes, which are placed on her nipples. This is a shot of the standard
test I give all potential girlfriends to ensure that their breasts are real.
When I hit their boobs with an electric current, they beg for mercy if they
have real breasts, but they say ÒWhat am I lying here for?Ó if they have
fake breasts. One canÕt be too careful these days when it comes to picking
girlfriends.
ThereÕs a Playmate Review in this issue. It features a photo of
Priscilla Taylor. SheÕs lying on a raft in my swimming pool with her arms
tied above her head. (You canÕt quite see the rope.) I was feeling wicked
that day Ôcause there wasnÕt any new porno at Tower. So I tied Priscilla
up and whipped her between the legs, and on her nipples too.
Unfortunately, she liked it, and now sheÕs always begging me to play S&M
games instead of going to Tower. IÕll probably have to dump her for this
reason.
Penthouse Comix, February/March 1997, $4.95.
Review: As you know, beautiful girls are bitches, and my girlfriends
are no exception. I asked the redhead on the cover of this magazine (when
she was my girlfriend) to have sex with me. I didnÕt say please or
anything, but I did have a nice sound to my voice. I mean, I suppose I could
have said, Ò*Please* bend over and service me, bitch,Ó but I figured since
IÕd been paying her bus fare every day she should basically just bend over
and let me do what I needed to her. (Otherwise we might be late for the
bus!)
Anyway, this girl said she wanted to go on a date first. I told her,
ÒYouÕre going to the porno store. How much more of a date do you need?Ó
But she insisted. She kept saying something about dancing, but I told her
there werenÕt any porno magazines at the nightclub! Still, she kept
complaining. So I shot an arrow in her ass. Let me tell you, after that
there was no complaining.
No girls in this issue get whacked on their hiney. ThatÕs pretty much
my standard for excellence, so I give this issue a failing grade. A girl
does get her bottom licked, but a licking with a tongue is not a licking
with a whip, so I donÕt count that.
I know one of the problems IÕm going to face after writing this
column today is that lots of girls will want to go with me to Tower Books.
I mean, considering the percentage of girls whoÕve ridden the bus with me
and then wound up in Playboy, who wouldnÕt? So hereÕs what you do, girls.
First, go down to the bus station. Since I have to keep going to Tower
Books every day I usually just sleep there instead of going home to my
mansion. Once youÕre at the bus station, look for a guy sleeping under an
X-rated magazine. (Some guys sleep under newspapers, but they donÕt have
as much fun jacking off as I do.) Also, I have a big tummy but a small
mustache. And IÕm pretty short, but thatÕs okay Ôcause youÕll be able to
reach up to the top shelves of the porno rack to get the magazines I canÕt
reach. Also, I wear rubber gloves, to keep my hands clean, Ôcause some of
the magazines at Tower tend to be a little greasy. (You can wear rubber
gloves too if you like, just no panties.)
Well, that concludes my reviews for today. Please, girls, donÕt e-
mail me if you want to go to the porno store with me. I canÕt read lots of
porno and lots of e-mail too. Just go to the bus station. Sometimes IÕm
not there, but I always assign a substitute to take my place. Just walk
around and ask any guys you see, ÒDo you want to fuck?Ó ThatÕs the secret
code I use to identify girls who want to ride the bus to Tower. That way,
if some girl asks me for a lollipop, IÕll know sheÕs not interested in going
to Tower and IÕll be able to ignore her.
AND IN THE END...
ÒThereÕs nothing nicer than a beautifully dressed, stylish female
heading your way, even for one of my advanced years. TodayÕs women
have a certain something that is appealing, a style that I like. Until,
that is, I notice all too often that they are chewing gum.Ó
- Henry Catto, Newsweek, February 3, 1997, pg. 12.
(I agree. It has to be BUBBLE gum! - h.j.)
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-END OF 180 EMISSION
- No misogynists were harmed in the making of this zine.