THREE SPAMMERS FOUND DEAD
Mount Holyoke, Neb. - Three important religious figures were
found dead in their suburban parish on Monday.
The dead were the Honorable Reverend Jack Assumpsit, Assistant
Sunday School Teacher I. Mole (formerly a leader in the EST movement),
and choir soprano Cass Strated. All three men were involved in an
effort to ÔspamÕ authors of indecent material on the internet.
ÒWe found them next to their computer,Ó reported Officer Dilbert
Doe, (familiar to many readers as ÒDil,Ó because he likes eating uncut
pickles). ÒYep,Ó Officer Dil. Doe said, sucking hard on a pickle, ÒTheyÕd
downloaded every item of porn they could find on the Internet -- legal
and illegal. Why, if they werenÕt dead, I would have had to arrest them
for possessing illegal porn! But they were doing the LordÕs work, of
course, even though they spent all their time looking at porn.Ó
ÒWho will preach our Sunday sermon?Ó a bereaved woman asked
as she watched the men taken away to the morgue. ÒNow I guess
theyÕre with God, but I always liked our weekly sermon on ÔFags,
Deviants, and other Perversions.Õ Church just wonÕt be the same
without them.Ó
Coroner I. D. Compose reported the menÕs death as being Òdue to
coronary arrest. They said they wanted to find shocking material on
the Internet -- I guess they found it.Ó
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Issue No. 255
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Cunt Castle
Chapter Three
ÒGirls! Girls!Ó Rose admonished us. She handed us lipstick. ÒHere,
put on your makeup. We donÕt want to be outshone at the cabana. And
brush your hair.Ó She put down a vanity mirror for us, concealed in the
ceiling. She and Joanne and Sylvia shared lipstick. Polly and I dutifully
made ourselves up and brushed out our hair. We did not bother to pin it up,
although Rose piled hers atop her head to give herself a regal look. Sylvia
did the same, then insisted on making JoanneÕs brown hair into braids. It
was strange to see them without their bottoms and bosoms bare. Polly
and I still wore our wristlets and anklets of steel, and our collars. We
wanted to take them off but Rose said no.
As I contemplated the effect my collar and bracelets would have on
the people at the cabana, Polly began counting stars. We sat beside each
other. Rose said it would take awhile to reach the cabana. It was farther
away than the saloon. Soon I found myself counting stars with Polly to
ease my misgivings.
Gradually the lights of the city became a dim glow in the distance.
The twinkled like some distant Bethlehem, then like Jerusalem, perhaps,
and finally like New York City, although we were of course quite far away
from all those destinations. The light from the city began to overshadow
the stars and finally Polly and I couldnÕt see them well enough any more to
count. WeÕd lost count, anyway, and set instead to figuring out the
constellations. Polly found what she thought was a bull, with a rather
large endowment where it mattered. All I could see was a snake winding
across the heavens, poised to bite me.
Rose handed out shoes for each of us, plus a towel to wipe our feet
with. I passed the towel through my toes, savoring the feel of it. It was
hot. Rose had kept it in a little steamer. There were three towels in all.
We shared them.
ÒI sent the driver to pick up the best possible shoes for dancing in,Ó
Rose said. ÒGiven, of course, that they must be high heels. It wouldnÕt be
proper for us to dance in anything less, I donÕt think.Ó
I looked at my pair. They were very nice. Open toed, open heeled,
with straps to tie round my ankles, over my anklet bracelets. I helped
Polly tie hers on and she helped me with mine. We threaded them through
clasps on our leg manacles to make them more difficult to take off.
ÒIf a man canÕt get your shoes off he wonÕt try to put you in bed,Ó
Polly intoned, sharing some old wives tale from primary school. She told
me she and her friends used to double-knot their tennies before walking
home from school. I simply nodded. It was no use arguing with her. She
was always certain of what she told me, until, that is, experience proved
her wrong. Like a child sure that gum wonÕt stick in her hair, or that the
oven isnÕt really so hot, or that you canÕt wet your panties if you hold your
breath. There was no way to prove her wrong on this point with just five
women in the car, so I skipped it.
The buildings of the city finally enveloped us. We travelled over a
bridge and found ourselves at once within canyon walls of windowed
concrete. I gazed up at them. Behind each was a different story, I knew.
