ÒNOOOOOOO!Ó Judy screamed through her gag.  But the man only 
laughed.  Behind her Ellen and Sherry laughed.
         ÒYes, little bitch, IÕm going to take your virgin bottom,Ó the man 
with the cane gloated.  He watched Judy struggle in her bonds, harder than 
she had before.  As she tried to break free, quite uselessly, he unzipped 
himself. 

                                    P U S S Y  V A L L E Y

                               (formerly ÔButthole HollowÕ)

Now available for downloading from FTP site:  members.aol.com/nnd66

                                  Andrew Roller Presents
                                          FUCK DECENCY
                                          Issue No. 191

                              Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in 
                                         Private Places

                                         Chapter Three

         ÒBoys, you must always wear a condom,Ó mistress announced, 
apparently to virgin ears.  The boys nodded solemnly.  ÒEgbert, please get 
out your condom for me.Ó  Egbert blushed.  He gulped and bowed his head.  
         ÒUh, I forgot,Ó he apologized.
         ÒDid any of you boys bring a condom?Ó mistress asked.  They glanced 
nervously at each other.  ÒNONE of you?Ó  Mistress frowned as Barbi and I 
and Sara and even Maria had to work hard to suppress laughing our heads 
off.  Barbi let out a little giggle, clapping her hands to her mouth.  She was 
finally involved in the matter before us.  I let my eyes dance merrily and 
kept my lips tightly pressed together, my cheeks filling with air as I just 
managed to stave off bursting into giggles.  Sara smiled, warm and 
friendly.  I thought she might reach out and take EgbertÕs hand to console 
him.  The boys were clearly embarrassed.  ÒBoys, how could you go to a 
whorehouse without taking any condoms along?Ó mistress asked.
         ÒUh, is this a whorehouse?Ó a boy asked, wide-eyed.
         ÒDo you normally see girls dressed like this in your school?Ó 
mistress questioned.  
         ÒNoooo,Ó a boy replied.  ÒItÕs just that you said to be polite and-Ó
         ÒWell of course you must be POLITE, boys!  Girls are different from 
you.  You know that.  Tell me, boys, while I get up to find some condoms 
for us, how are girls different from boys?Ó  She rose, still firmly in 
control of the situation, for the boys all turned their eyes to view the 
offered undercurve of her bottom as she stood.  Her two silken cheeks 
were sheathed in fine French panties.  The undies were delicately 
transparent, and she stood so close, with her jacket riding high from her 
sitting, that even though most of her bottom was covered by her jacket  
the boys were given an enticing sight of her innermost curves, where her 
anus dwelled and her pussylips began their promising pout.
         Silence reigned.  None of the boys were even thinking about how to 
answer her, so absorbed were they by the sight of her mature, womanly 
bottom, tight and firm yet full-grown, the kind of motherÕs bottom theyÕd 
probably all fantasized about sticking their dicks into since they were 
infants, watching mom drink coffee with the neighborhood ladies from 
their crib.
         ÒOh, you boys amaze me with your ignorance!Ó mistress scolded.  
ÒThink of this:  arenÕt my underpants different from yours?Ó  She reached 
up under her jacket and slowly pulled her panties down.  As if to tease 
them she stuck out her butt just a little, modestly, then wiggled it to get 
her pantiesÕ crotch to snap free of her cunt lips.  She dragged the undies 
down her long legs and stepped out of them.  One of the legholes caught on 
her spiked pumpÕs heel.  She got it free and tossed her panties right into 
EgbertÕs face.
         ÒGAAACK!Ó Egbert cried.  We all laughed.  
         ÒThere!  See for yourself!Ó mistress announced.  ÒSmell them while 
you have them on your face.  Do they smell like a boyÕs underpants?Ó
         ÒNo,Ó Egbert admitted, beginning to enjoy himself, with her panties 
hanging off his pointed nose, his glasses steaming.
         ÒAll of you boys smell my panties!Ó mistress said.  ÒIÕll have no 
more of this ignorance amongst boys in college!  What have you boys been 
doing all these years?Ó
         ÒUh, well...Ó the fat boy offered.
         ÒNever mind, I know what youÕve been doing!Ó mistress answered.  
ÒIn your case, youÕve been eating, but the rest of you...jerking off!  ThatÕs 
what youÕve been doing!  Why, youÕve been so busy jerking off you donÕt 
even know to bring condoms to a whorehouse.  Let me get some, and then 
weÕre going to have a little training.  You boys will leave here as men 
tonight!  And I expect you to go OUT this Saturday night.  ThatÕs right.  No 
more sitting at home posting Òme tooÓ posts on alt.sex.stories.  No more 
spending hours in the AOL chat rooms talking to ÒgirlsÓ who are actually 
50-year-old fags.Ó  She walked across the room, rummaged in a drawer, 
came back with a handful of shrink-wrapped Trojans.  ÒThere!Ó she 
proclaimed, tossing the rubbers at the boys.  ÒThose are condoms!  That is 
what you take when you go out on Saturday night.  You can buy those in the 
grocery, boys.  They are usually in the next aisle over from the computer 
magazines, in the stores IÕve seen.Ó
         Mistress sat back down.  She tugged on her jacket to make it cover 
her pussy as well as it could.  She picked up a condom package and tugged 
at it, hoping to rip it open.  But her mind was elsewhere, still on her 
lecture, and the differences between girls and boys.
         ÒDid you know girls have periods?Ó mistress asked.  ÒDid you know 
that they get PMS once a month?Ó  She gazed for a moment at their blank 
faces.  ÒNever mind,Ó she continued.  ÒWeÕll stick to the basics tonight, as 
in, ÔWhat goes where.Õ  ThatÕs all youÕre interested in anyway, isnÕt it?Ó  
The boys, foolishly absorbed in her words, nodded.  ÒI thought so,Ó 
mistress said.  Then she smiled, as if to reassure them that they were, in 
fact, doing just fine.  At least for 20-year-old virgins.  ÒTell me, sticking 
to the matter at hand, how else are girls different from boys?Ó
         ÒUh, they have nice asses, without any hair in them,Ó a boy with 
crooked glasses volunteered, shooting up his hand to answer as if Ms. 
Highbourne was his first grade teacher.
         ÒVery good.  What is your name?Ó
         ÒBillie!Ó the boy announced, pleased that heÕd been called on, 
acknowledged.
         ÒBillie, how are girlÕs bottoms different, besides just looking nice?Ó 
mistress asked.  Billie, for all his eagerness, seemed stumped.
         ÒTheir buttholes are smaller,Ó mistress replied.  ÒDoes that seem 
fair to you?  Think of it, a penis must inevitably go up a girlÕs butthole at 
some time if her life, if she is truly to acknowledge her husband as her 
master and surrender herself to him completely.  Yet, instead of having a 
nice big butthole, which would be practical, considering how big your cock 
is, Egbert, we girls are born with wee little assholes, which must be 
forced if they are to ever receive completely.  IsnÕt that right, girls?Ó 
mistress turned to me.  I gasped.  ÒDoes it hurt to have a penis go up your 
butt, Fury?Ó mistress asked me.
         ÒI-I donÕt know,Ó I replied bashfully.  ÒIÕve-Ó
         ÒWhat?  YouÕve never done it?  Is that what youÕre saying?Ó she 
asked.  I let my eyes sink to the floor and instinctively passed my hands 
back round my bottom and took hold of my bottomcheeks.  Naughtily I 
pulled them apart a little, feeling the firmness, the stretchiness, in my 
hands.  There was no way any cock could go up my little hole!  ÒIÕm only 
13,Ó I replied.
         ÒOnly 13?Ó mistress asked.  ÒDo you hear that, boys?  Only 13, yet 
she has such nice, big breasts for a 13-year-old, donÕt you think?Ó
         ÒThey just grew,Ó I replied.
         ÒOf course they did, dear,Ó she said.  ÒAnd your bottom just fattened 
up too, didnÕt it?  Nice and plump, so that you canÕt walk down the beach 
anymore without grown men noticing you go by.  And when you bend over to 
pick up a seashell, well, what do you think they think about?Ó