Somewhere someone was fucking, no doubt, gazing down at our limo,
perhaps, as it passed. A rush of cars swept us along the street and we
sped like flotsam, I thought, being just a passenger, to our destination.
We pulled up to a busy sidewalk. The driver got out amidst swirls of
people. They were dressed mostly in tropical clothes. The beach was
nearby. Some people wore just their swimsuits, nothing more, for which I
was grateful. Our driver opened the door where Polly and I sat. We were
the first to get out. I felt the eyes of the passersby staring into the vee
of my legs as I got up from the seat of the limo and exited through the
door. Rose followed quickly, ushered us forward. Joanne and Sylvia
followed. The club was only a few steps away. We crossed the sidewalk,
and Rose placed a wad of bills in the doormanÕs open palm. He was dressed
like a royal servant, with top hat, gloves, long boots and a long tailed
jacket. He nodded, passed the money to a woman behind a window. She
counted it quickly as we passed through the door to the club, a glass door
that a second doorman opened for us. He was dressed as the first. Nobody
checked our I.D., although it would be saying too much of the doormanÕs
manners to say he didnÕt check us out.
I found myself huddled with Rose and Polly and Joanne and Sylvia
inside a large lobby with flashing strobe lights. In the center, people
were dancing. Beyond a band played. Above us was a balcony of glass,
where yet more people danced. It stretched around the four walls of the
club and, looking up, polly and I found ourselves staring straight into the
crotches of women and men. Most wore swimsuits, like we did, although a
few more modest dancers wore clothes. A waitress passed overhead,
wearing a miniskirt, but it was quite useless with Polly and I staring
straight up from below.
ÒShe doesnÕt have any panties on!Ó Polly cried, pointing upward.
ÒBe good dear,Ó Rose told her. ÒPlease donÕt point at peopleÕs
genitals.Ó She herded us toward the dance floor, while the doorman whoÕd
let us in nodded to another who approached Rose and asked her which table
sheÕd like. There were round tables scattered about, many of them filled.
The ones that were empty belonged to dancers.
ÒWhichever one is closest to the floor,Ó Rose said to the man.
Despite her bikini, she had a purse with her. A small, leather one, black as
her suit. She handed it to the man to use to mark our table with. She kept
it in the limo for just such uses, she told me.
ÒItÕs got a few condoms in it if you meet someone really special,Ó
she confided.
ÒA few what?Ó Polly asked. Joanne and Sylvia had gone dancing with
Rose before. They did not pay any attention, knowing already what Rose
was telling me.
ÒYou know, rubbers,Ó I told Polly.
ÒGood,Ó she replied. ÒI shoot rubber bands at the boys at school
when they bother me!Ó
ÒNot rubber-Ó I began, but gave up. I had no real interest in shouting
over the music about condoms, especially as several eager men were
already approaching us.
ÒGood evening, gentlemen. IÕm the chaperone for these girls. Would
you like to ask them something?Ó Rose said with a smile. Joanne and
Sylvia, not included in RoseÕs little introduction, let themselves be led
away by men who slipped up alongside them. As for Polly and I, we found
ourselves staring at two extremely studly dudes who vied, at that
moment, with Louis and Andre and Jack for my liking. They wore
abbreviated swimsuits within which their balls and organs seemed to be
almost bristling. The nearest had on a cut-off t-shirt, showing me his
belly, while PollyÕs suitor wore an open vest. I wondered if he were gay.
They both looked to be in their early 20Õs, just old enough to know when to
hold and to fold, I suspected, and the thought excited me. To my surprise
Rose approached the one I was contemplating and pointedly stuck her
finger in the front of his suit. Pulling it open, she stared right down into
his equipment. I wished I could see, but he was just a little too far back
from me. I would have to rely on RoseÕs judgement.
ÒWell, you certainly LOOK healthy,Ó Rose said to the young man. A
girl came up between them, missing her bra, wearing just bikini panties.
Her breasts jogged easily on her chest. She wore long glass earrings.
They looked almost penis-shaped. Her lips were wet and open. I felt an
urge to stick my finger in her mouth and watch her suck it.
ÒHi,Ó she said to me, her voice soft despite the amplified music. Yet
I could hear her. I could read her lips. She seemed utterly unaffected. She
was no more than 16. I felt a kinship with her. She glanced along the
nearest boyÕs belly into the suit Rose still was inspecting.