         ÒPorking her up the butt!Ó the fat boy announced.
         ÒVery good, tubby,Ó mistress said.  ÒBut yours is probably so wide 
youÕd split her right apart if you did it to her.  YouÕll have to let somebody 
else go first.  Egbert, perhaps, heÕs nice and skinny, arenÕt you?  A bit long, 
though.  Where is your bulge, Billy?  Did you squirt in your pants already?  
ItÕs not nice to cum in your pants.Ó
         ÒIÕm sorry.  I couldnÕt help it, when you said about her bending over I 
just...Ó
         ÒTch!  Tch!Ó mistress said.  She reached behind herself, plucked a box 
of kleenex off a low coffee table.  ÒOpen up yourself and let me clean up 
your mess.  I canÕt send you home to your mommie with spermy 
underpants.Ó
         We watched, all of us mildly intrigued (and the boys ecstatic) as 
mistress played wet nurse to Billie.  With her help he was unzipped, his 
underpants opened, and his sperm scooped out into handkerchiefs.  ÒHas 
nobody ever helped you with this sort of problem before, Billie?Ó mistress 
asked.  Her voice was consoling.  ÒItÕs okay.  You just need to be around 
girls more, thatÕs all, Billie.  13-year-old girls included.  DonÕt ignore 
them, if they excite you.  Otherwise youÕll be president someday and youÕll 
be making a speech when, suddenly, a 13-year-old girl in the audience 
bends over to pick something up and you shoot off right there, on CNN.  
Now that would be silly, wouldnÕt it, having a wet spot on CNN?  
ÔGreetings, Mr. Yeltsin,Õ you might say.  ÔDonÕt mind my wet spot.  Your 
daughter bent over to pick up her hankie as I was coming into the 
building.ÕÓ
         Mistress finished scooping out BillieÕs sperm.  She crumpled the 
handkerchiefs in her hands.  ÒMaria, please open your mouth,Ó she said.  
Maria looked shocked.  ÒYou heard me,Ó mistress said.  ÒShow these boys 
what happens when you donÕt obey.Ó  MariaÕs face became stricken.  Her 
fortunes were worsening by the second.  ÒGet up, Maria,Ó mistress said.  
ÒGet off that lazy ass of yours, turn around, and walk up to each boy and 
let him inspect you in behind.Ó  Maria swallowed, rose silently to her feet, 
still pulling on her hem as she stood, as if hiding herself still mattered, 
at least as a point of pride, and turned around.  ÒLift up your dress,Ó 
mistress said.  Maria put her hands behind herself, the boys already 
straining forward, their eyes wide, for they thought theyÕd seen something 
upon her heinie, something theyÕd not even dreamed could be done to a girl, 
at least in real life.  ÒGet it right up, Maria, donÕt dally!Ó mistress, 
impatient, ordered her.
         Maria lifted up the back of her dress.  There was nothing to it, 
really, the dress ended right where her heinie did, and the slightest lifting 
of it immediately bared her nether cheeks.
         The boysÕ breath caught in their throats.  They coughed, the fat boy 
began having hiccups.  Across MariaÕs once-lovely bottom lay an 
entrancing series of brutal marks, deep bruises that threatened to last for 
weeks.  ÒYes, thatÕs what you must be prepared to do if your wives 
misbehave,Ó mistress intoned.  ÒWomenÕs lib must stop where the bedroom 
begins, donÕt you think, boys?  These men who are brought to trial for 
raping their wives!  Such silliness!  It is the wifeÕs duty to open herself to 
her man.  Why else was she born with a hole, and he with a penis?  When he 
is erect, she must open.  Is he to go down the street to the neighbor lady?  
Of course not!  Marriages must be preserved.  They are the bedrock of our 
society, as Bill Clinton himself will tell you.  Sit down, Maria, and let me 
put these spermy kleenex into your mouth.  It is a trash can, as far as IÕm 
concerned, if you were using it to tell your dear husband that you wish to 
see other men besides him.  Sit right down and open your mouth for me!Ó
         Maria sat, giving a little moan as her bottom once again made 
contact with the floor.  Silently, fearing greatly that mistress, especially 
with her own husband secretly watching, might beat her again, Maria 
parted her lips.