ÒOooh, cool,Ó the girl sighed. She brushed a hand along her belly. It
was flat, with the gentlest of swelling right where her navel was, as if to
promise something to us all if she were fucked.
Rose let the manÕs suit snap shut. ÒYou have permission to dance
with my charges,Ó Rose told him.
ÒAre they your daughters?Ó the man asked Rose. She flushed a little.
ÒDo I look that old? No, of course not. TheyÕre not my daughters!Ó
She pushed the first man aside and went to the other. She was no less
frank with him, despite his muscles and his hard-edged demeanor.
ÒYes, I see youÕre well equipped too,Ó Rose complimented the man.
In retaliation he pulled open the front of her bikini bottoms.
ÒMonkey see, monkey do,Ó he said to excuse himself, and looked with
candid ardor at her bush. Rose let her hands drop to her sides and did not
protest.
ÒDo you like what you see?Ó she asked, laughing, as he held open her
front.
ÒIÕll kiss it for you,Ó the man said. Rose smiled, looked at me. I
tried not to blush. Gently the man placed RoseÕs panties back against her
delta. Then he placed a finger beneath her and felt between her legs.
ÒYour swimsuitÕs moist,Ó he said. Rose looked at me again.
ÒDid you wet your panties?Ó Polly asked Rose with wide eyes.
ÒGo dance, dear,Ó Rose replied.
The man I thought would take Polly went instead for Rose. They
began swaying to the beat of the music as Polly and I joined the guy with
the cutoff tee.
ÒWhatÕs your name?Ó he asked each of us, telling us he was Brad.
The girl introduced herself as Cheyenne. Another male, seeing the surfeit
of females around Brad, soon joined us. We minded not. He was Darwin, a
blonde surfer, with trunks as full as BradÕs.
I noticed the floor we were dancing on was strangely modern-
looking. It seemed to have pegged holes in it every few inches. They were
covered with mesh, I saw, as I bent down to look. Strange, but I had no
explanation for them. I had to pull my swimsuit up when I straightened
my back. The slightest bow in my frame, the littlest bending over, and it
slipped further down my heinie, exposing my white cheeks.
ÒYour daughter has a lovely ass,Ó Brad told Rose as we found
ourselves dancing within earshot.
ÒSheÕs going to have it whipped later tonight,Ó Rose confided. I
blushed. Rose indicated Polly and said she would be treated the same.
Brad seemed shocked. His cock grew, straining his swimsuit. He became
noticeably uncomfortable from his erection.
ÒI hope the suds start soon,Ó he said.
ÒSuds?Ó I asked.
ÒYouÕll see,Ó Cheyenne assured me. ÒAny minute now.Ó
Suddenly, even as she spoke, a spray of water erupted from the floor.
Squirting fountains began shooting up and wetting our bodies. They didnÕt
spurt high enough to hit our faces, but I found my crotch and my belly
getting rained upon. Even my breasts were not out of reach of the higher
spurts. Cheyenne laughed, jiggled her tits. The water was not a thorough,
unrelenting spray, like a fountain, but rather a series of distinct streams
emanating from the floor. There were just enough of them, though, that
there was no escaping being wettened. And for each fountain of water
there was, right beside it, a fountain spraying some kind of liquid cream.
It smelled like Cool-Whip and I knew now why the cover charge was
$200.00. Somebody must have bought an awful lot of it to spray it on us
so freely.
ÒTake off your bottoms,Ó Cheyenne urged me. She loosed her own as
she spoke. Feeling uninhibited in all the spurting cream, I ran my fingers
over my drawstrings and tugged at them. I felt my heinie become more
exposed than ever, and, worse, my pussy too. Cream shot up and hit my
cunny as my panties fell away. Not wanting to be alone, I reached over and
grabbed teasingly at PollyÕs panties. She tried to resist but, for some
reason, fought with only half her strength and I had hers undone in no time.
Brad laughed and yanked down his Speedos. His cock, so eager to
break free, sprang up and was immediately anointed with Cool-Whip. He
let his balls swing over the spray and they got a baptism of their own. I
reached back and undid my top and let it flutter away. I felt like an
Indian, naked as Cheyenne, and I made sure PollyÕs top came off too. We
danced away from our things. I knew I should recover them from the floor
but the whole atmosphere was so heady I just didnÕt care. I wiggled my
tits and felt their freedom. Brad watched with mesmerized eyes.