                                  ATTENTION HOLLYWOOD

         I finished my first screenplay last night.  ItÕs called ÒBathroom 
Man.Ó  ItÕs about a guy who gets tired of visiting the bathroom every hour 
or two and decides to stay there.  He has his mail delivered to the 
bathroom and, thanks to a modem, he does his work sitting in the bathroom 
too.  His wife brings his meals to him when itÕs dinner time.  
         At first his wife was opposed to this arrangement.  But then she 
realized thereÕd be a lot less laundry to wash, since heÕd only be wearing a 
shirt from now on (plus a tie when heÕs working).  So since their sex life 
had pretty much dwindled to a once a week thing, she decided to agree to 
it.  At least, with him stuck on the toilet (voluntarily) she wouldnÕt have 
to worry about him cheating on her.  (But she could cheat to her heartÕs 
content.)
         For awhile, however, our heroÕs new habit created some logistical 
problems.  The house only had one toilet.  The son didnÕt much like having 
to aim between his fatherÕs legs and the daughter was sure her teacher at 
school wouldnÕt like hearing that she was having to sit on her dadÕs lap to 
pee.  But she was still fairly small so when the dad told her heÕd take care 
of wiping her she agreed to it.  (The son decided to whiz in the neighborÕs 
yard, since he didnÕt like the girl who lived next door).
         Another advantage that Bathroom Man found was in reading Playboy.  
Formerly heÕd have to make up an excuse, at work or at home, for reading 
the magazine.  HeÕd claim he Ôhad to goÕ and everyone would see him take a 
Playboy with him and theyÕd know he wasnÕt really going the normal way, 
but in the way that requires the use of a hand.  But now, sitting 
permanently in the bathroom, with his Playboy collection as well as all 
his other possessions conveniently within reach, he could read Playboy all 
he wanted without feeling guilty.  Everyone knocked when they needed to 
use the bathroom, and he would put his Playboy away before they came in.  
Except for the wife.  He figured it was her fault he read Playboy.  If she 
still looked like she did at 18, he would tell her, what would he need to be 
looking at Playboy for?  But she didnÕt.  So to get revenge on her for losing 
her looks heÕd just keep reading away when she came in.  And, another 
benefit, when she wanted to sit on his prong he was usually already stiff 
and so she could just sit right down on him and take care of her needs 
without interrupting his reading.
         The family had more money with dad always in the toilet.  When a 
bill collector would come to the door, the wife would be able to say, quite 
truthfully, ÒIÕm sorry, my husbandÕs on the toilet.Ó  Once a bill collector 
got really pissed, after several visits, so the wife escorted him right into 
the bathroom and, sure enough, there was our hero.  He heard the bill 
collector coming and he made sure to let a big gassy fart just as the man 
walked in.  (There were no more collection attempts after that.) 
         Since he was no longer commuting, no longer having to talk to his 
kids (unless they wanted to talk to him while he sat on the can, which was 
very embarrassing), and no longer being bothered by the wife, Bathroom 
Man found he had lots of extra time on his hands.  After a while, when heÕd 
seen just about everything the Playboy channel had to offer, he switched 
to C-SPAN.  Soon he was engrossed in the matters of our nationÕs capital.  
He would try to call Brian LambÕs morning talk show on C-SPAN but he 
could never get through, so finally he decided to take his case directly to 
the people.  He decided to run for elective office.  At first he was worried 
about name recognition but then he realized that, true to his principles, 
heÕd be doing all his radio and T.V. from his toilet.  Sure enough, the first 
commercial brought him nationwide attention.  Not only was he sitting on 
the can taking a crap while he talked to the public but his daughter walked 
in and had to go too, and so, since he always put his children first, he let 
her pee and then he wiped her while he was doing the commercial.
         Now during this time people were fed up with Whitewatergate and 
all the other scandals, and so it came to pass that they decided that, 
despite his other drawbacks, Bathroom Man was a good candidate, because, 
sitting all his life on the toilet, there was very little chance heÕd been 
taking kickbacks from the special interests (except perhaps from the 
company that manufactured the flusher).  So they elected him.  Bathroom 
Man found himself being sworn in as president while he took a crap and 
pretty soon he was flying around on ÒBathroom One.Ó  All of the 
negotiations with foreign countries were conducted on the toilet, and 
when it came to the matter of foreign aid heÕd let a big poop.  Soon 
AmericaÕs National Debt was much lower because all the foreign countries 
were willing to accept much less money than they had before.
         War did come, however, because some insane man in the Gulf of 
Arabia wasnÕt willing to accept the price for oil that Bathroom Man 
offered.  So Bathroom Man fought a great war.  Naturally, still true to his 
principles, he remained on the toilet during the battle, crisscrossing the 
battlefield in an armored outhouse (with a window).  Bathroom Man won a 
great victory but a year later he lost the election because people had 
gotten over the novelty of a guy taking a crap the whole time he was 
president and the economy, meanwhile, had gone into the toilet.  (This was 
from too many people copying Bathroom Man and never leaving their 
bathrooms, just like he did.)
         Soon Bathroom Man was back at home, writing his memoirs.  He was 
still on the same toilet and now he didnÕt have to worry any more about 
people sticking him on Bathroom One or into an armored outhouse.  He 
could sit all day and read his Playboys and his wife had been replaced with 
a newer version who couldnÕt cook too good but was much more fun to have 
sitting on his lap.  (Especially since his daughter refused to, claiming she 
was too big to sit on her daddyÕs lap anymore).
         Now in the final shot, we see bathroom man, with his new wife 
sitting on his lap, and behind them, through a window, the sun is setting.  I 
was going to have him say ÒRosebudÓ in the final scene but then I decided 
to have him say ÒCharminÓ instead, since we could probably get that 
company to help fund the film if we gave them some loving shots of their 
product during the movie.  
         E-mail me if you want to buy this script.  IÕd tell you to call me but, 
who knows, when you call I might be sitting in the bathroom and miss the 
call.  Thanks.

                                        AND IN THE END...

                                       ATTENTION GIRLS!

ÒSexual fulfillment is essential to romance.Ó

- Dr. John Gray, The Secrets of Successful Relationships.

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-END OF 191 EMISSION
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