ÒI love you, Brad,Ó I called to him. Laughing, I asked, ÒWhatÕs your
last name?Ó
ÒPitt,Ó he replied.
ÒLiar,Ó I giggled.
ÒLiar yourself, whatÕs your last name?Ó he asked me above the din of
the music.
ÒLiar, liar, ass on fire!Ó I shouted, and I reached back and whacked
his naked haunches. He shouted, grabbed me, and I let him pull me close. I
felt my breasts crush themselves against his chest as he aimed for my
mouth with his tongue and found it. Beyond us Polly and Cheyenne were
drawn close by Darwin and he stood feeling their bottoms as he kissed
them.
ÒLetÕs fuck,Ó Brad begged me.
ÒI donÕt know,Ó I replied. I wished only to dance, kiss a little,
perhaps. But then again, my thoughts whirling, I could feel him snake-like
against my belly, so hard, so very impressive.
A womanÕs hand, its nails long and chiseled, placed itself softly on
my fanny. I broke my mouth from BradÕs, turned. It was Rose.
ÒCome,Ó she said. She interrupted Darwin and Polly also and, with
our new friends accompanying us, she led us up some steps to a private
room, retrieving her purse first, in case we needed PollyÕs Ôrubber bands.Õ
We entered into a small room with a crackling fireplace. I let
myself be drawn to it. The water had been chilly and I felt grateful for
the fire. I extended my hands to it, standing before it, and let the heat
bathe my tummy. Then I turned around and offered it my ass.
Rose found a pile of towels and passed them around. We stood drying
ourselves before the warmth of the fire. I felt romantic. I was glad the
water had not wet my hair. Polly found a large cowboy hat and, perhaps to
regain just a touch of modesty, she plopped it on her head.
ÒOh, whatÕs that?Ó she asked, adjusting her hat. She pointed to a
leather stool in the corner. It was shaped like a saddle and it had a
pommel with reins. Polly wandered over to it.
ÒYou donÕt want to sit on that, darling,Ó Rose cautioned. ÒItÕs an
electric bucking bronco. Someone must have decided to store it here.Ó
But Polly was curious. The padded stool with the pommel was too
tall for her to mount standing on the floor. She placed both her hands up
on the seat, and then lifted a foot and stuck it in a stirrup that dangled
down along the side of the stool. The thing was a real-looking saddle, I
had to admit, complete with everything but the horse itself. But why
would anyone mount it on a stool?
Darwin eased himself over to Polly and offered to help her up. She
accepted, and he hoisted her bottom up for her so that she could settle
herself in the saddle. She looked just like a cowgirl and, clearly enjoying
herself, she pulled the chin strap of her hat down below her chin so she
wouldnÕt lose it.
Polly picked up the reins that dangled down from the pommel in
front of the stool. Holding them aloft in her hands, she began to bounce
her ass up and down on the smooth leather saddle. It was padded, but
stiffly soft, so that her bottom did not sink down into it but was
nonetheless not discomfited as she bounced up and down.
ÒGiddap, giddap! Go, pony, go!Ó Polly shouted happily. She turned to
Rose. ÒI want to GO someplace!Ó she whined. ÒOn my horsey.Ó She was
being utterly childish again, but, judging from the mesmerized look on
Brad and DarwinÕs faces, they didnÕt mind in the least.
Rose whispered to the boys and their eyes lit up. With quick steps
they approached PollyÕs Ôhorse.Õ As Polly watched, curious and, I think, a
little randy from the dancing, they buckled her legs below the knee into
leather straps that hung from the sides of the stool. I hadnÕt taken note of
them earlier. They sprouted from the sides of the stool, right where
PollyÕs calves were, and it was the easiest of things for Brad and Darwin
to Ôbuckle her upÕ, one might say, as she sat watching them.
AND IN THE END...
ÒDesigners are continually blurring the line between lingerie and
swimwear.Ó
- Vogue, May 1997, pg. 280.
(DonÕt forget little girls when youÕre designing swimwear! - h.j.)
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-END OF 255 EMISSION